Tag: Rift Riders

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~ Previous Chapter ~

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

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

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Two
Students at Large

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t stop talking once.

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

Lyrai grimaced. “Fleik tortured us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better than too heavy.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I can wash them.”

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

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

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

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

“They are your students!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ouch.”

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

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

Lyrai grimaced. “You know what I mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ha! Says Lieutenant Lightweight.”

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

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

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

“Funny. So funny.”

“I know. How you’ll miss me.”

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

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~ Next Chapter ~

Thanks for reading!

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

~ Previous Chapter ~

Time to fly!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steady,” Cumulo murmured. “Steady.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

“Likewise,” Willym sneered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All out.”

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

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

The lieutenants and captains exchanged uneasy glances.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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