Cloud Cursed

By Becca Lusher

After five hundred years of drowning the Overworld, the Cloud Curse is changing. In their arrogance and complacency many dragons thought they were safe, but no longer. The Curse has shifted course and is attacking each dragon Clan in different and insidious ways. Elder Khennik kin Blazeborn is determined to stop it, but in the vast libraries of Spire Heights it's hard to know where to begin – or who to trust.

Spire Heights offers the Rift Riders a different threat: boredom. With no trade treaties to negotiate and few feasts to attend, the ambassador doesn't really need them, leaving the humans with far too much time on their hands. Still, Lieutenant Nera is confident that for once she can keep out of trouble, because surely nothing dangerous ever happens in a library...

Return to the Dragonlands as curses, conspiracies, friends and foes combine in the Riders' most mysterious adventure yet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Becca Lusher
• Release date: Sep 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463641187

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

CURSED

The DRAGONLANDS 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 2018

Cover image Copyright © Algol/Fotolia

Cover design Copyright © Becca Lusher

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.

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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

CLOUD CURSED

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

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Starlight Solutions

Character List

Overworld Terms

Burning Sky

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also Available

~ ~ ~

This is for the libraries.

And the librarians and volunteers who keep them all running.

Unsung heroes and temples of knowledge.

Home of adventures and dreams and information at your fingertips.

In your silence I first took flight.

Long may you inspire the world.

~ ~ ~

One

Heading South

On board the Skylark

22nd Blizzard Month, 579 Cloud Era

I CAN’T BE in here, Lieutenant Nera of the Rift Riders protested, looking around in a panic. This is Elder Blazeborn’s cabin!

He’s flying, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart said simply, looking utterly unconcerned at the prospect of his elder returning to find that his aide had installed a human inside his precious private space. And when he stops, he’ll resume his watch at Kalaha’s door. He won’t even notice you’re here.

Nera could think up plenty of refutations to that, since Khennik kin Blazeborn Clan Sunlord was well known for spending every evening in his cabin watching the sunset before joining the other dragon elders for dinner with the captains and ambassador. It was a well-established routine, which Nera understood because her life was often full of routine too.

Life in the Rift Riders was an active one that led to a lot of travel all across the Overworld, but each day was usually the same as the last, ready to echo on through the ones that followed. It could be dull, it was often boring, but always familiar. Oh, how Nera missed it. The moon had waxed full and begun to wane since they’d left the Winter Moot, and she’d spent the whole time stuck inside the Skylark, waiting for her chance to fly again.

She understood why, of course, since her ill-planned and poorly executed rescue attempt of Elder Blazeborn had left her with mild burns and badly scratched up legs. Some might think it easy to sit on a miryhl’s back all day, since the giant eagles did all the hard work of flying, but a good Rider was an active Rider, shifting in the saddle to counterbalance their partner, sitting upright or leaning forwards as necessary. All of which involved flexing and stretching her legs, and since the injury on her right thigh was big and had removed a good deal of skin, Nera knew her best hope of recovery was to stay out of the saddle.

That didn’t mean she had to like it.

Better you sit still now and heal up properly, Captain Wellswen had said, two days into their southward journey when Nera’s constant presence in the cabin her commander shared with Ambassador Jesken was just starting to irritate them all equally. That way we won’t show any weakness when we make out next stop.

The dragons already thought humans were weak, so Nera could appreciate the captain not wanting to further confirm such things with an injured lieutenant. Still, when Estenarven barged into the ambassador’s cabin on the eighth morning of their trip, picked her up and carried her off, Nera thought her salvation had arrived. A quarter-moon under Wellswen’s constant scrutiny had been more than enough. The ambassador had been kind – she always was – but the cabin was barely big enough for two women who actually liked spending time together. Adding a third to the mix had left the atmosphere strained.

Nera’s relief was short-lived as Estenarven took her into the next-door cabin and dropped her on the only chair in the cramped room.

Of course he’ll notice. I’m right in front of the window!

You won’t sleep here, the stone-stubborn Boulderforce assured her. It’s just during the day. We thought you’d enjoy the view.

Which was very sweet of him, since Nera’s leg was too stiff and heavily bandaged for her to be able to climb easily up and down between the decks, leaving her mostly stuck inside. But that didn’t mean Elder Blazeborn wouldn’t noticed she’d been there and object to having his sanctuary invaded by one of the many humans he had – until very recently – despised.

I can’t stay here, Esten. He’ll smell me!

