Category: Writing

Free Fiction, Overworld, Writing

Facing the Hurricane: Part 2

Becca Lusher

overworld-short-stories

This is a free short story featuring characters from the Wingborn series.
For more stories and info about the novels, please head here.

Taking place between Chapter 12 and 13 of Wingborn, this is a brief glimpse into eyrie life – and how Cumulo and Hurricane felt on first encountering each other.

Part One was Cumulo’s take on things, now it’s Hurricane’s turn to meet the Wingborn.

BREEZE STRUTTED THROUGH the eyries, confident without arrogance. She didn’t need to preen and fuss or puff herself up to show everyone how important she was. All she had to do was walk and the rest moved aside.

Hurricane tilted his head and watched her move. There was nothing exceptional about her feathers or form, but an invisible mantle surrounded her anyway. Maegla, he wanted to be Breeze when he grew up.

Skipping a few paces to catch up, he followed Breeze down the main aisle to a back corner, aware of the whispers rustling in his wake. He kept his head high, though, and tried not to listen too closely to the words. What few he couldn’t help but overhear sounded curious and complimentary rather than cruel, but he shook them off anyway. A swollen head would be just as damaging as a crushed spirit in the long run.

“Here.” Breeze paused before an impressive looking group, containing two of the largest and shiniest miryhls Hurricane had ever seen.

One was a female who was even bigger than himself. She was pure bronze, with black-edged wings and deep brown eyes that assed him carefully before she shuffled her enormous wings against her back.

“Lyrai’s bonded?” she rumbled, her voice deep and soothing.

Swallowing hard, Hurricane nodded, suddenly feeling his youth and inexperience compared to these birds. The other miryhls he’d met so far had been as young and foolish as himself, but these were Rift Riders, real Riders, with years of partnership beneath their wings. Hurricane had never even carried a human on his back before, only dummies filled with sand.

“I’m Atyrn, Lieutenant Stirla’s bonded.” She leant forward and tapped her golden beak against his. “Welcome to Nimbys. We’ll be seeing rather a lot of each other.”

Hurricane crackled his beak and felt the tiny feathers below his eyes rise with embarrassment. Beak taps were nothing, just a casual mark of affection and friendship. But Atyrn was a lieutenant’s bonded. She’d beak tapped him! He scratched at the floor with his talons and muttered something incomprehensible, suddenly shy in the big female’s presence. She’d been with her lieutenant for years already and now he was her equal.

Unfathomable.

Breeze huffed softly and Atyrn gave a low chuckle.

“And this is Cumulo,” his fellow lieutenant miryhl said, drawing Hurricane’s attention back up from the floor. “He’s even younger than you but, as you can see, just as overgrown.”

Hurricane stared at the glossy brown miryhl, whose feathers perfectly matched the ripe conkers of autumn, and tilted his head. Though just a fraction smaller than himself, this Cumulo was broader in the chest and much more muscular in the wings. Gold shimmered across those same wings as he shuffled them beneath Hurricane’s assessing gaze.

How could this miryhl be younger than himself? Hurricane wasn’t yet twenty years old and had learnt from others on the Thorncrest that he was considered rather young for a male headed to the Choice.

Cumulo straightened up, raising his head as high as it could go, bringing them eye to eye. “I am Wingborn,” he announced defiantly.

Hurricane blinked. Wingborn? He’d heard the stories and rumours and deemed them nonsense. Such a thing could never exist, and even if it did, it couldn’t be anything like as amazing as the legends made them sound.

He studied Cumulo again, seeing how fit and shiny the young male was, and how he already fit alongside the other miryhls, making Hurricane feel weak and skinny by comparison.

He stared his fellow youngster in the eye, reading an uncertainty there that matched his own. A Wingborn was surely as much of a curiosity as a marble miryhl, and likely just as big a target for jealousy as a freshly matched lieutenant’s bonded. They were both new to this life, both strangers in an eyrie full of old acquaintances.

Hurricane relaxed. “Well met, Cumulo,” he greeted, wondering if he dared beak tap his newest friend.

Cumulo bristled a little, drawing back at the slightest forward movement on Hurricane’s part.

Ah, no beak tap then. Maybe later.

Finding himself the focus of both Breeze and Atyrn – not to mention many others in the eyrie – Cumulo huffed. “Well met, Hurricane,” he growled begrudgingly, his golden eyes glowering resentfully at the newest member of the eyries.

Not two days ago, Hurricane would have backed away from such potential hostility, taking himself off to find friends elsewhere. Not this time. He was a lieutenant’s bonded now, he belonged in this eyrie.

Besides, despite their short acquaintance, it was obvious that Cumulo was young and prideful: Hurricane’s arrival had tweaked his tail out of alignment. It would be up to him to reassure the younger male that he was still special and important. It would be a lieutenantly thing to do.

Under the amused gazes of Breeze and Atyrn, Hurricane sidled his way through the group of smaller birds until he was beside Cumulo. Settling down close – but not too close – to the other miryhl, he tilted his head towards him and said, “I’ve never met a Wingborn before.”

Cumulo eyed him suspiciously. “Of course not. We’ve never met before.”

Breeze turned away with an unconvincing sneeze, while Atyrn suddenly developed a fascination for her talons.

Hurricane kept his own laugh inside his chest, letting it warm him as he shifted a little closer to his new friend. “Tell me, is it every bit as good as the stories?” he asked, allowing a bit of his natural scepticism into his tone to temper the sense of awe.

Cumulo narrowed his eyes. “It’s better,” he said shortly. “Flying with Mhysra is everything to me. As I’m sure you’ll find out once you finally carry Lyrai on your back.”

A prickle of possessiveness rippled down Hurricane’s spine at the casual use of his bonded’s name. Of course every miryhl in this eyrie knew his Lyrai better than he did. He would still be the only one to fly with him, though.

Watching him carefully, Cumulo crackled his beak smugly, having evidently noticed the effect his words had had. “Sixteen years we’ve been together, my Mhysra and I. Our partnership is perfect.”

Hurricane sighed wistfully, unable to imagine spending so long with any one human. Lyrai already felt like his and they’d barely met. “I can’t wait.”

Cumulo studied him carefully for a long moment. Then he slowly, cautiously, spread his wing enough to nudge against Hurricane’s. “So…” he began gruffly. “Lyrai, eh? How did that happen? The Choice isn’t until tomorrow. Wanted to stand out and be different, did you?”

It was Hurricane’s turn to feel smug, though he knew better than to let it show. He’d make a friend out of this eagle yet. “With a Wingborn in this eyrie? I haven’t a chance.”

Which was evidently the perfect thing to say as Cumulo’s back straightened once more, his golden eyes glinting with pride. “True,” he acknowledged, a faint chuckle in his tone. “But you make an impressive second. I can just imagine what you and Lyrai will look like at sunrise. Him all golden, you all… whatever you are.”

For the first time since leaving home, Hurricane chuckled at a comment upon his looks. Was it possible that Cumulo was a little jealous of his marble feathers? Well, Hurricane was more than a little jealous of Cumulo’s long partnership with his Wingborn and his prior knowledge of Lyrai, so they were even. “I think I’m going to like it here,” he announced.

Cumulo scoffed with amusement. “Wait until you meet the students first,” he advised. “You may wish to change your mind.”

“Never,” Hurricane said, feeling the truth of it down to his bones. This was where he was meant to be, with these miryhls, with these Riders. Here was home.

Atyrn leant forward and beak tapped him again. “Good.”

Hurricane ruffled his feathers with pleasure, even as Cumulo huffed beside him.

Atyrn beak tapped him too. “Behave, Cue,” she ordered.

He sniffed and tilted his head pointedly away from both her and Hurricane, towards where the rest of the group of miryhls had been watching them with amusement. “Where was I?” he announced loudly.

A small, black male ruffled his feathers and piped up eagerly, “Somewhere up a mountainside facing off against a raging wild bullwing bull, who was about to charge you down and eviscerate you and your Wingborn.”

Hurricane jerked his head back and caught Atyrn’s eye. “But -” he began, until Atyrn’s wink silenced him. Maybe things were different in the north and they had wild bullwings here. In South Imercian, though, they were far too valuable to be allowed to escape – and they’d never charge down a miryhl without having been challenged first.

Ignoring any hint of an interruption, Cumulo puffed up his chest importantly. “Thank you, Kerron, I remember now. So there we were, my Wingborn and I, facing down certain death…”

As the young miryhl settled into his grandiose tale of bravery and danger, Hurricane nestled beside him and let his mind drift. It had been rather a long day, almost as exciting as Cumulo’s tale was turning out to be.

Amused, Hurricane fluffed up his feathers, humming with contentment as Atyrn roosted beside him. Two lieutenant miryhls together in the Rift Rider eyrie, right where Hurricane belonged. It certainly wasn’t where he’d expected to end his day when he’d woken up that morning, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Especially not when Cumulo finally finished his tail and huddled alongside him. A Wingborn on one side, a lieutenant miryhl on the other: Hurricane had definitely gone up in the world.

“Welcome to Nimbys,” Cumulo muttered, now that most of the eyrie was asleep and few would hear him.

Hurricane heard, though, and sleepily reached over to tap his beak against the younger miryhl’s. “Good to meet you too, friend.”

Huffing, Cumulo hunched down and rumbled a low growl in his chest. “I barely know you, stranger,” he grumbled.

Hurricane just chuckled and pressed his wing against the Wingborn. He might not have won Cumulo over completely just yet, but they’d get there. Friendship was inevitable. Hurricane would make certain of it.

~*~

PERCHED AT THE top of the eyries, Breeze looked down over her sleeping flight and nodded with satisfaction. Lyrai was mounted again and young Cumulo had a real challenger in Hurricane. Their friendship and rivalry would settle them both down, helping them to find their rightful places in the Riders.

All was good.

Closing her eyes, Breeze settled down to sleep, confident that all had gone well for another day. She couldn’t wait to tell her Myran all about it in the morning.

