Wingborn

by Becca Lusher

  Twenty One

  Snowfall

  31st Gale

  IT WAS SLEETING. Again. “The joys of Aquila,” Stirla grumbled, tipping his hat further over his face. “How can you bear this every day?”

  Blinking water from his eyelashes, Lyrai chuckled; supervising an afternoon flight was the least of his worries. “I like flying.”

  “So do I.” Stirla shuddered as ice trickled down his neck. “When it’s sunny.”

  Lyrai shook his head. After spending so much time grounded, he’d tackle a blizzard if it was his only chance to fly. “Come on.” He slapped Stirla’s shoulder. “Time to get your feet wet.”

  “They’re already wet,” Stirla muttered, trudging over to Atyrn.

  “Stop complaining. Once the blizzards truly start you’ll be spending plenty of time inside.” Lyrai secured his hat and shuddered. He was not looking forward to the next few months.

  His friend grunted and hauled himself into Atyrn’s saddle, Lyrai mounted Hurricane and they launched into the miryhl-filled skies. It was Sunday, which meant all the first-years flew together, regardless of their flurries; all Lyrai had to do was watch. Thankfully, he was assisted by three lieutenants and four sergeants. It wasn’t unheard of for the captains to join these practise flights, but Lyrai didn’t blame them for keeping out of the sleet today.

  Circling above the students was like staring into the eye of a storm as the miryhls lapped the field. The more confident flyers rose to the top or darted through the middle, while nervous pairs stayed close to the ground. The four young lieutenants watched from above, while the sergeants kept order in amongst the flock. After a while the sleet lessened, easing visibility, so that the pairs resolved into individuals.

  Shaking the water from his eyes, Lyrai shivered and studied his students. Dhori and Latinym were rising from bottom to top and down again, while Mhysra and Cumulo swirled in and out of the main flow behind them. This exercise was too tame for them, but everyone had to practise together. Derrain and Zephyr, Corin and Wisp, Haelle and Thunder, and Mouse and Onyx bobbed behind Cumulo and Latinym like bows on a kite tail, making Lyrai smile.

  An ill-advised attempt to race between some cocky students drew his attention away and he was on the verge of intervening when Hurricane tensed.

  “Mouse,” was all the warning he got before his miryhl dived.

  Gripping handfuls of feathers, Lyrai squinted through the rain and swore. Mouse, indeed. Eager to copy his friends, the foolish boy had urged his miryhl too high, too fast and had collided with another student: Bovei fra Benlei. A young lord and favourite of Willym’s, Bovei did not make allowances for accidents.

  Even as Hurricane arrowed down, Bovei raised his flying crop – and how he had one of those when they were banned, Lyrai could only guess – and lashed out. As Bovei was a mean-tempered bully, Lyrai expected him to aim for Mouse. Instead he slashed at Onyx’s face.

  “No!” Lyrai and Hurricane roared together, and Lyrai urged his miryhl even faster, diving straight through the flock of novice pairs. Miryhls scattered and students yelped, but Hurricane ignored them. Since no one fell off, Lyrai did likewise.

  Onyx squealed and dodged the whip heading for his eye, taking the brunt of the strike the crook of his wing. Already unbalanced from the collision, Mouse slipped, hands grasping at the wet saddle but finding no purchase. The leather straps, which should have been holding him in place, were unbuckled: he’d been copying his friends again. Onyx shifted to catch him, but Bovei cracked the whip across the miryhl’s neck. Bruised and wounded, Onyx flinched.

  “Mhysra!” Mouse plummeted through the cloud of miryhls.

  Cumulo dived after him. With more strength than finesse, the Wingborn seized the boy’s leg and flapped frantically to slow their reckless descent.

  With Mouse safe, Hurricane didn’t bother to check his own speed. Balling his talons, he punched straight into Bovei. The whip went flying. Lyrai barely had time to shift his weight as his miryhl wheeled about and dropped onto the smaller eagle’s back.

