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Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 10, Part 1

April 22, 2016April 24, 2016 Becca Lusher

WB_Ch10.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Gossip and grumblings…

Ten

23^rd Sun

For the next month all anyone spoke about was the kaz-naghkt attack. Speculation was rife, though most reports were greeted with scepticism. Everyone knew kaz-naghkt came from the west, usually in large numbers – the only surprise was when they appeared.

“I ain’t never seen no kaznak,” a kitchen maid grumbled one morning as she wiped the work table. “I bet Riders make ‘em up to scare us normal folk.”

Eating her breakfast in the corner, Mhysra grimaced. She’d never seen a kaz-naghkt either, but the look on Derrain’s face whenever they were mentioned was enough to convince her that they existed. Not much made her merry friend grim, but the word kaz-naghkt never failed.

“I ‘eard they’re yumans what sold their souls to the Dark God for wings,” a footmen said, snatching a fresh roll while Cook’s back was turned and winking at the chatty maid.

She turned her nose up at him. “People don’t fly. Gods, or no. They ain’t real.”

“I ‘eard they was dragons from the Stormwash what lost their magic. Sounds mad ter me.” The bootboy shook his head, apparently disappointed by the world’s most ferocious enemy.

“Dragons,” the maid scoffed. “They ain’t real neither.”

Cook picked up a broom and poked the girl in the back. “If yer lucky Maycie, ye need never think different. Me, I’ll believe all kinds of things, so long as the Riders keep ‘em far from me. For somethin’ that don’t exist, plenty of people think they do. Call me a mug, but I’ll stick to trustin’ the Riders to keep me safe.”

The maid scowled as she took the broom. “I know what I think, an’ I’ll be stickin’ with it.”

How quickly they forgot Feather Frost, Mhysra thought. Not just Feather Frost, but Thrift Edge, Heston Point and Shune. All were Rider bases with reputations for defeating the enemy. Only Feather Frost was destroyed, but the others had been damaged enough to allow women back into the Riders.

Cook shrugged at Mhysra and snapped her fingers at the maid. “Floor needs sweeping.”

Not that any Rider complained if the city folk didn’t believe the stories. Better a sceptical populace than a panicked one. Not that there was anything to worry about, according to Captain Myran’s official statement. A small scouting party of kaz-naghkt had been spotted and sent about their business. Since no Riders had been killed and all injuries were minor it was easy to believe the placating words. But Mhysra didn’t and nor did her friends.

How could they when the enemy had been sighted over well-protected Imercian, to the east of Nimbys? Kaz-naghkt never came from the east. No one would bother making that up.

Luckily for the officers at the selection school, the majority of their pupils soon had other things on their minds.

* * * * *

“I DON’T SEE why I have to go,” Mhysra grumbled, tugging Bumble’s lead as she walked along the street with her friends. It was a glorious day in Nimbys, when everything seemed magnified by the sun. Cool water, sweet strawberries, the green mountainside, honey-gold streets – the dark despair of family machinations.

“Because you’re Lady Mhysra of the almighty Kilpapan clan, destined rulers of the world,” Harlan replied.

Derrain chuckled, swinging the empty basket that had been filled with food just that morning. “You have no idea how close you are. Be thankful you’ve never met her mother.”

“Or my father,” Mhysra added.

“Your mother is a hero to my family.” Corin laughed at the disbelief on Mhysra’s face. “The things she’s done with the Kilpapan business is every merchant’s dream. She’s a legend.”

“Yes,” Mhysra said feelingly. “I know.”

“And your father’s top of the tree too,” Mouse put in, struggling with his basket despite its emptiness. He collided with a wall, careened into his cousin and rebounded into Dhori. Not once did he stop talking about Mhysra’s father, his social status or the work he did for Stratys.

“Yes,” Mhysra repeated, after he finally shut up. “I know.”

Dhori smiled consolingly. “Parents can be hard to live up to.”

She raised her eyebrows, having never heard him speak of his family before. Out of all her friends he was the one she knew the least about. It wasn’t that he refused to talk about himself, he just manipulated every conversation so that he never gave anything away. It drove Corin mad.

“I don’t care about living up to them,” Mhysra said, exasperatedly. “It’s having to fight to make my own choices that bothers me.”

Dhori tweaked the end of her braid. “Well, you’re doing a good job so far.”

“That’s because they don’t know what she’s up to,” Derrain said. “Until now the Countess hasn’t been around to watch her.”

Mhysra scowled, not appreciating the reminder that her mother was home. Luckily it was Midsummer, a five-day holiday with the Feast of Heirayk in the middle. All celebration and no school. It was the perfect time for her mother to return.

Unfortunately it also meant the Midsummer Ball; an annual event held by the Stratys for Nimbys’ most important residents. As Mhysra had been allegedly receiving social training from her sister for months, her father had ordered her to attend. He didn’t want to waste an opportunity to marry her off before the autumn, no matter her age.

“It’s not fair,” she whined. “I don’t want to go.”

“You’ll enjoy it,” Derrain assured her.

“I won’t. You wouldn’t either if you were forced to go.”

“Since I’m not that point is moot.”

“You sound like Clerk Brenai.”

“Thank you, that was the tone I was aiming for.”

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Corin said, diving into their bickering before Mhysra could thump Derrain. “Think of all those rich, good looking, socially adept men.” She sighed. “Riders in uniform. It’s enough to make a girl swoon.”

“Not this girl,” Mhysra sniffed, though the prospect of Riders in dress uniform did make her feel a little weak about the knees.

“Lieutenants Lyrai and Stirla,” Corin continued dreamily. “Scarlet jackets and tight, white breeches, their boots polished to reflect candlelight. Swords at the hip.”

Mhysra said nothing, the image a little too clear for her comfort.

“And your sister is a leader of fashion,” Corin went on sulkily, “so you’re bound to look amazing. And Theryn will be there. If you dance with him I may have to hurt you.”

Though Derrain and Dhori were Corin’s everyday flirts, with the lieutenants as distant crushes, Rider Theryn was the one she truly adored. A redhead with a blinding smile, he wasn’t the most handsome Rider, but he was funny and popular.

“Is it still all right for me to come and see your dress before you leave?” Corin asked as they approached Kilpapan House.

“Milli says you’re quite welcome.”

“And can I -” she began, but Dhori clapped a hand over her mouth and towed her away.

“Until next we meet, milady!” Harlan called, and she waved forlornly as her friends headed into the city, leaving her on the doorstep with Bumble and Derrain.

“It’s just one day,” Derrain consoled her.

“And one night.” She sighed. “One very important, frightening and stupidly grand night.”

“You’ll be fine.” He patted Bumble’s head and ruffled her ears, before patting Mhysra on the head and ruffling her hair. “Milli will look after you. And both your parents will be there.”.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she grumbled, entering the house to the sound of his laughter.

~ 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 9, Part 2

April 17, 2016April 22, 2016 Becca Lusher

WB_Ch9.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

The woes of a grounded (and brooding) lieutenant.

IT WAS THE hardest thing to be left behind, while all your friends and those under your command fought without you. Lyrai hated it. Bad enough to be grounded, but this was almost more than he could bear.

“What orders, sir?” Honra asked, his uniform mussed after an afternoon patrol spent dodging showers and basking in sunshine. Half of Lyrai’s flurry had been with him, the rest were with Stirla. A lieutenant without command, that’s all he was and would continue to be for another two and a half months.

Gods, why had he been cursed with such a flighty, brainless idiot for a bonded?

“Sir?”

Lyrai blinked and stared at the missive in his hand. It had arrived by another messenger, one as exhausted as the first, though without the blood. A note from Captain Myran. A man of few words and with more on his mind than the woes of a grounded lieutenant. His terse order was easily understood. All.

“To wing, sergeant.”

“Sir!” Honra saluted and was out of the door almost before Lyrai had finished speaking. After serving eight years under Captain Myran, Honra was even more familiar with his ways than Lyrai. He was also perfectly capable of ordering twelve men from miryhl back. He’d been doing it for months, years even, while Lyrai first learned to take control, then lost command entirely. Thanks to Froth.

The Choice could not come quickly enough.

Jaw clenching, he watched from the window as his men ran to the eyries. A short stop for refreshments, relief and to replenish ammunition, then they were off. They would have been with the rest of their flurry long ago had their patrol not been out west, where an attack was most likely to come from. Kaz-naghkt were not known for their originality and Lyrai knew he wouldn’t be the only one unhappy about this new twist.

One by one, the miryhls left the eyries, heading away from the sun, following the messenger who would guide them to the battle. Lyrai pressed his fingers against the glass, yearning to go with them. He huffed with frustration, annoyed at his lack of self-control. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t had time to grow accustomed to the situation. Nor was this a new occurrence. Riders had been left behind before due to injuries – Rider, miryhl or both – orders from above, accidents in timing and a host of others reasons. But this was different. This time he was the only one not going. All because his foolish miryhl had to prove she was the silliest bird of all.

He clenched his fist against the glass and looked down, reminding himself that he wasn’t the only one left behind. It wasn’t very comforting, though, since the group milling around outside were students. They didn’t even have miryhls yet, let alone the skill to fight the kaz-naghkt.

Except one.

Standing at the front, Lady Mhysra probably best understood what he was feeling. Unlike him she had a miryhl, but she didn’t have the skills to defend herself, let alone others. He supposed he should have been pleased that she was still there, since it meant she wasn’t putting lives at risk with her incompetence. But he wasn’t.

It would be so easy to leave now, to go to the eyries and take Cumulo. Reclaim the position he had fought for. Retake his command and protect the city. Yet to do so would put an immediate end to that same career, eradicating all he’d worked so hard to achieve.

The bond between Rider and miryhl was sacred, never to be touched without permission. To violate such an intrinsic law of the Rift Rider code would threaten the foundations of all they were built upon. If he did such a thing, what would stop other Riders who felt unsatisfied with their mount or envious of another’s from attempting the same? Not to mention that Cumulo would probably tear him apart for the insult.

It was one thing to dream, another to be stupidly reckless. Two and a half months, that was all. He could last the distance. He could keep his head.

