“Listen up,” Garret began. “We've ourselves a small army of creepy-crawlies out there, so don't go getting too far ahead of yourselves,” he began. “Sword-casters, do not expend yourselves by using mana. Use the sword techniques you should have drilled into your very souls by now and you will survive. Remember your training and do not panic no matter how bad things get,” he said.

His words hit us like a bucket of cold water, as the realization set in. The four of us had never been in an actual fight, and our inexperience was evident enough in the way we were talking with each other. Master Garret was right, of course. We had to focus. We had to follow our training. It was the only thing that was the likeliest to keep us alive, after all. I glanced at Ed and the others momentarily, each of them meeting my gaze with likely the same thoughts behind their eyes: this could be our first battle of many, or our last.

No one said a word.

“Archers,” Garret called out to the ones behind the sword-casters. “Stay within bow-shot, and infuse if necessary. Otherwise, aim for the gaps between their scales around their shoulders. That should slow them down enough for one of the sword-casters to take it down fully,” he said, giving the signal to fan out into formation.

The bow-casters pulled back and spread out – two on either side – while the sword-casters spread themselves to form their own miniature boar's head. Garret pulled back towards the rear center to get a better view of the battlefield, while one of the seniors took his place. The glicks were still approaching the downed cart, moving at an incredible speed. The four of us rode in formation behind the more experienced synners.

As we got closer, I got my first look at one of those bastard glicks in person. There was something to be said about seeing something like that in a drawing in a book versus seeing one in real life. Nothing in a book could ever have prepared me for the smells, sounds, or anything about their existence.

It was a humanoid creature, with olive green scales that ran from the top of its head to the base of its feet, and down its back forming an external spinal cord that ran from its hip up to the base of its neck, fanning out towards its arms, and running down their lengths. Its mouth was mostly covered in needle-like teeth that dripped poison to aid digestion of its prey. Rows upon rows of these teeth lined the inner part of their mouths.

Is there even an antidote for that? I thought, trying to recall the lessons I’d had since I was a child.

Its strong leg and arm muscles underneath the scales made it a formidable enemy for an initiate synner, I noted, and with those thoughts, I began feeling something I’d never truly felt before.

Fear.

It came over me like a blanket of ice being unrolled on my abdomen and flowed throughout my body. I could feel my hands shaking and heart beating faster, while my lungs were desperately trying to pump enough air to compensate for the thumping in my chest. As my palms began to sweat, I could feel my leather gauntlet beginning to be soaked through with sweat. My hair was blowing in the wind, but for a few, uncomfortable strands that were stuck to my face and forehead from perspiration.

The two swords had never been so comforting to have as Celer kept his galloping pace without missing a beat. I was still two-hundred meters away from the glicks when he heard Garret call out. “Draw your swords!” he shouted.

I drew my riding sword from over my shoulder with my right hand, pulling it out of its leather-bound sheath as it gleamed in the morning sunlight. It was as sharp as I could get it, which meant it could shave the hair off a face if needed, and I gripped the blackwood and leather wrapped handle as tight as I could. The intricate criss-cross wrapping of the leather was so perfectly engineered, that even should one's hand be covered in blood, it wouldn't slip out of hand.

This was an advantage, due to the fact that it was primarily used on horseback and was much lighter than the longsword synners were known to use. The pommel - as was the custom of every synner school - had the school's and synner's name inscribed in runes wrapped around it. The guard had been forged square, then twisted - made to look like a daemon’s horns - and curved upwards at the edges. It ended in two sharp points, curved inwards towards the blade to avoid having the guard itself stab into the wielder.

One hundred meters, I thought, gauging the distance.

I looked over at Edryd and saw he was already getting into a good striking position, leaning forward with his sword's hilt at the height of his chest with the point aimed forward, and decided to get into the same position. “Alright, boys, remember their weak spots: shoulder blades, armpits, backs of their legs, groin and under their chins,” one of the older synners said, as if he were sounding off items on a grocery list.

“Got it!” I replied. He looked over at the synner who'd given the advice and instantly recognized him as Roburn of Helvir – one of the senior synners, who'd been on numerous hunts. His charcoal black hair being shaved on the sides and the long interwoven braid running down what hadn't been shaved had been his trademark for the past decade.

“Thank you for the advice,” I said. “Eh, no need to thank me,” Roburn replied. “I’m sure you’d do the same, if our places were swapped,” he said. I nodded sincerely and looked ahead towards my approaching foes.

Twenty meters.

The boys riding on both his left and right side made choosing a target that might not be another's a difficult task, but he managed. He locked on to it, and focused on striking it at the right moment.

Remember to lean into the cut to make sure the bastard doesn't get back up, I heard the Master’s instructions in my head once more.

Ten meters.

