Destiny's Wings

By Rhondi Ann

Dragonriders!
In a war of machine against myth, Arynn dares to join the Dragon Cavalry. Will she win a new life or die trying?
An outcast in her own village, half-deaf Arynn volunteers to be a dragonrider, determined to become more than anyone thought possible. But when she begins to hear the same ethereal sounds that drove her father to madness, she must find a way to control her destiny before her fledgling magic destroys her and everything she loves. Can her newly-built family and friends help her save herself?
"A rip-roaring adventure with dragons AND steampunk."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rhondi Vilott Salsitz
• Release date: Oct 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781950300198

Book preview

1

H e’s making a sweep over the city. Cursed dragons. It’s an attack.

Rially tossed her hair back and held the spy glass close so that Arynn had no chance to jump and steal it from her, so she just squinted and muttered, I don’t see how you can spot it. The watchtower stood at the corner of what had once been a landing field, with docks for airships that visited no more, the skies empty of their wonder. The townies kept their field immaculate though, just in case the air fleets started up again.

The miller’s son, Samel, stood out there as she scanned it, his auto-scythe chopping away weed barriers and leaving little aeternite clouds in its wake. The exoskeleton hugged the upper part of his wiry body. It gave him both the strength and accuracy to cut down the foliage, with clouds of steam trailing steadily as he worked. Mechanix weren’t widely used in Hapthorne but Samel had mastered the machinery. Forest hugged close about the landing field, tall and towering evergreens. Patches of grain and maize stretched to the south, edged by the logging river. The air stung with the sharp scent of sap and evergreen needles and a touch of spring. The down slope horizon stretched before them, broken only by the cityscape far below and away.

Arynn startled when Rially spoke again, breaking her daydream.

I can’t see, not really. What I’m catching are the fire spots with their smoke clouds. Too many in one area, all nearly at once—it’s got to be a dragon strafing the city utilities again.

Arynn had seen attacks in the past and knew that large clouds would be totally abnormal for the vast city below. Smoke stacks billowed, flat neighborhoods should not. Which utilities? She prepared the code in her head mentally, if she should have to drum a distress. She had some skilled background or she’d be down at the edge of town, herding chickens.

Can’t tell. Might be water or the aeternite plants or even the railroad. Go have a listen at the rock and see if the drums are any clearer. Shalan should be sending messages through.

Let me have a look first.

Rially dangled the glass out of Arynn’s fourteen-year-old reach. So you can see dragons. Forget it. They’re vicious, despicable things.

They do despicable things but they are—well, they soar. Arynn couldn’t quite explain it. Few things since the incident lifted her dark mood and filled her with light, but dragons were one of them. We ought to have a dragon guard of our own. Aren’t we important enough to be protected?

Lip curling, Rially answered, That’s treason. Only the warlord has a dragon wing, and he’s insane. Power mad. Everyone says so, and look at the war if you don’t believe me. Now go check the messaging.

Even thought she’d prepared herself, she didn’t want to go listen. Her ear still hadn’t healed properly, things feeling fuzzy and muffled on that side. Arynn knew that she might never hear well again, a fact she tried to keep hidden. Everyone in the community had to contribute. Without parents since the incident, she had little training for a worthwhile trade. She could do overseeing tasks at the tower well enough, and her father had been a drummer so she knew the code, but her injury hobbled that now. If she couldn’t make her own way, then there was little left to her but helping manage the chicken flocks.

She hesitated on one foot, then bobbed her head in agreement. She left the watchtower, climbing down the ladder, and sprinted off to the spine of rock that hunched in and out of the foothills all the way into the mountain peaks. Like a great stone serpent, it was, and it vibrated sound along its length.

Silvery hair had grown in from the scar instead of her natural dark blonde, its texture light and feathery in the wind. The rest of her hair curled about her shoulders, tickling her neck. She could hear blood pounding through the still-bothersome wound, the scar tingling a bit, her hearing getting more muddled as she ran.

Reaching the rock spine, she got down on her knees. Pushing the drumming hammers to the side, Arynn put her unscarred cheek to the bared stone to listen. Drummers used the vibrations through the stone as a more reliable communication than the wires, because the wires were always getting cut. They could be torn down or burnt when lightning struck or even nibbled on by animals. No one from City Utilities wanted to keep sending crews out to string new cable.

