Calix nudged his heels into Nox's sides, urging the horse up the small incline. The final stretch to Antelium unfurled before him. For a moment, he just stared down into the valley.

The Carmilion River was a silver thread running into the western distance. He could just see the outline of Antelium. The city crouched in a loop of the river, rising above the surrounding fields. 

Five days. It had taken five days to get here. Two longer than he'd anticipated.

Two days just to get the men mustered—apparently Lord Vetus hadn't bothered to mention which unit should be put at his disposal—then three days to march a little less than forty miles. 

Despite traveling light, a host of a hundred men moved much more slowly than a single man on horseback. The cold weather and rough terrain had slowed their progress more than Calix would have liked, but he wouldn't risk exhausting the men. The company needed to get to Antelium ready and willing to fight, not tired and belligerent. 

Still, his impatience had reared its ugly head early this morning, which was why he had ridden so far ahead of the company. He wanted the opportunity to see their objective before anyone else.

The forested hills petered out here, turning into open fields. The last of the fall wheat swayed in the chilly wind, waiting to be gathered before the snow clouds managed to get past the Alorens. 

Calix was careful to remain at the edge of the trees.

Turning in the saddle, he glanced at the land he had just traveled over. It wasn't the most direct route to the city gates. That lay a little farther to the north, alongside the river, which was precisely why they had taken this route. The trees would provide ample coverage, though they would have to camp rough for the nights leading up to the attack.

No fires, no armor, as close to silence as a hundred men could come. Surprise was critical to their mission. If the Mortanians got wind of their approach beforehand—if they didn't somehow already know—then Calix would fail.

His hand turned into a fist around the reins.

For another moment he continued to stare out across the rippling fields, entranced by the whispering of the wheat stalks against one another. Half-closing his eyes, he simply let himself listen.

To the wind, the land. 

"What life would you want? If you could have any other than your own?"

Calix stared blankly toward the horizon as he was waylaid once again by a memory.

The princess lay with her head resting on his chest, staring at him. Sighing, he thought about his answer for a moment. Then he grinned. "One where you live in a place I call home, and I can have you anywhere and anytime I please." He cocked an eyebrow. "Or you please, for that matter." 

He was only teasing—he truly didn't mean anything by it—but the princess sat up, looking down at him with those too-serious eyes.

"Where do you call home, my lord?" she asked, her voice soft and lovely.

Nox snorted and bobbed his head at the inactivity, pulling Calix from his own mind. He let out a long exhale, steam clouding from his mouth. Tugging his cloak closer, Calix shook his head, berating himself for these moments of weakness.

Try as he might, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about her. From missing her. Which was a problem both for the distraction it provided, and because she wasn't his to miss in the first place.

She had asked him those things two months ago. Even now he had no answer for her. But what did it really matter?

None, he decided viciously. He wanted no life other than his own.

Reining Nox around, he guided the horse into a light trot through the trees. After about a mile, he heard the sound of boots marching. Mens' voices floated toward him, carrying in the cold air.

Slowing the horse, he waited for the company to come upon him. Some of the men nodded or saluted as they passed. Most kept their gazes fixed firmly ahead. 

Despite his best efforts to talk to all of the men—going from fire to fire when they made camp, checking on sentries, occasionally riding right alongside each squad—Calix was still treated with the traditional standoffishness that came with the territory of being an unfamiliar leader.

Calix knew that sort of animosity and didn't take it personally. He had felt it himself as an enlisted man, watching as each new officer came, then usually went, depending on how green they were. Mostly he had just hoped the upper echelon staff wouldn't take too many lives along with them when they inevitably screwed up.

Now he was the green, new officer, and they were the ones hoping that if he got himself killed he would have the courtesy of not killing them too. So he willingly suffered through the lack of camaraderie, accepting it as his lot now. 

Still, Arcturus' words after Calix had been promoted to captain rang in his ears.

Men who see you care will be twice as loyal and fight three times as hard. Make them fight for you, Calix, not just the empire.

