The stench of horseflesh and mud was strong in the stables, a growing plume of earthy smells. Branched off the south of The Summer Trance, there were twelve stables, all joined beneath a single roof. Each domicile was walled off by hung wooden barriers, and they were large enough for each horse to lie comfortably in them. A long trough stretched the length of the long barn, as were there barrels of hay and feed. Horseshoes and saddle gear were thrown about, left unkempt by the stable boys who journeyed here on the regular to keep the horses well and in good health. Despite it being well into midnight, none of the horses were lulled into rest, their manes peaking over the ridges of their stable doors.

The Lord Scholar entered the long stable through a set of double half-doors, which swung open with a light touch. He walked with his cane in one hand, and his silver lantern in the other. And behind him, wrapped in the silent night, there paced Ander. Not a word had been spoken from his lips since their talk in the study, but his emotions were well conveyed to the lord.

“Now that you have your gold, young Idris,” the lord began, his lantern swaying slightly under the silver chain, “we ought to find you a suitable horse to carry you home, we must. I do believe, yes, I’m quite certain I have the perfect steed in mind, follow me.”

Ander bid him no response, but followed nonetheless.

“In my youth, I was rather into jousting, if you would believe it. A dangerous sport to be certain, much more perilous than fencing and the like. But oh, I just adored a good mount, and a swift saddle, and the wind in my hair, and the feeling of breaking a lance on a poor soul’s breastplate, hah! One hour, I would be the only sane tongue to grace the crown, and the next, I would be jousting his prince. Those were the days, I reminisce.”

Again, Ander had no words to share. He was elsewhere, far from the stables, in a place much darker than the pitch of that night, and much hotter than any silver lantern.

“But just because I can no longer ride as I once did, does not mean I lost my interest in keeping horses. My sons, and their sons after them, are as swift as I was, and do love to ride whenever possible. I keep in these stables some well-bred beasts, I assure you… But I have one that is unmatched by any other.”

They passed by each of the stables, the eyes of the horses staring them down as they walked. Their sight saw nothing of Ander’s visage, as the boy had revealed himself beneath his mantle. He brooded under the bear fur in absolute silence.

“Here he is, come here, Ander,” the lord beaconed him forward, standing beside the final half door of the long stable. “This is my final gift tonight, young man. This is your new mount, Raynar.”

The lord placed his cane against the wooden divider of the stable and pulled open the half door to the final compartment. When it swung past the feeder grill of the stable, a great white pelt came into view. There stood Raynar, mighty in his keep, his silver skin boundless in the lantern night, and his mane flowed long down his neck, whiter than the purest winter snows. His hooves were trimmed and clean, and in all, he was well-maintained. The stable boys had done well in maintaining him.

“What do you think, young man?” The lord raised a hand to Raynar. The beast met his master’s gaze and paced forward, lowering his handsome face to gently graze the palm of the scholar’s hand. Raynar was gentle with his approach, and let out a soft whinny. “I have had this one since he was a small foul, his father had been the seed of my main steed some ages ago. He’s been kept well-honed by my grandson, and I’m sure that when Raynar’s gone, the lad will be quite displeased. But in all, he is well trained, mightier than an ox, and carries the grace you would expect a high-knight to walk with.”

“So?” The lord looked at him. “What will it be, young Idris?”

Without a word, Ander paced forward and placed a hand on Raynar’s pelt. It was soft, but beneath the fur, there were lines of hard muscle and tough skin. A purebred mount if there ever was one. The boy’s head made a small nod before he directed his attention to the pad and saddle hung on the wall beside him. Ander made for the kit and began fitting them to the silver mount. The horse gave him no trouble at all. The girth strap and stirrups were hung, and the tie strap was tightened, and as Ander mounted Raynar with a bag of gold hung at his waist, he finally looked up at the lord. The old man had been silent all the while yet stood with a grin.

“An excellent choice, young man. I shall see you out. Here.”

The lord took hold of Raynar by his reigns. He held the leather in his lantern hand and took up his cane once more to walk toward the end of the stables. There stood another set of half-doors, which when levied open, allowed inside the cool air of the autumn night. The chirping of bugs sounded from afar, and a light breeze blew through the front courtyard of The Summer Trance. Moonlight lit the grounds, but not a star stood in the sky. They were masked beyond clouds now as overcast fell upon the valley.

