Balian didn't know what was more annoying, his wounds or the silence that surrounded him.

Footsteps approached.  “Are you still alive boy?” The tip of a boot poked Balian’ s ribs, jerking his body to life.

Captain Torrand, big as a bear, all covered in blood and gashes. Balian wrinkled his nose as all that blood still wasn't enough to beat the scent of whiskey that plagued the captain. His mind fumbled at his earlier question so he stared at Torrand in silence.

"Can you get up?" , the captain was still prodding at the wounded soldier with his boot.

A smile escaped Balian' s face. "Sure, I'll be doing flips in no time. My body has two extra holes and a few broken ribs, I might even go for a run tonight."

Torrand chuckled. "Wound doesn't look too deep. Don't worry lad, we'll get you to a healer soon. “

The captain was a tall muscular man around 5 inches over 6 feet. Long, gray, and thin hair surrounded the bald top of his head. He had a gaunt face and his nose showed signs of having been broken before. The only thing that redeemed his features was his big stupid smile that overcame his thick beard. Traces of his enemy's blood still lingered on his hauberk. He`d been a mercenary ever since he was a young lad of sixteen. This was to be his last contract to end a career of forty years. Forty years killing, pillaging, and looting. 

Balian didn’t judge him though.  If he lived through this he’d most likely follow the same path the captain had. Young men of low birth like him had few choices in this world. Either shovel horse shit all your life or roll your dice as a mercenary. He didn't get to make that choice, his mother sold him when he was seven to serve at a mercenary band. He never hated her for it, times were tough, the coin she made could last her a winter and he never liked being close to horse shit either. He spent early mornings training and the rest of the day serving the camp, cleaning equipment, bandaging wounds,  and running meager errands. After reaching adulthood at the age of 16 he became a fighter. Four years later here he was, battered and wounded and pockets not nearly filled with coin as the stories would tell.

Pain surged through the Balian’s body as he tried to get up. His surroundings were nothing but snow and dead men. No, dead boys, not even over the age of twenty. Boys fooled by stories of how being a mercenary is a life of excitement and treasure. Yes, tales of treasure and victory easily lured eager farm boys, that's how you convince them to go to the frontlines to get massacred. He was one of the lucky ones who survived his first year, the rest either killed or maimed for life.

Captain Torrand examined his wound. “The bleeding has stopped. This will surely drive the women nuts I tell you, nothing gets them going like a nice scar on the chest to run their fingers on."  he said with a grin.

"Did we take the hill sir? "

The captain smiled. "They sounded the horns an hour ago, by the looks of it, victory was ours. We keep up this pace and we'll be sure to win the war in no time and you'll earn your fair share of the loot. That be sure to make up for being in the frontlines.”  Torrand pounded his chest with a fist. “Aye, battle, loot, then women." 

They start heading to regroup with their platoon.  Wading through snow, passing by the dead bodies of their comrades.  All the time the captain was loud and boasting about his kills.

“Shouldn't we be silent sir? There could still be enemies afoot. ”

“Bah, if any of those rebels show up they'll meet my axe. ” He walks in front of me raising both his hands, “You hear that rebel scum, come face the mighty Torrand. '' he said. “See? All of them are either dead or have run away.” 

Why did I have to be stuck with this idiot? Balian thought. Despite winning the battle, the captain’s recklessness got their squadron decimated. If we waited for reinforcements then perhaps not that many would have perished. I want to beat this guy senseless but he’s way bigger and more experienced in combat than I am. Not to mention Balian was still weak from the previous fight. 

 Dusk soon came and they found themselves through a narrow rock corridor with walls 4 storeys high. 

"Did you see that blow I landed? I swear my ax went through three men in one swing! Three!" the captain said.

"I'm sure it did sir." 

He makes a fist and pounds his chest, "Next time I'll get it to go through 10 me--"

A sharp sound of wind cut off his words. Three more followed. He fell to the ground, trying to make sense of things. His fingers clasped at the bolts protruding from his torso. 

Balian ran to him and tried to pick the captain up but his own wounds prevented him from drawing any strength.

Blood flowed from Torrand’s mouth. " Damn, they got me good, ” he grabbed Balian’s collar. “Run.” his grip loosened and his hand fell to the ground. He may have been a fool but he was still a great warrior. All the anger Balian felt toward him now was meaningless. 

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"Show yourselves you damn bastards, I'll kill you! " 

Soldiers came out from above him. The wind screeched once again and his legs gave out, blood draining from his chest. An enemy coated in mail walked out from behind a crevice. He approached and aimed his crossbow at Balian’s head.

