Tag: Stirla

Books, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 10, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch10.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Welcome to the Midsummer Ball!

“AN EVENING OF dancing, fine wines and even finer women – what more could a man wish for?” Stirla chortled, as they pushed through the crowd inside the ballroom. Jewels winked and glittered beneath five enormous chandeliers and everywhere glinted with gold. A rainbow of dresses swirled across the dance floor, their male counterparts almost as bright. An impressive sight, especially for four Riders more familiar with austere barracks and cold mountainsides.

Rees gave a surly grunt and tugged at his collar. “More slack in the stitching,” he growled, wandering towards the knot of Riders lingering by the punch bowl.

Despite having little desire to be present himself, Lyrai wasn’t sorry to see Rees go, though the man did have a point about the tight jackets. “How soon do you think we can unbutton?”

“Just take shallow breaths,” Honra advised.

“You’re too skinny, that’s your trouble,” Stirla said, as they accepted wine from a footman and headed for the Rift Rider table. “You need more muscle on your chest.” He thumped his own. “Then you breathe in deep at the fitting and get some give in your gear. You’re such a runt – it’s no wonder you’re trussed up tighter than a Midwinter goose.”

Lyrai shook his head and tasted his wine. “I’ll bear that in mind.” Sitting near the head of the table, he looked around for his family. He couldn’t see his father, but his brother was laughing too loudly across the room, already drunk, while two of his sisters were dancing. His mother sparkled at the top table like captured sunlight.

“See anyone interesting?” Lieutenant Fleik wanted to know. One of Myran’s senior lieutenants, he’d been patrolling the area around Nimbys for the last six months. Since the kaz-naghkt attack the captain and the rest of his flight had come into the city. They’d stayed for the festivities and would leave again in two days. Lyrai wished he was going with them.

“Lots of interest,” Imaino, the other senior lieutenant said. “But no one I know.”

“Lyrai can supply the names,” Stirla volunteered, already on his third glass of wine.

Fleik laughed and shook his head. “How, when he’s been running wild with us for five years? Society changes – only the daft rules stay the same.”

“I know some,” Lyrai replied, goaded into defending his normally despised social credentials. “That fat, bald man pawing that poor girl is Lord Leivn.”

“Leivn the Letch.” Imaino grimaced. “Even I know him.” The lieutenant came from Mistrune – an isolated, inhospitable place half-submerged in the Stormsurge most of the year – and frequently claimed to have been born under a rock. “Try again, Lyrai.”

“Aye, like the name of that little beauty.” Fleik nodded towards the door.

Lyrai recognised the man first, towering above his three companions. He carried himself like a king, dressed in the sombre dark green of his house. “Earl Kilpapan,” he told his audience. “The woman on his arm is his countess. Formerly a Wrentherin.” Dressed in the same colours, Lady Kilpapan looked small but regal, walking confidently beside her husband, every inch his equal.

Their two daughters trailed in their wake, dressed in shades of blue and gold. “The tall girl is Lady Mhysra,” he continued. “Who happens to be training with us this year.”

Fleik raised his eyebrows. “Rather forward thinking of her parents.”

Despite still having doubts about that, Lyrai smiled. “She was raised at Wrentheria.”

The Riders murmured their approval and turned to watch the family again. Fleik focused on the shorter, more curvaceous woman in gold. “And the other?”

“Lady Milluqua,” Stirla answered to general surprise, since the women he typically associated with could rarely be described as ladies. He fiddled with his wineglass. “I met her at the eyries. Looking for her sister.” Everyone watched him for a long moment, but Stirla remained silent.

Shrugging, Fleik turned away, asking Imaino, “When do we take our turn in Nimbys again?”

Stirla sighed and Lyrai smirked. His friend had failed to mention just how many times he’d met the lady at the eyries. As one of the Riders’ chief gossips, Stirla should have known better.

“You’re drooling.”

Stirla shot him a scathing look. “Why don’t you go visit your mother?”

“And dance with a pretty lady along the way?” Lyrai asked. “I just might. This uniform does all the talking for me. Do you think Lady Milluqua will approve?” He slid from the table, chuckling at the growl aimed at his back as he strode away.

* * * * *

LADY MILLUQUA KILPAPAN hid a yawn behind her fan and smiled at her sister. They had barely arrived and her dance card was almost full. Even Mhysra had accepted a few offers, though her dancing lacked confidence. Milluqua glanced across the ballroom, smiling as Mhysra looked the same way. Though many Rift Riders came from good families, they were mostly younger sons and rarely moved in society. The Nimbys Midsummer Ball was one of the few events at which they were all welcome. It certainly made things interesting.

“See anyone you know?” she murmured in her sister’s ear, watching a Rider officer make his way across the room. Even amongst the peacock shades, his scarlet coat stood out.

Pale and uncertain in her beautiful dress, Mhysra smiled weakly. “Some,” she admitted. “Captain Myran’s whole flight is here, but I only know half of them.”

“What about him?” Milluqua pointed her fan at the golden-headed officer approaching them.

“Lieutenant Lyrai,” her sister replied. “My training instructor. You’ve seen him before.”

“That’s Lyrai?” Milluqua blinked, but shut her mouth as the lieutenant bowed before them.

“Good evening, Lady Milluqua. Lady Mhysra.” He smiled politely, though his attention was mostly on Mhysra. It was an unusual sensation for Milluqua, who was used to receiving the full focus of any man in her vicinity. She was more amused than disgruntled, though, especially at her little sister’s discomfort.

“I trust you’re enjoying yourselves,” the lieutenant enquired, accepting a glass of wine from a footman. “A pleasant change from your daily routine.”

“Yes, sir,” Mhysra murmured, toying with her glass and not looking at the lieutenant.

Catching Milluqua’s eye, he smiled in silent acknowledgement of Mhysra’s shyness. “My lady, would you grant me the honour of a dance this evening?” Then, almost as an afterthought, he turned to her sister. “And you too, of course, Lady Mhysra.”

As ploys went, Milluqua thought it masterful. Now Mhysra was frowning because Lyrai had almost forgotten her and presented her dance card without protest after he scrawled on Milluqua’s. She hid her smile behind her fan when he wrote his name down twice for her little sister, after claiming only one dance with her.

