Christofer hunched forward and snorted a large steam cloud in reply to the horse. The mare snorted, shaking her head from side to side and spraying the accumulated frost. The mare turned her neck and looked at Christofer. After looking at the horse for a moment, he cautiously gripped the saddle and tried to step into the stirrups. The horse shifted so that his foot ended up stomping into the snow instead. He braced his chest, the impact rippling up. He exhaled a hiss of warmer steam. Stumbled. One hand found the saddle hard enough to bite into his palm, the other gripping the mare's neck.

  "If you bite me, I'll bite back," Christofer said, huffing from the sting.

  He hugged the horse, pulling it closer as one foot shakingly entered the stirrup, the horse moved to the side, dragging him with it in the movement.

  “If I fall, I will destroy you, horse.” he said through gritted teeth.

  He put weight on the foot in the stirrup and made an awkward hop with his other foot while committed to the stirrup. The horse shifted, turning, forcing Christofer into a half circle with one foot trapped in the stirrup, the other skidding uselessly through the snow. The horse stopped for a brief moment. He kicked his other leg over the horse, almost getting it over on the other side, but the horse sidestepped him so that he once again crashed into the snow and forced him to jump a few steps in a half circle as the horse moved again. Christofer blew out a steam cloud of frustrated exhaustion.

  ‘I am doing this the right way, right?’ he thought.

  Christofer felt a wave of heat as the Gecko slithered back into existence, the flush of heat crept up from his collar. The gecko stopped its climb with a final smack of its tiny little hand around his right ear.

  “Neural static is cascading through your motor cortex” the voice of the gecko rippled out from within.

  Christofer considered the statement, his brow furrowing. He forced himself to slow down. Fingers tightened on the saddle horn until the leather creaked faintly. He leaned his chest forward, closer to the mare’s neck, pressing his weight down deliberately this time instead of fighting it. The warmth bled through the wool of his coat, faint but present, green color flickering under the bandages.

  The horse shifted again, but less, a bit more nervously. He took the opening. He swung fully into the saddle and landed badly, crooked and too far back. Pain flared up his spine like a struck match. His jaw locked shut. He did not make a sound. The groan turned inward as his exhale hissed from his nose into a plume of steam, eerie green crackling outward with a warning glow like a smoldering lump of coal under his bandages.

  “In times like these, I really wish I listened to what Gerard told me.” Christofer said.

  Christofer sucked in a deep breath. His other foot landed in the other stirrup, allowing him to shift into a proper posture that didn’t hurt. The flickering color under the bandages eased as he calmed. The mare tossed her head once, testing him. He folded forward without thinking and clamped his arms around her neck again, cheek pressed into frost-damp hide. Christofer straightened, stubbornly swallowed the pain, willfully suppressing the shaking as his breath steamed hard enough to ghost along the horse's mane.

  “What did he tell you?” The captain asked.

  “I don’t know, I wasn’t listening.”

  The Captain waited for a point, found none, and shrugged.

  “By the way, how do I ride this thing?” Christofer asked.

  The captain looked at him silently, noting that the spectacle had been relatively resolved. The creak of the stable doors made the Captain turn his attention to Halvar who led his horse from the stables. Two large black eyes poked out of a brown mane hood, with a black turtleneck-like horse blanket covering the rest of it. Halvar appeared, patted the horse and gave it a kiss.

  “There, there, girl.”

  It blew out a deep breath from the snout that stuck out of the hood. Its breath lingered in the air as it shook its head from side to side.

  “Halvar! Has the horse recovered already?” the captain asked.

  “She’s a strong girl, but I’ll hold off on putting weight on her back for a few more hours.” Halvar patted the horse on the back again, “I’ll hold the reins, but walk with her and the other men on foot until then.”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Uh, guys?” Christofer asked again, he felt Gristle shifting her weight, moving. “Wait, shit.”

  Gristle walked toward the other horse, Her hooves crunched through the powdered snow with each step. The captain handed his horse's reins to a soldier and stepped off. Walking off to instruct the others as the carriage was emptied. Christofer looked at Halvar as he approached him, tried to pet Gristle, but had to whip his hand back as the mare tried to bite him. Christofer glanced down at the mare's ears, tilted back toward him. Halvar kept his hands away, but his eyes drifted to the faint pulse of green beneath Christofer's coat.

  "It seems she's actually paying attention instead of plotting how to make your life difficult."

  "She does that?"