Hapthorne was far from being easily reachable by Shalan’s workmen, and so they counted on their own age-old methods of communication. Drumming had been in her people for over a century or two and seemed just as reliable. Finally the beat vibrated gently against her skin as she listened intently. Within moments she’d caught the sense of it: Down Mountain, dragon attack, protect the aqueduct.

Arynn jumped up and ran back, only to meet Rially at the ladder’s bottom, the coveted spyglass already collapsed and in its case. She swallowed her disappointment and repeated the news she’d gathered.

I’ll give the report. Rially gave her a sideways glance. Unless you want to.

No. She wanted to be useful, but she feared being noticed more.

Rially raised an eyebrow at her flat reply. She was one of the few in the town who still treated her as she’d been: Arynn unscarred, unpitied, and still suitable. The older girl might have done this because her aunt kept a guardian-eye on Arynn or it might have sprung from genuine friendship. Yet Rially also offered understanding for uncertainty while Arynn regained her balance in the scheme of things. She had the patience others didn’t.

It wasn’t Arynn’s fault that her father had gone berserk, murdering her mother and attempting to kill her, shaming the whole town before killing himself. Yet the blame fell on her shoulders somehow, as if she should have known the horrible tragedy would happen. She hadn’t. All she had done was survive the hideous head wound that took its sweet time healing and most of the hearing in her left ear. Only by chance, it hadn’t been worse.

When her hair finished growing in, it would hide most of the scar, although its silvery color would also point it out. But her face hadn’t been too badly damaged. Surely she wasn’t that hard to look at—even though people turned away from her. She’d been lucky, Arynn told herself again, as she trotted on Rially’s heels. Yes, lucky. She didn’t want to think what being unlucky could have meant.

They ducked into city hall, past the receptionist who knew they’d been on look-out. Inside, the mayoress looked at each of them, a long and measured stare, as they arrived in front of her desk. Silver haired and eyes framed by sun-creases, she was both wise and formidable which was why she sat where she did. You’re not at your posts. Reports?

Dragonfire strafing the city, your honor. And the drums are Down Mountain, confirming dragon attack and to protect the aqueducts down slope.

Her mouth thinned. Very well. Finish your shift and I’ll have a patrol sent out. Before she’d finished speaking, her attention had already dropped to the papers and works spread over the table in front of her. Arynn followed her gaze and caught the barest glimpse of them before Rially took her by the elbow to steer her out of the pavilion.

Heading outside, Rially commented. Nosy.

Was not.

I saw you reading upside down. What was it, anyway?

Arynn lowered her voice a bit, hopefully not too much, but she found it difficult to measure. Plans to expand the aqueduct.

Again? City keeps that up and we won’t have enough water for ourselves.

They might build another reservoir up here, to keep the melt off from running to the northern side. And we have the logging river besides.

Rially put her elbow in Arynn’s side. Like the northsiders don’t need water themselves!

Arynn shrugged. They made their way outside the town borders, headed to the watchtower. Suddenly a dark shadow blanketed them, soaring overhead, and toward the mountain peaks.

Rially stopped, astonished, looking after the dragon’s flight. She swung on Arynn. Down Mountain, you said! From the stations below!

It-it sounded like it, Arynn stammered in response to Rially’s sudden attack.

You idiot. It came from Up Mountain and that— her finger stabbed in the air, "is a dragon circling to hit us! The attack is here." Rially raised the whistle from around her neck and began to blow, loudly, shrilly, the alarm.

Arynn raised her gaze to see the sight herself.

It was beautiful, in a horrifying way, light glancing off its dazzling jet scales, rider perched on its withers. It flew over again, close enough she could see the creamy gray of the beast’s throat and underbelly. It sailed without effort as its jaws gaped open and a lick of flame roared out. She could almost smell the blaze, not clean fire but sulfurous and strange. The rider gestured and the creature spread its vast wings to scull away to the right and…

SLAP!

Red heat slashed across Arynn’s face. She staggered back a step in shock.

Rially spat at her. Don’t stand there and watch it! We need the bucket line to save the pipes!

Face scalded and injured ear ringing, Arynn stuffed back the tears and shock. They ran to join the fire line and salvage what they could. Clay pipes didn’t burn, but bamboo and wood did, key parts of the joints and supports for the aqueduct.

Overhead, the beast circled and soared out of view.

