Wingborn (51 page)

The captains shared a wearied look.
“
And I thought I had
problems,
”
Fredkhen
muttered.

“You have,”
Hylan assured him, looking around the room. “We all have.”

“Mysteriousness never suited you,” Myran said, limping across the
room to take the seat beside Lyrai. “Unless you intend to wait for
the dean to return, why don’t you join us, eat and share what you
can?”

Hylan took the space between Stirla and
Imaino and filled his plate.
“
The Wrathlen stirs.
”

They fell silent and even Fleik stopped
mid-chew. Beyond the walls the sounds of the main hall filtered in,
while in the serving room, someone dropped a platter and was
soundly chastised for it. Inside the officers
’
mess, all eyes focused on Hylan.

“How much of a
stir?” Fredkhen asked, voice strained.

“All out.”

“The
anticipated target?” Myran enquired, pouring himself a glass of
wine and another for Hylan, which he passed down the table.

The other captain drained half of it in one
gulp.
“
My sources have
been silent for a month.
”

The lieutenants and captains exchanged
uneasy glances.

“What do you
intend to do, sir?” Fleik asked.

“
Speak
to the dean,” Hylan replied. “I’
ll need more men to watch,
hoping that when they move we
’
ll be able to delay them or send out
warnings.
”

“Not much of a
plan,” Willym muttered from the far end of the table.

“Then perhaps
yours should be one of the flurries sent in support,” Myran said,
voice cold.

Fredkhen
looked embarrassed, but he’
d always been too nice for
someone like Willym.

The trainee-lieutenant shrugged.
“
Can
’
t be any worse than wasting my time
here.
”

Lyrai caught Stirla
’
s eye and they shook their heads. Willym
never changed.

“
I had
hoped to speak to the dean on my arrival, but I would have taken
the next step regardless.” Hylan drained his wineglass and looked
at the captains. “I need your swiftest Riders. We might not know
what the Wrathlen plans or where they intend to strike, but that
doesn’
t mean we can
’
t send out warnings. Most of the Greater West will
be on the alert, but such a force might try their luck on Imercian
or down the Stormsurge. This way we can prevent anyone being taken
by surprise.
”

Fredkhen nodded grimly, while Myran
signalled for his senior lieutenants to see to it.

“
In the
meantime, we wait,” Hylan sighed, toying with his food
. He
wasn
’
t the only one
whose appetite had vanished.
“
Merry Midsummer, everyone.
”

Nera has been fascinated by dragons all her
life. Now, as a Rift Rider Lieutenant, her chance to see them up
close has come. The appointment to spend five years as an escort to
the human ambassador seems like the ultimate honour and gift, but
the dragons she studied in training don't come anywhere close to
the reality awaiting her inside the Dragonlands.

Elder Khennik kin Blazeborn Clan Sunlord has
no interest in humans. Thanks to the Cloud Curse that their kind
brought down upon the Overworld, Khennik's kin are close to losing
their ancestral desert homelands forever. When he's assigned as a
delegate to the humans upon their arrival, he can't believe his bad
luck. Unlike some dragons, he has no wish for more power or
responsibility, but he can't seem to avoid collecting them. From
his desperate kin to his nervous aide, right along to the useless
humans, Khennik dreams of the day when he can return to his desert
home.

Regardless of personal dreams and opinions,
both humans and dragons are about to learn that they often have
more in common than they might think or wish. And when trouble
descends, the true friends you can count on have little to do with
species – and everything to do with spirit.

On board the Skylark

20th Fledgling Month, 579 Cloud Era

N
ERA STUDIED HER
reflection critically and straightened
the collar of her flying jacket. It was pristine, cut so fine as to
look moulded on, the midnight blue shade so much more palatable
than the garish red of the Rift Rider officer dress uniform.
Fiddling with the throat fastening on the high collar, she brushed
her thumb over the gleaming silver stripes on her shoulder – still
so beautiful, even six moons on – before she tugged her cuffs
straight and ran nervous hands down the sides of her three-quarter
length coat. Her white breeches looked so very bright beneath the
dark blue, but at least her flying boots reached her knees, leaving
barely a couple of unprotected pale inches to the vagaries of a
dirty world.

“
You
look fine,” Lieutenant Anhardyne told her for the twentieth time.
The past moon and a half of sharing the confined cabin had given
the older woman plenty of opportunities to watch her friend preen
and fuss over her uniform. “Which is good, because we’
re
finally here and you haven
’
t even touched your hair.”

With a squeak of dismay, Nera
’
s hands shot to her head, messing
up all her last moment adjustments. Catching her friend
’
s grin in the mirror, she growled,
“Not funny, Hardy.”

Anhardyne ruffled Nera
’
s short black crop with a laugh. “Good to
see that there is still a girl in there somewhere. You spent all
that time in front of the mirror and not once did I see you look at
anything above your shoulders.”

“
That’
s because there
’
s nothing there worth looking at,” Nera said,
turning away from the mirror at last, as familiar with her small,
snub features as she needed to be. “My time is much better spent
focusing on my uniform.” She rubbed her lieutenant stripes
affectionately, until Anhardyne knocked her hand away with an
exasperated
tut
.

“
You’
ll wear them out if you
’
re not careful, newbie. Anyone would think
you only got them yesterday.” Having earned her own stripes three
years earlier, Anhardyne was far less impressed by such marks of
rank. Winking, she stepped in front of Nera and tucked a few stray
wisps of her own hair back into place. “I
’
ll tweak yours if you
’
ll tweak mine.”

Nera turned and submitted to her
friend
’
s fussing with a
laugh. “Hold on while I fetch a box to stand on.”

