Storm Rising

One

Flight Games

Tempestfury Kinlands

21st Gale Month, 579 Cloud Era

IT WAS ANOTHER beautiful day in the Dragonlands. Winter might have started to creep in around the edges of each morning, but for now the sun remained bright and the sky clear. The weather was a marked contrast to a month earlier, when the Storm Season had been in full blow. Despite attempting to push on through the unfriendly conditions, with a skyship and the human ambassador to protect, the Rift Riders had had no choice but to seek refuge. Which was why Nera and her companions had spent the last moon enjoying the hospitality of the Tempestfury kin court.

Now the storms were over and they were on the move again. The wind had a chilly nip to it as Nera snuggled down against her miryhl eagle’s back. Drifting high above the Cloud Sea, with her flurry and the bulky Skylark for company, Nera relished the freedom of flying again, even if her hands were wrapped in heavy gloves and her coat was buttoned up to the neck. Anything was better than being trapped, day after day, inside the well-built but austere fortress of kin Tempestfury.

Not that she or her friends had complained. After spending half a moon flying flat out to escape their disastrous visit to the Stormdrake lands, it had been an unexpected delight to be warmly welcomed by a different Skystorm kin. However, even the nicest hosts on the Overworld could do little to soften the stony interior of their court. Dragons were sturdy creatures who built their homes to last, but stone was rather less forgiving on softer human forms.

Still, that was behind them now. Nera had passed through the courts of two exceedingly different dragon kins and survived with all of her friends intact. It had felt like a close run thing at times, thanks to the Stormdrake elder’s cruel ways and the attempts by various Tempestfury dragons to seduce members of their party away, but they were all still together and heading onwards once more.

Beneath Nera, Teka beat her powerful wings, keeping them aloft for a little while longer. Though cold, the air here was peaceful – an unexpected boon considering the kinlands they were in. Nera and her flurry of twenty-five Rift Riders had been patrolling since dawn, but other than a noisy flock of geese passing overhead, there had been little worth noting in the day so far.

Giving into a jaw-cracking yawn, she rubbed her eyes and sat up with a shake. Wrapped up so warmly against the chill and with a bright sun on her back, she was in danger of falling asleep if she didn’t do something to distract herself.

Wake me up, Tek, she called to her miryhl, shaking the reins to gain her bonded’s attention.

Tilting her head, the giant eagle glanced back with one dark eye. Oh? she murmured, in the goddess-given voice that she shared only with her Rider. Boring you back there, am I?

Just a little, Nera agreed, unable to resist another yawn.

Sighing, Teka turning to face forwards again. So sorry, she cooed with false concern. Why don’t you count miryhls and see if that’ll keep you awake?

Grinning, Nera looked ahead past the sails and vast gasbag of the Skylark to where a second flurry was in the air. Lieutenant Gharrik, Captain Wellswen’s second-in-command, had his own Riders neatly spaced out to escort and protect the passage of the skyship. It was up to Nera and her flurry to ensure that all stayed well behind.

Count them off, Tek, she called to her miryhl, twisting in the saddle to check on her Riders and scan the sky.

One, her eagle called slowly.

Nera caught the eye of her sergeant, Zantho, flying steadily at the back of the group and waved.

Two.

Zantho waved back and Nera moved on, scanning the seemingly endless blue horizon stretching unbroken all the way around, with the shining Cloud Sea below. Nothing stirred out there beyond the clouds and the breeze.

Three!

Without warning, Teka folded her wings and dropped.

Nera laughed as her miryhl plummeted out of formation. Luckily, for once, she was securely strapped in. She’d also been relaxed in the saddle, ready for the slightest change in air currents or pressure. Years of flight experience with Teka had also alerted her to the momentary stiffening in her miryhl’s body before they dropped out of the sky.

As they fell, Teka rolled over slowly until both were on their backs, staring up at the sky. From there they tilted forward, heading beak-first towards the turbulent Cloud Sea below. White wisps swirled and frothed, breaking against a jagged shoal of rocks barely visible above the surface.

