Home of The Overworld, Tales of the Aekhartain and Wrystan
~ Previous Chapter ~
Sorry this is a wee bit late, I’ve been out enjoying the spring sunshine (not so much the wind, but it wouldn’t be Dartmoor without a brisk breeze).
Anyway… Derry to the rescue!
~ Previous Chapter ~
After everything that’s happened, it seems that some things will always remain the same.
~ Previous Chapter ~
Roll call time.
|| Part One ||
This story takes place during Wingborn and features a survival skills lesson, taught by Lieutenant Stirla. If it were in the book it would appear just before Chapter 21.
Mouse and fire… what could possibly go wrong?
FIRE! ACTUAL FIRE! Gods, Mouse could hardly contain his excitement. He was going to learn how to make fire!
Not that he couldn’t light a fire. He was a country boy: he’d made up the hearth fire back at home more times than he cared to count. Even on the days when his brothers had pissed on the kindling and hidden the flint in order to get him into trouble. But he’d still lit it, because otherwise his father —
No. No. He wouldn’t think of that. He’d think of fire, and how to start it from scratch out in the wild. He’d listen to Lieutenant Stirla and learn how to survive. Not just in the wild, but everywhere. Because that’s what he wanted to be these days, a survivor. He didn’t want to think back to his life on the farm, or his brothers or father. He didn’t ever want to go back there. Not now, not ever. He’d far rather stay here at Aquila, where he had friends and instructors, where he could learn how to take care of himself, how to fight, how to survive.
There was no one here to lock him in the chest. No one hear to piss on his kindling. No one here to —
No. Stop.
Mouse shook his head firmly, dislodging his memories and tried to focus on what Lieutenant Stirla was saying. He was a big man, was Stirla, even bigger than Mouse’s father, taller than his brothers, with hands the size of dinner plates. But he wasn’t mean. He didn’t shout. He smiled, he joked, he laughed. He still made Mouse nervous when he came too close, but not because of fear. Or not just out of fear. He wanted to impress Lieutenant Stirla so much. He wanted to impress everyone. He wanted to be different. He wanted to be important, to be smart, to matter.
He stuck close to Derrain as Stirla urged them to break into groups and form smaller circles. Derrain was big too, but he was Mouse’s friend. He still wanted to impress him, but Derrain never made him nervous. Not like Mhysra. She was amazing. Mouse wanted to impress her all the time – no, not just impress her, he wanted to be her. Not just because she was Wingborn either, even though she and Cumulo were incredible in the sky. No, Mouse wanted to stand up to his family the way Mhysra had defied hers. She might have been quiet and a little shy at times, but she was strong. Mouse wanted to be strong too, so he nudged Derrain until he pulled Mhysra into their circle, along with Corin and Dhori.
His friends. Mouse’s friends. He’d never thought he’d have friends, and never ones as good as these. Nerves skittered through his body, making him bounce and jitter, even as they knelt down on the sandy floor and formed a little fire pit in the middle of their circle. He couldn’t sit still, this was too important.
Fire.
Friends.
Stirla.
He had to impress them all. He had to show them he was clever too, that he could be strong. That he would survive.
Lieutenant Stirla was talking as he walked around the room. Derrain and Corin moved away to collect kindling and wood. Mouse wriggling on his knees, waiting for the moment, waiting for his moment.
Stirla handed out flints to each circle, still talking, talking, talking. There was stuff about safety and covering tracks, watching out for damp wood and keeping back from the flames, blah, blah, blah. Mouse already knew how to light fires from flint sparks. That was easy.
“Here.” He grabbed the flint from Dhori’s hand. It wasn’t like Dhori needed it. He was so incredibly capable that he could probably light a fire just by sighing at a wood pile. But if he couldn’t, well, here was Mouse’s chance to show everyone what he could do, what he was capable of.
He might not know anything about how to fly a miryhl, he might not be any good with a weapon, nor add up his numbers too well, or remember his history just right, but he certainly knew how to use a flint to light a fire.
Stirla was still talking, this time about using twigs and fireboards and string and other things that Mouse wasn’t paying attention to. None of it mattered, because Derrain and Corin were back and they had kindling.
“Here. Let me,” Mouse insisted, heaping all the kindling into a big pile.
“I don’t think we’re suppose to use it all at once,” Derrain said, sounding amused as Mouse piled the wood on top. “We’ve a whole lesson to last through, you know.”
Mouse didn’t care. This was his one chance, his big chance, to impress everyone. He didn’t need to wait for the lieutenant to finish talking – because he was still going on and on and on and sounded as though he was never going to stop.
“Trust me,” Mouse said, feeling his jitters grow as he pulled his knife from his belt. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
So saying, he angled his flint against the kindling and struck his knife blade against it. A shower of sparks fell onto the kindling, but nothing caught.
Frowning, Mouse tried again, harder this time.
Still nothing.
Growling with frustration and beginning to heat with embarrassment, he bent lower over his flint and struck, struck, struck, struck, struck, his knife becoming a blur as he scraped the flint again and again and again.
Sparks rained down, much like the weather beyond the window, and he began puffing hard from the effort.
“Hey!” someone shouted over the rushing filling Mouse’s ears. “Stop!”
Mouse scraped the flint one last time and looked up, blinking in confusion to find Stirla looming over him with a face like thunder. Just like back home. Just like his father.
He cringed downwards.
And the fire roared into life.
*
“SO,” LYRAI GREETED, sauntering into Stirla’s room that evening and sprawling in the armchair. “How was your day?”
Having been studying the worst of the damage in the mirror, sighing over the sight, Stirla eyed his friend over the bandages swathing his fingers. He rubbed the newly bald patch at the front of his head – which matched his missing eyebrows – and scowled. “I’ve had better.”
Grinning, Lyrai pulled an apple from his pocket and crunched into it. “Mouse and fire, eh?” he mumbled around his mouthful. “Who knew that would be such a… flammable combination? No wonder you were so cheerful at lunchtime. Everything went as planned, then?”
“Shut up, you arse,” Stirla huffed, stomping across the room to steal the apple from Lyrai’s hand.
At least, he tried, but with his fingers heavily wrapped in bandages, he merely thumped the fruit onto the floor.
Lyrai slowly finished chewing his mouthful as they both watched the shiny apple bounce over the carpet and roll under the dresser. “At least you didn’t burn down the practise barn.”
No, they’d just scorched the floor and the walls a bit. Gedanon was not happy.
“And you all made it out in one piece,” his friend continued, then looked Stirla over and grinned. “Mostly.”
Stirla made a rude gesture, but the effect was somewhat muted by the bandages.
Lyrai cackled.
“Some friend you are,” he groused bitterly.
His fellow lieutenant pulled another apple from his pocket and began to eat that instead. “Poor Stirla, why don’t you sit down and tell your Uncle Lyrai all about it? And try not to fret too much. Your eyebrows will grow back eventually, and I must say, the constantly surprised look is good for you. Lady Milluqua would approve.”
Having been lowering himself into the second armchair, ready to indeed tell his friend all about it, Stirla changed his mind. Bandages or no bandages, he was still perfectly capable of hauling his skinny runt of a so-called friend up by an arm and his collar and tossing him from the room.
Minus his apple, of course.