Thanks for reading!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Writing

Facing the Hurricane: Part 1

Becca Lusher

overworld-short-stories

This is a free short story featuring characters from the Wingborn series.
For more stories and info about the novels, please head here.

Taking place between Chapter 12 and 13 of Wingborn, this is a brief glimpse into eyrie life – and how Cumulo and Hurricane felt on first encountering each other.

Of course, Cumulo takes it all in his calm, laid-back style… ha! Only joking, of course he doesn’t!


28th Fledgling 786 CE

CUMULO WAS RIGHT in the middle of one of his favourite anecdotes about how he’d once faced down and chased off a wild bullwing bull – though it’s possibly that it wasn’t entirely wild, and the face-off might have arisen because Cumulo had spooked the herd, but details, details – when he first noticed the silence.

Not that silence was necessarily a bad thing. Cumulo loved to wow an audience with his stories, and since his arrival in Nimbys he’d managed this feat on more than one occasion. Which was no small thing, considering his audience consisted of real Rift Rider miryhls, of which he was the youngest by a fair margin. Then again, he was Wingborn, so of course he was a natural leader and superior in every possible way. He was also born at Wrentheria, which made him adventurous and competent in all measures.

But it wasn’t just the silence. No, far worse than an eyrie of silent miryhls, Cumulo had lost their attention.

Allowing his voice to trail off mid-sentence, he craned his head around towards the door to see what all the others were staring at.

Two miryhls. The one on the left was familiar: plain brown and of a middling size for a female. Though she wasn’t entirely impressive to look at, Breeze commanded respect, partly through her age and experience, but mostly because she was Captain Myran’s bonded partner. Even Cumulo had to respect a Rider pair that had been in existence longer than he and Mhysra had been alive and who had a reputation for being completely solid, unflappable and honourable, even through injury.

Only it wasn’t Breeze who’d caught everyone’s attention – it the miryhl who stood beside her.

It was hard to make out much about the stranger, since the light was shining behind them, but Cumulo squinted at the glare cast off the new miryhl’s feathers and already felt himself bristling. The bird was bigger than him and strangely pale.

“Everyone!” Breeze raised her voice just enough to be heard in every corner of the eyrie. “Meet Hurricane.”

The new bird stepped forward and Cumulo wasn’t the only one to gasp.

A marble miryhl. Such a rare and strange thing. Cream and brown and black, mottled and patterned in a way that should never have been so beautiful.

Cumulo’s crest feathers rose, trembling ever so slightly. This eyrie already had a Wingborn – it didn’t need a marble miryhl as well. Too many marvels spoilt the awe.

Seemingly oblivious to the shock her companion’s appearance had caused, Breeze tilted her head towards Hurricane and gave an approving nod. “Lieutenant Lyrai’s new bonded.”

Cumulo’s wings sagged in stunned disbelief and a startled murmur shivered around the eyries.

Crackling her beak with amusement, Breeze looked around at the fuss until her dark-gold eyes finally settled on Cumulo. “I trust you will all make him feel welcome.”

Not in this lifetime. Hustling his wings back into place, Cumulo straightened up and raised his head before anyone noticed his loss of composure.

He was Wingborn, big for his age and with plenty of growing still left to do: he would always be the most impressive eagle in the eyrie. Even one with marble miryhls and officers’ birds in residence.

Not even Lieutenant Lyrai’s new bonded would change that. Cumulo wouldn’t let him.

~*~

“A LITTLE DIFFERENT to what you’re used to, I expect?”

Hurricane stared around at the eyrie with wide eyes and barely managed to nod at Breeze’s amused question. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected while travelling in the hull of the Thorncrest on the way to Nimbys, but it hadn’t been this. All his life, growing up on a small, secluded farm at the far end of South Imercian, Hurricane had been told about Nimbys and the Choice. Raised alongside his clutch mates, he’d learnt from a very early age that his destiny was to become a Rift Rider one day. To be chosen from the flock on the Day of Choice, partnered with one particular human and spend his life defending the Overworld against the scourge of the kaz-naghkt.

Well, he’d already messed that up by refusing to enter the rickety structure that the humans had laughingly called an eyrie. Hurricane wasn’t stupid. He had no wish to die in the middle of the night because a mild wind had blown through the valley and knocked the whole thing down on his head. Not that it really mattered. He already knew he was different, strange and doing everything wrong.

Travelling north on a small, drafty skyship before being transferred onto the Thorncrest, Hurricane had quickly learnt that he was odd-looking, different, strange and not necessarily in a good way. Humans pointed at him and muttered words behind their hands that they didn’t think he could hear. Other young miryhls shuffled away from him, uncertain whether he was sick and contagious or just strange.

Having always been the biggest of his brood, Hurricane had been praised and admired all his life. Back home his strange pale feathers had gone unnoticed in a flock of similar-looking birds. Perhaps his markings had been a little bolder than his fellow fledglings, his pale patches a little brighter, but back home that had been a good thing and it had been the brown miryhls that were strange and different and worth staring at.

Not here. Here he was the strangest of the strange, being stared at by an eyrie full of glossy brown, bronze and black birds, and he was the untidy stranger. Again.

It had taken time to win over the friendship and confidence of his fellow young miryhls on board the Thorncrest. They’d eventually found common ground in their nerves over what was to come and their homesickness. He’d made friends with the small and weak ones, those overlooked by others for being different or less than perfect. It was the first time in his life that Hurricane had been deemed less, but he’d adapted quickly enough. His size had made him an object of jealousy amongst some, his mottled feathers a subject of ridicule to others, but he’d risen above it, confident that his good qualities would still shine through when the Choice came.

Then he’d arrived in Nimbys.

He’d never seen a city before, had never imagined so many houses or people could exist all clustered together in such a way. Flying above the streets with the rest of the miryhls, he’d been overwhelmed to be part of such a large flock. Everything was too noisy, the air tasted different, the smaller birds had crowded against him and he’d struggled to find a space to land on the field below.

Where the temporary eyrie was waiting.

The other birds had been so excited and nervous that they’d allowed themselves to be herded straight into the death trap.

Hurricane had refused.

Rift Riders had converged to coax him. Already nervy and overwhelmed, there had been too many people trying to get close to him. He’d panicked and lashed out – so they’d tried to move him by force.

That hadn’t gone well. Nothing about this journey north had gone well.

Which was how he’d ended up half-bound, flat on the floor, snarling and slashing like a wild beast. All his training, all his dreams, everything that he’d ever learnt and known had flown straight out the hatch. All Hurricane had known was panic and fear.

Until he came.

Lyrai.

He had gentle hands and a soft voice. He’d been patient and calm. He’d treated Hurricane as an equal, not an animal. He’d set Hurricane free.

It wasn’t how the Choice was supposed to go, but it worked for them. Hurricane could feel it deep down, the sense of rightness settling inside. Lyrai was his.

And he was lieutenant, which really was the gilding on the primary.

Reminded that he’d been chosen already and was now an officer’s miryhl, Hurricane raised his head.

Let them think him funny looking, let them look down their golden beaks at him: it didn’t matter. He was Lieutenant Lyrai’s bonded and he was here to stay.

Breeze chuckled beside him. She was an older eagle and had kind eyes. She didn’t look at him as if he was some odd curiosity. Then again, as a captain’s miryhl, she’d probably seen far worse and stranger things than him in her long life.

“Come,” she urged in her low, quiet voice. “There are some miryhls I wish you to meet.”

I only split this in two because it’s a bit much to read all at once.
But if you do want to read it all at once, then…

Here’s Part Two!

Thanks for reading!

Free Fiction, Writing

A Royal Welcome

Becca Lusher

overworld-short-stories

This is a free short story featuring characters from the Wingborn series.
For more stories and info about the novels, please head here.

Taking place five years before Wingborn, when Stirla is eighteen and Lyrai is not quite sixteen. Both are freshly arrived at Aquila and about to encounter each other for the very first time…

(Thanks to EF for the suggestion. I never would have thought of this one on my own.)

Word Count: 3,500 words. Continue reading “A Royal Welcome” →

Overworld, Serial, Writing

Rift Rider Character List

Becca Lusher

rr-character-list

Because there are a lot of characters in this book, in a variety of locations, I’m providing this list by request. It contains all the named characters in alphabetical order, and will be updated as I go. It’s only a brief summary of each person, so if there’s more you’d like to see/know, let me know and I’ll see what I can do (as long as it doesn’t involve spoilers).

