The day dawned bright and cold as I made my way to the stable. The sky was crystal clear with brilliant streaks of pink and purple reaching up from the horizon like probing fingers. A thin layer of frost lay over the cobblestones, but that would burn off by the time the sun fully climbed its happy ass out of bed and got to work. I gave a brief wave to Niels, who was already on the other side of the courtyard, getting ready to start the day’s training session for the unawakened recruits. He returned my wave with a broad smile, which put an extra little bounce in my step.

When I got to the stable, four mounts had already been pulled from the stales, fitted with riding tack, and hitched to a post out front. There was a light bay with a brown mane, a silvery strawberry roan with a shock of golden hair, a dappled gray with a white starburst on its forehead, and a muscular black horse as dark as Satan’s soul. The last wore heavy silver armor and looked meaner than a rabid lion with sore teeth. I was guessing that was Kerra’s mount.

None were breeds I immediately recognized, but they were good stock. They had the size and height of draft horses—the black was at least18 hands at the withers—but boasted long legs and graceful necks, which marked them as riding horsing.

Milling nearby, talking in excited whispers, were three young, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Vigils. Two boys and a girl. One boy was broad-shoulder and dark-skinned with short silvery-white hair. He had a smooth, baby face but still looked like he was built to take a beating and dish it out in return. He wore unadorned scale mail and a white tabard, emblazoned with a circular cerulean brand that matched the Sigil of Balance on his forehead. The other boy was slight, just this side of scrawny, with a mop of raven’s black hair and plain leather armor that told me he was a Vigil of Truth just as sure as his sigil on his skin.

The girl gave me the longest pause.

She was willowy, taller than either of the two boys, and had flowing, metallic copper hair that framed in her face and cascaded down her shoulders and onto her back. She looked… perky? No, bubbly. She reminded me of the popular, high-energy cheerleaders that always made the varsity team back in high school. Her personality stood in glaring conflict with her brand, Wrath. She was the exact opposite of Amherst—who literally wanted to kill everyone and had taken a vow of silence to contain his rage. She wore a combination of stylish leathers and flowing robes that could’ve passed as avant-garde fashion back on earth.

“She’s a cutey,” Cal said, appearing beside me. He leaned up against a wooden post and shoved his hands into his pockets.

He wasn’t wrong. If she’d been back on earth, she would’ve been modeling on a catwalk instead of getting ready to set out on a monster hunt.

But to me she looked like a kid, even though I knew she wasn’t.

All three of them were probably in their late teens or early twenties—just a few years younger than me and Cal—but the difference between us was legion. I’d fought wars, killed men, lost friends. Hell, I’d already experienced death once, and faced it head on without even flinching. Einstein was right, time really was relative, and hardship had a funny way of ageing you fast. These kids had the same look and bearing as young Marines, fresh out of basic training. Eager, gung-ho, and ready to prove themselves. They were also completely unaware of all the terrible shit lurking out in the real world, just waiting for a chance to maul their plucky innocence.

“Maybe we should go say hi,” Cal said, kicking off the post. “Cause I’m pretty sure these are our new teammates.”

The three of them fell silent as Cal and I sauntered over. The sleight Vigil of Truth pretended not to care, but it was all an act. The nervous twitch of his fingers, the way his back straightened. He wanted to make a good impression. The other two didn’t even try to pretend. The big ol’ Vigil of Balance lumbered over, with a palm outthrust.

“Vigil Boyd,” he said, grasping my hand then giving it several firm pumps, “it’s truly an honor to meet you. I’m Vigil Berk. That’s Vigil Marina”—he turned, waving toward the willowy woman—“and the sullen, self-important one over there is Vigil Colin.”

“I’m not sullen,” Colin bristled, shooting a glare at Berk. “I’m just taking this seriously. This is our first, real assignment. We should be focused, not falling ourselves in front of the Inkarnate.”

“Don’t mind him,” Berk said, with an easy grin that instantly made me like him. “He’s just nervous.” Berk leaned in close. “He’s got a crush on Marina and he’s trying to look cool.”

Marina blushed while Colin looked like his head might explode from sheer embarrassment.

