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Wingborn: Chapter 21, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch21.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Bumble time! Not that Mhysra is avoiding things or anything, because she would never do something like that, no no.

THE BLIZZARD ARRIVED before nightfall, piling snow against the walls and covering the mountain in white. Brisk winds made the flakes flurry, sneaking in through the many cracks of the citadel.

Leaving poor Mouse in the infirmary, with some hefty puncture wounds to show for his adventure, Mhysra went in search of Derrain. “I need to visit Bumble. Want to come?”

He raised his eyebrows, knowing where she’d been. When she shook her head, he gave a dramatic shiver. “Go outside? Have you seen the weather?”

She rolled her eyes. “Why yes, dear Derry, I may have noticed a sprinkling of snow. However, I haven’t seen Bumble for days and if Kilai hears he’ll kill me. Come if you’re coming. If not, well, more cakes for me.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” he grumbled, but traipsed after her through the eastern citadel and down to the kennels. A chorus of yips and barks greeted them as they crossed the frozen courtyard. The keeper in the workroom was Jynese, an Aquilan lass and a close friend of Kilai’s.

Seeing them shivering, she grinned. “Come inside, my lambs, before you grow icicles.”

Derrain hurried straight to the fire. “Heirayk’s sweet mercy on you, Jynese,” he murmured, chattering his teeth for effect.

“Poor boy,” she crooned, rubbing his back. With her full figure, green eyes and warm smile, she was very pretty and very popular. Especially amongst the boys.

“Sit yourselves down,” Jynese invited, winking at Mhysra. “I’ll get you a drink and see what else I can find. The dogs are being fed now, so I’ll fetch your girl in a bit.” She ushered them both into chairs, filled the kettle and searched the cupboards. When she was done, Derrain and Mhysra cradled cups of Mistrunan tea and balanced plates of apple tarts, scones and cheese slices on their knees. That was the other reason why Jynese was so popular, especially with the boys – she fed them.

“You are a prize,” Derrain praised, his mouth full. “You make the best tarts in Aquila.”

“My pa would disagree,” she chuckled, and as the town’s baker he was probably right. “But flattery is always appreciated.” She looked up as the door opened and smiled. “Kilai.”

Mhysra almost spilled her tea. “What are you doing here?”

Her brother raised his eyebrows and ruffled snow from his hair. “Nice to see you too, neglectful sister of mine. Remembered you have a nakhound, have you?”

Putting her cup aside, she wrinkled her nose. “I’ve been busy.”

“So have I,” he retorted, “but I’m still here. And I only just got back.”

Derrain chuckled, gathering the crumbs off his plate with his fingertip. “If I had such enticements I’d come straight here too.” He winked at Jynese.

Rolling her eyes, Jynese prodded Kilai in the chest. “Think of how much free time you had when you were a newbie – if you can remember that far back, old man – and be nice to your sister. I’m going to fetch the pup.” Patting him on the head, she trotted out the door.

While Mhysra and Derrain blinked to see the mighty Kilpapan heir treated so lightly, Kilai smiled sheepishly. “It’s refreshing.”

“Is that what you call it?” Derrain chuckled.

Kilai grimaced. “Do you have to say that in front of my little sister?”

More amused than embarrassed, Mhysra grinned. “I can’t wait to tell Milluqua.”

Groaning, Kilai covered his face with his hands. “Why couldn’t I have brothers?”

“Because you’re gods-blessed,” Mhysra retorted, enjoying the teasing. She saw her brother so rarely, since both of them were so busy and he spent most of his time away from the citadel. Spending time with this relaxed Kilai was a treat.

“What brings you back so soon?” Derrain asked, taking pity on the poor Rider. “I thought you were patrolling the Wrathlen until the end of the month.”

“Blizzards came early,” Kilai explained, easing into a chair. “Gods, we just beat this monster. Straight off the Stormwash and too big to sate itself on pirates. It chased us all the way home.”

Mhysra shivered at the thought. “Did you see much action?”

Kilai shook his head, smiling as Jynese returned with Bumble. The nakhound looked dignified and glossy, striped wings folded against her back. She trotted with her chin on Jynese’s hip, almost fully grown.

Then she saw Mhysra.

Yipping with glee, Bumble bounded across the room, clearing Kilai’s chair with a flap of her wings. Landing on Mhysra’s lap, she washed her face vigorously.

“See what happens when you don’t visit every day,” Kilai said smugly.

Jynese chuckled as she shared Kilai’s chair. “I’ve never met a pup so fixed.”

Shoving the dog away, Mhysra wiped her face with her sleeve. “Wrentherin trait. You should see our pack with my aunt. They adore her. Whether she sees them every day or not.” She glared at Kilai.

He grinned. “Mhylla feeds them. This one’s just stupid.”

“But beautiful,” Jynese protested, while Bumble licked Mhysra’s hands, her plumy tail wagging.

Sighing, Mhysra stroked Bumble’s silky ears. “You didn’t deny that she was stupid.”

“Well…”

They talked about nakhounds for a while, but eventually talk veered back to Kilai and his recent exploits. “It’s the strangest thing, sitting on the edge of the Wrathlen, waiting for something to happen. When nothing does you feel relieved, until you start wondering. Having an imagination out there is a curse.”

“So you didn’t see anything?” Derry asked, ruffling Bumble’s wings.

“Nothing worth noting.” Kilai got up to add another log to the fire. “It’s unnerving. If you see something, at least you know they’re there, being their usual vermin selves. But when they hide…” He shook his head. “That place has to be seen to be believe. A solid ridge, extending for miles, but the closer you get, the more crevices you notice, until you’re right above it and see that it’s rotten right through.”

“Like those who live there,” Jynese said, filling the kettle for more tea. “There was a nasty piece of work in town when I was a girl. Picked fights, bullied everyone, had a rough hand with the ladies and never listened to no. He fled to the Wrathlen before the Riders pinned him down – his mother smuggled him out, foolish old besom. Boy could do no wrong in her eyes. When the pirates raided Aquila two years later, she was found with a knife in her chest and a sapphire between her teeth.” She sighed and sat down again. “He’d promised to bring her jewels when he was rich. Some are born for that place. I used to wonder why the Riders didn’t destroy it.”

Kilai smiled sadly, winding a strand of her hair around his finger. “I used to think the same until I saw it myself. We’re too few for a rat’s nest like that.”

Jynese nodded. “I’ve seen it too. That’s when I realised nothing short of a gods-blast could clear the place. Even that wouldn’t get them all.”

“Do you think they’re up to something?” Mhysra asked to break the uneasy silence.

“Possibly, possibly not,” Kilai grumbled. “Lieutenant Brath says they’d normally hit Havia after preparations like this, but King Heryff did enough damage last summer to make even those pirates wince. I don’t think they’ll try him again when they have so many other options.”

“Which is a cheerful thought on a blizzard night,” Derrain said, raising a smile from them all.

“True. Let’s leave raiders and pirates behind, since the snow keeps them out as nicely as a pyrefly pack. Tell me what’s been happening here. What’s all this about Cumulo being a hero?”

Mhysra and Derrain exchanged a look and her friend raised his eyebrows, leaving it for her to tell. “Poor Mouse bumped another student in today’s group flight session and fell off,” Mhysra said, not wanting to get into all the details when she still couldn’t believe it herself. “Cue caught him.”

Kilai frowned. “How did he fall? Wasn’t he strapped on?”

Derrain shook his head. “Mouse wanted to fly without. We all do.”

Kilai’s frown deepened, but before he could say anything else, Jynese nudged his shoulder. “Poor lad, I hope he’s all right. Fetch the tea, won’t you, Kilai?” Sufficiently distracted, he got up while Mhysra told them how Mouse was doing. By the time Kilai returned, his lecture was forgotten and the subject turned to something else.

It was late by the time Mhysra and Derrain left the kennels, and it was a wrench to abandon the warm fire in favour of trudging back through the cold. Snow swirled as they leant shoulder to shoulder, wading through the drifts. It was nice with just the two of them, as it so rarely was these days. Mhysra even liked the snow dancing around the lantern that Jynese had given them.

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Derrain murmured as they forced open the door that led back into the citadel.

“About what?” Mhysra asked, blowing out the lantern and hanging it on a hook.

“What’s going on out there,” Derrain said, rubbing his arms and shoving the door closed.

“Mm,” Mhysra agreed. With the seclusion of the Storm Season being so quickly followed by these blizzards, Aquila had become a small, isolated world. She’d been too busy to notice.

“I’ve spent most of my life flying from one landmass to the next,” Derrain mused, throwing an arm over her shoulders as they walked through the halls, the pair of them huddling together for warmth. “I never thought I’d get used to being stopped for so long. How quickly we forget.”

“We’ve been busy.”

He nodded, watching their feet. “But it’s more than that. There’s just something about Aquila.”

“I feel like I’ve been here forever.”

“Me too,” he agreed, “and I’m not sure that it’s a good thing.”

She frowned. “Why not, since we’re spending three years here?”

Pausing at the stairs, he stared out through an iced window at the blurry darkness. “We’re getting too comfortable.”

“Derry?” she asked, confused as to what had brought on this contemplative mood.

Giving himself a shake, he smiled. “Don’t mind me, I’m just thinking out loud. Poor Mouse, I hope he’s not in too much pain.”

Mhysra winced. “They gave him something to make him sleep. It was strange to see him so quiet.” She stared miserably at the floor. “I feel guilty. So does Cue. Poor Mouse.”

“Don’t be daft!” Derrain scolded, shaking her shoulders. “Cumulo saved his life. If you’re looking for guilt, send it to the brat that hit Onyx.”

“He’s Kern Whittendowns’ heir,” Mhysra muttered, since the rank of kern was the Greater West’s equivalent to an Imercian earl. One of wealth and privilege, even here at Aquila where all were supposed to be equal. “Not to mention Willym’s favourite. He’s going to get away with it, while Mouse has wounds in his leg deep enough to make him limp. Maybe even permanently.”

Derrain hugged her tightly. “If you ask Mouse whether he minds those wounds, I’ll bet he’ll tell you he can cope. Better lame than dead.”

