Wingborn

by Becca Lusher

  Twenty Three

  Kaz-Naghkt

  STRAIGHT INTO HURRICANE, who caught the kaz-naghkt full in the face with his talons.

  “Go!” Lieutenant Lyrai shouted, while the kaz-naghkt screamed.

  Freed, Cumulo needed no further urging. There was time for one snatched breath before he folded his wings and entered the darkness beneath the bridge. Mhysra huddled against him, wondering if her heart would ever recover. The shadow seemed to go on and on as they dropped closer to the water, their momentum lost after the kaz-naghkt had grabbed them.

  Sunlight blinded her on the other side and air surged beneath Cumulo’s wings again as he banked upwards, swinging back towards the citadel. He flapped hard to lift them over the eyries, now swarming with miryhls and kaz-naghkt. A familiar eagle appeared through the chaos, his wings tipped with silver.

  Keeping an eye out for attack, Cumulo glided closer and, when Latinym was directly overhead, Dhori dropped a bow and quiver into Mhysra’s hands.

  “Luck!” he called, Latinym already racing back to the fight.

  “I think we’ve already had more than our fair share today,” Mhysra muttered, securing the quiver to her saddle before testing the balance of the pre-strung bow. It was perfect. She frowned and wondered how Dhori had managed to bring her particular bow to her.

  “The gods can spare us a little more,” Cumulo shouted. “Wake up!”

  Blinking, she looked up and found they had company. Three kaz-naghkt screeched down the wind, outpacing the miryhls on their tails. If the pursuit got too close, a kaz-naghkt would twist and lash out with its tail, barely losing speed along the way. Spotting Cumulo all alone, they grinned and stooped to attack.

  Mhysra drew an arrow from her quiver with shaking hands. “Steady,” she called, and Cumulo levelled his wings calmly as if they faced murderous kaz-naghkt every day.

  “Maegla aid me,” she whispered, aimed at the kaz-naghkt on the left and released.

  The wind snatched at the arrow, driving it away from the pale chest she’d aimed for and striking the thick muscle beneath the kaz-naghkt’s right wing instead.

  Shrieking, the creature curled around the wound, swinging its broad left wing across. The kaz-naghkt next to it lashed out as a leather sail clouted it in the face. Black blood sprayed and the wounded creature fell, injured in both wings. While it could have easily recovered from the arrow wound, there was little it could do with its other wing in tatters.

  The kaz-naghkt that had done the damage shook its head, too dizzy from the slap to spot a miryhl dropping on it from above.

  As they battled, the final kaz-naghkt continued onwards, flexing its claws. Wings spread, holding steady, Cumulo waited for Mhysra to nock another arrow. Her hands were shaking and it was all she could do to draw. She released too early and cursed when the arrow went harmlessly wide.

  “Hold on!” Cumulo warned, and she gripped her bow in one hand and grabbed the saddle with the other as her miryhl dropped.

  The kaz-naghkt screamed with glee and swooped after them, wings tucked in tight. It screamed differently when Cumulo rolled over, grabbing its torso and face with his thick talons. Claws scrabbled, trying to reach the miryhl’s belly, but Cumulo thrust his legs out, completed his roll and dropped his prey. The body tumbled and struck an outcrop; a black smear on grey granite.

  While Mhysra watched it fall, Cumulo took them back to the fight, far more prepared than she was for what they faced. “Stay with me,” he called, sensing her distraction.

  Her voice failed when she tried to speak, so she licked her lips and took a deep breath. “Always,” she croaked, checking her quiver with shaking hands to make sure that none of her arrows had been lost in their tumble. She ensured her safety straps were still nice and tight, selected another arrow and lifted her bow, ready for whatever came next.

  LYRAI PAUSED TO wipe the sweat from his face as Hurricane circled above the battle. His right arm ached. It had been too long since he’d last fought, but this was what he’d trained for, had gotten so good at and been denied when he was grounded. Now he had Hurricane and was a true Rift Rider again – but it had never been like this with Froth.

  Hurricane tensed and Lyrai leant against his back, holding his sword close and ready. They needed no words to know what the other would do next or where each wanted to go. This miryhl had been born for him, Lyrai could feel it in every tilt of Hurricane’s wings as he darted between scraps and fell talons-first on the tangle of kaz-naghkt gathered around Stirla.