  Being bigger, heavier and angrier, Hurricane easily drove Shield down. Lyrai didn’t object, even with a student trapped between – Bovei deserved it for striking a miryhl – and watched with relief as Cumulo carefully lowered his burden before landing.

  Leaping out of the saddle, Mhysra reached Mouse first, turning him over to check his leg and exclaiming at the blood. Stirla carried the boy from the field at a sprint, leaving Hlen to take care of poor Onyx.

  “Return to the eyries and tend to your mounts!” Captain Myran ordered, emerging from the sleet with Fredkhen and a squad of Riders. Left with no other choice, the students dispersed.

  At last, Hurricane brought Shield down and lifted off him. Before the miryhl could launch again, Hurricane rose to his full height and hissed. Though cocky around the eagles in Bovei’s class, Shield knew when he was outmatched and hunkered down, emitting supplicating peeps.

  Not so his Rider. Mussed and gasping, Bovei pushed himself upright and glared at Lyrai. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded shakily. “Don’t you know who I am?”

  Before Lyrai could answer or dismount, Willym landed. “How dare you treat a student of mine this way!”

  “I could say the same of your student with regards to mine!” Lyrai snapped, while Hurricane faced down Mercata, Willym’s miryhl. They were of a size, but Mercata was a slender, light-eyed female. Like her Rider she had a nasty reputation. “How dare he raise a whip to a miryhl. How dare he fly with a crop at all!”

  Willym sneered from his mount’s back. “I saw no such incident. All I saw was a lieutenant attacking a student.”

  “There are witnesses,” Lyrai growled, even as Hurricane did the same at Mercata.

  The female miryhl hissed and her Rider smirked. “Yes. An entire year saw you attack a student, Lyrai. How distressing.”

  “They also saw your student strike mine with a whip,” Lyrai retorted, barely controlling his temper. “You know crops are banned, but I can guess where he got such a thing.”

  Willym looked at his student and smiled. “I see no whip.”

  Lyrai saw red. “I will find it, you vicious bastard, and when I do, your precious whelp will –”

  “I believe this is the item in question,” Captain Myran interrupted, limping between their miryhls with the crop held high. “It may also interest you to know that I saw everything.”

  Willym stared at the whip and registered the contempt on Myran’s face. He glanced at Fredkhen, lingering unhappily to one side. Though Fredkhen’s family’s livelihood relied heavily on the favour of Willym’s father, the captain would not lie. Baring his teeth in frustration, Willym turned to the boy.

  Bovei sat slumped sulkily in his saddle, picking at the reins. He glanced at his lieutenant and flinched. “My father –” he bleated.

  “I believe Kern Whittendowns will be most disappointed about this,” Myran said, and the boy cowered. “You will come with me, Student Bovei. Lieutenants return to the eyries. Lyrai, attend Dean Marshall’s office when you are done.”

  When nobody moved, the captain raised his eyebrows. “You are dismissed, Riders. Bovei, with me.” He limped away, leaving Lyrai and Willym glaring at each other.

  Fredkhen cleared his throat. “Come, Willym. We must tend the miryhls.”

  As Mercata turned her head away, Hurricane snorted and launched with no signal from Lyrai. Neither of them wanted to spend a moment longer in that company.

  THE BLIZZARD ARRIVED before nightfall, piling snow against the walls and covering the mountain in white. Brisk winds made the flakes flurry, sneaking in through the many cracks of the citadel.

  Leaving poor Mouse in the infirmary, with some hefty puncture wounds to show for his adventure, Mhysra went in search of Derrain. “I need to visit Bumble. Want to come?”

  He raised his eyebrows curiously, knowing where she’d been. When she shook her head, he gave a dramatic shiver. “Go outside? Have you seen the weather?”
r />   She rolled her eyes. “Why yes, dear Derry, I may have noticed a sprinkling of snow. However, I haven’t seen Bumble for days and if Kilai hears he’ll kill me. Come if you’re coming. If not, well, more cakes for me.”

