Page 6 of Winds of Death (War of the Alliance #4)

Chapter

Four

F ieran blinked at the ceiling above his bed, pulling himself from the haze of the light doze he’d fallen into after all the work of eating breakfast. Who knew the simple chore of eating could be so tiring?

With his curtain drawn mostly around his bed, he couldn’t see much of the rest of the ward. Which was a bother. It left him with nothing interesting to look at, only a white ceiling overhead and an off-white curtain around him.

Worse, his mind seemed to be actually clearing. It hadn’t been so bad, just lying there on and off sleeping when he’d been too drugged to care. But now his brain was functioning enough to get bored.

Footsteps sounded outside the curtain before Nylian strolled into Fieran’s view, his mouth tugged into his resting frown. “Fieran. I see you are awake.”

Fieran struggled to sit more upright, winced at the pain throbbing through him at that much movement, and flopped back onto his pillow. “Feeling more awake than I have in a while.”

“Not a surprise. The last of the morphine is fully out of your system.” Nylian rested a hand on Fieran’s forehead.

Healing magic sank into Fieran, so familiar that Fieran’s magic only stirred slightly before he tamped it down.

Fieran tried to breathe evenly and not squirm as he waited for Nylian to finish. For some reason, he always got the urge to talk when healers were examining him like this, even though the healer was too deeply concentrating to even pay attention to a conversation.

Finally, Nylian pulled his hand away. “You are healing well, but I will call one of the other healers to perform your next, more thorough healing.”

Nylian started to turn away, but Fieran held a hand out to him. “Wait. Before you go, I have a question. What did you mean yesterday? When you said I was more resilient because of the magic of the ancient kings?”

Turning back to him, Nylian stared down at him a moment, as if formulating his response. His dour expression was more suited to delivering bad news than good. Yet that was Nylian. He always looked like he was about to tell someone they were dying.

Then the elf healer sat in the chair next to Fieran’s bed, still holding Fieran’s gaze. “I healed your dacha after he suffered extensive injuries. And yet he took down an entire fortress while still so grievously wounded. Even another elf would have succumbed.”

“Dacha survived because of his heart bond with my mama. And because of Aunt Melantha’s healing magic.” While Fieran’s parents hadn’t told him all the specifics, he knew that much of the events that had left his dacha with many of his scars.

“Both of those things certainly played key roles in his survival. He was mortally wounded and would have died without the elishina.” Nylian gave a slow nod.

“And Queen Melantha’s magic certainly assisted in sustaining him.

Yet I would still argue that no other elf would have been able to be so sustained, even with the queen’s powerful healing magic.

Your dacha’s extra resilience to survive such torture made saving him through the elishina and healing magic even possible. And then there is you.”

“Me?” Fieran gestured at himself. “I didn’t do anything so story-worthy. I just fell from the sky.”

He’d distracted Pip. He’d raced into battle without thought. And Merrik…

No. Fieran shoved the thoughts aside. He couldn’t think about all of that. Not yet. Not here in a large hospital ward.

“Exactly. You fell from the sky and sustained injuries that should have been fatal.” Nylian studied Fieran, one finger tapping his chin as if taking in a medical experiment.

“Even if another elf could have survived that fall, they likely would have gone into shock or died long before rescue could have reached them.”

“Dacha told me to flood myself with my magic. It sustained me, I guess? Kept me alive.” Fieran still wasn’t sure why or how that worked. Nor did he really want to think too deeply about how Dacha discovered such a thing.

Nylian nodded, as if that just confirmed his hypothesis. “Your body endured a level of brutal punishment under which even other elves would perish and yet also took to healing afterwards in such a way that you will suffer no ill effects from the experience. Your dacha is the same way.”

“We were born to be warriors.” Down to their very bones and blood, it seemed. Fieran clenched his fists in the blankets as the weight of it sank into him.

“Yes.” Nylian tipped his head. “Considering the nature of your magic, it is likely necessary for your bodies to have an extra resilience in order to wield such a magic. Otherwise your own magic would destroy you.”

“Maybe.” Fieran rolled the thought over. “Is that what happened to my great-grandfather Ellarin? He died of a disease of the magic.”

“No. He inherited the disease that killed him from his mother. While it affected the magic of the ancient kings, which he inherited from his father’s line, it was not inherent to that magic.

” Nylian’s gaze went slightly distant, as if in deep thought.

“Although I was born after the late King Ellarin died, I suspect that he would, in fact, prove my point rather than disprove it. He lived a remarkably long time for someone with that disease and took to Taranath’s healing rather well. ”

Fieran blew out a breath as he tried to take it all in. He’d charged arrogantly into battle, thinking himself invincible, because of his magic. Ironic to discuss how hard to kill his magic made him while he was lying here in a hospital bed, knowing just how not-invincible he truly was.

Sure, his magic might make him extra resilient. He hadn’t died this time because of it.

But he could still crash. He could still bleed. Still hurt. Still die. All it would take would be the right bullet, the right sword, the right circumstance, and he’d die just as dead as everyone else.

Nor could his magic grant invincibility to those around him. His best friend could still crash. Still lose his leg and possibly his ability to walk if his other leg didn’t heal correctly.

And it could still all be Fieran’s fault.

Before his brain spiraled further, he shut the door on those thoughts and emotions. He couldn’t deal with them right now.

Time to get back to a clinical discussion of his magic.

