Storm Wings

By Becca Lusher

Trouble covers the Overworld and the Rift Riders seem further from home than ever, but there is hope in the darkness, even if the road to recovery is long.

For the first time in more than a century, dragons have returned to the human lands, but their numbers are few and their welcome is... difficult. If Mhysra, Lyrai and their friends were expecting a heroes’ welcome on their return, they may have a long time to wait.

In the West, Stirla and Derrain have their own troubles to deal with, thanks to a determined princess and some foolhardy nobles. Not to mention the opinions and intentions of their superiors.

And at Aquila, Lord Yullik waits for the fight he knows will come. Yet all the while an unseen threat moves in the shadows. New dangers stir across the mountain, but whether for good or evil, only the gods of this cursed world can tell...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Becca Lusher
• Release date: Oct 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463020005

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

Table of Contents

STORM WINGS

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

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Epilogue

Character List

Overworld Terms

Aquila’s War

Dragonlands Series

About the Author

~ ~ ~

For the wanderers of the world.

Wherever you go, whyever you roam,

I hope you find what you’re looking for.

Fly fast, fly high, fly free.

~ ~ ~

Prologue

Night River Lake, Aquila

22nd Blizzard Month, 787 Cloud Era

ALL WAS COLD, all was black. Suspended in nothingness, Mouse drifted, arms outstretched as though still falling. Down here in the dark there was no pain.

Morri, whispered the water. Time to wake.

The tips of his fingers twitched and his nose began to burn.

Morri.

Something firm closed around his middle and squeezed.

It is time to wake, Morri.

He opened his eyes. My name is Mouse.

One

Leaving the Cleansed Lands

Surge Heights, Cleansed Lands

28th Blizzard

LESS THAN A month ago, if someone had told Lady Mhysra Kilpapan she would cross the tempestuous Storm Wash and fly over a landscape free of clouds, she would have laughed in their face. She came from the Overworld, a place cursed by the gods to be covered in a roiling Cloud Sea, where only mountains poked above the endless white, creating islands in a worldwide ocean.

If that same person had said she would converse with dragons, even befriend some, she would have suggested they have a lie down. Then again, a lot could happen in a month. Although that was nothing compared to what half a year could do.

Is that everything? Archivist Reglian asked, an enormous black dragon over fifty-feet in length, who was currently striding around in his far less imposing human form.

If we take much more I will not be able to fly, grumbled Rhiddyl, the first dragon Mhysra had ever met. Her pearly underbelly was almost obscured by the boxes and parcels Reglian had piled into her carry net. Despite being a mere thirty-feet long, and several centuries younger than her mentor, Rhiddyl still made an impressive sight. Usually. The thick brown straps currently running across her shoulders and lower back rather spoiled her shimmery effect.

The young dragon cast a wary eye over the crates of books, scrolls, clothing and food piled under her belly. Are you certain this will hold?

It will hold. Reglian tugged on the straps. If you do nothing foolish.

Rhiddyl sighed, her silvery wings drooping. Why must I carry everything?

Because it’s best not to alarm the natives too much, said Dhori, Mhysra’s friend and fellow Rift Rider student. The fewer dragons seen crossing the Storm Surge, the better.

Is it too late to change my mind? Rhiddyl asked. No one said I would be the packhorse.

Oh, stop whinging. A bear of a woman strode across the sparse plateau overlooking the great barrier. Would you really pass up this opportunity over a few bits of luggage? She added her own bulging bags to Rhiddyl’s belly net.

Estenarix, Rhiddyl whined, and the dragon-woman patted her neck.

It’s all very well to cross in human shape, but how will they get there?

Mhysra turned towards her miryhl eagle and smiled; she’d been thinking the same thing. Sometimes their Wingborn bond – formed when Cumulo hatched at the exact moment she was born – showed itself in the strangest of ways.

Running her fingers through his feathers, she shrugged. Who knows with this lot?

I won’t carry them, he grumbled, preening the haphazard curls that had escaped her braid.

