Page 18 of Fly to Fury (War of the Alliance #3)

Chapter

Eleven

F ieran followed the massed pack of his pilots, including the elven pilots of Flight A. Despite a few grumbles here and there, the whole squadron had decided to participate in the mysterious activity that Pretty Face, Lije, and Stickyfingers had arranged.

It seemed the work day crafting their new, much-improved tents on their previous off-duty day had done much for their unit cohesion. Hopefully this activity—whatever it was—would build on their squadron’s growing unity.

Fieran might have to consider those three for future promotion and leadership roles, given the initiative and organization they’d shown in setting this up.

Although, he might want to wait until he’d seen what this activity was before he made too many decisions.

“What do you think they’ve arranged?” Pip trotted at Fieran’s side. For once, she wasn’t wearing her green coveralls or overalls and instead wore trousers and a white shirt. With her dark hair loose around her shoulders, she looked…

Well, she looked absolutely adorable in a way that made him want to step closer and twine one of those glossy curls around his finger.

He shook himself and forced his gaze away from her. No romance. That was what they’d agreed.

“With those three, it is anyone’s guess.” Merrik’s smile tipped wryly. But his feet weren’t dragging. After all, Fieran had hauled him into much worse than whatever shenanigans Lije, Stickyfingers, and Pretty Face could come up with.

“I cannot believe you talked us into this.” Lt. Rothilion trailed after the last of his Flight, walking a few feet away from Merrik, Fieran, Pip, and Mak, who had also joined the squadron on this excursion.

“Flight A is a part of the Half-Breed Squadron as much as Flight B.” Fieran held Lt. Rothilion’s gaze as he spoke, hoping the elf lieutenant heard the conviction in his voice.

Their squadron needed more activities like this.

They were working well enough while in the air and while crafting their new shelters, but the two halves of the squadron still kept mostly to themselves.

Understandable, of course. They’d trained at different bases, and they’d been shoved rather haphazardly together when they’d both been sent to Dar Goranth.

But they needed to be one squadron the way the other two squadrons here at Fort Defense already were. There could come a point where that unity—or lack of it—would be tested.

“Here we are!” Lije announced from somewhere at the head of their gaggle.

Pip stood on her tiptoes, leaning back and forth for a moment before she huffed and fell back onto her heels. “I can’t see anything. Where are we?”

Fieran took a step to the side to get a better view and grinned. He should have guessed, given the interest those three had shown on their first tour of Little Aldon. “We’re at that photography shop. The one that does tourist pictures.”

“Ooh, perfect! I’d thought this place looked neat.” Pip stood on her tiptoes again, bracing herself with a hand on Fieran’s arm. He wasn’t even sure she’d realized she was doing that.

Lt. Rothilion’s shoulders didn’t slump, exactly. But the contemptuous twist to his mouth grew deeper. “I suppose we can endure it if we must.”

“Admit it. You’re looking forward to something fun as much as the rest of us.” Fieran leaned around Merrik to give Lt. Rothilion a light punch on the shoulder.

Lt. Rothilion lifted a hand to his shoulder, gaping at Fieran as if he wasn’t sure what had just happened. But the sneer didn’t immediately return to his face, so that was progress.

A tall, thin human man stepped onto the porch. “Are you the Half-Breed Squadron?”

“Yes, we are.” Pretty Face joined him on the porch, gesturing out over the crowd of pilots.

“Please break into groups of no more than ten.” The man spoke, sweeping a bland glance over them.

“Each group will be given a timeslot. Please be here promptly for your timeslot to keep things moving. You will all be given a chance to pick out costumes. Your session has already been paid for and includes one print per person, which will be ready tomorrow. If you’d like a print of any of the other groupings from your squadron, that will be an extra cost.”

Fieran couldn’t hold back a satisfied grin. Pretty Face’s donation campaign had been successful, then.

“One more thing.” Pretty Face grinned as he gazed out over the crowd. “All elves are to dress like humans and the humans are to dress like elves. ”

Some of the elven pilots shifted, glancing over at the humans in the squadron with somewhat horrified expressions. Many of the human flyboys pumped their fists.

“What about Tiny?” Murray, the only human magician in the squadron and Tiny’s wingman, pointed.

