Wingborn (12 page)

“Perhaps it
had nothing to do with you and everything to do with Bumble,”
Milluqua suggested, scooping the puppy up and tickling her silky
ears. “She is rather fixed on you.”

“
Well,
she can’
t have me. Not during the day. But if I leave her
here she
’
ll howl the
house down.
”

“
Bring
her to me before you go. I’
ll look after her.
”

Pausing in arranging her hair, Mhysra stared
at her sister
’
s
reflection.
“
You want me
to bring her to you? To look after while I
’
m at the selection school?
”

Milluqua raised an eyebrow.
“
That
’
s what I said.
”

Mhysra thought about the destruction her
wilful puppy caused daily, from chewing everything within reach to
making messes and smells in the most inconvenient places. She
considered the perfection of her sister
’
s rooms and her prized collection of shoes. Then
there was the fact that Milluqua rarely rose before noon, while
Bumble liked to play in the morning. The earlier the better.

She smiled.
“
You really do want me to succeed, don
’
t you?
”

“
Yes,”
Milluqua confirmed, dumping the dog in favour of pinning her
sister’
s hair up properly.
“
So don
’
t
let me down.
”

“
I’
ll try not to.
”

“
Don’t.
Or
you
’
ll be
paying for every pair of shoes your wretched mutt
wrecks.
”

11
^th
Blizzard

I
T WAS STILL
dark when Mhysra crept down the
backstairs, but the servants were already hard at work. Maids
pumped water for the laundry, cleaned fireplaces and fetched milk,
eggs and newspapers from the markets, while Cook prepared
breakfast. The butler designated the day
’
s tasks to the footmen and the boot boy
worked on his basket of shoes. No one paid any attention to the
earl
’
s daughter slipping
between them. It wasn
’
t
the first time and everyone knew it wouldn
’
t be the last.

Only Cook acknowledged her, handing her a
warm pastry with a smile.
“
Luck, my lady.
”

Mhysra grinned and stepped out into the
darkness, glad that she
’
d left her puppy behind.
“Please behave,” she murmured to the absent
Bumble.

“I’ll be the
best boy in the city, I promise.”

“
Derry!”
she yelped, grabbing his shoulders as he goosed her ribs and almost
dropping her breakfast. “Don’
t do that. Gods!
”

He grinned at her overreaction.
“
Nervous?
”

Nervous was too weak a word for how she felt
– bone-deep terrified was more like it. Just because she
’
d grown up around miryhls, was
Wingborn and had been flying all her life, didn
’
t mean this was going to be easy.

“
Me
too,”
Derrain chuckled, shivering.
“
Come on, we don
’
t want to be late.
”

“Not on the
first day,” she agreed, blowing into her gloves and offering him
half of her pastry. “But by next quarter-moon you’ll be singing a
different tune.”

“OH, HAPPY DAY.” S
tirla was in a disgustingly good mood as he met Lyrai in
the Rider’
s mess at dawn. But then he would be – he was on
morning duty, so getting up this ungodly hour was normal. Lyrai
wasn
’
t. His flurry
didn
’
t fly until the
afternoon, so he had every right to still be sleeping. Yet, as an
officer, his presence was expected. Gods, he hated being stuck in
Nimbys.

“
This is
the first day of a glorious future. Aren’
t you
excited?
”

Lyrai grunted, his mouth full of eggs, a
handy excuse not to talk, and was relieved when his sergeant sat
down beside him.

“Morning,
Honra,” Stirla greeted.

“Morning.”
Honra was a pleasant-natured fellow, an experience Rider and the
perfect go-between the flurry and Lyrai’s own occasionally stiff
and moody nature. Honra never got offended, even when Lyrai was
having an off-day – of which there had been plenty since Froth
retired. After Lyrai had finished his captaincy training, he
planned to back his sergeant for promotion. Honra had earned it the
hard way.

Stirla and the sergeant chatted amiably
throughout breakfast, while Lyrai pretended he was still sleeping
like sensible folk. When they finished, he followed them outside,
where they joined Stirla
’
s sergeant, Rees – a sharp-tempered Rider who
rarely spoke when he could bark. He
’
d been paired with Stirla to provide the distance
an officer needed from his men. Stirla was too quick to share jokes
with everyone. Rees, it was suspected, had no sense of humour. His
response to Stirla
’
s
cheerful greeting was a sullen grunt.

It was another fine winter morning in
Nimbys, with frost shimmering on the flying field and snow dotting
the cliffs. The air was freezing, but it hardly mattered since the
fifty new students were too nervous to stand still. Had the weather
been inclement, they would still have been expected to wait
outside, blizzard, hail or sleet. They didn
’
t realise how lucky they were.

Between the ages of fifteen and eighteen,
they ranged across the social spectrum from the son of a duke to a
couple of dockhands. Anyone could enter a selection school if they
had a recommendation from a guardian or sponsor of consequence, and
handed it in before the deadline. Or after, Lyrai amended, spotting
Lady Mhysra in the crowd. Special treatment was understandable for
a Wingborn. As long as she didn
’
t expect it too often.

Amongst the fifty, Lyrai counted eight
girls, some not looking fit enough to run one lap of the field, let
alone fly a thousand miles. The same could be said for some of the
boys too, but that was the point of the selection training. Fifty
students might apply to each of the six schools across the
Overworld, but over the course of the next two seasons most would
drop out. Some wouldn
’
t
be able to take the discipline, others would find the training too
tough. There might even be failures at the end of year exams, easy
though Lyrai remembered them to be.