“Until later, ladies,” he murmured, bowed again and left.

They watched him walk away, while Milluqua languidly plied her fan. “He seems nice.”

Mhysra started to shrug, then remembered it was undesirable behaviour in a young lady, so sighed instead. “He’s very stern. I don’t think he likes me much.”

Milluqua said nothing, concentrating on folding her fan just so.

“He envies me Cumulo. Well, most of the Riders do, but for him it’s worse since he’s grounded. At first I thought he didn’t want women in the Riders, but he treats the other girls fairly. It’s just me he doesn’t like.”

Smiling, Milluqua tucked a stray curl back into Mhysra’s chignon, proud of how elegant she looked after all the hard work of getting her to the fittings and the torture of making her sit still this afternoon to get ready. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about men, love, it’s never to second guess what they’re thinking. Especially when it comes to women. Men are rarely as complicated as we believe. I’m sure he doesn’t dislike you.”

“I hope not,” Mhysra grumbled, grimacing as she studied her dance card. “I’m to dance with him twice. Maegla preserve me, what will we talk about? I can’t even look the man in the eye.”

Delighted that her sister appeared to be noticing men at last, even if she didn’t realise it yet, Milluqua suppressed a chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll find something.”

~ 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

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

24th 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 ~

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

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch7.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

So it begins…

Seven

11th 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 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch6.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Farewell, Mherrin! And, excuse me, Lieutenant Stirla, but just what are you up to?

Six

10th Blizzard

“It’s pure spite.” As Mhysra vigorously combed tangles out of the horsat’s mane, her puppy growled from the doorway. “See, Bumble agrees. She’s heard them too.”

Mherrin snorted and pushed Ripple’s wing out of the way so he could brush her side. The horsat stood patiently, tracking both humans’ movements with her swivelling ears.

“Didn’t it take Kilai years to get permission?” Derrain asked, lounging in the doorway.

“Two very long years,” Milluqua agreed from her seat on an upturned bucket, where she was checking the braiding on Ripple’s reins. A lady she might be, but she’d also been raised in Wrentheria.

“You didn’t have to live with his sulking,” Mherrin groaned. “How we suffered!”

Milluqua sniffed. “You didn’t have to put up with the earl’s disapproval.”

“At least it isn’t aimed at you,” Mhysra grumbled, attacking Ripple’s tail. “And it never will be.”

“Bitterness does not become you, dearest,” Derrain cooed, ducking the brush she threw at his head. The puppy barked and strained her lead to reach it. “Here you go, bumbling pup.” Derrain gave her the brush and she settled down with it between her paws, tail wagging, teeth chomping.

“You can’t give her that!” Mhysra snatched it away. “She’ll break it.”

“You shouldn’t have throw it then. Bumble might get hurt.”

While they bickered, Milluqua handed the bridle to her cousin. “Tell Mhylo to take better care of his tack – the braiding is badly frayed. Ripple’s a good mare, but it’s not something you want unravelling mid-flight.”

“Thanks, Milli. I’ll let him know, not that he’ll be grateful. Lazy git.” Kissing her cheek, Mherrin began tacking up. When Mhysra put Ripple’s saddle on, he caught her eye. “You are going to hand that letter in, aren’t you?”

“Depends,” she mumbled. Her cousin raised his eyebrows and she focused on the buckles. Since he was the one who’d forged her father’s signature, he should have been the one advising caution as the one who would have the most to lose if they were caught. Then again Mherrin never did have much sense. Whereas she probably had too much misdirected honour. “I just wish they’d say yes. It doesn’t feel right starting out this way.”

Her cousin gave a cheerful shrug. “More fool them. And more fool you.” He tweaked her nose. “I can’t see why you’d want to work with those toffs, but since you do and it’s what Cumulo needs, good luck to you, cuz.”

“And you.” Ducking under Ripple’s neck, she threw her arms about Mherrin. He was her favourite cousin and she’d miss him. The past four days had been horrible and full of arguments, but Mherrin had made it bearable. He could always cheer her up.

“Don’t get dismal now,” he murmured, and she smiled.

“Watch your back.” She patted him between his shoulder blades. “A lone flyer is always vulnerable, especially on a horsat.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve flown even more than you, Wingborn. I can take care of myself.”

“Make sure you do,” Milluqua said sternly, coming over to neaten his collar. “I’d be displeased if anything happened to you.”

Mherrin glanced despairingly at Derrain. “Girls!”

Derrain smirked, but wisely said nothing. Instead he untied Bumble and moved aside so Ripple could leave her stall unmolested. “Fast winds and clear skies.”

“Try not to die of boredom at school.” Once outside, Mherrin hopped into the saddle and tucked his knees beneath Ripple’s wings. The horsat shivered all over and pranced with readiness. At Mherrin’s signal, she lifted her head and galloped for the takeoff ramp, wings unfurling. One beat, two, she hit top speed and leapt.

For a moment they hung weightless over the sheer drop to the Cloud Sea, hundreds of feet below, then the wind filled Ripple’s enormous wings and she soared. Spiralling on the updraft, leathery wings spread wide, she circled and rose with each lazy flap. With a final wave, Mherrin gathered his reins and Ripple powered forward with great thrusts of her wings, her legs galloping on the air, and away they went.

Mhysra sighed, wishing she could go too. She missed her miryhl chicks, the lively manor, the calm lake and Cumulo’s ridiculous attempts to dominate the bullwing herd. But that was her old life, over a thousand miles away. A life where women were excluded from the Riders and the occasional miryhl could be spared. Things were different now. If only her parents would agree.

“Here we go,” Milluqua muttered, and Mhysra realised she’d clenched her jaw.

“If you’re off to pick another fight, I’ll bid you good day,” Derrain said, slapping Bumble’s lead into her hand. “Lieutenant Stirla offered to show me the eyries.”

Unable to face another argument, Mhysra smiled wearily. “I’ll come too, if you don’t mind.”

Milluqua sighed with relief and snatched Bumble’s lead. “Excellent idea. I’ll take this one. Make sure you’re back in time for dinner.” Not waiting in case Mhysra changed her mind, her sister hurried off as if a pack of pyreflies were nipping at her heels.

Chuckling, Derrain hooked his arm through hers. “Seems you’re stuck with me then.”

