Tag: Aquila

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 ~

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 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!

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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 ~

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

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 18, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch18.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Welcome to Aquila! :D

Eighteen

“GOOD EVENING, GENTLEMEN. Please sit down.” Former Flight Commander Marshall was an unassuming man with silver streaks in his dark hair. Having been the dean of Aquila for almost ten years, he’d overseen Lyrai’s training. So when he smiled, Lyrai fought the urge to squirm like a schoolboy, still unused to being called into the man’s office for anything other than a reprimand. “A well-timed journey.”

Thunder snarled as Myran accepted a goblet of wine. “We had fast winds, but only chance brought us in safely. The ships are moored at the caves.”

“Safest place for them, storm or no,” the dean said, waiting for his secretary to pass the wine around before opening the nearest ledger. “How many students, Myran?”

“Thirty-two,” the captain said, nodding at Lyrai to fill in the details.

“Nineteen from Nimbys, sir, eight from Storm Peaks, five from Sutherall. Nine girls, twenty-three boys.”

The dean inked in the numbers. “Thirty-two. A solid number. Made better for the girls’ presence.” He frowned at his ledger. “Added to the twenty-nine from Etheria, ten of which were girls, numbers are holding steady.”

“Any word from North Point?” Fredkhen asked.

“Word, yes,” the dean murmured, twirling his quill. “Thirteen students, including five girls. Hopefully they’ll arrive soon. Weather permitting. The storms are early.”

“More girls,” Rees grumbled into his wine. “What use will they be?”

“They’ve already bolstered the numbers,” Myran pointed out mildly. “If not for the girls this would be a poor year. Fewer are willing to risk their children for the glory of Rider fame.”

Dean Marshall set aside his quill and rubbed his neck. “Original application numbers were up on recent years.”

“How many of those withdrew after the attacks on Kevian and Cirrica?” Captain Roumn asked.

Fredkhen grimaced, which was all the answer they needed. “Two attacks in the Greater West, regardless of the low mortality rate, so close together… One could hardly blame parents for getting jumpy.”

“Because life in the Riders has always been sweetness and light,” Roumn mocked. “What did they think their children were signing up for, the Cloud Circus?”

“Thank you, captain,” Marshall murmured, his soft voice still retaining the power of a commander. “Until you have children do not criticise others about how they care for theirs. It’s one thing to hear of the glory of the Rift Riders, another to be confronted with corpses and casualties. Twenty-nine families of the Greater West have given us a glorious gift, do not scorn those whose generosity failed at the last.”

“We’ll see,” the captain muttered. “Ten girls, remember? Our intake may yet decline.”

“Have you seen any girls in action yet, captain?” Stirla asked, studying his nails.

“I’ve been trapped in this benighted place for the last five years,” Roumn retorted. “I’ve seen plenty of girls, for all that they call themselves boys. It might be refreshing to see how real girls train. Can’t see it’ll do much good, but there we have it. One voice is often lost in a crowd.”

“Wait until you’ve seen them,” Stirla advised. “You might learn something.”

Roumn gave a sceptical snort, echoed by Rees; the two men had always been likeminded. It was why Rees had been reassigned to Myran’s command a few years back.

“A time of changes,” Dean Marshall said.

Roumn shrugged. “I’m glad to be out, if it’s all the same. My penance is paid. Time to take my lambs into the wild, for all the good it’ll do.” He raised his drink in a mocking toast.

“Indeed,” Marshall murmured, closing his ledger carefully. “You may depart at any time, captain. Sutherall and South Imercian are in desperate need of your relief force. Everyone else, make yourselves at home. Lieutenant Lyrai, Lieutenant Stirla, I trust that you are satisfied with your assignments?”

They both nodded. At first Stirla had been sulky over his practical studies appointment – teaching students to survive in the wild, cooking, hunting and so on – compared to Lyrai’s as flight instructor. Both were equally important, but there was glory in teaching others to fly. Since the test flights, though, Lyrai was the one feeling hard done by. Still there were worse things to teach. Probably.