Corin, another friend and fellow student, laughed. I don’t think any of them are foolish enough to expect it, Cue. Not after the fuss Wisp and Argon put up over our dragonets. As she spoke, their reason for coming to the Cleansed Lands woke. Pale blue with a silver iridescence that flashed beneath the winter sun, Skybreeze was a lesser dragon breed with a difference. As a Dragongift his connection to Corin went every bit as deep as a Wingborn bond. It didn’t start from birth, but once formed there was no breaking it, short of death.

Yawning, Skybreeze showed off his teeth and lifted his head from Corin’s shoulder. He chirruped in her ear: hungry again. He was rarely anything else. Pulling a face, Corin strode off in search of Jaymes, her fellow Dragongifted, who was probably already feeding Emberbright, his own dragonet.

Makes you happy you were already claimed, doesn’t it? Cumulo murmured.

More than you can ever know, Cue, Mhysra admitted. Cute as the dragonets were, they were far too demanding. She might have spent most of her childhood raising miryhls and other winged creatures, but the dragonets were on another demanding level entirely.

Ready to go home?

Looking back at the dusky landscape they’d flown over the day before, with the ocean glistening in the distance, Mhysra smiled. Yes, she said, searching the endless blue sky for the merest hint of a cloud but finding none. Yes, I am.

Then hop on, chickling. There’s nothing left for us here. Cumulo dipped a wing invitingly and Mhysra jumped into his saddle. Tired of waiting for the others, he took to the sky with a bound and a flap of his great wings. Soaring on the rich thermals, Mhysra lay against her miryhl’s back and knew the world didn’t get much better than this.

LYRAI LOOKED UP as a miryhl launched, and smiled. Trust Cumulo to grow impatient, he thought, glancing at his own feathered partner and wishing they could do the same. The placid Hurricane bobbed his head in acknowledgement but made no offers of flight, conserving his energy for later. They were both still weak after their fight at the Dragon Moot. Hurricane had been near death, and Lyrai hadn’t faired much better. Thinking about that day, and the cold rage that had made him take on a twenty-five foot dragon single-handed, made Lyrai shudder. He might have thought he’d dreamt it all, except for the poison burns on his arms and face.

How many times have I told you to leave it alone. The commanding tone had him dropping his hand before it even reached his face. Better. If you want to heal, you must leave it be. A small, silvery woman appeared in front of him, arms folded, face stern.

I want to scratch it, Lyrai sighed. All the time.

Healer Litha wrinkled her nose, unimpressed. Don’t. Unless you wish to be scarred for life. She looked him over with bright silver eyes and smiled. Which would be a shame. You’re far too pretty to scar.

Still here? a disgruntled Dhori demanded, stopping before the woman and eyeing her like a baleful cat.

Only the knowledge that Dhori behaved like this to all dragons prevented Lyrai from scolding his student. That and a strange encounter with a dragon artefact, whose resulting vision implied that the Goddess Maegla knew this lad by name. A different name, perhaps, but Lyrai had never quite known what to make of supposed-Student Dhori.

Rather than showing any resentment at Dhori’s rudeness, the healer smiled and patted his cheek. I will have to speak with your mother about your manners, Dhoriaen Aure.

Lyrai raised his eyebrows, but Dhori shrugged her off. Say what you will – she’s angry enough already. He paused. You’d better not be coming with us.

Dhori! Lyrai snapped, unable to let this rudeness pass. Ignore him, my lady. You are more than welcome to accompany us anywhere you wish.

Luckily, the healer was laughing. Oh, I don’t mind him, lieutenant. He always hates it so when the family interrupts his games. Fear not, nephew. She patted Dhori’s cheek again, I’m not going to spoil your fun. Just because the dragons have lowered the Veils, doesn’t mean all may pass.

Nephew? Lyrai choked.

Good. Dhori nodded, ignoring his lieutenant. The Overworld is no place for you.

But you’re a dragon! Lyrai spluttered, looking from one to the other. True, he’d never seen her in anything other than human form, but she lived with dragons and the Cleansed Lands had been closed to humans for over a century. He may have made a few assumptions, but they had been logical ones. And if she was a dragon, what did that make Dhori? Aside from more mysterious than ever.