She sniffled against his chest. “It’s not fair.”

“No,” he agreed, stroking her hair. “But that’s the world for you. Come on, it’s late, and I’d rather not fend off Jermyn swinging sticks at my head when I’m only half-awake.”

She stepped back and nodded. “Good advice.”

“And coming from me, too. Proof that miracles do occasionally happen.”

Mhysra grinned. “Only occasionally? Should Dhori watch out?”

“I’ll try not to make a habit of it.”

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 21, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch21.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Four more chapters to go!

And yet another three parter this week – but I think it’s the last one. Poor Mouse.

Four more weeks to go!

Twenty One

31st Gale

It was sleeting. Again. “The joys of Aquila,” Stirla grumbled, tipping his hat further over his face. “How can you bear this every day?”

Blinking water from his eyelashes, Lyrai chuckled; supervising an afternoon flight was the least of his worries. “I like flying.”

“So do I.” Stirla shuddered as ice trickled down his neck. “When it’s sunny.”

Lyrai shook his head. After spending so much time grounded, he’d tackle a blizzard if it was his only chance to fly. “Come on.” He slapped Stirla’s shoulder. “Time to get your feet wet.”

“They’re already wet,” Stirla muttered, trudging over to Atyrn.

“Stop complaining. Once the blizzards truly start you’ll be spending plenty of time inside.” Lyrai secured his hat and shuddered. He was not looking forward to the next few months.

His friend grunted and hauled himself into Atyrn’s saddle, Lyrai mounted Hurricane and they launched into the miryhl-filled skies. It was Sunday, which meant all the first-years flew together, regardless of their flurries, and all Lyrai had to do was watch. Thankfully he was assisted by three lieutenants and four sergeants. It wasn’t unheard of for the captains to join these practise flights, but Lyrai didn’t blame them for keeping out of the sleet.

Circling above the students was like staring into the eye of a storm as the miryhls lapped the field. The more confident flyers rose to the top or darted through the middle, while the nervous stayed close to the ground. The four young lieutenants watched from above, while the sergeants kept order amongst the flock. After a while the sleet lessened, easing visibility, so that the pairs resolved into individuals.

Shaking the water from his eyes, Lyrai shivered and studied his students. Dhori and Latinym were rising from bottom to top and down again, while Mhysra and Cumulo swirled in and out of the main flow behind them. This exercise was too tame for them, but everyone had to practise together. Derrain and Zephyr, Corin and Wisp, Haelle and Thunder, and Mouse and Onyx bobbed behind Cumulo and Latinym like bows on a kite tail, making Lyrai smile.

An ill-advised attempt to race between some cocky students drew his attention and he was on the verge of intervening when Hurricane tensed.

“Mouse,” was all the warning he got before his miryhl dived.

Gripping handfuls of feathers, Lyrai squinted through the rain and swore. Mouse indeed. Eager to copy his friends, the foolish boy had urged his miryhl too high, too fast and collided with another student: Bovei fra Benlei. A favourite of Willym’s, Bovei did not make allowances for accidents.

Even as Hurricane arrowed down, Bovei raised his flying crop – and how he had one of those when they were banned, Lyrai could only guess – and lashed out. As Bovei was a mean-tempered bully, Lyrai expected him to aim for Mouse. Instead he slashed at Onyx’s face.

“No!” Lyrai and Hurricane roared together, and Lyrai urged his miryhl even faster, diving straight through the flock of novice pairs. Miryhls scattered and students yelped, but Hurricane ignored them. Since no one fell off, Lyrai did likewise.

Onyx squealed and dodged the whip heading for his eye, taking the brunt of the strike on his wing. Already unbalanced from the collision, Mouse slipped, hands grasping at the wet saddle but finding no purchase. The leather straps, which should have been holding him in place, were unbuckled: he’d been copying his friends again. Onyx shifted to catch him, but Bovei cracked the whip across the miryhl’s neck. Bruised and wounded, Onyx flinched.

“Mhysra!” Mouse plummeted through the cloud of miryhls.

Cumulo dived after him. With more strength than finesse, the Wingborn seized the boy’s leg and flapped frantically to slow their reckless descent.

With Mouse safe, Hurricane didn’t bother to check his own speed. Balling his talons, he punched straight into Bovei. The whip went flying. Lyrai barely had time to shift his weight as his miryhl wheeled about and dropped onto the smaller eagle’s back.

Being bigger, heavier and angrier, Hurricane easily drove Shield down. Lyrai didn’t object, even with a student trapped between – Bovei deserved it for striking a miryhl – and watched with relief as Cumulo carefully lowered his burden before landing.

Mhysra reached Mouse first, turning him over to check his leg, exclaiming at the blood. Stirla carried the boy from the field at a sprint, leaving Hlen to take care of poor Onyx.

“Return to the eyries and tend to your mounts!” Captain Myran ordered, emerging from the sleet with Fredkhen and a squad of Riders. Left with no other choice, the students dispersed.

At last, Hurricane brought Shield down and lifted off him. Before the miryhl could launch again, Hurricane rose to his full height and hissed. Though cocky around the eagles in Bovei’s class, Shield knew when he was outmatched and hunkered down, emitting supplicating peeps.

Not so his Rider. Mussed and gasping, Bovei pushed himself upright and glared at Lyrai. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded shakily. “Don’t you know who I am?”

Before Lyrai could answer or dismount, Willym landed. “How dare you treat a student of mine this way!”

“I could say the same of your student with regards to mine!” Lyrai snapped, while Hurricane faced down Mercata, Willym’s miryhl. They were of a size, but Mercata was a slender, light-eyed female. Like her Rider she had a nasty reputation. “How dare he raise a whip to a miryhl. How dare he fly with a crop at all!”

Willym sneered from his mount’s back. “I saw no such incident. All I saw was a lieutenant attacking a student.”

“There are witnesses,” Lyrai growled, even as Hurricane did the same at Mercata.

The female miryhl hissed and her Rider smirked. “Yes. An entire year saw you attack a student, Lyrai. How distressing.”

“They also saw your student strike mine with a whip,” Lyrai retorted, barely controlling his temper. “You know crops are banned, but I can guess where he got such a thing.”

Willym looked at his student and smiled. “I see no whip.”

Lyrai saw red. “I will find it, you vicious bastard, and when I do, your precious whelp will -”

“I believe this is the item in question,” Captain Myran interrupted, limping between their miryhls with the crop held high. “It may also interest you to know that I saw everything.”

Willym stared at the whip and registered the contempt on Myran’s face. He glanced at Fredkhen, lingering unhappily to one side. Though Fredkhen’s family’s livelihood relied heavily on the favour of Willym’s father, the captain would not lie. Baring his teeth in frustration, Willym turned to the boy.

Bovei sat slumped sulkily in his saddle, picking at the reins. He glanced at his lieutenant and flinched. “My father -” he bleated.

“I believe Kern Whittendowns will be most disappointed about this,” Myran said, and the boy cowered. “You will come with me, Student Bovei. Lieutenants return to the eyries. Lyrai, attend Dean Marshall’s office when you are done.”

When nobody moved, the captain raised his eyebrows. “You are dismissed, Riders. Bovei, with me.” He limped away, leaving Lyrai and Willym glaring at each other.

Fredkhen cleared his throat. “Come, Willym. We must tend the miryhls.”

As Mercata turned her head away, Hurricane snorted and launched with no signal from Lyrai. Neither of them wanted to spend a moment longer in that company.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 20, Part 3

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch20.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Happy birthday, Mhysra! Silliness abounds :D

FOR MOST THE Feast of Maegla was a day of private worship, but at Aquila it was the most important festival of the year. The citadel and town celebrated Her glory loudly, and She threw out the worst storm of the season in response. But most of the students were too tipsy to care.

“S’my birthday,” Mhysra said to the ceiling, but no matter how many times she said it, she still didn’t get any presents.

“I love you. Did I ever tell you I love you?” Corin told Mhysra for the fifth time.

“Yes.” As she’d said the same to Haelle, Mouse, Derrain, Lieutenant Stirla and Lieutenant Hlen, Mhysra wasn’t flattered. “You’ve had too much drink.”

“I like it!” Corin protested, as Mhysra took the bottle away. She tried to put it on the table and missed. “You broke it!”

“Didn’t,” Mhysra retorted, juggling it until she got a grip. “See, some left.” Tipping back her head, she drained the last third.

Corin stared at her in shock. “You drank it.”

“I did.”

“You drank it.”

“I did.”

“You drank it!”

“She did.” A veteran of intoxicating spirits, Derrain was still in possession of his wits. “And you’ve both had enough.” He hauled them to their feet. “Time for bed. Lessons tomorrow.”

“S’no point,” Mhysra hiccupped gloomily. “No flying, no fun. S’my birthday, Derry. Will you take me flying?”

“Not when you might get struck by lightning. Aquila frowns on that kind of thing.”

“No fun,” she repeated.

“I don’ wanna go bed,” Corin protested, tripping over a snoring student. “’m drinkin’.”

“I noticed,” Derrain said. “And now you’ve stopped. You’re done with drinking.”

“Nope. Gotta keep goin’. Buildin’ ma courage. Gonna get a kiss.”

Derrain raised his eyebrows, and Mhysra stopped grumbling long enough to swing around. “Wotcha mean? Where you gonna get a kiss?”

Corin giggled. “On ma lips. At first.” She winked. “Maybe somewhere else, if he’s lucky.”

Mhysra swayed as she tried to focus. “S’not what I meant. Who’ll kiss you?”

“S’secret,” Corin whispered. “C’mere, I tell you.”

They all leant closer and Corin bashed foreheads with Derrain as she planted a loud kiss on his lips. She teetered away, crowing, “Tol’ you! Tol’ you! I got a kiss!”

Lunging to catch her before she fell over, Derrain sighed and tucked her under his arm. “You should have asked, Corin. I’d have kissed you gladly.”

“Ser’sly?” she hiccupped. “S’that easy?”

“Depends how nicely you ask.”

She chuckled and cuddled up to his chest. “You’s nice, Derry. I like you.”

