Calix waited outside the central hall, dread roiling in his gut. He shifted off his injured leg and looked across the square.

Had it really only been two days?

Order throughout the city had been reinstated with brutal efficiency. He didn't know if it was the shock of the attack, or simply because of their chief's death, but the people of Antelium had stayed locked within their homes. 

Afternoon sunlight beat down on him, throwing the bloodstains on the cobblestones into stark relief. A sigh had him grimacing at the stench of rot that had begun to hover. There hadn't been enough man-power available to secure the city and see to the dead.

The most they'd been able to do was stack the Mortanian bodies like cord-wood and hope that the chill temperature would prevent any sickness from spreading. The Metian dead—thirty-four in total—were laid side by side on the ground, their shields covering their chests.

Calix hated the sight. They lingered here, waiting for their prince to allow their bodies to burn and their souls to be freed. They waited for the flames of their pyres to carry their souls to Eternity. He ground his teeth, trying desperately to keep his ever-shortening temper in check. 

There was a likelihood that the prince had simply been as busy as Calix himself. Perhaps he was just as eager to see the dead properly sent on as all of the rest of them were, but had simply lacked the time to see it done.

Malitech might have been a bastard, but he was still a Metian after all.

The repaired doors to the hall finally creaked open and Calix straightened, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. A guard, his black-crested helmet marking him as one of the prince's own, gestured for Calix to enter.

He was honestly surprised Prince Malitech hadn't summoned him earlier. Calix had happily been left alone to oversee everything from the treatment of the civilians to the re-ordering of the century. With Vargus dead he had needed a new centurion, eventually settling on Fabricius, the man who had taken over when Vargus had fallen.

He limped inside, ignoring the blood still staining the wood floors as he made his way to where the prince sat at a table...eating. The prince was taking his noon meal. 

Calix had barely eaten in the past days, only finding bare moments to shove a piece of bread or chunk of meat into his mouth before he was moving again. He bit down on his tongue and snapped off a smart salute when he stood in front of the prince.

Cold, hazel eyes met his own. He made the general wait, taking a swig of the strong ale the Mortanians preferred. Then he said, "Report."

Calix stood straight, his armor wrapping him in a sensation of strength. "We have near-complete control of the streets with patrols of two men apiece, as many as we can muster, moving through the city at all times. The locals are wary, but haven't responded with any kind of violence."

Mostly, he suspected, because nearly all of their fighting men had been killed or injured.

"Near-complete?" the prince repeated snidely, raising a severe eyebrow.

Calix kept his face blank. "We only have so many men, Highness. The patrols are enough to restore and keep order until we are ready to return to the capital."

"If you need more men, General, what's left of my guard are at your disposal." Malitech waved a lazy hand toward the men clustered at the other end of the hall. Calix's gaze flickered over them.

It had been astounding, how many of Malitech's hand-picked guards had survived with the prince inside the city. Nearly twenty. They had apparently stayed hidden in a few empty houses with hardly anything to eat. It showed a certain fierceness and fortitude anyone would have to admire.

But Calix didn't trust a single one as far as he could throw them. And from the mutterings he'd heard, none of his soldiers cared overmuch for the so-called elite guard either. 

Down to a man, the prince's guard rubbed him the wrong way. There was just something unpleasant about them—something wicked and wrong, just like their master.

All he could do was thank the prince for the offer. Malitech took another mouthful of ale. "Continue with your report," he finally said.

"The dead need to be dealt with, Highness," Calix replied immediately, lunging at the topic he'd most wanted to discuss. "Our men have waited long enough, and Mortanian tradition dictates that their dead spend no more than a day above ground after they've passed. It's already been two."

That was the very least he could do after he'd failed the princess so spectacularly in taking the city. She would want him to soothe as many ruffled feathers as he could. Perhaps this was the way to start.

The old chieftain's words continued to ring in his ears, promising a war that Calix had told Cassia he would try to prevent.

"I agree," the prince replied, his voice serious. "See to it that the dead are burned before sunset today, General. They deserve nothing less for their great sacrifice."