“Good to know you’re feeling better,” Lyrai chuckled, once he’d regained his feet. Standing in the hall, he straightened his uniform, smoothed his hair and shot Stirla a wink. “I’ll be sure to give Lady Mhysra a full report. Just so she can assure her sister of your rude health, of course.”
“Piss off, Runt,” Stirla growled, slamming the door on his friend’s laughter.
“Very rude health,” Lyrai shouted, pounding a farewell on the door before he left.
Stirla shook his head and took a vicious bite out of the apple, but this time when he returned to assess the damage in the mirror, he found himself smiling.
Thanks for reading!
This story takes place during Wingborn and features a survival skills lesson, taught by Lieutenant Stirla. If it were in the book it would appear just before Chapter 21.
And yes, considering Stirla is teaching a group that includes Mhysra, Corin and most especially Mouse, it really is as dangerous as it sounds :D
Surviving Stirla
Aquila
19th Gale Month
STIRLA WAS LOOKING forward to today. He’d been back at Aquila now for just over two months and, even if he did say so himself, he was definitely getting the hang of this teaching lark. Alongside his duties as a lieutenant, Stirla was feeling confident that he could do this. One day he would become a captain – and he hoped he would prove to be a good one.
He just had to get his students through their three years at Aquila first, equipping them with everything they would need to survive in the wild. Not that he ever intended to abandon them out there without him, but who knew what the Overworld would throw at them in the future?
Which brought him back to today’s lesson.
Grinning, he pushed his way into the classroom, delighted to see that his students had already pushed all the tables back against the walls, with the chairs stacked on top. They eyed him curiously as he sauntered towards the board at the head of the room, their looks turning wary as he rubbed his hands together with anticipation.
“Good afternoon, students,” he greeted cheerfully.
“Afternoon, sir,” they replied cautiously.
“Today’s a big day for all of you,” he announced, rocking on his toes and trying not to laugh as the first-years traded glances with each other. “You’ve been here for two moons already, and I’ve already taught you plenty about building shelters and telling good plants from bad. Now it’s time for the big one.”
Frowns and baffled expressions faced him, making Stirla smile. He had them nicely confused, which was how he preferred things. Well, all except for Dhori, of course. That lad had his arms folded over his chest, one dark eyebrow raised, a wry smile on his mouth, leaving Stirla in little doubt that he knew exactly what was coming.
Stirla raised both eyebrows at the student, silently asking if he was about to spoil his lieutenant’s fun. Dhori shook his head – smart lad.
Before anyone else could figure out the obvious, or start asking questions – as he could see Corin was itching to do – Stirla clapped his hands together. Their attention snapped towards him and he grinned once more.
“Come along, students. It’s time to face your fate.”
*
“WELL, THAT WAS nicely ominous,” Corin muttered as their class filed out of the doorway in Stirla’s wake. “What’s coming up next? Ritual sacrifice to appease the Gods in case we get caught out in a blizzard and separated from the rest of the Riders?”
Derrain and Mouse snickered and Mhysra smiled. While no one could deny that Stirla’s lessons were useful and full of all kinds of practical information they would all need one day or another, their lieutenant definitely favoured a dramatic style of teaching.
He taught them how to build a shelter in the forest, not because Riders often camped out in the wild and had to make do with the world around them, but in case one day their miryhl was caught up in a rogue gust of wind, separated from their flurry, thrown down a ravine and left wounded, with the Rider having to hike their way out in search of help.
Plant identification wasn’t simply to supplement supplies in the evening cook pot, but in case a great fireball struck the Overworld one night, killing off all civilisation as they knew it and leaving them to forage alone and starving in the uncaring wild.
Identifying poisonous berries had everything to do with future assassination attempts on despots attempting to seize control of the Riders.
Mhysra could not even imagine what they would be learning next, or what scenario Stirla had dreamt up to justify it.
“At least his lessons are never boring,” Mouse chortled, bouncing along as irrepressible as ever. Although he was usually the student who fretted the most over Stirla’s imaginary futures, he also seemed to revel more than most in the challenge of living up to each task. Even if he rarely did it well. Mouse was simply too bouncy and lively for patience. “I hope he’s going to teach us how to whittle our own weapons and how to hunt bears with twigs!”
“Just in case a great plague sweeps through the major cities, followed by catastrophic fires, and we have to take to the wild, existing solely on a diet of bunnies and berries,” Derrain said, winking at Mhysra. “And bears.”
She grinned as Mouse bounced even harder. “Oh! Oh! And we’ll learn how to make cutlery, ‘cause even the wilderness can be civilised some times. It’ll be so much fun!”
“I’ve never heard anyone get so excited over cutlery before,” Corin muttered.
Chuckling Derrain nudged his shoulder against hers. “Not even cutlery crafted out of three twigs and a bit of flint tied together with gut strings?”
“Ew.” Corin wrinkled her nose.
Even Mouse stopped bouncing long enough to pull a face. “No guts on the cutlery, Derry. That’s disgusting.”
“Maybe not the guts,” Dhori agreed, calm and quiet as always. “But sinew works wonders.”
Mouse and Corin both sent him a doubtful look. “What’s wrong with string?” Corin asked.
Dhori shrugged. “I thought we were taking to the wild with next to nothing, thanks to the plague and the fires and all. Not a lot of string in the woods.”
“We can use vines or something.” Corin dismissed his point with a wave.
Mhysra bit her lip and tried not to laugh as Dhori and Derrain traded exasperated glances. “I don’t think you’ll find many vines in the northern forests, Corin,” she told her friend.
While Corin shrugged over this unimportant detail, Mouse started bouncing again. “Oh, oh! We’ll make sure we flee to the southern forests then. It’s warmer down there. More animals to each too – and loads of vines!”
“And snakes and venomous spiders and as many things trying to eat you as you’re trying to eat. Not to mention the constant rain, the near unbearable heat, the flies and where even the plants want to take a bite out of you.” Derrain sounded almost cheery about it all.
“Sounds great!” Mouse remained unsquashable. “When do we leave?”
“Leave? For where? We’ve only just arrived.”
Mhysra wasn’t the only one to jump at the sound of Stirla’s voice. She and her friends had been so caught up in their conversation, none of them had realised they’d reached their destination.
Chuckling, their lieutenant led the way into a familiar, wide open room, with sand on the floor and the distant thump-thump-thump of the waterwheel in the workshop. The practise barn? Mhysra wasn’t the only one left frowning as she stepped inside and looked around, half expecting Master Gedanon to appear at any moment, wielding a practise sword and taking a swipe at each of them with it.
Yet as they filed inside and formed a loose circle around their lieutenant, no grumpy Ihran appeared to grumble at them. Nor did Master Derneon show up to smile and poke fun at his fellow instructor’s grouchy ways.
Stirla scuffed his feet on the sandy floor and looked around at their frowning faces. Then he smiled. “Usually I’d take you outside for this, but, well…” He indicated the nearest window, which looked out over the Lawn. The world beyond was grey and sodden and the wind was a near-constant whine around the citadel’s walls that Mhysra had learnt to mostly block out.
It was Gale Month and the weather was doing its absolute best to live up to expectations.
“Some might suggest that I wait until things clear up enough for us to continue this lesson outside,” Stirla went on. “But this is one of the most important skills I can teach you, and who knows, tomorrow the Gods might take it upon Themselves to throw another curse or catastrophe our way that’ll make the Cloud Sea look like a mild mist on a winter morn.” He paused to let them take in his newest scenario, making most of them chuckle, while Dhori simply shook his head. “So no time like the present.”