Dhori’s aunt laughed again and shook her head. Much as I hate to disappoint you, lieutenant, I am no dragon. Your friend’s mystery continues without scales, I’m afraid.

But – Words failed him, and he stared at Dhori in mute confusion.

The secretive student shuffled his feet. I don’t have to be related to dragons to dislike them. Which was the sort of family reasoning Lyrai could relate to, but still…

I don’t understand.

This time the healer patted Lyrai’s cheek, though extra gently in deference to his fragile skin. Just as long as you keep healing, that’s all that matters. Leave my nephew to his mysteries. You’ll all be happier that way. Here. She took a package from her bag and handed it to him. A gift to remember me by. Good luck, health and fortune, Lieutenant Prince Lyrai. May all your hopes be fulfilled. Standing on tiptoe, she brushed a kiss across his jaw, leaving a cool tingling behind, not unlike when she healed him.

Embarrassed and confused, Lyrai ducked his head and mumbled his thanks, not just for the gift, but for all she had done for him and Hurricane.

Lovely manners. She smiled in satisfaction and raised an eyebrow at Dhori. Take care of him, and yourself. It was good to see you again, Auriaen.

He suffered a hug and a kiss on the cheek with a sigh. And you, Aunt Litha.

There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? she cooed, winking at Lyrai and sauntering away before her nephew could retaliate further.

Auriaen, Lyrai echoed thoughtfully. Wasn’t that the name Maegla used in the Seeing Stone?

Dhori looked at him with stormy grey eyes. Family, he growled, stalking off and leaving all of Lyrai’s questions unanswered. As usual.

That was interesting, Hurricane murmured, peering over Lyrai’s shoulder at the present.

Mm, he agreed, untying the string and parting the paper to reveal a small, leather-bound book. "Tales of the Gods. Lyrai raised his eyebrows. I suspect, old friend, that things will get even more interesting yet."

Don’t start reading it now, Hurricane warned. I think we might be ready to go. At last.

Yes, I do apologise, lieutenant, said the ever-polite Elder Goryal in their high, chiming voice. In dragon form they had the appearance of pale blue glass and sounded like silver bells. As a human they were slight and delicate, but the brightness in their eyes belied any impression of weakness. Dragons rarely travel for longer than a few days anymore. Nor spend so long in our secondary forms. Packing and provisions are an unfamiliar experience.

Lyrai smiled at the ancient dragon and didn’t bother to point out that they’d already packed when they left the Archives three days ago. He couldn’t see why it was taking so long to transfer all their baggage to poor Rhiddyl, but he’d never claimed to understand dragons.

Ah, now we are ready, Goryal announced, though to Lyrai’s eye Reglian and Estenarix were still arguing over the placement of a bag of fruit while Rhiddyl arched her back to keep her laden belly off the ground. Our transport has arrived.

Realising the elder wasn’t even looking at their fellow dragons, Lyrai turned and shielded his eyes as five black birds glided into view. Overhead, Cumulo squawked and got out of the way as the enormous vulardis banked and swept in to land. Like miryhls, the vulardis were a result of dragon experimentation. While miryhls were giant eagles, designed to provide transport to humans marooned on mountain peaks, vulardis were great vultures created by the dragons to guard the Storm Wash and Storm Surge barriers that separated the dragonlands from the human ones.

Between twelve and fifteen feet tall, the immense birds had a wingspan of over thirty feet, almost double most miryhls. Black on their wings and back, their bodies and heads were a mixture of white, cream, pale browns and russet hues, but their outstanding feature was their eyes. Ringed in red, a circle of white surrounded the black dot of the pupil, making them look like targets inside their black face masks.

They made an imposing and impressive sight, and Lyrai blinked at the thought of one flying across the Overworld. Five of them, he corrected as the human-shaped dragons started loading two vulardis with the last of the baggage. And to think the dragons hadn’t wanted to frighten the natives.

Well, that should make life exciting, Jaymes said, watching the proceedings with a critical eye.

Lyrai snorted. Gods forefend that our lives should ever become boring.

