Flanked by the behemoth Viking in furs on my left and Kerra “the rules are the rules” on my right, I was escorted like a common criminal out into the night. Kerra kept her hand clutched firmly around my elbow the whole time as though I might try to bolt the second I got a chance. Telent was the last to leave the Inn and paused in the entryway, cloaking snapping in the blustery wind, the snow silhouetting him against the dark. He fished out a fat leather sack and casually tossed it to Bendt with a flick of his wrist.

The pouch landed on the bar top and silver and gold coins spilled across the wood, glittering in the firelight.

“Our deepest apologies,” he said, voice thrumming with potent power. Even though his words weren’t turned on me, I could feel the force of his will like a heavy pressure settling around my shoulders. “There was a misunderstanding here, but all is well now. You will go about your night and remember this only in passing.”

I stole one last look at the patrons of the Twisted Pig, all standing around in stunned silence. They had a hazy look plastered across their faces, almost as though they were collectively waking up from a long and especially bizarre dream. Even Vilhelm, who was ready to wage war on my behalf moments ago, now looked like he was ready for a long nap by the fire. I’d become accustomed to using Honeyed Words over the past couple of weeks. It was one of the skills from the Ward of Truth and allowed the wielder to imbue suggestions with Arcana, making the caster seem more agreeable and persuasive than they normally would.

What I was witnessing was more than that. This had to be Greater Suggestion, which was basically Honeyed Words on bath salts. It could also be wielded against multiple targets.

“The coin is for both the door and the disturbance,” he continued, nodding toward the bag. “Please, continue your celebration, knowing that all is right and well in the world.”

“I hope you plan to reimburse me for the disturbance,” I said as Telent joined us and my “escorts” frog marched me toward a line of enormous warhorses, secured to a nearby hitching post. “Not that anyone asked, but I had a room booked for the night. I just spent all night hunting down and killing a Fouling, but instead of celebrating by a fire, you’re gonna make me ride through a goddamned blizzard. That’s the real crime being committed here, but sure, I’m the bad guy.”

“Keep talking and I’m going to reconsider the manacles,” Kerra said as we came to a stop in front of one of the horses. “Now mount,” she barked, nodding toward an inky black stallion. “We have a ways to travel yet before the night is through.”

Being from Kentucky, I knew a thing or two about horses, and this animal in front of me was a prize. He had a broad, powerful chest, muscular and symmetrical shoulders, sleek legs, and bright, intelligent eyes. The big bastard also stood at least nineteen hands at the shoulder. The sumbitch was the size of a Draft Horse but had the build of a racer. The other horses, all with heavy-duty saddles and boiled leather armor, were no less impressive.

“You and I will ride double,” Kerra said, “so that I can keep my eye on you. And ensure your safety, of course.”

“Hey, if you wanted to snuggle, you just had to ask,” I replied, hoisting myself into the saddle. I’d spent years riding so this was second nature. “Though, and maybe I’m reading into things a little too much, but I feel like we might be moving a little too fast, Vigil Kerra. First you want to use handcuffs on me, now you want to ‘ride double.’ You could buy me a meal and a drink first.”

“Insufferable,” she whispered under her breath. Then, louder, “Utter another word and I’ll gag you.”

“And now we’re adding gags. Yeah. Definitely moving too fast.”

She glowered at me, a snarl on her lips, hands balling into fists.

“Let it pass,” Telent said to her, placing a reassuring hand on her forearm. “He is just goading you.”

“Nope,” I replied, “this is just my natural disposition. And for the record. I’m just call ’em like I see ’em.”

She ground her teeth and, for a second, I thought she might actually deck me, but she was a professional if nothing else. She unclenched her fists, took a deep breath, then effortlessly swung up into the saddle behind me. It was especially impressive considering she was a foot shorter than the horse at its shoulder. The others had already mounted. Peels of laughing and gals of song drifted out from the Twisted Pig.

Telent’s magic worked fast, it seemed. The fact that Vilhelm and the others would remember me only as a stranger passing through in the night honestly bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

We set out into the night, the Viking taking point, while snow drifted down in a soft sheet. The wind screamed and howled, cutting through my cloak and armor as though they were made from wet toilet paper. Goddamned, but I hated the cold. Our command had once forced me and Cal to attend arctic warfare training in Bridgeport and I’d never been more miserable. Being in Bridgeport was like ice-skating on Satan’s frozen taint in the ninth circle of hell. Taking a grenade to the guts was more painful overall, but at least it didn’t last for a whole month.

