Part of Mhysra agreed, but it was the weak bit. “What kind of Rider behaves so cowardly?”
Milluqua didn’t answer and they continued their tasks in silence. Until Bumble tripped Mhysra and scattered her books, causing Milluqua to stab herself with her needle.
Lying on the floor amidst the carnage, Mhysra fended off the puppy with a weary laugh. “Is this as an omen?”
Sucking her finger, Milluqua shook her head. “More of a warning. Don’t let Bumble take part in any future discussions.”
Though she laughed, the problem weighed on Mhysra’s mind until she confided in her friends. Unfortunately they happened to be the same ones who’d laughed when they found out she was Wingborn.
“Tell him,” Corin said, leaning back to watch the Riders come in for the noon meal.
“Don’t.” Naelya, another female student, shook her head.
“No, don’t,” Mouse agreed. “Not yet, anyway.”
“What would you know?” Corin grumbled, slumping as the last Rider closed the door.
“No need to ruin Mhysra’s life just because Rider Theryn isn’t here,” Derrain teased.
Corin snorted. “As if telling the truth would ruin her life.”
“Shows what you know,” Haelle, the fourth girl and by far the quietest, muttered. Tall like Mhysra and even more willowy, she said very little about herself and her family, but whenever the subject came up she took on a hunted look. “You should keep it a secret as long as you can, Mhysra. Trust me.”
“But surely it would be better to tell him herself, rather than risk him finding out some other way,” Dhori said reasonably. Mhysra shared a glance with Derrain and they both shook their heads.
“You’re lucky someone hasn’t told him already,” another lad grumbled. “I only lasted a half-moon before word reached my father.”
“That’s because you were supposed to be studying with the harbour masters,” Naelya reminded him. “And your father is known for paying his informants.”
“The only reason it took that long is because they like you down there,” Corin agreed. “Anyway what does it matter, you’re still here, aren’t you?”
“I might be, but I’ve been doing extra bookwork every night as penance.”
“What I don’t understand is how Mhysra got in without her parents’ permission,” Mouse said, stopping the conversation dead.
Derrain raised his eyebrows and smirked, while Mhysra squirmed in her seat, not about to admit that her cousin had forged her father’s signature. “I had a letter from my aunt.”
“Mhylla Wrentherin,” Derrain said, adding, “of Wrentheria,” in case any of them had misunderstood her aunt’s importance.
Mhysra scowled as the others made sounds of awe. It was bad enough being a Kilpapan, now she had the Wrentherin name to contend with. She was lucky her friends weren’t jealous types.
“Well, that explains where Cumulo came from,” Corin said, her head whipping around as the door opened. She sighed with disappointment when only Sergeant Rees entered.
“Eyes down, everyone,” Derrain mumbled, and the students became fascinated with their empty plates, their discussion forgotten. Rees did not approve of conversation at mealtimes.
16th Feather
THE AIR WAS filled with moisture when Mhysra and her friends left the cathedral on the second Starday in Feather month. Bidding the others farewell, she traipsed home to change, before heading to the eyries to give Cumulo a preen. Working beneath his wings, she listened to the pair on the walkway and smiled. Lieutenant Stirla was often in the eyries on a Starday and more than happy to show visitors around.
On this occasion, however, Stirla and his companion were already acquainted. Concealed beneath her miryhl’s feathers, Mhysra listened as the big lieutenant flirted with her sister. Neither knew she was there, nor realised how often she had overheard these little chats. What amused her most was that they thought they were being discreet. While it was true each miryhl only spoke to their Rider, those same Riders were notorious for their gossip, and the miryhls had no qualms about sharing things amongst themselves.
“Humans are such idiots,” Cumulo muttered, and at that moment she had to agree.
“Ho, Riders!” a shout came from outside. “Ho, miryhls! To wing! Riders to flight!”
Feathers rustled as Riders poured into the eyries from all directions, their miryhls dropping down to meet them. Mhysra ducked out from beneath Cumulo’s wing and pressed close to him, trying not to get in anyone’s way.
“Mhysra!” Milluqua cried, when Stirla raced off towards Atyrn. “What’s happening?”
“I’m not sure.” Tugging her sister off the walkway, she dragged her against Cumulo as Riders and miryhls jostled around them.
“Messenger, what news?” Striding through the chaos, Lieutenant Lyrai was the only Rider not scurrying for his mount, the only one currently grounded.
