Wingborn (39 page)

“
But
that’
s all right,
”
he added, after several students cringed.
“
The Riders began around
seven-hundred years ago, when writing things down was not a
priority. There are few accounts from those days and they rarely
deal with the formation of anything, let alone the Riders. But
that
’
s Overworld
history, trying to piece together what happened from the slightest
of evidence. Even those sources we do have contradict each other,
depending on where they originate.

“
My
point is, we don’
t know
how
the Riders started, but
we do know
why
. And that why is as relevant today as it was
then. To protect. The Rift Riders are far from perfect and there
are parts of our history we would all rather forget, but our
purpose has never changed. We guard the Overworld and our people
from all the threats we face. In days past the enemy
wasn
’
t always clear, but
over this last century things have changed. The Overworld is always
changing, but the coming of the kaz-naghkt is a change that united
us all.

“I won’t ask
about the origins of the kaz-naghkt,” he warned, before anyone
could start. “That’s an even thornier issue than the origins of the
Riders. I just wanted to show you that history isn’t perfect. It’s
as accurate as we can make it, but our sources are limited and
often suspect in provenance. Yet we can learn much from piecing
together what we have, which in turn gives us a chance to fill in
the large gaps of which we know nothing.

“That is what
you will learn from me. So, let’s start with something about which
there is no doubt. The founding and building of Aquila. Corin,” he
beckoned her from the front row, “please hand out this paper. There
are quills and ink inside the desks. You’ll be taking notes every
lesson, which I hope you will supplement with further reading in
your spare time. Notes are important, since they help record what I
tell you and also enable you to complete your study work.” He
smiled as grumbles rippled through the room, while Corin scurried
about.

Silence
resumed as the thirty-seven students settled down, quills inked and
poised, waiting for him to begin.

Captain Myran
smiled. “The year was two-hundred-and-eighteen of the Cloud Era,
and the Overworld was in turmoil. Carrayne of Cirrica, head of the
Rift Riders, had been assassinated. The Riders were thrown into
confusion and the world watched, waiting to see where the feathers
would fall. But as the elections for a new leader grew closer,
there was increasing pressure from outsiders for the Riders to
choose this candidate, or that, who would favour one kingdom over
another.

“Out of this
chaos rose a young woman, Jhydera, who claimed the allegiance of no
land. She spoke of an independent Rift Riders, with no patron or
politics, who protected all and favoured none. But where could such
a force live? Where on the Overworld could they exist, without
risking favouring one over another?

“And so the
search for the Riders’ home began…”

20
^th
Harvest

W
HAT HAD STARTED
as a normal staff practise outside in
the drizzly autumn air swiftly turned into something quite
different when Captain Myran appeared.
“
Come with me,
”
he said and led them to the barn at the end of the
field. It was empty except for the benches and equipment stacked
against the wall. On the far side, an open door revealed a creaking
waterwheel and somewhere nearby metal was being beaten in time to
its thumps.

As the students filed inside, footsteps
crunching over the sandy floor and drowning out the waterwheel with
their curious chatter, the hammering stopped. Silence fell as two
men entered. Neither were tall, though both had broad, muscular
shoulders, ruddy brown faces and strong hands. One was dark haired,
his face soot-streaked and sweaty, while the other had sandy-brown
hair and wore a discontented scowl.

Captain
Myran cleared his throat. “
First-years,
meet
Derneon Weaponsmith Sohr diDeranon and
Gedanon Swordmaster Sohr diGeranon.
Your new instructors.”

Nudging each other excitedly, the students
chorused,
“
Good morning,
Masters.
”

“More students,
”
sandy-haired Gedanon grumbled.
“
It is always the way.
”

“And always will be, gods and clouds
willing,
”
Derneon
agreed, hooking his thumbs in his belt. Unlike his friend, he was
smiling. They reminded Mhysra of Hethanon Armsmaster in Nimbys.
Clearly all three were Ihran – a people not known for welcoming
strangers. Derneon was probably an aberration.

“If we may begin?
”
At Captain Myran
’
s suggestion the three men sorted everyone
into groups of strength and size. Only one group was different,
containing broad-shoulder Derrain, slender Dhori, powerful Jermyn,
willowy Haelle and a few other students Mhysra didn
’
t know so well. She did, however,
recognise that they were all the best fighters.

“This should
be interesting.”

Studying her own group, Mhysra raised her
eyebrows at the boy beside her. He had merry dark eyes and a jaw
she recognised: Greig, Lieutenant Stirla
’
s nephew.

“Any of you
picked up a sword before?” Ierali, a Sutheralli girl asked,
sounding bored.

The group shook their heads. Swords were for
noble lads; everyone else made do with bows and staffs, if they
trained at all.

Ierali snorted with disgust.
“
With any luck they
’
ll move me up soon.
”

“Too good for
us?” Alyne had more height than sense, being a redhead of fiery
temper.

Ierali sneered.
“
You northerners do not understand the intricacies
of the Land of Light.
”

Greig rolled his eyes.
“
Then spare our tiny minds the burden of
explanation, thanks.
”

His input was ignored by both girls as they
went toe-to-toe.

Since arriving
at Aquila, the Sutheralli students had found it hardest to adjust.
Having all come from the warrior Storm Class of their society, at
home they were equal to the Sky Class of healers, priests and
priestesses, and subordinate only to the tiny Royal Sun class. This
gave them precedent over practically everyone else. At Aquila all
students were equal, from the lowest beggar to the loftiest duke’s
son. Most of the Sutheralli behaved, but Mhysra could understand
why this had been an insult too far for Ierali.