Calix opened his mouth, then frowned. "Will you not be overseeing the pyres, Prince?"

Malitech swirled the ale in his cup around once before draining it. "Much as it pains me, there are other things I must attend to. I will entrust our honored dead to you."

A moment of silence echoed, Calix's finger tapping against the pommel of his sword. He narrowed his eyes. "And the Mortanian dead?" Malitech snorted and there was some muttering from his guards that set Calix's teeth on edge. He pressed, "Letting them bury their dead will keep them busy until we leave."

He nearly held his breath as the prince mulled this over. Then Malitech waved a careless hand. "Very well. My guards will make sure the remaining vermin don't try anything stupid."

Calix's mouth thinned into a tight line, but he bowed his head.

"Anything else, General?"

"Most of the wounded will be able to march back to the fort. There are seven who will need some sort of transportation. If a wagon and pair of horses can be found, we will need them. The last of your guards have been retrieved from the crosses and wait with the others to be burned. If we stay for much longer, food will become a problem unless we send a rider to the nearest fort requesting a supply line be established."

"We won't be here for much more than a day, General," the prince said with a small smile that reminded Calix entirely too much of the king. "Tell the men to begin preparations for the march back home."

The order was strange, catching Calix by surprise. Metians did not sweep in to fight just to sweep back out again. That was not how conquering worked. But he couldn't question the prince. And the sooner they got Malitech out of Antelium, the better.

So Calix simply thumped his right fist to his chest and bowed his head before turning on his heel to leave. He managed to nearly clear the length of the hall when the prince said, "Oh, and General?"

He half-turned. "Your Highness?"

Malitech smiled again, the expression sending a shiver down Calix's spine. "You have my thanks for what you have accomplished for the empire today."

"Sir?" Calix's brows knitted together in confusion.

"You have been part of a lesson the Mortanians will never forget, General," the prince said grandly, eyes going to the bloodstains on the floor. "For that, we thank you."

A sick feeling pooled suddenly in his stomach. Indeed he had, regardless of how much he wished it weren't so. He bowed to the prince before again turning back to the door. From the corner of his eye, he caught hooded smiles and the gleam of steel from a number of Malitech's guards.

He would be part of the guard detail as the Mortanians buried their dead, he decided. Just in case the prince decided to do anything rash or foolhardy. 

But the decision wavered instantly when he saw the soldiers lying on the forum grounds. His soldiers. Men he had led, and who had died. It would be a slap in the face not only to those honored dead, but to the soldiers still alive, and to himself and everything he believed in if he did not preside over the burning of their pyres.

And your promise? Have you so easily forgotten?

Calix shut his eyes at the soft voice in his mind. He shook his head, smiling grimly to himself. That promise had already been broken. He had said he would try, and ultimately he had failed.

There was no promise left to keep.

"Sir?"

Calix looked up at the familiar voice.

Calion was watching him with a narrow gaze, his keen eyes flickering down to Calix's leg, worry written in the sharp line of his mouth. For reasons beyond Calix's understanding, the surly soldier seemed to have taken a shine to him. 

Calion's help had been invaluable these past few days. He had an uncanny ability to scrounge for supplies and information alike, and was as quick and sharp with his mind as he was with a blade.

One glance at Calix's face seemed to say enough. "You've met with the prince."

The undercurrent of scorn in Calion's voice had Calix looking over his shoulder before he motioned for the man to walk with him. They passed slowly along the line of their own dead.

All of the faces were familiar. And each seemed to blame him for their current state. Calix shivered as he imagined their spirits standing alongside their bodies, glaring at him. Asking why they hadn't been burned yet. Why they weren't resting in Eternity.

"Get volunteers to begin building the pyres," Calix said. "They're to be properly sent on by the end of today."

"Finally," Calion muttered. He stared down at one of the dead men. "They've been forced to linger here too long."

Calix's eyes drifted to the carelessly piled enemy dead. "Have you caught wind of who has taken control?"