  "Constantly." Halvar moved closer, his tone even. "She knows the commands. Every rider here has tried with her. She just chooses not to listen unless she has a reason. It’s partly why they gave you that horse. It’s not a loan, it’s yours. But so are the strings attached with her. Debt. Favor. The usual.”

  Halvar shrugged. Christofer felt the mare shift beneath him again, subtle but deliberate. Testing.

  "Right now," Halvar continued, "You're giving her a reason. She can feel the heat. The glow. Whatever's going on with you, she doesn't understand it. Nor do I. Nor do you. And that's keeping her nervous. Which, strangely enough, is keeping her cooperative."

  Halvar's gaze drifted to Christofer's shoulder again, where the faint green glow pulsed beneath the gambeson. One of the soldiers carefully moved closer and began filling Gristle’s saddlebags as the two were talking.

  "The trick," Halvar said carefully, "is staying calm. And hoping each of you warm up to each other before the nervousness wears off."

  His eyes moved from the glow to Christofer's bandaged arm, then back to Gristle.

  "I've met warlocks before. Most of them learned control over years. Decades, even. The ones who survived were unstable, but controlled. Like a fire you could bank or stoke. A flicker of sparks, not an expansive eerie explosive glow."

  He paused, his jaw tightening slightly. Christofer felt the heat flicker under his skin, responding to the tension in his chest. He forced himself to breathe slowly. The glow dimmed, just slightly.

  "You're different. You're…" He gestured vaguely at Christofer's torso. "When you mounted," Halvar continued, voice lower now, "you spiked. Bright enough I thought you were going to ignite her right then and there in the snow. So the good thing is that I'm not worried about you getting thrown. I’m more worried about your glow going berserk."

  Gristle's ears swiveled back toward Christofer. She could feel the conversation, even if she didn't understand it. Halvar tried to comfort the horse by patting her, but stopped himself. He cleared his throat as footsoldiers started to line up in the group following the horsemen.

  "So your job. Our job, is to make sure it doesn't come to that. Which means staying calm."

  Halvar took a deep breath before gathering himself. He exhaled slowly.

  "The reins," Halvar said, gesturing. "You're gripping too tight. Ease up. You're not controlling her. You're negotiating with the cards stacked in your favor. But it’s still a negotiation."

  Christofer loosened his fingers. Gristle's head lifted slightly, the tension in her neck easing.

  "Better. To move her forward, squeeze with your legs. Light pressure. She'll feel it." Halvar demonstrated by pressing his palm against his own horse. "To stop, pull both reins back evenly. Sit deeper. Make it clear. Turning is the same. Pull the direction you want to go. She'll follow her head." Halvar stepped back, giving the mare a long, assessing look.

  "She'll follow the column. She’s stubborn, but she doesn't like being alone. So when we move, she'll move. Just don't fight her. Let her settle into it."

  Christofer sat very still. Gristle's ears stayed aimed at him, her body tense but not hostile. Waiting. Halvar turned back toward his own mare, his hands already reaching for her blanket to adjust it again. Halvar paused, his hand resting on his horse’s neck. He glanced back once, his expression unreadable.

  "She's a good horse," he said quietly. "Treat her like one, and maybe she'll return the favor."

  Then he turned away, murmuring something soft to his mare as he checked the straps on her blanket. Christofer exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of Gristle beneath him, the heat under his skin, the careful balance between nervous cooperation and disaster.

  Another soldier added something more to Gristle’s saddlebags. The distribution ended with the carriage left bare as if it was a carcass that had just been picked clean. The captain stepped back onto his horse. Which had, like Halvar’s horse, been clothed in a thick horse blanket and a mane hood. Like every horse in the captain's group.

  "Let's move out!" the Captain yelled. "Guards, raise the inner portcullis!"

  A sharp tug got the portcullis off the frozen ground as the guards once again furiously spun the winch. The captain pulled the reins, squeezed the horse and led the men into the gatehouse. Christofer felt a tug as Gristle followed them. The interior of the gatehouse was relatively free of snow, with only a thin layer covering the ground. The next portcullis rose behind the gates and soon the gates swung open.

  The wind punched through the gatehouse like a wind tunnel. Snow spun in horizontal torrents across the road, erasing the tracks from the night before within moments. Christofer hunched forward instinctively, tucking his chin against the cold and pressing his stomach against her back. Gristle's ears flattened, but she kept moving, following the horse ahead of her without hesitation. He fought the instinct to rein her in, to steer, then let it go. She was already walking in the right direction and the rest he gained from easing the strain helped ease the pain.