Corin chuckled and nudged him with her elbow. That’s what I’ve always liked about you, sir. So eager for adventure.

Scowling, Lyrai turned back to Hurricane for one last check before the flight.

NO MATTER WHERE she went in the world, Mhysra knew there was nothing better than a clear sky and warm thermals under Cumulo’s wings. The wind swirled eagerly about them, tugging at feathers, clothes and hair, enticing them to play. All was light and warmth and freedom as Cumulo caressed the air and kept them aloft. Circling lazily over the plateau, they drank in the sun and watched the final preparations below.

First came the miryhls: Wisp and Argon, still a little huffy over their dragonet passengers; Latinym’s wingtips flashing silver in the sun; pale Hurricane lifting Lieutenant Lyrai up last. Then came the vulardis: three with passengers and two with luggage. Finally, it was Rhiddyl’s turn.

Come on, young’un, open those wings! Estenarix called, with the boom of an avalanche.

You were born to Clan Skystorm, Reglian shouted, his own voice like thunder. The sky gives you strength. Cease this foolish weakness and be a dragon!

Flapping her wings faster than Mhysra would have believed possible for a creature that size, Rhiddyl lifted her head and strained. Dust, pebbles and chunks of grass whirled into the air, scattering the birds with squawks of protest. Momentarily blinded, Mhysra gripped her reins and saddle as Cumulo coughed his way out of the debris. They emerged in time to see Rhiddyl slither off the plateau and glide over the empty plains. Wobbling with the unfamiliar weight, she dropped lower and lower as the vulardis and their dragon passengers rushed to assist.

We have to help, Mhysra called to her Wingborn. They’re making it worse.

Chuckling, Cumulo swung around in another circle, eyes fixed on the drama unfolding below. Rhiddyl can take care of herself.

Cue! she insisted, but even as her miryhl stooped, Rhiddyl lashed out at the nearest of her tormenters and thrust down with her wings. The luggage in her carry net crashed and tumbled about, but Rhiddyl was obviously too angry to care.

Leave me be! she roared, back arching as she pumped her wings again, buffeting the nearest vulardi aside. Flickers of lightning rippled across her storm-dark sides and her eyes glowed molten silver.

Then she was flying. With a triumphant trumpet she swept around and gathered the miryhls in the sails of her wings. To the Storm Surge!

As eager as the dragon to reach the Overworld, the miryhls shrieked and raced alongside, leaving the vulardis and their disapproving riders to catch up.

A CONSTANT STORM that stretched from north to south, covering half the world, from the Ice Peaks to the Wrathlen, the Storm Surge was an awe-inspiring sight. Like its east-west counterpart, the Storm Surge was never still, but while the Storm Wash lapped against the southern tips of World’s End, Havia and the Wrathlen, rising and falling like a gentle tide, the Storm Surge thrust in and out with the seasons. There were times when the folk of Storm Peaks and Mistrune feared to be swallowed altogether. Rumour spoke of dark years when just such things had happened and the ill-luck it brought.

The winter season was a gentler time for the Storm Surge, taking a rest after the furious autumn. Inside the Cleansed Lands all was mild and calm, defying the usual winds and snow of the season, and the Storm Surge had been lulled by these temperate days. For now it lay at its lowest ebb, spitting out bad-tempered winds and squally sleet rather than tempests and thunder. The wider Overworld might have been in the grips of blizzards and ice, but life near the equator was rather different.

The sight of a sheer wall of cloud stretching across the horizon beyond where mortal eyes could see, and rising ever higher the closer they approached, was enough to tie Lyrai’s stomach in knots. He vividly remembered his time in the Storm Wash. A strange, almost dreamlike trip that had filled him with fear and confusion, turning everything upside down before deigning to spit him out. And they said the Storm Wash was the gentler of the two. He was not looking forward to this.

You are quiet, lieutenant, Rhiddyl rumbled, her head level with Hurricane. Do you fear trouble ahead?

