Herrik shook his head as Merddyth's wings pumped hard to keep up with the larger, younger beast flying ahead. So harsh, so angry, so young was Jasper. Usually the dragons picked warriors in their prime, but even so the lives of mortal women paled to the centuries a rider bonded to their dragon could confidently expect. The Wingleader was nearing his fifth century, and while his hair had gone white he remained vital and strong. He too had resisted his elevation when he had first been chosen, but over time had found that the additional respect rarely went amiss. She would come around, or society would do it for her.  The world opened up beneath them to the sound of canvas-sawing wing beats, and he felt the familiar rush of awe at the gifts that bonding with his companion had brought him. It was something that was all too easily forgotten by those on the ground, which led to tragedies like the Searing of the Marches and the Destruction of Sulimar. He had not been alive to see either of those revolts, yet the blackened scars on the ground were still only slowly being reclaimed by nature. He hoped against hope that he would not live to see a third.<br/><br/>------------<br/><br/>In the Great Hall of the royal castle of Dhalo stood an immense golden throne atop three terraced stairs. At this focus point for the room, beneath two dipping banners, sat an elaborate ceremonial robe of silken thread atop a thin cushion on the seat. The Queen - Sabrienne - was on the far side of the room by the window, pacing restlessly as she delivered a rapid series of instructions to a man dressed in the livery of a captain of the Royal Guard. "See that the Lantern and Hawthorn Towers are made ready and their ballistas kept shielded from above. If the lizard-lovers see what we have waiting for them they'll never come down and we aren't prepared to face a strafing."<br/><br/>She turned to peer out the window, although she knew the dragons were still days away. "Send a rider to the Baron and the Count, see to it that they know I'm calling in their markers. Once the beasts have landed they won't be leaving again, but I want the people out of the city - the ones that aren't serving in the palace - by sundown of the day after. Be quiet, but be firm. Make an example of the first family that tries to "insist" on staying and the rest will fall into line." Sabrienne waved the man away and stormed through the corridors towards her quarters. Some of the more grasping or foolish among her courtiers attempted to catch her eye, but most knew better when she was in such a dark mood. Fortunately for the fools she was too pre-occupied to play her games of power and hunger.<br/><br/>At five feet and eight inches in height, the full-grown Sabrienne o'Dhalo makes an imposing figure by the common measures of mortal man. Her well-muscled body shows a proof beyond words that she kept in training even after her trainer and friend was snatched away without warning. Her face showed few signs of humour, while her clear blue eyes focused on something beyond the hallway or the doors before her. Entering her suite, her eyes touched on the steaming waters in the tub then went to the small woman in the ceremonial collar. She nodded her approval and stretched out both arms as the handmaidens began to undress her, while her attention remained on the head servant's face. "Tell me," she said simply.