Balling his fist, he thumped the windowsill, annoyed with himself for even considering it. He didn’t want Cumulo. He wanted a miryhl of his own. He wanted to fly again, to rise into the cold, high air, feel the wind in freefall, run his hands through silken feathers. He wanted that freedom back, the ability to protect and to fight alongside his fellows.

“Gods aid me,” he whispered, shutting his eyes and resting his forehead against the glass. He banged his head, trying to drive out the selfish impulses that gripped him. How could he be so preoccupied with his own woes when there was real danger out there?

“Maegla protect them.” Even as he spoke, he smiled. The Rift Riders were the Storm Goddess’ sworn warriors. If She wasn’t looking after them, who would?

Both fists tightening at the thought, Lyrai started to pray.

* * * * *

THE VARIOUS WATCHERS stared eastward as the day waned, as helpless to abandon their vigil as the sun was to turn backwards. Night slipped ever closer and clouds skimmed the sky, bringing a hint of rain on the breeze.

As dusk settled around the shoulders of the mountain, a shout below roused Lyrai from his prayers. He looked up. Black dots were scattered across the eastern horizon, coming swiftly closer. His heart clenched in his chest, before he exhaled in relief and ran for the door.

Miryhls, not kaz-naghkt. They were home.

The field was soon a flurry of activity as miryhls landed, permitting their Riders or assistants to unharness them before they left again. Some headed for the eyries, others set off into the night to bathe and preen in private. Students, clerks, healers and other helpers dashed around, seeing to the wounded and weaponry. There were more eagles than Lyrai had expected, but he recognised almost all and searched for those he knew best.

“Lyrai!” He turned at the shout, relieved when Stirla sauntered over, caked in black gore, blood and sweat, cleaning his sword on a rag. “You missed a tidy fight, my friend. Wish you’d been with us.”

“As do I,” Lyrai agreed, clasping wrists with his friend, heedless of the filth. “How many?”

“Many enough,” a familiar voice said, with a hint of censure, and Lyrai grimaced to be caught making so foolish an error as discussing details in public.

Turning from Stirla, he saluted. “It’s good to see you well, sir.”

Captain Myran smiled tightly, but like his limp that was normal and nothing to be alarmed over. “Lieutenant, if you’re willing to play scribe while I clean up, I’d be grateful. There’s a report to write and I don’t believe it should wait. Gentlemen.” He beckoned for the rest of his bloodied lieutenants to follow.

“Yes, sir.” Lyrai dashed off to fetch paper and ink, eager to perform any service in order to hear the details as soon as possible. Anything to feel like one of them again, now that he was no longer left behind. As he ran he sent up a prayer of thanks for the safe delivery of so many, but as his anxiety faded at the realisation that this had been little more than a skirmish, he couldn’t help his thoughts slipping back to one thing: two and a half months.

Raiding the nearest clerk’s desk, he headed for the bathing chambers beneath the offices. Two and a half months, just two and a half months. He hoped it passed quickly.

~ Next Part ~

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

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 9, Part 1

April 15, 2016April 17, 2016 Becca Lusher

WB_Ch9.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

A slightly longer segment than usual today, just so as to leave you on a bit of a cliffhanger.

You’re welcome :D

It also proves that there is something actually going on in this chapter other than a time jump and some recap-type things.

Don’t say I never think of you.

Nine

AS THE SNOWS of Cold month drew to a close, the world began to warm again. Winter Rains lived up to its name and Mhysra’s fortitude was tested every morning as she slogged through mud and sleet. The winds were merciless, but nothing compared to Hethanon Armsmaster.

Regardless of whether it was because of the training master or the weather, fewer and fewer students showed for their morning torture sessions. As the end of the year crept closer, the fifty recruits had been reduced by half. The remaining six girls and nineteen boys were now able to jog eight laps without pause. They could also handle a staff competently, with the promise of archery lessons should they make it through to the new year.

Thanks to their dropping numbers, the students were granted one blessing: Sergeant Rees was released back to his regular duties. The three students who’d survived his regime rejoiced. Though the same could not have been said when Sergeant Honra was also dismissed.

For the most part, Mhysra kept her head down and worked on her staff skills, often paired against Dhori. She was one of the best girls and in the top half overall. Derrain also did well, a natural athlete and of a similar disposition to Lieutenant Stirla, who treated him more like a brother than a student. Harlan quit with the first downpour, but he met up with them on most Stardays to complain about his boring clerk apprenticeship. Ulla vanished amidst the snow and was last seen by Harlan boarding a south-bound trade ship.

Mouse and Corin remained, though Corin preferred their afternoons, being a bright girl and not really built for the rigours of Rider training. But she was determined to succeed. The longer Mouse trained the less nervous he became, though he still talked too much and was never still.

It was monotonous work, both in the mornings and the afternoons, but Mhysra knew she was making progress when she no longer fell asleep, no matter how dull the lesson. The work became easier too, even if the subject matter was supposed to be harder. As the new year washed out winter and ushered in spring, she and her friends felt confident that they would last.

“Four months and we’ll be Riders,” Derrain remarked one Starday, as the friends lazed at their favourite picnic spot in the pastures above Nimbys. It was one of the few places they could go and not be disturbed by Riders wanting tasks done or city brats picking fights.

“You’ve got the exams yet,” Harlan warned as the students clinked their beakers. “Winter isn’t the worst of it.”

“Exams, pah!” Corin scoffed. “I’ve heard you can sleep through them and still pass.”

“And yet a handful of people fail each year,” Harlan said, smiling slyly at his cousin.

“Why are you looking at me?” Mouse queried nervously. “Do you think I’ll fail? I’m not going to fail, am I? Gods, what’ll I do? I can’t fail!”

“Stop it.” Corin whacked Harlan on the arm, while Derrain pulled Mouse into a rough hug.

“Take no notice,” Dhori advised. “You’ll be fine.”

“You think so?” Mouse quivered, peeping over Derrain’s arm.

“I know so,” Mhysra assured him, lifting her cider. “To Mouse’s glorious future!”

“To Mouse!” the others agreed, and he looked as pleased as if he’d graduated from Aquila already. Not even Harlan could bring himself to drag him down again.

* * * * *

BY THE TIME the new year passed, the remaining students seemed set to stay, with fifteen boys and four girls. Milluqua was delighted, keeping her sister informed about the current betting and how much she’d won thanks to Mhysra’s resilience. Yet despite the feeling of belonging that had grown with every passing day, Mhysra was still uneasy. How could she feel otherwise when her deception against her parents was still in place?

Her father knew nothing of her daytime activities, nor did he care. Her mother was busy, returning too infrequently to grow suspicious, but Mhysra knew that wouldn’t last. The months were passing and her exams were approaching. Even if she managed to finish the selection school without being found out, how was she to leave for Aquila without being missed?

“You’ve time left,” Milluqua said one evening, while Mhysra was practising deportment by walking around the library with a stack of books on her head. Her sister was embroidering by the fire, the ever-growing Bumble snoozing on her feet.

“Time, yes,” Mhysra grumbled, avoiding a footstool and a lump in the carpet. “But I need ideas. He’s assumed I’ve given up because I’ve stopped pestering him.”

“Hm.” Milluqua yanked her thread taut. “I’m tempted to say leave without telling him.”

Part of Mhysra agreed, but it was the weak bit. “What kind of Rider behaves so cowardly?”

Milluqua didn’t answer and they continued their tasks in silence. Until Bumble tripped Mhysra and scattered her books, causing Milluqua to stab herself with her needle.

Lying on the floor amidst the carnage, Mhysra fended off the puppy with a weary laugh. “Is this as an omen?”

Sucking her finger, Milluqua shook her head. “More of a warning. Don’t make Bumble part of future discussions.”

Though she laughed, the problem weighed on Mhysra’s mind until she confided in her friends. Unfortunately they happened to be the same ones who’d laughed when they found out she was Wingborn.

“Tell him,” Corin said, leaning back to watch the Riders come in for the noon meal.

“Don’t.” Naelya, another female student, shook her head.

“No, don’t,” Mouse agreed. “Not yet, anyway.”

“What would you know?” Corin grumbled, slumping as the last Rider closed the door.

“No need to ruin Mhysra’s life just because Rider Theryn isn’t here,” Derrain teased.

Corin snorted. “As if telling the truth would ruin her life.”

“Shows what you know,” Haelle, the fourth girl and by far the quietest, muttered. Tall like Mhysra and even more willowy, she said very little about herself and her family, but whenever the subject came up she took on a hunted look. “You should keep it a secret as long as you can, Mhysra. Trust me.”

“But surely it would be better to tell him herself, than risk him finding out some other way,” Dhori said reasonably. Mhysra shared a glance with Derrain and they both shook their heads.

“You’re lucky someone hasn’t told him already,” another lad grumbled. “I only lasted a half-moon before word reached my father.”

“That’s because you were supposed to be studying with the harbour masters,” Naelya reminded him. “And your father is known for paying his informants.”

“The only reason it took that long is because they like you down there,” Corin agreed. “Anyway what does it matter, you’re still here, aren’t you?”

“I might be, but I’ve been doing extra bookwork every night as penance.”

“What I don’t understand is how Mhysra got in without her parents’ permission,” Mouse said, stopping the conversation dead.

Derrain raised his eyebrows and smirked, while Mhysra squirmed in her seat, not about to admit that her cousin had forged her father’s signature. “I had a letter from my aunt.”

“Mhylla Wrentherin,” Derrain said, adding, “of Wrentheria,” in case any of them had misunderstood her aunt’s importance.

Mhysra scowled as the others made sounds of awe. It was bad enough being a Kilpapan, now she had the Wrentherin name to contend with. She was lucky her friends weren’t the jealous sort.

“Well, that explains where Cumulo came from,” Corin said, her head whipping around as the door opened. She sighed with disappointment when only Sergeant Rees entered.

“Eyes down, everyone,” Derrain mumbled, and the students became fascinated with their empty plates, their discussion forgotten. Rees did not approve of conversation at mealtimes.

* * * * *

THE AIR WAS filled with moisture when Mhysra and her friends left the cathedral on the second Starday in Feather month. Bidding the others farewell, she traipsed home to change, before heading to the eyries to give Cumulo a preen. Working beneath his wings, she listened to the pair on the walkway and smiled. Lieutenant Stirla was often in the eyries on a Starday, happy to show visitors around.

