Dragongift

By Becca Lusher

Aquila has fallen and the Rift Riders are homeless. Freshly settled in the heart of the Overworld, the kaz-naghkt are more dangerous than ever, especially when united with their pirate allies. Scattered and divided, the Riders are desperate to reclaim their home – but first they need help.

After fleeing into the Greater West, Mhysra, Lyrai and their friends are sent south to the kingdom of Havia to plead for aid. But the land also borders the magical Storm Wash on the very edge of the Dragonlands, and soon the Riders have more to worry about than kaz-naghkt and unfriendly kings.

Back at Aquila, Lord Yullik sits high in his tower of triumph, but little does he know of the troubles that wait in the shadows.

The Dragongifted are waking – and the Overworld will never be the same again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Becca Lusher
• Release date: Dec 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370364954

Becca Lusher

Having an overactive imagination hasn’t always been a good thing: I spent much of my childhood scared of the dark and terrified by the stories my older sister told me (mostly to stop her being the only one afraid of the dark). These days I find it useful. I love stories, I love fantasy, I love things with wings, stars and the world around me, and I have great fun combining them all into my stories.Born in the UK, I live in the wild south-west where I run around with my dogs and get bossed about by cats, while taking photos of gorgeous landscapes, reading lots of books and climbing rocks.I’ve also been known to write stories.

Book preview

DRAGONGIFT

The WINGBORN series Book 3

BECCA LUSHER

All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © Becca Lusher 2017

Cover design and images Copyright © Becca Lusher

Except: Wing Vector Copyright © Silverrose111/Fotolia

Smashwords Edition

1st Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy.

Or at least leave a review on your favourite retailer or reviewing website.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

DRAGONGIFT

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Character List

Overworld Terms

Storm Wings

About the Author

~ ~ ~

For all the displaced people of the world,

cast out from friends, family, homes and homelands.

May you find sanctuary, safety, love and compassion.

And may we all find peace.

Fly high, fly fast, fly free.

~ ~ ~

Prologue

Aquila

27th Harvest, 787 Cloud Era

THERE WAS BLOOD on the walls, blood on the floor and blood on his hands. In the distance chittering shrieks announced that the kaz-naghkt had found the infirmary and were feasting on the dead. It wouldn’t be long before they followed. There was too much blood to hide.

Don’t let them eat me. Please, don’t let them eat me.

Mouse tightened his grip on his fellow student’s waist and checked that the bandages were still holding around Resten’s middle. Hush, he murmured soothingly. It will be all right.

But he didn’t know if it would be. How could it be? There were kaz-naghkt inside Aquila, rampaging through the halls, with the Wrathlen pirates not too far behind. They had bombarded the citadel, broken the siege and swept in on a murderous tide. Everyone that could flee already had, saving themselves to fight another day. Leaving the wounded to do what they could.

Beside him, Resten groaned, his knees failing and almost dragging Mouse down with him. Letting the other boy slither to the floor, Mouse caught himself against the tunnel wall and stared at his hand in the flickering torchlight. His palm was black and glistening.

At his feet, Resten’s life bled out onto the floor.

Behind, the kaz-naghkt chittered. They were coming.

One

Refugees

Kaskad, Etheria

19th Gale

IT WAS DARK here, so very dark, lit only by the sullen red of the dragongift globe clenched tightly in Mhysra’s fingers. The walls were wet to the touch, yet warm, and somewhere water was dripping. A steady, relentless plip that kept pace with the slow pulse of the light in her hand. Her feet scuffed against the rough floor of the tunnel as she stumbled along, looking for something she couldn’t remember.

Firelight flickered up ahead, promising warmth and light and comfort. The globe fell from her fingers as she tripped hurriedly on, falling into the wider space of a cavern half-filled with rubble. It rose in heaps and mini mountains, except for a cleared circle in the centre where a man sat, stirring a great cauldron over the fire. Too lonely, tired and cold to care who he was, Mhysra scrambled over the rocks and dirt until she slid down to join him.

Eyes intent on his bubbling brew, the man smiled. You took your time.

"S-sorry?" She shivered, holding her hands out to the flames, but though they shimmered orange and yellow, she felt no warmth. The backs of her hands and fingers were scraped raw and bleeding, but even they were chilled.

"So you should be. The man looked at her, pale eyes narrowing in amusement when she stared dumbly back. Lost your tongue, little one?"