But if arctic warfare training had taught me anything, it was how to endure the cold, which was the true secret to surviving in a frozen, inescapable hellscape. The goal was never to be warm. Get too warm, and you would sweat. Sweat would freeze. Frozen sweat eventually resulted in death. Instead, you learned to embrace the suck. To only ever be warm enough to prevent hypothermia.

Even with my training, it was a miserable ride, made worse since I was both tired and a little drunk. The fact that everyone was as silent as a funeral procession didn’t help either. Not that talking would’ve been possible anyway. I tried for the first fifteen or twenty minutes, but the wind stole away every word as it left my mouth. There was no sign of Cal or Renholm, which was probably for the best. Kerra struck me as the shoot-first-ask-questions-later sort of gal and I had no doubts that these guys could probably nuke either of my buddies into oblivion if they had half a mind too.

After three hours of steady riding, Kerra finally called our party to a halt.

We dismounted in a small clearing ringed by towering snow-brushed pines and a smattering of large boulders. Kerra and I dismounted—which was great because my legs and ass had fallen asleep an hour ago and the rest of my body was numb from the cold. Turned out, even with supernatural strength and stamina, riding double through a goddamned blizzard in the middle of the night sucked balls.

The rest of the team immediately set to work, making camp. They moved with the purposeful and methodical motions of people who had done this a thousand times before.

Telent took care of the horses. He loosened the girth on the saddles and rubbed them down with a stiff bristled brush, removing sweat, snow, and accumulated dirt. In my experience, most horses hated getting a post-ride rub down, but even exhausted, frozen, and half-drunk, I could tell that he was using a spell to help the process along. Probably the Calm Emotions ability from the College of Rhetoric. The horses let him work in peace, nickering softly as he moved onto their legs and hooves, searching for signs of rubbing, chaffing, or other obvious injuries.

Kerra mostly stood around, watching me as though I might transform into Godzilla and sack a city, but at one point she did head over to a dark chestnut colored gelding. After a few quick muttered words with Telent, she placed a hand against the horse’s side, fingers splayed wide. A trickle of gentle golden power seeped out from her palm and into the animal beneath. It shook its head, then gently tested its left foreleg. It let out a snort of approval then nuzzled Kerra, earning a small smile from the otherwise stern Vigil.

Meanwhile, the Vigil of Justice quickly disappeared into the tree line, a silver, single-edged sword gripped in his hand. Dollars to donuts he was going to secure the perimeter and make sure there was nothing nasty camped out nearby.

Without a doubt, the headliner act had to be Kol, my giant, fur-clad, Viking pal. The guy stood in the center of the clearing, his arms stretched out the sides, his head tossed back, eyes closed tight in concentration. He chanted softly under his breath and the ground began to tremble and shake, the boulders around us shifting with a life of their own as rocky outcroppings jutted up from the freshly fallen powder. The boulders pressed and squeezed together, forming a rough, earthen dome, with an entry just wide enough to accommodate a stooped man.

From my vantage, I could also see there was also an opening in the top of the earthen structure, which connected to a stone chimney that would funnel out smoke from a fire. Kol continued to chant, pulling his arms in towards his sides, hands running over the air as though he were smoothing out a ball of clay. The conjured structure responded in turn, the rocks melting together as though they were made of playdoh instead of granite. Finally, the Viking dropped to his knees, panting as he wiped away a fine sheen of perspiration that dotted his brow.

That had to be the Earth Sculptor Ability, from the Ward of Balance.

I’d read the description countless times but had never tried it out myself for a couple of reasons. First, being able to shape and mold earth didn’t seem like a super practical ability when it came to monster hunting. According to the spell description, it had a long cast time was meant for creation, not destruction. Second, the Arcana and Verve requirements were insanely high. I could see why now—it looked like the poor guy had just pushed a dump truck up the side of Mount Everest.

Even if it wasn’t as flashy as launching a javelin of fire from your palm, I had to admit it was a pretty useful skill.

The last of the Vigils, this one a willowy guy wearing light armor and a heavy cowl pulled up over his face, helped Kol to his feet before pulling out a glimmering Affinity Scale the size of a half-dollar.

Affinity Scales were powerful tokens that often remained behind after a Mortka was slain in battle. Arturo had explained to me that Mortka weren’t born like natural animals. Rather, they were the physical manifestations of Wild Essence that had leaked into the Material Realm from the Etheric Plane. That Essence was what Vigil’s absorbed after making a kill, allowing us to advance and ascend from rank to rank and class to class. But when that Wild Essence leaked through, it bonded with the hundreds of different Affinity Types present within the Material Realm.

Everything from earth, wind, fire, and air, to more esoteric types of energy, such as grief or faith or fear. The physical location usually determined what type of affinity would be present. A graveyard might be riff with death affinity, while animal dens were often brimming with hunger affinity.