“Should ‘ope so,” Mhysra hiccupped. “Hate to think you go ‘round kissing them you don’t.”

“Don’t be jealous, M’sra, I kiss you too if you want.”

Mhysra cackled. “’m all right, thanks.”

Corin wrinkled her nose. “Can I have ‘novva drink, Derry?”

“No. You got your kiss.”

“Offa you, mebbe,” she grumbled. “Need more courage. Wanna ‘novva.”

“I told you to ask.”

“Not from you!” she protested, while Mhysra wandered into a wall.

Derrain reached out and snagged Mhysra’s wrist as she walked into the wall again, asking it why it wasn’t getting out of the way and didn’t it know it was rude to obstructify people in this manner. He reeled her in and smiled at Corin. “You don’t need courage, little one.”

“You’s nice,” Corin repeated, patting his cheek. “But I wanna kiss from Dhori. Where’d he go? D’you know? Oh! A rhyme! Where’d he go, do you know? I don’t know, where he go? Where he go, I don’t know. I don’t, I don’t know! ’m so clever.” She collapsed against his chest, staring up at him adoringly. “Don’cha think ’m clever, Derry?”

“Brilliant,” he agreed, staggering sharply left as Mhysra avoided another wall, which she was sure had lunged. They had it in for her, all of them. Evil walls. “Come on, girls, upstairs.”

“Stairs,” Mhysra whined. “They’re worse than walls. They trip you up an’ everything.”

“Stairs! I love stairs! ’m good at stairs!” Corin raced off, slipped and slithered down, scraping her hands but miraculously not flattening her face. “Did you see that?” she demanded. “It tripped me!”

“I warned you,” Mhysra said. “I told you they was mean.”

“You was right!”

“Is there any reason why we can’t talk like normal people?” Derrain pleaded, as they berated the stairs.

“You’re at Aquila, lad. There are no normal people here.” Stirla and Lyrai were watching their distinct lack of progress, bright-eyed with amusement. “Need a hand?” Stirla offered.

“Please.”

“Come on, milady. Up.” Lyrai pulled Mhysra to her feet and hauled her over his shoulder.

“Ooooh,” she groaned as he straightened. “Feel dizzy. World’s gone upsides.”

“No, just you,” Lyrai assured her, while Stirla scooped up Corin.

“You know, you’re not as grouchy as I thought you were,” Mhysra murmured to Lyrai’s back. “An’ you have a nice bum.”

It was Derrain’s turn to trip on the stairs, he was laughing so hard.

“Thank you,” Lyrai said gravely, not even flinching when Mhysra patted his backside.

“’m gonna regret this in the mornin’, aren’t I?” she muttered.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

As Lyrai carried her up the stairs, she remained quiet, though Corin was trying to bargain a kiss out of Stirla, who promised to drop her if she tried.

Then Mhysra hiccupped. “Ow. Your shoulder’s not as nice as your bum. S’all bony.”

“His bum?” Stirla asked.

“No, the shoulder. It sticks in my -” another hiccup “- belly. Hurts. Uh-oh.”

“What?” Derrain, Lyrai and Stirla asked.

“Feel sick.”

It was quite possible that Lieutenant Lyrai had never moved so fast as when he put Mhysra down, turned her around and boosted her up to an open window.

When she was dangling halfway out of it, she giggled. “S’rainin’.”

“Tell us something we don’t know.”

“Umm… Dhori’s on the roof.”

“What?” Stirla dumped Corin and ran to the next window, while Lyrai gripped hold of Mhysra’s belt before she could fall out.

“Are you done?” Lyrai asked.

“I don’t feel sick now,” she confirmed, then protested as he dragged her inside. “I like it out there. I like rain. Noooo!”

“Blast it, does he want to get killed?” Stirla cursed, leaning right out of the window to see Dhori on the high roof opposite.

“He likes it,” Mhysra grumbled, sliding down the wall next to the sleepy Corin. “He likes rain on his skin an’ thunder in his bones. Makes him feel good.”

“How do you know?” Lyrai asked in surprise.

She shrugged. “If you knew him, you’d know. He’s safe on the roof.” The rain had turned her maudlin. “Don’t make him get down. You didn’t like it when you couldn’t fly.”

Lyrai blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “Do you like it when you can’t?”

“Course not. It’d be the same for Dhori if you made him get down. He needs storms. Don’t make him come inside.”

Smiling, he hauled Mhysra to her feet. “I won’t. Come on.”

This time he scooped her into his arms rather than over his shoulder and she snuggled against his chest. “S’nice,” she murmured. “You smell better than my cousins.”

Stirla chuckled as he picked up Corin again, Derrain having disappeared. “Careful, he’ll think you’re an admirer.”

“I admire all kinds of things.” She yawned. “An’ my cousins smell terrible. Bet you smell better too.”

“He has a nice bum too,” Corin murmured.

“Who?” Stirla asked.

“You,” she replied sleepily. “Do I get a kiss?”

“No.”

“I tried. L’ten’n Lyrai, can I have a kiss?”

“No.”

“No fun,” Corin complained.

“I thought you wanted to kiss Dhori,” Mhysra reminded her, on the verge of sleep herself.

“Do. Wouldn’t say no to a l’ten’n, tho’. Keepin’ my options open.”

“Wise child,” Stirla agreed, but neither of the girls were listening. Both were sound asleep.

* * * * *

THE MORNING AFTER the feast, Aquila was bathed in uncharacteristic sunshine. It broke over the mountain edge and speared straight into the girls’ dormitory, where it was greeted with groans. When a maid climbed the stairs to find out why none of them had come down to breakfast, she was forced out under a rain of pillows.

Lessons for the day were cancelled.

Luckily for most, they had only hazy memories of the night before. Still, it was a half-moon before Mhysra felt able to look Lieutenant Lyrai in the eye again, and Corin couldn’t speak to Lieutenant Stirla for the better part of a month. Oddly enough, neither lieutenant complained.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 20, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch20.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

A letter from Nimbys…

MY DEAREST SISTER,
               I miss you already, and it has not yet been a month since you left. I even miss your bumbling pup, but I’m glad to hear you’ve settled in and hope you are well. I wish things weren’t as they are, but I would be lying if I said our parents are reconciled to your choice. Father wanted to petition the Stratys for your return, until mother reminded him that Prince Lyrai is a Rider and the Stratys might deem it an insult. There is apparently little they can do, so for now, you and Cumulo are safe. Relatively speaking.

Thank you for word of Kilai – a more hopeless correspondent I’ve yet to meet. I’m delighted he’s happy in his Rider life, but I’m more pleased that you are. You and Cumulo deserve your happiness.

Speaking of which, I’ve refused three more suitors. Father grows impatient, but two were older than him and the other younger than Kilai! Mother says I have gained a reputation for being Unattainable, so all the young cubs are forming ridiculous passions for me, certain to be the one who tames me. It is so stupid. One of these days I shall say yes, and won’t the fool in question be surprised.

It’s not that I enjoy turning them down – you know how much I hate it – but I’ve yet to be asked by a man who wants me for myself. The Kilpapan name and fortune are so attractive, but we have no need of advantageous alliances. Despite father’s blustering, your decision to enter the Riders has been met with nothing but praise. Everyone thinks you are terribly brave. The Kilpapans are rich and courageous, not to mention favourites of the Stratys.

Show me the man who has no care for these things, who sees me as more than an empty-headed doll, and I will happily marry him.

Alas, I do not think he will ask. Nor would father agree to such a match.

Did I mention how much I miss you, dearest? And your friends. They were so lively. I hope they’re all doing well. And your lieutenants too. How is Lieutenant Lyrai? And Lieutenant Stirla?

I wish I could visit, since you cannot come to me. A break from town would be most welcome. Guests from across the Overworld have descended for the negotiations over Prince Henryn’s marriage and Nimbys feels quite small. Crowds gather wherever the foreign dignitaries are staying and trail their every move. You’d hate it.

March Serfyn, from the King’s Council of North Point, is staying with the Fenhays three houses along. Father deems it unacceptable, though mother often goes out to catch the attention of the press and promote the business. She is quite shameless, but you already know that.

The negotiations might continue for another month! I shall go mad. Write back soon, dearest, and take my mind away from such things. In the meantime, please take care, and send my regards to everyone.

Love to you, Cumulo and Kilai.

Your lonely, spinsterish sister,

Milluqua

Mhysra folded her letter and grinned. She didn’t envy her sister in the slightest; seven months in Nimbys had been more than enough.

“Everything all right?” Corin whispered, filching Mhysra’s history notes. “Is your sister getting married yet?”

“No.” Mhysra tucked the letter under her geography essay and looked busy as Lieutenant Willym walked past. Study sessions were never fun when he was around since he banned talking, smiling or enjoyment in any form. Whispers rustled in his wake, stopping the moment he turned, but the students had become adept at avoiding his notice.

Scribbling about the gently sloping mountains and agricultural yield of the Lowlands, Mhysra kept an eye on the lieutenant. “She’s turned down another three.”

Corin chuckled, squinting at Mhysra’s notes on the reign of King Meryk VI of Scudia and the Jarl uprising of 548 CE. “I’m beginning to think your sister doesn’t want to get married.”

“She does,” Mhysra murmured. “She has someone in mind, but father would never agree.”

“Who?” Corin demanded, nosy as ever. Unfortunately, she forgot to lower her voice.

Willym pounced. “All done, Student Corin? And you, Student Mhysra?”

Since their tutors delighted in giving them more work than anyone could possibly manage, it was obvious that they weren’t. Excuses were pointless, though. They shook their heads.

“No?” Willym drawled. “Then what is so important that you need to shriek about it to the entire hall?” Looming over them, he poked at their papers with his flying crop.

Mhysra bit her lip, worried he would uncover her sister’s letter, since Willym read private correspondence aloud whenever he found it. Not that there was anything to embarrass Mhysra in the letter, but she hated the thought of others making fun of her sister. Thankfully she had hidden it well, and when Willym’s insolent prodding knocked a heap of papers off the table, she slipped it into her pocket.