Calion nodded, his shoulders tensing as the door to the central hall was opened. They watched as two of Malitech's guards left the hall, striding in the direction of the main gates.

Then the soldier looked toward the sky. "Not a cloud in sight," he murmured, prompting Calix to look up at the clear, northern sky as well.

He clapped Calion on the shoulder. "Then they'll be carried that much faster to those golden halls, with a warm southern wind to bring them home."

The soldier managed a weak half-smile, his eyes once again on the dead. On the faces of friends. Calix remained silent. The sound of axes on wood began to float through the air. Relief ran through him at the idea that he would not be forever plagued by the ghosts of these men.

He would light each pyre himself, unless another came forward to claim the honor of sending a particular comrade home.

More than that. He would help build them. Turning to Calion, he said, "Go to whoever is in charge of the Mortanians. Tell them they may begin burying the dead."

Calion nodded. "And you, sir?"

Calix began to unbuckle his breastplate. "You can find me at the pyres when you're done."

"Will you want a guard detail for the Mortanians, sir?"

The question provoked a scowl. "Prince Malitech has kindly offered his own forces."

The soldier nodded before taking off toward the south side of the city. With a sigh, Calix went first to one of the buildings that had been commandeered for the soldiers to sleep in. He himself had taken only a small room and had been careful not to disturb any of the things within it. He left his armor on the bed before carefully stowing his sword under it.

Then, in nothing more than his clothes and thin leather vambraces, he made his way to the main gate. He paused every now and then to talk with some of the soldiers he passed, returning each salute or acknowledgement.

Finally he made his way to the tree line. Most of the field had been burned to useless stubble. The charred ground would be a good place to build the pyres without risking a blaze running through the forest, or toward the city.

Some of the men stopped and stared when he picked up an ax. Calix searched for brown, dead needles. They needed good, dry wood to burn hot enough to incinerate the bodies. When he found what he was looking for, he set to work.

To sorrowful, clean work.

                                                                            ~~~

The sun had set by the time all the pyres had been built, drenched in oil and the bodies placed reverently upon them. The sky stayed clear, nothing more than a gentle breeze to disturb the flames of the nearby torches.

Calix looked back at the gathered men. Even now, they fell naturally into ordered lines, their faces grim and distant as they looked at the thirty-seven individual pyres. The fifteen belonging to the prince's guards were somewhat removed from those of the soldiers. Not one of the prince's living men was present. 

With a deep sigh, he lifted his torch.

There were no words to be spoken. No pretty phrases that would lessen the pain of a lost friend or comrade. This was a silent affair. A solemn occasion with prayers quietly offered by each individual man if they were so inclined. 

Calix had already made it clear that any who wished to light the pyre of a friend were welcome to. His offer had been taken by some, and those men already stood beside their fallen comrade, torches in hand.

Twenty-two. That's how many pyres were left to him. More if he wanted to count the prince's guard. 

With a deep breath, Calix touched the torch to the first pyre. The oil-soaked wood roared into flame, the fire spreading quickly. By the time he had reached his third, the first was an inferno that licked at the darkening sky.

One after the other, the honored dead were burned, their spirits lifted to the golden wood and great halls of Eternity. Calix stood and watched the flames for a few minutes, paying his respects, thanking them for their lives and their bravery.

Then he moved quietly toward Malitech's guards. Their bodies had been ravaged already by rot and whatever torture they had seen at the hands of the Mortanians. Calix genuinely hoped they found peace as he set fire to their bodies, throwing his torch onto the last one.

Rejoining his men, he and the rest stood silent vigil as the flames roared and devoured. Sparks flew into the air, smoke coating the back of his tongue. The bright flames burned his eyes, their heat searing against his skin, but no one moved back.

The crackle and roar of the flames drowned out every other sound.

"General!" 

Calix started violently as he was called for. Whirling, he found someone pushing their way toward where he stood on the edge of the assembly. Then Calion burst through the line, his eyes wild, his face smudged with dirt.

He stumbled toward Calix, who grabbed him by the arms.