Clapping his hands and rubbing them together, as eager as a little boy at Midwinter, Stirla grinned at his curious class. “Let’s make fire.”
|| Part Two ||
Thanks for reading.
In which Milli gains a little company. Warning: contains flirting.
SHE MUST HAVE fallen asleep, because a sharp yap made her jump just as a shadow passed over her face. Her head swam as she sat up too swiftly, telling Bumble to be quiet as the nakhound barked. A cool breeze swept over her and she looked up.
A miryhl.
Big, brown, impressive. There was a band of black around the eagle’s neck and two parallel stripes beneath each eye. Despite her upbringing, Milluqua wasn’t ashamed to admit that all miryhls looked alike to her. With two exceptions.
Her sister’s Wingborn, Cumulo. Big, brash, cocky and beloved.
And this one: Atyrn, bonded miryhl of Lieutenant Stirla.
The man himself dismounted and secured his reins so that they didn’t hang around the miryhl’s neck. He murmured something to his eagle before turning to face Milluqua, eyes bright and mischievous.
“The mountain meadows bloom early in Nimbys, I see.” Planting his hands on the rock beside her, he hauled himself up and took her hand, planting a kiss on the back of her glove.
She felt it down to her bones.
“Dodging your duties, Lieutenant?” she teased, looking at his smiling face and wondering how he could seem so fresh and awake when she knew he’d been up before dawn.
Stretching his long legs out alongside hers, he leant back on his hands and chuckled. “How long have you been sleeping up here, pretty flower, dozing in the sun? Ah, to be born to a life of such privilege.”
Though he meant it in jest, Milluqua had to look away, pulling at her violet skirts to neaten them. “I did not realise how much time had passed,” she admitted quietly, feeling ashamed of her idleness.
“I was finishing my patrol,” he explained, smoothing over the moment, “and as Atyrn skimmed over the ridge, what should I spy in the meadow below but the prettiest mountain blossom I ever did see.”
Keeping from rolling her eyes, barely, Milluqua turned back to him. “If you say one word about plucking, I shall be forced to hit you.”
The corner of his mouth curled up in a rueful smile. “Bit much, was it?”
“The prettiest mountain blossom I ever did see,” she mimicked in a winsome voice, and he winced.
“You wound me, my lady, how you wound. Here I sit, a poor, lack-witted lieutenant, feeble brain scrambled by your beauty and you mock my words. You mock me. How cruel you are.” He rested a hand over his heart and looked woeful. “Especially,” he continued, pulling something from behind his back, “when I was telling the truth.”
He held out a bunch of mountain bells, each delicate, pale lilac flower smaller than his fingertip. Woven between them were sprays of white cloudlets, tiny cluster-blooms also known as morning kisses.
“How vain my lady is,” Stirla teased, as she took them silently, gazing at the sweetest bouquet she’d ever been given. “As if I would be so clumsy as to call you a mountain blossom. Though, since you mentioned it, I wouldn’t say no to a quick pluck -”
She hit him. What else was a girl of good breeding to do?
“Mind the flowers!” he cried, flinching unnecessarily, since he was so big that a swat from her would be like a fly bouncing off a miryhl’s beak. “It took me ages to gather those.”
Thumping him again, just because she could, Milluqua turned back to admiring her gift. They were unharmed, since she’d used her other hand to assault him, and they smelled fresh and sweet, like the high mountains.
“They’re lovely,” she said, for want of anything better. Stirla always had this effect on her brain. She should avoid him really. Except that he was quite handsome, in a roguish way, especially with that scar on his cheek. And he flirted delightfully.
“Mm, I thought so too,” he murmured, peering over her shoulder. Somehow she didn’t think he meant the flowers, though a glance down reassured her that she was still buttoned up and decent.
“You, sir, are a scoundrel.”
“And you, my lady, wouldn’t have me any other way.”
They smiled at each other. She did so love the way he said my lady, with the faintest hint of possessiveness. As if she was his lady in truth.
Reaching out, he balanced a tiny cloudlet on a callused fingertip. “They look like little stars,” he said softly, his breath teasing her cheek. “Delicate, perfumed. All that’s perfect about the night, brought out to dance beneath the sun.”
Knowing she should move away, that she should stop this, that it was improper to be alone together, sitting so close, meeting in secret, Milluqua closed her eyes and held still. One of his arms was behind her back, the other reaching around her to touch the flowers. His leg was close but not quite touching hers. He was so much taller and broader than she – he made her feel small and surrounded, but protected and safe. It made her chest hurt the way he treated her, like she was something precious. A gift. So much more than the daughter of an earl or a hefty dowry. He made her laugh, and when he wasn’t doing that it was because she was breathless.
Like now.
“Where I come from they’re known as cloudlets. Do you call them that in Nimbys?” His hand moved from the flowers to the patch of skin bared between her glove and the sleeve of her gown. He brushed his thumb over her pulse, once, twice.
She swallowed and nodded, her cheek brushing his.
He teased her heated skin with the whisper of his lips as he moved his mouth to her ear. “But they have another name,” he murmured. “Do you know it?”
She nodded as he breathed against her skin.
“Tell me.”
“Morning kisses,” she said, surprised at her languid, dreamy tone. She’d never sounded like that before. Her eyes fluttered open as he touched her chin, turning her face towards his. He studied her intently with his dark eyes, and for once there was no smile on his lips.
It was she who smiled, her eyes falling shut, drunk on the nearness of him. “We call them morning kisses.”
A puff of air ghosted across her mouth as he chuckled. Then her heart stopped beating, waiting for him to move closer…
Closer…
“Ah!”
A thump in the back shoved her forwards, banging her nose against the solid wall of his chest, while that firm jaw she had so often admired whacked her on the forehead.
“Heirayk’s balls… of fire,” Stirla cursed, one hand clamping her head to his chest, while the other rubbed his jaw. “Damn dog!”
Utterly unconcerned by his anger, Bumble used Milluqua’s back as a convenient step from which to lick Stirla’s face.
Milluqua giggled. It was all so undignified. She was half-turned towards him, her legs tangled in her skirt, cap askew, face crushed against his chest, with a nakhound balancing on her shoulders. While he was still trying to hold the offending pup off.
“Stupid mutt, get off, get off!” Obviously trying not to swear, Stirla shoved the dog away with one arm and finally succeeded in shifting her. Only then did he let Milluqua go.
She stared up at him, biting her lip, knowing she must look a complete fright. Stirla looked dishevelled too, but he was as unfairly gorgeous as ever. She’d never noticed how perfectly thick and long his eyelashes were until he kept his gaze down, refusing the look at her.
“Sorry,” he apologised gruffly, trying to straighten her cap. He poked a few escaped tendrils back underneath, but Milluqua could have told him it was hopeless.
The reason she didn’t was because she was trying not to laugh. He looked so mortified, but really, she found the whole thing ridiculous. And typical. And probably for the best.
She liked him. Too much. He was everything she’d ever wanted. Yet nothing her father would permit her to marry. Not high born enough, not rich enough, not even a captain in the Riders yet. He had no political ambitions and wasn’t even in trade to better his fortune. The thought was enough to strangle her giggles.
“There,” he muttered, tucking the last of her curls away. “It… umm… doesn’t look as it did, but… well… better, anyway.”
