Heir of the Gods

Ch. 47: The Better Part of Valor

Calix woke with a start, his heart pounding like he'd just run a mile in full kit. Sweat slicked his skin and his breath rasped, his eyes sweeping around the room as he tried to discern what had left him in such a panic. Everything was still dark, the sun not even up.

His breath puffed in a cloud of steam and he began to shiver.

A dream, he decided, scrubbing a hand over his eyes to clear away the sweat stinging and blurring them. It must have been a dream. 

He sat up, wrapping a heavy bear pelt around his shoulders. The coals in the brazier used to warm his sleeping quarters were black, explaining the vicious chill. Wincing, he stood and fumbled with a flint and candle on his bedside table for a moment, swearing until a spark caught and the wick flared to life.

A small halo of golden light revealed an empty room and frost on the inside of the ceiling. Calix cradled the candle close, shivering beneath the pelts as the sweat on his skin began to dry. Frowning, he stared down at the little flickering flame, trying to remember his dream, but it slid away from him like water flowing between clenched fingers. For a brief moment, he toyed with the idea of stoking the brazier and trying to get a little more sleep. The still-rapid beat of his heart discouraged that notion.

Calix rubbed at his gritty eyes with his free hand before bending to the side, groping blindly for his boots. Teeth chattering, he dressed quickly and stumbled into the main room of his tent. He left the candle on the table in the hopes that the flame might spontaneously decide to jump down to the reams of parchment strewn across the wood.

No such fortune had occurred by the time he had retrieved his sword, slipped a knife into his boot and located his wolfskin jacket. After buckling his belt, Calix blew out the candle and slipped through the tent flaps. Dawn was just beginning to pearl the horizon as he stepped outside. 

Tullus—the only guard he had kept from the retinue assigned to him upon his arrival—leapt from his seat beside the tent's entrance. His shoulders sagged when he noticed the sword at Calix's side.

"Sir," he began, "please—"

"If you can keep up with Nox," Calix said with a lazy grin. 

He nodded a greeting to the other guard on duty, Valerius, a legionary who had caught Calix's attention by thrashing another soldier after the man had kicked and nearly killed one of the camp curs. The dog in question thumped its tail at Calix, chewed-on ears flicking hopefully in his direction. Valerius had been bewildered by the sudden promotion—as had a majority of the camp—but had settled well into his new role as a general's guard.

Calix crouched and beckoned to the dog as Valerius bid him a good morning. The animal sprang to its feet and buried its shaggy head against his chest, tail wagging madly as Calix scratched the wiry fur down its back. When he stood, the dog reared onto its hind legs, whining insistently.

"There's nothin' for ya," Valerius said, snapping his fingers at the dog, who immediately scampered back to his side. 

Calix smiled, though the expression faded as he noticed the blue shadows beneath Valerius' eyes.

He was still technically short three guards, but had yet to find anyone else he cared to take into such confidence. The five he did have were competent men and, in the month or so that he had known them, had all proved themselves to be both skilled and—as far as he knew—trustworthy. They did not seem to mind his strangeness. In fact, they rather seemed to enjoy it.

Barring his tendency to go off by himself, perhaps.

"I won't be long," he said. "If anyone comes asking, tell them they can wait outside."