Whatever type of Affinity the Essence bonded with dictated what type of monster eventually formed. When a Mortka was killed, the Essence that powered the creature returned to the Etheric Plane—either that or was siphoned up by whoever killed it—while the various affinities that shaped the Essence remained behind in the form of Scales. Those scales could be consumed by those with the True Gift to temporarily replenish Arcana, heal the body, or could even grant powerful abilities that aligned with the Affinity type consumed.

I had a pouch full of Affinity Scales—though Telent had confiscated it from me for obvious reasons. They were all basic. My most powerful Scales were squirreled away back in my Soul Vault where no one but me could get to ’em.

Without being closer, I couldn’t tell what type of Affinity Scale Kol had consumed, but he was back on his feet in no time flat and looked like he was ready to run a triathlon then go ten rounds with a Maui Thai fighter.

Such was the power of the Scales.

The Vigil of Justice returned a short while later with a bundle of firewood and kindling stretched across his arms. He gave a brief report to Kerra that I couldn’t hear, then deposited his load of sticks and twigs inside the stone hut. The willowy guy who’d given Kol the Affinity Scale, stretched out a hand a conjured a small orb of flame, setting the wood alight. The flair of orange and yellow allowed me to get a good look at his face for the first time. He was clean-shaven with gaunt cheeks and deep seat eyes. The crimson sigil of Wrath blazed brightly on his forehead like an ominous warning sign.

With the horses tended, the camp secured, and shelter provided against frostbite and misery, Kerra pushed me inside the squat structure while the other Vigils shuffled in behind me.

“I’m going to make another pass,” Kerra said. “Best not to take any chances.” She paused and canted her head to one side. “There’s something off about this night. Jori”—she stared at the Vigil of Justice—“keep the watch until I return.” She turned without another word and disappeared into the treeline, quickly swallowed by gloom and shadow.

The rest of us settled in around the blaze, except for good ol’ Jori. He stood ramrod straight by the entryway, eyes fixed on the shadowy landscape. The cloaked Vigil of Wrath sat directly across from me, his legs crossed, hands resting in his lap in some sort of meditative pose while he stared unblinking death at me.

“Ah, don’t mind Amherst,” Telent said, waving at the man who looked like he was wishing ruin and damnation on me and my whole household. “He’s the quiet sort. And by that, I mean he’s taken a vow of silence as a way to control and channel the fiery Wrath of Raguel burning inside him.”

“So he doesn’t want to disembowel me and set me on fire?” I asked, meeting the man’s unflinching gaze.

“Oh no,” Kol replied with a chuckle, “he definitely wants to disembowel you and set you on fire, but you shouldn’t take it personally. He wants to do that to everyone.” Kol opened a rough leather satchel and pulled out bits of dried jerky and hard bread which he passed around the circle. “He and I were teammates for years before he stopped actively desiring my death, isn’t that right Amherst?”

Amherst didn’t blink, but he might’ve bobbed his head a fraction of an inch in agreement.

“Vigils of Wrath are always the oddest ducks, I’ve found,” Telent said, tearing off a big chunk of bread and forcing it into his mouth. “They’re not bad, mind you, just very intense. Wrath is the darkest aspect of Raguel and wrestling with it takes a toll over time.”

“I think it’s their affinity with death,” Kol said thoughtfully. He pulled out a teapot and set it on the ground. “Communing with those who have passed beyond the veil, it eats at the mind and spirit.” He twisted his hand and a clump of snow drifted in through the opening on magic currents of air, dropping into the pot which he placed on the fire. “Ah, there we are. I do so love a good cup of tea.” He offered me a smile that split his heavily bearded face. “Nothing better to warm you up after tromping around all night in the snow.”

“Yes, well I disagree,” Telent replied. “I’ll take a strong flask of Brandy over a cup of tea any day of the week, thank you. Tea will warm your spirits for a few minutes—while Brandy will warm them for a night. It also has the added benefit of thawing even the most frosty of dispositions.”

We fell into an easy quiet as the tea burbled.

The crunch of snow announced Kerra’s return. She ducked into the hut with the spiked manacles in hand. She tossed them over and I eyed them like it was a viper, waiting to strike.

“Time to put them on,” she said simply.

“Nope,” I said, pushing them away with the two of my boot. “We already did this song and dance. I’m not wearing those fucking things.”

“We’re bedding down for the night,” she said, pushing them back over toward me with her boot. “Whether you are what you claim to be or not, it is clear that you are both powerful and dangerous. I won't risk you killing me and my men in the dark hours of the night while we try and rest. So, you can either wear the cuffs or I can have Telent drug your tea.” She folded her arms and glanced toward the pot. “Pick your poison.”