So this is how it ends. Despite the dire situation he found himself in, his face involuntarily grins. It always did that for as long as he could remember. The more horrid the situation was, the wider his smile became. When he was a child it freaked out the warband’ s quartermaster so much that he threatened to knock my teeth out if he ever saw me smiling like that again. He closed his eyes. The rattle of mail as the enemy raised his crossbow slowed down allowing Balian to relish the sound of metal. As he pulled the trigger the familiar sound of a bolt being released filled his chest with tranquility. 

The pain never came. Did he miss? Unlikely, I was at point - blank range.

When he opened his eyes nothing but the emptiness of an open sky faced him. The cold vanished and so did the rebels. He reached for the clouds but to his surprise he saw short , baby arms above him. What the hell! Are these my arms? Why are my arms like this? He tried to stand but his body was heavy and sluggish. He was unusually small and everything around him was gigantic.

What the hell! No. How does a man of 20 years turn into a baby? Confused as he was, he tried to calm himself. The first lesson you learned in camp is to never panic. Panic kills even the strongest of fighters. He took a deep breath and tried to take in as much information as he could. Giant trees surrounded him. No birds were singing and the leaves were making no sound either. A bitter scent filled the air, a scent he’s all too familiar with. Blood. he moved his head as best I could. To his side,  a woman gasping for breath and crawling toward him. 

“Don’t fret, I’m here.” she said. 

As her long black hair swept the ground she clutched an arrow wound while slowly reaching for him.  

She caressed his face.  “It ‘s ok, everything will be fine!” she said. Her words were foreign but he understood it completely. Was this because of the same power that made him into a baby? Her tears mixed with blood coming out of a gash on her forehead. 

“I’ m sorry little one, I wanted so much more for you.” she said 

Harsh clinks of metal drew closer. A towering man, perhaps an inch over 7 feet,  in full-plate armor tinted night blue. Armor, so intricately crafted like the ones you usually see for ceremonies rather than combat. It  was filled with grooves that twisted to the man’ s form and at the center of his plate was an engraving of a rising dragon entangled with a falling sword.  He wore a sallet and his visor concealed his visage. All that was visible was the emerald glow of serpentine eyes gleaming through his helm. The poleaxe he held, all covered in blood, was just as menacing. Behind him two armored warriors wielding spears stood; although not as imposing and not wearing as intricately crafted equipment as him. Both of them with serpent eyes of a green glow. 

What are those eyes? Who are these people? Are they even people? 

The warrior raised his weapon with one hand and thrust it on the woman’ s spine. The woman did not scream, her eyes fixated on the baby. He thrusted seven more, each on different areas of her back, each strike making his eyes glow more intense, and on the final thrust as he pulled out his spear, he let out a vile chuckle. 

“Alessa! No-!” A wounded man lying on the ground shouted, his tunic drenched in blood. This man’ s appearance was peculiar. His neck and forearms were covered in bright emerald scales in a diamond pattern. His long black hair was riddled with mud and blood. His eyes were also serpent like, only this time it was a bright topaz. He stood up, unsteady from his wounds, raising his right arm to his side. A gray liquid came out from a cylindrical container attached to his belt. The liquid wreath and spiraled until it formed a spike the length of a man’ s forearm. 

How is he doing that? Am I hallucinating? Is that some kind of magic? Balian wondered.

The man took a deep breath and rushed for an attack. 

The armored man assumed a defensive stance, his armor emitting a faint azure light. 

What the hell is that light? This is all too bizarre. 

The scaled man advanced 7 paces before he collapsed to the ground clutching at his wounds. His injuries prevented him from doing battle. The spike fell to the earth and melted, covering the ground in gray. 

The warrior approached the scaled man and once again raised his poleaxe. 

“Disappointing. Die traitor.” the warrior said. With both hands he thrusted into the scaled - man's heart. 

“Commander, what do we do with the babe?” one of the men said. 

“That is no mere babe. That is an abomination. Something that should never have been born. Kill it.”

Commander? Are they some kind of military unit? Why would they want  to kill me?

The underling's eyes widened and his hands started shaking, “But sir, it's a mere babe. ” 

The captain walked up to his underling and stared at him. There were no words said, the fiery glow of the commander’ s eyes demanded the soldier to act. The underling,  shaking, slowly stood over the baby. He clutched his spear pointing it downwards towards the babe’s torso.

No. This has to be some cruel joke right. If there’s a God watching over me he sure is a sadistic asshole for turning me into a baby only to be killed off so quickly. Balian roared but all that would come out were the whimpers of a helpless baby.

“Five men against an infant seems unfair, no?” said a voice from behind one of the trees.

The soldiers raised their spears, “Who's there, show yourself? ”.

“I was wondering what was all the racket about, these woods are usually a quiet passage.” An old man emerged from the woods. “Well you boys sure made quite a mess didn’t you.”