  While his miryhl battled, Lyrai brandished his sword, catching the first kaz-naghkt by surprise as he swept off its tail. Unbalanced, it struggled to turn and was impaled on Stirla’s sword.

  Lyrai swung again and again, defending them on all sides while his miryhl fought. Most of the kaz-naghkt fled, seeking easier prey, while the less fortunate were already in Atyrn’s or Hurricane’s talons.

  Another creature banked overhead and dropped towards Lyrai, claws outstretched. Bracing himself, Lyrai raised his sword and swung, slicing through one arm and catching the kaz-naghkt’s other shoulder. Hurricane stuttered at the impact before Lyrai diverted the kaz-naghkt’s weight downwards. It snarled, battered but by no means defeated yet.

  Licking its bloodstained lips, it smiled as fresh skin, bone and muscle writhed and crawled out of the severed stump. Knowing what was to come and what he had to do, Lyrai adjusted his grip on his sword and hauled.

  Still attached to the lieutenant through its shoulder, the creature keened. Lyrai pulled again, bringing the writhing creature within reach. It sank its claws into his leg and opened its mouth to bite, but the angle of the sword restricted its head movements and it couldn’t quite reach.

  Jerking his knee up, Lyrai shoved the kaz-naghkt off the blade and exposed its chest. Then he struck. His sword cleaved through the softer flesh with ease, stopping only when it reached the scaled skin on the other side. The whole weapon juddered as the kaz-naghkt’s heart pulsed. Twisting his wrist, Lyrai braced his foot on the creature’s shoulder and pulled his sword free. The kaz-naghkt convulsed and dropped into the river.

  One less enemy to worry about.

  “Are you wounded?” Stirla shouted as Atyrn circled counter to Hurricane.

  Lyrai pressed on the puncture wounds in his thigh and cursed, forced to sheath his sword as he shrugged out of one side of his flying jacket. Using his belt knife, he cut through his shirtsleeve and dragged the material off, before pulling his jacket on again. Slicing the sleeve into strips, he bound his thigh, wadding material over the worst of the wound and tying the binding as tight as he could. It wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t going to retire from the field now. Not when they were still needed.

  “Lyrai?” Stirla called.

  “Fine!” he shouted, patting Hurricane’s neck when his miryhl glared at him.

  Satisfied, Stirla raced back into the fray, aiming for an oversized kaz-naghkt who was causing a trio of Riders a mountain of problems. Knowing his friend had the situation well in hand, as Atyrn hit the creature from behind, Lyrai urged Hurricane up high.

  They weren’t alone up there – Captain Myran circled the battle, shouting orders and guiding Riders into place. Several archers also surveyed the fight, picking off targets. Hurricane was heading towards the captain when something else caught Lyrai’s eye.

  “Maegla blast her,” he cursed, tugging Hurricane’s reins in the opposite direction. The miryhl shot him an aggravated look, then spotted what his Rider had seen. He growled and banked into the wind.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Lyrai replied, scowling at Cumulo and the untrained girl upon his back. “This is no time for glory hunting!”

  Cumulo continued his focused glide without glancing at them. Mhysra, however, looked over and calmly raised her bow. Then, as steadily as if she were on the practise field, she loosed.

  It happened so fast that Lyrai barely ducked the arrow speeding towards him. Only when something screeched did he look behind. A kaz-naghkt claw
ed at its eye, barely a spear-length from Hurricane’s tail.

  “Maegla!”

  A dark blur with a flash of silver darted under the wounded kaz-naghkt, the Rider on its back ripping open the creature’s chest with a neat sweep of his sword.

  The miryhl ducked out of the way of the falling body and Dhori grinned at Mhysra. “Great!” he called. “Aim for the chests. Only a heart blow will kill them.” Then he was gone.

  Stunned, Lyrai turned back to Mhysra – she had her hands over her face.

  “Gods, gods, gods,” she squeaked. “I almost killed my lieutenant. Gods!”

  And he’d thought she looked calm. It was so absurd, Lyrai laughed, giddy with his near-escape. “You can use me for target practise anytime,” he called, as Hurricane swept past and dived back into the fray.

