Three and a half hours later, I was being shaken awake by my older brother.

With dark circles like a fighter's black eyes, and a drowsiness that could kill a moose, I rose out of my makeshift bed and began getting into harness. My brother, of course, needed far less sleep than I did, what with being a fifth stage and all, so he was in much better shape than I was.

The black, leather jerkin, hose and boots I was attempting to put on hadn't fully dried from my horse-casting certification from the day prior. This made them heavier than usual and, compounding that to the lack of sleep, brought my regular pace to little faster than a child’s crawl. Bernar, on the other hand, had used the rain-proof cloak to stave off the rain, leaving the majority of his equipment unsoiled. He 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. I, who was far too tired to give the slightest amount of a shit, lazily rolled my eyes in the direction of my brother, slowly turning my head and saying nothing in the process. “Nevermind, I'll take that back. You look worse,” he jeered. “I feel worse than I look to be honest. It’s like my entire body has been encased in a heavy metal,” I groaned as I bent over to get my foot into the boot.

I moved at half speed that morning, and finding my equipment in what remained of the charred, piss-smelling dorm was easier said than done. I found my equipment chest under a large piece of the door, a stark reminder of my fuck-up the night before, and lifted the piece with some effort. I opened the oaken chest, and was relieved to see that my equipment had not been reduced to ash. I began by pulling out my sword and belt, and laced it to my waist though loops in my hose. I buckled it tightly so it wouldn't jolt around as I walked, and patted it twice. He turned my back to the door and walked towards the opposite end of the room. As I was looking out of the charred window frame, I heard light footsteps coming at what sounded like a run.

Edryd, my best friend and one of those I had nearly killed the night before, stormed into the room, tripping over the bucket that still lay on the floor. 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 from down the hall. I lazily turned to face the boy now standing in 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 toned jawline and a slightly upturned nose with the first few whiskers of his beard beginning to sprout, which for a boy of seventeen, was widely respected.

“Thoma,” Edryd said again. “Hullo, Edryd,” I returned. “What is it? Why are you in such a rush?" I asked, curious as to why my 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, I thought .

“Hm, that is odd. I wonder what they’re doing here,” I said, lightly scrunching my cheek with the corner of my mouth. “In any case, it's a chance for us to show our skills! That is, of course, contingent on there being 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 I've been training for for most of my life,” he spread his arms wide as he finished his sentence.

“I don't blame you,” I began, chuckling lightly. “I for one have been itching to try out a spell I created, but I haven't even tested it out of battle, yet,” I said, lowering my head a little in dejection. “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. We both laughed at the final comment, and stopped when we heard a blaring noise coming from outside.

The Dragon Horn. It was carved from a dragon's tooth, and passed down through the generations to signal that it was time to leave. While it was felled by one of the first synners, there haven’t been many sightings of dragons since then, making the one we had especially rare.

We looked at each other and both knew exactly what that meant. “Time to go. Do you have all of your stuff?” I asked, grabbing the last of my things and bundling them under my curled arm. Edryd nodded his reply just before we both took up our gear and headed out the door, making our way down the hall that led to the outer courtyard.

The sun was just beginning to show the tip of its face over the distant Frellen Hills, 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 crawling 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, I thought.

I shifted my gaze from the tops of the trees down into the courtyard where all of the other synners, the Master included, had gathered; tightening harnesses, checking stirrups, feeding the horses their morning apples, and checking equipment against a list. I walked over to my horse, Celer, which I had so adequately named due to his speed that had been proven the day before, and checked my saddle. I tied much of my equipment onto the left side of the saddle, making sure the loop I’d made wouldn’t end up hurting my mount in the long run.

He's all decked out, I thought.

“Listen up, you lot,” Bernar yelled while standing on a beam that the Master's horse was tied on. The Master was sitting on his horse, idly fiddling with a chain around his neck, but as Bernar’s words left his mouth, he suddenly jumped up and stood on his horse's saddle, 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 with himself, Bernar, and I 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 me.

If he’s lenient, we’re all fucked, I thought, lifting my eyebrows in unison with Edryd, who was probably thinking the same thing, since he stared back at me with widened eyes.

“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.

We got into our saddles all at once starting from the left side, throwing their right legs over the horse and placing their foot in the other stirrup. After adjusting our seating and gathering their reins we silently awaited the Master's signal. My anxiety must have bled into Edryd's, since he was showing mild signs of either unease or excitement. Perhaps it was both, but I couldn’t tell. They glanced over at each other with wide, nervous grins and nodded.

It's time for us to show them we're ready, I thought.

“We ride!" the Master called out, and everyone stuck their heels into their horses’ sides. Our horse’s hooves rolled over the cobblestone floor like thunder, making it seem as though we were an army of a hundred, not twenty.

The sword-casters, myself included, carried two swords: One was a hand and a half sword that was mainly used when on horseback, the other a longsword for ground combat. They clanged about on our backs and sides respectively, but were otherwise fairly secure.

We all wore thick, leather jerkins, with thicker seams at the joints than there would normally be to lessen wear and tear. Our 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 usually located in the middle of the group, surrounded by the more experienced ones to avoid unnecessary losses.

Edryd and I counted ourselves amongst their numbers.

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.