Calix's eyes flew open, his hand automatically closing around the hilt of his sword. 

He didn't know what had woken him. 

Without moving a muscle and half-closing his eyes, he glanced around the small clearing he had made camp in last night. A cold wind bit at any exposed skin, making the trees groan around him and sent snow fluttering down from their branches. The rock formation at his back was of little comfort.

Keeping his movements loose, like he was merely shifting in his sleep, Calix turned his head. The fire had been reduced to barely smoldering coals, explaining why he was so cold even wrapped in two cloaks.

But it didn't explain what had jerked him from sleep.

Pre-dawn light was reflected off the low clouds, casting everything in a pearly-grey sheen. The pine trees were dark, their trunks shrouded in shadow.

Nox stood stock-still, ears pricked forward, his dark eyes glued to something across the clearing. Calix made a visual sweep of the area that had gained Nox's attention, gaze picking through brush and shadow with care. The horse didn't appear upset.

Simply wary.

After a long moment of not seeing anything, Calix slowly sat up. His gaze flickered to his shield, which was buried beneath the saddlebags so the gleaming metal couldn't reflect any of the light from his fire.

It had been a long, hard six days of riding across Ventilium, the province that separated Metus Proper from Mortania. He hadn't bothered with keeping to the towns and villages, instead riding across harder country in favor of a straighter path.

Already he'd ducked mercenary bands and what he would bet his last copper were rebel groups in northern Ventilium. Now he was less than a day's ride from Mortania's border.

These were hostile lands, part of the Metian Empire in name only. If he were caught, there would be precious little mercy from any of the people this far north.

There was still no hint as to what had awoken him.

Still keeping an eye on his surroundings, Calix stood and stretched. After relieving himself, he collected an armful of decently dry wood. From a small pouch in his saddlebags, he withdrew a handful of powdery dry moss and nestled it into the center of the dead coals. His hands were clumsy with cold as he struck a flint, creating a shower of sparks.

When the tinder caught, he blew gently on it, coaxing it into a small flame. Carefully, he added small twigs, waiting until they caught before adding in a handful of larger sticks.

He kept the fire small, just enough to knock off the chill, but not enough to garner any unwanted attention.

A shiver of nerves traveled down his spine, and he tugged his shield closer, letting it rest against his knee. It began to snow, the flakes coating the world in silence. All Calix could hear was the muted crackle of the flames and a snort from Nox as he pawed at the ground, searching for breakfast.

Generally Calix would always feed his horse before he fed himself, but he hadn't made it this far with only a handful of measly scars by not listening to his instincts.

Something had woken him up. Something abnormal.

So he settled in by the fire, digging a breakfast of venison jerky and hardtack out of the dwindling supply of food in his saddlebags. Half-frozen water sloshed in his water carrier as he took a sip.

The plain brown cloak he wore over the bright red cloak slipped a little, and he tugged at it to keep the scarlet wool from making an even easier target out of him. The steadily dropping temperatures had forced him to don the general's cloak last night.

He tore off a bite of the jerky with his teeth, chewing slowly as he continued to watch the pine woods around him. Nox was no longer watching anything but the sparse vegetation at his feet. That made Calix relax a little, but not enough to get lazy.

By the time the jerky was finished, his backside was numb and the fire was starting to dwindle. Nothing had drawn his attention outright. Finally he got tired of waiting.

He was burning daylight and still had a good fifty miles before he'd make the garrison on the edge of Mortania. There he'd collect the hundred men Lord Vetus was lending him before making the additional forty-mile trip to Antelium.

Calix choked down the hardtack, chasing it with a large gulp of freezing water before he stamped out the last few flames. He took off the brown cloak and wiped snow and any dirt or twigs from Nox's back before donning it again and saddling the horse.

After tying the saddlebags down, he fished the last of the dried apples out of their wrappings and fed them to Nox. The horse lipped up the apples with an unusual gentleness, allowing Calix to take one last careful look around the clearing.