Everyone knew dragons had better senses than humans. According to the dragons they had better everything than humans. Khennik would know she’d been here – and he’d resent it. Especially since her injuries had come about in a foolish attempt to rescue him, when he hadn’t needed her help at all. Most embarrassing of all, it had ended with him carrying her away from the scene.

The mere memory had her burying her head in her hands and groaning.

Stop it, P-p-pebble. The cabin door swung open to admit Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight, the second of Khennik’s young aides, carrying one of his ever-present trays of tea. D-don’t worry, Nera, it was Elder B-blazeborn’s idea.

He knows you’re here, Estenarven agreed, smiling slyly.

It was a stretch to reach him from her seat, but Nera managed to smack him in the ribs anyway, making Mastekh chuckle and herself feel better.

Swiftwing Clanlands

3rd Cold Month

SITTING BEFORE THE great window inside Elder Blazeborn’s cabin, Nera propped her elbows on the narrow sill and peered through one of the small lead-framed panes. The view beyond was predominantly white as the Cloud Sea stretched out in a constant reminder of the Curse that had struck their world.

If anyone had ever known the true reason why the gods had sent the clouds, no one remembered it now, neither dragon nor human. There had been so much chaos back in the days when the world first drowned that it had always made sense to Nera that humans had forgotten what had caused it.

Five hundred years was a lot of human lives, especially when so many had been lost in the desperate rush to reach higher ground and learn how to adapt to their shrunken world. It made a lot less sense for the dragons, since they lived so much longer. Although she’d learnt that dragonkind too had paid a high price beneath the Curse, so many individuals had been alive both before and afterwards that surely they should know what had made the clouds first fall.

Was it any wonder then that many of them hated humans so much? Especially when recent events and tensions amongst the Clans had shown that the clouds were the least of the Curse’s plans for the Dragonlands. Shrinking territories, intolerant Clans, cruel elders – everywhere they looked the Curse was spreading in unexpected ways. Nera feared what evidence they might turn up next.

Her heavy sigh fogged up the glass. While she waited for it to clear, her gaze drifted over the thick panes. Sitting this close to the window, she could see tiny bubbles within the glass, small imperfections that were unnoticeable at a distance. Her eyes crossed as she focused on them, allowing the view to swim into a haze of white and grey. Above it all the sky was blue and cloudless, with nothing but the wind to move them along.

It was thanks to that wind that they’d made such good time heading south. After half a day of drifting anxiously away from Onalen’s Cove and the disastrous Dragon Moot, relying on their Thunderwing friends to keep the Skylark moving, a strong wind had been waiting for them at the border. Crossing out of the Flowflight lands had brought a relief of its own, since that Clan was notorious for its dislike of humans. Clan Swiftwing wasn’t well known for liking them much either, but they were also dragons who valued knowledge above all things.

Perhaps they were speeding the Skylark’s journey because they were curious to speak to the Riders and gain fresh stories for their libraries. Or maybe they were eager to meet with Elder Blazeborn and discuss his efforts to find cures for the Curse.

Most likely of all was the Clan’s collective wish to bring Kalaha home. Kalaha kin Windheart Clan Swiftwing was part of the delegation assigned to guide the humans through the Dragonlands. Personal aide to Elder Rainstorm, Kalaha had mostly kept to herself so far throughout their journey, seeming to place herself far above not just the humans but the other young dragon aides who should have been her equals. Or so they had all thought until, for no clear reason, she had risked her life to save Mastekh during a showdown with Elder Boulderforce. Buried in a landslide, Kalaha’s injuries were grave. While those onboard the Skylark were doing everything possible to help the young dragon heal, it was understandable that her own Clan was keen to bring her home where they could take care of her themselves.

Nera sympathised. Her own lesser injuries had left her too much time to think and miss the home she had left behind. Not just Aquila, which all Riders called home and where she had first learnt to fly and fight, but back with her mother, travelling the courts and rich homes of the Overworld. Nera missed watching her mother dance, missed curling up with her in the early morning hours, sharing stories of their day and other things that were on their minds. She missed the soothing touch of her mother’s hand on her brow, the kiss against her temple, the low hum of a lullaby.

Nera hadn’t missed those things for years. Remembering them now made her heart ache.

It would be five years or more before she was back in the human lands of the Overworld. Five years before she could see her mother again. They hadn’t even spent two full seasons here yet.

Another sigh fogged up the glass and Nera drew a small heart with a star inside it – the symbol she and her mother always signed their letters with.

I miss you, mama, she murmured, brushing her picture away with her thumb.

The view smeared beneath her touch and she frowned, pulling back for a better look.