“Seems I am.” Mhysra wrinkled her nose. “However will I cope?”

* * * * *

“BEAUTIFUL, SO BEAUTIFUL. Who knew letting women back in the Riders would reap such exquisite rewards?”

Eyebrows raised, Lyrai led the visitors through the eyries towards the cooing voice. The place were mostly deserted at this time of day, with one flurry on duty and the other preferring to escape the cold. Everyone, that is, except Stirla. Since Lyrai could see Stirla’s miryhl, Atyrn, hunched miserably near the doors, it was safe to assume the lieutenant was busy elsewhere.

“Absolutely glorious. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to spend your life with me? I’d treat you as wonderfully as you deserve. I could -”

Lyrai led the two youngsters within sight of the love-struck lieutenant and coughed. Since one of the visitors happened to be bonded to the miryhl Stirla was sweet-talking, Lyrai grinned as his friend spun around. Despite all the scrapes they’d been caught in over the years, Lyrai had never seen Stirla look guilty before. This was very interesting.

“Er…”

“Afternoon, Stirla. Hope we’re not interrupting.”

The girl folded her arms and glared, while the boy lounged against an unused perch, grinning.

Stirla inched away from the miryhl, making innocent gestures with his hands. “Um…”

The miryhl lowered his head and chuckled, so the girl turned her scowl on him.

“If you want rid of me, Cue, just say.”

Cumulo raised his head and squawked. Feathers rose on his face and head, and he glowered at Stirla. The lieutenant ducked under a perch and backed away.

“Don’t you blame him,” the girl snapped. “Look me in the eye when I’m talking to you, Cumulo. And don’t try that innocent act on me.” The miryhl had been making supplicating purrs, but at this his feathers fluffed up with affront. “Nor that either. I’m wise to all your tricks. I know they approach you, but you encourage them. Thirteen offers, Cue. Thirteen!”

Stirla slunk over to Lyrai. “If I’d known I was part of a crowd, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

Lyrai patted him sympathetically on the shoulder, just as the girl spun on her heel and jabbed a finger in Stirla’s direction. “And you should be ashamed of yourself – trying to cozen a miryhl away from his bonded. Especially when you’ve a perfectly good mount of your own.” She shoved her miryhl aside and approached Atyrn, stroking the neglected eagle with soothing hands. “Such a beauty too. Men are so stupid not to value a treasure when they have one.”

“She has a point,” Lyrai murmured. Even bigger than Cumulo, Atyrn was the envy of many Riders. So dark she was almost black, she was strong and had the best endurance of their flight. She was also steadfast and willing to push through any weather. There were few better miryhls to be had than Atyrn. “Badly done, my friend.”

Lady Mhysra snorted scornfully. “As if you weren’t the first to approach Cue,” she muttered. Stirla and the lad laughed, but the girl ignored them. She was wary of him, Lyrai knew. Unlike Stirla, who was friendly and flirtatious, young women made Lyrai nervous. It was bad enough when he was obliged to spend time with his sisters, and they were family. He never knew how to treat them. Apparently, Mhysra felt the same way towards him. Under normal circumstances, Lyrai would be delighted to be avoided, but when she became a student… He’d have to work on his manners.

“Come on, Mhysra, don’t be grouchy,” Derrain cajoled. “As if Cumulo would leave you. He’s put up – I mean you’ve put up with him for sixteen years.”

She smiled reluctantly. “You’re not Mherrin.”

“But I get points for trying, right?” the lad appealed to the lieutenants.

She shoved his shoulder. “Give over, Derry. Didn’t you want something here?”

As the boy turned to Stirla, Lyrai watched the girl murmur to Atyrn, while the miryhl rubbed her affectionately on the shoulder with her head. Then, despite Cumulo’s jealous growls, Mhysra kissed the eagle’s beak. Only after she had checked her friend was still busy with Stirla did she approach her bonded. Hooking his beak over her shoulder, Cumulo and tugged her close and hustled her under his wing. The girl protested and the miryhl turned his head so they could argue in whispers.

It was quite a sight and Lyrai leant against a perch to watch. Cumulo treated her like a naughty chick and she treated him like an annoying little brother, but there was a thread of affection running through their partnership that he’d never seen before. Even in the oldest pairs the interactions were more of comrades and friends than family. Perhaps that was the real sign of a Wingborn.

A prod on the arm drew him back to the present.

Stirla grinned at him. “I’m showing Derrain around. Want to come, or are you busy?”

Since Lyrai was grounded, they both knew he had no reason to be in the eyries. Especially when his flurry was on patrol, meaning he couldn’t even spring a surprise inspection. The only thing worth looking at was the girl and her Wingborn.

“I’ve got paperwork to do.”

“Oh aye,” Stirla said with a exaggerated wink. “Paperwork, is it? Come along, young Derrain, let’s leave my esteemed colleague to his work.” Still chuckling, Stirla took the lad off, leaving the girl and her miryhl to argue. Lyrai glanced at them, then turned away. Regardless of what Stirla thought was going on, Lyrai missed having a miryhl. Seeing others with theirs made his feet itch and an empty ache fill his chest. Not that he’d been close to Froth.

It had been a bad decision from the start. To an awestruck sixteen-year-old desperate to impress his peers and parents, the pale gold female as swift as the wind had seemed like an excellent choice. Everyone said how well they looked together. Unfortunately, she was a little too vain, a bit too lazy and far too full of herself. That was how she’d ended up injured. Lyrai hadn’t even been flying her at the time. No, his foolish bonded had ruined herself on her own time, showing off to the rest of the flurry and clipping a wing on a cliff.

Turning his back on the eyries, Lyrai headed for the offices. He really did have paperwork to do. Not that he’d intended to do it – Rift Rider officers rarely did – but it wasn’t as though he had anything else to do. He wanted to fly, wanted it so badly that if he hung around the eyries any longer, he might do something stupid. Like try to take Cumulo.

The day of Choice and his chance to bond with a new miryhl was seven months away, but every day brought him closer to flight. If he could just keep going he would be airborne eventually. He flexed his hands and shook his head, wishing that telling himself such things actually made a difference.

~ 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 4, Part 3

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch4.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Roll up! Roll up! For the extra Wednesday update!