He blew out a cloudy breath, then slung his shield across his back instead of securing it behind the saddle.

Clicking his tongue, he urged Nox into a gentle trot. Nox had obviously picked up on Calix's tense behavior and simply began moving away from the clearing instead of bucking and twisting as was usual.

While Calix rarely minded the show of spirit in the mornings, he was glad to find the horse had a keen instinct in that moment. When he'd deemed the horse warm enough to not strain a muscle, he again clicked his tongue, nudging his heels against Nox's sides.

Nox broke into a ground-eating canter, weaving easily between the frosted trees. The farther they got from the clearing, the more Calix relaxed, settling into the rhythm Nox set. They alternated between that steady canter and a quick walk, the miles disappearing beneath Nox's sure hooves.

It didn't take long before they began to climb the foothills of the small Aloren Mountains marking the border between Mortania and Ventilium.  

As the air grew thinner, Calix slowed Nox in an effort to spare the horse. Their breath steamed in the air, the ground quickly becoming rocky. The snow was thicker this high up. Only a handful of the mountains in this small range broke tree-line, but the air was still bitingly cold, forcing Calix to huddle in his cloaks.

He let the reins rest on Nox's neck, tucking his freezing hands under his arms as the horse started up a shallow incline.

Calix knew it would lead to a low pass between the mountains that would eventually spit him out near a small, nameless town that had sprung up as a result of the garrison stationed there.

Already he was sick of the cold. But at least they weren't slogging through mud that came up to Nox's knees.

It wasn't long before he was leaning back in the saddle, almost parallel with Nox's back as the horse skidded down a shale incline that was steeper than the assent would lead one to believe. 

When they finally made the bottom, Calix reined Nox up and dismounted to check the horse's legs for any scratches or blood drawn by the flaky shale.

He bent over to run a hand over Nox's hind leg. A stringy twang filled the quiet air and almost at the same moment an arrow thudded against his shield, falling to the ground with a clatter.

Calix swore and launched himself into the saddle, driving his heels into Nox's sides. The horse shot off like a bolt of black lightning.

Howls and yells filled the air, followed by the twang of more bow strings. Calix ducked low over Nox's neck, hefting his shield up in an effort to cover as much of his body and the horse's as he could.

Most missed their mark, but far too many clattered off his shield to be of comfort.

He didn't have a bow. He was not an archer and had been ordered to travel fast and light. It infuriated him, this inability to fight back. To do nothing but flee.

By now Nox had worked up to a flat out gallop, a pace Calix knew the animal would never be able to sustain. Not at this altitude and not carrying a man of his size plus his armor.

He just had to make the trees on the other side of the pass.

Chancing a look up, his stomach dropped as figures flashed along the top of the pass in front of him. Nox was starting to foam up, sweat streaking his black hide. 

Calix stood slightly in the stirrups, his shoulder beginning to ache from the awkward angle of the shield. He urged the horse faster, but Nox was beginning to flag. His eyes darted up, now searching for a suitable place to make a stand.

A shrill squeal came from Nox as the horse lost its footing on the slick, snowy ground. Calix was flung sideways, losing his hold on his shield. It flew away, undoubtedly saving his shoulder as he crashed to the ground, flat on his back. The wind was knocked clean from his lungs, making standing an almost impossible feat.

Above the ringing in his ears, he could hear the excited shouts of his attackers.

A couple feet away, Nox had regained his feet and was pacing back and forth anxiously, head and tail held high. Calix was surprised the horse hadn't bolted. He forced himself to his hands and knees, numb fingers skating along the ground in the hopes of finding his shield.

His lungs were still fighting for air, but he'd trained his body into submission long ago and struggled to his feet. Finally, the hard knot beneath his ribcage released, allowing his lungs to expand. He sucked in a great gasping breath.

Calix stumbled toward his shield, just to leap back as three arrows with barbed tips sank into the ground at his feet. Swearing, he tried again only to end up skittering backwards as more arrows fell.

Looking up, he found a handful of Mortanians bearing down on him, running with swords and axes drawn.

