Wingborn (49 page)

Finally, he picked up the last swan and
boat.
“
Miryhl Harrier
and Rider Dhenras, be reunited in peace. May the Gods grant you
bright sun and clear skies, with the wind at your backs and the
clouds beneath you. Aquila is proud.
”

Leaning forward, he lowered both hands into
the water and sent the papers spinning with a puff of breath. The
current jostled them on its rippling swell to join the others
against the screen.

“Aquila is
proud,” Dean Marshall echoed, and everyone bowed their heads for
the final prayer. “Though they are gone, be they never forgotten.
For Aquila you died, and at Aquila your memory will live on. We are
proud, we are humbled and we thank you. Be at peace, children of
Maegla.”

“Be at peace,”
the gathering murmured, and beneath the warm sun on the last day of
the year, the screen was pulled up to release the boats and
swans.

The symbolic flotilla bumped along together,
black swans bobbing, paper boats spinning. Beneath the bridge all
went dark, then the water roared over the falls and they
disappeared from sight.

Gone, but never forgotten.

On a world cursed to be covered in clouds,
protected by the elite Rift Riders, who fly on the backs of giant
eagles, Lady Mhysra Kilpapan and her friends are making history.
Women are now firmly back within the Rider fold and the future
looks bright.

But even though Mhysra has survived her first
year as a student, there’s more to becoming a Rift Rider than
lessons and training. Especially when trouble is brewing in the
Wrathlen and the kaz-naghkt are looking for revenge.

Return to the Overworld for the next exciting
Wingborn adventure, where strength, loyalty, honour and friendship
are about to tested to their limits – and beyond.

Kincarg, the Wrathlen

23
^rd
Feather Month, 787 Cloud Era

T
HE WIND WAS
bitter as it whistled across the top of
the Wrathlen and crept into the crevices. Down below all was dark,
while the sky above frowned with rain clouds. Everywhere was cold,
but it was always cold here, even in the middle of summer.

Out of the grey sky, six kaz-naghkt
approached, leathery wings beating in time, wiry arms taut with the
strain of keeping a fur-lined cocoon aloft. They struggled to hold
steady as winds buffeted them from all directions, roiling off the
tumultuous Stormwash. But the pouch hanging beneath them remained
smooth. Even when the right rear kaz-naghkt dropped its rope and
collapsed on the landing crag, the other five took the extra strain
and lowered it cautiously onto the rocks before allowing themselves
to rest.

Panting, bone ridges flushed with exertion,
the lead pair gently unwrapped the pouch, pulling leather strings
and peeling back padded layers, each one marked with a series of
breathing holes. Fleece blankets came next, followed by another
leather cocoon. No matter how tight the knots, or how many growls
of frustration the kaz-naghkt emitted, they never once lost
patience or used their sharp wing spurs to rip or sever the cords.
Even shaking with cold, they treated each layer as something
unimaginably precious. At last, the pouch stirred on its own and
the kaz-naghkt stepped back, taking up guard positions around
it.

Which was just as well, because their
arrival had drawn a crowd. Wary and suspicious, the inhabitants of
the Wrathlen waited at a cautious distance, weapons ready, to see
what the kaz-naghkt had brought. The crowd was entirely human,
wrapped up against the chill, though the quality of their garments
varied from the plushest furs to the cheapest wool. No one spoke,
though many shivered. They stared at the kaz-naghkt and the
kaz-naghkt stared back.

The pouch shifted, leather laces hissing as
they were pulled from their holes, and the blankets loosened. A
hand emerged, encased in fleece gloves, followed by an arm, then a
head covered with thick waves of blue-black hair. The man looked
up, pale barley eyes taking in his audience as he stretched and
emerged from his cocoon, the only creature on the Wrathlen not
shivering.

A sly smile curved the corner of his mouth
as he stood between his kaz-naghkt guards.

“Take me to your leader,” he announced, eyes
narrowing with amusement. “I believe she is expecting me.”

Aquila

21
^st
Sun Month, 787 CE

A
LL WAS QUIET
as Lady Mhysra Kilpapan, Wingborn and
first-year Rift Rider student, crept down the bank. Around her
evergreen trees stood in silence, blocking out all but the
strongest light. They marched up the mountainside in haphazard
style, over all terrain – steep, shallow, rocky. Nothing stopped
them from growing or shedding a pungent carpet of needles.

Mhysra was taking advantage of that carpet
now to keep her footfalls quiet as she slithered from tree to tree.
The woods might look and sound empty, but she knew better. They
were out there. Waiting. Watching. Ready to take her captive.

Crouching behind some thick bracken, she
edged sideways, senses alert. The bank was steep, but nothing that
she couldn
’
t handle as
she slipped down it, cursing the pebble avalanche rattling in her
wake. Flattening herself against the nearest pine, she waited.

A branch snapped. The entire wood seemed to
hold its breath and Mhysra hid behind a stand of ferns. They were
over six feet tall but she didn
’
t dare crawl in amongst them: the slightest
movement would give her away.

“See
anything?” a voice muttered from the top of the bank.

“No. Could be
a deer.”

The first person snorted. “How many deer
have you seen up here?”

“
I saw
two herds last year,” the other retorted, sounding young and sulky,
but then he was only a second-year. “These woods are littered with
deer tracks. Stands to reason, doesn’
t it?”

“
Next
you’
ll be warning me about bears and wolves,” the first
student mocked. “Let
’
s
move on. There
’
s nothing
here and I want to bag myself a couple of firsties.”

“Still sore
over your capture last year?” his companion chuckled.

“As if you
weren’t getting caught right beside me.”