The world was still mostly white with a perfect blue sky above, but something was taking shape in the centre. At first it was nothing but a smudge of grey and brown. Until the sun emerged from a distant cloud and cast a warm glow over it all.

Nera’s breath caught.

Spire Heights. The ancient Clanhome of Swiftwing.

Maegla, she breathed, rising slowly to her feet and backing away from the window to where the imperfect panes didn’t distort the view so much.

In four full moons of travel across the Dragonlands, Nera had seen marvels and wonders to fulfil a thousand childhood dreams. She’d thought the gorgeous green lands of the Skystorm Clanlands had been beautiful and Onalen’s Cove had been astonishing.

Spire Heights was breathtaking.

A row of jagged rock spikes rose out of the swirling maelstrom of the Cloud Sea, like clawed fingers of two monstrous hands. Nine spikes in all, between which clouds flowed and frothed to form a permanent misty stream.

The top of each extended into a tower built from weathered grey-blue stone and glimmering glass, with arching bridges connecting them in fine webs. Below those bridges, strange round structures dangled, glittering like dewdrops over the swirling Sea below.

Impressive, is it not?

Nera jumped, unaware that she had company. Her bad thigh twinged as she half-turned to glance behind.

Elder Blazeborn stood a few paces inside his cabin, arms folded across his chest as he too stared at the view. He was a tall, dark statue wrapped in bronze silk, with golden eyes and a forbidding countenance. He wasn’t frowning, nor was he smiling. He simply stared at the view as the Skylark was swept inexorably closer to Spire Heights and the home of Clan Swiftwing.

It was the first time Nera had seen him since he’d carried her away from the tunnels at the feet of Onalen’s Cove, after she’d attempted to rescue him and needed rescuing in return. He’d placed her carefully in her miryhl’s saddle and swept off into the night. Since then he’d been busy above decks, watching over Kalaha and flying, while Nera had lurked in his cabin during the day and slept on a pallet in the ambassador’s room at night.

The time for rest and recovery was now over, she suspected, and sidled away from the window towards the door with only the slightest limp to slow her down.

You don’t have to leave, Elder Blazeborn said, not taking his eyes from the view. Not yet.

Nera paused to study the way the sunlight poured through the south-facing window, the light clinging to his skin, revealing a slightly metallic shimmer and highlighting the golden tones beneath the bronze. He was warmth and heat, a true Sunlord. She had invaded his sanctuary for long enough.

It is past time, she told him, and slipped as quietly as possible through the door. She had duties to attend to and a miryhl she was overdue to fly once more.

KHENNIK KIN BLAZEBORN Clan Sunlord waited for the door to click shut behind the Rift Rider lieutenant before releasing a sigh. His shoulders lowered the slightest fraction and he breathed in deeply. Alone. At last.

A hint of jasmine clung to the air, rising up around him like a cloud as he sank into the chair by the window. He didn’t mind. He’d grown used to the scent since they’d left Onalen’s Cove. It was oddly comforting, seeping into every corner of the room and even stealing into his sleep. He still preferred to return to an empty cabin, where he could let down his guard and relax in comfort without any expectant eyes on him, but the reminder that someone else had been here too made him feel… less lonely? Khennik wasn’t certain. He’d never felt lonely before. He was solitary by nature and preference, and yet this strange trip all across the Dragonlands was teaching him things about himself he’d never known, never even suspected.

Especially where that particular human was concerned. Nera was small and fragile seeming, yet brave, bold and daring too. She had tried to save him – more than once – and had been hurt in the process. He had hurt her, leaving her with light burns, which had thankfully healed quickly until he could barely see them now. Unlike her leg. He could still detect a hitch in her gait when she moved.

It used to make him wince, as he lurked out of sight down the hallway every evening, when Estenarven or Mastekh had helped her move from his cabin back to the ambassador’s. The guilt had been strong in the early days – it was why he’d offered the use of his window to her during the day. As she’d grown stronger, and his guilt had faded, he’d still liked the idea of her staying in his room. It felt like he was somehow watching over her, even when he wasn’t close. If he knew where she was, he could be certain that she wouldn’t come to any further harm.

Snorting, Khennik shook his head at his own foolishness. First he had placed a claim on his young dragon aides, becoming their elder in truth rather than just name, now he was looking out for individual humans. What next? Egg gathering? Perhaps he should build himself a nest and keep an eye out for a suitable mate.