Calix swore again and abandoned the shield, tugging at his sword lightly to make sure the blade hadn't been stuck to the inside of the sheath by frost. Backing up quickly, he put a hand out to snag Nox's reins but the horse jerked away from him.

The Mortanians were closer. He could see the blue paint on their faces.

He tried again for the reins and managed to snag them. Nox reared, a shrill whinny piercing the cold mountain air. Calix swore viciously at him, managing to clamber into the saddle.

Nox immediately took off, but Calix knew the horse was nearly done in.

They had too far to go.

His heart pounded in his chest, echoing the hoofbeats of the horse beneath him. Running a hand along Nox's neck to encourage him, Calix dared looking over his shoulder. Arrows were being pointed toward the sky, waiting to rain death down upon him. He whipped back around, not about to give them an easy time of it and his eyes went wide.

There, filtering through the trees over a hundred yards away, were a squad of men in familiar armor bearing a familiar standard. Calix couldn't stop the cry of relief that tore at his throat.

It died quickly when the men at the front of the column hefted javelins to their shoulders.

Calix simply refused to die under friendly fire.

He let go of the reins, trusting to Nox. His fingers shook with excitement and fear as he tore at the knot holding the brown cloak in place. 

"Hold!" he screamed. "Hold!"

Above the wind and the pounding of hooves, he could hear the senior officer giving commands. He couldn't make out if they were to loose or not and prepared himself to bail off the horse a second time.

The knot came loose and he let the wind rip the cloak away. His scarlet general's cloak flapped behind him. He howled the same order for them to hold their fire and nearly collapsed in relief when he saw the senior officer throw his hands up.

Javelins dipped toward the ground and Nox nearly crashed through their lines. The soldiers immediately closed ranks around them.

"We've been expecting you, General." The senior officer, a lieutenant he could now see, calmly saluted him.

Calix nodded, chest heaving as both he and Nox tried to catch their breath.

Looking back down the narrow pass, he found the Mortanians had coalesced into a single group. There were more than he had initially counted. Silence descended as the Metian soldiers waited to see if the enemy combatants would do anything.

They didn't outnumber the Mortanians. As Calix continued to catch his breath and watch the men who had just tried to kill or—more likely—capture him, he counted nearly thirty men. The squad was only comprised of fifteen.

Calix swore under his breath when he saw arrows begin to lift toward the sky. He jumped from Nox's back, pushed the horse around toward the forest and slapped his rump, sending the horse into the protection of the trees.

"Shields," he bellowed.

It soothed something inside of him as the soldiers immediately snapped to action. They crashed into orderly rows, their rectangular shields lifted toward the sky.

Calix bowed his head, covered by a canopy of metal. For a moment, the only sound he could hear was the steady breathing of the men around him. 

This, he realized, was what he loved. This was where he belonged.

Not in a gilded cage. Certainly not at the side of a woman who would shake their world to its foundations.

She belonged on a throne. He belonged here, in the mud and blood.

Arrows began to ping off the metal of their shields, and Calix couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. An utterly inappropriate urge to laugh grabbed a hold of him, and he couldn't stop the quiet snort that escaped him. The row of soldiers behind the one he was sandwiched into looked at him with raised eyebrows.

He met the gazes of a few and shrugged. "Not much better than fighting in the shade," he said and suddenly his grin was echoed by the men in front of him. Behind and alongside him, he heard a few of the men laugh until the sound rippled across their ranks.

A few more solitary thuds sounded, then the lieutenant called, "Recover."

The shields descended and Calix turned. He didn't move from his position, knowing that without a shield he would only be a point of weakness along the front row of soldiers. Instead he made his way toward the rear of the column, where the standard-bearer now stood.

A quick glance up related the legion and cohort these men belonged to. 

"Patrol or scout?" he asked the standard-bearer.

"Regular patrol, sir," the man answered. "We've had problems with the locals lately."