“You have provided me great comfort tonight, my good fellow, Ander,” the lord spoke with his back to the lad and his horse. The lord led the group into the brick-laid square of the estate. The mansion guarded the opening on all but one side, and it rose resolutely above the grounds. Black windows looked down at them as they walked further toward the center of the square, staring them down with grim eyes. The darkness had an eye for the boy.

“It has been far too long since someone has spoken to me, not as a lord, but as a man. A rare gem that is, I’m afraid. I was not born a lord, and I do not believe I was ever meant for it. But sometimes, things must change, and people must rise to do what is right. I hope my reward for your presence is enough to last you a great deal of time - you are always welcome back, Ander. I do not see myself leaving in the near future.”

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Ander kept his vision turned down as the lord spoke. His eyes were closed, but beyond them, great fires burned in ferocious rage. He did take in the lord's words, but they were only background to his thoughts.

“I suppose this is farewell for tonight,” when the lord released Raynar’s reigns, the horse leaned low and rubbed against his lord’s side one final time. The horse then raised his head up tall and ruffled his silver mane in the gentle wind. The mount was eager to begin.

The lord had turned to look at Ander and waited for any response from the boy. It took a good moment, but one finally came. Ander looked up, and through his veil, he spoke in a soft, gentle tone.

“...Thank you…” He whispered. The words were quiet, but they boomed over the gentle autumn air.

“Neigh!”

With a stroke of the reins, Raynar was off, cantering toward the front entrance of the estate. When the thief looked up, he found the twin metal doors of the entrance held open by strung chains tied to the divide of the gates. The lord stood nowhere near them, and yet, they were open. The thought of the doors lingered in Ander’s mind no longer than they stayed in his vision, and when he passed beneath the curtains of the forest, and out of the hold of the estate, his anger flourished. His grip on the reins was tight.

Aranos…

It was the only word held in his mind, ever since the lord scholar spoke it. The name echoed endlessly in the void of his psyche, sharp and ruthless. It culled visions worthy of a thousand leagues of tears, and memories worth more sorrow than most lifetimes. It pulled him apart with every chime of its terrible call. It spurred his pain, it spurred his misery. And deep down, buried in the depths of his soul, strung on by his aches of loss and calls for violence, it spurred his mightiest force. The force that slayed monsters and men alike. His rage.

Aranos…

Aranos.

Aranos!

He never realized how much he needed that name. He never realized how deeply he needed the name of the monster who had taken from him his life. It was what his rage had sought all along. Not the pelt of a rabid bear, nor the blood of a wicked man. His rage sought a name. It sought a face. And now that he knew of its pleas, there sounded a new call from all around.

Aranos: Lord of flames-

Aranos: Lord of suffering!

I am a fool, plain and true! Here I thought the gods were cruel. No… They are wicked!

He leaned forward on Raynar, holding the reins ever tighter. Without his gloves, the white of his grip shined on his knuckles, and his nails dug into his skin, threatening to split flesh. His teeth were grit, almost to the point where the enamel would crack and shatter. He was bound with vitriol, and the great call from his rage grew louder. It asked for a single thing.

Aranos…

You took from me my home.

You took from me my family.

You took from me my LOVE!

What other evils has this beast done? The question filled his pounding skull. He needed answers. He needed relief. He needed to answer the call of his rage.

No longer.

No longer will he take from me what is mine.

No longer will he be my tyrant!

Raynar was in a gallop now, storming down the gravel roads of Vern’s Forest. The mount was panting, but teemed with untapped strength. Ander’s eyes shone with burning passion.

I…

Will have…

Vengeance.

That was it. That was the call from his rage. That was the burden he found himself bound to, that was the call from all of his torment.

I will have… vengeance.

On the god who took my family… On the god who took my life.

I will. Have. Vengeance!

“Vengeance…” the words were spat with poison through his grit teeth. His heart was pounding faster than his steed’s bare hooves on the stark earth. Blood coursed in his ears, a choir of a thousand voices begging him for but one release. He spoke again, this time louder.

“Vengeance.”

“Vengeance!”

Raynar let out huffs as he stormed faster, swerving down the winding path they took home. He cared not for the forest, or the ground, or the sky, or the woes of his world. At that moment, he cared for only one thing.

“Vengeance!” He boomed in a great voice. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, and with a pull of his reins, Raynar skidded to a halt before lurching back on his hind legs. The horse let out a great huff as Ander reeled back, and cried into the night in a visceral roar.

“I WILL. HAVE. VENGEANCE!”