For two pins she would have pulled the cap off and redone it herself, but she couldn’t let her hair down in front of him. Unmarried ladies didn’t do such things. Especially not in front of men they had no business encouraging. It was enough to make a woman tearful.
“Here.” He handed her the bunch of flowers, now sadly squashed and broken. She still thought them more beautiful than the most expensive bouquet she’d ever been given.
“Forgive me,” he muttered. “I trust you are not hurt.”
Staring at the flowers, she shook her head and tried to straighten a crumpled mountain bell. “I’m well.”
“Good,” he sighed, paused, then sighed again. “Good.” Running a hand through his hair, he slid off the rock and headed towards Atyrn. “I’d best go. I apologise for any offence caused, Lady Milluqua.”
She raised her head and realised that he was walking away. He was leaving. After everything. He was going. Just like that. He couldn’t go. She wouldn’t let him.
“Wait!” Floundering against her tangled skirts, and cursing herself for choosing this particular garment with its stupid inserts on today of all days. “Stirla, wait!”
The more she struggled, the more entangled she became, especially as she only had one hand, the other refusing to drop her flowers. “Please!”
A warm hand encircled her ankle and she fell still. “Steady,” he soothed. “It’s all right. Let me.”
He stood in front of her, and in this position, with her on the boulder and he carefully straightening her skirts, taking excessive pains not to touch her more than necessary, they were almost the same height. Actually, if she wanted to be accurate, she was slightly taller than him.
How lovely.
He was being so careful with her, not looking up, expression grim, hands trembling. Part of her wanted to weep because this was her fault. She shouldn’t have encouraged him. Neither of them were stupid; they knew nothing could come of this…
She sat up straight and suddenly felt like smiling. “I shouldn’t have encouraged you,” she said, while he tugged her skirts to make sure the last of her entanglement had been removed.
“I came looking for you, my lady. As always, your behaviour was faultless…”
She ignored him. He was a man and he was being silly. “Neither of us are stupid.”
“… It is I who is to blame. I took advantage of your kindness, I…”
“We both know the ways of the world and we know nothing could ever come of this.”
“… shouldn’t have. I apologise. Please, forgive me, Lady Milluqua. You can’t know how much I honour and esteem you. I hope my actions have not ruined our friendship, for I value it more than anything -”
Since he wasn’t listening, she covered his mouth with her hand. When he finally looked at her, surprised, she smiled. “I value it too. Very much.”
And she kissed him to prove it.
Because she was a woman, and though she could be silly too, she also knew a good thing when it stood in front of her. She might not be able to have him for long, and he might not be able to keep her, but here, in this moment, on this rock, which made them both equal for the first time, anything could happen. Anything was possible. And if the daughter of an earl wanted to kiss a farmer’s son turned captain-in-training, well, no one was here to see.
Except for a dignified miryhl and a brainless puppy.
The latter of which joined in the fun by thumping Milluqua in the back again and shoving her off the rock.
Straight into Stirla’s arms. Which was where she wanted to be anyway, so instead of scolding Bumble she saved her breath. She had a better use for it.
Eventually, when she finally let Stirla go, deciding to rest her head against his chest again, she had the delight of feeling his chuckle rumble against her cheek.
“Well, well,” he murmured, nuzzling her loose curls, since her cap had been completely dislodged this time. “My little mountain blossom decided to -”
There was a light slap and a stifled laugh as she put her hand swiftly over his mouth.
“Don’t make me hit you again.”
His lips curled under her palm and, still holding her with one arm, he peeled her fingers away with the other hand. “You need to find a better way of stopping my mouth.”
Hauling herself up higher against his chest, she draped her arms over his broad shoulders and raised her eyebrows. “Do I indeed? I hope you have some suggestions.”
Threading his fingers through her curls, he pulled her closer and smiled against her lips. “Indeed I do. A recent discovery this, but I think you’ll find it effective.”
Unsurprisingly, she did.
Thanks for reading!
Taking place five years before Wingborn, when Stirla is eighteen and Lyrai is not quite sixteen. Both are freshly arrived at Aquila and about to encounter each other for the very first time…
(Thanks to EF for the suggestion. I never would have thought of this one on my own.)
Word Count: 3,500 words. Continue reading “A Royal Welcome”
~ Previous Chapter ~
Nice and early this morning. Getting in before I go off in search of more standing stones – which I hope won’t be blocked by frisky giant cows this time! (They had calves, there was nothing to hide behind, some were friendly, others were… not. Wasn’t worth the risk.)
Anyway… Onto the important things, with one important question:
Where is Stirla leading them?
23rd Sun
“THIS IS NOT what I expected.”
Mhysra looked up from watching the heels of the person in front, having been following blindly while thinking over her farewell to Cumulo that morning. Still sulking, he’d ignored her until she had to leave, then engulfed her under one wing before shoving her away. Silly bird.
Shaking her head, she shifted the heavy pack on her shoulders and trudged along the uneven tunnel. It was wide enough for four people to walk abreast, though they marched in pairs, the way winding up and down and side to side, without any clue as to where it was heading. Lieutenant Stirla liked being secretive.
“Are you listening?”
Mhysra blinked at Corin beside her. “Sorry. Thinking.”
“We could tell,” Silveo said, turning to walk backwards, his heels no longer available for Mhysra to follow. “It looked painful.” He winked. “What did you expect, Corin?”
“To fly,” she said, which considering the remoteness of Aquila made sense.
“Even without the miryhls?” Jaymes asked, walking beside Silveo, his red hair looking purple in the lamp light. The small, rough cut crystals emitted a strong blue glow for almost twenty strides and Mhysra had never seen their like before. They flickered into life when someone approached and pulsed in a slow, steady rhythm until the last person passed, then faded into darkness again. Dragon-made, Lieutenant Fleik said. A gift on the founding of Aquila.
“Gods, can you imagine us leaving on miryhls?” Silveo chuckled. “A quarter would fall off before we got two bells out.” He shook his head, silvery hair glowing blue. “You’d all be fine, no doubt, but I assure you I am not ready to die yet.”
“Maybe you should practise more,” Mhysra teased.
“I will when you start getting top marks in arithmetic,” Silveo challenged, ducking as his head brushed the ceiling.
“That’s asking for a miracle,” Dhori murmured from behind, his grey eyes an eerie violet in the glow.
“So is Silveo flying long distance,” Jaymes quipped, sidestepping his friend’s arm punch.
“Children, please,” Corin scolded, and tripped on a loose stone. “This place is unsafe.”
“We’re in the Riders,” Mhysra said. “Why should we be safe?”
“Yes, acclimatisation with danger is of vital importance.” Silveo shrugged at their raised eyebrows. “It is.”
“Anyway,” Corin said, trying to regain control of the conversation. “I expected us to go somewhere by skyship, not end up in a tunnel.”
“Why not?” Dhori asked. “The mountain is riddled with passages. We go down into the caverns every day to bathe.”
“But still,” Corin protested. “Do we know where this tunnel is leading? And aside from the caverns have any of you ever gone inside the mountain?”
“No.” Mhysra wrinkled her nose, shivering in the steady draft that grew cooler the deeper they went. “But there’s probably a good reason for that.”
“Which we’re about to find out. Hopefully. Soon.” Derrain had been trudging quietly alongside Dhori and was behaving far from his usual self. His dark skin looked waxy and he was clearly sweating.