“That’s not… No, I don’t,” Colin protested a little too eagerly.

Berk ignored him and finally released his death grip on my hand. “Is that your Spirit Guide?” He asked, nodding to Cal who was standing a few steps behind me. “Everyone’s been talking about him. I thought it was just a rumor…”

“Yes,” Cal said, “I am his spirit guide, and I can also hear you. Name’s Cal and I’m the better, more handsome, part of this partnership.”

“That’s debatable,” came a high-pitched reply. Sir Jacob-Francis, in all his fat, tabby glory, padded out from a narrow alley that ran beside the stable. Astride his back was Renholm, wearing a small suit of armor that appeared to have been fashioned from the hide of a rat. His tiny, Grass Hound quill sword rode at his hip. “Clearly, I am the brains and beauty. You’re a distant fourth in both departments, squarely behind my faithful steed.” He patted the cat’s head, earning an appreciative chirp.

“Oh my god, is that a pixie riding a cat?” the girl, Marina squealed. She dropped onto a knee and extended a hand tsk-tsk-tsking at the tabby. Jacob Francis batted his eyes at her, flicked his tail a few times, then slowly padded over, demonstrating that he was gracing her with his elevated presence.

There was a commotion from the stall that drew my attention.

Kerra had finally arrived, and she was leading a fifth mount, though this thing wasn’t a horse. It was a goddamned saber-toothed tiger—only its strips were metallic silver and burnished gold, and it was as big as an Alaskan grizzly bear. Brushed silver plate armor, etched with sigils and runes, covered the big cat’s chest, head, and flanks, while a leather saddle was strapped to its back along with a pair of bulging, heavy duty saddle bags.

“Please tell me the pixie is not coming with us,” she said by way of greeting.

I simply nodded in reply.

“Of course the pixie is coming,” she muttered, rolling her eyes, “why wouldn’t the pixie be coming?” she sighed. “Fine. But listen here you miscreant,” she said eyeing Renholm, “this is my mission, so you do what I say, when I say, and keep your grubby, thieving fingers off my stuff or I’ll skin you and turn you into a pommel ornament for my warhammer. Now, let’s mount up and get moving—we’re burning daylight and I hope to make it to the outskirts of Bellwind by night fall.” She paused, eyes hazy as though peering into some unseen future. “If we push hard enough, we might even be able to knock out our first Bounty before we set camp.”

She swung onto the tiger’s back, while the other Vigils hurried to comply.

“You’re riding a goddamned tiger,” I said, more statement than question. “Is no one even going to mention the tiger?”

“Oh my god, thank you,” Cal said, throwing up his hands. “I thought I was the only one.”

“It’s not a tiger,” Renholm said, eyeing the beast, “it’s a Fanged Sith.”

“Shockingly,” Kerra said, “the pixie is correct. It’s a creature of the Faewylds and it happens to be my bonded mount. I don’t often ride her through town since she can be quite intimidating to locals, but since we are going to be skirting around most populated areas over the next few weeks, there’s no reason not to bring her out.” She reached over and scratched between the cat’s shaggy ears.

“She’s a fine beast.” Renholm guided Sir Jacob-Francis closer with a flick of the tiny reigns. The Fanged Sith was a hundred times the size of the tabby, but the street cat had exactly zero shits to give. It didn’t even bat an eye at this monster that could easily swallow it whole. The asshole feline stopped directly in front of the enormous beast, offered a couple of disinterested sniffs, then turned around and flicked his tail, clearly unimpressed.

Not for the first time, I wished I had the unearned confidence and sheer fucking moxie of an average housecat.

The other Vigils had mounted up on three of the four horses, leaving only one left—the enormous black, who looked like he ate souls instead of hay.

“Wait, this is my horse?” I asked, hooking a thumb toward the stallion.

“Yes,” Kerra answered simply. “The Custodians wanted you to have a mount suitable to your celebrity status, so I made sure to get you the very best in the Citadel’s stable. That is Darksilver. He is exceptionally rare—a Mortka-breed stallion, one of only a handful in our care.” The horse snorted and gnashed his teeth at me in a snarl. The other horses took a few nervous steps away from the enormous black and the other Vigils eyeballed the monster horse with a mixture of trepidation and pity. Pity for me, obviously.