  “You drive a hard bargain,” he grumbled, but traipsed after her through the eastern citadel and down to the kennels. A chorus of yips and barks greeted them as they crossed the frozen courtyard. The keeper in the workroom was Jynese, an Aquilan lass and close friend of Kilai’s.

  Seeing them shivering, she grinned. “Come inside, my lambs, before you grow icicles.”

  Derrain hurried straight to the fire. “Heirayk’s sweet mercy on you, Jynese,” he murmured, chattering his teeth for effect.

  “Poor boy,” she crooned, rubbing his back. With her full figure, green eyes and warm smile, she was very pretty and very popular. Especially amongst the boys.

  “Sit yourselves down,” Jynese invited, winking at Mhysra. “I’ll get you a drink and see what else I can find. The dogs are being fed now, so I’ll fetch your girl in a bit.” She ushered them both into chairs, filled the kettle and searched the cupboards. When she was done, Derrain and Mhysra cradled cups of Mistrunan tea and balanced plates of apple tarts, scones and cheese slices on their knees. That was the other reason why Jynese was so popular, especially with the boys – she fed them.

  “You are a wonder,” Derrain praised, his mouth full. “You make the best tarts in Aquila.”

  “My pa would disagree,” she chuckled, and as the town’s chief baker he was probably right to. “But flattery is always appreciated.” She looked up as the door opened and smiled. “Kilai.”

  Mhysra almost spilled her tea. “What are you doing here?”

  Her brother raised his eyebrows and ruffled snow from his hair. “Nice to see you too, neglectful sister of mine. Remembered you have a nakhound, have you?”

  Putting her cup aside, she wrinkled her nose. “I’ve been busy.”

  “So have I,” he retorted, “but I’m still here. And I only just got back.”

  Derrain chuckled, gathering the crumbs off his plate with his fingertip. “If I had such enticements I’d come straight here too.” He winked at Jynese.

  Rolling her eyes, Jynese prodded Kilai in the chest. “Think of how much free time you had when you were a newbie – if you can remember that far back, old man – and be nice to your sister. I’m going to fetch the pup.” Patting him on the head, she trotted out the door.

  While Mhysra and Derrain blinked to see the mighty Kilpapan heir treated so lightly, Kilai smiled sheepishly. “It’s refreshing.”

  “Is that what you call it?” Derrain chuckled.

  Kilai grimaced. “Do you have to say that in front of my little sister?”

  More amused than embarrassed, Mhysra grinned. “I can’t wait to tell Milluqua.”

  Groaning, Kilai covered his face with his hands. “Why couldn’t I have brothers?”

  “Because you’re gods-blessed,” Mhysra retorted, enjoying the teasing. She had seen her brother so rarely since arrived in Aquila. She was constantly busy with her studies and he spent most of his time away from the citadel. Seeing this relaxed version of Kilai was a treat.

  “What brings you back so soon?” Derrain asked, taking pity on the poor Rider. “I thought Captain Hylan’s Riders were patrolling the Wrathlen until the end of the month.”

  “Blizzards came early,” Kilai explained, easing into a chair. “Gods, we just beat this monster. It came in straight off the Stormwash and was too big to sate itself on pirates. It chased us all the way home.”

  Mhysra shivered at the thought. “Did you see much action?”

  Kilai shook his head, smiling as Jynese returned with Bumble. The nakhound looked dignified and glossy, striped wings folded against her back. She trotted with her chin on Jynese’s hip, almost fully grown.

  Then she saw Mhysra.

  Yipping with glee, Bumble bounded across the room, clearing Kilai’s chair with a leap and a flap of her wings. Landing on Mhysra’s lap, she washed her face vigorously.

  “See what happens when you don’t visit every day,” Kilai said smugly.

  Jynese chuckled as she shared Kilai’s chair. “I’ve never met a pup so fixed.”

  Shoving the dog away, Mhysra wiped her face with her sleeve. “Wrentherin trait. You should see our pack with my aunt. They adore her. Whether she sees them every day or not.” She glared at Kilai.

  He grinned. “Mhylla feeds them. This one’s just foolish.”