She worked and hauled and passed along buckets till blisters rose and then broke into raw, stinging patches on her palms. The smell of smoke and burning covered every inch of he r when night fell, with the orange glow nearly out, and they sent her home.

Rially did not say good-bye at the edge of Arynn’s tiny house. Not a word. Not an invite to come to her house for a late, cold dinner to celebrate their small victory. Not even a look back.

Arynn washed up a bit and crawled to her bed in the corner of the living room. She’d hauled it there, never able to set foot in what had once been her parents’ room or the tiny loft which had been hers. Neighbors had come in and scrubbed the wood floors, and burned the comforters and bloody clothes, but she’d never been comfortable. When shadows lingered, she could still see her father lunging out of them, a club in his hands, a scream in his throat.

When winter’s cold came, she’d probably move her stuffed mattress back to the loft, because heat did rise, but for now, she slept in the open room. She kept the kitchen neat but there was never much in the larder any more. With only herself to feed, she had to be careful about waste. The town had let her keep the house but it wasn’t much as buildings like that went. They viewed her wish to be independent skeptically and let her know she was on probation. Always being watched.

Maybe that’s what had driven her father crazy. Three tiny rooms downstairs and one loft overhead wouldn’t be adequate for most of the townies. He had always had a mixed acceptance in Hapthorne. Had he even known he was insane? Had her mother? And if she had, why hadn’t she taken the two of them away to safety?

Arynn shoved her face into the mattress. Would Hapthorne punish her for mishearing? Take away her job? If they did, she would probably lose the house for her irresponsibility. There were community taxes and up keep to be met. No one in the foothills paid for water like city dwellers did, so she had that commodity. Aeternite wasn’t used up here, so expensive fuel didn’t count in her budget. Wood stoves for cooking and heating managed most households. Food, though…she had to earn that. The community would give her no support if she couldn’t work. Maybe she could learn to weave. Maybe…

Arynn fell asleep uneasily, fearing what would happen in the morning. She wondered if Rially would tell the mayor just who had been at the listening post, or did the mayor even have to guess who’d made the near fatal mistake? She wanted a comforting hug and words, and no one there to give them, ever again.

A screech in the deep night brought her awake with her heart pounding. She lay cocooned in her blanket a minute, blinking up at the wood slat ceiling. What creature screamed in the dark?

Arynn crawled out and across the floor, and still on her knees, opened the door to peer out. A faint, smoky odor still clung to the air but she could see no activity, no lanterns lit in the windows, no tired bodies shuffling home.

All safe, all quiet.

She’d dreamed it then, dreaming of dragons, and imagined the cry.

Arynn sighed and shoveled her hair away from her face, and stood, holding onto the door latch. She didn’t want to face anyone when morning came. They’d all know her failure. Never mind that it wasn’t her true fault, she hadn’t injured herself, but she’d misheard once and probably would mishear again. She’d need a new job, if there were any who’d hire her. Train her. Trust her.

Could she live like that? Judgment bore down on her enough now.

Arynn slammed her door and went to unearth a duffel pack from the tiny storage locker at the back of the house. She loaded it with camping supplies. And then she found a few good outfits, clothes that had belonged to her mother, and she’d kept back instead of giving everything away to the community center.

She didn’t have a destination in mind. Just somewhere else. Away where her scars didn’t bring her both pity and scorn and where jobs begged for hard workers. Anywhere but here.

She washed and dressed and then hefted her bag up over her shoulders. In the doorway, she paused for a long look back. A year ago, she would have given a low whistle for her dog Blue to come with, but her father had killed him, too. She closed the door on her memories and stepped out into the night.

2

Crossing into the higher foothills, toward the serious mountains, facing the passes through stern and unforgiving rock, Arynn wondered if she might have made a mistake. As her shoes grew tight and uncomfortable with her socks bunched in them, she longed to go barefoot. Days of travel loomed ahead of her even though she’d already put three behind her. Evergreens crowded close and she eyed the sky warily through breaks in the needled branches.

She might even get lost, but she wouldn’t. She always knew where she was, a knack her father had had as well. Too bad it couldn’t have told either of them their destiny. The lake and water pipes she’d passed long ago, the charred clay cylinders showing little permanent damage. Scattered buckets lay dropped on the ground by the weary, but the aqueduct had been saved. Buckets would be collected and repairs started. She wondered if she might yet be forgiven.