  “BOWS!” LIEUTENANT HLEN’S shout made Derrain and the watchers jump. “Fetch your bows. Be of use!”

  “Aye, sir!” Greig darted down the stairs, a group of students following. The rest of the crowd remained at the windows, watching with awe as Riders battled kaz-naghkt overhead. There were bodies in the river, on the Lawn, on top of the eyries and in the courtyards. Feathers drifted down like brown snow and black blood hissed wherever it landed.

  The sky was clouding over, but there was already a storm in the valley – a seething mass of leathery bodies, feathers and action. Miryhls screamed, kaz-naghkt screeched, metal rang and voices shouted. No single sound was clear in the noisy whole and all of it was just background noise to the thundering pulse in Derrain’s ears. He’d been out there, had nearly been one of the victims lying broken and bloodied on the ground. The kaz-naghkt had almost caught them.

  Now Zephyr fought on alone, having returned to the sky after leaving him to raise the alarm in the bell tower. Like most of the young miryhls whose students weren’t yet trained, Zephyr had joined a flock to hunt down kaz-naghkt. Teaming up with the nakhound packs, the Riderless-eagles wove in and out of the fighting pairs, helping wherever they could. It was breathtaking to watch the lethal birds in action, but heart-stopping too. Whenever Derrain lost sight of Zephyr he feared the worst.

  What would he do if she was killed? They’d only been together for a few months, but she was already such an important part of his life.

  “Here.” Something hard was pressed into his hand and he stared mindlessly at the bow.

  “Pick your shots and be careful,” Lieutenant Hlen ordered, pacing back and forth behind the row of students, full of unexpected authority. “Don’t loose if you fear to hit one of ours. We’re here to help. Spread out around the tower. When you’re ready!”

  Derrain shook himself and strung the longbow he’d been given. It would have been useless on miryhl-back, but for shooting through windows over distance it was perfect. He looked for arrows and found Corin beside him.

  She had her own short bow, at which she’d grown even more skilled over the long winter. Smiling, she gestured to the quiver at his feet and handed him an arrow. “Take ‘em down, Derry.”

  He smiled, shrugged the quiver onto his back and shoulder-to-shoulder they faced the window. A kaz-naghkt dropped on a Rider pair right in front of them, its hind claws lashing the miryhl’s back, while its hands and teeth gripped the human.

  Derrain and Corin drew, loosed and grabbed fresh arrows in one smooth move.

  Corin’s arrow punched through the kaz-naghkt’s temple, Derrain’s through its ribcage, forcing it sideways. The Rider it had been mauling had enough strength to stab it through the chest, before he collapsed across his saddle. His miryhl twisted frantically, keening in distress, trying to see what state its bonded was in. The Rider flopped weakly about, in danger of falling, one side of his saddle straps frayed almost to breaking.

  “Down!” Lieutenant Hlen shouted. “Get to the healers!”

  The miryhl straightened under the order and glided to the Lawn, where helpers were already dealing with the wounded. Derrain watched them land, then turned back to the fight.

  Corin shot again, hitting a kaz-naghkt from behind, but the arrow shattered against the lumpy scales. “Won’t try that again,” she growled, loosing a second arrow into the kaz-naghkt’s wing.

  A swarm of missiles from other windows repeated the trick, and the creature screamed as both of its wings were shredded. It dropped in search of safety, only to be caught by a roving pack of nakhounds. The cute dogs Derrain had played with when visiting Bumble were completely different now. Savage, swift and deadly, they swarmed the kaz-naghkt and stripped it to the bone.

  Lieutenant Willym raced past their window, harrying a wounded kaz-naghkt. Stirla led a charge to defend two wounded Riders. Captain Myran circled overhead, calling out orders and holding his own. Captain Fredkhen dashed towards the tower, a wall of kaz-naghkt on his tail.

  At the last moment his miryhl lifted, leaving the kaz-naghkt exposed to the archers. Riddled with arrows, all but one fell into the roaring river beneath.

  The dark wings of the kaz-naghkt were everywhere – and so were the miryhls. Above Aquila, the Riders were winning. Black blood stained the citadel and the river was clogged with bodies but, despite their superior numbers and the advantage of surprise, the kaz-naghkt were losing.