Something broke the surface of the cauldron and she looked down – and recoiled as a thick, meaty tongue slid over the spoon before sinking again.

Seeing her horror-stricken face, the stranger laughed. Forgive me, I couldn’t resist. He stirred the brew again and scooped out a sliver of meat. There’s nothing so delicious as tender doelyn, is there?

Stones bit hard into her palms and wrists where she’d scrambled backwards, but she didn’t care. She stared at the innocuous lump of meat on the spoon, then at the smiling man holding it. Something didn’t feel right, but she relaxed anyway and settled close to the flames again. It was too cold for suspicions.

"Good girl, he chuckled, dunking the meat back into the broth. Can’t have you frightened of me. Wingborn should stick together."

An unpleasant buzz started in her mind, and she stared at him. Excuse me?

"Wingborn. He raised his dark eyebrows in surprise. You know, born at the same moment another hatches from its egg. You and your miryhl, Cumulo, I believe his name is. Twins in different forms."

"I know what a Wingborn is," she told him, frowning as the buzzing grew louder. She touched a hand to her temple and rubbed.

He smiled and stirred. Then you will recognise in me what I see in you.

"You’re Wingborn?" she asked, more because of what he was implying than what she could see. To her he was a stranger of slight build, with dark gold skin, sharp features and the palest eyes. They glowed a weak barley in the firelight. Looking at him made her shiver, as if something was missing in him. An emptiness that scared her. Yet she was fascinated, unable to look away. He drew and repelled her in equal measures. No wonder she was confused.

"Clever child, he murmured, lifting his spoon and sipping the broth. However did you guess? When she said nothing, he smiled and went back to stirring. Hardly loquacious, are you? But it’s been a long time since I last encountered another Wingborn, rare as we are. Perhaps I am your first?"

Again he paused, again she said nothing. No words would form over the noise in her head. It hurt and was distracting, yet his words came through clearly.

"It’s a shame we are so few these days. A shame to be so alone. No one knows how we feel. No one else understands. Just you and your miryhl, and yet he’s a bird. Not even he can understand how you truly feel. Nor you him. Different from everyone, separate. How does it feel, child, to be so alone?"

"I’m not alone." The words were weary and forced, slurring as they struggled to get past the buzzing.

"No, he agreed, with a smile and a stir. You have me. And I have you. Where are you, by the way?" The question was casual, yet it made something tighten in Mhysra’s gut and the buzzing in her head became a roar.

She felt her lips move, but couldn’t hear the words. She had no idea what she was saying, but the stranger nodded, smiling as he lifted a bowl and spooned broth into it.

"Very good, he said. Here. I’ve got something for you." The spoon swirled and she looked down —

Into the staring eyes of her dead brother’s face.

SHE WOKE SCREAMING. At least her mouth was open, but her throat was too tight to make a sound. She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t scream, she couldn’t breathe. Instead she gasped like a landed fish, while memories played behind her eyes. Of tunnels, darkness, a stranger with barley-pale eyes and a thundering cave-in caused by her brother’s sacrifice.

Kilai, she mouthed, wrapping her arms about her knees and hiding her face as she rocked. There were no tears, like there was no sound. Dry-eyed and silent, but the nightmares still crept up on her every night.

Someone tapped on the door. Mhysra? Are you awake yet? Derrain, a fellow second-year Rift Rider student and her best friend, peeped inside the gloomy room.

At his appearance she stopped rocking and gazed at him from beneath her tangled curls. The buzzing in her head grew until she could say nothing, but then there was nothing to say.

DERRAIN GLANCED AROUND the cramped room that had been allocated to the female students. Seven rumpled beds took up almost all the space, but he only cared about one. Huddled in a nest of blankets, Mhysra looked haggard, thin and so sad that his chest tightened in sympathy. Sighing, he stepped into the room and shut the door.

Oh, little one, he murmured, taking her into his arms. She made no move to resist, nor did she soften. It was like hugging a knot of human grief. He held her anyway; it made him feel better.

It had been a month and a half since Aquila fell to the relentless attacks of the kaz-naghkt and their Wrathlen pirate allies. His memory was still a blur of panic, fear and pain of the days when they fought through the cramped tunnels beneath the mountain, struggling to escape their enemies. There was much he didn’t remember, so much he’d missed while unconscious or dazed with injury, but somewhere in that madness people had been left behind. And Mhysra’s brother had died. A cavern had caved-in unexpectedly and, while thrusting his sister to safety, Kilai had fallen behind. Now he was buried in the rubble beneath Aquila, and kaz-naghkt were feasting in those once noble halls.