“Good. Myran, are you happy to resume your history lessons? We have Lieutenant Willym for politics and Fredkhen has agreed to undertake geography. His other junior lieutenant, Hlen, will teach arithmetic, with the usual tutors for the rest. The senior lieutenants will be allocated on arrival.”

Lyrai raised his eyebrows at Stirla and smiled. He doubted their old friend Willym had been happy with political history. He’d always fancied himself a better flyer than he actually was. Hlen was quiet and studious, but Lyrai didn’t envy him his assignment. Not that the dean was really asking their opinion. They were Riders who’d been given a task, and so they would do it.

“For now, gentlemen, have something to eat and reacquaint yourselves with the citadel and the gossip. Oh, and lads,” he added, causing Lyrai and Stirla to pause at the door while the captains continued without them. “Welcome back. It’s good to have you home.”

* * * * *

BY THE TIME Kilai reached the girls’ dormitory, Mhysra was yawning. Climbing up and down two flights of winding stairs had reminded her that she’d not slept properly for several days. The walk across the citadel and up another three levels had only made things worse. When Kilai left, all she wanted to do was pick a bed and fall into it.

A clamour of excited yips ended that idea: it seemed that more than her luggage had been delivered. She eyed Bumble balefully as the pup shimmied up to her, wriggling in a way that said she might like to go outside. Soon. Sooner than soon. Or there would be puddles.

“Corin, save me a bed,” Mhysra grumbled, opening the door and shooing her dog out through it.

After a long trek along empty hallways, she finally found someone to direct her outside. Since it was still raining, she then had to haul Bumble onto the grass and hold her in place to prevent her diving back into the dry. Looking pitiful, the pup went about her business and they dripped back inside. Now thoroughly lost, Mhysra wandered until she found more servants to direct her.

“We’ve got to find an easier way out,” Mhysra told the damp pup as she opened the dormitory door.

“Open the window,” Corin suggested, pointing to a bed in the corner beneath said window where Mhysra’s bags had been dumped.

Stepping on the bed, Mhysra peered out at the storm-thrashed darkness. A flicker of lightning confirmed how high up they were. “She can’t fly yet.”

Corin raised her eyebrows and Mhysra had to smile, albeit wearily. Bumble was flitting around the dormitory ceiling in a haphazard style, dripping over all the beds.

“Nakkies are lazy,” Haelle yawned. “They need an incentive to fly.”

“I know,” Mhysra said, changing into her sleeping things, “but pushing her out of a third-floor window seems a little extreme.”

“She’ll bounce,” Corin promised, collapsing onto her bed. “Nice. Feather pillows and a wool mattress. I could get used to this luxury.”

“I don’t care if it’s stuffed with rocks,” Mhysra groaned, flopping facedown.

“Puh. Her first night in Aquila and all she can think of is sleep,” Corin scoffed. “Some Rider you’re turning out to be.”

“Ask me again in the morning,” Mhysra advised, shoving Bumble away as she tried to lick her face and crawl under the covers with her. “I’ll be thrilled then.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Haelle chuckled, but Mhysra ignored her. Burrowing beneath the blankets, she cuddled her pillow and closed her eyes. When that wasn’t enough, she pulled the blanket over her head and the world went away.

* * * * *

“WHAT DO YOU want to see first?” Kilai grinned at Mhysra and her friends, all of them wearing identical blank expressions. “Oh, come on, breakfast wasn’t that bad.”

“Easy for you to say,” Derrain muttered, and the others grumbled their agreement.

Breakfast had been a noisy, chaotic nightmare. Despite having been woken at dawn by the deafening clatter of bells ringing right above their dormitory, Mhysra and the other girls had still been excited about their first day at Aquila. Until they followed their guide into the mess that was the dining hall.

