Lexson of Aerolite

Chapter 3 Combat I

Far to the northeast. Sion stood, firmly anchored beneath the hot sun. It wouldn't favour either opponent today. He was glad, and fate was kind, allowing him to abstain, from shielding his eyes of the irradiated blaze. The land of his forefathers was wrapped by a lush spirited season. The flowers bloomed. The wind carried a living scent: flowery and light, distant from the perfumes of a distinguished royal entourage. It was free, and pure. You felt your own soul yearn to pull away and chase after it. How desperately did it entice you to abandon your corporeal form? That raw dreamy whisper wrapped you in an ephemeral embrace. It was all wrong...

Spring had not yet burnt as hot as the scalding summer. Granted, he could feel the gradual warmth creeping down into his bones. Standing in the encroaching heat, he realized even he would eventually succumb to it. Though, at this time no beads of sweat had crawled onto his face. The rest of the men weren't nearly as conditioned. Many stood with heavy breaths, only recently making it into the loose formation. Sion looked across the conscripts, continuing the evaluation. He rose at the helm, the perfect survey point. His eyes strained to count the lax, staggered lines of men. He knew who they were, not in a heartfelt way as one claims to feel a soul but in the way, one can tell the unsure, distraught expression belonging to a conscript soldier. In total, he had gandered a little less than three hundred. Some who must have been afraid, or perished from some putrid disease before being assigned, would not make it. He did not carelessly don the label of coward upon them.

His hand slowly drifted to the leather braced tome. He pressed his palm against it holding on to the strangely cool surface. It soothed the uncertainty with which his heart ceaselessly beat. The item was tied off on the opposite side of his sword sheath, under its own unique lock. Which allowed the book to open but would never permit it to leave the belt of its owner. Bolted to the metal lining of the inside of the studded leather belt. He found solace in the tomes leathery texture playing beneath his hand. It bore the royal insignia, woven into its surface. He prayed that those dubbed cowards would not be put to death or if mercy held no sway... Perhaps may their end be swift he thought to himself. He didn't know which god to pray too, but he did pray regardless; he badly wished that everyone be spared from the slaughter. His eyes grim and narrow kept pacing over the supposed rectangular formation. Which seemingly resembled that of a crushed oval. Soft as dough he used to marvel. It was strange, but he grew assured that a lack of discipline appeared to be the least of his issues. Many of the men did not have own helmets or proper metal armour: chainmail, plate or anything in between. They would be slaughtered by a trained squadron of archers. If my destiny permits such a chance encounter, he thought, whimsically. Must it all rest on fate, on mere chance.

At least gambesons weren't uncommon, but even so, some men, simple and brazen, arrived wearing plain white, cotton tunics. They were a minority, akin to the rare man draped in chainmail, or equipped with greaves or bracer. Even rarer did he spy a proper length spear or sword longer than a dagger. Luckily, plenty of the men carried large wooden clubs and hatchets alongside wooden bucklers. Most of them were likely peasants Sion reflected with familiarity. Perhaps they'd be best at handling such arms. He was doing his very best to keep his optimism intact and his pessimism from driving him into a stiff panic.

"I am ready to die," he whispered under his breath. He always felt a serenity pass over him. Knowing he'd give his life to a higher purpose, by some miracle, made his life seem like it was already over. Joined to the legends. He was just watching a retelling of an old tale, a spirit from the deep. Not able to change the course of the sinking ship.

Suddenly his ears rang with the sharp note of a horn. He turned seeing a blue flag begin to wave.

"The first signal" he mouthed looking out ahead towards an incline before a small hill.