But running away, her mother would have said, put the lid on it. She’d gone too far. Made an error and not stood up to the lesson that would come from it. Been honestly reprimanded and taken it like an adult. Well, she wasn’t adult. Not nearly, although she had to be. Had to take care of herself.

If she turned back now, she might still own her home. It might not have been turned over to the town as abandoned and then auctioned off. Might. She’d only been gone a few days. Not that anyone had bothered to come looking for her, not even the shepherds with their panting dogs. She’d taken care not to leave much of a trail but her hunting skills lacked practice. She knew that. If someone, anyone, really wanted to find her, they probably could.

If anyone wanted to.

Arynn plopped down on a flat rock after eyeing it first for snakes and large insects. She pulled a chewy bread crust out of her pack and sifted through the other food stuffs. She had a week left, more if she took time to set snares. If she caught anything though, she’d have to kill, skin, and gut it before cooking. The thought of that took away any appetite she had for meat. Tomorrow might be different, when she got hungrier. Or not. She didn’t know.

She rubbed a dribble of sweat off her right eyebrow. She could go over the peaks and to the north side town where they might appreciate her warning that there was a plan in the works to siphon off their water reserves. It wouldn’t be a joyful introduction. That might, without proof, get her in trouble again. It could be taken as wild rumor or, at the most, tattling. If she’d taken a report to prove the plan, that would be different.

She would be better off to keep going to the flatland and another city. Cities ate people up like factories ate aeternite. She could disappear there. Probably even find a job that wouldn’t depend on keen hearing. They must have a bounty of jobs needing all sorts of skills.

Arynn rolled her napkins back together tightly to keep what little she had as fresh and safe as she could. Her water skin had gotten warm but she had plenty so far. She sat for a long moment just looking at the mountain peaks. She didn’t seem to be that much closer. Days of journey stretched in front of her. She might have planned a little better.

Arynn chewed on a corner of her thumb. From where had the dragon rider come, and where had he and his immense beast gone after their attack? What was the likelihood she moved in their direction? No one knew where the warlord kept his troops. The Protectorate had been searching unsuccessfully for major bases of operation. Rumor said that the warlord used magic to shield them.

The township of Hapthorne didn’t usually have flyovers like the cities had. They weren’t part of the war. Or, at least, they hadn’t been. Their reserves were nothing compared to cities like Shalan and, over the hill, Peranta. Perhaps Warlord Ins’ahd had decided to expand his dragon raiders, to make his campaigns for his ground troops easier.

Dragons were vicious and intractable, or he would have run over the world long ago. They did not fly or work paired let alone in bigger teams. Dragons had to be kept separate and far apart, for they attacked one another violently. Not that the warlord wanted a placid dragon, but it seemed miraculous that he could work with them at all. He had been desperate, everyone said, because the cities remained out of his conquering grasp. But then, he’d begun his war as an insignificant rabble rouser. Now he was an effective and menacing commander.

Arynn had wondered aloud once at a community dinner that he’d be nowhere without his dragons and gotten yelled at for her remarks. It was not that she supported his efforts, but she had rather admired him for his military genius. If only he’d turn that mind in another direction…

Arynn shook herself.

She’d sit all day if she didn’t get moving, her tired limbs and aching feet trying to draw her to a complete stop. She had too far to go and much to accomplish. She stood and pulled her pack duffel back into position. It had, over the last two days, lightened. Good and bad—good because it made the burden easier and bad because it meant she had fewer supplies. When she made it to the foot of the peaks, she’d rest a day and set snares and do whatever she must.

That sounded far braver inside her head than it did when she repeated it out loud. Her words lingered on the air, to her hearing, half-muffled and half-clear, and she shook her head, discouraged.

She thought, for the briefest of moments, of turning back. But she couldn’t. She felt alone and foolish, not desperate.

3

She woke on the fifth night of her venture well before dawn, shivering and itchy and hungry. Her snares had gone empty, but she didn’t think it was because they hadn’t gotten results. It was as if someone, or something, had plundered her prey before she got to it. There’d been scraps of fur left on the rope, and a dusting of activity about each as though something had shuffled through and around. What that something could be, she had no idea. Wild foxes maybe, or hill cats, although she didn’t think they’d be so neat at removing most of their trace. Or that they roamed so high in the mountains.

Not that it had been actually neat, but she hadn’t been able to tell what had interfered with her catches.

With her eyes wide open and awake, she made a decision to get to the snares before her rival did. Arynn reached for