"You need to come," Calion gasped. "The prince—he—on the other side of the city."

That feeling of dread he'd had since meeting with Malitech this afternoon came roaring to the front, strong enough he could taste it sour on the back of his tongue.

Calion grabbed his arm and jerked him forward. "Now, General. You need to see this."

That was all the prompting he needed. Calix grabbed the ax he had set aside to light the pyres and followed Calion back toward the city. The wound that had barely begun to heal at the top of his leg screamed as he broke into a dead run, following the other soldier in an arc around the city.

Now he could hear the screams.

Calix rounded the edge of the wall and stopped dead, staring in horror. "No," he breathed.

"What do we do, General?" Calion asked. "They—"

Calix didn't hear any more of what Calion was trying to say. He sprinted forward, ax held in both hands. A black-crested helmet was the first thing he saw.

The man turned, his mouth dropping open in surprise as Calix roared in fury, lashing out with the butt end of the ax. It smashed into the man's face, dropping him as easily as a felled tree.

Screams and shouts blurred in his ears. More black-crested helmets flooded toward him. Calix bellowed, "Who gave this order?"

A blinding pain cracked through the back of his head and the world went fuzzy. Calix slumped to his knees. The ax was ripped from his numb fingers. Rough hands jerked him up, arms going under his shoulders as he fought to get his feet beneath him.

Blinking and shaking his head to try and clear it, Calix struggled against the men holding him. They dragged him forward, into the middle of that forest of horrors.

He was thrown to the ground, Calion right beside him.

Calix tried to lunge to his feet, but the tip of a sword under the edge of his jaw, right over his carotid, stopped him.

"I gave the order, General."

His breath ragged in his throat, Calix slumped back on his heels, staring. Everywhere he looked was another person hanging from a cross. Old men. The remnants of the wounded fighting men.

Children. Boys.

Their arms were lashed to the crossbars, their feet nailed to the body of the cross. They'd been gagged so their screams and groans were muffled.

Finally his eyes fell on Malitech, standing calm in the midst of the carnage. He smiled at Calix, then gestured to his men. "Release the general."

The rough hands on him disappeared. Slowly, slowly Calix got to his feet, staring up at the crucified men. Then back down at the prince. 

Calion was guarding his back, watching the guards around them. Calix looked up again.

Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five. Twenty-nine crosses.

"What have..." Calix returned his gaze to the prince. "What have you done?"

The prince twitched a finger. A gauntleted fist smashed into Calix's mouth, swiftly followed by another driving into his solar plexus. Calion swore as Calix went to his knees again, trying to find his breath, blood dripping from pulped lips.

Malitech stared at him, face cruel and delighted. "You seem to forget your place, General. I am doing exactly as my father—your king—has ordered. Mortania must be reminded what they face in defying our empire."

Calix spit a mouthful of blood near one of the guard's boots. The man only sneered.

A dagger kissed the back of his neck as the prince crouched down in front of him. One wrong move and his spinal cord would be severed.

"Would you defy your king, General?" Malitech said softly, dangerously. "Would you defy me?"

A knife in the back danced in his mind. A shallow grave. An unquestioned story. 

Slowly, Calix bowed his head. Rage boiled his blood. "No, Your Highness," he managed to grit out.

The knife disappeared, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He got cautiously to his feet. The prince tilted his head as Calix spit again, blood metallic on his tongue.

"I'll need a guard set on these men, General," he said with a wicked grin.

Calix's eyes flicked toward the guards surrounding him.

The prince clicked his tongue. "My own men have had a hard day of work." He gestured up toward the crosses. Ugly laughter came in response.

"I don't expect they'll be trying to run away, Prince," Calix said tightly, looking pointedly at the nails driven through their feet.

Malitech snarled, backhanding Calix. The blow made his ears ring and blood filled his mouth again, his teeth singing at the impact. The prince's fingers knotted in Calix's hair, yanking his head back.

In his ear, Malitech whispered, "Question me again and you'll find more than Mortanian scum up on a cross." He drew back slightly and looked directly behind Calix, at Calion.