Fieran turned his gaze back to Nylian. “And you’re sure I have the same resilience you’ve observed in my dacha? I’m not…less resilient because I’m half human?”

“No, I do not believe so.” Nylian shook his head, that frown deepening until his cheeks and brow were both deeply furrowed. “You have the magic of the ancient kings. You have its gift of resilience to the same degree that you have its power.”

If that were the case, then perhaps Fieran was marginally less resilient than Dacha in the same way that his magic was marginally weaker.

And yet…

“That doesn’t make sense.” Fieran gestured at himself as best he could with his good hand.

“I’ve been getting dizzy spells when I use my magic in large quantities.

I had one at Fort Defense after wielding a lot of magic, and the healer there determined that it was because I was half-human and wielding the magic of the ancient kings was taking a toll on me. ”

“I highly doubt that is the case.” Nylian shook his head even more vehemently this time.

“I am far more familiar with you and your magic, and I can safely say it is not your human side weakening you. At least, not in the way that healer meant. While I do not wish to disparage another of my profession, I suspect they took the easy answer instead of looking deeper.”

“Then why…” Fieran waved at himself again. What was going on? Was there actually something seriously wrong with him?

“How long do the dizzy spells usually last?” Nylian steepled his fingers, his gaze sharpening.

“Not long. Sometimes they even pass during the battle, and I can go back to fighting without issues.” Fieran tried to remember the exact timeline of the handful of times he’d felt that weakness and dizziness.

“I’ve been able to wield more power each time before it hits.

The last time, it didn’t hit until I held back the full force of Dacha’s power for several minutes.

Yet I was already feeling better by the time the healer examined me.

He said the only thing wrong he could sense was that my body showed signs of physical strain. ”

Nylian made a thoughtful humming noise as he tapped his steepled fingers against his chin.

“That is interesting. I do not believe you need to worry that anything deeper is wrong with you or your magic. If that were the case, you would grow dizzy every time you used your magic, and it would likely last far longer.”

“Then what is going on?” Fieran couldn’t help the bite to his words. It was just so frustrating not having an answer to this. Especially when what he thought was an answer actually wasn’t.

“I will have to ponder this more, but I suspect it could be because you are human, but not in the way that other healer made it sound.” Nylian spoke slowly, as if he was trying to put his words together very deliberately.

“Until now, your use of your magic has been in a very human way. Your largest expenditures of your magic have been in filling magical power cells, a human invention mostly used to power more human inventions.”

“Except for training with my dacha.” Fieran glanced at where his swords rested now, leaning against the wall beside the table, still in their canvas wrappings.

“Yes. Even then, would I be correct in assuming that it did not feel like training for war?” Nylian raised a single eyebrow.

Fieran hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Not to me, anyway.”

He’d been a lackluster student back then. Treating that time with his dacha and his sisters as more a game than serious training.

“You and your sisters are the first generation to have been raised with this particular conception of the magic of the ancient kings.” Nylian eyed Fieran.

“That is not to disparage the way your dacha raised you. Your dacha was raised on a battlefield, and it caused him other problems with his magic. But it is the case that most of the warriors with the magic of the ancient kings were raised with war and battle in mind.”

“Why would that affect my magic like this?” Fieran felt like he was back in the classroom, not quite getting the concept the professor was trying to teach him.

“It could be that you have not built up the magical stamina to wield great quantities of your magic in battle.” Nylian’s tone remained patient.

“Battle demands a very uncontrolled, very powerful unleashing of your magic, yet until now your magical practice has focused on using controlled, small quantities for practical purposes. The more magic you wield, the less dizziness you should experience. But it has nothing to do with your half-human side, and everything to do with building up a stamina of a very powerful magic. Such a thing takes time.”

“That would explain why the dizziness goes away so quickly.” Fieran spoke slowly, not sure if he dared believe such a simple answer.

“But it could also be the way magic is wielded.” Nylian eyed Fieran.

“Dwarves use magic in conjunction with tools. It is crafted. Those few humans with magic must also craft it and are by far the most separate from magic. Elves, however, wield magic from the heart. It flows directly from us, and because of that, it is deeply tied with our emotions and perceptions of ourselves. If you were to hold a more human perception as you tried to wield the elven magic of the ancient kings, that would cause difficulties.”

Fieran slumped onto his pillow, his mind reeling. Were those dizzy spells because he was, subconsciously, attempting to wield the magic of the ancient kings more like a human than an elf? Or because he felt more human than he did an elf most of the time? “So it’s all in my head?”

“No. I am not dismissing the dizziness and weakness. Those are real. But whatever is causing the disconnect between your heart and your magic so that wielding your magic puts a strain on your body is also real.”

“Then why haven’t I experienced this before? Or had other difficulties with my magic?” He’d never feared his magic. He’d learned control easily enough and hadn’t struggled with it the way his dacha said he had.

“Your magic has never been tested in this way, used at this kind of full strength, nor put to its true purpose before.” Nylian rolled his shoulders in a hint of an elven shrug. “It is quite logical that such difficulties would manifest now when they had not before.”

Great. Another thing to add to the roiling mass of emotions and thoughts he needed to sort out. Once he was out of this bed. Out of this hospital. Away from everyone who could judge him for breaking.

His magic crackled through his chest, threatening to burst from his fingertips. He desperately needed a good run. Or, better yet, a good fighting bout. Something to unleash everything bottled up inside him.

Nothing he could do about that now until he was healed and out of this hospital.