“Are you all right, Derry?” Mhysra asked.
He took a shuddering breath and dragged up a smile. “Fine.”
“He’ll be all right,” Dhori assured her, and she frowned. Derrain was her best friend; if he needed looking after it was her job. She hadn’t known he was unnerved by small spaces. He was fine in the caverns.
She looked at Derrain again, but he was too busy watching where he was going to meet her eyes. “We’ll be out soon,” she murmured.
He nodded tightly without looking up. Since none of them knew where they were going, there was no possible way she could have known such a thing for sure.
“He’ll be all right,” Dhori repeated firmly. It was strangely comforting.
“Good,” she murmured, facing forwards again. Corin and Silveo were still bickering about why they were walking through the mountain. She rolled her eyes and shared a rueful glance with Jaymes. It was never easy being the quiet friend to talkative people.
Dripping water sounded up ahead, loud enough to be heard over forty-odd pairs of feet, as the tunnel curved down and around to the left. Derrain groaned and Dhori whispered to him. Mhysra couldn’t make out the words, but his voice was soothing, matching the tread of feet, the pulse of the lanterns and the splash of water as the path sloped steeply downwards.
“I hope we don’t have to climb out of here,” Corin grumbled, and Derrain cursed.
“Careful, students!” Sergeant Loyek called from somewhere up front.
“Watch your step!” Lieutenant Stirla passed on from the middle.
At the back of the group, Sergeant Rees grumbled something that was too far away to be decipherable. Which suited Mhysra just fine. Her brief smile vanished when she put her foot in a puddle. Her yelp was drowned out by a shriek further forward, followed by more shouts and yips to the rear.
“That’s cold!” Corin squeaked on finding a puddle of her own.
“Better watch your step then,” Stirla chuckled, keeping Mouse company a short way ahead. “We did warn you.”
“He didn’t say anything about freezing cold water, though,” Corin grumbled.
Mhysra hummed consolingly, grimacing as her boot squelched with every other step.
Other tunnels branched off their route, but they stayed on the main path, skirting a subterranean lake, before their way began to climb again. It was just as steep and tiring as Corin had feared, and soon no one had any breath left to talk. Except Dhori, who maintained a soothing murmur for Derrain’s benefit. The higher they climbed, the warmer the breeze became and stronger too, until it was almost as fresh in the tunnels as a walk in the citadel. Derrain’s breathing evened out and, as the tunnel flattened, high spirits returned. Corin swapped places with Jaymes so she and Silveo could bicker more comfortably.
“A perfect match,” the redhead chuckled. Since Silveo was about a foot taller than Corin and pale everywhere she was dark, they couldn’t have looked more different. But they were happy in their arguing, making Mhysra smile.
“Just so long as they don’t unite against the rest of us.”
“Gods save us,” Jaymes groaned.
Then there was light up ahead, natural light, shining from a westward sun with the warmth of mid-afternoon. But Mhysra only managed a brief upward glance before her attention was wholly distracted. Even Derrain, rushing past to breathe in great gulps of unconfined air, registered only dimly. Stopping at the mouth of the tunnel, Mhysra stared.
Flanked by two high, steep and uncompromising cliffs, the valley opened out before her, comprised of long, uneven terraces stepping jaggedly down to the edge of the Cloud Sea. Green and grey and white. Bullwings, sheep and doelyns grazed in high paddocks, nestled on narrow ledges around the cliff face, while small huts and hideaways were carved from the rocks. Crops flourished along the terraces and fruit trees bordered some edges.
A farm. Aquila had its own farm. Tucked half a mountain away from the citadel. Secret and perfect. Dhori and Jaymes stood by her shoulders and she grinned at them.
“A farm?” Mouse questioned, while Lieutenant Stirla counted heads to make sure no one had been lost along the way. “They brought us to a farm for Midsummer break?”
“Well, we can’t have you getting out of shape, can we?” Lieutenant Fleik said, his smile wicked.
Mouse and Jaymes groaned, as only farm boys who had thought themselves freed from the chores of childhood could.
“I can’t wait.” Mhysra laughed, loving the chance to work in the green again after so long in cities and citadels.
“That’s because you’re weird,” Corin said, looking around with the horror of a city girl.
Chuckling, Lieutenant Stirla shooed them away from the tunnel and into the warm sunshine. “She’s not the only one, Corin. I’m looking forward to this too.”
“That’s because you’re cruel.”
He grinned, just as wickedly as Fleik had. “But I’m the nice lieutenant, remember?”
“Gods save us,” the students muttered as one.
Stirla laughed, shaking his head pityingly. “Too late for that, my lambs. Far, far too late. You’re in my clutches now. Ah, what fun awaits.” He clapped his hands, making Mouse and Corin jump. “Come on, tents to set up, food to prepare. Wouldn’t want to sleep in the open tonight, would we? It might rain.” Chortling, he strode off, leaving them staring uneasily after him. “Merry Midsummer and welcome to Buteo, everyone!”
“He’s enjoying himself far too much,” Derrain said.
The others nodded, following after Stirla to begin setting up their tents. Knowing their run of recent luck, it would rain if they didn’t. Merry Midsummer, indeed.
~ Next Chapter ~
Thanks for reading!
~ Previous Chapter ~
In which Cumulo grumbles. A lot. And Stirla does what Stirla does best – and reminds me why I love him so.
And for those who have never been here before: Rift Riders is the second book in the Wingborn series. It can be read as a standalone, but if you’d like to read the first one, you can – and it’s free! Head this way to find out more and for all the links.
Two
Students at Large
22nd Sun
“I DON’T SEE why I don’t get to go,” Cumulo grumbled, his raspy voice a sulky growl.
Smiling, Mhysra ducked out from beneath his wing, where she had been preening him. “We can barely take care of ourselves, Cue. How could we possibly look after all you miryhls as well?”
He huffed, unappeased. “I still don’t see why I can’t come. You’re more capable of taking care of me than of yourself. You’ve had plenty of practise.”
That was true, she thought as she dunked her hands in a water bucket to sluice off the oil and grime before diving under Cumulo’s wing again. United by the shared moment of their births in the mystical Wingborn bond, they were more like twins than military partners. They’d been together for more than seventeen years, seeing each other every day. Their training at Aquila was just the final step in their duty to the world. Unlike the other students, though, no bonding ceremony would be necessary at the end of her three years. Whether or not she had ever set foot in the citadel, Cumulo would still be hers.
Having said that, she was quite looking forward to a half-moon without him.
“It’s not fair,” he grumbled, feathers vibrating to the tone of his voice. Buried beneath his wing, Mhysra felt surrounded by his disgruntlement. “It’s like I’m being punished. Just because the rest are incompetent, doesn’t mean you are.”
Running her fingers through his feathers – from cool skin up the quill shafts to the tips and back again, removing dust and dirt – Mhysra chuckled. “Why, Cue, I do believe that’s almost a compliment.”
He shifted his weight, since he couldn’t shuffle his wings, and crackled his beak. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Grooming you is always a joy,” she agreed, pulling free to clean her hands again. “Especially today.” She grimaced at the brown gunk flaking off in the water. “Have you forgotten how to preen yourself?”
“Why should I bother with you around?” he sniffed. “I’m trying to make you feel useful.”