“Trouble, sir,” the messenger panted, allowing his sweating horsat to be led away. The man was in a bad way, bleeding across his head, back and shoulder and down one arm. A spear was clenched in his right fist as if he was frightened to let go. “East. Attack. Raiders.”
All activity paused as the Riders waited for more information.
“Raiders?” Lyrai repeated. “Of what sort?”
The messenger’s face was pale, his eyes wide as he breathed the word every human on the Overworld had learnt to fear, “Kaz-naghkt.”
There was silence as the eyries absorbed the shock. Kaz-naghkt so close to Nimbys? In the east? No one had ever heard of such a thing, not in all the years since the clouds came and humans were forced to fly in order to survive. Kaz-naghkt came out of the west, that was how it had always been.
Lieutenant Lyrai clenched his fists. “Riders to wing!”
Chaos resumed and within moments the eyries emptied, miryhls leaving through the hatches, collecting their Riders outside. The lieutenant thanked the messenger and handed him over to an attendant, then stood alone in the middle of the walkway, staring up at the open hatches.
Mhysra ventured out from Cumulo’s shadow, one hand resting against his chest and thundering heartbeat. They knew how the lieutenant was feeling.
Lyrai turned towards them, eyes fierce. “It shall not be borne. It will not.” Spinning on his heel, he left.
Mhysra’s fist clenched in Cumulo’s feathers, longing to follow the Riders. To fight and defend. To do what they had been born for and were training to do.
“Is it true?” Milluqua asked. “Are the kaz-naghkt here? So close to the city?”
Cumulo rested his beak against Mhysra’s cheek, breathing fast with frustration. She reached up to soothe him and glanced at her sister. “You heard them. What do you think?”
Milluqua looked towards the hatches where so many miryhls had gone. “I think I am afraid, that this is no longer a game, and I think,” she continued, tears in her eyes, “that I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
Mhysra shook her head sharply. “It was never a game, Milli.”
Her sister bit her trembling lip and nodded. “I know. It’s just… with all the bets and sneaking about under father’s nose, it felt like a game. It wasn’t about fighting. Don’t ask me what it was about, but it wasn’t dangerous. It wasn’t real.”
“And now that it is?” Mhysra asked, dreading losing her sister’s support.
Milluqua took her hand and squeezed. “I could never be as brave as you.”
Mhysra didn’t know what to say, but when her sister opened her arms, she hugged her tight.
“Whatever happens, you will do this,” Milluqua whispered fiercely. “And whatever it takes, I will help you. The Overworld needs every pair of wings it can get. If that includes yours, so be it.”
IT WAS THE hardest thing to be left behind, while all your friends and those under your command fought without you. Lyrai hated it. Bad enough to be grounded, but this was almost more than he could bear.
“What orders, sir?” Honra asked, his
uniform mussed after an afternoon patrol spent dodging showers and basking in sunshine. Half of Lyrai’s flurry had been with him, the rest were already with Stirla. A lieutenant without command, that’s all Lyrai was and would continue to be for another two and a half months.
Gods, why had he been cursed with such a flighty, brainless idiot for a bonded?
“Sir?”
Lyrai blinked and stared at the missive in his hand. It had arrived with another messenger, one as exhausted as the first, though without the blood. A note from Captain Myran. A man of few words and with more on his mind than the woes of a grounded lieutenant. His terse order was easily understood: All.
“To wing, sergeant.”
“Sir!” Honra saluted and was out of the door almost before Lyrai had finished speaking. After serving eight years under Captain Myran, Honra was even more familiar with his ways than Lyrai. He was also perfectly capable of ordering twelve men from miryhl back. He’d been doing it for months, years even, while Lyrai first learned to take control, then lost command entirely. Thanks to Froth.
The Choice could not come quickly enough.
Jaw clenching, he watched from the window as his men ran to the eyries. A short stop for refreshments, relief and to replenish ammunition, then they were off. They would have been with the rest of their flurry long ago had their patrol not been out west, where an attack was most likely to come from. Kaz-naghkt were not known for their originality and Lyrai knew he wouldn’t be the only one unhappy about this new twist.
One by one, the miryhls left the eyries, heading away from the sun, following the messenger who would guide them to the battle. Lyrai pressed his fingers against the glass, yearning to go with them. He huffed with frustration, annoyed at his lack of self-control. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t had time to grow accustomed to the situation. Nor was this a new occurrence. Riders had been left behind before due to injuries, orders from above, accidents in timing and a host of others reasons. But this was different. This time he was the only one not going. All because his foolish miryhl had to prove she was the silliest bird of all.