"You don't say," Calix murmured, attention turning back to the mass of Mortanians. They now seemed to be conferring amongst themselves. A few of the men muttered hopes that they'd realize it was a lost cause.

Calix knew better. The Mortanians could see easily enough that they outnumbered the Metian soldiers two to one. Give a Mortanian even the slimmest idea that he could win, and there was nothing that would stop him from attempting it.

"Shields at the ready, boys," he called, ignoring the startled look he got from them. "Raise spears."

While the front rows of any company carried several light javelins for the advantage of distance, the third and fourth rows carried heavier spears, useful in defensive tactics. 

There was a brief moment of hesitation, quickly followed by eyes falling on his general's cloak. Even if they didn't know him, they knew he was now the commanding officer. His orders were hastily carried out, the front rows of soldiers lifting their heavy shields to chest-height, swords at the ready. The men just behind them shuffled forward, bracing the backs of the men in front of them with their shields while they lowered the long spears they carried into ready position.

The Mortanians were beginning to move. Calix met the lieutenant's eyes. "Control the front," he ordered. "I've got the flanks."

As soon as he said it, they watched as Mortanians began to slip toward the right flank, meaning to filter through the trees and pin them against the rock face to their left. Calix grinned again. How he loved the predictability of men.

He turned his back on the front, quickly moving along the lines, directing the men on the right flank to pay attention to the trees. Many of the soldiers were older than him, grizzled men who didn't look overly thrilled at the idea of following the orders of a man half their age. 

But they didn't disobey, which was all Calix needed right now.

Battle chants in Mortanian began to echo through the air, bouncing off the rocky sides of the pass. They bashed their swords and axes against their small, round shields. Their long, braided hair flew as some of them began jumping up and down, others stomping their feet against the snowy ground.

The Metian soldiers watched in silence. Calix knew they'd all seen the display before.

A quick glance around found a few pale faces and wide eyes, but otherwise the men around him were obviously battle-hardened and not easily put off from a fight. A shrill ululation came ricocheting down the pass and the Mortanians burst forward, sprinting full tilt at the line of shining steel.

The men around him braced and Calix fell into that peacefully aware version of himself.

Pale sunlight glinted off iron ax heads. Breastplates and vambraces clinked against shields and weapons. Calix drew his own sword as he moved farther toward the back. The glossy needles of the pines whispered softly in the strong breeze that whipped down the narrow pass. 

The crash of the two companies colliding was nearly deafening, quickly followed by the scream of wounded men. Spear heads disappeared as Mortanians impaled themselves upon their sharp points, reappearing in a bloody spray through their backs.

The leaf-shape design of the spearheads allowed their wielders to easily retract their weapons and attack again. 

Axes crashed down on helmets and shields, occasionally finding their mark in the space between breastplates and helmets. A handful of Metians fell, just to be replaced by those behind them. Calix managed to acquire a new shield, ignoring the blood smeared across its edge.

Another vicious scream ripped through the air and Calix whirled around, his cloak snagging on the edge of a shield. The Mortanians he had noted earlier came tearing through the thin trees, bearing down on their flanks.

"Rear shields," he crowed. "Draw swords."

The men he'd directed toward the flanks did as he said. He joined the crush of bodies behind the first rows, keeping the man in front of him from being bowled over by a fiercely large Mortanian. Iron flashed and the soldier fell, a short sword thrust through his throat, the spray catching Calix full in the face.

With a roar, he leapt over the dead soldier, sword lunging for the attacker's bare chest. The Mortanian blocked the strike, eyes wild with the blood-craze. Calix thrust and slashed, drawing blood twice before the Mortanian took a backwards step and stumbled.

Calix hacked down, his sword crashing through the man's collarbone and into his chest cavity, nearly splitting him in two. 

Metal flashed and he raised his shield, the blow from two axes rattling his teeth in his skull. Calix shoved the shield up, sending the axes with it and thrust forward, running another enemy through. 