“Thanks.” She tugged his wing open so she could riffle through his long flight feathers.
“It’s not my fault it gets so dusty up here in the summer. Who would have thought it, after the snows we had last winter?”
Tracing the golden sheen that tipped the bottom edge of his primaries, Mhysra rolled her eyes. “Maybe if you and the others didn’t head up to the north slope so often, where I know for a fact there’s a dust bank you all enjoy, you wouldn’t get so dusty?”
Snatching his wing back, he ruffled his feathers indignantly and muttered about pesky mites and itches.
“You haven’t got any mites. Don’t talk nonsense.” She yanked his wing out again and moved onto his secondary flight feathers, which were a rich brown. When he was clean, his colour reminded her of the conkers she used to collect at Wrentheria in the autumn, where giant horse chestnuts bordered the farm.
Cumulo sniffed. “Of course I haven’t, but one can never be too careful when living with all-comers.” He glared at the other end of the eyries, but the precise recipient of his scorn was lost on Mhysra. Miryhl flock politics was a strange thing.
“Just remember you’re the one who has to clean it all out for a bit, so don’t get too filthy.”
“I can preen myself, you know,” he reminded her, peering over his shoulder as she finished his wing and moved onto his tail.
“That’s something I’d like to see,” she retorted, then spoiled it by grinning. “You’ve got gold on your tail now. Does this mean you’ve finally stopped growing?”
Fanning his tail out, he waggled it up and down to make the gold streaks flash in the sun. “Perhaps. Have you stopped growing yet?” He chuckled at her grimace.
“It’s been a whole month since I needed new shirts.”
“You’re almost as tall as Lieutenant Lyrai now, did you notice?”
“Not quite,” she muttered, not wanting to admit that she had indeed noticed. She noticed quite a lot about Lieutenant Lyrai these days. It was embarrassing, especially when his smile made her flush with heat. He didn’t even have to be looking at her – when he did it just made everything worse. She hadn’t been able to meet his eye since spring. The man must think her daft.
“Shame he isn’t going along with you,” Cumulo said, watching her slyly. “Will you miss him?”
“No,” she replied quickly. And it was the truth. A whole half-moon without going all hot and unnecessary over a smile sounded like heaven. Lieutenant Stirla was a far safer officer to be around. He was funny and she never daydreamed about his wicked dark eyes. Not that she daydreamed about Lieutenant Lyrai, his eyes or otherwise. At least, never on purpose.
Cumulo chuckled, and she realised she’d gone red. “Enough,” she snapped, returning to preening his tail. “You might have all day to stand around and tease, but I don’t. I have to go to the armoury and pick up my sword today.”
Her miryhl stopped teasing and gave a disgruntled huff. “That’s it, rub it in, reminding me again that you’re about to abandon me.”
“I’m not abandoning you,” she replied absently, having said it a lot of late and refusing to feel guilty. As if he would miss her anyway; Cumulo had a nice life in the eyries. Except for when she was preening him, any time spent with her was usually an interruption. He only minded now because he thought he was missing out.
As he launched into his familiar list of sulky accusations, Mhysra ignored him. He was just getting into full flow when she rinsed her hands one last time, grabbed his beak and pulled it down for a kiss.
He didn’t stop talking once.
“I’ll see you in the morning. Try not to fret too much, it just makes you scurfy.”
“Scurfy!” he screeched. “I do not have scurf!”
“You’d better not after all my work,” she agreed, picking up her grooming kit and heading for the tack room. “Behave yourself!”
“I would say the same to you, except you won’t spare me a thought while you’re gone, so I don’t care. It’s not fair. Why can’t I go…?” His low rumbling complaints followed her as she walked away, exchanging nods with dozing miryhls and smiling at any Riders she met. At the tack room she emptied her bucket down the drain, chatted with the attendants and charmed a promise out of one to clean Cumulo’s harness while she was gone.
By the time she trotted down to the bridge, it was mid-afternoon and the sun was blazing over the citadel. Inside the stone halls it was beautifully cool, thanks to the breeze sweeping down from the valley above. Outside on the east bank, students and Riders lounged on the Lawn, but Mhysra headed through the deserted west side. Next stop the armoury, where Derneon would be waiting with her sword and instructions for its care over the next half-moon. With her packing all finished, ready to leave in the morning, all that remained was to find out where they were going…
* * * * *
“YOU’RE ACTUALLY LOOKING forward to this, aren’t you?” Resting his shoulder against the doorway, Lyrai watched Stirla pack.
His friend looked up, eyes bright with anticipation, excitement and mischief. “I remember how it felt the first time we were let out of this place.”
Lyrai grimaced. “Fleik tortured us.”
Muttering to himself as he checked he had everything, Stirla gave a distracted nod. “As was his right. He’d only been made lieutenant the year before. It was his first chance.”
“I’m starting to feel sorry for our students.”
“Don’t.” Stirla added an extra shirt to the bag and stared thoughtfully at a pile of socks. “Four of us against thirty-seven of them. We deserve a little fun.” He rejected the socks.
“Just as long as you keep an eye on Rees,” Lyrai warned, stepping into the room and snatching two pairs of socks to stuff into his friend’s bag. “What if it rains?”
About to protest, Stirla nodded and added a third pair. “Good point. I hate wet feet.”
“You always pack too light,” Lyrai remarked, as Stirla buckled the small flight bag.
“Better than too heavy.”
“Not when it means you haven’t any spare clothes and have to fly for days in wet, filthy stuff, while your feet rub raw in your boots.”
“What a bundle of cheer you are,” Stirla muttered, weighing his bag thoughtfully in one hand. “It’s only a half-moon.” Satisfied, he tossed it on the bed and turned to his supply list.
“A whole half-moon and all you’re taking is three pairs of socks, one pair of breeches, two shirts and your shaving kit?”
“I’ll be wearing another set of clothes,” Stirla pointed out, chewing the end of his quill. “Do you think I can get away with making the students carry my camping gear and food?”
“You’re only taking one set of drawers?” Lyrai asked, unable to help himself.
“I can wash them.”
“And what’ll you wear in the meantime?”
“I’ll manage. Besides it’ll keep Corin amused.”
“Only if you decide to wash both pairs of breeches at the same time.”
Stirla’s grin was disturbingly wicked. “There’s a thought.”
“They are your students!”
His friend chuckled and scribbled on his list. “You’re such an easy mark. I’ll pack a couple more then, mother, if it’ll settle your feathers. But I’m definitely not carrying my own kit now.”
“Drawers are so heavy,” Lyrai drawled. “And you’re such a delicate flower.”
Stirla flexed his biceps meditatively and stuffed the extra drawers into his bag. “Wouldn’t want to strain anything. Anyway, it’ll be good for them.”
“Perks of being an officer,” Lyrai agreed. “Will Rees and Loyek be so similarly blessed?”
“It’s up to Fleik whether he goes easy on Loyek or not. As for Rees…” He scratched his chin as he considered his sergeant, then shrugged. “It’ll be best if someone else carries his stuff. He’ll only make everyone’s life a misery if he has to put some effort in.”
“He does that anyway.” Lyrai picked up the supply list and chuckled. “I am so glad I’m not going with you. A half-moon without Rees sounds like Heirayk’s own heaven.”
“As opposed to the half-moon you’ll be spending with Willym,” Stirla said, grinning. “I’d rather carry my own kit.”