Marvel at Nimbys From Above! Gasp at the Antics of a Bumbling Pup! And shake your head at a certain grumpy lieutenant showing how not to make friends and influence miryhls.

WIND RUSHED UP to meet them, tugging at feathers, hair and clothing. Hunching over to protect the pup, Mhysra forced her skirts as flat as she could and held on for the ride. Closing her eyes against the rush, she buried her face against Cumulo’s shoulder and laughed, waiting for the lift of her stomach as he spread his wings and swept up into the sky.

Atyrn’s sharp cry reached them over the swirling winds and Cumulo screamed his reply, the pup yipping along. Mhysra opened her eyes as they wheeled away from the high mountain and skimmed down towards the city. Rocks, snow and ranks of trees whizzed beneath them, until, suddenly, the mountain seemed to open its arms. Cradled protectively against the valley’s heart, the city of Nimbys sparkled in the late afternoon light.

It wasn’t the biggest city in the Overworld, nor the most populated. It wasn’t the oldest, nor the most holy. It wasn’t the highest, it wasn’t even the warmest, but it was beautiful. Tucked at the top of the Imercian landmass, Nimbys was surrounded on three sides by the indomitable Cloud Sea. The east was protected by other mountains, but none contained a place as wondrous as Nimbys. Home of the Stratys – ruler of all Imercian – it was a place of administration, intrigue, politics and stunning architecture.

Shaped by the contours of its mountain, Nimbys rippled and undulated more gracefully than any other settlement Mhysra had seen. Sparkling towers rose from the haze of buildings and, at the open end of the city, the Cathedral of Maegla dominated as only the Storm Goddess could.

The northern edge of the ravine belonged to the Stratys Palace. Like a collection of snowflakes frozen on the edge of a waterfall, it glinted in untouchable glory. Everything about it spoke of riches, power and perfection.

The city between the two wonders was a mismatch of society and styles. The docklands throbbed with life and business, while skyships bobbed serenely at their mooring posts or were beached forlornly in the dry docks. The miryhls rushed effortlessly above them all, casting shadows across the markets and streets below, before lifting high to crest the ridge on which the palace and Flying Corps HQ stood.

Following Atyrn’s lead they swooped around the HQ and drifted onto the wide field beyond. Off-duty Riders ran out of the eyries and offices, bundled up against the cold, eager to view this newest curiosity.

Eager to be admired, Cumulo landed with a series of bounding hops, head high, chest puffed out, freshly preened feathers gleaming. Mhysra muttered dark things behind his proud head. Such a landing might look impressive, but it was horribly uncomfortable, especially when one was trying not to drop a squirming, brainless pup.

“That’s why it loves you,” Cumulo remarked as Mhysra released the dog. It flapped once before dropping like a stone. “It hasn’t enough intelligence to do otherwise.”

Sliding from his saddle, she jabbed his ribs with her toes on the way down and set about taming her skirt. “You’re such a charmer,” she grumbled, unbuckling his saddle and harness, before pulling them free. When she stepped back, he lowered his head and unhooked his bridle with a talon, tossing it to her with a flick.

“Very clever,” she drawled. He was showing off, trying to prove that Wingborn were so much smarter than ordinary miryhls. The only way he really outdid normal miryhls, in Mhysra’s opinion, was the size of his self-consequence.

“Let the gawping commence,” Lieutenant Stirla chuckled, heading towards the eyries.

As Mhysra approached the watching crowd, Cumulo strutting at her side, she had a sudden attack of nerves. It was one thing to storm the HQ and demand admittance, but this was different. Then she’d had a goal and nobody could stop her. Especially not a stuffy paper-pusher who could no more fly than dance on the Cloud Sea.

Here, however, she was under the eyes of the experts, and while she knew Cumulo was a superior specimen, she also knew she wasn’t. Too tall and scrawny to be girly, too flimsy to be boyish. To strangers she looked weak. Unworthy.

“Buck up,” Cumulo murmured. “You’re my Wingborn. Without you I’m nothing.”

The unexpected compliment straightened her spine and raised her chin. He was right, they belonged here. With these men in their well-worn uniforms, their hands and some of their faces scarred by the lives they lived. These were Rift Riders, real Rift Riders.

How would she ever belong here?

Cumulo nudged her with his wing, making her realised she’d shrunk against him again, like a chick hiding behind its mother. She straightened up and glanced towards Stirla for guidance. He was grinning as the crowd parted to reveal the other lieutenant. The blond one with the cold eyes. He nodded at Stirla and stepped forward to study the new miryhl. Whistling softly, he walked slowly around the newcomers.

Cumulo’s beak crackled in annoyance and Mhysra touched his wing, surprised. After all, he’d shown no such objection when Stirla had done the same.

“Impressive,” the lieutenant announced, his inspection complete. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I see why you were so determined to join us, my lady.”

Uncertain of what was expected, she bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you, sir.”

“Lieutenant Lyrai.” He gave a curt bow. “Grounded until the Choice, my miryhl retired to stud. Wounded.” He looked at Cumulo again, unable to hide his covetous envy. “I know your name, my lady, but what about this fine fellow?”

“Cumulo,” she replied, as her miryhl curled his beak protectively over her shoulder, tugging her against his chest. She tickled his cheek just below his eye in his favourite spot, making him purr. “My Wingborn.”

A ripple ran through the Riders, word spreading to those who hadn’t already heard the news.

Ignoring the talk, Lieutenant Lyrai studied her and her eagle, taking in Cumulo’s protective stance and her affectionate touch. “Welcome to the Riders, Lady Mhysra and Cumulo. We hope you like it here.”

Something nipped her ankle and she glared down at the puppy, wondering if she was to be plagued on all sides. Disapproving lieutenants, stubborn parents, prideful miryhls and stupid puppies – Maegla aid her to a simple life.

Sighing, she nodded to the lieutenant. “Thank you, sir.”

From his faint smile and the occasional mutter from the crowd, not everyone was keen on readmitting women to the Riders.

Mhysra lifted her chin at the challenge. She was Wingborn. She belonged here – and she would prove it.

“Come on, Cue, let’s get you settled.” Hefting his tack, she scooped up the puppy and followed the chuckling Stirla inside. It was going to be a long winter.