Mhysra wasn’t the only one who’d lost someone when the Riders were forced to abandon their home, the citadel where future Rift Riders had been trained for centuries, but it had hit her hard. Too hard, he’d heard some mutter, criticising her for indulging in her grief. But at least she didn’t spend all her time crying, moping or whining about things that couldn’t be changed – she just didn’t speak. At first she’d seemed fine, until she’d fallen into a fever caused by her wounds. Her recovery had been swift, but she’d been silent ever since. Then again, during their month-long trip across the Heighlen Range in the middle of the Storm Season and on down through the peaks of Kevian, Derrain hadn’t had much to say either.

He’d never thought he could grow sick of flying, but apparently there was a limit. About two days of constant rain and rough nights had pretty much been it. Yet while everyone else complained, lost their tempers, threw histrionic fits or succumbed to colds and sniffles, Mhysra had remained calm, separate and silent. If he wasn’t so worried about how she was suffering, he might have been glad. Truly, there were worse travelling companions than a silent one.

Derry? Corin tapped on the door and entered. She up yet?

Looking at his fellow student over Mhysra’s head, he shook his head.

Corin’s mouth turned down, then she straightened her shoulders and marched over to the bed. I brought you some breakfast, Mhysra. Not that I blame you for not going into that mad house. Westerners are such barbarians.

Hey, Derrain protested softly. Some of us aren’t so bad.

Once we get you trained, Corin agreed, shoving a dried fruit roll at Mhysra. Eat. There’s nothing of you. If you get any thinner, Cumulo will blow away on an updraft.

Mhysra pulled out of Derrain’s loose hold and straightened slowly, as if the slightest move hurt. No one had escaped the tunnels without injury, and though the wound on Mhysra’s side was deep, the stitches had been removed long ago and most of her bruises had faded. But Derrain didn’t need to be a healer to know that his friend’s worst wounds were on the inside.

I’ll leave you to eat and get changed, he murmured gruffly, kissing the top of her head, feeling the need to be more affectionate during her isolation. Don’t be long. Captain Hylan wants to count everyone up today. Knowing she would be safe in Corin’s hands, he headed for the door and left them to it.

AS THE BIGGEST and richest of the four kingdoms of the Greater West, Etheria was home to the Western Flying Corps, including the Rift Riders. After the attack on Feather Frost three years ago, Rider life had become centred at Kaskad. Situated inside a mazy canyon along the main spine of Etheria’s east-west sprawl, it was more sheltered than Feather Frost had been and better protected from the brunt of the north wind.

Yet despite its reasonable location, the land was barren and surrounded by brittle cliffs. If the rock didn’t shatter at a hammer blow, it sheered off in great sheets that sliced down the canyon side, crushing all in its path. As such the base was built out of pine: quick to use and easy to replace. Unlike the beautiful, weather-bleached stone of Aquila, the stately elegance of Nimbys or the icy isolation of Feather Frost, Kaskad had not been designed to last.

In short it was ugly. That had been Lieutenant Lyrai’s first impression of the place, some four years ago, and it hadn’t changed in the time he’d been away. Squat, sprawling and ugly, it looked like a mishmash of children’s toys thrown in a heap against a tilted bookshelf of dusty, yellow cliffs. There was plenty of beauty to be found in Etheria, with its fertile valleys and high grazing plateaus, but what use were such things to Rift Riders? Or so the monarchs had decided, when they awarded the Flying Corps this scrubby spot in a desolate canyon.

Strong winds gusted down the zigzag gullies, living up to Gale Month’s name and kicking up dust spirals. It was a day to stay inside with the shutters locked, and Lyrai wasn’t sorry that they didn’t have to fly today. Though the novelty of a dry flight would be welcomed, the dust and gusts would not.

Flying or grounded, he still took the opportunity of his free morning to visit the eyries and check on his bonded miryhl.

How do you like your new quarters?

With his brown on cream marbled feathers, Hurricane didn’t look like any other miryhl Lyrai had ever known. That didn’t mean he wasn’t like the rest of his species in enjoying a good preen from his Rider, though. As Lyrai ran his fingers through his miryhl’s feathers, shaking out the dust and checking for injuries, the big eagle purred.

After all the scrambling we’ve done of late, this rickety barn is quite a haven.