On this occasion, however, Stirla and his companion were already acquainted. Concealed beneath her miryhl’s feathers, Mhysra listened as the big lieutenant flirted with her sister. Neither knew she was there, nor realised how often she overheard these little chats. What amused her most was that they thought they were being discreet. While it was true each miryhl only spoke to their Rider, those same Riders were notorious for their gossip.

“Humans are such idiots,” Cumulo muttered, and at that moment she had to agree.

“Ho, Riders!” a shout came from outside. “Ho, miryhls! To wing! Riders to flight!”

Feathers rustled as Riders poured into the eyries from all directions, their miryhls dropping down to meet them. Mhysra ducked out from beneath Cumulo’s wing and pressed close to him, trying not to get in anyone’s way.

“Mhysra!” Milluqua cried, when Stirla raced off towards Atyrn. “What’s happening?”

“I’m not sure.” Tugging her sister off the walkway, she dragged her against Cumulo as Riders and miryhls jostled around them.

“Messenger, what news?” Striding through the chaos, Lieutenant Lyrai was the only Rider not scurrying for his mount, the only one currently grounded.

“Trouble, sir,” the messenger panted, allowing his sweating horsat to be led away. The man was in a bad way, bleeding across his head, back and shoulder and down one arm. A spear was clenched in his right fist as if he was frightened to let go. “East. Attack. Raiders.”

All activity paused as the Riders waited for more information.

“Raiders?” Lyrai repeated. “Of what sort?”

The messenger’s face was pale, his eyes wide as he breathed the word every human on the Overworld feared, “Kaz-naghkt.”

There was silence as the eyries absorbed the shock. Kaz-naghkt so close to Nimbys? In the east. No one had ever heard of such a thing, not in all the years since the clouds came and humans were forced to fly in order to survive. Kaz-naghkt came out of the west, that was how it had always been.

Lieutenant Lyrai clenched his fists. “Riders to wing!”

Chaos resumed and within moments the eyries emptied, miryhls leaving through the hatches, collecting their Riders outside. The lieutenant thanked the messenger and handed him over to an attendant, then stood alone in the middle of the walkway, staring up at the open hatches.

Mhysra ventured out from Cumulo’s shadow, one hand resting against his chest and thundering heartbeat. They knew how the lieutenant was feeling.

He turned to them, eyes fierce. “It shall not be borne. It will not.” Spinning on his heel, he left.

Mhysra’s fist clenched in Cumulo’s feathers, longing to follow the Riders. To fight and defend. To do what they had been born for and were training to do.

“Is it true?” Milluqua asked. “Are the kaz-naghkt here? So close to the city?”

Cumulo rested his beak against Mhysra’s cheek, breathing fast with frustration. She reached up to soothe him and glanced at her sister. “You heard them. What do you think?”

Milluqua looked towards the hatches where so many miryhls had gone. “I think I am afraid, that this is no longer a game, and I think,” she continued, tears in her eyes, “that I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

Mhysra shook her head sharply. “It was never a game, Milli.”

Her sister bit her trembling lip and nodded. “I know. It’s just… with all the bets and sneaking about under father’s nose, it felt like a game. It wasn’t about fighting. Don’t ask me what it was about, but it wasn’t dangerous. It wasn’t real.”

“And now that it is?” Mhysra asked, dreading losing her sister’s support.

Milluqua took her hand and squeezed. “I could never be as brave as you.”

Mhysra didn’t know what to say, but when her sister opened her arms, she hugged her tight.

“Whatever happens, you will do this,” Milluqua whispered fiercely. “And whatever it takes, I will help you. The Overworld needs every pair of wings it can get. If that includes yours, so be 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 8, Part 3

April 13, 2016April 15, 2016 Becca Lusher

WB_Ch8.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

So, Lieutenant Lyrai, Lady Mhysra, tell me about your fathers…

“YOU ASKED TO see me, sir?” Mhysra entered her father’s study and tugged at the riding skirt Milluqua had bullied her into wearing. She still had her breeches on underneath but, as her sister had pointed out, their father didn’t know that. It was better all round if he didn’t know she routinely paraded around the eyries in a flying coat and breeches, with no thought to so-called modesty or propriety.

Lord Kilpapan looked up from his account books and nodded approvingly at her outfit. The skirt was overlong and overfull, all the better for modest maidens to mount horsats without unseemly displays of ankles. It was a compromise, since it allowed women to ride astride without any loss of reputation. Side-saddles had an unfortunate habit of unbalancing all but the biggest horsat stallions, and all agreed that they were no mount for a delicate lady.

Mhysra hated riding skirts. Her long flying coat, reaching almost to her knees with a split vent at the back, was a different story. It didn’t surprise her that the earl wrinkled his nose at the coat’s condition – she wore it every day.

“You spend too much time at the eyries.”

Straightening her spine, Mhysra stared over his left shoulder. “It’s Starday, sir. I am permitted to spend this day how I wish, according to the agreement Milluqua and I drew up. Which you approved.”

Lord Kilpapan made a noncommittal noise. “I would prefer you spent less time there.”

And Mhysra would have preferred him not to be such a narrow-minded bigot, but few got what they wanted in life. If he thought she would give up Cumulo on his command, he was doomed to disappointment.

“Your sister should not have to track you down in such places. It is to her credit that she chooses to go herself rather than send a servant, but it casts shadows on both your reputations.”

Then don’t ask for me when you know I’m there, Mhysra thought, but stayed silent. After the scene she’d just witnessed between her sister and Captain Stirla, Mhysra knew the real reason why Milluqua chose not to send a servant. She also had to concede that her father might have a point about eyries and reputations, but she would rather cut out her tongue than admit it. What Milluqua got up to was her own business.

At her silence, the earl nodded as though something had been decided. It had, though Mhysra doubted they’d reached the same conclusion. Silence was a valuable tool when talking with her father. The less she said the happier he was, leaving her free to carry on as before without making false promises.

Putting his quill aside, Lord Kilpapan looked at her over the ledger. “You have been studying under your sister’s supervision for two months now. From both her reports and our meetings, I have decided that it’s time your new skills were put into practise.”

Mhysra tightened her hands, hoping her father didn’t notice her white knuckles. He wanted her to enter society? To become a useless butterfly like so many others? When pyreflies hatched kittens!

“I am honoured by your confidence in me, sir,” she murmured demurely, mind racing. How many functions would he expect her to attend? When? What would Milluqua say?

“Your sister is a fine tutor.” The praise was grudgingly given.

“But am I not too young, sir?” she asked, trying to sound feeble and self-conscious. It was one of the only things Milluqua had actually taught her, claiming it never failed.

Lord Kilpapan frowned, tapping his fingers together. “You turned seventeen last autumn, yes?”

Mhysra blinked and thought a quick prayer of thanks. “I am but sixteen, sir.”

“Ah.” The earl pursed his lips. Clearly he’d hoped to be rid of her before she could start pestering about the Riders again. But although girls of Mhysra’s age were sometimes invited to society parties, it was frowned upon to engage any well-born girl before seventeen, and few married before eighteen. And if there was one thing about Lord Kilpapan that could be counted upon, it was his strict adherence to society’s unwritten rules. “Perhaps not yet then. No matter. Continue as you have been. We will review your progress in the new year.” Picking up his quill, he returned to his figures. It was as polite a dismissal as she could expect, so Mhysra curtsied and left the room.

Milluqua was waiting in the library. “Well?”

Mhysra smiled and tugged her towards the stairs. “Disaster averted.”

Raising her eyebrows, Milluqua glanced back at the study door. “For now.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Chuckling, Mhysra grabbed her skirt and hurried up the stairs, not caring who saw her ankles.

* * * * *

THE AUDIENCE CHAMBER was empty as the steward announced Lyrai and left him to his fate. Walking across the echoing floor, Lyrai glanced up at the galleries where pairs of guards stood at intervals, then looked at the eight men positioned around the dais. Four more waited behind him. All wore the ceremonial armour of Imercian – the sun rising over clouds – with their weapons of status – sword, axe and spear – clasped close. The sapphire-plumed helms faced straight ahead. Statues who came to life only when the Stratys was threatened.

Lyrai wished he could send them away. However statue-like they seemed they weren’t deaf, and he’d never enjoyed meeting his father before an audience. He looked at the throne, unsurprised to find it empty. The Stratys knew Lyrai had no respect for his authority, especially when he lorded it over his youngest son. Instead Lyrai was forced to search the room for his eminent presence.

Wishing there was no need for such games, he paused, boot tapping impatiently. He already knew that the galleries were empty, so didn’t bother looking there. It was also unlikely that the Stratys would lurk behind his own throne. Lyrai looked towards the columned walkways beneath the galleries on the left, with their velvet-shrouded alcoves. More than one secret passageway lay behind those curtains, disguised as frescoes and statues, but Lyrai doubted his father would slink away. He preferred to give his humiliations in person.

Turning to the right, he studied the windows and, sure enough, halfway between his position and the dais, a man sat upon a cushioned sill, staring outside. A handsome specimen, even more handsomely dressed in sumptuous velvet, trimmed with the finest furs. The grey in his brown hair only added to his distinguished appearance. The face that turned as Lyrai bowed was dignified and proud, the eyes pale blue and hard as ice.

“So you have come home,” the Stratys said, his rich voice echoing in the deserted hall.

Lyrai knelt, as was expected, and lowered his head. “Majesty.”

“You have seen your mother and sisters?”

“Yes, sire.”

“They were pleased, no doubt.”

“I hope so, sire.”

“Word has reached us that you are without a mount at present, yet despite this you continue your duties and Captain Myran is full of praise for you.” There was a questioning lilt to the end of the sentence, as if the Stratys couldn’t believe that anyone would think well of his youngest son.

Lyrai clenched his fists and kept his head down. “Captain Myran is all kindness.”

“Indeed.” A strained silence settled, which Lyrai had no idea how to break and his father had no wish to. It had always been this way between them; distant, tense, difficult. Lyrai had long given up trying to understand why. “We trust you will choose more wisely this time.”