Riders were everywhere, along with students, servants, attendants and all manner of folk that Mhysra couldn’t put a name to. It was chaos. No one sat on the benches, preferring to use the tables or to stand. A debate rapidly turned into an argument in one corner, needing outside intervention to prevent it becoming a brawl. Elsewhere a game of handball was played with bread rolls, while a pack of nakhounds rampaged at will.

Having heard so much about the vaunted discipline of the Riders, the reality was a little shocking. Haelle hadn’t been the only one to decide she wasn’t hungry, while the rest grabbed what they could and ran. The escaping girls had tripped over the retreating boys and decided there was safety in numbers. Which was when Kilai had found them.

“Breakfast is always hectic,” he explained, laughing at their dismay. “Students have high spirits, Riders coming in are light-headed from lack of sleep and the ones going out eat fast. You’ll get used to it. Come on, let’s visit the eyries and see how your miryhls are doing.”

Happy to get away from the chaos, the friends trailed after Kilai. As they walked, he pointed frequently, saying things like, “armoury, practise halls and bath caverns,” or, “kitchens, gardens, servant quarters. Never go there unless an officer asks. Anyone else is tweaking your tail.” Taking a narrow passage, he led them down a steep staircase and out into the glorious morning.

“This is the Lawn,” he explained, stopping to let them look around. “In summer it’s packed, but a little rain, as you see, is enough to drive any Rider away. Mud is not a good look and Riders are so vain.” He patted his black-clad hip and winked at Haelle, who blushed.

The Lawn was a strip of grass along the east bank of the river, wedged between the fast-flowing waters and the citadel. The wider field on the far side lay empty too, used for flying and weapons-practise if the targets were anything to go by. Curving around all, the citadel towered up and back along tiered terraces. The base of the valley was dominated by the river, cascading between two spurs of rock. A broader valley was visible beyond and Mhysra itched to go exploring. Tethered to her wrist, Bumble strained to do the same.

“That’s the lake,” Kilai explained, seeing what held his sister’s attention. “Wait until after the storm season to visit. You don’t want to be caught out by the rain, and at this time of year it either already is or is just about to.” He held out his hand as a gentle mist drizzled down.

Mhysra looked up, confused, since the sun was shining. The peak was shrouded in cloud and their little shower had drifted away from the main mass. She sighed and tugged Bumble to heel.

“Come on,” Kilai urged, walking across the Lawn.

Here were yet more wonders, and Mhysra wasn’t the only one staring at the sprawling giant of the citadel. Towers backed against the mountain, while cloisters and porticos kept watch along the terraces. Weather-bleached stone glowed in the autumn light and the clean, simple lines soothed her. There was nothing fussy about Aquila, nothing complicated or elaborate. It was the home of the Rift Riders, defenders of the Overworld, and it was beautiful. But it was the bridge over the falls that stopped the students short.

Realising he was alone, Kilai turned and smiled. “Quite something, isn’t it?”

What had merely been a port in the storm for Mhysra the night before was entirely different by daylight. The white curve of the bridge leapt from bank to bank, arching over the thundering falls. No longer blinded by rain, she counted three levels beneath the roof and blinked. Most of the bottom row was open to the elements and supported by pillars, leaving a clear view straight through. As she watched, a group of Riders walked across it.

The second level was a blank wall, where Mhysra guessed she had landed yesterday. Above it the third row was marked with more hatches, all of which were closed on this side. A peaked roof covered with slate tiles, glistening after the rain, perfected the image.

“The eyries,” Kilai said needlessly. “For students and two flurries. The rest are in the town, since it’d be impractical to cram them all up here. It’s impressive enough for what it is.”

He set off again, awestruck students pattering along behind, and at last Mhysra felt a frisson of excitement. This was what she had come for. This glory, this magnificence, this beauty. Here was the real Aquila. Not even the steep stairs up to the East Tower were enough to dim her spirits. This was Aquila and she was going to visit the eyries. Laughing with glee, she pounced on her brother and hugged him hard.

