Flying Horse #4

Chapter 1: High Meadow

The entrance to the town of High Meadow loomed before them and Bryan gave a snort of disgust. Giant boulders flanked the road, leaving a narrow access point for the road. Iron gates hung from them, but they were open. He couldn't understand why you would build gates and not use them to fortify your town.

Fyrsil heard the snort and lifted an eyebrow. He didn't say anything, though, and Bryan was glad. He was tired of defending himself to his squire. Fyrsil kicked his horse into a trot to lead Bryan into town. No guards stopped them.

"Not very secure," Bryan commented.

"They're not very threatened," Fyrsil said. "Come on now, you can't be late."

Bryan left his horse at a walk. When Fyrsil realized he wasn't going to hurry, he pulled up and settled for a brisk walk.

Puffs of dust rose from the road and clung to the horse's hooves. At home in Merioneth, the roads were more efficiently hardpacked to prevent dust and minimize mud during the rainy season. The mud here would be fetlock deep come winter. On either side of the road, buildings in various stages of construction greeted them. Stone and wood smelled new, and fresh thatch covered the roofs. In Merioneth, dirt and moss had fused the stone into formidable walls. Of course, that had taken centuries. Three years ago, this had been an empty plateau. The newness of everything lent a temporary air to the town, and the total absence of residents or workers made it seem abandoned. "Where is everyone?" he asked.

Fyrsil's lips tightened. "Where we should be. Rider Ceremony."

"Well, I've never been to High Meadow before. If I'm going to pledge my life here, I should at least look it over."

A large shadow on the ground drew both men's eyes skyward. Silhouetted against the sky, a winged horse circled over the town, soaring with apparent little effort. Bryan let out a low whistle.

"Impressive, aren't they?" Fyrsil couldn't hide his smirk.

Bryan dropped his eyes and fastened on the buildings ahead of them. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, shaking the brown hair out of his eyes. He ignored Fyrsil like the lord his father would have done.

The Merioneth road ended at Main Street. To their left lay the heart of the town, High Meadow Inn and the tavern overlooking the meadow where the horses flew. Other shops lined the road, but every door was closed tight. Fyrsil turned to the right, but Bryan hesitated.

"You can't stall any longer. We're here, as your father requested. You must take your place in the Rider Ceremony."

"My place, Fyrsil? My place?" Bryan waved an arm wide, indicating the town and its plateau, the surrounding mountains and even the handful of winged horses in the sky. "Nothing about this place is mine. My mother's parents knew their flying horses in Tremeirchson. High Meadow has nothing for me."

"Your father says it has a winged colt you are to be paired with. You'd best stop acting like an infant and take up your responsibility." Fyrsil turned his horse to the track leading up to the barns.

Bryan kicked his horse into a trot and caught up to the other man. "Fyrsil, you must address me as 'milord' when we are in town. And I must ride first."

"Iawn, milord," he agreed. Amusement tinged his words. "Don't you have to know where you are going in order to lead? Milord?"

Bryan looked down at his horse's neck so Fyrsil wouldn't see his reddening face. He'd had no luck demanding respect from his father's stable man on this trip. And no luck convincing his father that he could change his behavior if he stayed in Merioneth. No need to banish him to High Meadow for a life sentence of riding a winged horse in the most remote corner of Gwynned. He'd never follow his older brother as a squire to an English lord. His brother would become a knight before Bryan ever saw him again! Well, if he couldn't change his future he could delay it, and delay it he had. All along the trip he'd stalled, hoping to raise Fyrsil's ire and be sent home to Merioneth. But Fyrsil was too patient. And now he was laughing at Bryan.