Three and a half hours later, they were awake again. With dark circles like a fighter's black eyes, and a drowsiness that could kill a moose, they rose out of their beds and began getting into harness. The black, leather jerkin, hose and boots Thoma was attempting to put on hadn't fully dried from his horse-casting adventure from the day prior. This made them heavier than usual and - adding that to the lack of sleep - brought his regular pace to a crawl. Bernar - being the stronger of the two, and having the brains to use the rain-proof cloak the day before - got into his jerkin and hose easily, though his boots were still caked in mud and smelled of horse shit.
“You look like hell, little brother,” Bernar said. Thoma - who was simply too tired to give the slightest - lazily rolled his eyes over at his brother, slowly turned his head, and said nothing. Bernar was used to being in a sleep deficit - given his years as a synner - and remained as bright and cheery as ever, moving about like a cat, gathering his equipment.
Thoma moved at half speed that morning, and finding his equipment in what remained of the charred, piss-smelling dorm was easier said than done. He found his equipment chest under a large piece of the door - that had been blasted inwards the previous night - and lifted the piece with some effort. He opened the oaken chest, and was relieved to see that his equipment had not been reduced to ash.
He began by pulling out his sword and belt, and laced it to his waist though loops in his hose. He buckled it tightly so it wouldn't jolt around as he walked, and patted it twice. He turned his back to the door and walked towards the opposite end of the room. As he was looking out of the charred window frame, he heard light footsteps coming at what sounded like a run.
Edryd - his best friend - stormed into the room, tripping over the bucket that still lay on the floor from the previous night. He wasn't usually clumsy, but this time, it seemed, he was in too much of a rush to be cautious.
“Thoma!” Edryd cried out. Thoma lazily turned to face the boy, standing near the doorway, with excitement clearly showing on his face. He had deep, brown eyes that could pierce even steel, and dark brown hair tied behind his head in a short ponytail. He had a strong jawline, with the first few whiskers of beard beginning to sprout - which for a boy of Thoma's age was widely respected - and a slightly upturned nose.
“Thoma,” Edryd said again. “Hullo, Edryd,” Thoma returned. “What is it? Why are you in such a rush?" he asked, curious as to why his friend's brow was sweaty. “Don't you know?" Edryd asked. “We're about to head out towards Coltend, and our scouts have returned saying that they've seen a few monsters on the prowl about a league out on the road,” he said.
They've never come this close to home before, Thoma thought . “Hm, that's odd,” he said. “In any case, it's a chance for us to show our skills, should there be anything left for us to kill,” he said with a smirk and a gleam in his eyes. “I know I might sound like a psychopath, but I can't wait to finally kill my first monster,” Edryd began. “After all, it's what we've been training for for most of our lives,” he spread his arms wide as he finished his sentence. “I don't blame you,” Thoma said. “I for one have been itching to try out a spell I created, but I haven't even tested it out of battle, yet,” he said, lowering his head a little.
“Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that,” Edryd said. “There's not a shadow of a doubt that you're the most adept caster of our age group,” Edryd began. “Even if you're not the most physically strong,” he added after a short pause. They both laughed at the final comment, and stopped when they heard it.
The Dragon horn.
The horn carved from a dragon's tooth, that had been slain by one of the first synners, signaled that it was time to get a move on. They looked at each other and they both knew exactly what that meant. “Time to go,” Thoma said. Edryd nodded and they both took up their gear and headed out the door, going down the hall and taking the bend that led to the outer courtyard.
The sun was just beginning to show the tip of its face over the distant Eastern Frellen Hills, and the warmth from the few rays that slipped between the peaks greatly contrasted the cold of the previous night. The birds began to sing in the nearby oak and cedar trees, while the other creatures were slowly coming out of their holes and dens to greet the sun as if it were a long lost friend. The cold morning wind began to blow, gently swaying the trees in all directions.
I couldn't have imagined a more beautiful morning even if I'd dreamed about it for a hundred years, Thoma thought . He shifted his gaze from the tops of the trees down into the courtyard where he saw all of the other synners – the Master included – tightening harnesses, checking stirrups, feeding the horses their morning apples, and list-checking equipment.
He walked over to his horse, Celer - which he had so adequately named due to his speed that had been proven the day before - and checked his saddle. He tied his equipment onto the left side of the saddle, then walked over to the other side and checked the loop, making sure it wouldn't hurt the horse. He's all decked out, Thoma thought.
“Listen up, you lot,” Bernar yelled while standing on a beam that the Master's horse was tied on. The Master - who was sitting on his horse - suddenly jumped up and stood on his horse's saddle, thereby getting a better view of the group of synners. He stood there for a few moments, without movement, waiting for everyone to quiet down. He did a headcount; twenty synners - himself, Bernar, and Thoma included. “As I am sure you all know, we ride South-East towards Coltend Castle, to answer King Truls' summons,” he began. “I expect nothing less than exemplary behavior from all once we arrive at the castle, for they are not so lenient as I am over insolence,” he said, shooting a glance over at Thoma. “I believe these summons to be but for a trivial matter, of which shall be dealt with quickly and thoroughly. Although, I suspect we will stay within the castle walls for at least a day or two,” the Master said.
A few of the older synners looked at each other smiling, and each knew exactly what that meant - whoring and drinking. “On this most auspicious of mornings, bear in mind that there are very real dangers out there, and one must always be watchful and attentive, understood?" he asked. “Yes, Master!" the synners in front of him roared. “Good. Now, mount up!" he shouted.
They rose in their stirrups all at once, from the left side throwing their right legs over the horse and placing their foot in the other stirrup. Adjusting their seating and gathering their reins they awaited the Master's signal. Thoma and Edryd's anxiety showed, though they were grinning nonetheless. They glanced over at each other and nodded. It's time for us to show them we're ready, Thoma thought.
“We ride!" the Master called out, and everyone stuck their heels into their horses’ sides. Their hooves rolled over the cobblestone floor, and the sounds resonated off the thick stone walls, making it seem as though they were an army of a hundred, not twenty.
Their two swords – one was a hand and a half sword that was mainly used when on horseback, the other a longsword for ground combat – clanged about on their backs and on their sides respectively. The sword-casters all wore thick, leather jerkins, with thicker seams at the joints than there would normally be to lessen wear and tear. Their boots were mostly made from elk or bear skin, and the few, more experienced sword-casters had glick or ochelon skin hoods and riding cloaks. The younger, less experienced sword casters wore regular, weather-proof cloaks and were in the middle of the group, surrounded by the more experienced ones to avoid unnecessary losses.
The few bow-casters - who could infuse their arrows with mana drawn from the Ethereal - were on both sides in the middling ranks. Their bows unstrung, hung from hooks and tied down with a singular, leather strip for easier access on the side of their saddles. The vast majority of them wore woodland green cloaks, attached with many different kinds of brooches and hooks. Some more intricate than others, although it usually depended on the bow-caster's rank.
Under the stone overpass and between the great wooden doors they went, facing South-East and moving at a steady trot. The Master was at the head of the group, closely followed by Bernar to his right, and Garret - the master bow-caster - to his left. Garret was a quiet man of eighty winters, who didn't very much enjoy the company of others. Rather, he would often spend his time in the woods, tracking deer as opposed to dealing with ‘blundering idiots’ as he liked to call nearly everyone. He wore a griffin hide cape, with its feathers still attached even after years of use, a griffin talon-skin jerkin, with boots and gauntlets to match.
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