~ 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 4, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch4.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

In which Cumulo has a bath, Stirla is impressed and poor Atyrn feels left out.

“YOU KNOW, I’M not sure you should bathe in a reservoir,” Mhysra said later that afternoon, as she scrambled around her soggy miryhl, riffling her fingers through his damp feathers, getting out the dirt and encouraging them to dry. “It’s not very hygienic.”

Pulling his head up from preening his flight feathers, Cumulo sniffed. “Where else am I supposed to bathe?”

Mhysra turned to view the world around them. Nimbys was just one of many mountains making up the northern edge of the Imercian range, but it, like all the others, was doused in a heavy blanket of snow. Most of the mountains had some source of water amongst their craggy peaks, but likewise the majority of them were frozen. The only reason this lake above Nimbys wasn’t was because the city worked very hard to keep the water flowing.

“Good point.” After all, a bird of Cumulo’s size could hardly be expected to roll in the snow, like a pair of playful ravens were currently doing on the slopes above them. Especially considering the state Cumulo had been in.

“It’s too late now anyway.” Cumulo sniffing, giving himself a thorough shake and fluffing up like an oversized chicken. He squawked in dismay and frantically began preening his feathers flat again.

“I suppose,” Mhysra sighed, helping to smooth him down. He was so vain.

“And I could hardly turn up at the Rider eyries looking like I did. It would have created completely the wrong impression.”

She certainly couldn’t argue with that. “Well, you look splendid now.”

He puffed up his chest with pride.

“Apart from your tail, but I’m sure it’ll grow back soon.”

Cumulo deflated, peering over his shoulder and waggling the offending appendage. The feathers were bent and ragged, but the rest of him looked good. The shore around them was scattered with broken feathers, several of which had been carried off and partially chewed by the nakhound pup.

A shadow swept over them and they both looked up, Mhysra shading her eyes against the pallid sun, Cumulo half-mantling his wings in protective readiness. An enormous miryhl circled above them before coming into land. It wasn’t the first they’d seen this morning, but all the others had been part of Rider patrols and flown onwards with curious glances. Mhysra soon realised why this one was different.

Not only was the almost-black female the largest she had ever seen – and since female miryhls were normally bigger than males, this one had to be female – there was also a familiar Rider on her back. Tall, broad across the shoulders with merry green eyes and a scar across his brown cheek, his was a form she could hardly forget. The stripes on his uniform only made him more memorable.

“Lieutenant Stirla,” Mhysra greeted, as the grinning lieutenant slid down from his saddle and ruffled his miryhl’s neck feathers. “What brings you up here?” She hoped it wasn’t to tell them off. She’d told Cumulo he shouldn’t bathe in the reservoir, but when had he ever listened to her?

“Looking for you, of course. I was starting to think you’d got lost,” the lieutenant replied, laughing as the nakhound puppy bounded over to say hello. After leaning down to stroke her, Stirla straightened and eyed Cumulo with an admiring whistle. “Stamp me impressed and ship me to Havia, that is one good looking bird.”

Ever ready to be admired, Cumulo puffed up his freshly preened chest, knowing how to tilt his head just so to make golden highlights glint across his feathers. Behind the lieutenant, the big female gave an affronted ruffle of her wings and glowered at her Rider.

“What’s his name?” Stirla asked, glancing at Mhysra to confirm the gender before coming closer to inspect Cumulo, the nakhound pup dancing around his feet. “He looks fully grown already, but if he’s your Wingborn he can’t be more than, what, fifteen? Does that mean he still has five years of growing to do?”

A little offended on behalf of the female eagle, Mhysra folded her arms and called her fawning puppy to heel. “Cumulo and I are sixteen,” she corrected. “As a Wingborn his growth matches mine, so rather than maturing at twenty, he’ll probably peak in a year or two.” The glance she shot her miryhl suggested that though he might have almost finished growing physically, mentally he still had a lot of work to do.

Cumulo winked at her and obligingly spread his wings for the lieutenant. Show off.

Shooting him a withering glare, Mhysra approached the neglected female. “She’s beautiful. What’s her name, sir?” Offering up her palms, she waited for the miryhl to lower her head, then began stroking the bird’s face.

“Hmm?” His stream of low voiced compliments interrupted, Stirla glanced briefly over his shoulder. “Oh, that’s Atyrn. She’s great.” He went back to admiring Cumulo.

Smiling, Mhysra slid her hands down Atyrn’s neck to the shoulder joint, and dug her fingers into the muscle. The big bird’s wings sagged and Atyrn shivered with an ecstatic purr. “What a gorgeous girl you are,” Mhysra crooned. “I’ve never seen such a strong, fine miryhl.”

Huffing, Cumulo snapped his wings closed and stepped away from the lieutenant. When Atyrn turned her head to run an affectionate beak through Mhysra’s curls, the young male actually growled, stalking across the lakeshore and tugging his Wingborn away.

Yanked backwards by a proprietary beak, Mhysra found herself being hustled beneath a jealous wing and laughed into his damp feathers. “You’re such an idiot, Cue.”

Watching their antics with amusement, Lieutenant Stirla turned to soothe his miryhl’s ruffled pride. “You’re still the most beautiful girl in the world to me,” he assured her. “But it’s always nice to make new friends.”

Atyrn huffed sulkily but didn’t protest when her Rider stroked her neck.

The lieutenant smiled at Mhysra. “If you’re ready, I think it’s time to move into the eyries. Everything’s been prepared for you,” he added to Cumulo. “And though I was curious to see how you settled in before, I now can’t wait to set this pyrefly amongst the sheep.”

Mhysra looked at Cumulo, unsure if that was a good thing. They were going to cause enough of a stir as it was being Wingborn. Impatient to be admired some more, Cumulo gave her a hurry-up nudge.

So she sighed and fetched his tack. “We’ll be there soon, sir, if you wish to go on ahead.”

Leaning against Atyrn’s shoulder, Stirla gave a lazy wave. “We can wait. I wouldn’t miss this for the Overworld.”

That was what worried her, but she said nothing, lifting the saddle and its blanket onto Cumulo’s back instead. Settled just behind his wing joint, the leather seat was light and padded, ensuring comfort for both of them. As well as the stirrups found on an ordinary saddle, it also had cups towards the back for a Rider to tuck their ankles and feet into. This enabled them to lean forward against their miryhl’s neck in secure comfort, while also keeping out of the wind.

