Borne of Fire

Chapter 48

Randyl and McSween turned as Braxter approached, the former with eyes wide and sparkling with life while the latter looked only a shade less nervous than Braxter himself felt. Randyl had the pulsar strapped to his back alongside Corraich while McSween carried no visible weaponry at all, only a cloth satchel which was tied to his back with cord.

"New weapons, new armour. I hope this day finds you are still my old friend even though much else has changed, Brax? I feel we may need all the friends we can get before the day is over." Randyl tried to sound cheerful but couldn't quite hide his true feelings beneath. It was almost as if he couldn't wait to get going, with an urgency underlaying each word he spoke. "Are you ready my friend?"

"I guess." Braxter replied, trying his best to steady the tremor in his voice. "Where are we going?"

McSween shrugged his satchel into what he hoped was a more comfortable position on his back, decided it was no better and moved it again. "To the roof." He ran his hand through his hair which immediately fell back over his eyes and dropped the hand to his side where it patted a staccato beat against his thigh. "We'll be able to view the whole field from there and when the Malgore shows it ugly head..."

"I can take it from it's shoulders." Randyl finished grimly.

"Er, yes...exactly." McSween pushed his hair from his eyes and smiled as cheerfully as if someone had offered him a cup of tea. "Hopefully it might be in range to hit it from there and end this battle before too many of our troops perish."

"And if it's not?" Braxter couldn't help but ask.

"Not? Not what?" McSween had already lost focus on the conversation and had taken to adjusting his satchel once more.

"What if it's not in range?" Braxter asked, a touch of impatience creeping into his voice.

"Ah, then we have to move somewhere closer. And quickly." McSween answered matter-of-factly, smiling once again at Braxter who wasn't sure if he felt comforted by the look or was made even more nervous. "The longer we take to kill the Malgore..."

"The more of my people will die." Randyl growled. His fists clenching and unclenching with impatience and pent up aggression. "Now, if we are all ready - let's do this." And with that he turned and marched quickly from the room.

Braxter cocked an eyebrow and looked at McSween who's lips seemed to be moving but not making a sound. "Did he just say..." Braxter asked. McSween shook his head quickly as if dismissing whatever thought he was having.

"Oh...I'm sure it was just...come on, we need to catch up to him." He said adjusting his pack one last time before setting off at a run which Braxter had no choose but to follow.

They had to jog to catch up to him but this time at least the journey through the town was a lot less congested. Although the occasional civilian still hurried from doorway to doorway, anxious and furtive eyes darting this way and that as if expecting the Ulrogg to leap on them at any moment, most had already taken up arms and gone to join the soldiers outside the Western Gate bolstering their numbers two fold even it was only with town militia and not any kind of skilled fighters. Those who were deemed either too old or too young were housed in buildings throughout the town - makeshift fortifications built up to give whatever protection could be found should the Ulrogg manage to breach the town walls. And around those buildings grizzled old men could be seen peering from doorways and windows, scared but resolute.

Defiance stared out at him as Braxter, Randyl and McSween ran past such places. Along cobbled streets and across the town square, past the sandbag barricades which he himself had helped to build and which now stood deserted and silent they ran, each lost in his own thoughts.