Kilai chuckled. “It gets to us all in the end.” Opening the door, he led them back inside.

~ 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 17, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch17.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Aquila, at last!

THE RAIN WAS torrential as the two skyships docked by the eastern spur outside Aquila. Wide caves offered enough room for the ships to wait out the storm in safety and comfort. For the students and Riders, though, the journey continued.

Waiting by the cave mouth with Cumulo, Mhysra stared at the rain and for the first time ever wished she didn’t have to fly.

“You were the one desperate to come,” her miryhl grumbled, as she secured her hat.

She grimaced and ignored him, looking back at the transport being set up for the students. Each boat seated fifteen and was carried by four bullwings. With Dhori and Mhysra flying in by miryhl that left two boats of students and two of baggage, along with thirty free miryhls.

“I’m so glad I’ve got you,” she told Cumulo, scrambling into the saddle as the students filled the boats. None of them looked happy. Nor did the Riders who had to herd a flock of miryhls through the rain.

Only one person looked cheerful: Dhori. Seated on Latinym’s back, the student’s eyes were fixed on the hammering rain, his mouth curved in a delighted smile.

“There’s something not right about him,” Cumulo murmured, and Mhysra chuckled. Dhori was strange, in a pleasant way. Usually she liked storms, but not for flying through.

“You said you wanted more adventure, Cue.”

“Must have been moulting.”

“Riders, move out!” Lieutenant Stirla ordered, and four Riders took off with six free miryhls. Next, Stirla escorted the first boat with Rees in support, then more miryhls, followed by Lieutenant Lyrai and Honra with the second boat. Dhori and Mhysra were with the third batch of miryhls, while Captain Myran oversaw the supplies and remaining miryhls.

She hunched against Cumulo’s back and they dived into the rain. Both winced at the slap of wind and water, but they’d flown through enough bad weather to settle quickly. Dusk was sweeping in as the storm poured down the side of the mountain. Flashes flickered in the gloom, illuminating the white citadel and lighting their way home.

Latinym swept alongside. “Maegla welcomes us!” Dhori whooped as thunder boomed.

“Cracked as an egg,” Cumulo grumbled, flapping hard as the cold waterfall disturbed the air.

With the storm getting ever closer, the miryhls didn’t spare the time to circle upwards and took the harder route flying straight to the top of the falls. As they got closer to the enormous structure spanning the river, Mhysra realised the bridge was riddled with holes. The bullwing boats went over the top, but the miryhls darted through the hatches into the dry, if not the warmth. It was an antechamber to the eyries, where miryhls could be handled without disturbing the rest of the flock.

“Brr,” Cumulo shivered, landing and fluffing out his feathers. “Call this a welcome?”

Mhysra hopped off and Dhori did the same, quickly untacking their miryhls and gathering drying cloths. Rumpling her big miryhl, Mhysra praised his bravery while the storm snarled ever closer. Attendants appeared to take care of the new miryhls and the air was full of greetings between Riders.

“New miryhls, follow me!” a booming voice commanded, even louder than Stirla’s.

Mhysra peered around Cumulo’s wing in time to see a tall Rider climb a ladder into the eyries above. “Better go,” she urged her miryhl. “It’ll be warm in there.”

Cumulo rubbed his beak against her, then flapped after the Rider. Hurricane swooped in just ahead of him and Mhysra winced, hoping Cumulo wouldn’t cause trouble. The rest of the new miryhls jostled after them.

“We’ll have trouble with those two,” someone chuckled, and she turned to the man dressed in an everyday Rider uniform of brown and black. His voice seemed vaguely familiar, his accent crisp with a hint of the Lowlands. Then a flash of lightning lit the room and the Rider’s face.

“Kilai!” she shrieked, jumping into her brother’s arms.

Laughing, he lifted her off the ground. “Welcome to Aquila, brat.”