Giving Cumulo time to make sure the saddle sat right, Mhysra looped the breast harness into place and fastened the top buckles against the front of the saddle. Then she leant down to fasten the girth behind his legs, sliding it through the strap that ran down from the harness.

“Good?” she asked.

Cumulo flexed his wings and nodded. “Good.”

Slipping the bridle over his head, she secured the strap around his beak and another behind his head. It was more of a head collar than a bridle and was not intended to control the miryhl or impede the opening of the beak. Mostly it helped the Rider stay on and occasionally suggest a change of direction, but few miryhls appreciated being guided.

Looping the reins back over Cumulo’s neck, Mhysra grabbed the puppy, hiked up her skirts and clambered astride. It wasn’t particularly dignified, nor her favourite way to fly, but at least the skirt was full enough to cover most of her legs.

“All set?” Lieutenant Stirla asked, politely averting his eyes while Mhysra arranged her clothes for maximum modesty. Thankfully the puppy was smart enough not to fuss, and simply lay down across Mhysra’s lap.

“Whenever you are, sir,” she agreed, and waited while Atyrn – the senior miryhl – hopped towards the cliff edge and dropped out of sight.

“I hate it when you fly in skirts,” Cumulo grumbled, as they waited for the other eagle to swoop back up into view.

“I’m not that fond of it either,” Mhysra sighed. “But this’ll be the last time, I promise.”

Giving a disapproving sniff, Cumulo shuffled to the edge of the cliff. “It’d better be,” he told her. “Now, shall we show them how it’s done?”

Without waiting for a reply, he leant forward, opened his wings and kicked off into the empty air below.

~ 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 3, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch 3.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Well, Clerk Brenai? Is she allowed to enroll now?

Three

THE RIDERS GAPED – the girl was telling the truth! She really was from Wrentheria, the best miryhl breeders on the Overworld. More than that, she was related to the family and was one of the rich, influential Kilpapans.

Brenai paled and fell back into his chair. “Lady Mhysra Kilpapan, did you say?” he asked weakly, the letter in his hand momentarily forgotten.

“Yes,” the lad replied cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just dropped a burning pyrefly egg on the clerk’s desk. “Didn’t she tell you? Mhysra, didn’t you tell him?”

The girl’s smile was wry. “I was trying to get in on my own.”

“You didn’t mention Cue?”

She shrugged. “I tried, but Wingborn don’t exist.”

Mherrin chuckled. “I’ll let you tell Cumulo that. I stopped by after I settled Ripple. He seemed happy to see me.” His bag whined and he twisted to reach it. “Oh, I almost forgot. Mam sent you something else.” Delving inside, he pulled out a bundle of fur and feathers, black patches on white, rumpled and growling. A nakhound pup. Seeing the girl, the puppy yipped, fluttering its black-barred feathery wings, paws scrabbling at the empty air. “Merry Midwinter.”

“What did you bring that for?” the girl demanded, yelping as the boy threw the pup into the air, where it flapped with more enthusiasm than skill, forcing Lady Mhysra to dive to catch it. Tail whipping about happily, the puppy washed the girl’s face.

“She pined for you, cousin. Saddest thing I ever saw. She searched all over the eyries. Your chicks almost ate her, but they were fighting so loud they woke Mhylo. They’re missing you too, but Mam’s doing her best. The fledglings looked for you a couple of times, but Da rounded them up before they reached the village. Without Cumulo to compete with they’re a lazy pair.”

Holding the nakhound at arm’s length, Lady Mhysra shot her cousin an exasperated look. “She’s one of Kilai’s. He’ll kill me.”

“He left them to Mam, and she knows best. Besides, he got one when he joined the Riders.”

“I’ve got Cumulo.”

“And he has Cirrus. All’s fair, cuz.”

She scowled at him, tucked the puppy under her arm and turned back to the desk. “Does this meet with your requirements, sir?”

Brenai was still blinking in astonishment at the previous revelations. “I – I believe so, my lady. Though parental permission is preferred.”

“I was raised by my aunt,” she said, icily polite. “She has every right to decide my future.”

Fidgeting, the clerk scanned the letter again. “Your aunt says you are Wingborn?”

“Yes.”

“And that you are a Kilpapan?” Brenai sounded as though he was being strangled.

“Yes.”

“Yet your letter of recommendation is from Mhylla Wrentherin?”

The cousins shared a glance, and the girl nodded. “My maternal aunt, yes.”

“Umm…” Brenai tugged at his neckcloth, sweating at the prospect of either turning away this gift of a student or offending the influential Kilpapan family. “Would it be possible to receive a letter from your parents?”

Lady Mhysra pursed her lips. “At this present moment, no.”

“Ah.”

“Not when enrolment closed yesterday.”

Brenai coughed. “Well, classes do not begin for another five days. If you were given the opportunity, do you believe it is possible to gain permission before then?”

Her smile was beautiful. “For this chance, sir, I could do almost anything. You’ll have your letter before the first day of classes.” The cousins shared another look and the boy winked. Lyrai wondered how legitimate any letter signed by Lord Kilpapan would be, but it was no business of his. A Wingborn belonged in the Riders, male or female.

“You have five days, Lady Mhysra.”

“Thank you.” She bowed to the clerk and jerked upright when the puppy licked her nose. Casting it a disgusted look, she turned away, then paused. “Might I request a favour?”

Exhausted by the morning’s tribulations, Brenai waved her towards the two lieutenants.

Ever curious, Stirla stepped forward. “How may I assist, my lady?”

She studied his uniform, eyes lingering on his shoulder stripes. “It’s about my miryhl, sir.”

“Please, call me Stirla.” He swept up her hand – the one not holding the puppy – for a kiss.

Her eyebrows rose and she bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you, Lieutenant Stirla.”

He patted her hand and Lyrai had to stifle his amusement. He couldn’t believe that Stirla was flirting with a child ten years his junior – even if she was connected to two of the most powerful families in the East Overworld. Girls under sixteen, in Lyrai’s experience, were either unbearably silly or simply not interested.