Humans
Adyn – Aquila resident. Regular fighter. Defender of the Heights.
Akavia – Admiral of the Wrathlen Fleet. She has anger issues.
Bhern – Rift Rider student. Male. Third year.
Bovei – Rift Rider student. Male. One of Willym’s bully boys.
Brathyn – (Brath) Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Hylan’s flight.
Canno – Rift Rider. Captain Hylan’s flight.
Cayn – Rift Rider Captain.
Cheth – Aquilan kennelworker. Defender of the Heights.
Corin – Rift Rider student. Female.
Cynek – Rift Rider. Captain Hylan’s flight.
Derneon – Aquila’s weaponsmith and tutor. Ihran.
Derrain – (Derry) Rift Rider student. Male. Mhysra’s best-friend.
Dhan – Rift Rider. Captain Myran’s flight.
Dhenn – Rift Rider. Captain Hylan’s flight.
Dhori – Rift Rider student. Male. All-round mystery.
Eddyn – Aquila resident. Regular fighter. Defender of the Heights.
Faryth – Aquila’s literature tutor.
Fhyrin – Rift Rider student. Male.
Fleik – Senior Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Myran’s flight.
Fredkhen – Rift Rider Captain. Nicest man in the Riders.
Gedanon – Aquila’s swordmaster and tutor. Ihran.
Gerynth – Rift Rider. Captain Hylan’s flight.
Gethyr – Aquila resident. Takes care of the pyreflies.
Ghrov – Captain of the Miryhl Shadow, one of the Riders’ skyships.
Greig – Rift Rider student. Male. Stirla’s nephew.
Haelle – Rift Rider student. Female.
Heirayk – Overworld Sun God.
Hensyn – Rift Rider Sergeant (Brathyn). Captain Hylan’s flight.
High Tempest – High Priest of Maegla, from the Cathedral in Nimbys.
Hlen – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Fredkhen’s flight. Shy.
Honra – Rift Rider Sergeant (Lyrai). Captain Myran’s flight. Competent and capable.
Hylan – Rift Rider captain.
Ieryth – Rift Rider. Captain Myran’s flight.
Imaino – Senior Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Myran’s flight.
Janoi – Rift Rider. Captain Hylan’s flight.
Jaymes – Rift Rider student. Male. Red head. Silveo’s best-friend.
Jepyl – Rift Rider student. Male. Third year.
Jonais – Rift Rider. Captain Hylan’s flight. Defender of the Heights.
Jym – Aquilan kennelworker. Defender of the Heights.
Jynese – Aquilan kennelworker. Kilai’s lover. Defender of the Heights.
Kilai Kilpapan – Rift Rider. Captain Hylan’s flight. Mhysra’s brother.
Lenfyr – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Cayn’s flight. First woman to come out under the new rules.
Lenik – Aquila resident. Regular fighter. Defender of the Heights.
Lerya – Rift Rider student. Female.
Lithaen – Overworld Sky Goddess. Goddess of Healing.
Lorryth – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Hylan’s flight.
Loyek – Rift Rider Sergeant (Fleik). Captain Myran’s Flight.
Lykano – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Hylan’s Flight.
Lyrai – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Myran’s flight. Imercian Prince (but he doesn’t like to talk about it).
Maegla – Overworld Storm Goddess.
Marshall – Dean of Aquila.
(Lady) Mhysra Kilpapan – Wingborn. Rift Rider student. Female.
Morro – Aquilan Kennel worker. Defender of the Heights.
Mouse – Rift Rider student. Male.
Myran – Rift Rider Captain. Legend.
Nebet – Rift Rider student. Male. One of Willym’s bully boys.
Nehtl – Head healer at Aquila.
Pellyn – Rift Rider student. Male.
Poyl – Rift Rider. Captain Hylan’s flight.
Rallei – Aquilan kennel worker. Defender of the Heights.
Rees – Rift Rider Sergeant (Stirla). Captain Myran’s flight. Surly and unpleasant.
Remfyrd – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Hylan’s flight.
Robyns – Skysailor on the Miryhl Shadow.
Sanna – Rift Rider student. Female.
Silveo – Rift Rider student. Male. Jaymes’ best-friend.
Stirla – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Myran’s flight. Lyrai’s best-friend.
Theryn – Rift Rider. Captain Myran’s flight.
Tullet – Rift Rider. Captain Myran’s flight.
Tulluk – Captain in the Wrathlen fleet.
Typhaestus – Overworld God of Underworld and Death.
Ullim – Aquilan kennelworker. Defender of the Heights.
Willym – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Fredken’s flight. Nasty piece of work.
Wrest – Rift Rider. Captain Hylan’s flight.
Wye – (Wyeland) Rift Rider. Captain Myran’s flight.
Yullik – The creepy bad guy with kaz-naghkt protectors.

Miryhls (and other animals)
Argon – Male. Jaymes’ bonded.
Atyrn – Female. Stirla’s bonded.
Bharli – Boss female of the nakhound pack on the Heights.
Birch – Male. Rees’ bonded.
Bracken – Male. Pellyn’s bonded.
Bumble – Mhysra’s black and white nakhound pup.
Cirrus – Female. Kilai’s bonded.
Cumulo – (Cue) Wingborn. Male. Mhysra’s bonded.
Cyclone – Female. The holiest miryhl on the Overworld. Maegla’s miryhl.
Flash – Male. Honra’s bonded.
Froth – Female. Lyrai’s ex-bonded. Retired, wounded.
Hurricane – (Cane) Male. Lyrai’s bonded.
Jasper – Male. Fleik’s bonded.
Juniper – Female. Fredkhen’s bonded.
Mercata – Female. Willym’s bonded. Vicious.
Pyne – Boss male of the nakhound pack on the Heights.
Risk – Female. Loyek’s bonded.
Rumma – Male. Cynek’s bonded.
Strike – Male. Dean Marshall’s bonded.
Zephyr – Female. Derrain’s bonded.

Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn Character List

Becca Lusher

wb-character-list

Featuring all the named (and relevant) characters from Wingborn, in alphabetical order.

Humans
Alyne – Rift Rider student. Female.
Bovei – Rift Rider student. Male. Arrogant twerp. Favourite of Willym.
Brathyn – (Brath) Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Hylan’s flight.
Brenai – Clerk. Stuffy. Works in Nimbys Flying Corps Headquarters.
Corin – Rift Rider student. Female.
Derneon Weaponsmith – Aquila swordsmith and tutor. Ihran.
Derrain – (Derry) Rift Rider student. Male. Mhysra’s best-friend.
Dhori – Rift Rider student. Male. He’s a mystery.
Fhyrin – Rift Rider student. Male.
Fleik – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Myran’s flight
Fredkhen – Rift Rider Captain. Nicest man in the Riders.
Gedanon Swordmaster – Aquilan weaponry tutor. Ihran.
Greig – Rift Rider student. Male. Stirla’s nephew.
Haelle – Rift Rider student. Female.
Harlan – Selection school student. Doesn’t last. Mouse’s cousin.
Heirayk – Overworld Sun God.
Henryk III – Stratys of Imercian. Lyrai’s father.
(Prince) Henryn – Lyrai’s brother. Heir to the Stratys of Imercian.
Hethanon Armsmaster – Rift Riders Nimbys selection school trainer. Ihran.
Hlen – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Fredkhen’s flight. Shy.
Honra – Rift Rider Sergeant (Lyrai). Captain Myran’s flight. Good man.
Hylan – Rift Rider Captain.
Ierali – Rift Rider student. Female.
Imaino – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Myran’s flight.
Jaymes – Rift Rider student. Male. Red hair.
Jermyn – Rift Rider student. Male.
Jynese – Aquilan kennel worker. Kilai’s girlfriend.
Kilai Kilpapan – Rift Rider. Captain Hylan’s flight. Mhysra’s brother.
Kilren (Earl) Kilpapan – Mhysra’s father.
Lerya – Rift Rider student. Female.
Lithaen – Overworld Sky Goddess.
Lunrai (Countess) Kilpapan – Mhysra’s mother.
Lyrai – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Myran’s flight. Imercian Prince (but he doesn’t like to talk about it.)
Maegla – Overworld Storm Goddess.
Marshall – Dean of Aquila. Legend.
Memlo – Mistrunan guard.
Mherrin – Mhysra’s cousin. Boisterous. Wants to be a pyreflyer.
Mhylla Wrentherin – Mhysra’s aunt. Breeder of the best miryhls on the Overworld.
Mhylo – Mhysra’s older cousin.
(Lady) Mhysra Kilpapan – Wingborn. Rift Rider Student.
(Lady) Milluqua Kilpapan – (Milli) Mhysra’s older sister.
Mouse – Rift Rider student. Male. Boisterous and nervy.
Mullia – Mhysra’s cousin.
Myran – Rift Rider Captain. Legend.
Naelya – Rift Rider student. Female.
Nehtl – Head Healer at Aquila.
Rees – Rift Rider Sergeant (Stirla). Captain Myran’s flight. Miserable man.
Roumn – Rift Rider Captain.
Stirla – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Myran’s flight. Lyrai’s best-friend.
Talro – Mistrunan guard.
Theryn – Rift Rider. Captain Myran’s flight.
Thylek – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Roumn’s flight.
Timpkins – Rift Rider. Captain Myran’s flight.
(Captain Khene) Torven – Captain of the skyship Thorncrest.
Typhaestus – Overworld God of Death.
Ulla – Selection school student. Doesn’t last long.
Willym – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Fredkhen’s flight. Horrible waste of human skin.
Yordice – Rift Rider Lieutenant. Captain Roumn’s flight.

Miryhls (and others)
Atyrn – Female. Stirla’s bonded.
Breeze – Female. Myran’s bonded.
Bumble – Mhysra’s nakhound pup.
Cirrus – Female. Kilai’s bonded.
Cumulo – (Cue) Wingborn. Male. Mhysra’s bonded.
Froth – Female. Lyrai’s ex-bonded. Retired, wounded.
Hurricane – (Cane) Male. Lyrai’s bonded.
Jupi – Female. Greig’s bonded.
Latinym – Male. Dhori’s bonded.
Mercata – Female. Willym’s bonded. Mean.
Onyx – Male. Mouse’s bonded.
Ripple – Horsat mare. Mherrin rides her to Nimbys.
Shield – Male. Bovei’s bonded.
Thunder – Female. Haelle’s bonded. Scary.
Twister – Female. Fhyrin’s bonded.
Wisp – Female. Corin’s bonded.
Zephyr – Female. Derrain’s bonded.

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Rift Riders: Chapter 3, Part 2

Becca Lusher

rr-ch3-2

First time reading? Find out more about the Wingborn series!

~ Previous Chapter ~

Okay, focus. Kilai is still in the Wrathlen, the weather is still foul and there be pirates out there…

Cliffhanger warning! This is also the end of the sample chapters, so heed the warning and don’t swear at me too loudly :) x

BY THE TIME the scouts had returned, the lieutenants had consulted and their plans had been passed along the frontier, it was midday and the rain was lashing down.

“All back to normal after Heirayk’s day,” Cynek grumbled to Kilai as they waited by the cave mouth, their miryhls behind them.

“One day of Midsummer blessings is probably all He can managed here,” Kilai agreed. “This is the Wrathlen. If the gods could change it, you’d think They would have done so before now.”

