Fire Wings by Anthony Ryan

Author:Anthony Ryan [Ryan, Anthony]
Language: eng
Format: epub

7

The Leap

The helms Ehlias issued to Shamil and Lyvia were a testament to the smith’s skills in that each was a perfect fit despite being constructed purely by eye. They weighed less than Shamil had expected but still possessed a decent heft, the weight distributed evenly between the elongated blade that extended two feet from the rear of the helm and the brass-and-copper mask that comprised the visor. This protruded several inches in front of the wearer’s face to accommodate three sets of lenses.

“First is just plain glass,” the smith explained. “Half an inch thick so it’ll guard your eyes from any claws that come stabbing. Flick the lever on the side to switch to the next.”

Shamil duly pressed a finger to the curved piece of iron on the side of the helmet and found himself confronted by the irregular and colourful mass of an old burn mark on Ehlias’s forehead.

“Fine-ground curved glass,” he said. “Gives you about three times the sight you’d normally have. Can’t match the birds, of course, but it might let you see a Maw beast before it gets close enough to sink its teeth into your throat. Good for spotting vehlgard on the ground too.”

The third set of lenses rendered the smith’s workshop a shadowy alcove of deep shadows, transforming the glimmer of his oil lamp into a faint pinprick of light. “Powdered obsidian mixed into standard glass when it’s melted,” Ehlias said. “Protects the eyes from blinding light, and it can get awful bright when the crystal-heads start flying.”

They had only an hour to accustom themselves to the helms before Tihla came to ask them a question that had become a daily ritual after their fourth visit to the nest. Shamil had expected some measure of satisfaction, perhaps even a small glimmer of pride, when he gave his answer only to receive a frown of deep skepticism in response.

“You ready?” the Second Wing asked. “There’s no doubt?”

Shamil didn’t allow his gaze to linger on Tihla’s frown, replying with a firm nod and as much certainty as he could muster. “Kaitlahr now accepts food from my hand and has allowed me to touch him. I feel the bond.”

“Enough to name him, apparently.”

“Yes. It means ‘golden storm’ in the ancient tongue of my homeland . . .”

“I don’t care what it means, fledgling. Neither does your bird. Naming them is our custom, one we adopted long ago, but only when we’re sure they’ve accepted us as riders.” She stepped closer, brow creasing further. “There’s no shame in waiting,” she told him, voice pitched far below her usual stridency. “Build the bond over weeks, months if that’s what it takes, if it’s truly there. The leap is not to be taken lightly. If you fall, you fall, and you’ve seen the bones of those that judged this wrong.”

Shamil’s hesitation was brief, but he knew she saw it. The bird he had named Kaitlahr was the same huge but youthful fire wing that had consented to accept his offered meat during his first foray into the nest.

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