He clenched his fist against the glass and looked down, reminding himself that he wasn’t the only one left behind. It wasn’t very comforting, though, since the group milling around outside were students. They didn’t even have miryhls yet, let alone the skill to fight the kaz-naghkt.
Except one.
Standing at the front, Lady Mhysra probably best understood what he was feeling. Unlike him she had a miryhl, but she didn’t have the skills to defend herself, let alone others. He supposed he should have been pleased that she was still there, since it meant she wasn’t putting lives at risk with her incompetence. But he wasn’t.
It would be so easy to leave now, to go to the eyries and take Cumulo. Reclaim the position he had fought for. Retake his command and protect the city. Yet to do so would put an immediate end to that same career, eradicating all he’d worked so hard to achieve.
The bond between Rider and miryhl was sacred, never to be touched without permission. To violate such an intrinsic law of the Rift Rider code would threaten the foundations of all they were built upon. If he did such a thing, what would stop other Riders who felt unsatisfied with their mount or envious of another’s from attempting the same? Not to mention that Cumulo would probably tear him apart for the insult.
It was one thing to dream, another to be stupidly reckless. Two and a half months, that was all. He could last the distance. He could keep his head.
Balling his fist, he thumped the windowsill, annoyed with himself for even considering it. He didn’t want Cumulo. He wanted a miryhl of his own. He wanted to fly again, to rise into the cold, high air, feel the wind in freefall, run his hands through silken feathers. He wanted that freedom back, the ability to protect and to fight alongside his fellows.
“Gods aid me,” he whispered, shutting his eyes and resting his forehead against the glass. He banged his head, trying to drive out the selfish impulses that gripped him. How could he be so preoccupied with his own woes when there was real danger out there?
“Maegla protect them.” Even as he spoke, he smiled. The Rift Riders were the Storm Goddess’ sworn warriors. If She wasn’t looking after them, who would?
Both fists tightening at the thought, Lyrai started to pray.
THE VARIOUS WATCHERS stared eastward as the day waned, as helpless to abandon their vigil as the sun was to turn backwards. Night slipped ever closer and clouds skimmed the sky, bringing a hint of rain on the breeze.
As dusk settled around the shoulders of the mountain, a shout below roused Lyrai from his prayers. He looked up. Black dots were scattered across the eastern horizon, coming swiftly closer. His heart clenched in his chest, before he exhaled in relief and ran for the door.
Miryhls, not kaz-naghkt. They were home.
The field was soon a flurry of activity as miryhls landed, permitting their Riders or assistants to unharness them before they left again. Some headed for the eyries, others set off into the night to bathe and preen in private. Students, clerks, healers and other helpers dashed around, seeing to the wounded and weaponry. There were more eagles than Lyrai had expected, but he recognised almost all of them and searched for those he knew best.
“Lyrai!” He turned at the shout, relieved when Stirla sauntered over, caked in black gore, blood and sweat, cleaning his sword on a rag. “You missed a tidy fight, my friend. Wish you’d been with us.”
“As do I,” Lyrai agreed, clasping wrists with his friend, heedless of the filth. “How many?”
“Many enough,” a familiar voice said, with a hint of censure, and Lyrai grimaced to be caught making so foolish an error as discussing details in public.
Turning from Stirla, he saluted. “It’s good to see you well, sir.”
Captain Myran smiled tightly but, like his limp, that was normal and nothing to be alarmed over. “Lieutenant, if you’re willing to play scribe while I clean up, I’d be grateful. There’s a report to write and I don’t believe it should wait. Gentlemen.” He beckoned for the rest of his bloodied lieutenants to follow.
“Yes, sir.” Lyrai dashed off to fetch paper and ink, eager to perform any service in order to hear the details as soon as possible. Anything to feel like one of them again, now that he was no longer left behind. As he ran he sent up a prayer of thanks for the safe delivery of so many, but as his anxiety faded at the realisation that this had been little more than a skirmish, he couldn’t help his thoughts slipping back to one thing: two and a half months.
Raiding the nearest clerk’s desk, he headed for the bathing chambers beneath the offices. Two and a half months, just two and a half months. He hoped it passed quickly.