Cynek grunted, unimpressed by his logic. Most Riders, beyond their devotion to Maegla, didn’t spend much time thinking about gods. Feast days were nice, but beyond that they were just names for ordinary things. Personally, Kilai had always had a healthy respect for all gods – it seemed wisest.

“Kilai, Cynek, Janoi, Poyl, you’re with Hensyn.” Brathyn emerged from the pouring rain, oblivious to the water streaming from his hat and dripping off his bearded chin. “Take it steady. Get as close as possible and avoid notice as much as you can. Stay in close formation and be wary. This weather looks set, but it’ll probably get worse.”

“Storms?” Janoi asked, a Sutheralli former-priest turned Rift Rider who still performed obeisance to Maegla whenever thunder rolled.

Brathyn shrugged, already turning away to deal with the next group. “You’ll have to ride them out. No time for landing and praying. Maegla won’t begrudge you making it up to Her later. To wing.”

Janoi opened his mouth, but Sergeant Hensyn raised his eyebrows in warning. The Sutheralli huffed. “You have no true respect.”

“You should be used to that by now,” Cynek retorted. “How long have you lived amongst us northern barbarians?”

“Long enough for everyone to get used to each other, and for the whole Wrathlen to fly out while we stand here chatting,” Hensyn interrupted before Janoi could reply. “Can we continue this conversation later? It isn’t going to stop raining, no matter how long you put it off. Shift.”

Janoi raised his eyes, muttering under his breath, while Cynek sighed. “It was worth a shot.”

“Aye, and might have worked if you didn’t start a theological debate with him every time it rains,” Kilai remarked, tightening the strings of his hat and checking the buckles on his coat. He was as covered as he was going to get, so mounted up. “Come on, Cirrus. Brace yourself.”

Despite his words, the icy slap of the rain as they emerged from the cave stole his breath. Cirrus emitted a squawk of discomfort, but still managed to take off. The visibility was terrible and he could barely make out the others in the gloom.

“Form up!” Hensyn’s voice drifted out of the rain, but all Kilai saw were shadows where his flurry-mates should have been.

“What can you see, Cirrus?” he called, squinting through the downpour and hoping his miryhl could find their place in the formation. Hensyn was taking point, with Kilai behind to his left and Cynek behind him. There was definitely one miryhl in front, but that was about all he could tell.

“We’re in place,” Cirrus replied. “Janoi to our right. Cynek behind on our left. Sergeant Hensyn in front, with Poyl on the far right wing.”

Sighing, Kilai settled against his miryhl’s back for the flight ahead, relieved that she at least could make out some details in this weather. Relying on her to stay with the others, he hunched his shoulders up to his ears in a futile attempt to keep out as much water as he could. The wind blowing off the Stormwash was bitter, driving at their faces. He didn’t know how the miryhls could stand it.

A screech made him tighten his grip moments before Cirrus banked right and their formation turned. Now the wind struck at an angle, skimming water over and away from them. It was still cold, but not as uncomfortable.

The squall grew worse and soon Kilai was completely blind. Only the flexing and tensing of Cirrus’ muscles warned him when they descended, dropping towards the ferocity of the Cloud Sea fighting against the roiling Stormwash. The miryhls struggled but were too well-trained to complain. Flying low and fast was the only safe way to approach the Wrathlen – in any weather.

The wind roared, filling his ears and drowning out everything but the world’s fury. Gripping tightly as Cirrus was tossed high, dropped and battered from either side, Kilai stared ahead. Thanks to the turbulent air, the visibility was better and he could see the others fighting to hold formation. Ahead of them, looming across the whole horizon, the Wrathlen beckoned.

Then, without word or warning, Hensyn shot up, leaving the rest to follow. The surface of the black rocks was barely a wingspan away as they swooped up the face of it, breaking over the top without raising any alarms.

Empty.

The heavy rain drifted in misty clumps, leaving clear patches in between. To the uninitiated it was an desolate wasteland, riddled with cracks and battered by the elements. There was nothing to see. Hensyn waved for them to keep rising and remain on guard. A glance over his shoulders assured Kilai that both Cynek and Poyl had their bows ready. When he saw the sergeant reach for his, he copied. Although he was an indifferent archer, he still felt more secure with a weapon in his hand.

Soaring into a rain cloud, Kilai and his companions did their best to protect their bow strings from the damp, muttering curses as yet more water crept under clothes and feathers. Then they were through. Above the rain, the sky was blue and the sun was shining.

And the Wrathlen was waiting.

“Dive!” Hensyn yelled, before Kilai even understood what he was seeing.

Cirrus obeyed – all the miryhls did – and they were submerged within heartbeats. Dark shadows whizzed through the moisture around him. Off to his right, someone grunted. More shadows zipped past and something thumped hard against Kilai’s back, punching the breath from his lungs.

When the impact knocked him against Cirrus’ neck, she trilled with concern, but he patted her reassuringly, thanking Maegla for the thickness of his flying leathers. A second arrow lodged in Cirrus’ saddle, but he wrenched it free and tossed it away. He whispered another prayer to Maegla, grateful that his enemies were aiming blind.

Below the thick clouds, Hensyn commanded them to scatter. Kilai twisted to watch as Cirrus bolted across the open wastes of the Wrathlen. Poyl darted right, Cynek went straight down and Hensyn circled around, waiting. By the time another sweep of rain blocked the sergeant from Kilai’s view, Janoi still hadn’t appeared.

“Maegla hold him in Your hands,” he muttered, straightening to keep watch for himself.

After the first explosion of speed, Cirrus steadied. When there were no signs of pursuit, she circled cautiously back. “What now?” she asked, barely loud enough to be heard.

Kilai wasn’t sure. Their instructions had been to get as close as possible and find out what was going on. Brathyn had ordered them not to attract notice, but it was too late for that. He needed to find the others, though what he really wanted to do was go above the rain and take another look. His brief glance hadn’t been nearly enough to take in what he’d thought he saw.

Surely there wasn’t a pirate fleet drifting above the Wrathlen. Surely there weren’t so many ships lined up that they stretched across the horizon, with pyrefly swarms darting between them. Surely there weren’t that many pirates here.

Cirrus twitched, twisting to avoid a shadow dropping out of the clouds in front of them. Even unbalanced, Kilai raised his bow and hit the pyreflyer in the back before the man knew he was there. The pyrefly bucked, lashing its heavy tail and blasting fire. Without a rider to restrain it, it didn’t even notice the miryhl in the spitting steam as it thrust back up to escape the rain. Pyreflies, unsurprisingly, hated water.

Any satisfaction Kilai felt at getting rid of their enemy was short lived when he realised that a pyrefly with a corpse on its back would soon be visible to everyone above.

“Cirrus, go!” he shouted, no longer caring for secrecy. He had to find the others and get away. There was no chance of counting numbers or assessing their enemy now.

A second shadow dropped out of the rain, but Kilai’s arrow glanced off this pyreflyer’s shoulder, drawing his attention. The flyer spurred his mount around and shouted an order.

“Cirrus!” Kilai yelled, gripping tightly as his miryhl lifted into the clouds again, the air boiling beneath them. Steam hissed and spat, making their visibility even worse.

Grunting with effort, Cirrus flew on, straining to reach the end of the Wrathlen and the broader confines of the Cloud Sea. Steam erupted on their left, more directly below, and Kilai cursed: they had company.

Heat billowed from behind and Cirrus shrieked, her tail and rear scalded.

“I’m sorry,” Kilai murmured, even as he urged her on, knowing she was exhausted and hurt.

Cirrus stretched out her neck and strained for more speed, then, with a suddenness that stole Kilai’s breath, they were out of the clouds, away from the Wrathlen and over the sea.

All alone.

Or at least the only miryhl in sight. They had company aplenty in the form of five pyreflies.

Kilai grunted as Cirrus fanned out her wings, bringing them to an abrupt stop, before she powered upwards.

Fire raced towards them, but they were already above it. Then, as the pyreflies were joined by three more, moving to encircle the miryhl, Cirrus tucked in her wings and dived.

The pyreflies screamed with delight and descended to the chase, sending out billowing fire-clouds in their excitement.

Whispering prayers and pleas beneath his breath, Kilai tucked himself as close as possible to Cirrus’ neck and did nothing to disrupt her balance. Down on the edge of the Cloud Sea, a miryhl had the advantage, since the turbulent winds filtered through feathers, but caught and tugged on leather-wings. But pyreflies were more flexible and they revelled in the challenge of a chase through rough weather.

Heat singed Kilai’s cheek and he darted a glance back at the three pyreflies following. He looked up, dismayed to see two more keeping pace with broad strokes and more up above them. Ahead there was nothing, just empty, empty sea. He didn’t even know if they were headed in the right direction.

Cirrus panted, her wing beats increasingly laboured, and he pressed closer, wishing he could lend her his strength and take away the tiredness as easily as they shared their fear.

“I’m sorry,” she wheezed, and he held her tighter. “I… can’t.”

“Cirrus,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

Three pyreflies dropped into the space before them, wings spread wide to hold their block, heads raised, necks pulled back. A glow gathered in the mouth of the central beast, daring them to come any closer.

“I’m sorry,” Cirrus whispered, her wings stuttering – then sagged.

Their momentum carried them a few more feet and the other pyreflies opened their mouths, breathing deep to fill their throat bellows.

The world slowed as Kilai experienced a moment of weightlessness. The fires ignited and he began to fall. Cirrus twisted, screaming —

And the world burned.

To find out what happens next
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Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Writing

Rift Riders: Chapter 3, Part 1

Becca Lusher

rr-ch3-1

First time reading? Find out more about the Wingborn series!

~ Previous Chapter ~

Just hanging out with Kilai on the edge of the law-abiding world. He sure knows how to spend a holiday.

New around here? Rift Riders is the second book in the Wingborn series. It can be read as a standalone, but the first book (Wingborn) is available for free so you can catch up easily if you wish to.