Down there entire countries had been drowned in the flood that had once cursed the old world and left it awash with clouds. Seas had been shrouded and flatlands had been lost, until all that remained were mountaintop islands, marooned in an ethereal ocean.

Nera couldn’t imagine what the world had been like before the Curse. The idea that people had once been able to look down and see nothing but the ground or water, while clouds only ever scudded across the sky above, seemed utterly alien to her. Probably as strange as the Overworld would have appeared to those poor souls who hadn’t known what was coming when the Cloud Curse fell.

All thoughts of the long ago disaster fled from Nera’s mind as Teka swooped into the violent air of the Cloud Sea. The surface was colder than the harshest winter, with winds to rival any Storm Season gale. Teka skipped and surfed the turbulence with the natural ease of her kind, not seeming to notice as cloud frost gathered on her beak and feathers and Nera’s gloves and coat. Instead she tilted and jinked from one gust to the next before finally snatching a fierce updraft that threw them back into the sunlit winter sky.

Whooping, Nera urged her miryhl on and on and up as Teka beat her powerful wings, scooping wave after wave of air under and behind them. They flapped up above the rest of Nera’s flurry before Teka looped all the way over and shot downwards once more.

This time they did not fall alone.

A dark shadow swept over them, followed by a powerful buffet of air, as a gigantic dragon rushed past.

Well used to such interruptions after two months of travelling together, Teka showed no surprise as the monstrous beast passed them. Instead she lunged to snag the dragon’s tail.

Ha! Nera crowed. Got you, Pebble!

Roaring with mock-affront, the great stone dragon opened his wings to brake. Rider and miryhl dangled precariously below him.

You dare? Estenarven rumbled, flicking his tail up and over his back to send Teka zipping through the air.

Nera tucked herself in tight against her miryhl’s back as the eagle corkscrewed along the dragon’s length, waiting for her moment, and reached out just as Teka straightened up. The leather of her gloves rasped as it brushed over the rough scales of Estenarven’s nose.

You’re it! she shouted, and Teka shrieked in triumph as the pair of them darted back up to the safety of their flurry.

Estenarven’s answering roar was curtailed by an explosive sneeze.

Gets him every time, Teka chortled, rolling over midair to allow the upside-down Nera to grin at her sergeant.

Zantho raised his hand with a weary sigh, connecting with her victory slap. Go hide, he ordered, entirely unnecessarily since Teka was already beating double-time back to the Skylark to swoop out of sight beneath the skyship’s hull.

With the chase now on, Estenarven roared in challenge and powered after them. As a lieutenant in charge of escorting the ship through the Dragonlands, it wasn’t strictly within the rules for Nera to break off and play tag with a young, and far too large, Boulderforce dragon while on duty. However, since she’d caught a glimpse of her captain slapping hands with another dragon on the upper deck of the Skylark, Nera thought they could get away with it.

Quick, Nera, he’s coming! Ambassador Jesken called over the rail, moments before Estenarven came roaring around the side of the ship.

For such a vast creature, he could be surprisingly nimble, managing to twist his bulk about and come in close against the Skylark’s hull without knocking the entire ship off course. Chortling in triumph, the stone dragon swept out a paw – but Teka was already gone.

Just because Estenarven was enormous and had to be careful where he flew in relation to the Skylark, didn’t mean Teka did. And, since the dragon had a huge advantage in size and speed, Nera felt no regrets when her miryhl shrieked defiantly and swept over the Skylark’s main deck.

It was a risky manoeuvre at the best of times, with the side rail to clear, numerous sailors and spectators to avoid, not to mention the ropes and chains and the gasbag itself, but Teka was small for a miryhl and exceedingly agile. With a flap and a swoop, she hopped the rail, avoided smacking into the ambassador, put down her feet to bounce once, twice, thrice, across the open deck, tucking in her wings to avoid the chains holding the gasbag in place, then with a final bound and a crack as she unfurled her wings, they were over the other side and in the sky again.

Teka whooped with triumph as they dove down the ship’s side. Cheers and whistles followed them, along with a highly inappropriate shout of, "That’s my lieutenant!" from Captain Wellswen.