The low hum of the dragon’s voice revealed her own anxiety, and Lyrai forced a reassuring smile onto his face. I have no fears about returning home, he said, though he was a little concerned about how the dragons and vulardis would be received. It’s the Storm Surge I’m worried about.

But you are Storm Wings! Rhiddyl fluted, astonishment making her voice high. You have passed the barrier before. What can there be left for you to fear?

I’m not afraid, Lyrai replied defensively, aware that everyone within hearing – and an astonished dragon’s voice carried a long way – was now staring at him. I’m not. The feel of Hurricane chuckling beneath him made him realise he sounded like a schoolboy. I’m merely concerned. The Storm Wash was not easy to pass and they say the Storm Surge is worse. I’m just preparing myself.

A shadow fell over him. Lyrai looked up into the curious target gaze of the smallest vulardi.

There is nothing to fear, lieutenant. Nor be concerned about either, Elder Goryal called, from the vulardi’s back before Lyrai could protest his fearlessness again. The Barrier Veils are to be relaxed for one lunar turn. We will pass unhindered and unafraid. Besides, as Storm Wings, you and your friends will always be free to travel through the barriers, should you so wish, whatever their state. It is a rare privilege.

Recalling the terror he’d felt watching Corin fall, unable to save her, Lyrai shook his head. It certainly hadn’t felt special at the time – and he was in no hurry to repeat the experience. Once more will be enough for me, I think.

Flying off to his right, Jaymes nodded his agreement.

Humans, Goryal sighed, rather sadly. You’ve grown so cautious. Perhaps we dragons have left you alone too long.

That sounds ominous, Hurricane muttered, and Lyrai could only agree. He’d quite enjoy a cautious life, should he ever be blessed enough to have one.

You must not mind Elder Goryal’s sense of humour. They are considered odd, even amongst dragons, Rhiddyl informed them in a gentle hum. Then the eye they were flying next to widened and the dragon’s head twisted around. Company!

Before Lyrai knew what was happening, Rhiddyl had gathered the miryhls protectively in front of her, with the five vulardis forming a barrier around them. One vulardi had lost its rider. A small figure in flapping black silk plummeted through the empty sky – but before anyone could think of a rescue, it exploded in a burst of black and gold.

Growling deep enough to shake the snow from the nearby mountains, Reglian dipped low and rose on outstretched wings. Continue, he boomed, passing over their heads in a wash of sound and wind. I will see what they want. Then he was gone, like a storm cloud racing over the sea.

Skystorms, grumbled Estenarix, from the vulardi beside Hurricane. So dramatic.

Elder Goryal’s chiming laugh drifted on the breeze. Let us continue.

With Rhiddyl beating her big wings behind and vulardis closed in on every side, the miryhls were left with little choice. Looming ever larger, the Storm Surge swallowed up the last of the sky and the powerful undertow tugged them closer. With his hair loose about his face, Lyrai was soon half blind as Hurricane struggled to hold steady.

Let go! roared the storm above them. Let it take you. We have only friends here. The black shadow of Reglian thundered overhead, vanishing into the clouds.

With one last breath, Lyrai tightened his hold on Hurricane and surrendered to the Surge.

Two

Storm Surge

IT WAS LIKE the Storm Wash, and yet unlike, Mhysra thought as she drifted through the tepid mists. In the north all was cold, but here things were warm. The emptiness and fog remained. Cumulo shivered beneath her. Unlike last time, her miryhl was passing through the barrier with her, forced to endure the same conditions instead of journey across in dry comfort.

I don’t like this, he grumbled, flicking droplets from his wings. It’s uncomfortable.

Recalling how smug he’d looked when she’d finally stumbled out of the Storm Wash, still shaken by her ordeal and several days after his own easy passage, Mhysra was unsympathetic. You have no idea.

I’m cold.

I think it’s quite warm.

You’re not the one flying.

She could hardly argue with that.

I have water in my wings. I don’t like it. It’s dribbling under my feathers.

She certainly didn’t envy him those sensations; the way her shirt was sticking to her back was growing more unpleasant by the moment. Running her fingers along his neck, she pressed close to his back. We’ll be through soon, she promised. We just have to keep going.