The miryhl next to them – a big, conker-brown male with golden highlights – snorted and muttered beneath his breath. Lyrai distinctly heard the words Nimbys, Wellingdrop and rats, and had to smile: Cumulo was not impressed with his new residence.

Once Lyrai would have been shocked to hear another miryhl speak. It wasn’t that they couldn’t – all miryhls could talk perfectly well – it was just that they didn’t traditionally choose to speak with anyone beyond their own Rider. Except in emergencies. That didn’t mean conversations weren’t overheard occasionally, but they were always politely ignored. Not so with Cumulo. But the brash Wingborn was not known for following the crowd. If he felt something needed saying, he would come out with it, regardless of who was listening.

At least there isn’t a draft, Hurricane said, once Cumulo’s grumbles had died down.

In this place that’s something of a miracle, Lyrai remarked dryly, wishing he could say the same of the quarters he’d been assigned. No matter how many blankets he and the other lieutenants had shoved into cracks and corners, there was always another breeze waiting when he lay down again. After a month and a half camping in the wilderness, he didn’t think it was too much to ask to spend one night without a chill creeping down his neck, but apparently it was.

Moving onto Hurricane’s beautiful wings, Lyrai chatted with his bonded as he worked, asking how he was feeling after their recent flights and catching up on the gossip. The eyries were a busy, raucous place at the best of times, but Kaskad was dangerously overcrowded. Since the place doubled as a base for working Rift Riders and the Greater West’s selection school, it meant there had already been a full flight of a hundred miryhls here before the Aquilan refugees had even arrived.

Then there were the newly chosen eagles from the newest students, who should have gone to Aquila months ago, except fate and the Wrathlen had interfered. It had been a good year for applicants too, and normally Lyrai would have been delighted to see forty newcomers ready and raring to train, but right now they were nothing but a nuisance. With the addition of a hundred unexpected arrivals, Kaskad was at its limit, for both humans and miryhls.

Yet that was still too few. There had been two-and-a-half flights of Riders in and around Aquila and around one-hundred-and-forty students before the troubles began. They’d lost three-quarters of their number, and many miryhl/Rider pairings were temporary, forged out of necessity after one partner had died or gone missing and left the other grieving and stranded on the long escape flight.

All hail the mighty Rift Riders, Lyrai muttered from the muffled warmth beneath Hurricane’s wing.

How could they ever regain Aquila when the cost of losing it had been so high? But they couldn’t simply abandon it. It was more than just a base or training academy – it had been their home. Their heart. The one place across the Overworld where Riders could simply be without needing to bow to any higher power. Now they were reliant on handouts and politics. If the kaz-naghkt’s aim in taking Aquila was to destroy the Riders, they had quite possibly succeeded.

More likely it was just a side bonus to their real goal of securing a base as close to the middle of the Overworld as possible. From Aquila, the enemy could strike east and south without the inconvenience of getting past the Greater West first. Which made it even more important that the Riders regain their lost home as swiftly and cleanly as possible.

A gentle murmur drew Lyrai out of his self-pity long enough to emerge from under Hurricane’s wing. Ruffling the dust from his hair and dunking his hands in a bucket to scrub off the grim, he smiled at the girl leaning against Cumulo’s chest.

Morning, Mhysra.

She acknowledged him with a nod and turned her face away.

He wasn’t sorry for it. Her grief was a stark pain ever-present in her eyes, and it made him near sick with guilt. He’d been with her under the mountain. He had held her back from her brother. Perhaps if he’d tried harder to kill that well-spoken stranger, Yullik, things would have been different. But he hadn’t, and they weren’t, and another good Rider had been lost. More than half of Mhysra seemed to have gone with him. He missed the girl’s sly humour, even the way she used to blush and hide from him. He missed the way she flew on Cumulo as if they were the same creature, and the way she used to interact with her friends. She was one of his students and he had failed her.

Rumbling with concern, Hurricane rested his beak against Lyrai’s back. She will get better, he murmured. Give her time and Cumulo. She will recover.

Knowing his bonded spoke the truth, yet unsure he could believe it when the girl stood unseeing by her Wingborn’s side, Lyrai stroked Hurricane’s cheek. I’ll see you later.