Three
Watching the Wrathlen

Wrathlen Edge
24th Sun – Feast of Heirayk
IT WAS THE longest day of the year, the feast of the Sun God, the height of summer, and Kilai Kilpapan was sweating beneath the midday sun, his eyes fixed on a bleak horizon. The Wrathlen was an uninspiring place – flat, black and empty. From a distance it looked like a solid wall of charred rock, but up close it was even worse. Crags, cracks, caves, fissures and faults riddled the surface, creating a subterranean labyrinth filled with all kinds of nasties. It wasn’t surprising that pirates, smugglers, raiders and the general detritus of the Overworld gathered here. It was the perfect hiding place.

Sprawled along the very edge of the Stormwash, it also spent most of the year submerged in clouds and the foulest weather. The inhabitants were welcome to it, in Kilai’s opinion. Except he and the rest of his flight were the ones detailed to watch the place, which meant that they had to put up with it too.

Not today. No, instead of the constant wind blowing in his face, the frowning grey clouds getting ever lower overhead or the thunder snarling menacingly, Heirayk’s day was doing the Sun God proud. Which was unfortunate, because when Kilai had climbed up to his lookout post that morning he’d dressed for storms. No wonder he was roasting.

“I hate this place.”

Lieutenant Brathyn chuckled beside him, using his spyglass to scan the featureless horizon. “Not what you signed up for?”

A four-bell watch behind some scrub bushes on an exposed crag barely topping the surface of the Cloud Sea, staring at the Wrathlen? “Oh, it’s beyond my wildest dreams.”

Brathyn snorted and handed him the glass. “And that’s why I like you. Here, take over, I need a break. Where are those lackwits? That sun’s telling me it’s noon, yet my stomach is all empty. If they’ve eaten my share, I’ll stake ‘em out for pyrefly meat.”

Listening to his lieutenant grumble as he scrambled down to the caves, where the rest of the flight was hidden, Kilai lifted the glass and squinted against the glare of the Cloud Sea. His head pounded from the relentless brightness and his throat was parched. The rocks he lay on hummed with heat, while the scrub bushes above him crackled and shivered, making the most of the rare sunlight.

As he scanned the monotonous view, he wondered how the rest of the Overworld was celebrating. He hoped Mhysra was enjoying herself and that poor Jynese wasn’t being hassled by too many lovesick boys. At least the beautiful kennel worker would approve of what he was doing, even if it did bore him stupid.

“Here you go.” Brathyn returned and took the spyglass back, replacing it with a cold meat roll and a wrinkled apple. “Happy Midsummer. Enjoy your feast.” He poured them both a quarter-cup of wine. “Don’t drink it all at once.”

Snorting, Kilai downed the sour drink in one gulp and picked at his roll. He was too warm for food but knew better than to go without. Reaching for his water bottle, he drained it and felt a little better. “How much longer do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

Mouth full of cold mutton, Brathyn shrugged. “Captain’s gone for advice,” he mumbled. “When he comes back, we’ll know.”

Which didn’t tell Kilai anything new. Things had seemed so exciting a half-moon ago when ships and figures had crawled all over the Wrathlen, mustering forces for who-knew-what kind of expedition. Everyone had braced for action, while Captain Hylan hared back to Aquila to alert the Riders and seek counsel. It looked like war was upon them. Or someone, anyway, depending on which direction the pirates chose to head.

Then it went quiet. In fact, nothing had been seen for a good quarter-moon, and Kilai wasn’t the only one going cross-eyed with boredom. But that was the trouble with the Wrathlen: the quieter it looked, the more dangerous it got. If only because staring at a black and white view for four-bells at a time was enough to make anyone dazed. That would always be the moment when the Wrathlen struck.

“Eat your apple,” Brathyn told him, finishing his own roll. “It’s good for you.”

Eyeing the wrinkled fruit dubiously, Kilai did as he was told, wincing at the sharp taste. “Happy Midsummer,” he muttered, hoping the inhabitants of the Wrathlen were as lucky in their feast as he.

* * * * *

25th Sun
SOMETHING COLD SEIZED his ankle, jolting him from sleep. He raised his head.

“Move out, Kilai,” someone whispered, and the hand left his skin.

Shivering, Kilai sat up and squinted towards the cave mouth. The light out there was pale and watery, hinting at predawn. Inside the cave was a haze of banked fires and smoking torches. He stifled a groan and reached for his boots as the rest of Lieutenant Brathyn’s flurry prepared for action around him.

“What’s happening?” he asked Sergeant Hensyn, Brathyn’s second, who was passing out stale bread rolls soaked in the lukewarm remains of last night’s stew.

“Cynek and Wrest just came off watch saying they’ve seen something. Lieutenant wants us ready. He sent Dhenn to Remfyrd and Lorryth, asking what they’ve seen.”

“What about Lykano?” Kilai asked, naming the fourth of Captain Hylan’s lieutenants and taking a big bite of his roll. The bread crackled against his teeth, where it wasn’t soggy from the stew. He swallowed quickly.

“Gerynth just arrived. Seems they’ve seen something too.”

“Great,” Kilai mumbled, nodded his thanks and went in search of Cirrus.

The miryhls were excited, muttering and whispering to each other, nudging their Riders for news. Cirrus was no different, lowering her head as Kilai approached. He murmured greetings, rubbed her crest feathers and slid her tack into place.

She was a modest-looking miryhl by most people’s standards, but Kilai had always thought her the most beautiful eagle he’d ever seen. She wasn’t the biggest, loudest or fastest, nor were her talons the sharpest, her beak the most powerful or her eyes the keenest. She was a rich brown shade, like most miryhls, with a golden beak and golden eyes, but she had white flecks on her wings and tail that set her apart from most. She was also sweet-natured and patient, and never minded when her Rider got something wrong or there was a pack of nakhounds nipping at her tail feathers.

To Kilai, she was perfect. Even for a boy who had grown up in Wrentheria with a Wingborn sister. Once he’d dreamed of having a miryhl to rival Cumulo, of being the best, fastest and most daring flyer the Riders’ had ever seen, but life and experience had tempered his ambitions. He knew his limits now and was mostly content with them.

Cirrus lowered her head for her bridle and purred in his ear, “What’s happening?”

“Not sure,” he murmured. “This could be it – or it might be another false alarm.”

She huffed, fluffing up her feathers and shivering as he placed the saddle on her back. “Least we’ll get to fly,” she said, preening his hair while he tightened her girths.

Smiling, he scratched under her wing. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

Cirrus raised her head, staring at the cave mouth, the rest of the miryhls turning to do the same. “Messenger.”

Exchanging a worried look with her, Kilai headed over to where Brathyn and Hensyn were talking. He was halfway across the cave when the messenger jogged inside, his miryhl on his heels. Both were soaking wet. Brathyn’s flurry groaned, knowing the bad weather would be drifting swiftly their way: the chance to fly no longer seemed so appealing.

“Sir,” the soggy Rider puffed and saluted. “From Lieutenant Remfyrd. Wrathlen awake.”

“Take a seat,” Brathyn commanded, shoving the soaked man down beside the fire, where Hensyn offered him something to eat. “Seems we’ve all spotted activity tonight.” He looked around his flurry, awaiting his command, and smiled. “Who’s up for a little pirate hunt?”

~ Next Chapter ~

Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Rift Riders: Chapter 2, Part 2

Becca Lusher

rr-ch2-2

First time reading? Find out more about the Wingborn series!

~ Previous Chapter ~

Nice and early this morning. Getting in before I go off in search of more standing stones – which I hope won’t be blocked by frisky giant cows this time! (They had calves, there was nothing to hide behind, some were friendly, others were… not. Wasn’t worth the risk.)

Anyway… Onto the important things, with one important question:

Where is Stirla leading them?

23rd Sun

“THIS IS NOT what I expected.”

Mhysra looked up from watching the heels of the person in front, having been following blindly while thinking over her farewell to Cumulo that morning. Still sulking, he’d ignored her until she had to leave, then engulfed her under one wing before shoving her away. Silly bird.

Shaking her head, she shifted the heavy pack on her shoulders and trudged along the uneven tunnel. It was wide enough for four people to walk abreast, though they marched in pairs, the way winding up and down and side to side, without any clue as to where it was heading. Lieutenant Stirla liked being secretive.

“Are you listening?”

Mhysra blinked at Corin beside her. “Sorry. Thinking.”

“We could tell,” Silveo said, turning to walk backwards, his heels no longer available for Mhysra to follow. “It looked painful.” He winked. “What did you expect, Corin?”

“To fly,” she said, which considering the remoteness of Aquila made sense.

“Even without the miryhls?” Jaymes asked, walking beside Silveo, his red hair looking purple in the lamp light. The small, rough cut crystals emitted a strong blue glow for almost twenty strides and Mhysra had never seen their like before. They flickered into life when someone approached and pulsed in a slow, steady rhythm until the last person passed, then faded into darkness again. Dragon-made, Lieutenant Fleik said. A gift on the founding of Aquila.

“Gods, can you imagine us leaving on miryhls?” Silveo chuckled. “A quarter would fall off before we got two bells out.” He shook his head, silvery hair glowing blue. “You’d all be fine, no doubt, but I assure you I am not ready to die yet.”

“Maybe you should practise more,” Mhysra teased.

“I will when you start getting top marks in arithmetic,” Silveo challenged, ducking as his head brushed the ceiling.

“That’s asking for a miracle,” Dhori murmured from behind, his grey eyes an eerie violet in the glow.

“So is Silveo flying long distance,” Jaymes quipped, sidestepping his friend’s arm punch.

“Children, please,” Corin scolded, and tripped on a loose stone. “This place is unsafe.”

“We’re in the Riders,” Mhysra said. “Why should we be safe?”

“Yes, acclimatisation with danger is of vital importance.” Silveo shrugged at their raised eyebrows. “It is.”

“Anyway,” Corin said, trying to regain control of the conversation. “I expected us to go somewhere by skyship, not end up in a tunnel.”