The only men who treated him with any warmth were the ones who had been there when he'd come shooting down that pass, chased by Mortanians and hellbent on staying alive. Several of the men from that company had volunteered to go to Antelium, and Calix had heard many of them relating his actions in the pass to the others over the nightly cooking fires.

He watched carefully as they passed him, looking for any limping or stumbling. Anything that might suggest they weren't in top fighting form.

The centurion fell out of formation, loping over to meet Calix. A rangy man with dark hair and green eyes, he had an air of competence about him that Calix had immediately taken to.

"Orders, sir?" he asked after rapping out a smart salute.

"In another mile have the men make camp. Have them spread out a little but make sure none of them go beyond the tree-line." He grimaced. "Cold camp, Centurion. We can't risk smoke, and pass down a noise-discipline order."

"We don't want the bastards knowing we're here," the centurion agreed. With that he returned to the company, barking a rough order for the men to stop talking.

Calix watched as the last of the company moved past him, then clicked his tongue at Nox, bringing up the rear. Glancing up at the sky, he determined that there would still be a handful of daylight hours to do a little reconnaissance and polish the plans that had been forming as he'd traveled.

Better to put his mind toward the impending fight than let it wander back to someone it shouldn't. 

                                                                      ~~~

"Is it really just a game?" she whispered, her head on his shoulder.

Calix drew a finger down her arm, gazing up at the crystal sky above them. 

She placed a hand over his heart, warm fingers burning into his skin. "It's dangerous."

"Living is dangerous," he replied, turning to skim his nose against the smooth skin of her jaw. "And I want to live."

"No," Cassia said, her voice soft and unbearably sad. "You want to die."

Calix jolted upright, gasping in a shocked breath. Cold immediately cut at his throat, chasing away the warmth of the dream. His eyes darted around, taking in the dark trees and the men huddled in cloaks at their trunks. A light layer of frost turned everything ghostly.

His heart threw itself against his ribs as he sat up a little straighter. The cold bit at his nose and ears, and his fingers were numb. After another moment he stood up, his movements stiff and slow with the little sleep he'd managed and the cold.

After he stamped his feet a few times, trying to force the blood down to his toes, he started walking through the camp. He peered through the pre-dawn gloom at the men, finding many already awake and miserable-looking.

He stopped from time to time to share a handful of whispered words with the men who met his gaze, but try as he might he couldn't brush off the dream. It lingered like cobwebs against his skin.

Why was she so different, he wondered. He'd had lovers before, but none that haunted him as she did. Calix shook his head at himself. 

Regardless, it still didn't matter. 

With a frosted sigh, he turned his mind to what needed to be done today. Scouts had been sent last night while the others made camp, returning before darkness fell. They had reported seeing heavily armed guards along the stone ramparts of the city.

Worse, they had counted no less than fifteen crucifixes erected outside the city's main gate. The men upon them had been long dead, but had undoubtedly belonged to Prince Malitech's honor-guard. 

The scouts hadn't gotten close enough to see if the prince had been among them. They hadn't gotten close enough to really see anything, not wanting to run the risk of being spotted themselves.

More information was needed.

It would be another long day of waiting. Calix intended to see if Prince Marcus had been telling the truth about the drains, but would have to wait until darkness fell again. If they were there—something Calix's first plan depended on—and everything went according to plan, they should be able to claim the city with minimal casualties in perhaps as few as two days.

Calix scoffed at the optimism of that, making one of the sentries jump and whirl around, spear raised. 

"At ease, soldier," Calix said quietly.

"General," the man greeted, lowering his spear. The man's partner echoed the greeting. His eyes were glued to the horizon like he was willing an enemy host to come through the silent fields, if only for the relief movement would bring from the cold.

"All quiet?"

"As the grave, sir," the first man answered. 

They all looked back in the direction of the city, the waning stars not enough to see by. It was just a darker blob against the dark horizon.

"They have fires," the other man said sullenly. "Can't you smell it?"

Calix gave them a smirk. "We'll be warming ourselves over their fires soon enough."