He grinned, baring his teeth at himself and the ridiculousness of that thought. He had enough responsibilities as it was. Adding a dragonling into the mix would likely send him mad. There was no way on this Overworld any offspring of his would ever be raised in a nursery out of his sight. He simply wouldn’t be able to trust their care to anyone else. The poor little creature would be forced to travel everywhere he went. It would likely fly away as soon as its wings budded just to get away from him.

Khennik smiled, almost able to imagine it now: a little bronze copy of himself, independent and ferocious, cunning and bold. Father Sun, what a dragon that would be.

Foolishness, he rumbled, shaking his head to disrupt the thoughts. He didn’t have time for dragonlings. His life was far too crowded as it was. He already had an entire kin to take care of, as well as his two aides, all the Rift Riders and crew of the Skylark, plus the responsibility of perfecting a cure for the Curse to save his whole Clan. Where would he find time to sire anything in all of that, let alone build a nest, protect the egg and raise a dragonling?

He didn’t even want to raise a dragonling. They were too fragile and apt to die or leave, and then where would he be? This was why he didn’t have friends or form close bonds with anyone or anything. Or so he’d told himself for years before leaving his desert and having such things thrust upon him.

Clearly, he was having a mid-existence crisis. Well, he was more than seven hundred years old. It was bound to hit him sooner or later.

Later, he ordered himself, because now was definitely not the time. Grabbing hold of his thoughts, he turned them determinedly in another direction. Luckily he had a view that provided the perfect distraction.

Pressing his foot against the cabin wall, he slid the chair back from the windows, the better to enjoy the approach to Spire Heights.

It was an impressive sight, just as he’d said to Nera, but one he’d seen before. A little showy for his own tastes, yet one he could still admire. The way the clouds poured between the supporting struts was a particularly nice touch. Khennik wondered what it had looked like before the Curse fell and suspected it hadn’t been nearly so beautiful.

Not that he would ever say as much. He snorted in amusement. Swiftwings weren’t just known for their pursuit of knowledge; their pride in their Clanhome ran just as deeply. Insulting the beauty of the place would be an excellent way to end any hope of cooperation between them and himself. Things were already in a precarious place thanks to Kalaha’s injuries. Not that he’d been permitted to see her at all on the journey. No one had been admitted into the state cabin except for Elder Goryal and Healer Litha. Even the handful of Swiftwing dragons who had visited along the route hadn’t been allowed through the double doors. Conversations in whispers and repeated assurances were all any of them had been allowed.

Khennik only hoped she still lived. He was near-certain she must do – her scent lingered, though it was often buried beneath sickness and with a constant edge of pain. She was still with them, but for how much longer he couldn’t tell.

The door opened soundlessly behind him. He felt the shift in the air, sensed the approach of two dragons and the enticing scent of ginger tea.

Mastekh appeared in the edge of his vision, placing a tray on the table and fussing about with the cups. Somewhere behind him Estenarven shuffled around, picking up stray items and packing them into the single travelling trunk that had accompanied Khennik all the way from the Blazeborn deserts.

Khennik didn’t move, allowing his aides to work in companionable silence. They weren’t bickering. They hadn’t done so once on this leg of the journey. Khennik found that he missed it; he missed his playful, slightly annoying aides. So much had happened to his young dragons since they’d arrived at the Winter Moot – beatings and betrayals and the pain of having Kalaha come to their rescue. He only hoped they would bounce back soon. Knowing Kalaha’s progress would help, but Goryal was in no rush to share such things. They always had been stingy with information, unless they were the one pursuing it.

A rattling cup appeared from the left and Khennik reached out to take it before the hot liquid could spill all over him. Mastekh’s nerves were better these days, and he seldom dripped on the floor, managing to maintain his human form and keep his focus. He still stammered and shook, but Khennik suspected that would always be a part of the young Rainstorm. He was sensitive by nature and often anxious. He was Mastekh; Khennik wouldn’t have him any other way.

Rishen has returned, Estenarven said, his voice deep in the quiet.

Mastekh dropped the teapot on the table with a clatter, knocking an empty cup onto the floor. The plush carpet caught it safely, but the Rainstorm dragon fell to his knees with a bubbling apology, hands dripping, shoulders shivering.

Khennik blew on the top of his tea and slid his chair around in a half turn, raising an eyebrow at Estenarven.

His Boulderforce aide grimaced and cast a sad look at Mastekh’s down bent head. Khennik sighed, grateful that Estenarven had told him even if it had upset Mastekh. Khennik needed the information and it was best to let Mastekh know that his elder, Rishen kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight, had returned. Despite being the third of the kin elders assigned to escort the human ambassador through the Dragonlands, Rishen hadn’t set foot on the Skylark since the Winter Moot. Khennik had rather hoped they’d lost him for good, since they had a fine replacement in the Thunderwing elder, but, alas, he was seldom so fortunate.