“Tiny can dress as an elf. Or a dwarf, I suppose.” Pretty Face raised his gaze and his voice. “Mak and Pip, you can dress like humans. Now for Merrik and Fieran…Merrik, dress like a human since you’re basically an elf. Fieran, you have to dress as an elf.”

With that, the squadron began breaking up into groups.

Fieran stepped off to the side to make more room for all the shuffling. Merrik and Pip, of course, came with him. Mak, Tiny, Stickyfingers, Lije, and Pretty Face worked through the crowd to join them.

Aylia popped out of the crowd. “Mind if I join your group?”

“Not at all.” Fieran grinned and waved her forward.

That put them at nine. They had room for one more, if needed.

He scanned the crowd of pilots, making sure everyone had a group. While there were a few all human or all elf groups, most of the groups had a nice mix.

The only one still standing apart without a group was Lt. Rothilion. He, too, was scanning the crowd. Checking that everyone had a group or unsure of which group to join?

While a few of the other groups had room for one more, Fieran gestured to the elf lieutenant. “Rothilion. Unless you have another group you’d rather join, you’re welcome to join us.”

Lt. Rothilion swept one last glance over the various groups before he stalked to them, as if he didn’t want to admit he was choosing their group over the others .

The man running the show strode between the groups, assigning each to a timeslot and jotting them down on a paper on a clipboard. When he reached them, Fieran gave him their names. They were assigned the final slot, which was fine. He could be patient.

Fieran leaned against the back wall of the shop, watching one of the groups of flyboys and elves arranging themselves before the large painting of a forest with a castle that served as the basic background for the photography.

The proprietor who had greeted them on the steps hunched behind the camera on the tripod, popping in and out from underneath the fabric hood to call instructions.

A woman—the man’s wife—bustled about as she directed the pilots into position.

They did a good job, at least. The painting background must have cost a pretty penny to commission, not to mention collecting all the costumes.

The weapons were made of wood but painted so realistically that they would appear real in the photographs.

The costumes themselves were of remarkably good quality.

Perhaps they had purchased castoffs from filming a moving picture.

The group currently posing had gone all in. The humans all wore wigs and fake pointed ears. Dressed in elven armor and carrying elven-style blades, they made for a decent facsimile of elven warriors…except for occasional, very non-elven facial hair.

The elves in this group had outdone themselves.

All of them had managed to hide their pointed ears.

They hefted war axes, double-bladed human swords, and round bucklers, somehow managing to look heftier in the layers of chain mail and leather.

Several of them had tied their long hair beneath their noses, styling it so that it looked like the long beards worn by human warriors of some bygone era.

Lt. Rothilion gaped at his elves as if he couldn’t quite believe they would desecrate their warrior hair in such a fashion. Even Merrik’s nose wrinkled, as if even he couldn’t imagine doing something like that.

The man snapped a few pictures before he gave a nod.

The elves and humans trooped back down a hallway, presumably heading for the dressing rooms.

As they trickled out once again, the man handed each of them a slip of paper. “You’re all set. Your photographs will be available tomorrow. Please pick them up within a week.”

Once the last of them left, the man motioned to Fieran and his group. He went up to each of them, asking if they wanted any additional photographs beyond what had already been paid for.

Most of the others only went with the one print. Fieran paid for copies of all the photographs. He would have the whole squadron that way. Stickyfingers scrounged up enough coins to get a second photograph to send home to his mama, as did Lije.

“Please follow me.” The man led them down the hallway, pausing at the end where two doors stood on either side. “The female dressing room is this one. My wife will assist you.”

Aylia shared a grin with Pip, then shoved the door open.

As the two of them disappeared inside, the man opened the other door. Fieran and the others filed inside.

The room was a chaos of costumes, from wigs on stands to a drawer with wax elf ears lined up in pairs. Several racks held various pieces of chain mail, elven armor, leather jerkins, and so on. Wooden weapons were stacked along one wall.

The man gathered up some of the pairs of wax ears and began handing them out. “Here are the ears for those of you dressing as elves.”

As he reached Fieran, he held out a pair of ears. Fieran tilted his head and swept back the shaggy ends of his hair. “I don’t need wax ears.”

The man halted and blinked. “Oh, um, then are you dressing as one of the humans?” He eyed Fieran’s short hair dubiously.