  More high points around the citadel were soon manned by students with bows. The loose miryhls and nakhound packs scrapped fiercely with the enemy, leaving the Riders little to do, except drive the kaz-naghkt towards the defenders.

  Every time Derrain wondered if it was right to feel satisfied at the death of a kaz-naghkt, he remembered the stories he’d heard and the villages he’d seen, ravaged by attacks. He remembered the haunted eyes of the children left behind, the nightmares of survivors, the screams of the mutilated and soul-scarred survivors. He remembered Feather Frost and the many lives lost there, including his uncle. Then he pulled another arrow from his quiver and raised his bow.

  “This is for you,” he whispered, piercing another creature through the neck.

  MHYSRA CIRCLED THE battle watchfully. They were winning. She’d known that from the moment Hurricane swooped in to save them, but now she could finally see it. The kaz-naghkt swarm was broken. Miryhls outnumbered them two to one, then three, then four.

  The remaining creatures fled and she was willing to let them go. So many were dead: what damage could these final few do? It was an empty question, since she had no arrows left and Cumulo was too tired to fight any longer. They could only watch as the last kaz-naghkt were killed or escaped over the craggy mountainside.

  Free miryhls swept along the valley and down into the town, eager to ensure that the enemy was gone. The mounted ones sagged with tiredness, turning to round up the nakhounds. To improve matters it began spitting with rain. Much as Mhysra needed a bath, she’d prefer it to be warm.

  Leaning against Cumulo’s back, she sighed. “Let’s go, Cue.”

  He didn’t answer, just circled and glided towards the bridge, aiming for a hatch this time.

  Murmuring compliments, she removed his tack and rubbed him down, until he shoved her away. “I need a bath,” he rumbled. “And so do you. I’m going to sit in the rain.”

  Understanding how he felt, she left him alone and dumped his harness in the tack room where the attendants promised to clean it. She was so tired.

  Half-tumbling down the stairs, she found Derrain waiting for her at the bottom. “We’re real Riders now,” he greeted, catching her against him.

  Resting her head on his chest, she shuddered. “If you’d been a breath later with the alarm –”

  “Don’t,” he interrupted, stroking her damp hair. “It’s over. Don’t think about might-have-beens and could-have-happeneds. No ifs, no buts. It’s over.”

  Sighing, she rubbed soothing circles on his chest. “You did well, Derry.”

  His smile was a shadow of its usual self, but she appreciated the effort. “So did you.”

  “And you smell.”

  This time his grin was pure Derrain. “So do you.” Stepping
back, he looked her over and wrapped an arm around her trembling shoulders. “Come on, little warrior, bath time. Then you can sleep for a moon. Did you do anything exciting while you were out there?”

  “I almost shot Lyrai,” she said, reliving the heart-stopping horror of the moment when she’d thought he wouldn’t duck and that her arrow hadn’t gone wide enough.

  “And I missed a chance at Willym.” He sighed. “Still, it was our first fight. We’ll practise.”

  Hearing the hollow note in his voice, despite his efforts to joke, Mhysra patted his chest again. “Practise is what we’re here for,” she reminded him. “One day we won’t even care what we’re shooting.”

  “I hope not,” he murmured. “I don’t ever want to get that comfortable with killing.”

  Thinking that she didn’t either, not even with kaz-naghkt, she patted him again and leant against him all the way to the bath caverns. “What would I do without you, Derry?” she asked as they shed their coats and boots in the anteroom.

  Not looking at her, he meticulously folded his outer clothes and stored them on the shelf. “Thanks to you and Cumulo, you didn’t have to find out today.” After putting his boots with his things, he turned. “I thank Maegla every day that I became your friend, Mhysra, and on days like today She rewards me for it.” Cupping her face between his hands, he kissed her forehead. “Thank you, little sister, for saving my life. And for preserving yours.”

  She stared up at him, surprised to see a sheen of tears in his eyes and to find a shimmer in her own. “I’m not ready to die yet. Nor let you either.”

  He dropped his hands and smiled. “Glad to hear it.” Grabbing a towel, he flicked her with it. “Now get washed. Just because you’re my friend, doesn’t mean I have to put up with you when you stink.”