  “But beautiful,” Jynese protested, while Bumble licked Mhysra’s hands, her plumy tail wagging.

  Sighing, Mhysra stroked Bumble’s silky ears. “You didn’t deny that she was foolish.”

  “Well...”

  Laughing, they talked about nakhounds for a while, but eventually talk veered back to Kilai and his recent duties. “It’s the strangest thing, sitting on the edge of the Wrathlen and waiting for something to happen. When nothing does you feel relieved, until you start wondering why. Having an imagination out there is a curse.”

  “So you didn’t see anything?” Derry asked, ruffling Bumble’s wings.

  “Nothing worth noting.” Kilai got up to add another log to the fire. “It’s unnerving. If you see something, at least you know they’re there, being their usual vermin selves. But when they hide…” He shook his head. “That place has to be seen to be believe. A solid ridge, extending for miles, but the closer you get, the more crevices you notice, until you’re right above it and see that it’s rotten right through.”

  “Like those who live there,” Jynese said, filling the kettle for more tea. “There was a nasty piece of work in town when I was a girl. He picked fights, bullied everyone, had a rough hand with the ladies and youngsters and never listened to no. He fled to the Wrathlen before the Riders could pin him down – his mother smuggled him out, foolish old besom. Her boy could do no wrong in her eyes. When the pirates raided Aquila two years later, she was found with a knife in her chest and a sapphire between her teeth.” She sighed and sat down again. “He’d promised to bring her jewels when he was rich. Some are born for that place. I used to wonder why the Riders didn’t destroy it.”

  Kilai smiled sadly, winding a strand of her hair around his finger. “I used to think the same until I saw it myself. We’re too few for a rat’s nest like that.”

  Jynese nodded. “I’ve seen it too. That’s when I realised nothing short of a gods-blast could clear the place. Even that wouldn’t get them all.”

  “Do you think they’re up to something?” Mhysra asked to break the uneasy silence.

  “Possibly, possibly not,” Kilai grumbled. “Lieutenant Brath says they’d normally hit Havia after preparations like this, but King Heryff did enough damage last summer to make even those pirates wince. I don’t think they’ll try him again when they have so many other options.”

  “Which is a cheerful thought on a blizzard night,” Derrain said, raising a smile from all of them.

  “True.” Kilai chuckled. “So let’s leave the raiders and pirates behind, since the snow keeps them out as nicely as a pyrefly pack. Tell me what’s been happening here. What’s all this about Cumulo becoming a hero?”

  Mhysra and Derrain exchanged a look and her friend raised his eyebrows, leaving it for her to tell. “Poor Mouse bumped another student in today’s group flight session and fell off,” Mhysra said, not wanting to get into all the details when she still couldn’t believe it herself. “Cue caught him.”

  Kilai frowned. “How did he fall? Did his straps break?”

  Derrain shook his head. “Mouse wanted to fly without. We all do.”

  Kilai’s frown deepened, but before he could say anything else, Jynese nudged his shoulder. “Poor lad, I hope he’s all right. Fetch the tea, won’t you, Kilai?” Sufficiently distracted, he got up while Mhysra told them how Mouse was doing. By the time Kilai returned, his lecture was forgotten and the subject had turned to something else.

  It was late
by the time Mhysra and Derrain left the kennels, and it was a wrench to abandon the warm fire in favour of trudging back through the cold. Snow swirled as they leant shoulder to shoulder, wading through the drifts. It was nice with just the two of them, as it so rarely was these days. Mhysra even liked the snow dancing around the lantern that Jynese had given them.

  “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Derrain murmured as they forced open the door that led back into the citadel.

  “About what?” Mhysra asked, blowing out the lantern and hanging it on a hook.

  “What’s going on out there,” Derrain said, rubbing his arms and shoving the door closed.

  “Mm,” Mhysra agreed. With the seclusion of the Storm Season being so quickly followed by these blizzards, Aquila had become a small, isolated world. She’d been too busy to notice.