That was greeted with a little enthusiasm. Behind him, Calix could hear some of the other men stirring, murmuring as they repeated what he'd said to those too far away to hear his quiet words.

"What's your name, soldier?" Calix asked, pitching his voice to something friendlier.

"Longius, sir," he answered. "Decimus Longius."

"And you?" he turned to the other man, who was still staring doggedly at the horizon.

"Severus Calion." There was a moment too long before he added a perfunctory, "Sir."

Longius shot a warning look at the other man that Calix pretended not to see before he asked, "Is it true you're leading the mission today, sir?"

Calix gave the soldier a dry stare. "Where'd you hear that?" He hadn't expected any plans to be kept completely secret from the men, but he'd only told the centurion that just last night.

The man had obviously disapproved, but had held his tongue.

"Around," Longius said vaguely, eyes flicking away as he shifted on his feet. Then he continued, "How do you intend to take a city that large with only a hundred men, sir?"

Calion finally looked away from the horizon at that. Calix could practically feel the curiosity radiating from those within earshot. He held his silence for a long moment, watching as the first rays of dawn broke over the land, smearing the fields with shades of grey and silver. 

He shouldn't have been so prideful that day in the council room. Arcturus would have kicked his ass for saying something so foolish before he'd even had the chance to assess the situation. But he was here now, and would bear any consequences of his hubris.

"When you need to know, you'll know," he finally said, choking on a grimace. It was the kind of non-answer he would have sneered at if he were still an enlisted man. But he could hardly say anything else.

The men couldn't know his fears, his doubts. Those were his burdens to suffer with and to bear up under.

So he would.

After a few more words concerning the rest they should get today, Calix left the watch-point and moved to the other side of camp where he'd left Nox. The beast already had a vicious reputation after just a handful of days, and all of the men simply refused to go near him. 

The stallion gave him an ill-tempered snort, flattening his ears as Calix drew near.

"I don't need that from you," he informed the horse sourly, going through the saddlebags he'd left nearby until he came up with a small currycomb. He held up the brush as a peace offering. "If you bite me, these men will be having horse-steaks tonight."

Nox snorted again, unimpressed by the empty threat. He didn't move as Calix began to brush him, cleaning flecks of mud, dried sweat and loose hair from the stallion's sleek coat. 

The day passed in the slow fashion that always accompanied waiting. Try as he might, Calix couldn't find enough to do in an effort to keep his mind off how easily and horribly tonight could go wrong.

There was bitter relief as he watched the sun finally begin to slip toward the horizon in front of them. Calix stood on the very edge of the forest, willing the world to full darkness. Only when the night was black as hell did he send the order for the four other men who had volunteered to join him.

It was with some surprise that he found Calion, the surly sentry from this morning, among those who had volunteered. The rest were familiar faces from his arrival at the garrison. They had come without armor or weapons other than small daggers, just as Calix had ordered.

Stealth was more important than strength tonight.

They set off to the north, keeping in the trees as long as they could before they reached the Carmilion River. Calix frowned as they stood at the edge. Due to how the sound would carry, they'd been unable to construct rafts for these crossings.

Calix shared a grimace with the men before stepping into the freezing water. Soon it was chest deep and Calix kicked off from the bottom, swimming across the swiftly moving river. The cold constricted his chest and set his teeth chattering. Behind him he could hear the others splashing through the water, swearing.

When they reached the other side, Calix didn't give them time to stand and think about the fact that they were going to spend the night cold and scared. He waited until the last man clambered onto the muddy bank, then set off at a light jog.

They needed to get to the city before the moon rose.

As quietly and as quickly as they could, they moved through the waist-high wheat, the sound of the river covering their footsteps and panting breath. Calix signaled for them to slow as they drew near the city. Through a series of hand-signals he ordered them to keep low, letting the wheat shield their approach as they circled the city to the western wall.

After a moment to let the men catch their breath, Calix signaled for them to stay put. Then he crawled forward on his belly until he got to the edge of the river. Freezing mud soaked through his already wet clothes, sending shivers through his body.