“Tell me about your miryhl,” Stirla prompted.

She frowned and dragged her hand free, surreptitiously wiping it on her coat, proving Lyrai right. “He’s at the city eyries -”

Every Rider within hearing winced and Stirla dropped his flirtatious air. “Say no more, my lady. You should have come to us sooner.”

Taken aback by such swift acceptance, she smiled shyly. “I wasn’t sure a civilian would be welcome, sir. Many don’t agree with a girl having a miryhl, Wingborn or not. And I’m afraid he’s not looking his best.”

“Understandable considering where you’ve had to keep him.” Stirla shuddered, and he wasn’t the only one. The Riders had been trying to get the city eyries closed down for years, but since they were also used by pyrefliers and horsat messengers they had yet to succeed. “Miryhls are Rider business, my lady, and we’re always prepared to listen to those who live with them. I’ll send someone to fetch him immediately.” When the girl opened her mouth, Stirla chuckled. “Or you could bring him yourself.”

“Thank you, sir.” Dipping another curtsey, she hurried after her cousin.

“Well.” Stirla turned to Lyrai, eyebrows raised. “That was interesting.”

“And no doubt will continue to be so,” Lyrai agreed, nodding for his men to disband, since they weren’t on duty until the afternoon.

“Spending seven months in Nimbys doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?” Stirla chuckled, accepting his packet of written instructions from the harassed Brenai. “Girls in the Riders again and we’re here to help. We live in interesting times, my friend. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go and find space for our special guest.” Stirla set off towards the eyries, whistling as he went.

“Interesting times, indeed,” Lyrai murmured, and left to find his sergeant. A surprise inspection of his flurry’s mounts sounded like a marvellous plan.

~ 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 2, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch2.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

In which Lyrai is grumpy, Stirla is Stirla and Mhysra gets a teeny bit annoyed.

“WHAT’S YOUR WAGER? Runaway brat, curious miss or genuine girl?”

Lyrai looked up from studying the depressing duty roster. He was surrounded by grumbling Riders equally dismayed over their new assignment. Merry Midwinter, everyone. “Pardon?”

“We have another one.” Stirla nodded across the busy room, eyes bright and mischievous.

After five years together – from their first day at Aquila through to their current officer training – Lyrai had learned to be wary of that sparkle. Still, a little amusement might ease the sting of being quartered in Nimbys until the following autumn.

He turned to face the cluttered front desk just as the girl reached it. Slender and tall, her dark brown hair was pulled tightly back, accentuating the sharp features of her sun-bronzed face. She wasn’t pretty, but had big, pale eyes that glanced frequently at the Riders. Seeing the silver flashes on his and Stirla’s shoulder, she nodded respectfully before turning to the clerk at the desk.

“Strange little thing,” Stirla murmured. “So, which is it?”

Lyrai waved him to silence, wanting to listen and far too wise to wager with him. Even when he wasn’t cheating, Stirla’s luck was just too good to trust.

“Enrolment is closed.” Brenai the clerk had fussy ways, but he was the best administrator in Nimbys. Lyrai smiled, wondering how the girl would react to his sharp manner.

“I know, but I was unable to come until this morning.” Her voice was polite and clear, softened with a hint of country burr. Well born, but not local. “Since classes don’t begin for another five days, I hoped I might still be admitted.”

Her friendly smile didn’t sway Brenai one bit. He peered over his glasses and sniffed. “Enrolment closed yesterday. Rift Riders live or die by their punctuality. We make no exceptions.” The gathered Riders snickered. In theory what Brenai said was true, but in practise…

Irritation flashed over the girl’s face. Instead of unleashing it, though, she took a deep breath. “I was unable to come before, sir.”

“Try again next year,” Brenai advised brusquely, and with more than a touch of disapproval. As well he might. The clerk had been particularly vocal in opposing the recent changes to the Flying Corps.

The girl took another deep breath and forced a smile. “If I had another choice, sir, I would not ask,” she said, a hint of desperation creeping in. “It’s Midwinter.”

Brenai’s eyebrows drew together and he pushed his papers aside, squaring the corners neatly as if the haphazard piles behind him did not exist. “I hesitate to be rude, miss, but what’s the hurry? The proclamation will still apply next year. It’s a five-year trial. There’s no rush and there will be plenty of miryhls left, if you want this badly enough. The thinking time will do you good. This isn’t an easy life. Take a little Midwinter advice and leave it another year.”

The young woman’s hands clenched and her body stiffened with all the hauteur that the upper classes had cultivated over the centuries. “You do not understand, sir,” she growled. “I’m not some featherheaded miss with no clue as to what Rider duties entail. I don’t need to think about it. A year’s grace will not do me good. I am not anticipating an easy life.” She leaned over the waist-high desk and whispered something too softly for the curious Riders to hear.

Brenai sat back, clearly surprised. Then he laughed. “What a Midwinter tale! Wingborn, indeed. You must think me thirty years younger than I am!”

Wingborn! The shock rippled through the room as the Riders reassessed the girl. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen and showed no signs of a life with miryhls. She was too thin and free of scars. As wondrous and intelligent as miryhls were, they were still giant eagles with all the sharp edges and predatory instincts to match their wild cousins. Even the gentlest bird could draw blood on occasion.

Unlike Brenai and the civilian population, Rift Riders knew Wingborn existed – but they were rare. A miryhl hatching at the exact moment a human was born, within a mile of each other. One soul split in two. The phenomenon had once been more widespread when miryhls had bred more freely, but they had never been common. Breeding farms were now established in more remote areas, protecting the birds and limiting human contact until they were fully trained. Who was this girl and where was she from?

“I can prove it,” the girl insisted, trembling with anger. “Just let me fetch my miryhl.”

The clerk stopped laughing. “You have a miryhl?”

“I am Wingborn,” she growled.

Brenai waved her words away, all stern business now that the joke was over. “Where did you get him? Name, place and date of birth, and the same for your miryhl, if you please. You do know it is illegal to own a miryhl outside of Rift Rider purposes, do you not?”

“Unless one is Wingborn,” she reminded him stiffly. “Or of a ruling royal or political house. I know the regulations, sir. I was born at Wrentheria.”

“The village?” the clerk asked, searching for fresh paper.