Lyrai looked longingly at the bag on the bed. “Think I could fit in your pack? I mean it’s not like you haven’t got any space.”
“Only if I can get the students to carry it.” Stirla eyed him up and down and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Aye, I reckon Mouse could manage a runt like you.”
“Now I remember why I’m not all that bothered about being stuck with Willym.”
“Ouch.”
They shared a grin, before thoughts of Willym and Rees sobered Lyrai. “You will keep an eye on Rees around the students, especially the girls and the little lads, won’t you?”
“As my sergeant, he’s supposed to be watching me,” Stirla pointed out, since he and Lyrai were captains-in-training. “Though the thought of Rees watching me gives me the shivers.”
Lyrai grimaced. “You know what I mean.”
Recognising that his playful ploy wasn’t working, Stirla chucked his quill on his desk with a sigh. “Unfortunately I do. I’ll keep an eye on the old goat and make sure he doesn’t make anyone too miserable. Aside from me, that is, since it’s his job. Why couldn’t I have someone like Honra instead?”
Having got the assurance he needed, Lyrai smiled. “Because you’re too soft, and your flurry would walk all over you.”
“Whereas you’re too stiff,” Stirla retorted. “And your flurry could use you to board up windows and bridge small rivers.”
“But I ended up with Honra,” Lyrai said smugly, knowing how blessed he was with his easy-going sergeant.
“And now you get Willym too, you lucky thing.” Stirla’s deep chuckle was almost as smug as Lyrai’s had been, but then it was his turn to grow grave. “I hope you’ll be watching him closely too. And that little retinue he’s built up. Some potential unpleasantries in that bunch.”
“Aye,” Lyrai agreed, sighing. Only last month he’d been forced to discipline three of Willym’s students for abusing their miryhls in flight lessons. Two more had been grounded for a half-moon for dangerous conduct during exercise. Since then they’d all been relatively quiet, but he knew better than to believe them cowed. Sooner or later they’d revert to their previous behaviour and he still wasn’t sure what he would be able to do about it. For all that Aquila prided itself on its egalitarian ideals, high birth and strong, wealthy connections still held weight when it came to discipline and punishment – no matter how well earned they often were.
“Don’t look so sombre,” Stirla chided him. “It’s only Willym. If the worst happens, challenge him to a flight duel and beat the little worm hollow. You might not be much to look at, but Hurricane is. The pair of you can fly rings around him. Even Froth could manage that.”
Lyrai smiled. “Willym is quite a good flyer.”
“Not as good as you, though,” Stirla said. “Which means double the pleasure when you beat him in the simplest of tasks. Again. His face when you arrived with Hurricane!” He gave a low whistle of appreciation. “Surely that was worth all those grounded months.”
Willym was more Stirla’s enemy than Lyrai’s – his father’s status protected Lyrai from the worst of Willym’s antagonism, since it might still come in handy one day – but Lyrai couldn’t deny that it had been a joy to witness Willym’s fury when he’d realised who Hurricane belonged to. “Not quite, but it was worth them to catch his first sight of Cumulo and Mhysra together.”
Stirla chuckled gleefully. “True. I’m surprised she’s still here. I’d have expected the old rat to have launched a campaign to get her gone.”
A couple of subtle conversations with Derrain and some mysterious comments dropped by Dhori had informed Lyrai that her friends were looking out for her. “She’s more stubborn than she looks.”
“She’d have to be to have put up with Cumulo for so long,” Stirla agreed, ushering him from the room. “Now, I don’t know about you, but since I’m being relegated to nursemaid in the morning, I could do with a trip to town for a draft or two. Maybe a bottle. You coming?”
Since all Lyrai’s students were having an early night in preparation for their trip the next day and he wasn’t on sentry duty, he nodded. “I suppose someone should hang around to walk you home afterwards.” Besides it was Midsummer.
“Ha! Says Lieutenant Lightweight.”
“Whatever you say, Captain Under the Table in Two Glasses.”
Stirla punched his shoulder. “I’m not a captain yet.”
Thumping him back, Lyrai snorted. “My mistake, Lieutenant One and a Half.”
“Funny. So funny.”
“I know. How you’ll miss me.”
“I think I’ll cope.” Chuckling, Stirla hooked him in a headlock and ruffled his hair until he squirmed free. “Somehow.”
~ Next Chapter ~
Thanks for reading!
~ Previous Chapter ~
Time to fly!
Not to mention catch up with a couple of familiar lieutenants. It just doesn’t feel the same without them.
MHYSRA LOCATED CUMULO’S tack and limped to her big miryhl’s side. “Ready to play?”
The giant eagle lowered his head for his bridle and rubbed his beak against her. “It’s about time you shared the fun. Just stay on and I’ll keep us out of trouble.”
Setting the saddle on his back and buckling the chest straps, Mhysra snorted. “That’s likely.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” he sniffed virtuously, shuffling his wings as she buckled his girths. “You might want to strap yourself in too.”
Trying not to put too much weight on her sore ankle, Mhysra stepped onto his lowered wing, and let him boost her into the saddle. Once in place, she settled her bad foot into the stirrup and took her Wingborn’s advice. For the first time in longer than she cared to remember, she pulled the leather straps out from under the saddle, passed them over the tops of her legs and buckled them either side of the pommel. In terms of safety they weren’t foolproof, but they did offer an extra measure of security. The clips that also attached to her flight-belt she left loose; she wasn’t quite that feeble yet.
When they were fixed, she gathered Cumulo’s reins. “I almost dread hearing the answer, but what have you got in mind?”
Chuckling, the miryhl crouched. “To win, of course.” He sprang into the air, heavy wing beats causing the nearest miryhls to duck. Once he had enough height, Cumulo circled upwards, keeping an eye out for any third-years while waiting for Jaymes and Derrain to join them.
It wasn’t long before the three miryhls were gliding watchfully over the lake. The task ahead was simple: get back to the citadel. The only problem was that around fifty third-years were waiting to get in their way. It didn’t make Mhysra feel any better to know that she and her friends were just an appetiser before the second-years tried their own luck later in the day. Few enough first-years made it to this point, and those that did rarely put up a fight. She smiled, knowing Cumulo had other ideas in mind.
Rising from a crag halfway down the lake, seven miryhls circled. More launched along the route and Mhysra had no doubt others were waiting to ambush them. The challenge had begun.
Mhysra leant against her Wingborn’s back. “Ready, Cue?”
A chuckle vibrated up through his spine as he circled one last time. “Let’s show them how real Riders fly.” Pulling in his wings, he dived towards the lake.
A high scream echoed through the valley, answered by another and another, as three groups of miryhls stooped to attack. Cumulo kept his head down, aiming for the glistening water below. Hunched on his back, Mhysra looked over her shoulder, murmuring their opponents’ positions to her partner.
“This is just a game, Cue,” she warned. “We’re not supposed to hurt them.”
“Nor they us,” he replied, and tilted his wings so that they levelled out just above the water.
The third-years howled as they swept down the wind, arrows and bag-bombs at the ready.
“Steady,” Cumulo murmured. “Steady.”
Mhysra shifted on his back, resettling her weight and trying to ignore the throbbing in her ankle. She watched the nearest miryhls fan into an attack formation, the leader drawing back his bow. Her hands clenched in Cumulo’s neck feathers, wondering what he had planned. Two more students sighted them with their arrows and drew back their arms.
