The sword-casters, myself included, carried two swords: A bastard sword mainly used on horseback, and the other a longsword for ground combat. They clanged about on our backs and hips but were otherwise reasonably secure.

We all wore thick, leather jerkins, with thicker seams at the joints than there would typically 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 in the middle of the group, surrounded by the more experienced ones to avoid unnecessary losses.

Of course, Ed and I counted ourselves among 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 unstrung bows hung from hooks and were tied down with a singular leather strip for easier access on the side of their saddles. Most 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.

We went under the stone overpass and between the great wooden doors, facing southeast and moving at a steady trot. The Master was at the head of the group, closely followed by Bernar to his right, and Garett, the master bow-caster, to his left.

He was a quiet man of, what I could only guess to be, eighty winters. He didn't very much enjoy the company of others. Instead, he often spent his time in the woods, tracking deer instead of 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.

The road the Master decided to take to leave was well worn. Over the years, it had been used to transport both supplies and Synners to their contract destinations, and within the few hundred years, it had proved to be ever more helpful than before, since the road was wide, flat, and held few rocks for wagon wheels to break upon.

Batch and Irun, my other roommates, were two horse-lengths in front of me, likely what sort of things they might discuss whenever they thought no one would be eavesdropping. Irun was about my age, while Batch… well, we didn’t know much about him, but we guessed he was around our age.

At least according to how he acted, anyway.

“I'd wager they're talking about all the whoring they'll do once we get to Coltend Castle,” Irun nodded to the three leaders of our group. “Shut up, you red-headed dolt,” Batch snapped with a finger to his lips. “If one of them hears you, it'll mean both of us being discharged for spreading false accusations,” he continued hushedly.

“Well, well, Batch, I'd have never taken you to be one who worries so much about that,” Irun sneered sarcastically. “Just like I’m sure that you are truly too much of a dumb-fuck to understand why I do care,” Batch retorted. “As much as I find the Synners to be little more than mercenaries with special abilities, it’s the life I’ve decided to continue living. Not for gold, but glory, you goat-plowing turd,” he said with a disgusted look on his face. “Oi, take that back!” Irun growled, prompting Ed to roll his eyes after overhearing their belligerent conversation.

“You two never know when to shut up, do you?” he spat. Batch looked over at Edryd on his left and shrugged. “What? Don't look at me,” Batch shook his head, attempting to deflect Edryd's piercing gaze. “It's not my fault he has the brain of a field mouse and the mouth of one of them damned harpies,” he said. “While you have shit for brains,” Irun sneered with a scoff.

“What was that? I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the shit pouring out from between your teeth,” Batch chuckled. “I have the best grades in timed logical reasoning, mind you. Besides, mocking someone’s intelligence often means you have very little, yourself,” he continued as though comparing grades might have helped his case.

“It's not that your grades don't mean anything, it's just that you really are an idiot who loves running his mouth,” I grinned. We chuckled at the last comment, but Irun scoffed, white knuckling over the comment for the next few minutes, praying his beloved Isla wasn’t listening.

In the end, knowing she had heard it wasn’t a large stretch of the imagination.

I watched as Irun caught her gaze, blushed, and immediately fumed over our laughter. He had never really enjoyed being the ass-end of our jokes, but it’s not like he didn’t make any at our expense. In reality, he was a bit of a shit-head who didn’t know how to laugh at himself, though that didn’t make him any less our friend.

“Don’t worry about them,” Isla’s voice came behind him. He turned to face her, the woman of his dreams, or so he called her. He felt warmth coming from her radiant, blue-eyed stare. He tried, and failed miserably, to shift his gaze away from her, but her golden hair flowed in the breeze in a dreamlike fashion. “I’ll do my best,” he flushed a bright shade of red as he nodded.

“I pray that you do,” she returned with a warm, friendly smile that he embedded in his memory like an engraving in stone. He considered everything from his recent mishaps to his faults and this most recent attempt at trying to fit in with the other Synners, of which none had succeeded, and felt at a loss.

While I couldn’t fully understand what was running through his mind, I felt empathetic toward him.

He must be ridiculing us in his head. Poor bastard never learned that it’s not that we don’t like him, he’s just a bit out of touch, I thought, watching him click his tongue and shake his head in our direction.

I knew he wouldn’t stay angry forever, for the image of Isla seemed to nullify any feelings of anger or hatred the more he thought about her, or so he would always tell us.

After our banter, I looked around excitedly, for I had never left Codrean's walls before on an expedition since becoming a Synner. Not to say that I hadn’t left the fortress, but it wasn’t as if we’d ever gone much further than a kilometer or two.

The only exception to this, of course, was my childhood.

Still, I was in awe to see so many different kinds of trees lining the road. Cedar, oak, elm, redwood, pine, spruce, and hickory were just a few of the trees I recognized from the books I’d read within the fortress walls.

