Chapter One: The Golden Mare
A/N: Hope you like it, and Happy Thanksgiving to each and every author/reader/organizer at FFN! Disclaimer: Sadly, nothing belongs to me except the golden mare.
It was a cool, spring day. The Rider trainees were camped at Pirate's Swoop, along with their commander, Queen Thayet, their wake-up call otherwise known as Sarge, the Queen's protector Buri, and horsemistress Onua. Lady of the Swoop, Sir Alanna of Trebond and Olau, was housing the entourage for the rainy months of March and April. Training was hard and relentless, just as it had always been. Today, after nearly a fortnight of nonstop Rider instruction, a break in the usual labor was the awaited coming of their honored and respected assistant horsemistress, Daine Sarrasri.
In the stables, eleven-year-old Thom, son of the Lioness, was grooming a blood-bay gelding, under the watchful eye of his close friend the Princess Kalasin.
"You're missing spots, Thom." She told him, scowling. "What would she think?" Grumbling, Thom went over the mighty hocks of the gelding once more.
"D'you really think she'll notice if-
Kally cut him off. "I know she will. This is her only mount at the Swoop, the first thing she'll do when she gets here is look him over." Shaking coal-black hair behind her regally, she grabbed the comb from Thom's hand and swiftly continued to brush the horse herself.
Over an expansive hill, thief-gone-noble George Cooper conversed soberly with the Captain of the Swoop's guards, Josua.
"Numair said Daine sensed 'em days ago. 'S why she's rushin' so to get here. 'O course, milady and the children don't know that. Don't want any panic."
"But, George, won't Alanna be-peeved-that she wasn't informed? She is one of our strongest warriors."
"The lass has her hands full with the kids right now. If she needs to find out, I'll tell her."
"With all due respect, baron, this is more than we've ever seen-
"When Daine gets here, we'll be fine. Don't worry the Lioness, Josua. Promise me ye won't."
Resigned, the Captain promised. When Daine arrives, they thought. She can help.
"Renalt! Post trot! Post trot, I said!" Sarge's powerful bellow carried over the dusty paddock where Rider trainees exercised. The foolhardy young country boy, Renalt, straightened and began to post, fearing the wrath of their muscular instructor.
"What if we were at war, trainee Renalt?" Onua admonished. "We can't afford a Rider with saddle sores!" A glum silence lapsed over the group, as fifteen or so trainees trotted, cantered, and drilled every other gait under the name of the Goddess.
"I don't like this." Sarge confided in an undertone to the horsemistress, seated next to him on horseback. Sarge's steel black eyes were hidden under furrowed brows as he consulted Onua.
"Don't speak of it." She replied tightly. She gathered the reins of her dun and rode away from Sarge, who sighed heavily.
Scant hours later, three-fourths of the population of Pirate's Swoop was lined up by the outer gates, impatiently anticipating the entrance of Veralidaine Sarrasri.