Cumulo arched his back and, with a downward thump of his wings, drove straight up into the formation, scattering miryhls everywhere. Arrows twanged harmlessly wide, startled students yelped and by the time they had recovered Cumulo was gone.
Other groups converged as Cumulo soared above the lake, powering into the wind. Mhysra looked behind and counted six miryhls approaching on the left, four on the right. She called their positions to her Wingborn and he tipped his head from side to side, assessing the competition. Two more groups joined in front, providing a united front of nine more miryhls.
Hunched on Cumulo’s back, Mhysra tried to make herself smaller, while her Wingborn laughed. “A challenge!” he screamed, lifting high as a flurry of arrows shot at them. “Hold on!”
Left with no other choice, Mhysra clung as Cumulo raced above the approaching flock and, as they turned to follow, folded his right wing, tucked in his left and dropped. Rolling twice, he avoided the missiles lobbed in their direction, flung open his wings and flew straight at the nearest miryhl.
Mhysra clenched her teeth and shut her eyes as Cumulo rolled again, breaking the defensive line and scattering his opponents. Her Wingborn was enjoying himself hugely, shrieking and swooping on the other miryhls to make them flee. She couldn’t join in, though, as every sharp turn, roll and unexpected move sent a jolt through her twisted ankle and made her feel sick.
Despite that, the roar of the wind in her ears, the chill of the air racing over them and the sheer exuberance of her miryhl did raise her spirits. Cumulo was so magnificent – how could she not be impressed?
Though younger than those he was facing, Cumulo was big, cocky and brash. Being Wingborn meant he matured faster than other miryhls, and most often kept company with birds of the officer class. It was unfair to pit him against student eagles, even when they outnumbered him. Flock politics meant that they had to give way, something of which Cumulo took full advantage.
Whenever one saw him coming, they were only too eager to move, regardless of their Rider’s orders. It was fine to chase him, but quite a different matter when he flew in their faces. Mhysra laughed at the dismay on the third-years’ faces as their miryhls dodged and almost collided in their haste to keep out of Cumulo’s way.
Such was the chaos that Derrain and Jaymes slipped easily by unnoticed. When they were safe Cumulo swept out of the commotion, leaving their opponents squawking like flustered hens. Giving up on them, with jeers and catcalls, the third-year flocks returned to their perches to await easier prey.
Laughing, Cumulo swiftly caught up with the other first-years, and the three young miryhls rose above the lake, riding the draft through the narrow valley opening and on towards the citadel below.
Lifting her face to the sky, Mhysra felt her heart race in time with Cumulo’s, and knew there was no place on the Overworld more perfect than this.
* * * * *
“MAKE WAY FOR Aquila’s most esteemed and honoured flight instructor.” Lieutenant Willym was at his mocking best when Lyrai entered the officers’ mess for dinner that evening.
“Someone skipped their envy drops this morning,” Stirla said airily, shifting along the bench to make room for Lyrai. “Not to mention feels sore because none of his precious favourites made it home today.”
Grinning, Lyrai shook his head and greeted Captain Myran’s senior lieutenants, recently returned from Nimbys and staying in the town barracks. “What brings you up here?”
Imaino rolled his eyes in Willym’s direction. “Can’t say it’s the company.”
“Likewise,” Willym sneered.
“Stubble it, boy,” Fleik grumbled. “You give me indigestion.”
Stirla chuckled as the other lieutenant’s face turned an unpleasant shade of red. “It seems not everyone is afraid of your father. Poor Willym, having to suffer such insubordinate ruffians.”
The dark-eyed lieutenant glowered, but the arrival of the captains deprived him of any comebacks. Instead he moved to the far end of the table and turned his back, like the sulky brat he truly was.
“Well, that told us,” Fleik said cheerfully, standing up to shake hands with Captain Hylan. “Good to see you again, sir. I thought you were patrolling the Wrathlen.”
“I was,” Hylan agreed, slapping Imaino on the back and ruffling Stirla’s hair. “News brought me back early. Don’t suppose any of you know where I can find the dean?”
“Still in Nimbys, as far as we know,” Captain Fredkhen said, as the servants brought in their meal. “We expect him back any day now.”
“Unless he gets snared for the Midsummer festivities,” Captain Myran added, making his lieutenants shudder, while he stopped at the sideboard to gather a fresh bottle of wine. “Cayn would be grateful for the support.”
“Especially since Lieutenant Lenfyr wants to wear a dress,” Fleik mumbled between mouthfuls. “Not sure how he intends to explain that one.”
“She won’t have to,” Imaino said, sipping his wine. “I’ve seen it. There are so many Kevian crystals on it that the last place anyone’ll be looking at is her face. Even with her dress coat on top.”
“After all these years as a male Rider, it must seem strange to suddenly come out as a woman,” Stirla mused. “Her disguise must have been a damn good one.”
“Or her friends damn good at keeping secrets,” Imaino agreed, with a wink.
“I suppose that now the proclamation is in place, she won’t be the last.” Stirla grinned and raised his glass towards the captains. “Here’s to a brave new Overworld.”
The captains shared a wearied look. “And I thought I had problems,” Fredkhen muttered.
“You have,” Hylan assured him, looking around the room. “We all have.”
“Mysteriousness never suited you,” Myran said, limping across the room to take the seat beside Lyrai. “Unless you intend to wait for the dean to return, why don’t you join us, eat and share what you can?”
Hylan took the space between Stirla and Imaino and filled his plate. “The Wrathlen stirs.”
They fell silent and even Fleik stopped mid-chew. Beyond the walls the sounds of the main hall filtered in, while in the serving room, someone dropped a platter and was soundly chastised for it. Inside the officers’ mess, all eyes focused on Hylan.
“How much of a stir?” Fredkhen asked, voice strained.
“All out.”
“The anticipated target?” Myran enquired, pouring himself a glass of wine and another for Hylan, which he passed down the table.
The other captain drained half of it in one gulp. “My sources have been silent for a month.”
The lieutenants and captains exchanged uneasy glances.
“What do you intend to do, sir?” Fleik asked.
“Speak to the dean,” Hylan replied. “I’ll need more men to watch, hoping that when they move we’ll be able to delay them or send out warnings.”
“Not much of a plan,” Willym muttered from the far end of the table.
“Then perhaps yours should be one of the flurries sent in support,” Myran said, voice cold.
Fredkhen looked embarrassed, but he’d always been too nice for someone like Willym.
The trainee-lieutenant shrugged. “Can’t be any worse than wasting my time here.”
Lyrai caught Stirla’s eye and they shook their heads. Willym never changed.
“I had hoped to speak to the dean on my arrival, but I would have taken the next step regardless.” Hylan drained his wineglass and looked at the captains. “I need your swiftest Riders. We might not know what the Wrathlen plans or where they intend to strike, but that doesn’t mean we can’t send out warnings. Most of the Greater West will be on the alert, but such a force might try their luck on Imercian or down the Stormsurge. This way we can prevent anyone being taken by surprise.”
Fredkhen nodded grimly, while Myran signalled for his senior lieutenants to see to it.
“In the meantime, we wait,” Hylan sighed, toying with his food. He wasn’t the only one whose appetite had vanished. “Merry Midsummer, everyone.”
~ Next Chapter ~
Thanks for reading!
Becca Lusher 