Turning to leave, he paused and glanced at the girl and her miryhl. It was time for everyone assemble with Captain Hylan in Kaskad’s hall, to check who had made it and who had not. Yet watching Cumulo preen his Wingborn’s hair and coo softly, he realised he didn’t want to intrude on whatever healing the miryhl might be doing. So instead of telling Mhysra that it was time to go, he shook his head, nodded farewell to the eagles around him and left.

DUE TO THE mad scramble of the evacuation from Aquila, especially after the kaz-naghkt broke into the tunnels, it had been difficult to know exactly who had escaped, who’d been left behind and who was missing, presumed dead. Derrain remembered the dark nights when their skyship, the Miryhl Talon, packed with ordinary folk from Aquila town as well as the walking wounded, had come under attack from pirates. Thankfully the Harrier had kept pace with them. A lighter, faster skyship, it had housed not only Riders but two packs of pyreflies, who’d made the pursuing pirates swiftly regret their decision. It had been a shame that it had taken the Talon and Harrier so long to return from their previous evacuation runs. Perhaps if the pyreflies had remained at the citadel things might have turned out differently.

Probably not, since that final flight from Aquila had attracted a mere handful of skyships, rather than the entire fleet the citadel had battled so valiantly against. Besides, it was the kaz-naghkt who’d done the worst damage, and they’d showed no signs of chasing the survivors. Much to the relief of all.

Entering the hall now, Derrain felt apprehension knot in his stomach. This was the first time he would find out how many friends he’d lost. Things in the Heighlen had been a mess. Leaving the regular folk at Restra, the Riders had recovered from their fevers and wounds and moved on as swiftly as possible. The Heighlen Range was too sparsely populated for them to stay there. They had to get to a place of strength as swiftly as possible. Or so the officers said.

Knocked silly from shock, exhausted by grief and washed out by their wounds, most had followed blindly, like so many mountain sheep. Hopping a little further west every day, they met up with other groups and left several behind. Until they made it here.

Now the time of reckoning had come. Captain Hylan sat on the dais at the front of the hall, the table before him covered with papers, inkwells, quills. Standing behind the captain, the remaining lieutenants – Brathyn, Hlen, Stirla and Lyrai – were all thinner and grimmer than at midsummer.

Just seeing those faces was enough to remind Derrain of the missing. Where were the other captains, Myran and Fredkhen? The other four lieutenants? What about the sergeants, where were they? It made his heart hurt, so Derrain turned from the dais to look for his friends.

Groups of people huddled around the four long tables that stretched the length of the room. Spotting familiar faces, he headed towards the nearest window. Dhori and Corin had been with him every step of the way, and both looked as tired as he felt. Standing with them was a familiar red-haired lad. But no one else.

Gods, he muttered, pushing his way towards the depleted group. It’s good to see you, Jaymes.

Freckles standing out like bruises on his pale skin, Jaymes smiled wearily. Hey, Derry. Have you seen Silveo? Though his tone was casual, his eyes were worried. He already knew the truth, but was attempting to deny it while the possibility of hope still remained.

Sorry. Derrain shook his head. He and Mouse spent so much time in the infirmary, I hadn’t seen either of them for days before we left.

Jaymes’ whole body slumped. Me neither.

Dhori placed a comforting hand on the smaller lad’s shoulder. The healers had their own plans for if all else failed. They would have stayed with them and the wounded.

Before Jaymes could answer, or dwell on the fact that whatever the healers had in mind they couldn’t have left Aquila without a skyship, Mhysra appeared. A pale wraith of silence, she wrapped an arm about Jaymes’ waist and rested her head his shoulder in quiet sympathy.

Jaymes swallowed hard and stared at the floor, leaning his head against hers.

Dhori, Corin, Derry, Jaymes, Mhysra. Lieutenant Stirla, armed with a clerk and a chalkboard, came to register them. All whole? he asked. Got your miryhls?

They nodded, and Derrain realised that they were the lucky ones. Many had been permanently wounded in legs and arms, lost eyes or been heavily scarred. Sure, they all bore scratches, but what Rider didn’t? And they all had their own miryhls. Plenty had not been so lucky.

Take a seat then and draw up a list of everyone you knew at the citadel, marking whether you know them to be dead, here, if you think they’re missing or you just don’t know. He and the clerk handed out paper and the five students settled at the nearest table where quills and ink were waiting.

Any of you seen Greig? Stirla paused to ask after his nephew, another missing year-mate.

They shook their heads, and Corin said, He was on infirmary duty with Haelle the day before we left.

Frowning, Stirla told the clerk to make a note, nodded and moved onto the next group.