He gritted his teeth at the censure. Like most, his Choice had been impulsive. It was just bad luck that it had ended badly. What sixteen-, seventeen- or even eighteen-year-old could be trusted to make such a decision wisely? Even now, at twenty two, his new Choice would be more luck than judgement. It was the way things were.

“We shall await news of your progress. You have not disgraced your family.” The unspoken yet hung in the air. “It was… pleasant to see you.”

Lyrai marvelled at how the man could sound fatherly yet distasteful at the same time. He was also amazed at how many hidden messages could be conveyed in so few words. Not only had he been belittled and disparaged, but also politely banned from returning during his stay as well as dismissed. Impressive.

Rising, he bowed, studying his father from behind his fringe. The Stratys glanced at him, lips pinched disapprovingly at the length of his hair, before he returned to studying the view.

“An honour, as always,” Lyrai murmured, took two steps back and turned. Not for him the polite reverse shuffle all the way to the doors. A sigh huffed behind him and he almost smiled.

As he understood all of the Stratys’ slights and schemes, so his father knew his. Yet while he was within sight of the guards, whose eyes and ears were in full working order, like their loyalty to the Stratys, Lyrai’s expression remained blank.

It wasn’t until he was back in his mother’s carriage that he allowed himself a rueful smile. Such a loving family. “But what would I do with one of those?” he murmured, suddenly eager to end the farce.

The coachman looked startled as Lyrai hopped out of the moving carriage and flicked the man a casual salute. “Thanks for the lift.” Of about twenty feet. Still, he felt a lot better as he sauntered back to the barracks.

Inside the officers’ common room, Stirla looked up from reading a newspaper. “How’d it go?”

Shrugging out of his jacket, Lyrai poured himself a glass of spirits. “Duty done.” He downed his drink, enjoying the burn as it slid down his throat. “Thank the gods.”

Stirla tossed him the paper. “This’ll cheer you up. Kaz-naghkt attack on Kevian. Thirty civilian fatalities, two pyrefliers and mounts, four Riders and six miryhls.”

“Maegla,” Lyrai whispered, sinking into a chair to read the report. “The sooner I get a miryhl and we’re out in the world again, my friend, the better.”

Grunting his agreement, Stirla crossed to the sideboard and poured drinks for them both. They were going to need them.

~ 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 8, Part 2

April 10, 2016April 13, 2016 Becca Lusher

WB_Ch8.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Oh, brother…

LYRAI STOOD AT the window of the yellow parlour, counting pigeons as the city flock wheeled over the streets below. The view was beautiful: Nimbys basking in the winter sun. He smiled at the nearby Rider barracks, lying so close at hand. It would have been quicker for him to have walked than to have taken the carriage, but appearances mattered.

So short a journey, yet it felt vast. He’d passed this very building numerous times since his return, but had only seen his family once. Just a brief glimpse of his mother, father and brother on his arrival, when Captain Myran’s officers had paid their respect to the Stratys’ court. He’d been awaiting a summons ever since, knowing his mother would welcome him any time – and his father would not. While appearances mattered to his mother, formalities were everything to his father. She would have needed his permission before daring to invite her second son into her presence.

Lyrai was used to it. Much as he loved his mother and was distantly fond of his sisters, it had been years since he’d felt comfortable with them. Their insular, rarefied world had grown stultifying long before he’d joined the Riders. It was the one family tradition that Lyrai had welcomed. The oldest son was the heir, the next was the spare. One honoured the family by maintaining the legacy, the other died gloriously.

The door opened and heavy steps stumped to a halt. “That you, Lyrai?”

He glanced over his shoulder and blinked. “Henryn. You look… well.”

It was a lie: his brother looked fat. His cheeks were ruddy, while the rest of his skin was pallid and sweaty. His blond hair, even fairer than Lyrai’s, was a unkempt thicket. His clothes were a mess, straining over his paunch, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Late night?”

Pushing the door shut, Henryn shrugged and crossed the room until they were face-to-face. The same height, they shared their father’s eyes mixed with their mother’s colouring. Once they had been alike enough to be mistaken for twins. Now Henryn’s features were fleshy from dissipation, while Lyrai’s had been chiselled by wind and training.

“Rider life suits you,” Henryn said, his tone wistful and Lyrai pitied this brother he barely knew. Their lives had been set on different paths from birth, yet whenever they met they rubbed along well enough. It would have been nice to have known Henryn better. Had he wanted to join the Riders when he was young too? Was he angry that their father – and tradition – had decided differently?

“How’s life in Nimbys treating you?” Henryn asked. “Still flying that pretty feather?”

Lyrai shook his head. “Froth’s been retired. Wounded.”

“Ah. Shame.” They dropped into silence, uncomfortably aware that they knew nothing about each other. Familiar strangers. “You’ll get a new one soon, I dare say.”

“At the Choice,” Lyrai agreed. “I can’t wait. It’s hard being grounded for so long.”

“Yes, ‘spect it is. Not that I’d know. Never flown.” There was that wistfulness again.

While it was tempting to offer empty platitudes about future possibilities, Lyrai held his tongue. His brother would never get off the ground. They lived such vastly different lives.

“How are things in Nimbys these days?” he asked, doing his bit to keep the conversation going.

“Pretty good,” Henryn replied, stepping away from the glare of the window. “Though I’ll be leg-shackled before long. Father’s insisting.”

Lyrai grimaced sympathetically. Henryn had never been interested in girls, or anyone much, at least not that Lyrai had ever heard. He much preferred food, drink and gambling. “Every man has his duty.”

His brother snorted and poured himself some wine. “Begetting brats. My heart races at the prospect.” He drained his goblet in one. “Mother will see to it. She has an eye for the pretty ones. Likes Princess Demolie of Havia, but not sure King Heryff’s keen. That Kilpapan chit is top of the local list, last I checked. Her father’d welcome the match and she’s nice enough. Good connections.”

“Kilpapan?” Lyrai was surprised enough to leave the window, waving away his brother’s offer of wine. “She’s barely sixteen!” Not to mention Wingborn and a Rift Rider in training. Lyrai didn’t add those details – he was too stunned. Did nobles really marry off their daughters so young these days? He stared at his brother and thought of Mhysra. Henryn would crush her flat.

“Sixteen? Ha! She’s past twenty. Don’t let those big eyes fool you, brother, or those dimples. A lovely little armful, but knocking on now. Where’d you meet? Not seen you about, though mother’d gladly accept your escort. Ladies love a uniform. You’d cause a riot.”

Lyrai frowned, reason finally catching up with him. Mhysra was too young to have been brought out yet, nor did she have dimples or could ever be described as cosy, little or an armful. A handful was much more like it. “You mean the older girl? I haven’t met her.”

Henryn raised a sandy eyebrow. “So you’ve met the younger? Heard she’d been dragged in from the wilds and was something of a savage.” He smirked. “Explains how you know her.”

“Her brother’s a Rider,” Lyrai replied coolly. “I’ve seen her about.”

Henryn shrugged, uninterested in people he didn’t know. “The older one’s popular. Has been for years. Too good for me. It’d be a waste.”

“Marrying you is hardly a terrible fate,” Lyrai murmured, returning to the window. “Plenty of girls would jump at the chance.”

“Hm.” Henryn didn’t sound convinced, but then who would when his worth was measured in things he had no control over? Many assumed that Lyrai envied his brother, but it had always been the opposite. He loved being a Rider, loved flying. It was all he’d ever wanted. Henryn was hemmed in, constrained and watched constantly. He had no choices. Not even the identity of his bride. People thought he’d have everything once he inherited, but even then there would be restrictions. No, Lyrai would not switch for the world.

A maid crept in while they reflected in silence. She curtsied to Lyrai, caught sight of Henryn wallowing in his chair and curtsied even deeper. Glancing at Lyrai again, she blushed and stared at the floor. “Her Majesty will see you now,” she murmured, scuttling away.

“Slayer of maids,” Henryn chuckled, draining his wine. “Is’a uniform, I tell you.”

“Go to bed,” Lyrai advised gently as he left. “You’re slurring.”

“Huzzah!” he cheered, toasting Lyrai’s heels. “Means I’m no’ sober ‘nymore.”

Closing the door on his brother’s misery, Lyrai walked along the shadowed corridor and entered an airy chamber. High windows let in light, while fireplaces crackled behind screens, making the room pleasantly warm. Three young women sat painting, embroidering and reading. None of them looked up.

The fourth lady was already on her feet. She smiled, the firelight making her fine hair glow. “Lyrai,” she greeted, voice mellow and soothing. Grey eyes glinted with satisfaction as she caught his hands and opened her arms.

He stepped into her scented embrace, the only place he was at peace in this tower of memories. “Mama, did you miss me?”

Cupping his face, she smiled. “Always, dearest. Always. Now come, I had tea brought up. I thought I’d best invite you before you flittered off again. So busy. Thank you for sparing time for your old mother, and your sisters too. We have missed you, Lyrai.”

Knowing he’d had no choice but to make time, he smiled at the beautiful woman before him, so flighty, yet with a spine of steel and a mind as sharp as a miryhl talon. Political manipulation was her favourite hobby, so ordering her son into attendance was second nature. His mother was a tyrant, but a benevolent one he loved with all his heart. One afternoon was a small sacrifice to ensure her happiness. Sitting down with his indifferent sisters, he made small talk about people he didn’t know, and all the while she smiled at him, proud of what he’d become, and he was content.

The time passed in pleasant idleness, with the most serious discussion concerning the length of this season’s hemlines. By the end Lyrai was full of sugar, tea and relief. His mother appeased, his sisters seen, he’d even spoken with his brother. Duty done. He could go back to his students and wait for the day he would have wings again.

As he descended the stairs and crossed the entrance hall a man blocked his path, disrupting Lyrai’s pleasant thoughts. He eyed the intruder with a sinking heart. It was his father’s steward.

“The Stratys will see you now.”

Raising his eyebrows, Lyrai glanced over his shoulder, but no one else was in sight. The invitation was for him and him alone. Wonderful. “Then let’s not keep him waiting.”