After he’d disrupted all their things and found nothing but lesson notes, the lieutenant sniffed. “Report to the tanners on Starday. Two bells each. Don’t let me hear another squeak from you.” Slapping his crop against his palm, he stalked off.

Corin grimaced apologetically at Mhysra and they settled back to work in silence. That didn’t mean their conversation was finished. The moment Willym was across the room, Corin nudged a note towards Mhysra. Who?

Biting her lip to restrain a smile, Mhysra scribbled, Lt. Stirla.

Corin masked her gasp under a convincing sneeze. Poor Milli!

I know. Mhysra sighed, putting her geography essay aside and fishing her arithmetic notes out of the mess Willym had made. The sums looked no more appealing now than they had the day before, or at any point during the last quarter-moon, but they were due the next morning.

Lieutenant Hlen was no trouble, though. As long as the students made an effort, he treated them fairly. If they didn’t he looked sad, which was far worse than any humiliation Willym meted out. Dhori shoved a sheet of hints across the table to help her. Grinning, she set to work, while Corin ransacked everyone’s notes for more on King Meryk. By the time the evening bell finally rang, the students were more relieved than usual: the Willym effect.

“What was all that about?” Derrain asked as they left the hall.

“A letter from Milli,” Corin said before Mhysra could reply. “She’s in love with Lieutenant Stirla, but the earl would never agree to the match.”

Mhysra scowled at her. “She isn’t in love with him. They just flirt.”

Derrain chuckled. “That’s what Corin got you two bells in the tanners for? Poor bargain.”

“I don’t mind. They’ll give me stitching.” Due to Corin, Mhysra often had punishment duty. Now that she wasn’t being forced to sew useless samplers and handkerchiefs, she’d found she had quite a skill for it.

“Lucky you,” Corin grumbled. “I always have to cure things.”

“That’s because your attempts at stitching look like a drunk spider fell into an ink pot,” Derrain told her, using Mhysra as a shield against retaliation.

“He’s right,” Dhori said, sidestepping the scuffle. “It’s quite a gift.”

Corin appealed to Mhysra for support, but she shrugged apologetically. “He has a point.”

“And you call yourselves my friends,” Corin sniffed and flounced off.

After she left, Derrain turned to Mhysra and grinned. “So, is Milli really in love with Stirla?”

* * * * *

AS THE STORM season gathered around Aquila, the first-years settled into a regular routine. They flew every day, alternating mornings and afternoons, and the rest of their time was filled with lessons. On Stardays the whole of Aquila flew, the bells calling them out to the eyries without warning. The lieutenants claimed it was good practise to spring a surprise summons, but Corin thought it was torture.

“They watch me, they must do, because the moment I go to the privy the bell rings and I’m stuck with my breeches round my ankles!”

Mhysra wouldn’t have put it past Stirla, especially after the third time Corin almost suffered an undignified accident, but she couldn’t believe it of Lyrai. He was too steady, though a lot less stern and humourless now that he had Hurricane. He was certainly better than Lieutenant Willym. Was ever a man more contemptuous? Willym looked down on everyone, but saved a particular brand of disdain for the girls. He was as bad as her father.

Their lessons ranged from geography to cooking, with arithmetic and even smith-work to keep their brains and bodies busy. They trained with staffs before breakfast, followed by swords, then archery after noon, and were sent on runs through the citadel whenever someone felt the need to give them more exercise. Captain Hylan, whose students were in the upper years, particularly enjoyed making them scurry. As one of Hylan’s Riders, Kilai assured them the captain was the nicest, quietest man they could meet. The exhausted students disagreed.

“He does have a twisted sense of humour, though,” Kilai warned, but Mhysra and her friends had already noticed.

Bad weather became so frequent that even Mouse stopped twitching at the lightning. Only Dhori continued to care, his eyes brightest when thunder was in the air.

“You’re unnatural,” Corin complained during Captain Fredkhen’s geography class. “How can you stand it? My head pounds so much I could scream.”

Dhori rubbed her tense neck. “I never claimed to be normal. Who doesn’t love the raw power of nature?”

“Me,” Haelle croaked, head on the desk, in even worse shape than Corin. “I just want one quiet day. I don’t even mind if it rains.”

“I want to fly,” Mhysra grumbled. The storms had been so thick that she hadn’t so much as sat on Cumulo for six days, and before that they’d had just two flying lessons after a three day wait. Their current lessons were confined to the eyries where everyone was taught how to feed and care for their miryhl, with loud, unimpressed huffs from Cumulo helping to keep things interesting.

“I thought you liked thunderstorms?” Derrain said, copying the map from the blackboard.

“So did I,” Mhysra agreed. “Until I moved into one.”

“You’re no fun,” Dhori sighed, staring out of the window at the rain-lashed mountain.

“I never claimed to be,” Corin replied, and groaned as thunder rolled once more.

~ Next Chapter ~

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Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 20, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch20.1.jpg

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Only five more chapters to go! The end is nigh… ish.

This is another three parter this week too as life in Aquila continues apace. Time for some long overdue sword training.

Twenty

20th Harvest

What had started as a normal staff practise in the drizzly autumn air, swiftly turned into something quite different when Captain Myran appeared. “Come with me,” he said and led them to the barn at the end of the field. It was empty except for the benches and equipment stacked against the wall. On the far side, an open door revealed a creaking waterwheel and somewhere nearby metal was being beaten in time to its thumps.

As the students filed inside, footsteps crunching over the sandy floor and drowning out the waterwheel with their curious chatter, the hammering stopped. Silence fell as two men entered. Neither were tall, though both had broad, muscular shoulders, ruddy brown faces and strong hands. One was dark haired, his face soot-streaked and sweaty, while the other had sandy-brown hair and wore a discontented scowl.

Captain Myran cleared his throat. “First-years, meet Derneon Weaponsmith Sohr diDeranon and Gedanon Swordmaster Sohr diGeranon. Your new instructors.”

Nudging each other excitedly, the students chorused, “Good morning, Masters.”

“More students,” sandy-haired Gedanon grumbled. “It is always the way.”

“And always will be, gods and clouds willing,” Derneon agreed, hooking his thumbs in his belt. Unlike his friend, he was smiling. They reminded Mhysra of Hethanon Armsmaster in Nimbys. Clearly all three were Ihran – a people not known for welcoming strangers. Derneon was probably an aberration.

“If we may begin?” At Captain Myran’s suggestion the three men sorted everyone into groups of strength and size. Only one group was different, containing broad-shoulder Derrain, slender Dhori, powerful Jermyn, willowy Haelle and a few other students Mhysra didn’t know so well. She did, however, recognise that they were all the best fighters.

“This should be interesting.”

Studying her own group, Mhysra raised her eyebrows at the boy beside her. He had merry green eyes and a jaw she recognised. He had to be Greig, Lieutenant Stirla’s nephew.

“Any of you picked up a sword before?” Ierali, a Sutheralli girl asked, sounding bored.

The group shook their heads. Swords were for noble lads; everyone else made do with bows and staffs, if they trained at all.

Ierali snorted with disgust. “With any luck they’ll move me up soon.”

“Too good for us?” Alyne had more height than sense, being a redhead of fiery temper.

Ierali sneered. “You northerners do not understand the intricacies of the Land of Light.”

Greig rolled his eyes. “Then spare our tiny minds the burden of explanation, thanks.”

Since arriving at Aquila, the Sutheralli students had found it hardest to adjust. Having all come from the warrior Storm Class of their society, they were equal to the Sky Class of healers, priests and priestesses, subordinate only to the Royal Sun class. This gave them precedent over practically everyone else. At Aquila all were equal, from the lowest beggar to the loftiest duke’s son, unless granted officer rank. Most of the Sutheralli behaved, but Mhysra could understand why this had been an insult too far for Ierali.

“You can’t stop them.” Russet-haired Jaymes smiled shyly. Though he sat next to Mhysra in Myran’s lessons, they had exchanged little more than names. “Once Alyne gets her teeth into something, she’ll go at it for days. We called her Terrier back in Farian.”

Watching the Sutheralli trying to use her height to intimidate the stocky northerner, Mhysra shook her head. “I’m not sure who I should be more worried for.”

“Ierali,” Greig said firmly. “Not even a Storm Warrior can outdo a Northern Red once they get going.” He tugged a clump of Jaymes’ hair.

The redhead sighed. “Don’t judge a man by his hair, lest you be judged by your family.”

“Ouch.” Greig grimaced. “I beg you, never judge me by my uncle.”

“I like your uncle,” Mhysra protested, watching their instructors hand out practise weapons.

Greig blinked, opened his mouth, then shrugged. “You’re Wingborn to Cumulo – you’re addled. I’ll pray for you.” Taking his practise sword from Master Derneon, he skittered out of reach before Mhysra could swat him with hers.

“I will hand you yours first next time,” the smith promised her with a wink. “Why are you making such noise, you pair?”

Jaymes and Mhysra’s eyes met in silent amusement as the Ihran separated the arguing girls.

“Ah, Storm Warrior. How could we forget?” Master Gedanon came over, stroking his jaw, and scowled. “Because we did not. You are poor at staff work. If your sword craft is the same, you belong here. If it is better, improve at the staff. Your past does not matter at Aquila. Pick up your sword and prepare to learn.”

“Remind me never to get on his bad side,” Jaymes muttered.

“He has no good one,” Master Derneon chuckled. “Grumpy, grumpier and annoyed. You will learn.” Winking again, the smith rejoined his partner to begin the unenviable task of teaching.

Captain Myran took his leave and the first-years were ordered to face the front. “We begin,” Gedanon said, holding a practise blade in his right hand. “Strike, then block. Like so.

“Strike high.” Extending his arm, he slowly swung the sword down from overhead. “Middle.” He thrust forward. “Low.” He swung up from his feet. “Left high.” He swung from his behind his right shoulder to above his left. “Right low.” He turned and crouched. “Left middle. Right middle.” He twisted from side to side. “Right high. Left low.” Mirroring the earlier strikes. “Now you.”

Gedanon called the moves and the students followed, some faster than others in their enthusiasm. “No!” the swordmaster shouted. “Slow. Accuracy is more important than speed. The body must learn this new weight and movement. Speed comes later. Now follow.” He led them through it slowly five times before he was satisfied.