“Why not?” Dhori asked. “The mountain is riddled with passages. We go down into the caverns every day to bathe.”

“But still,” Corin protested. “Do we know where this tunnel is leading? And aside from the caverns have any of you ever gone inside the mountain?”

“No.” Mhysra wrinkled her nose, shivering in the steady draft that grew cooler the deeper they went. “But there’s probably a good reason for that.”

“Which we’re about to find out. Hopefully. Soon.” Derrain had been trudging quietly alongside Dhori and was behaving far from his usual self. His dark skin looked waxy and he was clearly sweating.

“Are you all right, Derry?” Mhysra asked.

He took a shuddering breath and dragged up a smile. “Fine.”

“He’ll be all right,” Dhori assured her, and she frowned. Derrain was her best friend; if he needed looking after it was her job. She hadn’t known he was unnerved by small spaces. He was fine in the caverns.

She looked at Derrain again, but he was too busy watching where he was going to meet her eyes. “We’ll be out soon,” she murmured.

He nodded tightly without looking up. Since none of them knew where they were going, there was no possible way she could have known such a thing for sure.

“He’ll be all right,” Dhori repeated firmly. It was strangely comforting.

“Good,” she murmured, facing forwards again. Corin and Silveo were still bickering about why they were walking through the mountain. She rolled her eyes and shared a rueful glance with Jaymes. It was never easy being the quiet friend to talkative people.

Dripping water sounded up ahead, loud enough to be heard over forty-odd pairs of feet, as the tunnel curved down and around to the left. Derrain groaned and Dhori whispered to him. Mhysra couldn’t make out the words, but his voice was soothing, matching the tread of feet, the pulse of the lanterns and the splash of water as the path sloped steeply downwards.

“I hope we don’t have to climb out of here,” Corin grumbled, and Derrain cursed.

“Careful, students!” Sergeant Loyek called from somewhere up front.

“Watch your step!” Lieutenant Stirla passed on from the middle.

At the back of the group, Sergeant Rees grumbled something that was too far away to be decipherable. Which suited Mhysra just fine. Her brief smile vanished when she put her foot in a puddle. Her yelp was drowned out by a shriek further forward, followed by more shouts and yips to the rear.

“That’s cold!” Corin squeaked on finding a puddle of her own.

“Better watch your step then,” Stirla chuckled, keeping Mouse company a short way ahead. “We did warn you.”

“He didn’t say anything about freezing cold water, though,” Corin grumbled.

Mhysra hummed consolingly, grimacing as her boot squelched with every other step.

Other tunnels branched off their route, but they stayed on the main path, skirting a subterranean lake, before their way began to climb again. It was just as steep and tiring as Corin had feared, and soon no one had any breath left to talk. Except Dhori, who maintained a soothing murmur for Derrain’s benefit. The higher they climbed, the warmer the breeze became and stronger too, until it was almost as fresh in the tunnels as a walk in the citadel. Derrain’s breathing evened out and, as the tunnel flattened, high spirits returned. Corin swapped places with Jaymes so she and Silveo could bicker more comfortably.

“A perfect match,” the redhead chuckled. Since Silveo was about a foot taller than Corin and pale everywhere she was dark, they couldn’t have looked more different. But they were happy in their arguing, making Mhysra smile.

“Just so long as they don’t unite against the rest of us.”

“Gods save us,” Jaymes groaned.

Then there was light up ahead, natural light, shining from a westward sun with the warmth of mid-afternoon. But Mhysra only managed a brief upward glance before her attention was wholly distracted. Even Derrain, rushing past to breathe in great gulps of unconfined air, registered only dimly. Stopping at the mouth of the tunnel, Mhysra stared.

Flanked by two high, steep and uncompromising cliffs, the valley opened out before her, comprised of long, uneven terraces stepping jaggedly down to the edge of the Cloud Sea. Green and grey and white. Bullwings, sheep and doelyns grazed in high paddocks, nestled on narrow ledges around the cliff face, while small huts and hideaways were carved from the rocks. Crops flourished along the terraces and fruit trees bordered some edges.

A farm. Aquila had its own farm. Tucked half a mountain away from the citadel. Secret and perfect. Dhori and Jaymes stood by her shoulders and she grinned at them.

“A farm?” Mouse questioned, while Lieutenant Stirla counted heads to make sure no one had been lost along the way. “They brought us to a farm for Midsummer break?”

“Well, we can’t have you getting out of shape, can we?” Lieutenant Fleik said, his smile wicked.

Mouse and Jaymes groaned, as only farm boys who had thought themselves freed from the chores of childhood could.

“I can’t wait.” Mhysra laughed, loving the chance to work in the green again after so long in cities and citadels.

“That’s because you’re weird,” Corin said, looking around with the horror of a city girl.

Chuckling, Lieutenant Stirla shooed them away from the tunnel and into the warm sunshine. “She’s not the only one, Corin. I’m looking forward to this too.”

“That’s because you’re cruel.”

He grinned, just as wickedly as Fleik had. “But I’m the nice lieutenant, remember?”

“Gods save us,” the students muttered as one.

Stirla laughed, shaking his head pityingly. “Too late for that, my lambs. Far, far too late. You’re in my clutches now. Ah, what fun awaits.” He clapped his hands, making Mouse and Corin jump. “Come on, tents to set up, food to prepare. Wouldn’t want to sleep in the open tonight, would we? It might rain.” Chortling, he strode off, leaving them staring uneasily after him. “Merry Midsummer and welcome to Buteo, everyone!”

“He’s enjoying himself far too much,” Derrain said.

The others nodded, following after Stirla to begin setting up their tents. Knowing their run of recent luck, it would rain if they didn’t. Merry Midsummer, indeed.

~ Next Chapter ~

Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Rift Riders: Chapter 2, Part 1

Becca Lusher

rr-ch2-1

First time reading? Find out more about the Wingborn series!

~ Previous Chapter ~

In which Cumulo grumbles. A lot. And Stirla does what Stirla does best – and reminds me why I love him so.

And for those who have never been here before: Rift Riders is the second book in the Wingborn series. It can be read as a standalone, but if you’d like to read the first one, you can – and it’s free! Head this way to find out more and for all the links.

Two
Students at Large

22nd Sun
“I DON’T SEE why I don’t get to go,” Cumulo grumbled, his raspy voice a sulky growl.

Smiling, Mhysra ducked out from beneath his wing, where she had been preening him. “We can barely take care of ourselves, Cue. How could we possibly look after all you miryhls as well?”

He huffed, unappeased. “I still don’t see why I can’t come. You’re more capable of taking care of me than of yourself. You’ve had plenty of practise.”

That was true, she thought as she dunked her hands in a water bucket to sluice off the oil and grime before diving under Cumulo’s wing again. United by the shared moment of their births in the mystical Wingborn bond, they were more like twins than military partners. They’d been together for more than seventeen years, seeing each other every day. Their training at Aquila was just the final step in their duty to the world. Unlike the other students, though, no bonding ceremony would be necessary at the end of her three years. Whether or not she had ever set foot in the citadel, Cumulo would still be hers.

Having said that, she was quite looking forward to a half-moon without him.

“It’s not fair,” he grumbled, feathers vibrating to the tone of his voice. Buried beneath his wing, Mhysra felt surrounded by his disgruntlement. “It’s like I’m being punished. Just because the rest are incompetent, doesn’t mean you are.”

Running her fingers through his feathers – from cool skin up the quill shafts to the tips and back again, removing dust and dirt – Mhysra chuckled. “Why, Cue, I do believe that’s almost a compliment.”

He shifted his weight, since he couldn’t shuffle his wings, and crackled his beak. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Grooming you is always a joy,” she agreed, pulling free to clean her hands again. “Especially today.” She grimaced at the brown gunk flaking off in the water. “Have you forgotten how to preen yourself?”

“Why should I bother with you around?” he sniffed. “I’m trying to make you feel useful.”

“Thanks.” She tugged his wing open so she could riffle through his long flight feathers.

“It’s not my fault it gets so dusty up here in the summer. Who would have thought it, after the snows we had last winter?”

Tracing the golden sheen that tipped the bottom edge of his primaries, Mhysra rolled her eyes. “Maybe if you and the others didn’t head up to the north slope so often, where I know for a fact there’s a dust bank you all enjoy, you wouldn’t get so dusty?”

Snatching his wing back, he ruffled his feathers indignantly and muttered about pesky mites and itches.

“You haven’t got any mites. Don’t talk nonsense.” She yanked his wing out again and moved onto his secondary flight feathers, which were a rich brown. When he was clean, his colour reminded her of the conkers she used to collect at Wrentheria in the autumn, where giant horse chestnuts bordered the farm.

Cumulo sniffed. “Of course I haven’t, but one can never be too careful when living with all-comers.” He glared at the other end of the eyries, but the precise recipient of his scorn was lost on Mhysra. Miryhl flock politics was a strange thing.

“Just remember you’re the one who has to clean it all out for a bit, so don’t get too filthy.”

“I can preen myself, you know,” he reminded her, peering over his shoulder as she finished his wing and moved onto his tail.

“That’s something I’d like to see,” she retorted, then spoiled it by grinning. “You’ve got gold on your tail now. Does this mean you’ve finally stopped growing?”

Fanning his tail out, he waggled it up and down to make the gold streaks flash in the sun. “Perhaps. Have you stopped growing yet?” He chuckled at her grimace.

“It’s been a whole month since I needed new shirts.”

“You’re almost as tall as Lieutenant Lyrai now, did you notice?”

“Not quite,” she muttered, not wanting to admit that she had indeed noticed. She noticed quite a lot about Lieutenant Lyrai these days. It was embarrassing, especially when his smile made her flush with heat. He didn’t even have to be looking at her – when he did it just made everything worse. She hadn’t been able to meet his eye since spring. The man must think her daft.

“Shame he isn’t going along with you,” Cumulo said, watching her slyly. “Will you miss him?”

