Heir of the Gods

Ch. 38: Ancient Land

Mornings were always quiet on the island. Strangely quiet.

Calix had never been able to decide if it was the mist, or something about the trees. If the land itself was simply content in its early morning silence. He lay wrapped in his cloak and blankets beside the low fire for a moment longer, letting his eyes scan the surrounding trees before he sat up, rolling his neck to the side to work out the kinks.

They had only stayed a single night at the harbor fort before starting out the next day, riding hard for Thurius, a northern garrison town where the Seventh was currently being mustered. The fort's commandant had told them over dinner the night of their arrival that the Second and the Sixth had also been moved near Thurius, abandoning the fight for Grana at the moment. 

While Calix had been pleased by the increased chances of finding Arcturus, that was where the good news had ended. According to the commandant, casualties had become too high to be considered acceptable in the past few weeks.

Calix got to his feet, shivering despite the fact that he'd slept fully clothed, wrapped in his jacket and cloak. He nodded toward the sentry standing watch before he made his way toward the trees, nudging Tarquin's shoulder with his boot along the way.

The Sorveti soldier groaned and rolled over, burrowing into his blankets. Calix scowled against the cold as he unwrapped himself enough to take a piss, the rest of the camp beginning to stir behind him. He finished as quickly as he could before hurrying back to the fire where those who had woken were gathering.

Tarquin was still asleep. He had always been a miserable bastard in the morning.

One of the soldiers handed Calix a skin of water along with a hard biscuit and bit of cheese. He rinsed his mouth, spitting to the side before he crouched beside the fire, which had been built up a little higher. After he ate the meager breakfast, listening to the quiet complaining and banter between the men, he stood and walked over to Tarquin.

He stared at his friend for a brief moment, debating, then reached down and snatched the blankets up, jerking them away. Tarquin went rolling across the frost-covered grass, swearing filthily. Calix took a few steps out of swinging distance as Tarquin lurched to his feet, his eyes wild, his hand groping toward the knife at his belt.

Laughter rang through the clearing as Tarquin glared at Calix, shivering in the cold. With a baleful look he stalked back toward the fire, checking Calix with his shoulder in retaliation. Calix just grinned, taking a quick swig of water before he handed the skin over to his brother, who accepted it grudgingly.

Then he turned to the patrol's lieutenant, a good-natured man with light brown eyes and sandy-brown hair. "How much farther, do you think?"

Calix had never traveled this way before. All the campaigning he'd done in Brunia had been farther to the east.

The lieutenant glanced up at the sky, taking in the pearly sheen of low clouds. A cold breeze sighed through the pine boughs, nipping at Calix's nose and ears. They probably had until midday before it started to snow, if they were lucky.

"If we ride hard today, we should reach the encampment by nightfall, sir," the lieutenant finally answered. "It's only another forty miles or so."

He didn't need to add that would only happen if they managed to avoid any trouble the rest of the way. Calix crouched down, extending his already freezing hands toward the fire. Forty miles was doable, but they'd probably still be traveling by the time darkness fell.

That wasn't the brightest of ideas.

Although, Calix supposed they could just as easily be ambushed and killed if they risked any more time so isolated. He looked up, eyes thoughtlessly scanning for movement in the trees before he glanced at Tarquin. His brother raised a single shoulder before nodding toward where the horses had been picketed.