A spear grazed his ribcage and he turned sharply just to find the edge of a shield barely three inches from his face. The Mortanian grunted in surprise and fell, slipping off the tip of the spear. Calix turned, nodding his thanks to the man who'd just kept him from getting his skull bashed in. 

Moments later he returned the favor. An ax flew through the air and Calix put a hand on the man's shoulder, dragging him into a crouch. 

Another nod from each of them and then they threw themselves back into the battle.

Blood sprayed and steel flashed, the snow beneath their feet churned into a muddy red mess. Calix moved back and forth along the length of the column no less than four times, jumping in wherever he was most needed until finally, finally the last Mortanian fell.

His breath burned the back of his throat as he straightened to his full height, turning in a brief circle to find that the only Mortanians left were the dead and dying. A few of the spear-bearers spread out, making quick work of the enemy wounded until nothing but silence remained. 

Satisfied that the threat had been dealt with, Calix knelt and used the pant-leg of a dead man to clean his sword before he sheathed it. Standing, he found the men all gazing at him.

For a moment, the attention confused him until one of the men jerked a thumb toward where the front of the line had once been. Calix swore under his breath when he found a helmet with a crest of white horsehair on it.

He brushed a hand across his brow, keeping the blood there from dripping into his eyes.

They hadn't lost many men, but they'd lost enough. 

Gesturing toward the forest behind him, he rasped, "Cut down some saplings. We'll make litters to carry them back."

Glad to have something to do that would keep them from having to stare at their fallen comrades, the men jumped into action. Carefully, Calix began picking his way through the bodies, trying not to slip on the blood. 

The excitement of battle had begun to fizzle out, and Calix suddenly felt like his limbs weighed tons. Under the guise of searching one of the bodies of the enemy, Calix crouched down, bowing his head slightly. With a weary sigh, he looked back up again, counting five dead. 

By anyone's reckoning, five for thirty was an unarguable victory. Calix had long ago come to the conclusion that men would die in war and there was nothing anyone or anything could do about that. But he refused to not acknowledge their sacrifice—to not mourn the loss of life, however lightly and in spite of his acceptance of death's inevitability. 

When enough saplings had been gathered, Calix was the first to shed his cloak. It was quickly tied to the frame and he helped to place the lieutenant upon it. Others followed suit until they had enough litters to carry all five fallen back to the fort.

Calix walked at the head of the column, following the man who had saved his life. They moved silently. There was no need for any talk. 

It wasn't until they could no longer see the pass and the bright blood on the snow that he remembered Nox. Halfheartedly, he brought his fingers to his lips, releasing a shrill whistle.

He'd been attempting to train Nox to respond to the sound over the last few days, but hadn't made much progress. Several of the men glanced around nervously and Calix didn't do it again. His heart was heavy with the idea that his horse might be halfway back to Levitum by now. 

The snow crunched beneath their boots and Calix fell out to look back along the line, making sure no one had fallen behind. Blood speckled the path, alerting him to the fact that at least a few of them were wounded. But no one wanted to stop and take the time for treatment now.

Calix would trust they knew their limits.

When the last man had passed him, staggering a little under the weight of the dead man he was helping to carry, Calix began walking again, taking up the rear. The shield he carried thudded against his back, making him wonder which of the dead he had stolen it from. 

The sun was high in the sky by the time they left the pass, which widened out into a dramatic valley. The fort, a wood-and-mud construction covered in thick spikes and surrounded by a trench Calix knew was layered with pitch, rose from the flat floor of the valley.

They began the precarious descent down and Calix's heart leapt at a familiar whinny. Men cried out, scattering as Nox came charging up the hill, skidding to a stop beside Calix.

The horse huffed against the side of his face, making Calix smile faintly. Grabbing Nox's reins, he patted the horse's still-sweaty neck. The men had reordered themselves, intent on returning with their dead and getting out of the bitter wind.

Moving slowly, Calix began leading Nox toward the fort.

For Anna, because the end-product was so much better than the original. Her book Bastian's Song is a thrilling, beautiful adventure. Mermaids, magic, wild quests—what more would you want?