“No,” she replied quickly. And it was the truth. A whole half-moon without going all hot and unnecessary over a smile sounded like heaven. Lieutenant Stirla was a far safer officer to be around. He was funny and she never daydreamed about his wicked dark eyes. Not that she daydreamed about Lieutenant Lyrai, his eyes or otherwise. At least, never on purpose.

Cumulo chuckled, and she realised she’d gone red. “Enough,” she snapped, returning to preening his tail. “You might have all day to stand around and tease, but I don’t. I have to go to the armoury and pick up my sword today.”

Her miryhl stopped teasing and gave a disgruntled huff. “That’s it, rub it in, reminding me again that you’re about to abandon me.”

“I’m not abandoning you,” she replied absently, having said it a lot of late and refusing to feel guilty. As if he would miss her anyway; Cumulo had a nice life in the eyries. Except for when she was preening him, any time spent with her was usually an interruption. He only minded now because he thought he was missing out.

As he launched into his familiar list of sulky accusations, Mhysra ignored him. He was just getting into full flow when she rinsed her hands one last time, grabbed his beak and pulled it down for a kiss.

He didn’t stop talking once.

“I’ll see you in the morning. Try not to fret too much, it just makes you scurfy.”

“Scurfy!” he screeched. “I do not have scurf!”

“You’d better not after all my work,” she agreed, picking up her grooming kit and heading for the tack room. “Behave yourself!”

“I would say the same to you, except you won’t spare me a thought while you’re gone, so I don’t care. It’s not fair. Why can’t I go…?” His low rumbling complaints followed her as she walked away, exchanging nods with dozing miryhls and smiling at any Riders she met. At the tack room she emptied her bucket down the drain, chatted with the attendants and charmed a promise out of one to clean Cumulo’s harness while she was gone.

By the time she trotted down to the bridge, it was mid-afternoon and the sun was blazing over the citadel. Inside the stone halls it was beautifully cool, thanks to the breeze sweeping down from the valley above. Outside on the east bank, students and Riders lounged on the Lawn, but Mhysra headed through the deserted west side. Next stop the armoury, where Derneon would be waiting with her sword and instructions for its care over the next half-moon. With her packing all finished, ready to leave in the morning, all that remained was to find out where they were going…

* * * * *

“YOU’RE ACTUALLY LOOKING forward to this, aren’t you?” Resting his shoulder against the doorway, Lyrai watched Stirla pack.

His friend looked up, eyes bright with anticipation, excitement and mischief. “I remember how it felt the first time we were let out of this place.”

Lyrai grimaced. “Fleik tortured us.”

Muttering to himself as he checked he had everything, Stirla gave a distracted nod. “As was his right. He’d only been made lieutenant the year before. It was his first chance.”

“I’m starting to feel sorry for our students.”

“Don’t.” Stirla added an extra shirt to the bag and stared thoughtfully at a pile of socks. “Four of us against thirty-seven of them. We deserve a little fun.” He rejected the socks.

“Just as long as you keep an eye on Rees,” Lyrai warned, stepping into the room and snatching two pairs of socks to stuff into his friend’s bag. “What if it rains?”

About to protest, Stirla nodded and added a third pair. “Good point. I hate wet feet.”

“You always pack too light,” Lyrai remarked, as Stirla buckled the small flight bag.

“Better than too heavy.”

“Not when it means you haven’t any spare clothes and have to fly for days in wet, filthy stuff, while your feet rub raw in your boots.”

“What a bundle of cheer you are,” Stirla muttered, weighing his bag thoughtfully in one hand. “It’s only a half-moon.” Satisfied, he tossed it on the bed and turned to his supply list.

“A whole half-moon and all you’re taking is three pairs of socks, one pair of breeches, two shirts and your shaving kit?”

“I’ll be wearing another set of clothes,” Stirla pointed out, chewing the end of his quill. “Do you think I can get away with making the students carry my camping gear and food?”

“You’re only taking one set of drawers?” Lyrai asked, unable to help himself.

“I can wash them.”

“And what’ll you wear in the meantime?”

“I’ll manage. Besides it’ll keep Corin amused.”

“Only if you decide to wash both pairs of breeches at the same time.”

Stirla’s grin was disturbingly wicked. “There’s a thought.”

“They are your students!”

His friend chuckled and scribbled on his list. “You’re such an easy mark. I’ll pack a couple more then, mother, if it’ll settle your feathers. But I’m definitely not carrying my own kit now.”

“Drawers are so heavy,” Lyrai drawled. “And you’re such a delicate flower.”

Stirla flexed his biceps meditatively and stuffed the extra drawers into his bag. “Wouldn’t want to strain anything. Anyway, it’ll be good for them.”

“Perks of being an officer,” Lyrai agreed. “Will Rees and Loyek be so similarly blessed?”

“It’s up to Fleik whether he goes easy on Loyek or not. As for Rees…” He scratched his chin as he considered his sergeant, then shrugged. “It’ll be best if someone else carries his stuff. He’ll only make everyone’s life a misery if he has to put some effort in.”

“He does that anyway.” Lyrai picked up the supply list and chuckled. “I am so glad I’m not going with you. A half-moon without Rees sounds like Heirayk’s own heaven.”

“As opposed to the half-moon you’ll be spending with Willym,” Stirla said, grinning. “I’d rather carry my own kit.”

Lyrai looked longingly at the bag on the bed. “Think I could fit in your pack? I mean it’s not like you haven’t got any space.”

“Only if I can get the students to carry it.” Stirla eyed him up and down and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Aye, I reckon Mouse could manage a runt like you.”

“Now I remember why I’m not all that bothered about being stuck with Willym.”

“Ouch.”

They shared a grin, before thoughts of Willym and Rees sobered Lyrai. “You will keep an eye on Rees around the students, especially the girls and the little lads, won’t you?”

“As my sergeant, he’s supposed to be watching me,” Stirla pointed out, since he and Lyrai were captains-in-training. “Though the thought of Rees watching me gives me the shivers.”

Lyrai grimaced. “You know what I mean.”

Recognising that his playful ploy wasn’t working, Stirla chucked his quill on his desk with a sigh. “Unfortunately I do. I’ll keep an eye on the old goat and make sure he doesn’t make anyone too miserable. Aside from me, that is, since it’s his job. Why couldn’t I have someone like Honra instead?”

Having got the assurance he needed, Lyrai smiled. “Because you’re too soft, and your flurry would walk all over you.”

“Whereas you’re too stiff,” Stirla retorted. “And your flurry could use you to board up windows and bridge small rivers.”

“But I ended up with Honra,” Lyrai said smugly, knowing how blessed he was with his easy-going sergeant.

“And now you get Willym too, you lucky thing.” Stirla’s deep chuckle was almost as smug as Lyrai’s had been, but then it was his turn to grow grave. “I hope you’ll be watching him closely too. And that little retinue he’s built up. Some potential unpleasantries in that bunch.”

“Aye,” Lyrai agreed, sighing. Only last month he’d been forced to discipline three of Willym’s students for abusing their miryhls in flight lessons. Two more had been grounded for a half-moon for dangerous conduct during exercise. Since then they’d all been relatively quiet, but he knew better than to believe them cowed. Sooner or later they’d revert to their previous behaviour and he still wasn’t sure what he would be able to do about it. For all that Aquila prided itself on its egalitarian ideals, high birth and strong, wealthy connections still held weight when it came to discipline and punishment – no matter how well earned they often were.

“Don’t look so sombre,” Stirla chided him. “It’s only Willym. If the worst happens, challenge him to a flight duel and beat the little worm hollow. You might not be much to look at, but Hurricane is. The pair of you can fly rings around him. Even Froth could manage that.”

Lyrai smiled. “Willym is quite a good flyer.”

“Not as good as you, though,” Stirla said. “Which means double the pleasure when you beat him in the simplest of tasks. Again. His face when you arrived with Hurricane!” He gave a low whistle of appreciation. “Surely that was worth all those grounded months.”

Willym was more Stirla’s enemy than Lyrai’s – his father’s status protected Lyrai from the worst of Willym’s antagonism, since it might still come in handy one day – but Lyrai couldn’t deny that it had been a joy to witness Willym’s fury when he’d realised who Hurricane belonged to. “Not quite, but it was worth them to catch his first sight of Cumulo and Mhysra together.”

Stirla chuckled gleefully. “True. I’m surprised she’s still here. I’d have expected the old rat to have launched a campaign to get her gone.”

A couple of subtle conversations with Derrain and some mysterious comments dropped by Dhori had informed Lyrai that her friends were looking out for her. “She’s more stubborn than she looks.”

“She’d have to be to have put up with Cumulo for so long,” Stirla agreed, ushering him from the room. “Now, I don’t know about you, but since I’m being relegated to nursemaid in the morning, I could do with a trip to town for a draft or two. Maybe a bottle. You coming?”

Since all Lyrai’s students were having an early night in preparation for their trip the next day and he wasn’t on sentry duty, he nodded. “I suppose someone should hang around to walk you home afterwards.” Besides it was Midsummer.

“Ha! Says Lieutenant Lightweight.”

“Whatever you say, Captain Under the Table in Two Glasses.”

Stirla punched his shoulder. “I’m not a captain yet.”

Thumping him back, Lyrai snorted. “My mistake, Lieutenant One and a Half.”

“Funny. So funny.”

“I know. How you’ll miss me.”

“I think I’ll cope.” Chuckling, Stirla hooked him in a headlock and ruffled his hair until he squirmed free. “Somehow.”

~ Next Chapter ~

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Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Rift Riders: Chapter 1, Part 2

Becca Lusher

rr-ch01-2

First time reading? Find out more about the Wingborn series!

~ Previous Chapter ~

Time to fly!

Not to mention catch up with a couple of familiar lieutenants. It just doesn’t feel the same without them.

MHYSRA LOCATED CUMULO’S tack and limped to her big miryhl’s side. “Ready to play?”

