Kyria

Children of the snow-driven steppes, Kyria and her two elder brothers possessed an intrinsic sense for life on a saddle—an advantage for those who live by the frontiers. Their lowborn status availed them little except the livelihood of herders, but the local lord saw in her brothers budding cavalrymen, and conscripted them into his service. Life was harsh, but it was nothing compared to the terrible darkness that swept over the steppes. The winged, malicious terror came by cover of night, and the people burned in its wake. So fierce and suffocating were the flames from its maw that ash was all that remained of its unfortunate victims. With each dawn came the dread realization that no one would save them; least of all their absent lord and his cavalry. But Kyria did not give up. One night, after the beast had slaked its thirst for carnage, she quietly saddled up her family's last stallion and tracked it. Through the valley of death she dared—then two radiant strangers clad in shining armor came riding out of the brume, raising a hand in greeting. Fearful yet enraptured, Kyria followed in silence. Strewn all over the lair were the broken bodies of the brave and the foolish. The strangers inclined their helmeted heads before a single broken lance jutting defiantly toward the heavens, then vanished. Kyria stifled a cry as she spied her beloved brothers' eagle-talon necklaces among the mangled corpses. As dawn began to break, Kyria's resolve grew, and a chorus of phantom voices urged the rider on—their instrument of justice. The dragon would draw its final noxious breath, and every one of these brave souls would be avenged. For Kyria, it would be a good death...