  “I’ve spent most of my life flying from one landmass to the next,” Derrain mused, throwing an arm over her shoulders as they walked through the halls, the pair of them huddling together for warmth. “Always moving on, rarely staying still. I never thought I’d get used to being stopped for so long. How quickly we forget.”

  “We’ve been busy.”

  He nodded, watching their feet. “But it’s more than that. There’s something different about Aquila.”

  “I feel like I’ve been here forever.”

  “Me too,” he agreed, “and I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

  She frowned. “Why not, since we’re spending three years here?”

  Pausing at the stairs, he stared out through an iced window at the blurry darkness. “We’re getting too comfortable.”

  “Derry?” she asked, confused as to what had brought on his contemplative mood.

  Giving himself a shake, he smiled. “Don’t mind me, I’m just thinking out loud. Poor Mouse, I hope he’s not in too much pain.”

  Mhysra winced. “They gave him something to make him sleep. It was strange to see him so quiet.” She stared miserably at the floor. “I feel guilty. So does Cue. Poor Mouse.”

  “Don’t be daft!” Derrain scolded, shaking her shoulders. “Cumulo saved his life. If you’re looking for guilt, send it to the brat that hit Onyx.”

  “He’s Kern Whittendowns’ heir,” Mhysra muttered, since the rank of kern was the Greater West’s equivalent to an Imercian earl. One of wealth and privilege, even here at Aquila where all were supposed to be equal. “Not to mention Willym’s favourite. He’s going to get away with it, while Mouse has wounds in his leg deep enough to make him limp. Maybe even permanently.”

  Derrain hugged her tightly. “If you ask Mouse whether he minds those wounds, I’ll bet he’ll tell you he can cope. Better lame than dead.”

  She sniffled against his chest. “It’s not fair.”

  “No,” he agreed, stroking her hair. “But that’s the world for you. Come on, it’s late, and I’d rather not fend off Jermyn swinging sticks at my head when I’m only half-awake.”

  She stepped back and nodded. “Good advice.”

  “And coming from me, too. Proof that miracles do occasionally happen.”

  Mhysra grinned. “Only occasionally? Should Dhori watch out?”

  “I’ll try not to make a habit of it.”

  “COME IN, LIEUTENANT.”

  Feeling nervous, Lyrai walked into the dean’s office. The room was filled with the pleasant glow of oil lanterns holding back the night. “You wished to see me, sir.”

  The dean waved him in. “I apologise for keeping you waiting, but I believe I have all the facts now. Please, take a seat.”

  “Very good, sir.” Lyrai nodded warily and sat down.

  Since he’d entered the room, the dean hadn’t looked at him once. Instead, Marshall studied the bronze statue on his desk: a miryhl at the moment of takeoff. The metal was glossy from regular handling, but still detailed on every feather. It was a beautiful piece and one that Lyrai had long coveted. The dean stared at it now as if it could tell him the answers to all the most difficult questions. “What made you join the Riders?”

  Lyrai frowned. “I never dreamed of anything else, sir. It’s a family tradition.”

  “Tradition,” Dean Marshall echoed, rubbing his thumb across the miryhl’s beak. “There are many traditions in the Riders. Some better than others.”

  “Sir?”

  The dean looked at him with a weary smile. “Forgive me, Lyrai, I was pondering. Please tell me your version of today’s events.”

  Unsure how much to reveal, Lyrai started at the beginning. It was one thing to know a fellow lieutenant was rotten and encouraging his students to go the same way, but another to say it to a commanding officer. Reminding himself that his first duty was to his students, especially their safety, Lyrai stuck to the truth. Even when it didn’t put him or Hurricane in the best light.

  “Ah.” The dean nodded when he was done. “Thank you, lieutenant. Your version of events matches that of others, including your captain. I appreciate your honesty.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The dean sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry that one of your students was injured, Lyrai. He will, of course, be given all the best care and attention that we can provide. I will also inform you of any decisions I make regarding the matter, both before and after I put them into practise. Will that suffice for the present?”