The giant eagle lowered his head for his bridle and rubbed his beak against her. “It’s about time you shared the fun. Just stay on and I’ll keep us out of trouble.”

Setting the saddle on his back and buckling the chest straps, Mhysra snorted. “That’s likely.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he sniffed virtuously, shuffling his wings as she buckled his girths. “You might want to strap yourself in too.”

Trying not to put too much weight on her sore ankle, Mhysra stepped onto his lowered wing, and let him boost her into the saddle. Once in place, she settled her bad foot into the stirrup and took her Wingborn’s advice. For the first time in longer than she cared to remember, she pulled the leather straps out from under the saddle, passed them over the tops of her legs and buckled them either side of the pommel. In terms of safety they weren’t foolproof, but they did offer an extra measure of security. The clips that also attached to her flight-belt she left loose; she wasn’t quite that feeble yet.

When they were fixed, she gathered Cumulo’s reins. “I almost dread hearing the answer, but what have you got in mind?”

Chuckling, the miryhl crouched. “To win, of course.” He sprang into the air, heavy wing beats causing the nearest miryhls to duck. Once he had enough height, Cumulo circled upwards, keeping an eye out for any third-years while waiting for Jaymes and Derrain to join them.

It wasn’t long before the three miryhls were gliding watchfully over the lake. The task ahead was simple: get back to the citadel. The only problem was that around fifty third-years were waiting to get in their way. It didn’t make Mhysra feel any better to know that she and her friends were just an appetiser before the second-years tried their own luck later in the day. Few enough first-years made it to this point, and those that did rarely put up a fight. She smiled, knowing Cumulo had other ideas in mind.

Rising from a crag halfway down the lake, seven miryhls circled. More launched along the route and Mhysra had no doubt others were waiting to ambush them. The challenge had begun.

Mhysra leant against her Wingborn’s back. “Ready, Cue?”

A chuckle vibrated up through his spine as he circled one last time. “Let’s show them how real Riders fly.” Pulling in his wings, he dived towards the lake.

A high scream echoed through the valley, answered by another and another, as three groups of miryhls stooped to attack. Cumulo kept his head down, aiming for the glistening water below. Hunched on his back, Mhysra looked over her shoulder, murmuring their opponents’ positions to her partner.

“This is just a game, Cue,” she warned. “We’re not supposed to hurt them.”

“Nor they us,” he replied, and tilted his wings so that they levelled out just above the water.

The third-years howled as they swept down the wind, arrows and bag-bombs at the ready.

“Steady,” Cumulo murmured. “Steady.”

Mhysra shifted on his back, resettling her weight and trying to ignore the throbbing in her ankle. She watched the nearest miryhls fan into an attack formation, the leader drawing back his bow. Her hands clenched in Cumulo’s neck feathers, wondering what he had planned. Two more students sighted them with their arrows and drew back their arms.

Cumulo arched his back and, with a downward thump of his wings, drove straight up into the formation, scattering miryhls everywhere. Arrows twanged harmlessly wide, startled students yelped and by the time they had recovered Cumulo was gone.

Other groups converged as Cumulo soared above the lake, powering into the wind. Mhysra looked behind and counted six miryhls approaching on the left, four on the right. She called their positions to her Wingborn and he tipped his head from side to side, assessing the competition. Two more groups joined in front, providing a united front of nine more miryhls.

Hunched on Cumulo’s back, Mhysra tried to make herself smaller, while her Wingborn laughed. “A challenge!” he screamed, lifting high as a flurry of arrows shot at them. “Hold on!”

Left with no other choice, Mhysra clung as Cumulo raced above the approaching flock and, as they turned to follow, folded his right wing, tucked in his left and dropped. Rolling twice, he avoided the missiles lobbed in their direction, flung open his wings and flew straight at the nearest miryhl.

Mhysra clenched her teeth and shut her eyes as Cumulo rolled again, breaking the defensive line and scattering his opponents. Her Wingborn was enjoying himself hugely, shrieking and swooping on the other miryhls to make them flee. She couldn’t join in, though, as every sharp turn, roll and unexpected move sent a jolt through her twisted ankle and made her feel sick.

Despite that, the roar of the wind in her ears, the chill of the air racing over them and the sheer exuberance of her miryhl did raise her spirits. Cumulo was so magnificent – how could she not be impressed?

Though younger than those he was facing, Cumulo was big, cocky and brash. Being Wingborn meant he matured faster than other miryhls, and most often kept company with birds of the officer class. It was unfair to pit him against student eagles, even when they outnumbered him. Flock politics meant that they had to give way, something of which Cumulo took full advantage.

Whenever one saw him coming, they were only too eager to move, regardless of their Rider’s orders. It was fine to chase him, but quite a different matter when he flew in their faces. Mhysra laughed at the dismay on the third-years’ faces as their miryhls dodged and almost collided in their haste to keep out of Cumulo’s way.

Such was the chaos that Derrain and Jaymes slipped easily by unnoticed. When they were safe Cumulo swept out of the commotion, leaving their opponents squawking like flustered hens. Giving up on them, with jeers and catcalls, the third-year flocks returned to their perches to await easier prey.

Laughing, Cumulo swiftly caught up with the other first-years, and the three young miryhls rose above the lake, riding the draft through the narrow valley opening and on towards the citadel below.

Lifting her face to the sky, Mhysra felt her heart race in time with Cumulo’s, and knew there was no place on the Overworld more perfect than this.

* * * * *

“MAKE WAY FOR Aquila’s most esteemed and honoured flight instructor.” Lieutenant Willym was at his mocking best when Lyrai entered the officers’ mess for dinner that evening.

“Someone skipped their envy drops this morning,” Stirla said airily, shifting along the bench to make room for Lyrai. “Not to mention feels sore because none of his precious favourites made it home today.”

Grinning, Lyrai shook his head and greeted Captain Myran’s senior lieutenants, recently returned from Nimbys and staying in the town barracks. “What brings you up here?”

Imaino rolled his eyes in Willym’s direction. “Can’t say it’s the company.”

“Likewise,” Willym sneered.

“Stubble it, boy,” Fleik grumbled. “You give me indigestion.”

Stirla chuckled as the other lieutenant’s face turned an unpleasant shade of red. “It seems not everyone is afraid of your father. Poor Willym, having to suffer such insubordinate ruffians.”

The dark-eyed lieutenant glowered, but the arrival of the captains deprived him of any comebacks. Instead he moved to the far end of the table and turned his back, like the sulky brat he truly was.

“Well, that told us,” Fleik said cheerfully, standing up to shake hands with Captain Hylan. “Good to see you again, sir. I thought you were patrolling the Wrathlen.”

“I was,” Hylan agreed, slapping Imaino on the back and ruffling Stirla’s hair. “News brought me back early. Don’t suppose any of you know where I can find the dean?”

“Still in Nimbys, as far as we know,” Captain Fredkhen said, as the servants brought in their meal. “We expect him back any day now.”

“Unless he gets snared for the Midsummer festivities,” Captain Myran added, making his lieutenants shudder, while he stopped at the sideboard to gather a fresh bottle of wine. “Cayn would be grateful for the support.”

“Especially since Lieutenant Lenfyr wants to wear a dress,” Fleik mumbled between mouthfuls. “Not sure how he intends to explain that one.”

“She won’t have to,” Imaino said, sipping his wine. “I’ve seen it. There are so many Kevian crystals on it that the last place anyone’ll be looking at is her face. Even with her dress coat on top.”

“After all these years as a male Rider, it must seem strange to suddenly come out as a woman,” Stirla mused. “Her disguise must have been a damn good one.”

“Or her friends damn good at keeping secrets,” Imaino agreed, with a wink.

“I suppose that now the proclamation is in place, she won’t be the last.” Stirla grinned and raised his glass towards the captains. “Here’s to a brave new Overworld.”

The captains shared a wearied look. “And I thought I had problems,” Fredkhen muttered.

“You have,” Hylan assured him, looking around the room. “We all have.”

“Mysteriousness never suited you,” Myran said, limping across the room to take the seat beside Lyrai. “Unless you intend to wait for the dean to return, why don’t you join us, eat and share what you can?”

Hylan took the space between Stirla and Imaino and filled his plate. “The Wrathlen stirs.”

They fell silent and even Fleik stopped mid-chew. Beyond the walls the sounds of the main hall filtered in, while in the serving room, someone dropped a platter and was soundly chastised for it. Inside the officers’ mess, all eyes focused on Hylan.

“How much of a stir?” Fredkhen asked, voice strained.

“All out.”

“The anticipated target?” Myran enquired, pouring himself a glass of wine and another for Hylan, which he passed down the table.

The other captain drained half of it in one gulp. “My sources have been silent for a month.”

The lieutenants and captains exchanged uneasy glances.

“What do you intend to do, sir?” Fleik asked.

“Speak to the dean,” Hylan replied. “I’ll need more men to watch, hoping that when they move we’ll be able to delay them or send out warnings.”

“Not much of a plan,” Willym muttered from the far end of the table.

“Then perhaps yours should be one of the flurries sent in support,” Myran said, voice cold.

Fredkhen looked embarrassed, but he’d always been too nice for someone like Willym.

The trainee-lieutenant shrugged. “Can’t be any worse than wasting my time here.”

Lyrai caught Stirla’s eye and they shook their heads. Willym never changed.

“I had hoped to speak to the dean on my arrival, but I would have taken the next step regardless.” Hylan drained his wineglass and looked at the captains. “I need your swiftest Riders. We might not know what the Wrathlen plans or where they intend to strike, but that doesn’t mean we can’t send out warnings. Most of the Greater West will be on the alert, but such a force might try their luck on Imercian or down the Stormsurge. This way we can prevent anyone being taken by surprise.”

Fredkhen nodded grimly, while Myran signalled for his senior lieutenants to see to it.

“In the meantime, we wait,” Hylan sighed, toying with his food. He wasn’t the only one whose appetite had vanished. “Merry Midsummer, everyone.”

~ Next Chapter ~

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