Nera’s heart was pounding so fiercely she could hardly breathe as she clung to her reins and glanced frantically from one side to the other. Estenarven wouldn’t have given up yet, and surely there were only so many places the dragon could spring from.

Hold on, Teka warned, dropping once more.

The hull of the Skylark zipped past so close that Nera could have reached out and touched it. Tucked into the cool shadow of the ship, all she could hear was the pounding of her heart and the roar of the wind as they fell faster, faster, faster.

Whoosh! Estenarven swept beneath them.

As the long and very solid length of the stone dragon rushed by, Nera squeezed her eyes shut, fearing at any moment to feel the crunch of impact as Teka and she collided with the dragon. He was too big and they were going too fast for them to avoid him.

Her stomach dipped and she opened her eyes to find Estenarven gone and the world passing swiftly along beneath her. Sunlight blazed as they emerged from the shadow of the ship and Teka darted back up to the scant protection of the Skylark’s hull.

Did… he… suh... see… us? the miryhl panted, gasping between wing beats as she kept pace alongside the great ship.

Not sure, Nera gasped back. "I didn’t see us pass him."

Me neither! Teka laughed. Too close!

Nera snorted, too breathless and giddy to worry that even her miryhl had closed her eyes at the end.

In here, quick!

Miryhl and Rider snapped their heads to the right. The hull hatch was open and a hand was beckoning them inside.

Isn’t this cheating? Nera wondered, as Teka spread her wings to slow them down and twisted to land.

Nah! The grinning face of Lieutenant Vish greeted her as he and fellow lieutenant Anhardyne shoved the doors shut moments before the dark shadow of Estenarven swept past. You can’t cheat a dragon. They never play by the rules.

Which was true enough, Nera had to concede and, since poor Teka was puffing like a blacksmith’s bellows, she was more than happy to give her miryhl a rest. Kicking her feet out of the stirrups, she hopped out of the saddle and stroked her bonded’s face.

I think that was our best run yet.

Resting her beak against Nera’s chest, Teka gave a weary hum of agreement.

He couldn’t get near you! Anhardyne crowed, slapping Nera on the back and dislodging a shower of cloud frost. He could barely catch sight of you!

And when you went over the deck… Vish whistled in admiration. Teka, you are one in a million. I don’t know another miryhl who would have dared.

I thought Hornvel would explode! Anhardyne laughed, while Nera grimaced at the thought of what the Skylark’s captain had made of their stunt. She’d have to keep her head down for the next few days or receive a roaring earful.

The hull doors shuddered as Estenarven swept around the ship again, growling with frustration at having lost his prey.

With her breathing having settled back to normal, Teka pushed Nera lightly away and tilted her head. Even though miryhls were fully capable of talking in any number of human tongues, tradition stated that they only ever spoke directly to their Rider. Since Anhardyne and Vish were so close, Nera understood her bonded’s silence. She needed no words to understand anyway: Teka had recovered and was ready to finish their game. Hiding in the hull was fun, but it wasn’t a victory.

Nera grinned and bounded back into the saddle. Doors, she ordered her fellow lieutenants, who leapt to obey. Leaning down, she ran her gloved fingers through Teka’s abundant neck feathers.

The Skylark shuddered as Estenarven approached once more.

Let’s get ‘im, Tek, she whispered.

The doors opened just as a dark tail flicked past and her miryhl leapt out to chase it.

STANDING ON THE upper deck of the Skylark in his human form, Elder Khennik kin Blazeborn Clan Sunlord, gripped the railing and tried not to break it as his idiotic aide, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart, went roaring around the ship for the second time in succession. Somewhere behind Khennik’s shoulder, Captain Hornvel was swearing as he and his navigator attempted to keep the ship steady under the buffeting onslaught of a circling Boulderforce. The only thing currently in Estenarven’s favour – and preventing Khennik from shifting and knocking his foolish aide from the sky – was that he was keeping low enough not to interfere with the gasbag or sails. Mostly he was just rocking the hull with the sheer force of his presence, beating his wings barely enough to keep himself airborne when he turned the tight corners at either end of the ship.