They made a right mess of it, didn’t they? Corin muttered after silence fell again, each of them staring at their blank paper, not knowing where to start.

No one expected the citadel to fall, Dhori sighed, dipping his quill and writing each of their names in a flowing script. Not like that. It happened too fast. All of it, from the Wrathlen to the siege to the catapults. No one expected any of it.

So many dead, so many lost. Derrain could only shake his head as he scribbled name after name, still unable to accept the facts. What happens now?

They looked at Dhori, because he always had the answers. He shrugged and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It depends on what the Corps decide, and whether the captain is willing to wait for word from the general. Envoys, probably. We need help and we can’t all stay here.

Derrain wasn’t the only one to look around at the wooden walls. Kaskad was basic at best, not to mention cramped. The girls were sleeping in a storeroom.

Where will we go? Corin asked, sounding lost and forlorn.

I don’t know, Dhori admitted, voice full of defeat.

Well, Derrain said, as cheerfully as he could manage, I know it’d be nice to rest, but I can’t say I’d mind moving on from here. A gust rattled the loose slates on the roof of the hall, filling the room with cold. You never know, we might get lucky and be sent somewhere warm.

For a change, Corin grumbled, but she smiled, which was all Derrain could ask for.

Or home, Jaymes muttered, toying with his quill and leaning against Mhysra’s shoulder.

Anywhere, Dhori added, shivering as another gust swirled into the room.

Corin nodded firmly and nudged Derrain. As long as we’re together. I’ve come too far with you lot to risk losing you now.

Derrain wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her against his side. For warmth as much as comfort. Best stick with what you know, eh?

Where is he? Have you seen him? Why isn’t he here yet?

The commotion drew their attention to the dais, where a student was thumping the long table and shouting into Captain Hylan’s face. The captain sat calmly through the tirade, looking deeply unimpressed.

Tell me!

For a moment there was silence, filled only by the moaning wind and rattling slates.

Lieutenant Hlen emerged from the crowd and took the boy by the arm. Not now, Bovei.

I saw – I-I saw – The boy had to stop and shake his head to force the words out. I saw Fherras fall and Fredkhen captured. But I didn’t see him. Where is he?

At last Captain Hylan moved, standing up to lean across the table until he was nose-to-nose with the distraught student. Since Bovei was a scrawny five-and-a-half feet at a generous estimate and the captain was well over six foot, he easily dwarfed the boy. But Bovei wouldn’t back down.

You are being disrespectful, student. Sergeant Fherras and Captain Fredkhen earned their rank. Use them.

Bovei opened his mouth, no doubt to issue more demands, but Hlen yanked him back to cut him off.

Hylan straightened, a thunderous expression on his normally calm face. You are not the only one to have lost someone, student. I make allowances for your grief, but do not think yourself and your needs more important than others. Regardless of who your father may be.

Derrain shared a grimace with his friends. Bovei’s father was a wealthy lord of the Greater West – even if no one could ever remember his name.

But he’s a lieutenant! Bovei wailed, before Hlen could shut him up again.

"And we are missing captains! Hylan growled in return. Not to mention men, miryhls and students. Even the dean himself is unaccounted for. Lieutenant Willym’s rank makes him no more, nor less, valuable than any of the others whose names are on this list. He slammed a broad hand on a stack of papers far thicker than the slender pile containing the names of those present and accounted for. His absence has been noted, student. More than that, I cannot say."

But you must know. Someone must know where he is! Bovei’s desperate cry died into silence as no one offered him an answer.

Derrain didn’t know about anyone else, but he thought there were far more important people than Lieutenant Willym missing. The man was practically a poisonous kaz-naghkt in human form. If he’d fallen prey to them, well, it wasn’t as if he’d be missed.

Except by Bovei. Rumpled and trembling, the boy shook off Lieutenant Hlen’s hand, raised his chin and marched from the hall, a smattering of followers in his wake. The door slammed behind them, rattling yet more tiles from the rickety roof.

Riders, Captain Hylan said, raising his voice as he looked around the hall. Back to work. Let’s finish these and move on.

There were no more arguments as everyone returned to their lists.

Two

Lessons

20th Gale

IT WAS A sombre group that met in the officer’s mess the next morning. They weren’t there to eat, but to plan. Sitting on either side of Lyrai were his fellow captains-in-training, Stirla and Hlen, though neither of their captain-instructors were present. Of the four senior