“Kilai,” she murmured as he put her down, unable to tell him how much she’d worried, fearing he wouldn’t want to know her. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”

“Aye, brat, me too,” he said carelessly, ruffling her hair and picking up Cumulo’s tack. “Come on. I’ll show you where to store this so it’ll get cleaned, then we’ll settle you in.”

Wiping her face and hoping people would think it was just the rain, she shouldered her pack and called for Dhori. Then she looked at her brother again and smiled. “Let’s go.”

* * * * *

THE CITADEL LOOKED just the same as Lyrai followed his captain from the eyries. He stopped when they crossed the bridge, unable to help himself. It was tradition for returning Riders to pause by the great window to look at the view. Straight ahead the mountain ridges fell back, leaving nothing but clouds and sky. Even shrouded by a storm the scene was breathtaking. Lightning snaked across the darkening day and the horizon was a distant line of crimson-tinged gold. Thunder shuddered through the citadel as the sun surrendered to the night.

Smiling, Lyrai bent over the sill and, heedless of the rain, stared at the surging Aquatai Falls. This was the glory of Aquila: a sheet of roaring water tumbling into the cloudy abyss. Buildings clung to the cliffs on either side as though they had grown from the rocks. Lightning flashed, reflecting off the aqueducts that rippled along each street. On the right were the homes of the tradesmen and women who worked for the citadel and to the left were the barracks.

Aquila: home of the Rift Riders. Lyrai adored it.

Turning from the window, he ran a hand over the smooth stone and followed the others. Unlike the new students, off to eat before being shown to their rooms, he had an appointment. Life for students would begin in the morning, but for the Riders work carried on.

“Pleased to be home?” Stirla murmured.

“I’ll let you know,” Lyrai replied, saving his breath for the East Tower. For a man with a limp, Myran moved fast and his lieutenants struggled to keep up, pausing at the top to catch their breath. Lightning flickered, followed by snarling thunder that shook the torches in their brackets. Casting an experienced eye over his officers, the captain smiled and opened the door.

Two men waited inside. “Good timing, Myran?” Captain Roumn greeted; a grizzled older Rider who looked as if the kaz-naghkt had gnawed on him. He eyed Stirla and Lyrai with a smirk. “Think you’re ready to play the teaching game, lads?”

As the lieutenants traded uncertain glances, the other captain came over. “They’ve just outraced a storm, Roumn, give them a chance to dry out before frightening them off.” The shortest man present, Captain Fredkhen was also the friendliest. “How many with you?”

“Thirty-two,” Myran said. “Nineteen from Nimbys, eight from Storm Peaks, five from Sutherall. You came from Etheria?”

“For my sins.” Fredkhen nodded. “Brought twenty-nine. Gods, I thought we’d never make the Choice. We had over a hundred applicants, thirty of them girls.”

As the captains moved off to discuss student numbers, Myran dismissed his followers with a wave. They were happy to be excused and Lyrai led the rush to the fireplace.

“Ah, Aquila,” Stirla sighed, ruffling the water from his hair, while Rees and Honra held their hands towards the flames. “Not here a day and the olds are already boring me to death.”

Watching the captains, Lyrai smiled grimly. “If Fredkhen’s here you know what that means?”

Stirla straightened up and grimaced. “Willym. I’d forgotten and was happy in my ignorance. How did the nicest captain in the Riders end up with him?”

“Patronage,” Rees grunted, lifting his coattails to warm his backside.

“Fredkhen’s family work for Willym’s father, Jarl Yurrayn,” Honra elaborated.

“Figures,” Stirla grumbled. “Does this mean we’re stuck with that pyrefly scat for the next three years?”

They contemplated the thought in miserable silence. “Gods,” Lyrai sighed. “And I thought the students would be the worst of it.”

Before they could get too depressed, the inner door opened and a fresh-faced secretary peeped out. “Dean Marshall will see you now.”

“So nice to be home,” Stirla grumbled, following the captains into the dean’s study.