~ 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 8, Part 1

April 8, 2016April 10, 2016 Becca Lusher

WB_Ch8.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Lyrai receives an invitation he can’t refuse, and is that some flirting I see before me? *gasp*

Eight

24^th Cold

Though he’d expected a summons from the moment he’d set foot in Nimbys, Lyrai had still hoped for later rather than sooner. Then again, as Stirla pointed out, two moons into his seven-month residency hardly counted as soon. Regardless, Lyrai tensed when a carriage stopped outside the barracks on the third Starday of Cold.

“Trying to be discreet,” Stirla murmured, watching through the window.

Lyrai didn’t answer – he was too busy frowning at the carriage. In a gods-cursed world covered in clouds, horses were impractical and scarce. They were reserved mainly for use on low-lying farm peaks – not in narrow Nimbys, where feet worked best. However, such ideas were unfamiliar to his mother. When Stirla said she was trying to be discreet, he was right: she simply had no idea what the word meant.

“I’d best go,” Lyrai sighed, looking down at himself and wondering if he should change. Having just returned from the cathedral, he was still wearing his dress uniform, complete with impractical white breeches.

“You’ll do,” Honra assured him.

“He could be covered in mud and stinking to Heirayk’s own heaven and his mother would forgive him.” Stirla pinched his fellow lieutenant’s cheek and failed to duck the retaliatory swipe across the head. “For that I hope you meet your father.”

“And I hope Atyrn dumps you in a thorn bush,” Lyrai retorted, shrugging into his jacket.

“Not long now,” Stirla said. “You’ll be flying again soon.”

Lyrai smiled bitterly. “Comforting as that is, it wouldn’t save me from a summons.”

“True,” Stirla agreed, hooking his arm around Lyrai’s neck and dragging him from the room. “Play nicely with your sisters, give your beautiful mother a kiss from me and don’t antagonise your brother.” He paused to straighten Lyrai’s neckcloth before shoving him towards the entrance hall.

“Aye, Grandmother.” Lyrai turned and tugged his forelock. “But it isn’t my brother I’m worried about.” They exchanged wry salutes before Stirla left for the eyries. Only the fact that there was no miryhl awaiting him, and thus no means of escape, stopped Lyrai from following.

Instead he turned to the waiting footman and accepted the gilded invitation, though there was no need to open it. The words inside were a mere formality and ones he could not, under any circumstances, refuse. Not even death was an adequate excuse when his mother sent a carriage.

So he sighed, nodded to the footman and climbed inside. “Milady has spoken, and like a dutiful son, I obey. Lead on.”

* * * * *

MAKING THE MOST of the weak winter sun, Mhysra preened Cumulo outside. Her hair was wrapped in an old scarf, there was a handkerchief tied across her nose and she was wearing her oldest clothes.

“You’re getting lazy, Cue,” she grumbled as she worked beneath his wing. Quill dust and dirt had turned her fingers grey and her nails a lovely sludge brown, while her palms glistened with feather oil. What he really needed was a bath, but the nearest source was the Nimbys reservoir, and having got away with using it once, she didn’t think they should push their luck.

“Why worry about deep preening when I have a Wingborn?” Cumulo rumbled as she emerged. He nudged her and sneezed.

Chuckling, she untied the handkerchief and wiped the mess from her face. As she pulled off the scarf and shook the dust from her hair, he sneezed again and gave her a baleful glare.

“Don’t blame me,” she said. “It’s all yours.”

“Mhysra!”

She raised her head at the unexpected shout and spotted her sister walking across the field, aided and supported by Lieutenant Stirla’s arm. Mhysra couldn’t help smiling at the man’s dazed expression.

“The mighty has fallen,” Cumulo murmured, while Milluqua thanked Stirla prettily and dismissed him with a smile. Looking sun-struck, the poor man wandered back to the eyries.

“Did you have to?” Mhysra asked.

Tearing her gaze from Stirla’s retreating back, Milluqua blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“He’s my lieutenant. He might be my captain when I graduate. Things could get awkward.”

Her sister frowned in confusion, looking beautifully feminine in lilac and lace, such a contrast to her dusty, hoydenish sibling. “Oh, but Lieutenant Stirla was ever so kind. He gave me a tour of the eyries while I was looking for you. Large, isn’t it? More so than anything at Wrentheria. And the miryhls…” Her voice trailed off as she stared back towards the eyries. “So kind.”

Cumulo chuckled, but Mhysra shook her head. “He’s not even a captain yet, Milli. Father would not approve.”

Milluqua’s eyes widened innocently. However, when Mhysra arched her eyebrows, she sighed. “There are good families in the Riders.”

“Amongst others,” Mhysra reminded her gently. “Lieutenant Stirla is of that other variety.”

“He was nice to me and has lovely eyes,” the older woman murmured dreamily. “He’s terribly handsome, especially with that scar. And so tall. He makes me feel fragile.”

Considering how small Milluqua was, Mhysra would like meet the man who didn’t make her feel fragile. Especially if he was a Rider. “He’s a flirt and Derry says he has a shocking reputation.”

“Really?” Milluqua asked, feigning nonchalance. “I do like to flirt.”

Rolling her eyes, Mhysra scrubbed her hands with her scarf. “What brings you up here? Is the season so dull you must seek entertainment elsewhere?”

Her sister smiled, all dimples and prettiness, showing why she was still one of the most sought after ladies in the city, even at the advanced age of twenty-two. “Hardly. It was a relief to stay home last night. I’ve worn through three pairs of slippers this past half-moon!”

“It gives Bumble something to chew,” Mhysra said absently, plucking a crooked feather from Cumulo’s chest and making him squawk. Recalling her manners, Milluqua greeted the miryhl and he lowered his head for a scratch. She was one of his favourite people.

“Father asked for you,” she said, as Cumulo returned to looking aloof and magnificent.

Mhysra wrinkled her nose. “He’s already seen me this quarter-moon.” Since she’d ceased pestering her father about joining the Riders they’d seen little of each other. Their paths occasionally crossed at dinner, but only when he wasn’t escorting Milluqua somewhere. As such, he called her to his study each quarter-moon for a progress report. He thought she spent her days learning ladylike behaviour from her sister and occasionally visiting her miryhl. The fact that she was growing toned from her training passed unnoticed. All that mattered was whether she could pour tea correctly, was losing her country accent and could curtsey appropriately to those above her rank, with subtle differences for those below.

It was immensely tedious, but since it was the only time she had to see her father Mhysra accepted it, and valued the etiquette lessons she suffered through at school. Part of her was sad that she had so little in common with her father, but she was also relieved. If they shared even one interest he might pay more attention and her secret would be out. Which was why any change in routine made her nervous.

“Do you know why?”

Milluqua shook her head. “I gave up second guessing father years ago. Mostly he’s as predictable as the seasons, but every so often he’ll surprise us just for the fun of it. It discourages complacency.”

“Lovely,” Mhysra sighed and gave Cumulo a farewell pat. There would be no flying today.

~ Next Chapter ~

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Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 7, Part 3

April 6, 2016April 8, 2016 Becca Lusher

WB_Ch7.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

What’s that? A Wingborn? But Wingborn don’t exist! Hahaha-Argh! Cue, let me go! Lemme go!

THE NEXT MORNING Mhysra and Derrain met up with Dhori on their walk through the city. The air was icy, promising a blizzard before dark. Not that Hethanon cared, sending them off on another punishing run. Cold to the bone, the students trudged to their training masters and went through the motions with mind-numbing weariness.

“Tired, my lambs?” Hethanon cooed, but his smile rapidly faded. “Toughen up or leave.”

The next morning brought the first desertions, with not one training master retaining all their students. Sergeant Rees’ line looked particularly thin. Mouse had lost his partner already and, unfortunately for him, was obliged to train with Lieutenant Lyrai instead.

“He’s evil,” he whimpered at midday, flexing his shoulders. “It’s bad enough when he’s shouting, but working with him is torture. He wants to kill me.”

“You’re getting off lightly.” Harlan was unsympathetic. “Try having Rees on your back.”

Mouse changed his tune the following quarter-moon when he was paired with Mhysra, after another student left and Dhori was moved to work with someone else. It was a day of changes. Since they could all now manage the exercises without injury, Hethanon brought out staffs for them to use.

“The staff is an all-purpose weapon, in training and in combat. Master it and you may try something more difficult. No one picks up a sword who cannot handle a staff. This is the opening exercise.”

Mhysra was soon grateful to be opposite Mouse, who though shorter was of equal strength. At Wrentheria, Mhysra had taken daily staff lessons with her cousins from the age of seven, and had yet to develop any fondness for it. By contrast, Dhori looked as though he’d been born to wield it. Lieutenant Lyrai complimented the lad on his prowess and sparred with him to demonstrate how a sequence of moves should be done at full speed. Not that the rest of them did the same. For now everything was done slowly, building up their muscles and numbing their brains.

The afternoons were no better, and Mhysra finally understood her brother’s complaints about the selection school. It was no wonder so many students dropped out – the boredom was staggering. Only her new friends and the thought of Cumulo kept her going.

* * * * *

WINTER MIGHT HAVE been holding Nimbys in a merciless grip, but after completing her first quarter-moon of Rider training, Mhysra couldn’t remember feeling happier. That morning she’d attended the service at the Cathedral of Maegla, sitting in the seats reserved for the Riders. She’d been able to do it without fear, since her father attended the service for Heirayk, God of the Sun, held elsewhere in the city.

Now she was with Cumulo, preparing him for their first flight in days.

“Hurry up,” her impatient miryhl ordered. “I’ve got so much to show you.”

While Mhysra might not have had time for flying lately, didn’t mean he hadn’t been out on his own. “You’ve become quite the adventurer without me, haven’t you?” she chuckled, running her hands under his girths to check they weren’t twisted and his feathers weren’t ruffled.

As she brushed beneath his belly, he jumped. “That tickles.”

“Sorry.”

“As you can see there’s space here for upwards of a hundred birds.” A familiar voice drifted in from outside. Mhysra and Cumulo looked up. Lieutenant Lyrai was outlined in the doorway, a handful of students clustered behind him. Mhysra’s heart sank.

Cumulo chuckled. “Now you’re in for it.”

