Borne of Fire

Chapter 47

Through the watery blur of his eyes he saw a pair of boots beside his own at the same time as he felt a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting even through his clothes.

"Easy Braxter. Deep breaths." L'nons voice, as calm as ever spoke to him and surprisingly he did feel better, if only marginally. L'nons boots were joined by two others which he recognised immediately even before their wearer spoke.

"Been sick boy?" Ja'aris laughed, patting him on the kidneys and making him feel ten times worse just as he was starting to feel better. He breathed deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth before standing up slowly. The watcher stood beside him, smiling mischievously, tattooed head shining in the sun. Braxter clenched his fists by his sides wondering how good it would feel to knock that condescending smile off Ja'aris' face even for a moment.

"Look pale boy. Something you ate?" He winked at L'non, his tongue licking over his lips and teeth. Braxter looked away from him, repulsed by the thought that while he was trying to regain control of his stomach, Ja'aris seemed to be almost salivating at the prospect of the upcoming battle.

Bodies ran everywhere now, left and right, uniformed and civilian both. Randyl stood aways off, talking to three guards. He pointed first one way and then another and another before all three simultaneously ran in three different directions, eager to carry out whatever orders they had been given by their new leader. Boreham was a hive of activity all around him and that did nothing to make Braxter feel any better. Nor did the confident way Randyl strode towards him, a trace of a smile playing at his mouth and a sparkle in his eye. Gods, am I the only one scared here? he wondered. Or am I the only one with enough sense to recognise the danger we face?

"Braxter, you look-"

"Pale. Yeah, I know. I've been told." Braxter interrupted his friend before he could get any further, his tone making it clear that no further comments on his pallor or demeanour were required. Randyl looked momentarily taken aback, glancing at L'non who shook his head slightly but said nothing.

"Something he ate." Ja'aris said through his smile. Braxter glared at him angrily but Randyl didn't seem to notice or if he did he didn't care. He'd already gone back into his Field-Marshall role and was walking over to where a group of civilians were unloading a cart of weapons.

"No, not there! We need them closer..." Braxter watched him go, watched the men stop what they were doing and listen to him without question and then do exactly as he had instructed them. He watched the ease with which his best friend took charge and exuded confidence to everyone around him, infecting them with a belief that was disproportionate to the fact that he had been in charge for less than two days. "It's as if they were waiting for a leader to come along and now they have one they're ready to do anything he asks." He spoke the thought out loud absently.

"Anything at all. Do battle, fight and die. And what a leader to do it for." Ja'aris agreed with his comment, pausing for a moment. "I feel completely the same" he finished.

"You do?" Braxter asked, unsure if the watcher was building up to another of his jokes but it seemed that this was another rare occasion when he was actually being sincere.

"Absolutely. He's got every quality that I'd want in my leader. He's a devil with a blade but he's wise as well, decisive too and fears nothing. Fast and strong. Fair but ruthless. Mark my words boy - if we survive this battle he'll go down in history in the same way the legends of the Seven Year War have done. He'll be in the company of Johan the Brave and Lenny of the Vale. They'll sing songs about him for years to come. Nailed on. He's the perfect warrior." And saying this he smiled broadly with none of his usual wickedness or cruelty. On his face Braxter saw only respect and admiration.