He huffed, hunching his shoulders, and straightened with a hard flap. Where are the others?

I’M HUNGRY.

You astonish me, Corin muttered, grimacing as a clammy dragonet slithered beneath her shirt to snuggle against her skin. Urgh.

"I’m very hungry."

Tell me something I don’t know, she retorted, sluicing excess moisture from poor Wisp’s neck. The miryhl twitched her wings, but said nothing. Still not talking to her. Not that Corin could blame her flying partner for sulking over the sudden addition of a demanding dragonet to their lives. Corin would have liked to sulk too, but she hadn’t been granted that luxury.

"I’m very hungry now."

It was hard to ignore something when it could talk straight into your head. Take a good look around. Does this look like a good place to stop and eat?

Grumbling dragon-mutters, Skybreeze coiled tighter around Corin’s waist. As unpleasant as the sensation of clammy dragon scales against her skin was, she couldn’t blame him for not coming out. The mist might be warm, but it didn’t feel any nicer than the cold northern fogs she was used to. It was like flying through a cloud of sweat.

"Urgh."

She smiled. Skybreeze had been poking around in her head too much. His speech was already improving and now he was starting to sound like her.

Her stomach chose that moment to growl, and she felt Skybreeze chuckle. Hungry?

The sky trembled with a low rumble.

Skybreeze’s head popped out of her shirt. Storm hungry too?

Hope not, she murmured, tightening her grip on her reins. It sounds a little close if it is.

MISERABLE, DAMP AND warm, Lyrai wiped his hands on his breeches yet again and grimaced at the feel of the slick leather reins against his fingers. Hurricane flew beneath him in stoic silence, his calm dignity an insult to the thankless conditions. Beside them, Dhori and Latinym were all placid acceptance of the irritations and discomfort the Storm Surge was throwing at them.

Then again, he was Dhori, and the longer Lyrai knew him the less he understood his supposed student. Such as how he and Hurricane had been alone after the initial fury of the Storm Surge, only for Dhori to drift up beside them with the same silence as the mist. He could have been a phantom. Lyrai eyed him sourly: he wasn’t even damp.

Growing tired of your disguise? he asked, irritated that Dhori didn’t share his suffering.

Glancing over, Dhori raised his eyebrows, expression bland.

Lyrai waved an annoyed hand at his head. You’re not even attempting to blend in anymore.

He smiled. How do you know I’m even here? How do you know this is really me?

Hurricane and Lyrai looked at him. It’s you.

Latinym chuckled and Dhori shook his head, which became instantly beaded with moisture. Better?

Strangely, it was. With a sigh of satisfaction, Lyrai settled against Hurricane’s back while Dhori hunched miserably in Latinym’s saddle.

I hate dragons.

WET. EMBERBRIGHT’S VOICE was a disgruntled mutter inside Jaymes’ mind, and he huddled a little more over Argon’s saddle in an effort to keep her dry. Not like.

Neither do I, he assured her. Nor does Argon. The miryhl snorted at the understatement. Then again he might have just been clearing his nostrils. Argon did a lot of grunting and snorting these days. It was his way of communicating his disfavour over Emberbright’s arrival in their lives.

"Bird wet. Jaymes wet. Emberbright wet. Stupid."

Argon chuckled and Jaymes shook the water from his eyes, wondering why he alone got the blame for the unexpected Dragongift situation. At least it’s not cold, he pointed out glumly.

Coiling her warm body around his waist and ribs, the dragonet hiccupped. Jaymes cold?

No! he hurriedly assured her, envisioning flames, burning clothes and awkward explanations.

"Oh." With another disgruntled sigh, the fire dragonet hunched her wings beneath his shirt.

How far do you think we’ve come? Jaymes asked, more to break the silence than in anticipation of an answer. Argon had never been chatty, even before he started sulking.

Twitching his wings in a mid-air shrug, the miryhl shook his head. No knowing, he grumbled. Dragons.

Dragons indeed, thought Jaymes, still not used to their strange magic and contrary personalities. At least the Storm Surge wasn’t as bad as the Storm Wash. He could put up with lukewarm mists and surly companions as long as he didn’t get struck by lightning again.