“Good. Switch hands.”

The students blinked stupidly and Derneon smiled at their confusion. “A sword is the best weapon against kaz-naghkt. But kaz-naghkt have many weapons. Claws on hands and feet.” He curled his fingers and swiped across the nearest student’s belly, making the boy yelp. “Teeth.” He snapped at a girl and she squeaked. “Spurs on the wings.” He jabbed his fingers at two more students, grinning when they flinched. “Kaz-naghkt have weapons all over.”

“You must fight on all sides,” Gedanon agreed. “Switch hands.”

The students obeyed dubiously and repeated the strikes with varying measures of success. Yelps sounded as students were whacked on heads, shoulders and knees. Poor Mouse was bashed on the head by both of his neighbours when he swung too wildly once too often.

When Gedanon had led them through it more than ten times and the collisions had stopped, he told them to switch back, then introduced the blocks designed to hold off various strikes. When he was satisfied that they could manage with both hands, he paired them up.

“Right side strike, left block. Go slowly. Ready? High. Middle. Low.” After a few false starts and many bashed fingers, the students fell into a steady rhythm, keeping pace with the swordmaster’s voice and the clack of the swords. “Left side strike, right block.” They swapped roles and both masters walked around, adjusting stances and holds, raising arms or lowering them, bending elbows and knees. After the excitement Mhysra had felt at finally getting her hands on a sword it was disappointing, boring and painful.

“My arms!” Greig moaned after they were dismissed. “They feel like string.”

“String?” Mhysra grimaced, flexing her wrists and rolling her stiff shoulders. “Lucky you. I can’t even feel mine.”

“You’re so feeble.” Bright-eyed and with a spring in his step, Derrain rubbed her shoulders. “As if all these months of regular training haven’t built you up.”

“They haven’t,” Greig, Mhysra, Mouse and Corin chorused.

Sharing a glance with Dhori, Derrain shook his head. “You are such disappointments to me.”

Chuckling, Corin jumped up and ruffled his hair. “You’ll get over it.”

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 19, Part 3

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch19.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Story time! (Also known as a history lesson. I wish Myran had taught me.)

AFTER EVERYONE HAD completed the course, Lyrai made them fly laps while he conferred with Honra. Mhysra and her friends eyed them warily, wondering what they were up to, but the bell sounded before any nasty surprises could be sprung. Dismissing them to the eyries, the lieutenant warned that he’d see them again the next afternoon.

“We have to fly every day?” Mouse groaned, when they reached the eyries for their first lesson in miryhl care, thanks to the eyrie attendants.

“Every day,” Corin agreed with far more enthusiasm, but then she hadn’t fallen off.

“You’ll get used to it,” Mhysra promised. “Once your body adjusts.”

“I’m not sure my body was built for those kind of adjustments,” Derrain grumbled, wincing as he straightened his breeches. “I’m too old for these fun and games.”

“Positively ancient,” Dhori agreed, the oldest amongst them. “But what’s the point of joining the Riders if you don’t fly every day?”

“Precisely,” Mhysra agreed, kissing Cumulo’s beak and taking his harness to the tack room to show the attendants that she did indeed know what she was doing.

It was a sorrowful bunch who winced, limped and groaned their way through the citadel a little while later, when the bell summoned them to another lesson. Guided by an attendant, they headed up the mountain terraces of the western citadel, where all the classrooms, libraries and study rooms were. Three steep staircases later, they dragged themselves across a courtyard flooded with autumn sunlight and in through an open door.

The other half of Myran’s students already occupied the back of the room, while the captain waited at the front. The new arrivals were too desperate for rest to care where they sat. By the time they settled in the sunlit room, Mhysra found herself beside a stranger. She only had time to smile at the red-headed boy before Captain Myran stood up.

“Good morning, students.”

“Good morning, captain,” they chorused, proving that they learned fast.

He limped around his desk to lean against the front, smiling faintly. “Are you enjoying your first day? I trust my lieutenants are treating you well.”

The half that had been in survival studies with Stirla nodded, while the rest groaned.

The captain chuckled. “Those of you feeling the effects of your first flying lesson be comforted that your fellows will feel exactly the same by day’s end.” Half the class perked up, while the other grew alarmed. “But that’s for later. Now you’re with me. After yesterday I hope you all know who I am, but in any case I am Captain Myran Mylanri, from a little known province in the Lowlands. I’ve been a Rift Rider for more years than I care to remember, twelve of those as captain. And to get it out of the way, yes, I have a limp. It was gained on active service, some ten years gone. No, it does not impair my abilities as a Rider.

“And yes,” he added, noticing Mouse squirming in his seat, “it was a gift from the kaz-naghkt. I hope that sates your curiosity, but if not I will allow you time at the end of the lesson to ask questions. For now, we have other things to discuss.” Reaching across his desk, he turned over the sand timer. “While at Aquila I am not only your captain, but your teacher too. I will instruct you on the finer details of history – general and military, alternating the subjects on different days. We begin with military, specifically the Rift Riders.

“Can anyone tell me how the Riders began?”

There was a long pause. They all knew how the Riders began, everyone did, but that didn’t mean they wanted to be the first to speak up.

Dhori smiled. “Maegla made us, sir.”

Captain Myran motioned for him to stand. “Dhoriaen, isn’t it? From Nimbys?”

“I prefer Dhori, sir.”

“My lieutenants have told me about you, Dhori. Please continue.”

Dhori twitched his shoulders and took a deep breath. “The people of the Overworld were dying. The coming of the clouds had changed life beyond all recognition. There was a risk that humans would die out. A deserved punishment some said, but Maegla intervened. She spoke with the dragons and together they created the first miryhl. The dragons made other winged creatures, but the miryhl was the only one in which the Goddess played a role. As such they are precious to Her. With bullwings, pyreflies, horsats and doelyns to act as beasts of burden, Maegla wanted something more for Her miryhls.

“And so She created the Rift Riders. Protectors and guardians of the Overworld. They would ensure that humans did not repeat the foolish mistakes that had created the cloud curse in the first place. Above all they would be Hers. Forerunners of the storm, swearing oaths of allegiance, honour and servitude to Her above all others. They would dedicate their lives to defending the helpless.”

Captain Myran smiled as Dhori sat down. “Thank you, Dhori, a most comprehensive answer, and one I hear rarely. Yes?” he asked, as another student raised her hand.

“I heard that the kings of the Overworld created the Rift Riders.”

“Stand up please,” Myran urged the girl. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Lerya sa Nanya, sir, from Scudia, sir.”

“Please continue, Lerya.”

“Well, when the clouds came the humans struggled to survive. When things got desperate they sent to the gods for help. That’s where the miryhls came from, and pyreflies, horsats and so on.” She nodded at Dhori. “But wars were fought for control of these creatures, pitching mountain against mountain, range against range, all vying to own these marvellous beasts. Things became desperate, people were dying and the dragons refused to breed more winged animals, so the kings came together in a grand treaty.

“The Rift Riders were created to oversee the Overworld, owing allegiance to all, but to no single nation. Maegla became the patroness because of Her role in the creation of the miryhls. So I heard.”

“Thank you, Lerya.” Captain Myran motioned for her to sit. “So we have two versions – one concerning Maegla, the other unnamed kings from long ago. Has anyone else heard differently?”

He smiled as hands went up all over the room. As each of them were given a chance to speak, Mhysra’s head began to pound. There seemed to be a different story for each region and three versions from Imercian alone. They varied between the people asking for help – or kings, or war chiefs, or religious leaders – to a lone hero venturing into the Dragonlands to steal the secret of the miryhls from their closely guarded nests.

The debate grew heated, students rushed to defend their version from the encroachments of others. Ancient rivalries and grudges between ranges were stirred up; those from Imercian ganged up against those of Etheria; Lansbrig residents sneered at the Mistrunans; the Sutheralli dismissed everyone. Even Mhysra grew annoyed as her Lowland version was dismissed by some of the Storm Peak students. Voices rose, insults flew and the lesson teetered on the brink of chaos.

Until Captain Myran lifted his hand and said, “Enough.” He didn’t raise his voice, but the room still fell silent anyway. Red-faced students sat down, waiting to be chastised.

Settling back against his desk, Captain Myran smiled wryly. “I believe a point has just been proved. I’d ask if anyone could tell me what, but I fear what I might get.” The students chuckled and his smile warmed. “So you all know how the Rift Riders began. Unfortunately you don’t all believe the same story.

“But that’s all right,” he added, when several students cringed. “The Riders began around seven-hundred years ago, when writing things down was not a priority. There are few accounts from those days and they rarely deal with the formation of anything, let alone the Riders. But that’s our history, trying to piece together what happened from the slightest of evidence. Even those sources we do have contradict each other, depending on where they originate.

“My point is, we don’t know how the Riders started, but we do know why. And that why is as relevant today as it was then. To protect. The Rift Riders are far from perfect and there are parts of our history we would all rather forget, but our purpose has never changed. We guard the Overworld and our people from all the threats we face. In days past the enemy wasn’t always clear, but over this last century things have changed. The Overworld is always changing, but the coming of the kaz-naghkt is a change that united us.

“I won’t ask about the origins of the kaz-naghkt,” he warned, before anyone could start. “That’s an even thornier issue than the origins of the Riders. I just wanted to show you that history isn’t perfect. It’s as accurate as we can make it, but our sources are limited and often suspect in provenance. Yet we can learn much from piecing together what we have, and give ourselves a chance to fill in the large gaps of which we know nothing.

“That is what you will learn from me. So, let’s start with something about which there is no doubt. The founding and building of Aquila. Corin,” he beckoned her from the front row, “please hand out this paper. There are quills and ink inside the desks. You’ll be taking notes every lesson, which I hope you will supplement with further reading in your spare time. Notes are important, since they help record what I tell you and also enable you to complete your study work.” He smiled as grumbles rippled through the room, while Corin scurried about.

Silence resumed as the thirty-seven students settled down, quills inked and poised, waiting for him to begin.

