Clara grimaced as she watched the platform lowered to the docks where she stood, hand shading her eyes. The dockworker operating the crane was going as gently as he could, but still the winds rocked it dangerously back and forth.

  Far too close to crashing against the ship’s hull for her liking.

  Her ground crew were hanging back, each watching as nervously as she as the precious cargo was lowered. She knew each of them as well as one person could know another after spending almost three months in the cramped space at the bow of the ship.

  She was more than happy to be back on land.

  Clara took a step forward, hand half-raised as if to steady the platform as a strong gust sent it spinning, the thick rope creaking with the strain.

  Then it was down, landing with a thump, and an excited babble rose behind her as the crew rushed forward. She was not far behind, though she knew enough not to interfere with their tasks.

  She stopped a short distance from the platform as the crew began to lift off the heavy crates of gear that surrounded the cradle with its most precious cargo. Pressing her fist against her back and stretching, she grimaced at the stinging ash and scanned the docks.

  It was a hive of activity and as close to the edge as they were, the workers were intent on their business. There was no malingering or casual chatter that couldn’t be shouted at each other as each man passed.

  Thirty feet further along the dock, the passengers were disembarking. They clambered out of the iron pylon before wrapping cloth around their faces and heading to the gate leading into the town. There, a customs agent for the governor was marking their arrival.

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she caught sight of the strange wizard she’d met earlier.

  He was taller than her, but then who wasn’t. Dark hair and brooding eyes, with the slim, pale body of an academic. A student, or teacher, perhaps. Someone who had spent little time out in the sun and considering his reaction on the deck above, even less time in the air.

  She shook her head at that, remembering his terror. She couldn’t understand it, as for her, flying was the ultimate freedom and she gloried in soaring high above the ground, feeling the air rushing past as her mount beat his powerful wings.

  A shiver of anticipation ran through her, and she turned back to the platform. The grounds crew had unloaded their belongings and were working on the cradle.

  She took a step forward, tongue darting out, tasting the bitter sting of ash on her lips.

  The last rope binding was undone and the fur-lined leather cradle unfurled like the petals of a great flower, revealing Corvin.

  He stretched inside the cradle, shaking himself free of the last of the restraints. Large for his age, all muscle and restless energy, the months of travel had been hard for him.

  His forequarters were that of a great eagle, hooked beak sharp and dark, eyes bright and alert. The feathers along his head and wings were black, though when the noon day light caught them, they shimmered a deep green, like oil on water.

  Behind the feathered chest his body flowed into the powerful form of a lion. Thick fur ran down his flanks, dark as night, his tail flicking impatiently behind him. The claws on his fore talons scraped lightly against the wood of the platform as he shifted his weight, testing his freedom.

  Corvin unfurled his wings, spreading them wide, the long feathers rustling softly as he settled them again, the span wide enough to shadow the ground around the cradle. He gave a low, eager chirp in the back of his throat and turned his head toward her, golden eyes bright with recognition and the promise of flight.

  Clara crossed the space to him in an instant, reaching up to run her hand gently along the wicked curve of his beak as he lowered his head, nuzzling at her chest and almost knocking her back with the force.

  She laughed, running her fingers through his feathers as she stroked his mane.

  “I know,” she whispered, staring into his eager eye. “We’ll fly soon, I promise.”

  “Ma’am?”

  Clara twisted her head to look back at Charlie, the ground crew leader. He ducked his head politely and rubbed at the thick bristles on his chin. His mouth worked slowly, the words rumbling like stone down a hill.

  “He’s well?”

  “Seems so.” Another chirp from Corvin echoed her answer and she grinned, happily. “I want him fed and bedded down, then we’ll check him over properly. I want to make sure he’s well enough to fly after so long cooped up.”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “Aye, ma’am. We can do that while you meet the commander.”

  She grimaced. “I suppose I should.”

  The man shared a grin with his crew and jerked his head towards the gryphon. Clara smiled wryly. Charlie seemed to know what she was thinking before she did. But then, she could say the same of him.

  They’d spent entirely too much time together on the damned ship and there were few secrets when crammed into a small space with no privacy for far too long.

  Unlike the others on the ship, they had worked in shifts, keeping Corvin calm as the restless gryphon sought to find release from the confines of their quarters and fly free. It had been an exhausting and time-consuming task.

  She stepped back and placed hand on hips, squinting as more ash blew across her face, and watched while the men led the gryphon away.

  Hefting the messenger bag she carried, she rested a hand lightly on the long knife sheathed on her belt, slim fingers wrapping around the hilt. While she didn’t expect to need to use it, she took her duty seriously and she carried with her correspondence that was for the eyes of the governor alone.

  A young soldier blinked and stared blankly at her when she asked for direction and his companion grunted out a reply in his stead. Thick lines etched with dirt covered their faces and they had the haunted look to the eyes of men who had seen war.