The two lieutenants couldn
’
t have been more different, looks wise.
Where Nera was dark and kept her straight hair short and
manageable, Anhardyne was tall and tawny and golden. Their only
common features were their brown eyes.

Looking up into those dark eyes now, Nera
searched for any scrap of the anxiety she was feeling. Anhardyne
looked as serene and amused as ever. Then again she was five years
older and had seen considerably more of the Overworld than Nera.
Still, not even Anhardyne had been to the Dragonlands before.
Wasn
’
t she the least bit
excited?

“
Settle
down, Half-Pint. Don’
t froth up.”

Nera tugged firmly on Anhardyne
’
s lapels and narrowed her eyes at
the irritating nickname. What had been fun and affectionate for a
young Rider, was rather less dignified for a new lieutenant.
“I
’
m not frothing. And
don
’
t call me that.
I
’
m trying to make a
good impression.”

“
Aren’
t we all?”

They certainly should be. Being assigned to
the Drakkan Embassy might not have been the most exciting post in
the Rift Riders, but it was one of the most prestigious.
Nera
’
s father, a
well-respected captain himself, had covertly wiped away a tear of
pride when she
’
d told
him about it. That the news had arrived alongside her promotion to
lieutenant made it all the sweeter.

“
Seriously, Nera,” the cool tone of her friend’
s
voice, along with the firm hand on her shoulder, warned her to pay
attention, “stay focused. I know that this is a big day for you –
for all of us – but remember we
’
re here to work. We have a job to do.”

“
I know
that.” Nera brushed Anhardyne’
s hand away, hurt that her
friend could possibly think she
ha
d forgotten. “I
’
ve seen dragons before.” Well, a couple, here and
there. At a distance. None to speak to, perhaps, but she knew the
protocol inside out. It had been her favourite subject at Aquila,
the Rift Rider training school, where she
’
d studied since she was sixteen, learning
not only to fly her giant eagle miryhl, but how to protect the
Overworld through words as well as deeds.

She
’
d excelled in all her etiquette and political
history lessons – that was why she
’
d been personally recommended to Commander Bethnelm
by Dean Renlyn. It was why she
’
d spent the last five years training under Captain
Wellswen, ever since she
’
d graduated. Her life had been leading towards this
moment for the last eight years. She wasn
’
t about to ruin it all at the welcoming
ceremony by being an overexcited fool.

She hoped.

“
Hm.”
Anhardyne sounded far from convinced. “Just remember that
we’
re here for five years, all right, so there
’
s no rush to get to know everyone.
Take it steady.”

“
Har
-dy
,” Nera
whined, in the same tone she used to
use on her mother when
she was twelve and didn
’
t want to practice her court dances anymore. It
would probably take her five years to get to know
anyone
.
Unlike Hardy, who never seemed to meet a stranger, Nera was shy and
not good at meeting new people. That didn
’
t mean there weren
’
t still a thousand ways to embarrass
herself and the others, but rushing to get to know everyone
wasn
’
t one of them.

“
All
right, lecture over,” the older lieutenant sighed, tapping Nera on
the nose and taking a final look at herself in the mirror. “I think
we’
re ready.” She tucked her waist-length golden braid into
the belt loop on the back of her flying jacket. “Though why we went
to all this bother when it
’
ll just get ruined on the flight in, I do
n
o
t know.”

Nera cast one last anxious glance at her
reflection and tugged her cuffs straight again. “My mother always
says it doesn
’
t matter
what you
’
re wearing or
what you look like, if you feel comfortable in your skin you can
take on the world.”

“
Well,
your mother should know,” Anhardyne said. “Chin up, Half-Pint,
we’
ve a world to take on.”

“All set,
lieutenants?” Captain Wellswen poked her head around the door after
a cursory tap. “Ambassador Jesken would like a word before we
leave.”

Both women
saluted as the captain vanished again to round up the others.
Anhardyne raised her eyebrows at Nera. “We’d best put off the
excitement a little longer then.”

Feeling
fidgety at the prospect of yet another lecture standing between her
and the chance to hop on her miryhl and fly some of her nerves
away, Nera flexed her fingers and shook out her tingling hands. “I
supposed we’d best see what Her Excellency wants.”

The friends
shared wry smiles, having been called into the ambassador’s cabin
every second day since leaving Aquila. Nera just hoped this wasn’t
another tea ceremony. Not that she had anything against tea, but
the ambassador was from Etheria: the day an Etherian could teach a
Sutherelli like Nera anything about the beverage, was the same day
the clouds disappeared.

“Try not to
sigh so loudly this time when she adds sugar to her red leaf,
please,” Anhardyne muttered, opening the door.

Nera wrinkled
her nose at the memory of such sacrilege and followed her friend
along the narrow skyship corridor. “I make no promises.”

“Snob.”

“Barbarian.”

They grinned
at each other, then Anhardyne took a deep breath and knocked on the
state cabin doors.

“
ELDER B-BLAZEBORN. ELDER B-BLAZEBORN?”

Khennik kin
Blazeborn Clan Sunlord sighed and rolled his eyes towards the
ceiling. Ringed by hanging fronds of fragrant seisflowers, the sun
was perfectly framed by the circular opening, pouring its
life-giving warmth over his bare head. Seated in the brilliant spot
cast upon the floor, Khennik had been deep in meditation, dreaming
of his home far to the west, where the clouds were thin and the
mountains dry. Every breath there tasted of dry heat, stoking the
fire that ran through his veins, where to fly was to bathe in
Father Sun’s glory.