“
You
can’
t stop them.
”
Russet-haired Jaymes smiled shyly. Though he sat next to Mhysra in
Myran
’
s lessons, they
had exchanged little more than names.
“
Once Alyne gets her teeth into something,
she
’
ll go at it for
days. We called her Terrier back in Farian.
”

Watching the Sutheralli trying to use her
slightly taller height to intimidate the stocky northerner, Mhysra
shook her head.
“
I
’
m not
sure who I should be more worried for.
”

“
Ierali,” Greig said firmly. “Not even a Storm Warrior can
outdo a Northern Red once they get going.” He tugged a clump of
Jaymes’
hair.

The redhead sighed.
“
Don
’
t judge a man by his hair, lest you be judged by
your family.
”

“
Ouch.”
Greig grimaced. “
I beg you, never judge me by my
uncle.
”

“I like your
uncle,” Mhysra protested, watching their instructors hand out
practise weapons.

Greig blinked, opened his mouth, then
shrugged.
“
You
’
re
Wingborn to Cumulo – you
’
re addled. I
’
ll pray for you.
”
Taking his practise sword from Master Derneon, he
skittered out of reach before Mhysra could swat him with hers.

“I will hand
you yours first next time,” the smith promised her with a wink.
Turning away, he frowned. “Why are you making such noise, you
pair?”

Jaymes and Mhysra
’
s eyes met in silent amusement as the
Ihran separated the arguing girls.

“Ah, Storm
Warrior. How could we forget?” Master Gedanon came over, stroking
his jaw, and scowled. “Because we did not. You are poor at staff
work. If your sword craft is the same, you belong here. If it is
better, improve at the staff. Your past does not matter at Aquila.
Pick up your sword and prepare to learn.”

“Remind me
never to get on his bad side,” Jaymes muttered.

“He has no
good one,” Master Derneon chuckled. “Grumpy, grumpier and annoyed.
You will learn.” Winking again, the smith rejoined his partner to
begin the unenviable task of teaching.

Captain Myran took his leave and the
first-years were ordered to face the front.
“
We begin,
”
Gedanon said, holding a practise blade in his
right hand.
“
Strike,
then block. Like so.

“Strike high.
”
Extending his arm, he slowly swung the sword down
from overhead.
“
Middle.
”
He thrust forward.
“
Low.
”
He
swung up from his feet.
“
Left high.
”
He swung from his behind his right shoulder to
above his left.
“
Right
low.
”
He turned and
crouched.
“
Left middle.
Right middle.
”
He
twisted from side to side.
“
Right high. Left low.
”
Mirroring the earlier strikes.
“
Now you.
”

Gedanon called the moves and the students
followed, some faster than others in their enthusiasm.
“
No!
”
the swordmaster shouted.
“
Slow. Accuracy is more important than
speed. The body must learn this new weight and movement. Speed
comes later. Now follow.
”
He led them through it slowly five times before he
was satisfied.

“Good. Switch hands.
”

The students blinked stupidly and Derneon
smiled at their confusion.
“
A sword is the best weapon against kaz-naghkt. But
kaz-naghkt have many weapons. Claws on hands and feet.
”
He curled his fingers and swiped
across the nearest student
’
s belly, making the boy yelp.
“
Teeth.
”
He snapped at a girl and she squeaked.
“
Spurs on the wings.
”
He jabbed his fingers at two more
students, grinning when they flinched.
“
Kaz-naghkt have weapons all over.
”

“You must fight on all sides,
”
Gedanon agreed.
“
Switch hands.
”

The students obeyed dubiously and repeated
the strikes with varying measures of success. Yelps sounded as
students were whacked on heads, shoulders and knees. Poor Mouse was
bashed on the head by both of his neighbours when he swung too
wildly once too often.

When Gedanon had led them through it more
than ten times and the collisions had stopped, he told them to
switch back, then introduced the blocks designed to hold off
various strikes. When he was satisfied that they could manage with
both hands, he paired them up.

“Right side strike, left block. Go slowly.
Ready? High. Middle. Low.
”
After a few false starts and many bashed fingers,
the students fell into a steady rhythm, keeping pace with the
swordmaster
’
s voice and
the clack of the swords.
“
Left side strike, right block.
”
They swapped roles and both masters
walked around, adjusting stances and holds, raising arms or
lowering them, bending elbows and knees. After the excitement
Mhysra had felt at finally getting her hands on a sword it was
disappointing, boring and painful.

“My arms!
”
Greig moaned after they were dismissed.
“
They feel like
string.
”

“String?
”
Mhysra grimaced, flexing her wrists and rolling
her stiff shoulders.
“
Lucky you. I can
’
t even feel mine.
”

“You
’
re all so feeble.
”
Bright-eyed and with a spring in his step, Derrain
rubbed her shoulders.
“
As if all these months of regular training
haven
’
t built you
up.
”

“They haven
’
t,
”
Greig, Mhysra, Mouse and Corin chorused.

Sharing a glance with Dhori, Derrain shook
his head.
“
You are such
disappointments to me.
”

Chuckling, Corin jumped up and ruffled his
hair.
“
You
’
ll get over it.
”

3
^rd
Storm

MY DEAREST SISTER,

I miss you already, and it has
not yet been a month since you left. I even miss your bumbling pup,
but I’m glad to hear you’ve settled in and I hope you are well. I
wish things weren’t as they are, but I would be lying if I said our
parents are reconciled to your choice. Father wanted to petition
the Stratys for your return, until mother reminded him that Prince
Lyrai is a Rider and the Stratys might deem it an insult. There is
apparently little they can do, so for now, you and Cumulo are safe.
Relatively speaking.