  Which boded not well at all.

  She moved nimbly through the milling crowds that thronged the streets, hanging garlands and stacking trays of food and small barrels of ale and gin on the long wooden tables that had been set out along every street.

  A few men watched her admiringly, but she ignored them, focused entirely upon her task.

  The governor’s manse was a wide and tall building of stone and dark timber, three storeys high near the centre of town. There was no guard on the door, and when she knocked on the plain wood, it was pulled open by a woman in a black dress, and white pinny.

  “Yes?”

  A tap of one finger against the brass pin on her breast would have been enough, but she added, “I have dispatches for the governor.”

  There was no hesitation as the woman stepped aside and gestured Clara into the house. It was warm, a fire blazing in a hearth radiating heat. There were few walls, the large living space open to all, and entirely unexpected to the young gryphon rider.

  From her experience, the homes of the rich and powerful, were all polished stone and bright lights. The unimportant visitors left to wait in the foyer as the servant’s passed messages between their masters and the visitor.

  The governor’s home was the opposite.

  Lumin globes sat in brass sconces, their light cozy and warm. Thick rugs covered the floor, their patterns pleasing to the eye. The maid gestured Clara to a high-backed upholstered chair that was softer than anything she’d sat on since she’d left home.

  The maid left through a side door and returned a short time later with a clay mug that steamed in her hands. She placed it on the table beside Clara. “Lord Whitlock will be with you shortly.”

  With that she left to go about her duties and Clara sat listening to the soft tick of a brass clock on the mantle. After a short time, she lifted the mug and sniffed cautiously at it, eyebrows rising as she smelled the familiar fragrance of tea.

  Sipping it, she grimaced at the lack of honey to sweeten it, but still drank it down, appreciative of the thought.

  Time passed slowly as she waited, the soft ticking starting to irritate her with every fresh minute that passed. The constant noise of the crowded street outside the door was intrusive, and overlaying everything was a bitter odour that she couldn’t quite place.

  Wrinkling her nose, she glanced around looking for the source.

  “It’s the ash.”

  Cheeks heating, Clara surged to her feet and spun to face the man. She recognised him instantly as the governor by the chains of office that hung around his neck, and she threw out a quick, crisp, salute.

  “Be well.” The twitch of his lips was the only sign of his amusement. “All newcomers to this island notice the smell, stronger after a storm.”

  “My lord?”

  The governor smiled indulgently as he approached her, stopping a short distance away. His clothing was workmanlike, and not at all as she’d expected. Young, though past thirty, and bearded with dark hair already giving way to patches of grey.

  It was his eyes that captured her attention though. There was something in them that had her feeling safe. Comfortable, even. She wanted to trust him, an instinctive reaction that surprised her as much as it scared her.

  “You are the new gryphon rider.” It was not a question and she remained silent. “You have brought dispatches?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  She reached hurriedly into the bag, her fingers clumsy beneath his quiet gaze, which caused her cheeks to heat all the more. Finally, she grabbed all the sealed envelopes and pulled them out, offering them to him.

  “What’s this?”

  Clara turned at the sound of the new voice. A woman, older than the governor though not by much, and quite beautiful, approached from another room.

  She moved with grace that Clara could only dream of possessing, every movement elegant, even in the simple coat and breeches that she wore. On her lapel, there was a pinned brooch, a match for Clara’s, though cast in gold and not brass.

  Swallowing hard, Clara snapped out another salute for her new commander.

  “At ease, girl.” The woman waved dismissively and looked at the governor. “Brother, has it arrived?”

  “I have not yet opened the letters, dear sister.” There was a touch of exasperation in his tone, but good natured. “Perhaps, you will allow me to read them before you seek to discover the contents.”

  She smiled in reply to him, a smug type of smile most seen on the cat that had just gotten the cream.

  “As you will.” She turned her attention on Clara. “Name, girl?”

  “Clara Ward, ma’am.”

  Another salute, fingers straight, hand like a blade as her fingertips brushed her temple. It was as crisp a salute as any she had ever given, and the woman barely noticed it.

  “We’re not much for the formality of the capital here.” She sniffed, shaking her head. “Bit rough and tumble, but you’ll adapt.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The governor’s eyes flicked up from the letter he was reading, knowing smile lingering on his lips.

  “This place is your new posting, but it is our home,” the commander continued. “The people who live and work here, those who brave the Ashlands and the horrors it contains. They are our responsibility. As is the protection of this settlement.”

  Clara could only nod.

  “Good. Then you can-“

  She cut off as the governor swore, softly and his sister spun to him. “Brother?”

  “It arrived,” he muttered, holding out the letter for her to read. “And it’s worse than we expected.”