He released Calix, then left, his guard in tow.

Bile burned in his throat and he collapsed forward, fingers digging into the gravelly dirt beneath him. He couldn't give the prince an excuse to touch any of his men.

A shuffling sound made him look to his right, to find Calion sitting up. He hadn't realized how much the guards had managed to rough up the soldier. There was a nasty gash on the side of his head leaking blood down the side of his face and to the collar of his shirt. His right arm hung from his shoulder, dislocated.

Calix crawled over to him, tearing a piece of his shirt to press against the head wound. Placing Calion's left hand on the makeshift bandage, he moved to the side, placing a hand gently on his injured shoulder.

With gritted teeth, Calion gave a sharp nod. Calix held Calion's elbow in at his side, gently rotating his forearm outward. There was a dull thud and Calion swore, cupping his shoulder.

"Thank you, sir," he panted, blood still trickling down his face. Together they stood, staring up at the crucified enemy.

Calion spat at one of the crosses. "Why would he do this, sir? The Mortanians surrendered easily enough. Taking this city with only a hundred men, doesn't that make enough of a point?"

"Because he can," Calix replied wearily. "Have the surgeon look at that gash."

"It's just a scratch." He hesitated for a moment, then said, "Who do you want on guard duty, sir?"

Calix touched the back of his head gingerly, finding a nice lump on his skull from the knock he had taken. "I'll get it sorted, Calion."

"Sir—"

"No." Calix raised a hand, warding off any arguments. "I... I have to handle it. This is my responsibility."

And only his. He didn't know what Malitech would be willing to do—if he would really dare kill any of the soldiers out of hand, risking the fury of the others. Something told him the prince would find a way to do it.

Calion gave him a doleful expression before he turned, and they made their way back to the city silently. When the soldier was safely under the surgeon's care, Calix stormed back into the night.

The fires were still burning, most of the men still standing vigil. Good.

Moving as quickly as his injured leg would allow, Calix gathered a cloak, spear and shield. He had just made it to the south edge of the wall when he ran into Centurion Fabricius.

"A guard will be set, sir," Fabricius said. "I've called for a few of the men to take the detail. They needed to retrieve their armor."

Calix's shoulders sagged. The moans of the wretched souls barely twenty yards away drilled into his ears. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't let the prince do this, not when the Heir had sent him here to prevent such a thing.

He couldn't fail again. He couldn't risk the lives in his care.

"No," he said sharply, making Fabricius start. Calix grimaced and tried again. "No, Centurion. I'll take watch."

"Sir—"

"That's an order," he snarled. "No one but me. Let the others rest and mourn." His voice cracked. "Let them sleep. Tell anyone who asks that's the order I gave. Do you understand?"

Fabricius gave Calix a measured look. His eyes flicked to the spear Calix held, then to the Mortanians dying above them. He nodded slowly. "Yes sir. Will you—"

"No relief will be needed." Calix again cut him off. He tried to muster a smile. "I wasn't planning on getting much sleep tonight either way."

The centurion saluted.

And then he was alone.

Calix walked slowly from one end of the rows of crosses to the other, over and over and over. The dying men watched him through pain-glazed eyes. Their cries of pain dragged through his chest.

The cold air numbed the aching side of his face. Stars watched his relentless pacing. The night grew deep. 

The rest of the world kept turning, ignoring the death and suffering here. Ignoring him. Good.

Calix's hand tightened on the spear. His heart was nothing but stone as he put down the shield and removed his cloak and shirt. An even stride carried him to the beginning of the crosses. All was still, even the watchmen drowsy with the late hour.

For a long while, he simply stared up at the first man. A warrior, given his build, and a good one, given his age. The Mortanian stared down at him in turn.

He hefted his spear up, and the Mortanian nodded, relief shining sharp in his eyes. Calix stabbed upward, killing the warrior instantly as the head of the spear pierced his heart.

Blood rained down over his head as he pulled the spear free.

He moved to the next man. And the next. And the next.