Captain Myran smiled. “The year was two-hundred-and-eighteen of the Cloud Era, and the Overworld was in turmoil. Carrayne of Cirrica, head of the Rift Riders, had been assassinated. The Riders were thrown into confusion and the world watched, waiting to see where the feathers would fall. But as the elections for a new leader grew closer, there was increasing pressure from outsiders for the Riders to choose this candidate, or that, who would favour one kingdom over another.

“Out of this chaos rose a young woman, Jhydera, who claimed the allegiance of no land. She spoke of an independent Rift Riders, with no patron or politics, who protected all and favoured none. But where could such a force live? Where on the Overworld could they exist, without risking favouring one over another?

“And so the search for the Riders home began…”

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 19, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch19.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Let the lessons begin!

“GOOD MORNING, STUDENTS,” Lyrai called as he strode onto the flying field for his first lesson early the next day.

“Morning, sir,” the students chorused raggedly from miryhl-back.

“I said good morning, students!”

“Good morning, sir!”

“Better.” He smiled, looking at his nineteen students. They were a pleasant mix from across the Overworld, and he recognised about half. “Some of you already know me from Nimbys and the journey here, but for the rest, I am Lieutenant Lyrai and this is Sergeant Honra. We will be teaching you how to fly.” There was a ripple of whispers and he clapped his hands for silence, startling one student into falling off.

“On your miryhl, Mouse,” Honra called.

The boy blushed and remounted, much to the amusement of the others. While he settled, Lyrai studied the faces before him, their expressions ranging from smug to anxious. He hoped to cure both before the morning was over.

“As you may have realised, some of your lessons will be taken with all of Captain Myran’s students, others won’t. You’re all learning the same things, but it occasionally pays to lessen the odds of students to teacher.” A few people chuckled. “As you get older your lessons will mix with Riders and students from other years. Since you’ll be expected to fight together under the same captain, we expect you to train together too. It should teach you to respect those outside your peer group and perhaps help others less fortunate.

“All of Aquila’s students are Riders-in-training and we expect you to behave accordingly. Treat others as you wish to be treated and you can’t go wrong. After three years your time will come.” He paused to let his words sink in. After a long moment, he smiled. “That’s the serious stuff done. Let’s move on.”

With Honra’s help, he arranged the lines so that he could see everyone. “Introductions.” He pointed to the boy on the end. “Name?”

“Fhyrin fra Fhenlyn, sir.”

“And your miryhl?”

Fhyrin looked surprised. “This is Twister, sir.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Twister,” Lyrai said to the miryhl, who nodded back. “Where are you from, Fhyrin?”

“Seffal Falls in Kevian, sir, and I’ve been flying since I was five.” Fhyrin sat up straighter and puffed out his chest. “My father and two brothers are Riders.”

Lyrai raised an eyebrow at the boy’s cocky smirk. This was one he’d have to keep an eye on. For now, however, he dismissed Fhyrin with a brief nod and moved on, coaxing introductions from the rest, including those he already knew, until he came to the last. “Name?”

“Greig fra Jeign, sir.”

He studied the lad closely. His dark skin and brown curls identified him as Etherian, but there was something about the firm jaw and mischievous brown eyes that looked even more familiar. “Where are you from, Greig?”

“Cyrris Peaks, sir.”

Lyrai smiled, certain now. “You’re Lieutenant Stirla’s nephew.”

Greig nodded warily. “I’m his oldest sister’s son, sir. I’ve only met him a handful of times.”

“Lucky you.” Lyrai winked, pleased when the lad grinned, looking even more like his uncle.

“And your miryhl?”

“Jupi, sir.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jupi. I hope you’ll both enjoy your time with us.” With the introductions over, Lyrai paced back along the lines. “I hope you all will. Now, to work.” Putting his fingers to his lips, he let out a sharp whistle. High amongst the mountain crags, Hurricane screamed.

The students looked up in awe as the miryhl swooped, racing his rippling shadow across the grass. Circling around the field, Hurricane made sure everyone had a chance to see how huge and magnificent he was before he landed. Wings closed, he raised his head, marble feathers gleaming in the sunlight.

“This is Hurricane,” Lyrai introduced mildly.

Even Fhyrin looked lost for words as the students gazed at the impressive eagle, even those who’d seen him before. The miryhls all straightened, trying to look more impressive, except for a muttering Cumulo who raked his talons across the grass and huffed sulkily.

Lyrai chuckled and, using Hurricane’s lowered wing as a step, settled easily into his saddle. “Today I want you all to fly this course. It’s just a few small obstacles designed to test your skills, balance and flight craft. It’s not hard. I’ll go first. Watch carefully.”

They glided down the field to the obstacle course. As Lyrai had said, none of it was difficult. Hurricane dipped through the large hoops, swooped over and under the bars, and wove between the poles without Lyrai having to do anything. He just called out the directions – to the students as much as his miryhl.

As they swirled around the last pole, Lyrai plucked a flag from the barrel. Returning to the start, Hurricane landed gently, allowing Lyrai to plant his flag before the admiring – and faintly panicked – row of first-years.

“Well, Fhyrin? Are you going to gawp all day or will you fly?”

The boy looked at the course, back to Lyrai, then at the course again. While Fhyrin might have lost his cockiness, the shier students now gazed at Hurricane with wonder, no doubt dreaming of a day when they could emulate him. Lyrai had always known his new miryhl’s worth far outweighed his size and magnificence.

Fhyrin took off and Lyrai followed, calling, “Honra, you’re in charge.”

Gliding after the young pair, Hurricane murmured, “So this is teaching?”

“I hope so,” Lyrai replied, having only the vaguest idea of the role himself, and shouted for Fhyrin to start. The miryhl responded before the boy. Fhyrin’s nerves showed as he clung too tightly, hunching away from the poles and wobbling. Lyrai wasn’t sure whether to be appalled by the boy’s overconfidence or impressed that he managed to stay on at all. He foresaw hard work ahead.

Hurricane circled lazily above the course. “That’s a good miryhl.”

“Yes,” Lyrai agreed with a sigh, hoping he could train the boy to match as Fhyrin landed, flag in hand. “How come you miryhls do all the hard work, yet still make us look good?”

“That’s our job,” Hurricane chuckled, ruffling his feathers on landing. “You show off with weapons and strut about in shiny boots while we work. You get the glory, we the graft.”

“What do you get out of it?” he asked.

“Undying loyalty,” Hurricane replied tranquilly. “And a laugh when we throw you off.”

Lyrai chuckled and rubbed his bonded’s neck. “I knew there was a reason I had to be nice to you.” Smiling, he turned back to his students and the task of teaching.

* * * * *

DERRAIN SIGHED AS he watched Mhysra and Cumulo sail through the obstacle course, looking more impressive than even Lieutenant Lyrai and Hurricane had. “It’s not fair.”

“Life rarely is,” Dhori said, perched cross-legged on his saddle. It looked neither natural nor comfortable, but his friend was serene. Easy for him, Derrain thought with another sigh: Dhori had already proved he could fly almost as well as Mhysra. It was as though he and Latinym had been bonded for years, rather than a mere half-moon. It was quite disheartening.

“Practise,” Corin suggested. “We just need practise.”

“Fifteen years or so,” Mouse grumbled as Cumulo swirled around the flying field, making the flag in Mhysra’s hand unfurl with a snap. “I’ll never be that good.”

“Few of us will,” agreed Haelle, who had inched her way through the course already. Her black female, Thunder, was the most impressive in their year, but her pale eyes and watchful air made Derrain nervous. “As long as I can stay on in reasonable comfort, I’ll be happy.”

“I’m aiming a little higher than that,” Corin said, watching Cumulo land. “But I’m not a fool.”

“You’re next, Corin,” Honra called, and she smiled weakly at her friends.

“Start counting,” Mhysra chuckled, when Cumulo strutted back into line.

“Why?” Haelle asked.

“I bet Wisp finishes the course faster than anyone. Before or after.”

“Including you?” Mouse was convinced no pair could rival her and Cumulo.

“Definitely,” Mhysra and Derrain said together, grinning.

Mhysra ruffled her miryhl’s feathers. “Cue was too busy showing off to go fast.”

“Hurricane started it,” Derrain pointed out, making Cumulo chuckle.

“Don’t encourage him.”

“Hey, look!” Mouse pointed at where Wisp was already landing. “I barely saw them move.”

“Wisp of the wind,” Dhori murmured. “There won’t be many who can catch them.”

“Good for her.” Derrain flinched when Honra called his name. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck!” his friends chorused as he eased Zephyr forward.

“I won’t drop you,” the miryhl murmured soothingly, taking off. “You can trust me.”

“I know,” he replied. “It’s me I don’t trust.”

Chuckling, she circled, waiting for Derrain to give the signal. Lieutenant Lyrai waved them on and Derrain leant forward. “Go,” he whispered, and she angled into the wind.

Derrain’s heart hammered as cold air struck his face and they dropped to barely three feet from the ground, then lifted up. The moment of weightlessness made his stomach clench, as Zephyr tucked her wings in tight, then flapped again. They were through the first hoop. Another lift, pause, then catch and the second was done. The third took them higher, the fourth low again, but by then Derrain was used to the sensation of his stomach trying to fly free.

After that he relaxed, as they hopped over and ducked under the horizontal bars and wove between the poles. Zephyr took it gently, her flight so smooth that Derrain’s body easily followed wherever hers led. As he reached for the flag, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to sit up. Chuckling, Zephyr took a victory lap before landing and giving him a chance to plant their flag.

“Good,” Lieutenant Lyrai praised, and a warm glow gathered in Derrain’s chest.

He waited for Zephyr to hop back into line before he leant forward to ruffle her luxurious feathers. “Maegla blessed me the day She sent you into my life.”

Turning shy, Zephyr ducked her head and nudged his boot. “I like you too.”

“Not bad for a beginner.” Corin grinned, still excited after her own flight.

Derrain rolled his eyes and smiled. For the first time he felt he might manage this. It wouldn’t be easy, but flying wasn’t impossible either. Not with a miryhl like Zephyr.

“You’ll do,” Mhysra assured him softly. “We all will.”