“Hide me,” she muttered, diving under his wing.

“Mhysra,” he rumbled, half-amused, half-exasperated. “That isn’t going to work.”

“Hush.”

“We have around fifty miryhls at the moment, from the combined Riders of Lieutenant Stirla’s and my flurries. The other half of Captain Myran’s flight is patrolling the mountain communities around Nimbys.”

They were coming closer. Mhysra shrank against Cumulo’s side and held her breath.

“Whose miryhl is that, sir?” a familiar voice asked, making Mhysra bite back a groan: Corin.

“Why is it tacked up?” And Mouse. Lovely.

“And why does it have two extra legs?” She was going to kill Derrain. After she killed Cumulo; she could feel his chuckles across her whole body. “Two human legs. A new breed?”

Lieutenant Lyrai laughed – he actually laughed – and Mhysra remembered why she didn’t like him. “Either you’ve been caught, student, or something’s terribly wrong with Cumulo.”

“Cumulo?” Mouse chirped. “Is that the miryhl’s name?”

Cumulo, the traitor, raised his wing and nudged his Wingborn out into the light, his rumbling laughter audible to everyone as she emerged ruffled and flushed.

“Mhysra!” Everyone but the lieutenant, Derrain and, strangely, Dhori chorused in surprise.

Pushing her hair off her face, Mhysra mustered a weak smile. “Afternoon, everyone.”

“Why are you hiding under that miryhl’s -” At Cumulo’s indignant squawk, Corin apologised. “- sorry, Cumulo’s wing? Did you tack him up? Are you going to fly?”

“Is that allowed?” one of the other students, a girl Mhysra didn’t know, demanded.

“Are there miryhls we can practise on? Can we fly too?” an unfamiliar boy wanted to know.

“Can we?” Corin and Mouse echoed, turning to Lyrai with excitement.

Looking almost as startled as Mhysra, the lieutenant raised his eyebrows. “No.”

“Then how come she gets to?” the unfamiliar girl asked.

Derrain smirked. “Yes, Mhysra, how come you get to fly Cumulo?”

She glared at her friend and realised everyone was staring at her, waiting for an answer. She studied the straw wisps on the floor and mumbled, “He’s mine.”

“What was that?”

“What did she say?

“Speak up!”

“He’s mine,” she repeated, raising her voice.

Silence greeted her announcement.

Then Corin frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” said one of the boys. “I thought only Riders or ruling families could own a miryhl.” He eyed Mhysra critically. “Don’t tell us you’re the daughter of the Stratys.”

Lieutenant Lyrai choked on his amusement and she scowled at him.

“There is another exception to that rule,” Dhori said, calm in the face of their confusion and growing resentment. When everyone turned to him, he smiled. “Wingborn are allowed miryhls.” At Cumulo’s low rumble, his smile broadened. “Wingborn miryhls are allowed humans too.”

“I like him,” Cumulo whispered in her ear.

“You would.”

The group fell silent, blinking at each other. Then Corin’s lips began to twitch, Mouse started snickering and the whole lot of them burst into laughter.

“Wingborn!”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

“We might be newbies, but we aren’t that stupid.”

“Wingborn, ha!”

As they continued to laugh, Mhysra sighed and rested her head against Cumulo’s neck.

“Should have known we couldn’t fool you,” Lieutenant Lyrai chuckled. “You’re such a smart bunch. What was I thinking?”

While the students continued to laugh, Mhysra grew fed up of listening. “Glad to amuse you,” she grumbled, interrupting another round of, “Got to get up early to fool us, sir,” and “I haven’t believed in Wingborn since I was eight!”

“Come on, Cue.”

Sensing her mood, he didn’t argue, hopping to the nearest hatch and diving out. Shoving students aside and elbowing Derrain along the way, Mhysra stalked after her miryhl.

“Where are you going?” Mouse asked, bouncing after her. “It was a good joke.”

“I’m off to fly my imaginary Wingborn,” she retorted, still smarting from being laughed at. It was like being back in the offices again, facing down Clerk Brenai in front of all the Riders.

“This I have to see,” one of the strangers chuckled, no doubt anticipating a quick dismount.

Mhysra smiled. She might not have liked the laughter, but she was going to enjoy this.

“Are you sure?” Corin eyed Cumulo warily. Standing with his chest puffed out, he looked regal, intimidating and huge. “He’s so big.”

Mhysra snorted, both at Cumulo’s display and her sudden lack of escorts. The students had halted ten feet away, none daring to come any closer. Derrain and Lieutenant Lyrai stood smirking at the back.

“Idiots,” she grumbled, and stepped onto Cumulo’s lowered wing. When he boosted her into the saddle, she settled down to gasps from the students.

“You don’t have to do this,” Corin called worriedly. “I believe you.”

“She doesn’t,” Cumulo said, as if Mhysra had been foolish enough to think otherwise.

“Sir, you have to stop her,” Mouse pleaded with the lieutenant.

“She could get hurt,” Corin protested.

“She could,” Lyrai agreed, smiling at Mhysra’s glare. “But she won’t. Have a little faith. They know what they’re doing.”

Having tinkered long enough with things that didn’t need adjusting, Mhysra tucked up her legs and gathered the reins. “When you’re ready, Cue.”

“All right, chickling,” he chuckled, opened his wings and screamed. As the students covered their ears – and Corin covered her eyes – Cumulo crouched and sprang upwards, thumping the air with great flaps of his wings. Another, then another, got them airborne and spiralling on the updrafts to gasps of awe. “Always nice to be appreciated.”

Lying against his back, Mhysra chuckled. “Show-off.”

“No one doubts my Wingborn and gets away with it.” So saying, he let his left wing drop, banking towards the cliffs, and swept back across the field over their audience’s head.

She clung to his back, familiar with her arrogant miryhl’s routine, while Cumulo executed an array of tricks that left the crowd below in no doubt about who he belonged to. Satisfied, he rose above an appreciative chorus of cheers and whistles.

Reaching forward, she hugged him hard. “You’re my hero.”

“Anytime, chickling,” he chuckled, carrying them into the winter sunshine. “Anytime.”

~ 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 7, Part 2

April 3, 2016April 6, 2016 Becca Lusher

WB_Ch7.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

New friends! And far too much exercise for a Sunday morning.

“NOT… WHAT… I… expect-ed,” Derrain puffed as they completed their laps. They were among the first to finish, though plenty had claimed to be done earlier. Except the little man with the big voice had the eyes of a hawk. The cheaters probably wished they hadn’t bothered now, Mhysra thought, watching the stragglers stump out two extra laps.

“Evil,” she gasped, bending over to catch her breath. Before this morning she’d thought herself fit. At Wrentheria she regularly ran with the fledgling miryhls, encouraging them to fly, or played chase with her cousins and the nakhounds. This was torture, with every breath stabbing frozen knives inside her chest. Even Derrain was worn out and he was used to scrambling around skyships in the middle of a storm, hauling himself up ropes and other such daring stuff.

“Still alive, though,” Derrain said as he straightened. “I feel ready for anything now.” He stretched his arms and went to fetch their coats from the pile of discarded clothing.

“Unnatural,” Mhysra grumbled, noticing some of the other girls eyeing her friend. She smiled when one walked over and introduced herself.

“I’m Corin.”

Derrain shrugged into his coat and grinned. “I’m Derrain, and she’s Mhysra.”

Mhysra straightened and nodded politely, surprised when the girl dragged her eyes away from Derrain long enough to nod back. Short and stocky, Corin was pretty when she smiled, lighting up her amber eyes. “You both did well back there. I don’t think you got barked at once.”

“All right for some.” A scrawny girl limped over, clutching her ribs. “I never moved so much in me life, and all to get back where we started. Ain’t what I was expecting. Ulla.”

“Corin,” the short girl replied, and pointed at the others. “Derrain. Mhysra. I’ve seen you around the docks.”

The scrawny girl nodded, scratching her tight brown curls. “Aye. Me da’s a gladhand.” Which was docker slang for men who turned their hand to anything to earn a coin. She nodded at Corin. “You’re merchant stock.” She looked at Derrain. “You’re off the ships.” Turning to Mhysra, she narrowed her eyes. “You’re new. Don’t know what you do, but I seen you about.”

“Impressing people again, Ulla Bright-Eyes?” asked a tall boy with a broad grin.

“Harlan,” the girl grumbled. “An’ Mouse.” This was said to the small lad in Harlan’s shadow. Whereas one boy was tall and exuded confidence, the other was small and fidgety. “Thought you said you weren’t gonna bother.”

“I needed to do something over the winter.” Harlan shrugged. He looked too fine for the Riders, with his artfully arranged curls and brightly polished boots.

While they waited for the rest of the new students to finish, they got to know each other a little. Corin and Harlan’s parents both ran moderately successful skyships, Mouse was Harlan’s cousin, fresh from the mid-Imercian country and Ulla had grown up on the docks. Being his usual charming self, Derrain quickly fitted right in. He was just explaining how he knew Mhysra when their instructor clapped his hands.

“Who wants to go home now?”

Harlan looked at his muddied boots and sighed, making the others chuckle. There were a few discontented mutters from the crowd, but no one left. The little man smiled, the expression filling Mhysra with dread.

“Good. I am Hethanon Armsmaster and your mornings belong to me now. With me you run and sweat until you break. Eventually I may let you touch a weapon. Because before you go near a miryhl with a pointy object, you must prove you can use it without maiming yourself. Understood?”

There were a couple of mutters, a few affirmative replies, but mostly subdued silence.

“So much to learn,” Hethanon said pityingly. “When I ask a question, you reply. Understood?”

“Yes,” they replied, mostly together.

“Something is missing, students,” Hethanon continued, voice stern. “When I speak, you answer, and when you do you call me sir. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Better,” Hethanon said. “Now your instructors. Real Rift Riders whose time could be better spent than on you. Do not waste it, do not test their patience and do not forget that they are worthy of your respect.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Sergeants Honra and Rees,” Hethanon introduced, pointing to each. “Lieutenants Stirla and Lyrai. You address them as sir and obey at the first time of asking. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Then pay attention. You are too many, but that will change. For now I will divide you up, and you will not complain!” His bark silenced the dissenters before they even began. Mhysra shot Derrain a worried glance; she hoped she was in his group.