The rail creaked as Khennik clenched his fists, growling low in his throat as Estenarven grumbled past once more. It wasn’t just the impact his aide was having on the ship that was making Khennik angry – Estenarven was playing with Rift Riders again.

How quickly the youngster had forgotten the circumstances under which he’d come into Khennik’s service in the first place, after an ill-judged game of chase with a bunch of humans and miryhls had ended up with one of them knocked out of the saddle and careening heedlessly through the air. The fall hadn’t been great enough to have killed the Rider – probably – but it still would have been disastrous for the newly-arrived human delegation.

Luckily, Khennik had been on hand to catch her. Unluckily, Elder Goryal Clan Starshine had also been present and had decided that the best way to teach Estenarven maturity and restraint was to assign him to Khennik as an aide. As if the one Khennik already had hadn’t been punishment enough.

Oh no, oh, oh n-no, a watery voice bubbled beside him. Has he c-c-caught her yet? I c-can’t l-l-look.

Khennik tried not to roll his eyes at the young dragon beside him. Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight certainly lived up to all the watery elements of his ancestry and was currently dripping on the deck, hands in front of his eyes, peeping between his webbed fingers.

I believe young Nera is hiding, the lightly amused voice of Elder Goryal answered. Most likely inside the ship. Despite that being a cheating move, it sounded as though they approved of such a tactic.

If she’s hoping to tire Esten out that way, she won’t succeed. The low, rumbling reply belonged to Junior Archivist Reglian kin Thunderwing Clan Skystorm, the nosiest dragon on the ship, who one moment could be as dignified as Khennik and the other elders, the next as wilfully foolish and playful as the young aides. As if to prove such a thing, the Thunderwing climbed over the rail. I want to take a closer look.

He dropped out of sight. Khennik leant over the rail to watch Reglian fall, his silk robe flapping around him like wings. Only when he was far below the Skylark, and well out of range of the miryhls, did Reglian unleash the change and give into the call of his first form.

Khennik’s skin prickled as he watched the archivist vanish inside a swirling cloud of black, highlighted with golden sparkles. Reglian emerged roaring, a boom of thunder cracking across the sky as the enormous beast pounded the air with his wings and shot skywards.

I always think Estenarven is big, and then…

Khennik tilted his head, acknowledging the woman beside him.

Ambassador Jesken smiled but said nothing more as she joined him by the side rail.

Huffing at having another dragon encroaching on his fun, Estenarven back-winged away from the Skylark and growled in a rumbling draconic dialect. The wind snatched away most of the words, but the general air of Go away, you’re ruining everything, was perfectly clear.

Laughing, Reglian ignored the slightly smaller Boulderforce and swept around the ship himself.

Since Wellswen, the Rift Rider captain, seemed more amused than alarmed by the game, Khennik controlled his instinctive urge to follow Reglian into the sky and end the game before anything terrible happened. Resigned to having no control over the farce unfolding before him, and trusting in the miryhl and Rider to be able to take care of themselves, Khennik folded his arms on the rail and looked down the side of the ship. Sunlight poured over his head, weak with winter but still welcome, as he waited with the others to see what would happen next.

Reglian swept around the edge of the ship, rather more slowly than Estenarven managed, and rumbled by beneath them. A flash of lighter colour had Khennik gripping the rail again as the miryhl and Rider reappeared, clinging onto Reglian’s tail.

Oh dear, Goryal sighed, as the startled Thunderwing instinctively flicked the irritation away, sending the Rider pair whooshing into open sky.

Ha! Estenarven pounced after them, slamming his front feet together.

Khennik wasn’t the only one to wince at the clumsy move.

Luckily for all involved, the nimble miryhl dropped out of the way before it could get crushed and was soon wheeling away to safety.

Ai Maegla, Captain Wellswen groaned, a despairing hand clutching her forehead. Why can’t that blasted girl ever just stay in the saddle?

Having been watching the miryhl sky dance, squinting to try and work out why it didn’t look right, Khennik whipped his head back towards Estenarven.