The look she shot Brenai was almost pitying. “The manor. I’ve been breeding miryhls for two years and helping raise others my whole life.”

Lyrai raised his eyebrows, unsure if he believed her. Wrentheria was renown throughout the Overworld as one of the best – if not the best – breeder of miryhls. The simple way she said the name didn’t sound like a boast, but nor did she look tough enough. Miryhl breeding was not easy, especially for those of shorter stature. The girl was tall for her age, but still barely half the size of an adult miryhl.

Brenai looked sceptical and held out a hand. “Your letter of recommendation.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t have one.”

The clerk sighed and took off his glasses to massage his nose. “You come here making wild claims with no supporting evidence and expect me to admit you, even though official registration closed yesterday. Your credentials are wondrous, miss, if they are true. Since you cannot prove them… The Rift Riders do not look kindly on timewasters.”

Her jaw clenched. “Then I will fetch your proof, sir.” Turning on her heel she stormed away.

The watching Riders waited eagerly to see how the drama would unfold next, whispering bets between each other. It was almost as good as a play. When the girl was two angry paces away from the door, it was flung open by a young man with wind-tossed curls and a beaming smile. He wore the lightweight gear used by messengers and carried a document bag over his shoulder.

“Mhysra!” he greeted and, without even a hitch in his stride, swept the girl into his arms. “Well met and Midwinter blessings. I was looking for you next so you’ve saved me an awkward meeting with my aunt.”

“Mherrin!” the girl squealed, completely at odds with her previous behaviour. “What are you doing here? Where are you staying? How long? Is my aunt well? How is everyone? Oh, I’ve missed you!” She wrapped her arms around the messenger’s neck again.

“All right,” Stirla murmured in Lyrai’s ear. “I’m completely lost. Are you keeping up?”

“At least it’s entertaining,” Lyrai replied, while the youngsters chattered about people no one else in the room knew. There was enough of a similarity in their sharp features and softly-burred accents for them to be related. “Which is more than we usually get in Nimbys.”

“Seven months,” someone else groaned, setting off a rumble of discontent.

Brenai stood up and cleared his throat loudly. “Messenger, have you anything for me?”

Recalled to his duty, the lad dropped the girl, straightened his jacket and strode across the room. He sorted through the letters inside his bag, handing two to the girl and a third to the clerk. That done, he straightened up importantly.

“I bring greetings from Mhylla Wrentherin Mhynara of Wrentheria, and her personal recommendation that her niece, Lady Mhysra Kilpapan Kilrenma, be permitted to join the Rift Riders, in accordance with the new proclamation readmitting women into their exalted ranks for the first time in over one hundred years.”

~ 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: Prologue

Becca Lusher

Wingborn_WP Cover 3Welcome along to the start of Wingborn, Book 1 of the Overworld series.

It’s a high fantasy world with giant, talking eagles, Regency-esque manners, a YA protagonist and lots and lots of clouds.

But you won’t see any of that in this short prologue. Instead meet Lyrai, a young Rift Rider Lieutenant experiencing a real taste of the Overworld’s troubles for the first time.

WB_Ch0

Prologue

Feather Frost, Etheria, the Greater West
32nd Cold, 784 Cloud Era

There was no blood.

A hint of smoke lingered in the air, more imagined than real, and charcoal crunched beneath Lyrai’s boots as he entered the remains of the base. Mist twisted and crept across the ground, drifting on gentle breezes that were so at odds with the season. A blanket of snow had fallen overnight, but the damage was too great to be hidden.

Feather Frost was dead.

Once it had been the pride of Etheria; a defensive bastion that protected trade and lives right in the shadow of the Worlds End mountains. From a humble military camp to an impressive citadel, it had been home to over five hundred Rift Riders, half of the Greater West’s entire force. Feather Frost was both the heart and the frontline of the war against the kaz-naghkt.

Gone.

Nothing remained, neither feather nor bone. All was ashes. The ground was snow-locked, the buildings burnt, the reek of death long faded away. There was no blood. How could almost seven hundred men – the barrack staff, attendants, Riders and all their miryhl eagle mounts – simply vanish? No one had escaped. This attack could have been as much as a month old, leaving plenty of time for survivors to have reached safety and sent out word. It was only due to a returning circuit messenger that anyone had discovered the attack at all.

“How could this happen?” Stirla joined Lyrai on the take-off platform, which commanded a complete overview of the destruction.

Unable to speak, Lyrai shook his head. Flying sweeps with their captain out of Kaskad they had been the closest Riders when the news broke. Not that anything in the hysterical messenger’s report had prepared them for this. Nothing could have prepared them for this.

“Lieutenant Stirla, take your flurry down and see if there’s anything to salvage.” Captain Myran emerged from the mists, limping up the slope. “Fleik’s waiting for you. Lieutenant Lyrai, divide your Riders. Send half with Stirla, the rest remain with you. Find shelter and get a fire going. We’re going to need it.”

Both men saluted, and Stirla and his Riders were soon picking their way across the frozen remains. Numb from both cold and shock, Lyrai watched them go, his captain by his side. The wind picked up, scattering snow over their boots.

“Speak, lieutenant.”

Freshly graduated from Aquila, the silver stitching still bright on his stripes, Lyrai wasn’t sure that there were any words for this, except: “There’s no blood.”

Myran rested a hand on his youngest lieutenant’s shoulder. “Shelter, Lyrai. Fire and food. There’s plenty in life that we can’t change, so let’s focus on the small things we can. Look to your men, lieutenant.” With a nod of dismissal, he called for his miryhl and Lieutenant Imaino’s flurry.

Left alone, Lyrai watched his fellow Riders searching through the wreckage, while others took to the skies. A fierce wind howled over the ridge, wiping the platform momentarily clean.

Blood. Mostly hidden by the scorched wood and stone beneath but there nonetheless. Hunkering down, Lyrai chipped at the ice with his knife and at last found evidence of struggle and slaughter.

He rested his palm over the stain. “Be at peace in the halls of Typhaestus, brothers. Rest well. We shall avenge you.”

Shivering beneath a fresh gust of wind, he straightened up and called for his Riders. It was time to seek shelter beneath an ever-darkening sky.

Overhead, it began to snow.

~ Next Chapter ~

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