Mhysra stayed in her crouch as the sounds of
a tussle reached her, before the second-years continued in a more
dignified manner. Even when they were out of hearing, she remained
still, waiting for her heart to calm. Under the thunder of her
pulse was a tingle of exhilaration. She was still in play, still in
the forest, evading her hunters. This wasn
’
t so hard.

Grinning, she eased around the ferns and
continued. She still couldn
’
t believe she
’
d almost completed her first year at Aquila,
training school and home of the Rift Riders. That was why she was
running around the mountainside, dodging other students. Because
rather than sit the pupils down for dull examinations, Aquila
preferred to assess their progress in more practical ways. Thus the
hunt.

With most of the first-years still learning
how to fly, not to mention handle their weapons, their role in the
hunt was simple: prey. They were taken high into the valley above
the citadel, where an enormous lake was surrounded by a thick pine
forest, and turned loose. Two bells later the second-years were
released to pursue them. The goal for the first-years was to reach
the end of the valley without getting caught. The second-years’
task was to capture as many firsties as possible. It was up to each
individual whether they worked solo, in pairs or teams.

In order to monitor everyone
’
s progress, and ensure that there
was no foul play, instructors, officers, attendants, servants,
tutors and off-duty Riders were scattered through the forest. Even
ordinary folk from the town came up to keep watch. It was an annual
event.

And the hunt was just the start.

The sun blazed hotly down as Mhysra reached
the bottom of the ridge and the canopy overhead thinned. Here the
undergrowth was littered with scrub, gorse and the occasional birch
sapling. It made hiding easier, but each step was more perilous.
With silence now impossible, she pushed on regardless. The end of
the valley was in sight and a flock of miryhls waited beyond the
finish line. They looked bored and irritated: their day had been
nothing but dull so far.

Determined that would soon change, Mhysra
sought out her Wingborn amongst the giant eagles and sighed with
relief. Cumulo was close, his head raised, looking for her, knowing
she would come. A group of Riders laughed and played cards in the
shade while they waited for the first-years to arrive and claim
their mounts. They also ensured that the birds remained under
cover, away from the burning sun, while keeping away the worst of
the midges. Swearing under her breath, Mhysra waved the flies away
from her face and wished she
’
d stayed away from the water a little while longer
too.

Fast approaching footsteps made her freeze.
She darted her head around and threw herself into the gorse bushes,
stifling yelps as the prickly branches seized her with glee. It was
as good a hiding place as any since surely there weren
’
t two people on this mountain
foolish enough to jump into gorse bushes.

Wriggling down to the ground and welcoming
the respite from the midges, Mhysra crawled on her elbows until she
could see the miryhl enclosure and watch the commotion.

A student – slender and red-haired – was
sprinting as though a pack of pyreflies was after him. It was
Jaymes, Mhysra
’
s regular
sparring partner. His russet hair was dark with sweat, his shirt
clung to his back and he was panting hard. Mhysra silently urged
him on as four second-years broke from the woods, whooping at the
chase.

One of them paused long enough to draw his
bow, using a blunt arrow marked with paint. They didn
’
t fly very far, or very well, but
Mhysra had already seen two students taken out by them. The
second-year loosed, but Jaymes started running in lunges from side
to side and avoided it with ease. The other boys fumbled at their
packs and pulled out little cloth bundles, lobbing them towards the
fleeing figure. Only a stumble saved Jaymes from the first, which
burst in a shower of red dye, while the second missed
altogether.

The drowsy miryhls looked up as the Riders
gathered by the finish line, cheering the students on – some for
the hunters, some for the prey. At Jaymes
’
approach they unlatched the rope, while
the second-years cursed and threw more bombs.

Jaymes lurched on, stumbling, one hand
pressed to his side. The end was in sight. Less than six feet from
the line a bumble sailed over his shoulder. It struck a Rider, who
rolled his eyes good naturedly and caught Jaymes as he tripped into
safety.

The Riders slapped him on the back and
offered him water, while the second-years begrudgingly
congratulated him before trudging back into the woods. No traps
were allowed within fifty feet of the enclosure, in order to give
the first-years a fighting chance. Mhysra estimated that she was
just about within that distance. Still, it would be better to wait
for the second-years to leave. No point making life difficult for
herself.

With the hunters gone and Jaymes recovering,
Mhysra wriggled out of hiding. Sneaking around a copse of silver
birches, she debated whether to sprint for it or continue creeping
and hope she didn
’
t
alert anyone.

A distant crashing in the forest startled
her and she sprang forward.

“Here comes
another one,” a Rider chuckled.

“
And
more,” another agreed. “It’
s all go now.”

The crashing behind grew louder and closer,
but Mhysra didn
’
t dare
look. The ground ahead was covered in clumps of grass, rocks, tree
roots and shrubs. Moving quickly over it and keeping her feet was
tricky.

Something whistled over her shoulder and she
threw herself to one side as the bundle struck a rock, exploding in
a burst of red dye. Rolling over her shoulder, she came easily back
to her feet and ran on, checking for signs that she
’
d been hit. Her clothes were
clean, or as clean as they could be after a day crawling through
the forest.

“Duck!” a
familiar voice yelled, and she bent down as a painted arrow bobbled
overhead.

Using a hand to push herself upright again,
she shook the sweat from her eyes as the cheering Riders opened the
enclosure. She stumbled over a loose pocket of ground and swore.
Another bundle flew over her head and yet another landed off to her
right.

Each stride sent a jolt up her left calf,
but she hobbled on, yelping as a strong hand seized her arm. It
threw her across the line and she landed with an undignified thud.
Her saviour thumped down beside her, chuckling as a bundle hit
Mhysra
’
s knee and
showered them both in red dye.