Thunder boomed overhead and Jaymes flinched, hoping he hadn’t thought too soon.

AS A CLAN Skystorm dragon, and a member of the Tempestfury kin, there was little about the weather that Rhiddyl feared. In fact, with ancestral connections to kin Boulderforce, Clan Highflight and the fiery kin Firestorm, there was little in the world that could cause Rhiddyl much concern.

But then – Hello? – she’d never lost all of her companions in the middle of a flight before. Can anyone hear me?

Nor had she ever attempted to cross either of the Barrier Veils. That did worry her. Estenarix might point out as many times as she liked how small and fragile humans were, but Rhiddyl wasn’t so foolish. She’d seen over half of kin Seadrake wiped out by a tiny creature too small to be seen even with dragon sight, which ate out the lining of their guts and lungs. Size was no accurate judge when it came to danger. The five fragile humans she travelled with had brought two changeling dragons to ground without drawing a single weapon. Lyrai had gone on to beat one of those same dragons again in single combat, with no miryhl and only a sword to help.

Fear is good, she reminded herself, angling her wings in the formless mists and shivering as drops dribbled down her scales. Fear keeps one awake.

It wasn’t helping. As a dragon reprimanded more than once for growing up too fast, unable to control her burgeoning powers, Rhiddyl knew all about living alone. She spent most of her time helping the vulardis patrol the northwest section of the Storm Wash. It was how she’d first encountered these Rift Riders. She was used to being alone, but to lose all of her companions without warning… It wasn’t natural. Used to reading the ways and whims of the skies, Rhiddyl preferred natural things. She didn’t like surprises.

Thunder snarled out of the drizzle, sending ripples through the mist, and Rhiddyl thumped her wings in defiance. She was a kin Tempestfury dragon in the Storm Surge; there was nothing to worry about. This place was in her blood. She was strong and young, and the Veils had been relaxed. Everything would be fine.

Thunder boomed again and Rhiddyl lifted her head. She knew that voice. Reglian?

INTOLERABLE, THE SKY rumbled, and Mhysra looked up, startled that a storm could speak.

I couldn’t agree more, Cumulo muttered, completely sodden and deeply unhappy about it.

If this is how the elders open the borders, I shall have to have words with them when I return.

It was quite articulate for a thunderclap, Mhysra thought, amused.

Several words.

The growl shivered through the mist, resonating deep inside Mhysra’s bones and she huddled closer to Cumulo. Just because she recognised that disgruntled voice, didn’t make the humming comfortable.

I must admit, a high voice chimed in reply, this was not how I expected the journey to progress.

Reglian’s reply was a wordless growl, sending another rumble rolling through the Storm Surge. Looking up, Mhysra could make out his heavy shadow hanging in the mists above her head.

Nor did I expect to misplace all of our companions so swiftly. Goryal sounded perplexed. The two dragons didn’t know how good they had it. Compared to the Storm Wash, Mhysra was finding this journey positively pleasant. I trust we will recover them on the other side.

Another rumble answered before a distant cry of, Reglian! drifted through the gloom.

Rhiddyl! Reglian boomed. Well, that answers some of your fears at least, Goryal.

Hmm, the elder agreed. Though perhaps it would be better for you to find your vulardi and resume a less alarming form. I believe these mists are starting to clear.

Cumulo double-flapped as he took a good look around. I think they’re right.

A frisson of excitement buzzed through Mhysra at the prospect of returning to the Overworld, and she sat up in her saddle, eager to see ahead.

Which must have been how she missed the shadow moving in swiftly from the right.

Look out! someone shouted.

Which was when the wall slammed into them.

RHIDDYL FELT SOMETHING brush against her side and looked down. A miryhl and Rider tumbled away through the mists.

Oh! she squeaked. Oh, no.

A chorus of voices cried out, adding to Cumulo and Mhysra’s audible distress. Recovering from the initial shock, Rhiddyl sped after them.

What’s going on? Reglian boomed. Wretched mists, I want to see!