* * * * *

“I AM NEVER sitting in another boat as long as I live, so help me gods,” Corin vowed, dripping into the dining hall. The stone walls were shadowed in the lamplight, leaving an impression of immense space barely softened by grand tapestries and banners. Five tables marched down the hall’s length, one of which was covered with baskets of food. Simple fare, but warm and close to the fire. The students descended like a plague of half-drowned rats.

“As good a reason as any for joining the Riders,” Derrain agreed, sitting beside Mhysra and reaching for the pie basket. “Fly in all right?”

“Better than you apparently,” Mhysra replied, helping Corin climb over the bench. Her friend was groaning enough to put an eighty-year-old to shame. “What happened?”

“Cold.” Corin’s teeth chattered as she reached for a roll. “Cramped. Idiots.”

“The rain was freezing,” Haelle explained across the table. “And we were packed as tight as a rain cloak’s weave.”

Mouse, however, was jubilant. “Our boat almost tipped over! We nearly went in the river!”

“Since that flows out over the falls, I was not so happy at the prospect as you,” Derrain said. “Remind me never to sit near him again.”

The students bickered as they devoured fruit, pies and cold meats, while warming up beside the enormous fireplace. As they gnawed on the food, many of them studied the gloomy room. It seemed impossible that they were at Aquila. They might easily have been back in at the Rider offices for lunch. Aside from the abundance of stone and atmosphere of grandeur.

“Hey-ho, Derry-o, you made it!” Warm hands gripped Mhysra’s shoulders and she leant back against her brother as he greeted her friends, old and new. His chest rumbled against her head when he laughed at Derrain’s description of the boat ride, comparing their arrival to his own four years ago.

“You never said your brother would be here,” Corin whispered. “Wrentherin, Kilpapan, Wingborn, and now a Rider-in-training with a personal guide to Aquila.” She glanced up at Kilai. “You have the best looking relations.”

“You think every man’s good-looking, and I can’t say I’ve noticed,” Mhysra said, bumping her head against Kilai’s chest. When her brother looked down, she waved at the girl beside her. “Kilai, meet Corin.”

Her brother smiled. “Welcome to Aquila, Corin. Another pretty face to brighten these bleak halls. I hope you like it here.”

Derrain looked up. “That’s a point. How many girls got through?”

Kilai squeezed onto the bench between his sister and Derrain. “Ten so far, to go with your -” He did a quick count. “Eight. Oww, nine.” He scowled, rubbing where Mhysra had elbowed him for leaving her out. “The North Point lot haven’t arrived yet.”

“Nineteen girls,” Corin said thoughtfully. “That’s not so bad. I expected less.”

“We all did,” Kilai agreed, catching his sister’s arm before she could jab him. “Not like that, hoyden, we’re just surprised. They’re preparing a second dormitory. They expected about fifteen.”

Across the table, a Storm Peaks lad snorted. “Rumour says they expected none.”

Kilai’s smile was crooked. “Then they were wrong. I knew at least one would make it.” He ruffled Mhysra’s hair and stood up. “Now it’s up to you girls to prove just how wrong they were. In the meantime I’ll show you to your rooms. As soon as the North Point lot arrive, the captains’ll divide you into your training flurries, then they set you to work. So get to know the others, explore and make the most of this freedom. It’s the last you’ll see for a while.”

With that cheery advice, he headed for the door, leaving the new students to scurry after him, stuffing fruit and pies into handkerchiefs and pockets.

Looping his arms around Corin and Mhysra’s shoulders, Derrain gave them both an excited squeeze. “So it begins.”

~ 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 17, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch17.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Are you read to set sail? Nimbys is behind us now, and ahead…

You’ll see.

