Wingborn (18 page)

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.

F
OR THE NEXT
month all anyone spoke about was the
kaz-naghkt attack. Speculation was rife, though most reports were
greeted with scepticism. Everyone knew kaz-naghkt came from the
west, usually in large numbers – the only surprise was when they
appeared.

“
I’ve
never seen no kaznak,
”
a kitchen maid grumbled one morning as
she wiped the work table, her soft mid-Imercian accent rich with
doubt.
“
I bet those
Riders make
th
em up to
scare us normal folk.
”

Eating her breakfast in the corner, Mhysra
grimaced. She
’
d never
seen a kaz-naghkt either, but the look on Derrain
’
s face whenever they were mentioned was
enough to convince her that they existed. Not much made her merry
friend grim, but the word
kaz-naghkt
never failed.

“
I
h
eard they
’
re
h
umans what sold their
souls to the Dark God for wings,
”
a footman said, his Nimbys accent a cocky drawl,
snatching a fresh roll while Cook
’
s back was turned and winking at the chatty
maid.

She turned her nose up at him.
“
People don
’
t fly. Gods, or no. They ain
’
t real.
”

“
I
h
eard they
’
re
dragons from the Stormwash what lost their magic. Sounds mad
t
’
me.
”
The bootboy shook his head, apparently
disappointed by the world
’
s most ferocious enemy.

“Dragons,” the
maid scoffed. “They ain’t real neither.”

Cook picked up a broom and poked the girl in
the back.
“
If
you
’
re lucky Maycie, you
need never think different. Me, I
’
ll believe all kinds of things, so long as those
Riders keep
th
em far
from me. For somethin
g
that don
’
t exist, plenty
of people think they do. Call me a mug, but I
’
ll stick to trustin
g
the Riders to keep me safe.
”

The maid scowled as she took the broom.
“
I know what I think,
an
d
I
’
ll be stickin
g
with it, if it
’
s all the same to you.
”

How quickly they forgot Feather Frost,
Mhysra thought. Not just Feather Frost, but Thrift Edge, Heston
Point and Shune. All were Rider bases with reputations for
defeating the enemy. Only Feather Frost was destroyed, but the
others had been damaged enough to allow women back into the
Riders.

Cook shrugged at Mhysra and snapped her
fingers at the maid.
“
Floor needs sweeping.
”

Not that any Rider complained if the city
folk didn
’
t believe the
stories. Better a sceptical populace than a panicked one. Not that
there was anything to worry about, according to Captain
Myran
’
s official
statement. A small scouting party of kaz-naghkt had been spotted
and sent about their business. Since no Riders had been killed and
all injuries were minor it was easy to believe the placating words.
But Mhysra didn
’
t and
nor did her friends.

How could they when the enemy had been
sighted over well-protected Imercian, to the
east
of Nimbys?
Kaz-naghkt never came from the east. No one would bother making
that up.

Luckily for the officers at the selection
school, the majority of their pupils soon had other things on their
minds.

23
^rd
Sun

“I DON’T SEE
why I have to go,
”
Mhysra grumbled, tugging
Bumble
’
s lead as she
walked along the street with her friends. It was a glorious day in
Nimbys, when everything seemed magnified by the sun. Cool water,
sweet strawberries, the green mountainside, honey-gold streets –
the dark despair of family machinations.

“
Because
you’
re Lady Mhysra of the almighty Kilpapan clan, destined
rulers of the world,
”
Harlan replied.

Derrain chuckled, swinging the empty basket
that had been filled with food just that morning.
“
You have no idea how close you
are. Be thankful you
’
ve
never met her mother.
”

“Or my
father,” Mhysra added.

“
Your
mother is a hero to my family.” Corin laughed at the disbelief on
Mhysra’
s face.
“
The things she
’
s done with the Kilpapan business is every
merchant
’
s dream.
She
’
s a
legend.
”

“Yes,” Mhysra
said feelingly. “I know.”

“
And
you
r father
’
s top
of the tree too,
”
Mouse
put in, struggling with his basket despite its emptiness. He
collided with a wall, careened into his cousin and rebounded into
Dhori. Not once did he stop talking about Mhysra
’
s father, his social status or the work he
did for Stratys.

“Yes,” Mhysra
repeated, after he finally shut up. “I know.”

Dhori smiled consolingly.
“
Parents can be hard to live up
to.
”

She raised her eyebrows, having never heard
him speak of his family before. Out of all her friends he was the
one she knew the least about. It wasn
’
t that he refused to talk about himself, he just
manipulated every conversation so that he never gave anything away.
It drove Corin mad.

“
I
don
’
t
care about living up to them,
”
Mhysra said, exasperatedly.
“
It
’
s having to fight to make my own choices that
bothers me.
”

Dhori tweaked
the end of her braid. “Well, you’re doing a fine job so far.”

“
That’
s because they don
’
t know what she
’
s up to,
”
Derrain said.
“
Until now the countess hasn
’
t been around to watch her.
”

Mhysra scowled, not appreciating the
reminder that her mother was home. Luckily it was Midsummer, a
five-day holiday with the Feast of Heirayk in the middle. All
celebration and no school. It was the perfect time for her mother
to return.

Unfortunately it also meant the Midsummer
Ball; an annual event held by the Stratys for Nimbys
’
most important residents. As
Mhysra had been allegedly receiving social training from her sister
for months, her father had ordered her to attend. He
didn
’
t want to waste an
opportunity to marry her off before the autumn, no matter her
age.

“
It’
s not fair,
”
she whined.
“
I don
’
t
want to go.
”

“
You’
ll enjoy it,
”
Derrain assured her.

“
I
won’
t. You wouldn
’
t either if you were forced to go.
”