It is clearing, came Goryal’s chiming, concerned tones.

Not fast enough, growled the other dragon, taking a deep breath.

Wait! Rhiddyl shouted – but too late.

Reglian’s roar punched the mists with the force of a gale, shredding them to the winds and revealing the tumbling Cumulo just beyond Rhiddyl’s reach.

Ha! she cried triumphantly, thumping her wings to pounce. The bedraggled miryhl dropped into her outstretched claws, with Mhysra miraculously still attached. Got you!

Breathing heavily, from panic as much as exertion, Rhiddyl back-winged into a hover and studied her catch. Which was when she noticed the silence: it seemed a little too deep. Discomfort prickling along her scales, she looked up.

A skyship drifted slowly past, its rail crammed with humans staring intently at the unconscious Rift Rider and miryhl grasped between her claws.

Ah. Her usually melodious voice rose to a most inharmonious squeak. This is not what it looks like.

The folk on the skyship recoiled from her attempted smile. At which point Mhysra’s friends came bolting out of the mists, hotly pursued by a host of dragons.

This, Rhiddyl thought as Mhysra began to stir, will take a lot of explaining.

Then the screaming began.

Aquila

THE WATER OF the lake was flat calm. It made Silveo shiver just looking at it. The place was cold too, with a chill that rose off the silent surface, filling the cave with a ball of frost at the heart of the mountain.

Anything? Lieutenant Imaino dropped his pile of wood, scavenged from the packs of the dead in the tunnels by the light of a dragongift globe.

Shaking his head, Silveo left the lakeshore and knelt to arrange the firewood. Still as glass and as thick as syrup. I can’t even wash my face in it.

Imaino shuddered and knelt opposite him, searching his pockets for his flint. I never liked this place.

And neither of them had been given much cause to change their minds, Silveo thought, stuffing kindling between the precious pieces of wood. The lake had always been a dank, miserable place with unnatural habits, surrounded by tunnels that were too narrow, too dark and too long. Now those tunnels were filled with kaz-naghkt and the bones of their fallen friends, while the lake had swallowed Mouse.

What do you plan to do? Silveo asked, as Imaino struck sparks into the tinder. They had been here for days and were running out of food. They didn’t know where any of the others were or if any were still alive.

Imaino fed the fire with careful focus. His face was gaunt, his beard patchy, his eyes haunted by decisions he’d never wanted to make. We wait for Mouse.

And the others?

The lieutenant stared at the lake, the fire reflecting off the moisture in his eyes. I don’t think there are any others now.

Silveo swallowed hard, unable to argue after the kaz-naghkt, the brutal winter and the tremors in the tunnels. It was a miracle they were still alive. Not everyone could be so lucky. Swallowing his emotions, he nodded and dug into their meagre stores for dinner.

We wait for Mouse.

Mistrune

THIS WAS NOT how I envisaged our arrival, Reglian sighed, watching the skyship sail swiftly out of sight, while the dragons and Riders landed in a sunlit meadow. They’d always planned to stop to regroup and re-orientate after the tumult of the Storm Surge. Now it was doubly important, since they had to decide how best to handle this latest unexpected twist.

The meadow was more of a steep, grassy incline on the flat edge of a mountain. Half of it lay in the shadow of a cliff face, with a straggly wood scattered at the base. The rest was open, filled with late-afternoon light, and smelled strongly of flowers. Mhysra felt better already, sitting in the swaying grass. She wondered if anyone would notice if she lay down and rolled to the bottom.

Indeed, Goryal chimed. I believe it safe to assume that the natives are alarmed.

Ever so slightly, Dhori drawled.

Flinching at the sarcasm, Rhiddyl was currently demonstrating how surprisingly small a dragon could coil herself. I’m sorry, she fluted disconsolately from the shadows by the trees. I knew I shouldn’t have come.

Nonsense, Estenarix boomed, loud even in her human form. Rhiddyl raised her head hopefully. If not for you, who else would carry the baggage?

Rhiddyl’s crest drooped and she hid her face beneath her tail. I will return home in the morning.