Then, and only then, would they be allowed
to choose a miryhl and move to Aquila. Only the most dedicated and
capable lasted that long. If there were twenty students left at the
end of all this, Lyrai would consider it a bumper crop. Ten would
be average. He wondered how many of them would be girls.

“
Morning, everyone!” A brusque voice rang out across the
field, silencing most of chatter as the students turned towards the
speaker. Short, stocky and scarred, Hethanon Armsmaster was the
best selection trainer the Riders had ever had. He took no cheek
from anyone, regardless of who they were born to be. A native of
Ihra, an isolated state to the north, he knew everything about
harsh conditions and human limitations. He pushed his students
hard, because he expected them to be the best. Lyrai had studied
under his yoke and had nothing but respect for him. He
didn’
t look like much, but a boy underestimated him at his
peril. Same for the girls.

Though most of the crowd was quiet, two
girls continued to gossip, while a knot of boys snickered amongst
themselves. Honra clicked his tongue and the lieutenants shared a
smirk. Rees sniffed.

“Lieutenant
Stirla, if you please,” Hethanon invited.

Over six feet in height, with shoulders to
match, Stirla had an imposing presence when he chose to use it.
“
Silence!
” Not to mention a ferocious bellow.

The students flinched, the hush so complete
that a pair of squabbling ravens halfway up the cliff could be
heard in raucous detail.

Hethanon stepped forward.
“
Obedience is the first rule of the Rift
Riders. Respect for command. The ability to hold your
tongue,
”
he added,
glaring at one of the snickering lads; the boy blushed.
“
Insolence breeds contempt and
mistrust. A Rider follows his officer, no matter what. To question
is to die. To disobey is to die. To disrespect is to die. If you
cannot obey a simple order then you have no business here. No one
is forcing you. No one will stop you. Leave if you wish.
”

He looked around as if he could see every
face in the crowd, even those right at the back. None dared make
eye contact. There was a lot of nervous shifting and a few titters,
but nobody left. Most likely believed it would be shameful to walk
before the day had even begun. They
’
d learn better soon enough.

“
Five laps of the field!
” Hethanon’s bark made everyone jump –
Riders included.

The youngsters stared at each other in
dismay. No one moved.

“
If you
canno
t obey an order,
what are you doing here
? Five
laps. Now!
”

They obeyed reluctantly, breaking into
groups as they trotted towards the far end of the field, slipping
and sliding over the ice. Complaints abounded, along with insults
about pipsqueaks who thought too much of themselves.

Hethanon rocked smugly on his heels. When
the students reached the cliffs, he turned to the lieutenants.
“
Shall we show them how
it
i
s done?
”

“
No.”
Stirla had never studied under Hethanon
, but he
’
d heard the rumours along with
Lyrai
’
s own stories.
Which was why when Hethanon started jogging, Stirla and the others
went along too.

“NOT… WHAT… I…
expect-ed,” Derrain puffed as they completed their laps.
They were among the first to finish, though plenty had claimed to
be done earlier. Except the little man with the big voice had the
eyes of a hawk. The cheaters probably wished they hadn’
t
bothered now, Mhysra thought, watching the stragglers stump out two
extra laps.

“
Evil,”
she gasped, bending over to catch her breath. Before this morning
she’d thought herself fit. At Wrentheria she’d regularly run with
the fledgling miryhls, encouraging them to fly, or played chase
with her cousins and the nakhounds. That had been fun.
This
was torture, with every breath stabbing frozen knives inside her
chest. Even Derrain was worn out and he was used to scrambling
around skyships in the middle of a storm, hauling himself up ropes
and other such daring stuff.

“Still alive,
though,” Derrain said as he straightened. “I feel ready for
anything now.” He stretched his arms over his head and went to
fetch their coats from the pile of discarded clothing.

“Unnatural,”
Mhysra grumbled, noticing some of the other girls eyeing her
friend. She smiled when one walked over and introduced herself.

“
I’
m Corin.
”

Derrain returned, shrugging into his coat
with a grin.
“
I
’
m
Derrain, and she
’
s
Mhysra.
”

Mhysra accepted her own coat and nodded
politely to the newcomer, surprised when the girl dragged her eyes
away from Derrain long enough to nod back. Short and stocky, Corin
was pretty when she smiled, lighting up her amber eyes.
“
You both did well back there. I
don
’
t think you got
barked at once.
”

“
Alright
for some.” A scrawny girl limped over, clutching her ribs.
“I
never moved so much in me life, and all to get right back
where we started. Ain
’
t
what I was expecting. Ulla.
”

“
Corin,”
the short girl replied, and pointed at the others. “Derrain.
Mhysra.
I
’
ve seen
you around the docks.
”

The scrawny girl nodded, scratching her
tight brown curls.
“
Aye.
Me da
’
s a
gladhand.
”
Which was
docker slang for men who turned their hand to anything to earn a
coin. She nodded at Corin.
“
You
’
re
merchant stock.
”
She
looked at Derrain.
“
You
’
re
off the ships.
”
Turning
to Mhysra, she narrowed her eyes.
“
And you
’
re new. Don
’
t know what you do, but I seen you
about.
”

“Impressing
people again, Ulla Bright-Eyes?” asked a tall boy with a broad
grin.

“
Harlan,” the girl grumbled. “An’
Mouse.
”
This was said to the small lad in
Harlan
’
s shadow. Whereas
one boy was tall and exuded confidence, the other was small and
fidgety.
“Thought you said
you
weren
’
t gonna
bother.
”

“I needed to
do something over the winter.” Harlan shrugged. He looked too fine
for the Riders, with his artfully arranged curls and brightly
polished boots, now sadly splashed with mud and slush.