Seventeen

The Thorncrest, 14th Harvest

The ship creaked and groaned as Mhysra stared at the slats of the bed above. She should have been sleeping, but the boisterous sounds coming from the common room next door prevented that. Instead she lay in bed, brooding. Cumulo would tell her to stop, but he was below with the other miryhls, enjoying himself, still half-delirious over the chase and catch of the Illuminai a half-moon ago.

She was alone – Bumble’s sprawled form across her feet didn’t count – wondering whether she’d done the right thing. Yes, her escape from her mother had been both necessary and exciting, and made her a minor hero amongst her peers, but the thought of what her parents might do next made her nervous. The Kilpapan family was rich and influential. Her father was favoured by the Stratys. If he chose, he could make her life extremely awkward. Would the Riders protect her against the displeasure of the Stratys? She was just one set of wings.

What about the rest of her family? Would Milluqua be punished? Would Aunt Mhylla still care for her? And Kilai, her mostly-forgotten brother, was the one she would likely face first. Would he be at Aquila? Would he take their parents’ side and avoid her? Was she really no longer a Kilpapan? Must she called herself Mhysra Wrentherin from now on? There were no answers and not knowing made her feel ill.

“What’s so fascinating up there?” The bunk dipped as Derrain slid in beside her. “No,” he murmured. “I can’t see it. Care to share?”

“I’m sleeping.” She elbowed him in the ribs, not that it made the slightest difference.

“With your eyes open and everything. Can you teach me that trick?” he teased, then pulled a face. “You can’t brood the whole voyage away. It’s a waste.”

“As if we’ve never sailed before,” she muttered, rolling on her side towards him and pulling her legs up to kick him off the bunk. He tumbled to the floor with an inelegant thud.

“Heirayk rose on your best side this morning.”

“Go away, Derry, I’m not in the mood,” she grumbled, shifting onto her back again.

“No, you’re in a mood,” he retorted, tugging her arm. “Come on. You’re missing the fun.”

Since they’d been sailing for eleven days, mostly over empty clouds, Mhysra doubted she was missing anything. “We’re heading north-west,” she complained. “It’s cold.”

“It’s autumn. Don’t be a wimp. Come up on deck. You know you want to.”

She didn’t. It was cold. Autumn was rushing to meet them and the crackling pressure in the air meant a storm. She had no wish to be outside when the rain started. He yanked her half off the bunk, much to Bumble’s disgruntlement.

Mhysra growled, “Get off me.”

“Not until you come up on deck.”

“I’ve been on deck. I’ve seen it. The ship’s nice, but the view’s just clouds. Clouds, clouds, clouds!” Her voice took on a hysterical edge. “I don’t want to see any more clouds!”

For a moment Derrain looked taken aback, then he grabbed her other arm and hauled her into a sitting position. “Because moping about over things you can’t change is so much better.”

She scowled, but didn’t protest when he dragged her to her feet. Maybe she didn’t fancy the bitter wind on deck, but it did beat worrying about the mess she’d left behind. “You win.”

“I always win,” he agreed, as Mhysra tugged on her boots and snatched up her coat.

“Coming, pup?” she called, as Derrain dragged her to the door.

Bumble opened an eye, groaned and settled back to sleep under a fluffy wing.

“I don’t know who I hate more – you or the dog,” Mhysra grumbled.

“You can’t hate me, I’m adorable,” Derrain protested, jogging up the first flight of steps and hauling her along.

“You’re right, what was I thinking? Of course I hate you more. It’s hardly Bumble’s fault she’s not stupid enough to do your bidding.”

“Such a merry temperament, love. Can’t think why you didn’t stay in Nimbys and get married. How the suitors would fight over you.”

Mhysra’s scowl wobbled as she bit back a smile. “Fight to escape marrying me, you mean.”

“Would I ever be so uncouth?” Derrain replied, attempting to look wounded.

“Idiot.” She rolled her eyes and scurried up the last ladder. At the top, a brisk wind slapped her face and she yelped, trying to duck back below.

“Keep moving,” Derrain urged, shoving her up again. “You’re not the only person on this ship, you know.”