“He has your same disposition,” Kerra said with a playful smile. “Stubborn, headstrong, and brash. I imagine the two of you should be thick as thieves in no time.”

Ah, so that was the way she was playing this. The Custodians had demanded she give me the best of the best, so she’d given me a horse that met the letter of the law if not the spirit. I was guessing that Darksilver was going to be a nightmare and clearly Kerra was trying to get a little payback on me for requesting her as my trainer.

“Pardon, Justiciar Kerra,” came a wizened voice. An old man, whip thin, with wisps of white hair hobbled out from the stables.

I knew him the second I saw him. His name was Miko and I’d taken more than a few meals across the table from him in the attendants mess hall. Some of the younger Vigils-in-training helped with the stables—mucking stalls, tending the tack, that sort of thing—but Miko ran the show. He wasn’t a Vigil, didn’t have any supernatural abilities whatsoever, but he was still a better horse handler than the next five Vigils combine.

“Forgiveness, I hate to hold up your departure, but I need to have a quick word with the Inkarnate. Darksilver… Well, he has rather delicate feet and will need a little extra care when you’re done riding for the night. Best I give him instruction now—wouldn’t want to lame such a prize.” He bowed apologetically and dry washed his hands. “I’m sure you understand, Justiciar.”

I could see a dark look flash across Kerra’s face. She was probably envisioning Darksilver mule-kicking me in the chest as I tried to scrap out his shoes at the end of every ride.

“Yes, of course,” she replied. “Please, take all the time you need.”

Miko waved me over into the stable.

“Is there really an issue with the horse’s feet?” I asked in a voice low enough that Kerra wouldn’t be able to hear.

The old man snorted. “That mean ol’ son of a bitch could walk across a lava flow without even noticing. He’s tougher than Justiciar Kerra, if you can believe it, and he’ll throw you, bite you, and kick at you any chance he can get…” Miko paused, a sly grin stretching across his leathery face. “Unless you know how to handle him.” He reached beneath his tunic and pulled out a sack full of circular orange berries called Jetru. I’d tried a couple back in the mess hall—they were atomically sour. “Darksilver loves ’em. And between you and me, don’t try to break him. Can’t be done and he’ll fight you tooth and nail. Ya gotta baby him, understand? He loves being pampered and he’ll do anything for one of them berries.”

I grinned and tucked the berries into a leather pouch at my belt.

“Miko, you might just be the best human being on the planet.” I slapped him on the shoulder. “When I get back, I owe you a pint or ten.”

“No need for that, Vigil Boyd,” he replied, offering me a toothy smile. “I’m simply returning the kindness you’ve shown me. If you truly want to pay me back, just take care of my boy. He’s one of our most valuable steeds and I’d hate to see any harm come to him…” He eyed the horse, who was busy snorting and pawing at the ground as though trying to murder the earth itself. “Not that I’m convinced anything could actually harm him.”

I headed back out into the courtyard and fished a Jetru berry from the pouch, palming it so that Kerra couldn’t see what I had. Kerra watched, a malicious gleam in her eyes, as I approached Darksilver. The horse snorted and barred his teeth at me, promising pain if I took another step closer. I slowly extended my hand, fist still closed.

“Oh I can’t watch,” Marina mumbled, refusing to look.

“Who’s a good boy,” I said all of a sudden, then slipped the berry into the horse’s mouth. He slurped it down and instantly his demeanor changed. His ears, which had been pinned back before, shot up and twitchy happily as he slurped up the fruit. “You’re a good boy,” I said, scratching at his nose, then reaching up behind his ears. “We’re gonna be good friends, aren’t we?” I asked. The horse grunted and nuzzled me in response. I palmed another berry and slipped it to him. “That’s right we are,” I cooed.

Then, without missing a beat, I grabbed his bridle and hoisted myself into the saddle. Darksilver danced for just a moment then knickered softly and settled without trying to throw me.

“Okay,” I said, while the others looked on with awestruck expressions, “let’s ride.”