Nor was poor Mastekh, who had issues of his own with his kin elder, even though as an aide he was supposed to be under Khennik’s command. He was under his protection too, after events at the Moot had proven that neither Clan Flowflight nor Clan Stoneheart had any intention of caring for their young dragons. Khennik would do a much better job, mostly by letting his aides grow into themselves without driving them down very narrow, restrictive, and occasionally cruel paths.

He sipped his tea and waited for Mastekh to climb back to his feet. The poor Rainstorm was shaking too hard to pour cups for himself and Estenarven, so Khennik sent the Boulderforce a pointed look. While Estenarven took over the task of pouring, using the opportunity to press his side against the smaller dragon in a reassuring caress, Khennik looked out of the window, pretending not to notice. The two of them were so different, yet balanced each other perfectly in many ways. Estenarven was quick to finish the tea and, after glancing at Khennik, pressed a brief kiss to Mastekh’s damp cheek.

The Rainstorm flushed green, but his hands stopped dripping and he smiled as he sipped his own tea.

Khennik drained his cup in one long final draft and faced his aides again. This changes nothing, he said, standing. Estenarven was both taller and broader than him, but the Boulderforce lowered his head at his approach. Smaller Mastekh stole shy glances up at Khennik’s face before he too looked down.

You are mine, Khennik reminded them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. He wasn’t fond of physical contact, but this moment required it. He squeezed Mastekh’s shoulder and gave Estenarven a firm pat. No matter what anyone else says. Mine first.

Mastekh peered up at him with watery eyes and Khennik slid his hand away before his heat could grow too uncomfortable for the Rainstorm. He balled his fist and held those pleading eyes with his own. Always, he vowed, allowing a growl of power to underline how serious he was.

Mastekh shut his eyes and tilted his head down, shuddering – with relief, Khennik thought. Estenarven seemed to think so too, if his smile of thanks and approval was anything to judge by. Khennik patted the Boulderforce again before removing his hand.

The view beyond the window was now entirely made up of stone and buildings. Spire Heights was even more impressive up close.

Looks like we’ve arrived, he told his aides.

Estenarven placed his empty cup back on the tray and touched a comforting hand to Mastekh’s arm. We’d best finish packing then.

I’ll leave you to it, Khennik said, giving them a sharp nod before he strode from the cabin and made his way to the nearest ladder. The other elders would be waiting on the top deck: time for him to join them. A dragon delegate’s duties were never done.

Smiling with anticipation of what might lie ahead for both him and the humans within Spire Heights, Khennik put his foot on the first rung and ascended quickly. He had a Curse to cure, and if anywhere on the Overworld held any clues about how it would be here.

Ah, Khennik, Elder Goryal Clan Starshine greeted him as he emerged from the hatch. Good, now we are all here.

Khennik looked at where three other kin elders were already waiting with Goryal and Junior Archivist Reglian. All five of the dragons had clustered at the prow rail, where the view to Spire Heights was beautifully clear and unobstructed.

Are you ready to fly? Elder Goryal asked, their rainbow-coloured eyes shimmering with anticipation.

Always, Khennik replied.

They smiled and, one by one, the elders and Reglian slipped over the rail to drop into the cold air below. There they transformed into their first and most natural shapes before winging back up into the skies towards the dragons that were coming to meet them.

A prickle of power built across Khennik’s shoulder blades before a light weight settled in the space between his wings. "Be ready," Goryal whispered inside his mind.

Always, Khennik thought again in reply, and heard an answering laugh like silver bells as he flew to meet Clan Swiftwing.

Two

Spire Heights

4th Cold Month

THE FIRST SETTLEMENT of Spire Heights was founded at the beginning of the world, when the Divine Family were said to have taken Their first flight together. The young, enthusiastic Swiftwing guide had begun their spiel almost as soon as Nera, her fellow lieutenants, the ambassador and Captain Wellswen set foot in the atrium that morning. Estenarven, and two Skystorm dragons, Reglian kin Thunderwing and Jesral kin Lightstorm, had also ventured down to join them. Yet another feast had been thrown in honour of their arrival the night before, but it had been a rather muted affair. Nera wasn’t sure whether that was because Clan Swiftwing were serious and scholarly by nature, or if the arrival of the badly wounded Kalaha had cast a pall over the place.

"It is said that Sibling