“I’ll kill you for this,” Mhysra growled, tugging her coat collar tighter around her neck. She could smell rain. Why was she cursed with such persistent friends, ones who dragged her outside in all weathers regardless of her wishes? Ones with charming smiles and easy manners that meant she was the only person to see them for what they really were. Mhysra wanted to chop him into tiny bits and feed him to the pyreflies as a bitter gust tore her coat open.

“Glorious weather, don’t you think?” Dhori called, as Derrain shifted to stand in front of Mhysra, protecting her from the worst of the wind while she fixed her buttons and buckles. She smiled weakly. Dhori looked in his element, balancing on the side rail with neither coat nor hat. His eyes were bright as he jumped down, fidgety with suppressed energy. “A storm’s coming.”

“I know,” Mhysra grumbled, shoving her hands in her pockets and shaking the hair from her eyes. “You don’t have to look so happy about it.”

“It’s Maegla’s blessing,” Dhori replied, his smile serene.

Derrain snorted. “Clearly you’ve never sailed through a thunder storm.”

“He soon will,” Mhysra said, gripping her coat as another gust tormented her.

Dhori laughed, lifting his face to the wind. “If only. Did you come to see the view?”

“What, of clouds, clouds and more clouds?” Mhysra muttered, glowering at Derrain. “I hope that’s not what you dragged me out here for.”

The lads smiled and Dhori grabbed her hand. “Come look.”

“I’m too tired,” she protested as he towed her towards the prow.

Derrain nudged her shoulder. “The sooner you look, the sooner you can go in. Promise.”

“Fine.” She decided to humour him, using her free hand to hold her hair off her face. Rain splattered against her cheeks as they wove between the bustling crew. “It’s cold.”

“Hush,” Dhori chided. Icy hands covered her eyes and she yelped, but Dhori shushed her again. “You’ll spoil the surprise.”

“Your hands are freezing!”

“Sorry,” Derrain said, sounding far too cheerful. “But you’ll thank me later.”

“I doubt it.” She drew breath to start another round of complaints and Derrain removed his hands. Her breath caught in a gasp as she stared at the view half-hidden by misty rain.

“Sweet Maegla,” she whispered.

“Her greatest blessing,” Dhori agreed. “A good sign, don’t you think?”

Ahead rose a solitary mountain, its peak hidden by thick clouds, but it was more than a bleak, granite face. The first thing she noticed was the waterfall, cascading hundreds of feet down through the clouds below. Then she saw the white towers connected by a bridge, arching high over the surging river. The citadel, with its twin towns clinging to the cliffs below, crisscrossed with aqueducts.

The epitome of all her dreams: Aquila.

“Maegla welcomes Her Riders home,” Dhori whispered in her ear, and she blinked hard.

“I never knew… It’s so beautiful.”

“It’s rainy and bleak,” Sergeant Rees said sourly. “Only a female could think it beautiful.”

“Or a Rider,” Lieutenant Stirla disagreed. “We’re a romantic bunch, us Riders. I’ll admit this weather doesn’t do it any favours, but on a sunny day even you must agree it’s pretty, Rees.”

Tearing her eyes from the view she smiled at Stirla. “I look forward to seeing it in the sun.”

The lieutenant squeezed her shoulder with a broad hand. “Time to tack up. Mhysra, Dhori, you can fly yourselves in. Derrain, since you’ve experience of skyships, could you help my Riders set up the bullwing boats? It’s going to be interesting in this weather.”

“Aye, lieutenant,” the students chorused, saluting.

“Rees, you’re for the Miryhl Shadow. Tell Lyrai and Captain Myran what we’re about.”

“Aye, lieutenant.”

As the sergeant stumped off, Stirla eyed the three students still transfixed by the view. “It won’t vanish if you turn your backs on it,” he assured them, amused. “The quicker you do, the faster we’ll get there. Scat!”

~ Next Chapter ~

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