Reborn Read Online Free Page B

the sand, desperately trying to get air.
    “You call yourself a soldier?” Morcel growled while reaching down to hoist him back up. “On your feet, boy. Do it again. And this time, you better–”
    “Fine job today, men,” came a sturdy voice from the back of the group. Azek lightly pushed his way through the watching circle of soldiers. Each man stepped aside when feeling his light touch on their shoulders, followed by individual salutes for their general. He made his way into the circle then reached down to the young man, hoisting him back to his feet. “A fine effort, lad,” he whispered to the boy. “An effort worthy of the golden star. You’ve made us proud this day.” With a severely bruised face and pride to match, the young soldier nodded without ever meeting Azek’s dark eyes. “Now go back and stand with the others.” He started to clap for the boy, prompting several of the other men to do the same.
    Dejected and beaten, the boy dragged his feet through the loose sand as he moved through the circle of watching soldiers. He looked back to Morcel with a bloodied face, his right eye nearly closed, and his lower lip split and swelling quickly. “I thank you for today’s lesson, Captain,” he said in a garbled voice. “Each blow landed is a lesson learned. I am now a better man than the one who woke from his bed this morning.”
    Morcel’s expression changed little as eerie green eyes that simply didn’t belong on a human’s face stared right through the boy. “I suppose time will tell, but as of today, I’ve seen nothing that backs your claim.” The young soldier held Morcel’s gaze for a moment longer before dropping his head and disappearing through the human wall. Men slapped his back and shoulders, reassuring him as he moved to the back.
    “Everyone go back to the barracks now,” said Azek, smiling as he threw his hands up in the air. “Porridge and fresh fruit is being served. You men have all earned it.” Almost reluctantly, they began to move away in small groups, whispering amongst themselves. Many of them were bloodied and bruised, with egos that matched. As the crowd thinned, the young man came back into view. His long hair gently bounced up and down with the cool breeze as he stood with his arms crossed, his glare bouncing back and forth between Azek and Morcel. “You are dismissed, soldier. Go on and join the others. Warm yourself with some goat’s milk,” Azek said.
    The young man spit in the sand, a bloody swirl of red and white. He began to speak, but quickly lost his voice as those dark hawk-like eyes met his. Azek’s rare smile was gone now, and he never did have a reputation for patience. The unspoken words died on the boy’s tongue as he closed his mouth, then turned to catch up with the others.
    These harsh sparring sessions, usually led by Morcel, had been the staple of the men’s training these days. Each day they were pushed to their limits, more to decide which men could be trusted in the upcoming war than to develop any battle savvy. Deserters fleeing during the night were a regular occurrence, but they were never hunted down as traitors. It was best to find out which ones were carved from wood and how many were actually ready for this suicide mission.
    Allowing them to leave with no retribution was widely accepted. After all, how could they insist that a soldier throw his life into the wind by taking on the supernatural? Let them go home to their families and leave this impossible task to only the bravest of warriors…or, more assuredly, the most insane. Either one would work in these dark times.
    What was even more disturbing was the unusually large percentage of these men who were once considered savages, men who had finally been granted freedom for the first time in their lives. Dragot had perished at the hands of the Gate Keeper, and the rescued men were then free to do as they wished, but nearly all had decided to stay in Taron. Many had been put to work,