Seeing these magnificent beings up close and personal is like nothing I've ever felt. It's almost as though I can feel them pulsating with the same mana we synners draw from the Ethereal, though on a much more tangible level, I thought as I gazed at my surroundings with my jaw just slightly agape.

The trees moved and swayed in the cold wind, like some ancient, freely-moving Dericoed of Caegwyn. The rain from the day before had washed away most of the fresher tracks along the road, though the deeper cart-wheel grooves could still be seen. Birds sang and flew overhead, aiming towards their nests in the canopy.

I never would have guessed it could be this peaceful out here, I thought as I breathed in the fresh air.

I finally decided to look ahead, and saw a significant fork in the road with a waypost standing between the two paths. “Take the right,” Bernar shouted back to the company. The company pulled on the right side of their reins, and everyone flowed down the path as one body. I rode by the worn-down oak post, with deeply scratched markings in its planks pointing toward other distant cities.

The first board pointed to the North of its current position toward Elvsbyen, a town of tradesmen and fishermen who lived along the Elv Avliv River. The second board pointed towards our current destination, Coltend Castle, where the king had summoned us for an, as of yet, unknown reason.

I can't help but wonder what Coltend looks like; after all, I've only heard stories and tales of its grandeur. Some of Coltend’s most outstanding leaders have also come from there, from what I’ve read, and now that I’m finally on my way, I can’t wait to see it for myself, I felt an anxious smile grow at the thought.

We continued down the well-worn path for a few more kilometers, when Garett spotted something a few hundred meters down the road.

“Master,” he began. “What is it, Garett?” the Master asked. “I count thirty or more glicks converging on a single wagon just ahead of us. We need to investigate the matter, as they have never been seen this close to our home,” he stated.

The Master simply nodded. “Ill news, indeed. Take eight of the more experienced synners with you, and four of the lesser experienced; give them a chance to prove themselves,” he said wryly, glancing back at me.

“Very well, Master,” Garett replied, looking back at the nearest members and giving a silent command for them to fan out. “Edryd, Batch, Irun, and Thoma; you’re with Roburn,” Garett said plainly as if reading items off an itemized list.

We four looked at each other with a fair amount of surprise, before I began looking for my brother, praying he could give me some final advice about the dangers we were about to face. Bernar spun his horse around when he heard my name called out and rode back towards me.

“This is your chance, little brother. Don't fuck this up by trying out your spell just yet,” he said quietly, reining his horse in beside mine. “Don't worry; I'm smart enough to know that one should never use an untested spell in open combat, unlike someone I've heard of,” I finished my sentence with a grin. Bernar chortled and grinned back before riding over to the Master's side.

Edryd, Batch, and Irun were already becoming nervous, and some of their nervousness began to bleed onto me, too. Their palms and foreheads began to sweat, even in the cold of the early morning, and it was easy to see that things could go very wrong very quickly.

“We’ll be fine,” I said more to myself than to the others in my group. We looked at each other briefly, each seeking reassurance in the other, though there was not much to be found, since we were all just as scared. Irun turned to take what he thought might be his last look at Isla, and she returned his frightened stare with a warm, encouraging smile.

Must be nice, I thought, admittedly jealous that he had someone like that in his life.

“The rest of you lot back over there, with me,” Garett pointed to the corner of the triangular formation. The eight synners who were equally split between bow and sword-casters nodded in agreement and kicked their spurs into their horses’ sides. “Let's move,” Garett ordered, and as soon as those words left his mouth, my heels found themselves in my horse’s sides.

The thirteen of us rode off towards the downed cart at a gallop. I looked back at my older brother, who simply grinned and nodded as though he were encouraging me onward.

“We're in it now,” Batch said, spurring his horse to catch up to mine. “Let's not put all that training to waste,” he said, obviously trying to sound much braver than he was outwardly showing. “Did your training involve running your mouth? Or, maybe, you have some kind of master plan that you could share with the others?” Garett spat back towards him, to which Batch could only respond with dejected silence.

“Oh, you don’t? I thought not. Now shut the fuck up, and focus!” Garett said, looking back at the rest of us, too. “Smooth,” Irun said under his breath with a smug look on his face, making me chuckle even as nervous as I was.

“Listen up,” Garett began. “We've a decent grouping of the ugly bastards out there, so don't get too far ahead of yourselves,” he began. “Sword-casters, you shouldn’t need to expend yourselves by using spells. Use the techniques you should have drilled into your souls by now, and you will survive. Remember your training and do not panic no matter how bad things get,” he shouted, but I knew his words aimed at the four of us.

His words hit me 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 how we talked with each other. Of course, he was right; we had no choice but to focus and 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.