The morning sun spilt across the courtyard of the keep, drenching the stones in golden light. The stones that had far too many weeds growing between them, food for the deadly thread that was sure to fall in the coming season. Keira cursed her doddering uncle, the Lord of the Southern Boll Hold. She gave the hardy grass a kick as she crossed the stable yard for her morning ride.
More unhappy thoughts crossed her mind as she did so; her uncle, Tybir, had no children and would not name a successor for title of Lord. Keira's eldest brother Dax was the best option in her mind, but the entire hold knew that Tybir favored the conniving son of her mother's brother. Wyan had been trouble since he was old enough to toddle down the steps of the hold and leave open the stable gates. It had taken the entire day to find all the horses, but Tybir had only been amused by the boy's actions.
Wyan had not been educated in the ways of old as she and her brother had; he held even less respect for the dragon riders and what they meant to Southern than Tybir did. The Hold itself was a testament to that fact; the yards were overgrown, the heavy shutters in disrepair, the firestone pits empty and mildewing with age, and no watch was posted at such a vulnerable hour. The harbor ten clicks to the south had a wonderful rock shelf to protect it from the hungry rain, but the rest of the Hold was desperately uncared for. Keira could only hope Tybir's heir would do better for Southern than he had.
Once she reached the stables, she forced herself to calm down, and quickly saddled her runner, Pathfinder. The stallion was as black as soot and more beast than most men could handle, but treated her better than any other. He whinnied in greeting when she pulled his tack down from the wall and pawed the straw in his stall anxiously until she was done securing the saddle.
"Hush now, Path, you'll have your run. I'm in a festering mood and up for the chase," she told him as she led him from the stall.
Looking around carefully, she left the stables through the back, and once she was clear of most of the hold, leapt on the stallion's back and nudged him into motion. Once they were past the gates, she gave him a gentle kick and he surged into a gallop, following the well-used road that snaked north and west through the hills that protected Southern.
Lost in the thrill of speed, Keira barely heard the warning shriek of the watchwyer and completely missed the bugles that signaled the arrival of some sort of dignitary at the Hold. As Pathfinder raced along the road, enjoying the run as much as Keira, she let her mind drift and closed her eyes, letting go of the horse's reigns and spreading her arms to fully experience the rush of air against her face, still cool and damp from night.
She wished she could let her long black hair flow free behind her, but she had tied it up tightly under a cap because a lady of the court would never be allowed such wanton behavior, so she dressed as a man for her morning rides. Path leapt over a fallen tree limb, jarring her back into awareness. She made a mental note to tell the groundskeeper about the obstruction and took stock of her surroundings.
She brought Path back into an easy canter, perusing the meadows that surrounded her. More land that should be used for food instead of letting it to wild and expecting the sea to provide enough for the growing hold. The thought brought back her anger and she directed Path into the meadow. Pretty flowers come spring, she thought, and more come summer. Now, on the sunny edge of winter, the meadow was simply full of grass about waist high. She dismounted, trusting Path to stay close by, and meandered through the meadow, letting her hands brush along the soft tops of the stalks of grass. The sting of her thoughts wouldn't let her relax, however, so she took a moment to sit and contemplate her position.
By tradition, women were only allowed to be left in charge of a hold if their husband was Lord and passed away without naming a suitable heir, and would only remain in power until an heir was found, so there was no way Keira would be named Lord. Tybir had outlived his last wife five years, and had no intention of remarrying. The only suitable heirs in the immediate family were Dax and Wyan, both about the same age, and both well-learned in the needs of a hold, though Dax had shown more affinity for a level head and people skills, both crucial aspects of a loved and honored lord.
Though Keira's family would all vote in Dax's favor, they were further from Tybir's heritage than Wyan; Dax and Wyan were both grandsons of Tybir, but Wyan's father was Tybir's son, and Keira's mother a daughter, and the male lineage always held more sway. Both Dax's father and Wyan's--once a dragon rider—had been killed in defending the fort from raiders while the boys were both still young. Keira was their senior by almost four years, but her opinion held almost no sway because she was unmarried and rebellious.
For months now, she had been trying to convince every powerful ear that would listen to convince Tybir to choose Dax, but the old man was stubborn and all the highborn blind to what their future held with Klath. If only there were some way to show them how evil he was!
Keira was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of Path screaming in terror and thundering over to her, nearly trampling her in the process. A great shadow passed over her briefly, and she thought she caught the spicy smell of earth before a great thud shook the ground, and the sound of rustling wings crossed the meadow.
Dragon!
"A little lost lad has grown weary and longs for rest," came the mocking voice of the dragon's rider. Keira felt her anger for Tybir twist and shape into anger towards this haughty dragon rider who interrupted her only sanctuary.
"It seems the dragon be the one lost. You're a good way from your Weyr, rider," she retorted, standing.
"You should know your place when speaking to a wing leader, boy," the rider replied testily. Keira could just make out the irritation on his face. She was surprised to see a very large bronze, however. Bronze riders usually didn't stray far from their wings if they visited a hold, unlike greens or blues, who could be unruly.
"I know my place, but I know no fear of dragons. The Old Laws bar you from harming me." Her statement was true, and the rider knew it.
"But it is not beyond me to bring unruly lads to bear," he replied. The dragon hummed low in its throat, half warning, half triumph. This barb stung, but she kept the anger from her face. She had had enough of this arrogant bronze rider. Path was only a few feet away, so she launched herself into his saddle and tore off across the field.
"Better you keep to the holds, dragon rider!" she yelled over her shoulder. She knew she never would have had such a conversation if the rider knew she was a woman, but she didn't care. She'd likely never see him again.