When it was over, when he was soaked in so much blood he could barely see, when the cries were finally silenced, Calix stumbled to the river. He carefully scrubbed the spear clean. Then he collapsed to his knees in the shallows, freezing water splashing over his legs.

Hands trembling, he scrubbed the blood from his face. From his hair. The sun was rising again. The water turned crimson around him, eddied away by the current.

When the water ran clear over his head, Calix returned to where he had put his shield. He donned his shirt and wrapped up in his cloak, then walked slowly to the crosses nearest the gate. 

His decision had been made. No more would suffer but him. 

Calix settled at the base of one of the crosses, let his chin rest on his chest, closed his eyes and waited. It wasn't long before the prince's roar sounded beside him.

Before he could even pretend to snap awake, the prince was shouting orders. Calix was hauled to his feet and did his best to blink dazedly up at the prince.

"What is the meaning of this!" the prince screamed, spit flying from his lips. He gestured wildly at the crosses and the dead men no longer suffering upon them.

Calix stared at them blankly, like he had no idea what the prince was talking about. His eyes zeroed in on each identical wound on the left side of every man's chest, just under his ribcage.

"Someone must have put them out of their misery in the night," Calix said quietly.

"Someone," the prince repeated, fury writ across every line of his face. "Someone?"

Calix looked down. "I must have fallen asleep, sir."

"You guarded them?" Malitech hissed, stalking toward him.

"Yes."

Silence echoed at his stout answer. He tried to calm his breathing. This was all he could do. This was all he could offer the princess. Calix waited for the prince to order his death.

"Then you shall be punished accordingly," Malitech said calmly. "Take him to the forum. Have the men assemble."

The order didn't quite register at first. Not until the prince's guards dragged him back into the city. On one side of the forum, a post stood, old blood staining the stone beneath it. Understanding finally lighted and Calix sighed.

It was better than the cross. Barely.

His shirt was torn from him and a rope tied around his wrists. The guards laughed and said nasty things as his arms were forced over his head, the rope looped over an iron hook.

He didn't turn at the sound of dozens of shuffling feet. Most of the men yawned and cursed at being forced from their bed. They fell silent as death when they saw him.

Calix steadied his breathing. He had done this before, he knew how to pace himself through the pain. Of course...he'd never been whipped to death before, but how much different could it be, really? He leaned his forehead against the smooth wood of the post, waiting.

Movement to his left made him tense, then the prince was whispering in his ear, "I suppose you think it was clever, what you did." He chuckled. "We'll see how long you keep thinking that."

Until he died, Calix supposed.

When the soldiers were finally assembled, Malitech explained why their general was being punished. Discontented murmurs ran through the crowd, but nothing more. They could not help him now, and he did not want them to.

"Fifty lashes," Malitech finally announced.

Barely had he said the words that the whip cracked, the leather biting into Calix's back. Agony ripped through him and he bowed against the post, but not a sound made it past his clenched teeth.

He couldn't help but count. The whip slashed his skin open until blood poured down his back. Until his legs gave and his head buzzed. But he didn't scream.

The final blow cut from the top of his right shoulder to his spine. His vision tunneled and wobbled, and then he was being lowered to the ground, his arms screaming as they were relieved of his weight.

Malitech was speaking, but Calix couldn't hear him over the ringing in his head. Nausea at the pain threatened at the back of his throat. His own blood was slick beneath his cheek where he lay on the stone. Each breath was a labor of will that sent fresh agony cracking through him.

What had he done to deserve this, he wondered, letting his eyes fall closed.

Was it because he had dared lay claim to a woman who belonged to the gods? Was this his punishment?

A dull murmur reached him and then careful hands were picking him up. A calm voice in his ear whispered, "You'll be all right, General."

Of course this was his punishment—his shameful failure, the threat to his men, the whip, all of it. She was beloved of Corlana, he was forsaken.

All of this was because he had broken his promise to her. Because he had dared to reach above his station. 

Calix opened his eyes as he was carried away from the forum space.

Through the smoke of the pyres, the sun rose red.