No wonder the miryhl had looked strange – it had lost its Rider! The very same one who was now climbing up Estenarven’s shoulder as if he was a common boulder on a mountainside, rather than a living, breathing, moving dragon flying perilously low over the Cloud Sea.

I r-really can’t w-w-watch now! Mastekh wailed.

Khennik was tempted to follow his aide’s lead and put his hands over his eyes as the tiny Rider made it to Estenarven’s back, straddled the dragon’s neck and waved her hands triumphantly in the air.

Just stay there, fool, Wellswen growled, as the laughing Estenarven flew a swift loop that left the Rider sprawled across the his broad, smooth scales, scrabbling for handholds.

Oh, dear Gods. It was the ambassador’s turn to groan as the Boulderforce straightened up and turned his head to speak to the Rider. Spreading his wings, Estenarven steadied his flight – allowing the Rider to stand.

Please tell me she isn’t going to… Wellswen trailed off with a weary sigh as the Rider back-flipped across Estenarven’s back. Of course she is.

I always thought she was the quiet one? Ambassador Jesken muttered, as they all watched the Rider perform a series of balances that ended with her upside down, positioned precariously on one arm.

She is, Wellswen agreed, sighing again.

She’s also a Rider, Goryal pointed out, laughing and applauding another set of back flips. I think she’s wonderful.

You would, Khennik muttered, not quite below his breath.

The Starshine elder winked.

The entire skyship, its rail packed with observers – Riders, sailors and dragons alike – gasped as the woman darted onto Estenarven’s wing, jumped, and slid along the leathery skin towards the pointed end.

More than one person yelped as the woman dropped out of sight.

Khennik was over the rail and falling without pausing to think, breathing in deeply to leave enough time to clear the Skylark before unleashing his power. Heat roared through him, the fire in his blood stirring with fury as he re-emerged, frantically scanning the clouds below for any sign of the falling, flailing figure. There wouldn’t be much time to catch her before she reached the Sea. He had to find her. Now.

Nothing.

Snarling, he looked up – and found the Rider back on her miryhl, the two of them laughing as they sky danced with Estenarven and Reglian. They were so happy and carefree, utterly oblivious to the churning fear that their stupid games had roused inside Khennik’s gut.

"Steady." A cool touch at the nape of his neck and the soothing presence of Goryal’s voice inside his head was all that stopped him from blazing his way up there and knocking all four of them from the sky. I thought she was lost too, but her miryhl would never let her fall.

Khennik heaved a heavy snort, scorching the sky ahead with a gout of flame. It was possible that he had overreacted, but he wasn’t willing to feel embarrassed about it. Twisting his head, he eyed Goryal upon his back.

They looked as small, pale and fragile as ever, but there was no denying the sense of power that hung about them, pricking at Khennik’s scales and calling his fire to the surface.

I think they’ve had enough for today, he growled.

Goryal smiled. Indeed, they agreed, soft voice barely audible over the flight wind. So they continued talking inside Khennik’s head: I think we all have. Take me up to them.

Snorting another burst of flame and thoroughly agreeing with the Starshine elder’s thoughts, Khennik opened his wings wide and soared around the Skylark, up to where the playful fools were in desperate need of a reminder about their duties and responsibilities.

Khennik was happy to lecture any and all of them at length about both. Starting now.

Two

Estenarven

22nd Gale Month

DRIFTING HIGH ABOVE the Skylark the next morning, Estenarven tried not to sulk. Elder Blazeborn wasn’t speaking to him. After delivering a blistering lecture on the foolishness of playing with fragile humans and delicate miryhls, especially around the volatile setting of a skyship, Elder Blazeborn had returned to the Skylark and shut himself in his cabin. Mastekh had done his best to coax their elder out, but the grumpy Blazeborn wasn’t budging.

Which meant Mastekh had dripped all over Estenarven, sniffling about how things had been going so well and now they were right back at the start: Elder Blazeborn was never going to like him and he was just a failure to all dragons everywhere. Because whenever something went wrong it had to be Mastekh’s fault, despite any and all evidence to the contrary. However, when Estenarven had tried to consol his Rainstorm lover, Mastekh had looked at him and sighed.