The time to strike was close at hand, and I could already feel my muscles tensing up. I followed the muscle tension in my lower back and briefly shifted my weight back in the saddle for extra momentum. The sword in my right hand was beginning to rise up behind me, my arm now slightly bent and flexed, preparing itself for the impact to come.

Five meters.

My target had approached just as I’d calculated it would, and so I began my swing. I knew the added momentum from the Celer's speed would add much more force to the blow, in comparison to simply swinging on the ground, and I banked heavily on this fact given my lack of physical strength. I leaned my head forward, my chest almost pressed against Celer’s nape at this point, and swung with all my might.

The sword cut through the air, finding its target. I gave a grunt of exertion as the sword bit into the scales on the glick's forehead, splitting them wide open and releasing their sickly, green ichor. My sword, slicing through the scales, bone, and the underlying fleshy material that was the monster's brain, gave a sound akin to an egg being crushed. My sword reemerged on the other side lathered in thick, green blood.

I breathed heavily, feeling the copious amounts of adrenaline flowing through my veins. The glick had been my first kill as a synner, and I knew, right then and there, that the fire born inside after that first kill hungered for more. I continued riding forward, and another two targets came into sight, feeding the ravenous flames within.

I swung again at one target, then another, followed by a third, hearing the same egg-crushing sound coming as a result of the strikes, while a fourth was crushed under Celer’s hooves.

Batch, Edryd and Irun were also feeding their swords, and in the first few minutes of battle, the three had already killed at least seven glicks between them. Roburn – not wanting to miss out on the killing – began his sword song. He jumped off his horse and began charging his first target. Just before he arrived, an arrow struck the marked one square between the eyes. The glick let out a ghastly squeal like a slaughtered pig, and Roburn glanced backwards to the general direction the arrow had come from. He couldn't find who'd fired the arrow, but he could guess who it was.

I kept riding forward, slaughtering at least two more glicks before I was taken by surprise. A glick jumped up from my left side and knocked me off my horse, taking me to the ground with it as it clawed at my armor.

Damn, that hurt! I thought as I landed on my right shoulder.

The glick scrambled to its feet after the fall and began to head towards me, regardless of whether I had fully recovered. The monster threw an overhead claw down to my right side, and I pirouetted out of the attack as gracefully as I could, given that I was still a little dazed from the fall. I gathered my wits for a moment, and another strike came towards my gut. I jumped back on the balls of my feet, and almost slipped due to the rain-soaked ground from the previous day. Even with the handicap, I’d just barely managed to curve my body to avoid getting hit.

My riding sword had fallen out of my hand with the fall, and with the barrage of attacks, all I could do was focus on not getting struck while trying to find a small opening to draw my sword from my hip. The monster attacked again, this time trying to slam my head to the ground, which I was forced to side-step. With a bit of my momentum's help, I drew my longsword with a wire wrapped handle and twisted guard.

I managed to distance myself a little from the monster. My guard was poised, with my sword held up at head height, left hand gripping the pommel, and right hand choked up on the hilt by the guard. My left leg was more extended than my right which supported the bulk of my weight. I could feel abdominal muscles tightening to keep myself steady through the pain from the fall, making me wince.

The monster stared intensely at my sword, then darted its slit-like pupils over to me, widening its already large eyes even further, getting a grin out of me in response. “Come at me,” I said as threateningly as I could. The creature seemingly understood my words. As the chaotic battle raged around us, it began to flick its scales together as if both to challenge me and let the others know not to interrupt our duel.

I furrowed my brow, and the glick showed its horrid teeth in response. It came forward, with the same squealing sound he'd heard before, only this time much more vicious and hateful. I stood my ground and awaited the perfect moment to strike. It came at me like a rabid dog to fresh meat, sprinting as quickly as its legs could carry it.

When it was just outside of a normal strike’s range, I pushed hard from my right leg, turning on the ball of my left foot, and jumped. The movement sent him into a spin and the rest of my body followed suit. The sword, having lagged behind just a little, came down from my right side with the added force from the spin and struck the monster's collarbone, splitting its torso into two, uneven, bloodied chunks. Green blood sprayed across my face and covered my jerkin in a light sheen of its filth. “Damn, that stinks!” I exclaimed with a disgusted look on my face.

Garret had, apparently, seen the attack happen and I caught him grinning pridefully.

From where I now stood, I could see Roburn's sword singing a beautiful tune of slaughter and gore, while the archers kept back and provided cover fire for the lesser experienced synners. Their broad-head arrows and ash shafts with alternating goose wing-feathers performed perfectly against the gaps in the glicks’ hard scales. The wind made it a little more difficult to be as precise as they usually were, but they'd been trained for that over the course of years. Their arrows, shot from recurve riding bows, soared through the air and struck their marks with incredible precision, even with the morning breeze. Meanwhile, Edryd's sword and horse were covered in glick blood, as he swung to cut yet another one down.

Looks like he’s doing alright, but… Oh, shit! I thought, as I noticed a glick preparing to launch itself.