He stayed there, squinting through the darkness until he could make out five dark smudges on the pale stone walls. His breath caught. Prince Marcus hadn't been lying. Small tributaries had been dug from the edge of the river, flowing toward and through the city via those drains.

Squirming back around, he made his way into the cover of the wheat. The moon had started to peek over the trees. They only had a few minutes before they risked being seen.

"We have to cross again," he whispered. "Swim quietly."

They crossed one at a time, Calix going first. He got to the opposite bank, dripping wet and biting viciously into his lip to keep his teeth from clattering against one another as he darted toward the wall.

When they were all safely across, Calix started creeping toward the first drain, signaling the others to move toward the ones farther down. They stuck close to the wall so unless a guard looked straight down—which was highly unlikely—they would remain unseen.

Calix took a moment to run a hand through his hair, slicking it back from his face. His clothes clung to his body, but the water at least kept them from rustling. He ducked into the inky black of the drain, immediately choking on the smell of sewage. Stone ledges had been carved out of the walls, creating a straight, narrow channel that forced the water out of the city and down the small embankment.

He realized that there must be drains on the eastern side of the city as well, the water flowing from one end of the city to the other.

That would have been nice to know, instead of having to cross the river four separate times. Calix scowled into the dark, one hand on the stone wall of the drain, the other stretched out in front of him. 

It wasn't long before he reached the end of the drain. Grating only covered two-thirds of the opening, the rest clear to allow free passage of the water and whatever else was in it.

He decided not to dwell on what those things might be. Instead, he sat on one of the stone ledges, propping his legs up on the opposite edge so that the drainage water flowed beneath him.

And then he watched.

Every now and then, men in leather armor carrying lances would wander past. He was able to time when each patrol came by, getting an idea of how many men he would be able to get into the city within three hours.

The cold became increasingly painful as he sat there, unable to move and surrounded by stone that seemed to leach any remaining warmth from his body. But the moon was mostly full tonight and had cast the world in bright silver. He and the others were stuck until dawn, when hopefully the morning mists common to Mortania would aid their escape.

Calix sat there and shivered, his arms tucked in tight to his body. He did his dead-level best to keep his teeth from chattering, afraid it would give him away.

Slowly, miserably, the world began to turn toward dawn. Calix stood, the low ceiling forcing him to hunch over, and took a step forward just to stumble and splash into the water. He froze, heart pounding, the metallic taste of dread in his mouth.

But nothing happened.

He let out a silent sigh of relief, stepping carefully back up onto the ledge. Ignoring the way his wet boots had started to rub at his feet, Calix carefully made his way to the edge of the wall. Firelight flickered down onto the ground in front of him—a sentry with a torch perhaps.

There was maybe an hour left before dawn came to burn the mist off the fields. Already the sky appeared lighter. Calix left the drain, hugging close to the wall. He whistled softly at each drain until the other scouts had rejoined him.

Another sweep of light came from over their heads. They hardly dared to breathe until it was gone. Moving stiffly, they crept to the edge of the river once more.

Calix gritted his teeth as he forced himself again into the freezing water.

His heart stopped when he heard a nearby shout. Calix twisted around in time to see flickering light chase itself toward the edge of the wall. "Under!" he hissed. "Now!"

With nothing more than a single breath, Calix submerged himself completely in the dark water. Immediately the current began to pull at him. Unable to fight against it without the risk of giving himself away, Calix had no choice but to let the river drag him sideways toward the west, around to the other side of the city.

He tried to open his eyes to see if the light had gone, but the cold was too powerful. His lungs began to scream for air. A hand gripped his arm, jerking him back toward the surface.

Air shoved its way down his throat, icy water blurring his vision. The world had gone dark again. Calix turned to find one of the men from the pass had a hold of him, dragging him toward the bank. They had been carried farther than Calix had realized. The city was several yards behind them and a long stretch of bare ground stood between them and the wheat.

Calix looked wildly around, his heart only calming when he found three other pairs of eyes gleaming at him from the edge of the bank.