That was it. No words, no stutter, no sniffles or moans, just a sigh. And the look: sad disappointment.

When Estenarven had woken up to the same expression, he’d fled. No, he wasn’t a coward and he wasn’t running away, but it was probably best for everyone if he just stayed out of sight for a while. Which was why he was currently coasting along at high altitude, keeping an eye on the ship and miryhls below while silently ruminating on his latest disgrace.

It wasn’t that he tried to be annoying. Nor did he ever set out to make trouble, he just sometimes forgot himself and his size. Or the size of others in relation to him. Miryhls and humans were fun, they understood his liking for games. Reglian did too, even though he was even bigger than Estenarven and widely regarded as a (mostly) sensible sort.

But Reglian was also an archivist, which meant he could be serious too. True, most of that came from the Thunderwing’s depthless curiosity and never-ending thirst for knowledge, but he still had the discipline to make notes and keep asking questions long after a topic grew boring. Estenarven was often curious too, he just didn’t have the same patience and concentration that Reglian had, which was why he usually ended up doing something stupid.

Sighing, he flapped his wings and stared at the horizon. A cluster of green mountains was growing out of the west, the same spot that – according to the maps – marked the end of the Tempestfury kinlands and the start of the Skystorm Clanhome. Skystorm dragons had always been on the more traditional side of things, which was why their kin territories surrounded and protected their heartland.

Estenarven’s own Stoneheart Clan was a little more scattered, mostly because his Boulderforce kin couldn’t stand the other three and tried to have as little to do with them as possible. Stoneskins were dull, Earthdrakes never could control their tempers, while the less said about the vain and ambitious Jewelwing kin the better. Having been raised deep inside the Boulderforce kinlands, Estenarven had only visited his Clanhome twice: once to announce his change time had begun and once to prove that he had mastered his power enough to pass the final changeling test and be regarded as an adult.

He’d been looking forward to seeing how the Skystorm homeland compared, but now…

He sighed again. It wasn’t that he was in disgrace, as such, but he had certainly been called a disgrace by Elder Blazeborn. Again. He didn’t do these things deliberately, but somehow, someway, he always managed it.

Rough night?

Startled from his thoughts, Estenarven looked down, surprised to see how low he’d drifted. Though still a fair way above the Skylark, he’d clearly forgotten to flap as he’d reflected on his problems, which had left him coasting along at the topmost edge of the Rift Rider patrol.

Tilting his head, he eyed the man beside him. There wasn’t much to see beyond the bulk of his flight gear, but steady grey-blue eyes studying him crinkled ever so slightly at the corners, hinting at a smile beneath the scarf. Lieutenant Gharrik was Wellswen’s senior lieutenant and someone Estenarven hadn’t had much cause to talk to before. He wondered why the man had come to speak with him now.

Aren’t you angry with me? he rumbled, his voice like loose rubble thanks to his dark thoughts.

The lieutenant chuckled. Nera’s as much to blame for your games as you are. Besides, have you met some of my Riders?

Estenarven huffed a reluctant laugh at that, drifting directly above the miryhl before he flapped his wings, lessening the downdraft as much as possible. The bird was as steady as her Rider and shifted easily to compensate for the disturbed air. Humans are different, he said, because it was a fact that Elder Blazeborn had impressed upon him again and again.

Gharrik shrugged. Youngsters are youngsters, as far as I’m concerned, and some folk have more spirits than others. As long as everyone remembers that it’s just a game and takes proper caution, I don’t see the harm.

Estenarven perked up at the easy acceptance, head rising above his slumped shoulders for the first time that day. Then he remembered Elder Blazeborn’s words and sagged mid-flight once more. I’m still a disgrace to dragonkind.

The lieutenant snorted, and though the man tried to disguise it, he was clearly trying not to laugh.

It’s not funny, Estenarven growled, affronted. Elder Blazeborn says I’ve brought the reputation of all dragonkind into disrepute. He could send me home. Then I really would be in disgrace.

I’m sorry, Gharrik said, chuckling a little. "But