I grunted and weighed my options. This was asinine, but I also understood her reasoning. I’d spent more than my fair share of time guarding prisoners and night would be a perfect time to strike, especially if there was only a single guard or two keeping watch. She was hedging her bets and protecting her men. The idea of slipping on the manacles made me want to vomit, but after giving it a little thought, it still sounded better than getting a cupful of actual poison.

“Fine,” I growled, picking up the manacles.

They were as frigid as blocks of ice and it wasn’t just because of the snow falling outside. These things radiated an unnatural cold. A cold that felt hungry. Reluctantly, I clicked them into place and grimaced as the spikes lining the interior of the manacles bite down into my flesh, piercing through my skin with ease. I inspected my wrists expecting to see blood running down in rivulets, but there was nothing. That’s because the shackles were sucking up the blood like a pair of hungry little vampires. Both my blue Arcana Gauge and my Green Stamina Bar appeared in the corner of my vision, draining slowly but steadily as the manacles feasted.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” she said. “I’ll stand first watch, the rest of you get some shuteye.” She turned and stalked out of the hut, not bothering to duck through the door because… well, she didn’t need to. Tiny but fierce.

“Don’t mind her either,” Kol said tracking her as she vanished into the dark. “She may not be as angry as Amherst, but only by this much.” He held his index finger and his thumb half an inch apart. “She can be ridged, this is true, but understand that she would slap those same manacles on any one of us if that was what the mission dictated. Vigils of Valor are just as curious in their own way as Vigils of Wrath. There are none fiercer in the face of danger, but their courage is rooted in a single steadfast principle.

“For some of the Valorous, it is beauty or the sanctity of life or the need to protect the weak. For Kerra, it is the law of the Citadel. She has absolute belief and confidence in the leadership of the Custodians. That is the singular guidepost that drives her—the thing that allows her to face any danger undeterred. For her, the rules of the Citadel is the lens through which she sees the world—a lens that turns everything to black and white. There is no room for shades of gray with her, but such a world view also gives a tremendous clarity of purpose.”

“That’s why you frustrate her,” Telent said, nodding along as Kol talked. “We came expecting a criminal, instead we found what might well be a legitimate Inkarnate.” He shrugged. “Either that or a powerful warlock who we’ll have to execute with extreme prejudice.”

The kettle let out an ominous whistle.

“Tea?” Telent asked, as though he hadn’t just expressly said he might murder me.

Kol had several small cups, which he filled and passed around. I accepted the offer, because he wasn’t wrong—a good hot cup of tea did wonders to warm up your core body temperature. It wasn’t coffee, but it would do in a pinch.

“So you really are a Vigil then?” Telent asked me between sips of tea.

I shrugged. “That’s what everyone tells me,” I replied, taking a slurp. The taste was sharp and slightly bitter. I wrinkled my nose but took another slug anyway. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Well, no one in living memory has ever met an Inkarnate before,” he replied with a shrug, “and Vigils tend to live a very, very long time. The last verified Inkarnate died over two hundred years ago. But I’ve yet to meet a magi alive who could convincingly summon a Soul Bound weapon before. Perhaps a Warlock could manage it, but then I highly doubt a Warlock would tromp around the countryside, vanquishing Mortka, only to let himself be apprehended by a Fist of Raguel without putting up a fight.”

I took another sip and pleasant warmth flooded through me. It did more than just warm me up, it also eased some of the soreness in my muscles and took the edge off the throbbing pain in my wrists, which came courtesy of the suppression manacles. I blinked and golden words swam across my field of vision.

[Temporary Enchantment! You have been affected by Stamina Affinity Brew. Stamina Affinity Brew is a potent natural enhancer created from the petals of Whiteleaf Rose Petals and pure, refined Affinity Scales. Consuming the brew temporarily boosts Stamina Regeneration and heals minor injuries and eases the weary soul.]

I glanced down at the empty cup then back up at Telent.

He offered me a knowing smile.

“I’m sorry we can’t do more, but hopefully that will ease a little of the discomfort from the manacles. Now, get some sleep.” His words settled over me like a heavy, warm blanket. “Kerra will want to move out early and without your enhanced abilities, you’ll need all the shuteye you can get. You’ll wake up in the morning feeling better than ever and without so much as a hangover. Sleep well, Boyd Knight.”

This time, I was too tired to resist his Arcana amplified suggestion. My body moved on autopilot, and I found myself curling onto my side and my eyes sliding shut with a will of their own.