“Maegla witness that,” Dhori agreed, just as Mouse tumbled off at the poles. “Of course, She may have to help some of us more than others, but She’ll do her best.”

“And it’s up to us to do the rest.” Mhysra winced as Mouse fell off again.

“Nothing like a miracle to start off our training,” Derrain said, leading the cheers as Onyx landed, a flag waving triumphantly in Mouse’s fist.

“Anything’s possible,” Dhori said. “Even miracles. We’ve got three years, after all.”

“Cheer us up, why don’t you?” Mouse burbled, bouncing in his saddle as Onyx rejoined them, the boy clearly ecstatic to have only fallen off twice. Some miracles might take more work than others, Derrain thought, but they’d be worth it in the end.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 19, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch19.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Only a short bit today, since I had to split this chapter into three or give mega unbalanced updates. Which means a Wednesday post! (I’ll try and remember, it’s been a while.)

Anyway, it’s about time these Riders got on with things.

Nineteen

16th Harvest

“It shouldn’t be too bad,” Mouse said, as Mhysra and her friends walked through the eastern citadel. “Two captains and four junior lieutenants, right? They’ll just divide us into two for now. That’s not so bad. Unless you’re last. I mean someone has to be. What if you’re not picked at all? Can they do that? Has that ever happened before?”

Corin jabbed him in the back. “I’ve no idea and I’d rather not know, thanks.”

“I shouldn’t have eaten breakfast,” Mhysra moaned, feeling miserable.

Derrain rubbed her arm. “But you might have fainted.”

“Which would have given us a laugh,” Mouse quipped, ducking Derrain’s swipe as they reached the hall.

Maegla’s Hall was considered the heart and wonder of Aquila by many Riders and architectural historians alike. With its enormous, brass-inlaid doors flung wide to beckon the students inside, it was both an inviting and intimidating sight. As large as a cathedral nave, the floor all dark wood, polished to a high shine to reflect the glory of the ceiling above. Lavishly decorated with paintings of Riders, miryhls, dragons and clouds, its centrepiece was devoted to the Storm Goddess Maegla, patron of the Rift Riders.

At the front of the hall, gilded by the sunlight streaming in through the high windows, stood Captain Myran, his two lieutenants and four men Mhysra had never seen before. From her brother’s descriptions, she guessed the man in the middle was Dean Marshall. Straight-backed, of average height and with greying hair, he had an unremarkable appearance – until he glanced her way. The weight of his power and all of his authority was in his eyes: this man knew what he was doing.

The short, slender man with a cheerful countenance beside him had to be Fredkhen, rumoured to be the nicest captain in the Riders. His lieutenants were as different from each other as men could be. One was of medium height with a stocky build, his brown skin, eyes and hair suggesting Sutheralli roots. His hunched shoulders and constant shifting showed that he was uneasy at being the focus attention, making Mhysra wonder why he was training for captaincy.

The other man looked like a born leader – or at least thought he should be. Sternly handsome, with black hair, bronze skin and dark eyes, he was tall and lean, but he watched the new students with a distinct lack of interest. She could almost smell his contempt.

“Maegla save me from that one,” Corin murmured.

“Unlike you to turn down a pretty face,” Derrain said.

Corin’s smile was wry. “I’m not so blind that I can’t see the beast behind the beauty. Or the arrogance. He thinks he’s better than everyone. I’ll feast my eyes elsewhere, thank you.”

“All the more for me,” a Sutheralli girl whispered. “I’d like a man in need of taming.”

The dean clapped his hands and the snickering students hushed. “Welcome to Maegla’s Hall, friends old and new. Every Half-Year we gather our newest trainees under our wing, and it gives me joy to say welcome to Aquila, students. I hope you enjoy your time here.

“But first we must assign you to a captain. Don’t be alarmed,” he added with a smile. “With a captain you’ll have flurry-mates made up of not just those you study with, but all under your captain’s command. With a captain you become part of a family, of history, of the Riders. This is how it has always been and how it will always be. Over to you, captains.” He motioned them forward, Myran moving with his unmistakable limp and Fredkhen with his hands in his pockets.

“Some do this by rote,” Myran spoke clearly into the expectant hush. “Others choose only those they may have met at the selection schools.”

“We are not those captains,” Fredkhen added with a smile.

“I choose to put my trust in my lieutenants.”

“As do I,” Fredkhen agreed, a little less confidently. “Some decisions have already been made, but our lieutenants will still speak with you. All of you.”

“This is too weighty a decision to be dealt with in an instant.” Myran looked around the hall. “Please be patient.” Turning to his lieutenants, he indicated the students. “Choose wisely.”

Mhysra’s friends looked as surprised as she was. Nothing Kilai had said had prepared her for this. She’d expected to be split into the groups in which they’d arrived and be picked out by rote. Perhaps divided up and selected purely by chance. Or even have her name drawn out of a hat, though she suspected her brother had made that one up. Mhysra wasn’t sure if this method was better or worse than she’d expected.

While Stirla and the other lieutenants set about talking to groups of students, Lyrai headed straight towards Mhysra and her friends, smiling. “No need to panic,” he said when he reached them. “You must know Stirla and I have marked you down for us already.”

“Who have you marked down, sir?” Derrain asked, always the bravest when it came to questioning the lieutenants. Being able to look down on Lyrai probably helped.

The lieutenant checked their group and smiled. “You, Derry. And Mhysra, Corin, Dhori, Haelle, of course. And yes, Mouse, you too,” he added, when the boy stared at him with terrified eyes. “Relax. You all have a very boring day ahead.”

Weak-kneed with relief, Mhysra managed to squeak her thanks before sitting with a thump. Lieutenant Lyrai moved on and her friends settled around her, equally reassured.

“All that panic over nothing,” Corin grumbled half-heartedly.

“Panic’s never for nothing,” Dhori said thoughtfully. “It teaches us something.”

“Like to be wary of Riders like him?” Mouse asked, pointing at the arrogant lieutenant.

“Something like that,” Dhori agreed, smiling.

“Prepare yourselves for more wisdom,” Corin warned. “He’s headed this way.” They all tensed, then breathed a collective sigh of relief when the Rider eyed them disdainfully and moved swiftly on.

“Maegla be praised,” Mouse murmured.

Dhori smiled. “Thanks to halls like this She is, and always will be.”

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

A Bit of Me, Writing

Feeling Off-Kilter

Becca Lusher
Dart Valley Rain 1
Dart Valley Nature Reserve, 12th June 2016

I’ve been feeling a little off-kilter for the last few weeks. Reading hasn’t been the joy it usually is, writing became a bit of chore, I had a run of headaches and was generally feeling rubbish.

This isn’t unusual for me, I’m used to these feelings cropping up sooner or later, but it’s the first time for a while that all things lost colour all at once. I felt a bit like the bluebells in the bottom right hand corner of the top photo, trying my hardest to keep going yet somehow getting overtaken by the super-fast bracken that sprung up from nowhere! Or maybe the oak tree, stretching all my limbs in one direction only to find the sun has shifted to rise behind me.

Dart Valley Rain 3
Dart Valley, 12th June 2016

It’s not so terrible a feeling, and is mostly brought on by tiredness and a general feeling of being run down, but I wasn’t expecting it all at once so it knocked me back a bit.

 

Sometimes it’s a simple thing to fix – a good walk, usually on Dartmoor, often works wonders. So a couple of weekends ago I went back to the Dart Valley, since the weather was showery and I didn’t want to get caught out somewhere high if it turned nasty. I was half-hoping that the foxgloves would have come out.

Wow, was I wrong. Turns out the bluebells are going stronger than ever and the undergrowth has exploded! Here are some pictures from 15th May next to my last visit on the 12th June. It’s like someone jammed the grow switch on or something. Moss, ferns, leaves, go!

Dart Valley 2 Dart Valley Rain 4

Dart Valley 1 Dart Valley Rain 5

It was lovely down there, and this time there weren’t a bunch of campers cluttering the place up so I could get much closer to the water. I’m not very good at sharing my favourite spaces with other people, but one of the best things about this place is that a lot of people don’t realise it’s down there, so it’s pretty peaceful and quiet – when the campers aren’t about anyway ;)

It was even lovelier when the sun poked its head out for a bit.

Dart Valley Rain 7
River Dart, 12th June 2016

I caught a faint shower on the way back up the hill, but by the time I reached the top the sun was blazing and I was startled by a bunch of sheep who looked very unimpressed by me. I would have taken a picture but the ewe was looking at me funny and I didn’t want to disturb the lambs, so I left them to it and decided to clamber down a very (very) steep slope to see how far along the Venn Brook (which flows into the Dart) I could get. I’d seen a picture of a waterfall down there and wanted to try and find it. Well, I think I did, but I wouldn’t recommend it. There’s not much of a path and I didn’t pick the best time to walk it, since everything is growing like mad. Maybe I’ll try again in the winter.

Dart Valley Venn
Venn Brook (not the falls, unless they’re really weedy or those ferns are enormous!)

Still, it is very pretty down there. A proper fairy glen.

And the climb back up was rough. I followed a bunch of hoof prints from the Clydesdale Heavy Horse Adventure rides, and I felt so jealous! I went on a ride with them last year and it was amazing, but I really wished I had a horse, any horse, when I was scrambling back up that slope. Served me right.

Dart Valley Rain 2
Dart Valley, 12th June 2016

Sadly the walk itself didn’t sort my head out as much as I hoped, but putting my fiction reading aside for a few days and immersing myself into some non-fiction definitely helped out on that score. On the writing side, I abandoned everything at the end of last week and watched How to Train Your Dragon 2 instead. I hadn’t seen it for ages and it was a perfect tonic. Add in a few naps and I seem to have recovered my writing zest too. I’m now closing in on the end of the Viscount book.

Dart Valley Rain 6
River Dart, 12th June 2016

At least I was until the characters decided to take a road trip. Argh! Don’t they know how difficult it is to find and read Regency era road maps from Devon to Norfolk on my phone?
I also looked up the symptoms for syphilis, just to stop my Google search history from getting boring. It’s probably best that cocaine usage post-dates this era, else I’d have that research on top, with a little opium addiction for extra colour. At least it isn’t poisons or the best natural treatments for burns and bruises or how long it actually takes to throttle someone this time.