“I will point at you and say a name. That is your group. Go stand by them.” Hethanon nodded at the Riders, who spread out. “My group wait in the middle.” He started to point, barking Stirla, Honra, mine, Lyrai or Rees, making more than one student jump. His method was swift and effective, splitting up any groups he spotted and placing any potential troublemakers under his or Sergeant Rees’ command.

“Stirla.” He pointed at Derrain, who sighed with relief.

“Honra.” He pointed at Corin.

“Mine.” Ulla.

“Lyrai.” Mouse.

“Rees.” Harlan.

He divided the group in front of Mhysra, before coming back. “Lyrai.”

Her heart sank and she trudged towards her line. The lieutenant was expressionless, despite the eight students chattering behind him. She joined Mouse, who was pitifully pleased to see her. A couple of lines over, Derrain made a sad face, though he had nothing to complain about in Stirla. It was just her luck to end up with the man she already knew didn’t like her.

When Hethanon finished, she looked at her line and suppressed a sigh. She was the only girl. Stirla and Honra had two each, Hethanon had three. There were none in Rees’ group.

“Great.”

Mouse smiled shyly. “Bet I’m the last person you wanted to be with, but it’ll be good, you’ll see. But if it does get bad we can always thank Heirayk we’re not stuck with Rees.”

“There’s a bright side,” she said, morosely studying the other boys in their line. Two were highborn, and showed it. Four were friends already, while the remaining two didn’t seem to know anyone. One was even smaller than Mouse. He was shaking and she doubted he would last long. The other was tall and calm, looking around curiously. Catching Mhysra’s eye, he smiled.

“All right, everyone.” Lieutenant Lyrai clapped his hands for their attention. “I’m going to teach you some exercises to build up your strength and keep you warm, then we’ll do more to improve your fitness. The Rift Riders are about more than flying pretty birdies.” He caught Mhysra’s eye, and she could have sworn there was a hint of a smile as he recalled the day she’d forced her way into the Riders. Then his gaze passed on and he was as cold as ever.

“I’m sticking with you,” Mouse whispered as Lieutenant Lyrai began pairing people off, telling them about Rider life – it wasn’t easy, they had to be fit and willing to fight, and so on. Reaching them, he pointed Mhysra to the far side of the line and positioned Mouse next to her.

Mhysra bit back a smile as Mouse groaned: he hadn’t got his wish. Standing opposite her was the lad who’d smiled earlier. Mouse was paired with the timid boy. It was obvious why the lieutenant had done it, since they were of a similar size. And twitchy temperament.

“I’m Dhori,” the lad opposite her said, as tall as she was and just as lightly built.

“Mhysra.”

That was all they had time for, because the lieutenant was talking again, demonstrating stretches, jumps, pattern steps, blocks and holds, some of which required two people, hence the pairings. A quick glance around showed that everyone else was doing similar exercises. She smiled at Dhori and started counting star jumps, followed by tucks. It looked daft, but she wasn’t alone in her folly. Derrain and Ulla had had it right earlier – this wasn’t what she’d expected. Not at all.

* * * * *

THEY TRAINED UNTIL noon, then were shown the bathing chambers beneath the Rider offices. Fresh uniforms waited and, once clean and changed, they ate in the hall. Afterwards they were divided into those who were literate and those who weren’t. Since there were only twelve who couldn’t write, the remaining thirty-two were split again into two groups. This time Mhysra managed to stay with Derrain. They were joined by Harlan, Mouse, Corin and Dhori. Ulla had been one of the first to leave, being able to read a little but not write at all.

Though the students’ mornings might belong to Armsmaster Hethanon, their afternoons lay in the hands of the clerks. They would test their literacy and arithmetic as well as teaching them geography, history and languages. The lieutenants would instruct them about life in the Riders later in the term.

Mhysra tried to take in all the things being said, but she was not the only one smothering yawns after their busy morning.

“Remember we asked for this,” Derrain murmured, as they settled into a classroom.

If she’d had more energy she would have hit him.

“Now we know why there are so few Riders,” Harlan grumbled. His boots were now sadly scuffed. “Gods, I don’t think I can take this.”

“Don’t be soft,” Corin scolded. “This is a great opportunity. I’m not giving up yet, not after a paltry bit of exercise. I might change my mind when they start lecturing us on poetry, but I’m hoping they’ll skip that.”

“They save it for Aquila,” Dhori said, taking the seat next to Mhysra.

“That’s something to look forward to,” Mouse chuckled.

Corin and Mhysra groaned, “Great,” and shared a grin.

Moaning, Harlan put his head on the desk. “Wake me if anything interesting happens.”

It didn’t, and at the end of the day Mhysra waved farewell to her new friends before going to see Cumulo. He hopped down two perches to meet her.

“Well? How did it go?”

Smiling, she tickled his head. “It’ll do.” She’d made some friends and if it stayed like this everything would be fine. “I can cope.”

Tilting his head for a stroke, he sighed with relief. “Good. Tell me the same tomorrow.”

~ 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 7, Part 1

April 1, 2016April 3, 2016 Becca Lusher

WB_Ch7.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

So it begins…

Seven

11^th Blizzard

It was still dark when Mhysra crept down the backstairs, but the servants were already hard at work. Maids pumped water for the laundry, cleaned fireplaces and fetched milk, eggs and newspapers from the markets, while Cook prepared breakfast. The butler designated the day’s tasks to the footmen and the boot boy worked on his basket of shoes. No one paid any attention to the earl’s daughter slipping between them. It wasn’t the first time and everyone knew it wouldn’t be the last.

Only Cook acknowledged her, handing her a warm pastry with a smile. “Luck, my lady.”

Mhysra grinned and stepped out into the darkness, glad she’d left her puppy behind. “Please behave,” she murmured to the absent Bumble.

“I’ll be the best boy in the city, I promise.”

“Derry!” she yelped, grabbing his shoulders as he goosed her ribs. “Don’t do that. Gods!”

He grinned at her overreaction. “Nervous?”

Nervous was too weak a word for how she felt – bone-deep terrified was more like it. Just because she’d grown up around miryhls, was Wingborn and had been flying all her life, didn’t mean this was going to be easy.

“Me too,” Derrain chuckled, shivering. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

“Not on the first day,” she agreed, blowing into her gloves. “But by next quarter-moon you’ll be singing a different tune.”

* * * * *

“OH, HAPPY DAY.” Stirla was in a disgustingly good mood as he met Lyrai in the Rider’s mess at dawn. But then he would be – he was on morning duty, so getting up this ungodly hour was normal. Lyrai wasn’t. His flurry didn’t fly until the afternoon, so he had every right to still be sleeping. Yet, as an officer, his presence was expected. He hated being stuck in Nimbys.

“This is the first day of a glorious future. Aren’t you excited?”

Lyrai grunted, his mouth full of eggs, a handy excuse not to talk, and was relieved when his sergeant sat down beside him.

“Morning, Honra,” Stirla greeted.

“Morning.” Honra was a pleasant-natured fellow, an experience Rider and the perfect go-between for the occasionally stiff and moody Lyrai and his flurry. Honra never got offended, even when Lyrai was having an off-day, of which there had been a many since Froth retired. When Lyrai finished his captaincy training he planned to back his sergeant for promotion. He’d earned it the hard way.

Stirla and Honra chatted amiably throughout breakfast, while Lyrai pretended he was still sleeping like sensible folk. When they finished, he followed them outside, where they met Stirla’s sergeant, Rees – a sharp-tempered Rider who rarely spoke when he could bark. He’d been paired with Stirla to provide the distance an officer needed from his men. Stirla was too quick to share jokes with everyone. Rees, it was suspected, had no sense of humour. His response to Stirla’s cheerful greeting was a sullen grunt.

It was another fine winter morning in Nimbys, with frost shimmering on the flying field and snow dotting the cliffs. The air was freezing, but it hardly mattered since the fifty new students were too nervous to stand still. Had the weather been inclement, they would still have been expected to wait outside, blizzard, hail or sleet. They didn’t realise how lucky they were.

Between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, they ranged across the social spectrum from the son of a duke to a couple of dockhands. Anyone could enter a selection school if they had a recommendation from a guardian or sponsor of consequence, and handed it in before the deadline. Or after, Lyrai amended, spotting Lady Mhysra in the crowd. Special treatment was understandable for a Wingborn. As long as she didn’t expect it too often.

Of the fifty, Lyrai counted eight girls, some not looking fit enough to run one lap of the field, let alone fly a thousand miles. The same could be said for the boys, but that was the point of the selection training. Fifty students might apply to each of the six schools across the Overworld, but over the course of the next two seasons most would drop out. Some wouldn’t be able to take the discipline, others would find the training too tough. There might even be failures at the end of year exams, easy though they were reputed to be.

Then, and only then, would they be allowed to choose a miryhl and move to Aquila. Only the most dedicated and capable lasted that long. If they were left with twenty students at the end of all this Lyrai would consider it a bumper crop. Ten would be average. He wondered how many would be girls.

“Morning, everyone!” A brusque voice rang out, silencing most of chatter as the students turned towards the speaker. Short, stocky and scarred, Hethanon Armsmaster was the best selection trainer the Riders had ever had. He took no cheek from anyone, regardless of who they were born to be. A native of Ihra, an isolated state to the north, he knew everything about harsh conditions and human limitations. He pushed his students hard, because he expected them to be the best. Lyrai had studied under his yoke and had nothing but respect for him. He didn’t look like much, but a boy underestimated him at his peril. Same for the girls.

Though most of the crowd was quiet, two girls continued to gossip, while a knot of boys snickered. Honra clucked his tongue and the lieutenants shared a smirk. Rees sniffed.

“Lieutenant Stirla, if you please,” Hethanon invited.

Topping six feet in height, with shoulders to match, Stirla had an imposing presence when he chose to use it. “Silence!” Not to mention a ferocious bellow.

The students flinched, the hush so complete a pair of squabbling ravens halfway up the cliff could be heard in raucous detail.