They couldn't stay in the water any longer. Calix craned his neck, squinting through the gloom at the wall. There was no movement, but that didn't mean anything.

"Move quickly," he whispered before he lunged up onto the bank, scrambling across the ground toward the edge of the wheat field.

He could hear the others doing the same. They crawled for another hundred yards. Looking up, Calix could find just the faintest streaks of dawn beginning to push at the eastern sky.

Stopping, he turned to look at the others. They stared back at him, eyes hollow, bodies wracked with powerful shivers. Again his eyes flicked to the sky. They were quickly running out of time. The mist wouldn't last for much longer. 

"Can you run?" he asked, well aware of his own muscles cramping with the cold.

But each of them nodded resolutely. Calix let out a shaking breath that clouded in front of his face. Then he stood and began running through the wheat field, his gaze locked on the trees and the safety they provided.

The world blurred around him, reduced to nothing but movement, pain and terrible cold. His boots rubbed the skin from his feet as he stumbled, his muscles unresponsive to begging and bullying alike. They moved together, and several times Calix kept one of them from falling, reaching an arm out to steady them even as he stumbled over the uneven ground himself.

They raced the sun, and more than once Calix heard fervently muttered prayers.

Something must have answered because eventually Calix found himself tripping over tree roots. The mist was thicker beneath the trees. His steps slowed, muscles grinding to a halt. He stood there shaking and panting, his eyes skipping over each of the four volunteers.

They were all there. He hadn't gotten them killed.

Calion stepped forward, dark hair plastered to his head and dripping wet. "We n-need to get-t you to a fire, sir. Get you w-warm."

For a moment, Calix could only blink stupidly at the man. "N-not safe," he managed through his chattering teeth. "C-can't let-t them s-see us."

"Sir," one of the others protested, but Calix shook his head. He was no more cold than any of them.

All he needed were some dry clothes and he'd be fine.

Forcing himself to stand a little taller, he gestured for them to follow him through the trees. Dawn was beginning to filter through the branches, but there was still no movement from the city. They had gone unnoticed.

It might have felt like a victory if he could feel anything other than the cold.

They continued to weave through the trees, stumbling like a bunch of drunks. Every time he thought it was impossible to get any colder, he was proved wrong. The morning breeze cut through their sodden clothes. He was shivering so hard it was almost impossible to move, his muscles locking up as they tried to compensate for the heat loss.

He didn't even notice that they'd hit the Metian camp until someone hissed, "General!"

Someone else muttered, "They're back. Get Vargus."

Calix blinked hard, shaking his head to clear it as he looked around at the men. They stared back at him, and he imagined that he must look like a drowned rat to them.

Then the centurion was bursting through the crowd. He took one look at Calix and the men with him and barked, "Start a fire. Now."

Calix began to protest, but then he glanced behind him to find the others with blue lips, looking near to collapse. He turned and gestured them forward, herding them after Vargus. Deeper in the forest, where the smoke would hopefully be dispersed by the branches, another soldier was working feverishly over a pile of wood.

Before long there was the smell of smoke and a quiet crackling.

He and the others stripped out of their soaked clothes and huddled in blankets that had been retrieved for them. The heat seared painfully at his flesh, but he gritted his teeth and bore through it.

Color slowly began to return to his fingers, swiftly followed by feeling as his blood began to flow properly. When his teeth were no longer chattering so hard he was afraid he'd bite off his tongue, Calix looked up at the centurion.

"They're there," he whispered, his voice hoarse. He coughed, still shivering. "The drains. We can move maybe thirty men through them without running into a patrol within the city before we're ready." Turning to the men who had gone with them, he asked, "Were the other drains grated?"

All four of them nodded, a man named Bassius adding, "A man in full armor could slip beneath it though."

"Good," Calix muttered. The grating would slow them down, but it wouldn't stop them.

The centurion crouched down beside him, the other soldiers dutifully feigning deafness as their superiors spoke.

"How do we get the men through without being seen by sentries on the wall?" Vargus murmured, making Calix frown.

Slowly, his gaze wandered to the merrily crackling fire.

"We burn it."