I’m not a serial murderer in training, I promise. It’s all research – er, not that kind of research. Oh, never mind!

Ah well, at least my equilibrium is mostly back, so that’s gotta be good. Even if Google is looking at me funny.

Merry Wednesday, everyone, I hope you’ve been enjoying Midsummer, or if you be on the lower half of the world, I hope you’re enjoying being halfway out of the dark!

(And for those who are interested, new dragons can be found on Starlight Magpie. Along with an Ivy Witch and hares on rocks. If you’re curious, go and see.)

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 18, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch18.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Miryhls and mischief. I love Hylan (just in case anyone was wondering…).

“DID YOU BRING FOOD?” Cumulo muttered, basking by a hatch, surrounded by dozing miryhls.

“Haven’t you had breakfast yet?” Mhysra asked, glancing at her brother who was greeting the miryhl beside hers – his bonded, Cirrus.

“Is that what he’s complaining about?” Kilai chuckled and removed a stray feather from Cirrus’ chest. “The miryhls get fed before we do. They’ll get more at midmorning, noon, mid-afternoon and around dusk. That’s the new ones,” he added, when Cirrus nudged him. “When miryhls first arrive the attendants feed them little and often, in case of delicate constitutions.”

Cumulo snorted and shifted, throwing Mhysra and Kilai into the shade. His stomach rumbled and Mhysra grinned. “Poor boy. Not used to short rations, are you?”

“The Wrentherin birds always feel the pinch when they arrive,” Kilai said, running his hands through Cirrus’ feathers, making her purr with contentment. “Aunt Mhylla overfeeds them.”

Cumulo glared at him, grumbling to Mhysra, “Is he calling me fat? Do I look fat? I’ve been living with the Riders for months, why am I not being fed like one?”

Someone chuckled. Standing on tiptoe, Mhysra peered over Cumulo’s back at Hurricane. He was dozing in the sunshine and eavesdropping. After a moment, he opened an eye and winked at her, before settling again.

“Made a new friend, Cue?” she asked innocently.

Cumulo didn’t reply, though their proximity was answer enough. No dominant male could bear the sight of another unless peace had been established. Mhysra sighed with relief. She hadn’t relished the arguments if Cumulo had decided to be difficult.

“That bird is a brute,” Kilai murmured, and Mhysra raised her eyebrows. “Hurricane. Unusual colours, but the size of him.” He whistled in approval. “Can’t wait to see him and Lyrai in action. The Riders really felt his loss when Froth retired. Good to have him back.”

When Cumulo shot Kilai a sour look, the Rider grinned. “No need for jealousy, Cue. You’re perfect, but I know you. And before you complain you’re wasting away for want of a proper meal, remember that your new friend is going through the same. Even if he is Lieutenant Lyrai’s.”

Cumulo perked up and looked at Hurricane. The marble miryhl didn’t even twitch, just kept on basking serene as a cat. When everyone stopped staring at him, he winked at Mhysra again, making her grin. She liked Hurricane; he would be good for Cumulo.

While waiting for the others to finish checking their miryhls, Mhysra perched on the edge of the hatch and rested against Cumulo. Lounging in the sun with her miryhl at her back, it was easy to forget that it was autumn and Aquila would soon be buried in storms.

“Pretty thing,” Kilai said, stroking the nakhound by his feet. Bumble wagged her tail, raised a wing and flopped over to present her belly for a tickle. Chuckling, Kilai complied, looking up at Mhysra from beneath his curls. “One of mine. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Don’t blame me,” she protested, knowing how possessive her brother could be. “She picked me when she was barely a moon old. I never encouraged her. I even left her behind, but Aunt Mhylla sent her after me, claiming she was pining. So I left her with Milli every day, but the stupid pup still wanted me. I don’t have time for a nakhound.”

Shaking Bumble’s waving paw, Kilai raised his eyebrows. “What a speech. Feeling guilty?”

“No!” She opened her mouth to defend herself, then noticed that Kilai was laughing. “Brothers,” she grumbled. “I haven’t missed you at all.”

Chuckling, he ran his hands over Bumble, spreading her wings, pulling the silky plumes on her legs, ears and tail. “She’s a beauty. Shame to lose her, but Mhylla knows what she’s doing. And if I can’t give a pup to my own sister, who can I?”

“You’re not taking her away?” Mhysra asked, surprised; Kilai was never so understanding.

His smile was crooked and rueful. “Let me have a litter or two from her and I’ll be content. I’ve never seen such perfect markings on the wings, though her body colours are a bit messy.”

“Messy?” she flared up, defensive of her pup for the first time.

Kilai gave a low growl. “I’m trying to be gracious. Take her and be happy.”

Cumulo nudged her and she took the hint. For all that she complained about Bumble, it was nice to know she could keep her. Something had tightened unpleasantly in her chest at the thought that Kilai might take her back. She glanced at the pup on her feet, surprised to realise that she did want her after all. Until Kilai said it, though, she’d never been able to believe she was hers.

Smiling, she looked around in search of a new subject before he reconsidered his generosity. Derrain waved and she waved back. “They’re done.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Kilai gave Bumble another pat and straightened up. “Best check they haven’t plucked any of their birds bald before we continue the tour. I’ll show you where to leave your pup later. The kennel workers will look after her while you’re busy. Come on.”

* * * * *

THE NEXT MORNING Lyrai took Hurricane out for a brief flight, to familiarise him with their new home, and met up with Stirla embarking on a similar mission. Together they checked their flurries’ miryhls, noting areas of concern before going to find their Riders. By the time they were finished it was midday.

“I could eat a horsat,” Stirla grumbled, patting his stomach as they entered the officers’ mess. “I’d forgotten how hungry real work makes me.”

“Well, look who finally showed up. We almost sent out a search party.” Captain Roumn was his usual charming self. “What’s the matter, lads, new roles got you confused?”

“It’s our first time,” Stirla said meekly, sitting beside Captain Myran. Officers generally ate breakfast wherever they could, but the rest of their meals were served in the mess. “We’re just humble Riders, sir. Can’t keep too many thoughts in our heads at once, it’ll weigh us down.”

“I doubt a thought or two would make much difference to you,” Lieutenant Willym remarked from the opposite side of the table.

“Well, we can’t all be skinny runts,” Stirla agreed mildly, and smiled at the stocky, dark-skinned man beside Willym. “Good to see you, Hlen. Sorry you got the arithmetic job.”

Hlen smiled shyly, only truly comfortable on miryhl-back or with a book in his hands. “B-better than survival. Uphill b-battle you’ve got, from what I’ve seen.”

“If I get too desperate I need only look at my friend here and thank the gods for their infinitely small mercies.” Stirla slapped Lyrai on the back, causing him to choke on his soup.

“You wouldn’t be laughing if he’d just sprayed you,” Captain Hylan told the cackling Roumn, while handing Lyrai some water. He was a big man like Stirla, making Lyrai feel small, wedged as he was between them. But where Stirla was gregarious, the captain was quiet. “Picking up where I left off, Lyrai? All the luck of the gods, lad.”

“You’ll need it.” One of Hylan’s lieutenants shuddered. “Give me history anytime.”

“As if you ever taught a lesson in your life, Brath,” one of Roumn’s lieutenants laughed. “You could fill a library with the things you don’t know.”

“Whereas Nimbys wouldn’t be big enough to hold your lack,” Captain Myran rebuked softly. “Even the best read amongst us could use a little more knowledge, Lieutenant Yordice.”

When Myran spoke everyone else shut up. Though Roumn was older and equally marked by Rider life, there was an air of dignity around Myran, even before a man noticed his limp or heard the story behind it. If family connections had netted Fredkhen for Willym, the mere threat of Lyrai’s had gifted him Myran.

The meal continued in silence until Myran cleared his throat. “How fare your new Riders, Hylan? Roumn doesn’t seem confident about his.”

For once the big man’s smile was smug. “Mine are fine. They’ve been trained as hard as could be without breaking. I’m fairly certain they can fly over a flock of sheep without baulking.”

Everyone looked at Roumn, some knowingly, the rest curious. The cynical captain’s cheeks turned red. “It was only once and it was foggy. Gods blast you for bringing it up again, Hylan.”

Hylan grinned. “Turn and turn about, old friend. All’s fair inside Aquila’s walls. No harm done.”

Fredkhen raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what I heard. Five innocent sheep paid dearly.”

“No, that was Roumn when the farmer demanded compensation,” Myran corrected.

“But still, no harm done,” Hylan repeated.

Fredkhen chuckled. “Except to Roumn’s pocket.”

“It’s good for him.” Hylan grinned again. “And we got mutton for dinner. Very fine it was too.”

“Enough!” Roumn growled. “Yordice, Thylek, round up the others. We leave tomorrow.”

“But it’s Half-Year!” his lieutenants protested, only to be silenced by their captain’s glare.

“We are leaving,” he repeated, and they hung their heads in defeat.

“Don’t be like that, Roumn,” Fredkhen coaxed, as the two men left.

Hylan nodded, sipping from his glass. “Yes, old man, no need to be such a baad sport.”

With a look as scorching as pyrefly breath, Captain Roumn stalked out. The rest hooted with laughter. Stirla was so entertained he reached across Lyrai to shake Hylan’s hand. Even Myran chuckled into his glass. Only Willym was unimpressed, regarding them like mud splatters on his best breeches.

They ignored him and the meal continued amidst splutters, snorts and chuckles as they baaed at random intervals.

A knock on the door was followed by a student wearing a green messenger cap. “Beg pardon, sirs, but Dean Marshall says the North Point ship’s docked. Officers’ meeting next bell.” He vanished.

“Fun’s over, lads,” Fredkhen announced, draining his wine. “Real work starts tomorrow.”

“Best of luck,” Captain Hylan murmured solemnly to Stirla and Lyrai, clapping them both on the shoulder. Then he smiled, an amused glint in his dark eyes. “You’re going to need it.”

~ Next Chapter ~

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