Go with the lighter armor

"Hurry up!" demands Lady Relia in a voice used to being obeyed. "I understand you men are animals and can't resist sticking yourself into every pretty little **** you see." She is picking up steam as she finds herself on more familiar ground. "But now stop acting like the pig that you are and start thinking about more important matters."

You don't bother answering her as you pull on the leather armor, taking time to adjust the lacings and buckles. If anything, your silence encourages her continued critique of men in general and of you in particular. In the three minutes it takes to armor up you learn that you are insensitive, a slob and that while slaves might like to be treated like sluts, that you will never find a real woman who would stand for that kind of behavior. There is more about how no man ever amounts to anything in life until a woman directs his actions, and how she doubted that any woman could do much to make you successful. You don't seem very smart, and clearly you are not brave, or you would have fought with the other Riders when the siege began.

If she knew you better, the thin smile on your face would have quieted her rant. It is the same smile that more than one man has seen just before you close with them in a mixture of controlled fury and precision skilled strikes. You take an extra moment to secure your rutter, ten years of personal experience carefully recorded for future reference. Your rutter contained routes between cities with maps of mountain passes, notes on local customs as well as notes about friendly merchants and places to stop along the way. In addition to your own personal observations are sections carefully copied from other Riders and paid for almost every time with hard-earned gold.

Lady Relia follows you through the balcony door and continues her critique as you finish saddling Swiftwing. That she is unimpressed with the drake's obvious size and strength irritates you even more than her unfavorable assessment of your potential.

"He stinks like a street dog. You should wash him." Is the noblewoman's assessment of the creature who is her only hope of escape from the city.

From the balcony, the sound of the makeshift ram is much clearer. You hear the splintering of wood and the screech of hinges stressed to the breaking point. Two, maybe three more blows and they will be in the tower.

Looking into your chambers you see the pleasure **** has gotten dressed again. Smart girl, she wants to be ready to go if you will have her. The blonde is still lying naked on your bed, arms and legs thrown out in every direction. Taking your bow, one of the two quivers of arrows and a small buckler you carry them to Swift and bind them to his harness.

Swiftwing senses the drakes dropping on the city from every quarter and knows that soon he will be fighting. He arches his neck back and lets out a bellowing challenge. His challenge is answered by several of the gliding drakes as they descend with their Riders, luckily you are hidden from their sight. The last thing you want is to have a Rider waiting for you when you start your mad dash for freedom in perfect position to end your flight before it starts.

"Easy Swift" you say as you watch the Riders in action. One drake swoops to a high tower; wrapping its tail around the smooth stonework it clings there like a bat to a wall with its strong talons.

Its Rider climbs through an open window. He should do well in there. People seem to always move their most expensive valuables to the highest towers forgetting that those make the easiest targets for Riders.

"Where is my seat?" asks Lady Relia. She has finally taken the time to examine Swift's harness. Your saddle is obvious, its leather has been polished smooth from hours of riding. But there appears to be just enough room for your butt. "Where do I sit?" She asks again with a note of panic replacing the commanding tone in her voice.

Decision time. Are you going to attach the second saddle, or are you going to fill your saddlebags with her gold and leave her?