  It wasn’t much but, from the man’s obvious fatigue, Lyrai suspected the dean had bigger issues on his mind. It would have to do. Patronage was a powerful weapon, even in a place where status should have been left behind. Bovei’s father was wealthy and powerful. Coupled with Willym’s connections, it made him almost unassailable, especially against a commoner like Mouse. The dean’s word would have to be enough.

  Mustering a smile, he bowed his head. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I will do what I can. You know that.”

  Which meant there was little that the dean could do. “I know, sir.”

  Marshall walked around the desk to grip Lyrai’s shoulder. “You will make an excellent captain. Myran says it, and I agree. Don’t be disheartened, Lyrai. Continue to care for your students as best you can. It will be enough.”

  Lyrai could only hope so. Weary and disillusioned, he stumped down the tower, wanting nothing more than to sleep for a half-moon and leave all this ugliness behind. Yet there was one more thing he needed to do before he sought his bed, so he crossed the bridge and headed high into the eastern citadel.

  Aquila’s infirmary was fitted with enough space and supplies to deal with a large emergency. It was designed to treat an entire flight in need, so it was strangely reassuring to find it so empty. Only one bed was occupied, watched over by a healer writing by candlelight near the door.

  Lyrai’s boots echoed on the floor and the healer looked up. “Yes?” he demanded, squinting into the dark. He blinked a few times, then smiled. “Lieutenant, I’ve been expecting you.”

  Smiling, Lyrai shook the man by the hand, having been patched up by him many times. “Healer Nehtl, it’s good to see you. I hope you’re well.”

  “As well as can be for a man who deals in sickness.” The tall healer shrugged and waved towards the patient. “He’s sedated but awake. I had to use enough to down a bullwing just to keep him still. Don’t be too long.”

  Mouse looked so small, his skin seeming bleached against the pale linen, making the freckles on his face look like flecks of ink. He stirred at Lyrai’s approach, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

  He rolled his head, disorientated, until he spotted Lyrai. “L’ten’n,” he slurred, and tried to salute. His coordination was off and he whacked himself in the eye. Typical Mouse.

  Lyrai perched on the bed, careful not to disturb his legs. “How are you feeling?”

  Mouse grinned. “Can’t feel a thing. Not ma nose,” – he tried to touch it, and hit his ear – “nor ma toes.” He smiled blissfully. “Dunno why ‘m here, but s’nice. You come t’stay too?”

  Lyrai shook his hea
d. “No, I came to see you. You’ve hurt your leg, Mouse. That’s why you’re here. They gave you something for the pain.”

  “Mouse,” he repeated sleepily, unable to follow so many words. “Tha’s me.”

  “So it is,” Lyrai agreed, standing up. “Can I look at your leg?”

  “Have I got one?”

  Taking that as a yes, Lyrai folded back the blanket to reveal Mouse’s right limb, heavily bandaged from the top of his thigh down past his knee. Blood stained the white linen and two darker patches showed where the puncture wounds must be, the biggest one on the outside of Mouse’s thigh. With his leg propped up on a number of pillows, it was clear to see that the wound went straight through the muscle and out the other side.

  “Oh, my,” Mouse murmured, struggling to sit up enough to look for himself. “Sum’un was clumsy. D’ya think he’ll lose it?” He stared at his leg as if it belonged to someone else.

  Smiling, Lyrai covered him up again. “I think he’ll be all right.”

  “Good,” Mouse mumbled, shutting his eyes. Within heartbeats he was snoring.

  “Neat and nicely placed. As long as the bleeding has stopped, I don’t think we’ll have much trouble with infection.”

  Lyrai looked over at Healer Nehtl. “You’ve got Student Mhysra to thank for that. She keeps her miryhl clean.”

  The healer stared down at Mouse. “I think he has more than that to thank her for.”

  Unable to argue, Lyrai thanked the healer for all he’d done, took one last look at the defenceless lad, so different with all his nervous energy stripped away, and left. He needed rest, though he doubted he’d be able to sleep. Visions of whipped miryhls and falling boys haunted him through the darkness.