Hethanon stepped forward. “Obedience is the first rule of the Rift Riders. Respect for command. The ability to hold your tongue,” he added, glaring at a whispering lad; the boy blushed. “Insolence breeds contempt and mistrust. A Rider follows his officer, no matter what. To question is to die. To disobey is to die. To disrespect is to die. If you cannot obey you have no business here. No one is forcing you. No one will stop you. Leave if you will.”

He looked around as if he could see every face in the crowd, even those right at the back. None dared make eye contact. There was a lot of nervous shifting and a few titters, but nobody left. Most would likely believe it shameful to walk before the day began. They’d learn better soon enough.

“Five laps of the field!” Hethanon’s bark made everyone – Riders included – jump.

The youngsters stared at each other in dismay. No one moved.

“If you cannot obey an order, what are you doing here? Five laps. Now!”

They obeyed reluctantly, breaking into groups as they trotted towards the far end of the field, slipping and sliding over the ice. Complaints abounded, along with insults about pipsqueaks who thought too much of themselves.

Hethanon rocked smugly on his heels. When the students reached the cliffs, he turned to the lieutenants. “Shall we show them how it is done?”

“No.” Stirla had never studied under Hethanon, but he’d heard the rumours. Which was why when Hethanon started jogging Stirla and the others went too.

~ 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 6, Part 2

March 27, 2016April 1, 2016 Becca Lusher

WB_Ch6.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Skywards with Cue and the letter appears, at last! There may also be snow, just because.

“YOU CAN COME out now. He’s gone.”

Mhysra blinked. “Who?”

Her miryhl chuckled. “The handsome one, with pale hair and sharp eyes. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Noticed what? You’ve apparently noticed a lot more than I have.”

“Liar.” Cumulo chortled. “You won’t even speak to him. Taken with him, are you?”

Pushing away, she stared at the eagle incredulously. “Don’t be daft. The man despises me. He barely waited for my back to turn before trying to steal you. Taken with him? Ha!”

Cumulo’s eyes glowed with amusement. “My mistake. But he is a fine looking human.”

“He’s a miserable killjoy, with eyes that could cause cloud frost. I prefer Lieutenant Stirla.”

“Well, I like Lieutenant Lyrai. Even his name sounds better. If I wasn’t bonded to you, I’d be tempted.”

“Except you wouldn’t be here, because you’re too young. By the time you were old enough he’d be bonded again, so wipe that smug look off your face. You’ve got me, you were born with me and you’re stuck with me. Be happy.”

Lowering his beak against her chest, he hummed contritely. “I am happy, chickling. No one could be happier than me. Well, maybe I might be if…”

Sighing, she shoved him away. “What now?”

“My saddle. Come on, misery, let’s fly.”

Mhysra’s grouchiness vanished. She no longer cared that every Rider within ten leagues wanted to steal her miryhl, nor that her miryhl was too vain to stop them from trying. She didn’t even care about Cumulo teasing her over the lieutenant anymore. He wanted to go flying. Having never turned down such an offer – rain, snow or sunshine – she ran to the tack room, snatched up his tack and put it on with practised efficiency.

“Where are we going?” she asked, as he strutted out into the bitter day.

“Anywhere as long as it’s up,” Cumulo replied, stretching his wings. “Hop on, chickling, we haven’t long before it snows again.”

When he lowered his wing, she stepped onto the joint and straddled the saddle, slipping her feet into the stirrups and her knees under his wings. She wasn‘t really dressed for a long flight, but even without a cold weather flying coat or flight helmet, she wanted to escape. Anything to get away from the ground and all the things trying to hold her back from this life she had been born to. “All set?” she asked, picking up the reins.

“Hang on.” Cumulo flapped to make sure nothing interfered with his flight muscles, then spread and waggled his tail, just for show. He hopped two paces. “All’s well.”

Bounding forward one stride, two, he opened his wings and jumped. The first flap barely lifted them off the ground, but the second carried them higher and, with a last push of his feet, they were airborne. He flapped laboriously, grunting with each downward pull as they covered the field and rapidly approached the cliff. Cumulo shrieked as he angled his wings, holding them fully extended, and swept around in a steep curve that barely avoided the mountainside.

Mhysra whooped as he flapped again, tilting them into a wide spiral to glide steadily upwards. He was big and strong but out of practise at ground-launching with a passenger.

“You’re getting lazy, Cue.”

He shrieked in outrage and banked heavily to the right, a risky manoeuvre for any rider less experienced than she. Mhysra laughed at his tactics and spread her arms, tipping her head back. Air swept over her, pulling her hair from its pins as Cumulo dived. The world rushed up to meet them, before the miryhl opened his great wings, skimmed the grass and launched skywards again, both whooping with joy.

There was nothing greater than miryhl flight.

Up to speed now, Cumulo glided with the currents and updrafts, carrying them up the mountain to where Rift Riders patrolled. They ducked and weaved, pitting their wits against some of the more playful pairs, until he eventually took her out over the Cloud Sea. It rolled forever, a fluffy whiteness that called to mind soft pillows and gentle sleep. Yet as Cumulo dived to skim the cloud tops, the air turned wild and the surface roiled with cold winds stronger than anything found on the mountain slopes. Despite the frigid air that nipped and shiver their flesh, they relished the challenge of flying through the turbulence, before letting it blow them skywards once more.

Out there they were alone, facing west where the sea stretched uninterrupted beyond the horizon, glowing even under a sullen sky. She could see forever and it was breathtaking.

Leaning against her miryhl’s back, Mhysra hugged as much of him as she could reach and rested her cheek against the cool silk of his feathers. “Thank you,” she murmured, knowing that no matter what happened, what her parents said or how the selection school turned out, she would always have this. She would always have him.

Cumulo’s muscles flexed and bunched beneath her as he beat his wings, carrying them further into forever. “You’re welcome, chickling.”

* * * * *

SNOW WAS FALLING by the time she left the eyries, her heart as light as her footsteps as she headed home. When she passed the offices, the clerk she’d met the other day stepped out.

“Classes begin tomorrow, Lady Mhysra,” he reminded her. “Have you a letter yet?”

She touched her coat pocket and thought of all the arguments, the closed door of her father’s study, the tightening of her mother’s lips whenever her youngest daughter came into view. Making her decision, she pulled out the letter. “Is this is what you require, sir?”

The clerk checked and split the seal, eyes moving swiftly over the neat secretary handwriting and the bold scrawl beneath. He scrutinised it again, before sighing with relief and handing her a uniform kit. “I believe it is. Congratulations, student. Be back here bright and early tomorrow.”

She returned his bow with a half-curtsey and turned for home. If her steps were heavier than before, well, it was cold and she was tired. At least the arguing was over. It was done.

* * * * *

“THANK THE GODS, you’re back!” Mhysra had hardly entered the rear gate when Milluqua pounced. “Don’t you realise how late it is?”

Too tired to have taken much notice, Mhysra glanced up at the tumbling snow as she was dragged into the house. “It slipped my mind.”

“Fool,” Milluqua growled, taking the backstairs and elbowing open the servant door to Mhysra’s room, where a tub steamed by the fireplace. “Get in and give me that uniform.”

Mhysra was happy to comply, moaning as the water enveloped her tense muscles. “You’re a miracle from Divine Lithaen, Milli, sent to aid me.” Ducking down, she scrubbed her hair and reached for the soap.

Milluqua held up the new breeches and tutted. “It’s scandalous the rags they give you recruits. Kilai went through two pairs in his first month. I’ll have some more made. Same pattern, better cloth.”

Yawning, Mhysra soaped her feet and scowled at a new blister on her heel. “What’s the point in using the finest materials when half of us will drop out before New Year?”

“Three moons? Ha! You think more of your fellow students than the rest of the city. From what I’ve heard they don’t expect any girl to last through to Winter Rains.”

Mhysra scowled and scrubbed her arms: Winter Rains was only a month and a half away. “I hope you took their bets, the insufferable fools.”

“Of course I did,” her sister assured her, pulling a dress from the wardrobe and brushing it off. “You should hear some of the idiots talk. And they call themselves gentlemen! It’s long past time we women shook some sense into them. I’m hoping you’ll be just the girl to do it.”

“Perhaps,” she demurred, curious about the sort of people she would meet in the morning. “If I’m not, I’m sure someone will. The Rift Riders won’t know what’s hit them.”

“Good. Now get out. Father’s been asking after you since noon, and if you don’t get downstairs soon he’ll know something’s up. You’re lucky Mother’s off sailing again. I don’t think we could do this if she’d stayed.”

Sharing a grimace with her sister, Mhysra emerged from the glorious water and dressed. As she was brushing her hair there was a scratch at the door and Milluqua admitted Bumble. Yipping happily, the puppy bounded over.

Mhysra fended her off with a foot. “Not now, pup.”

Bumble sat with a frustrated huff and started chewing her mistress’ discarded belt.

“Nuisance,” Milluqua scolded, tapping her gently on the muzzle and rescuing the leather. “What will you do with her tomorrow?”

Mhysra wrinkled her nose. “Not sure. Take her along probably. I doubt my teachers will approve, but I’ve nowhere else to leave her.” She sighed and plaited her hair. “What was Aunt Mhylla thinking?”

“Perhaps it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with Bumble,” Milluqua suggested, scooping the puppy up and tickling her silky ears. “She is rather fixed on you.”

“Well, she can’t have me. Not during the day. But if I leave her she’ll howl the house down.”

“Bring her to me before you go. I’ll look after her.”

Pausing in arranging her hair, Mhysra stared at her sister’s reflection. “You want me to bring her to you? To look after while I’m at school?”

Milluqua raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I said.”

Mhysra thought about the destruction her wilful puppy caused daily, from chewing everything within reach to making messes and smells in the most inconvenient places. She considered the perfection of her sister’s rooms and her prized collection of shoes. Then there was the fact that Milluqua rarely rose before noon, while Bumble liked to play in the morning.

She smiled. “You really do want me to succeed, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Milluqua confirmed, dumping the dog in favour of pinning her sister’s hair up properly. “Don’t let me down.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Don’t. Or you’ll be paying for every pair of shoes your wretched mutt wrecks.”

~ Next Chapter ~

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