Legion

  I finally looked at Ember, standing at my shoulder, and forced a smirk. “Well, you got your army, Firebrand,” I said, watching her brow furrow. “We’re all going merrily off to war, it seems. Helping St. George fight Talon.” I shook my head in equal amounts disgust and disbelief. “I just hope that, when this is all over and the smoke clears, you’ll be able to live with yourself.”

  Because I don’t know if I can.

  GARRET

  “What do our defenses look like?”

  I gazed at the crudely sketched map in my hand as I walked beside Tristan down the narrow road that cut through the base. It was late afternoon, and around us, the base was eerily silent, though I knew no one was idle. A tense stillness hung over the chapterhouse, and soldiers went about their duties in full combat gear, myself included. For the first time in months, I was back in uniform, the black-and-gray combat armor of the Order of St. George. I knew I had to wear it to survive, that the suit designed for fighting dragons was my best shot at coming out of this alive, but I took no pride in it. It was just another reminder of what I had done, the years I had killed without a thought. Tonight, though, I would wear it to defend my former brothers and the dragons I had once driven toward extinction.

  I glanced at the map again. The scribbled drawing showed the whole of the Western chapterhouse in messy black lines, but the layout was as familiar to me as the back of my hand. None of the hastily scrawled “buildings” were labeled or numbered, but I knew each of them by heart.

  “Snipers will be set up here, here and here,” Tristan answered, pointing to three positions on the map. Chapel tower, headquarters and armory roof. “We won’t be staying in position, though,” he added. “Orders will be your standard ‘shoot and scoot.’ We can take two, maybe three shots at most. But then the risk of discovery becomes too great, and we’ll have to fall back to avoid being swarmed.”

  I nodded and gazed up at the chapel as we passed beneath, at the faded white walls and pointed steeple; it wasn’t hard to imagine Tristan up there, aiming his rifle at passing dragons. “We’ll need more guns in the air than just snipers,” I muttered, and he nodded.

  “Yeah. Machine gunners will take up position at these four points,” Tristan went on, tapping the map. “So all angles of attack will be covered. Hopefully we can fill the sky with so much lead it’ll be like it’s raining dragons.”

  I tried not to wince at that image, visualizing a small red dragon tumbling limply from the sky, landing on the hard ground with a thump. For a moment, my thoughts strayed. I hoped she was all right. I had tried calling her this morning only to remember that all our personal possessions had been taken away when we’d been captured by Talon, phones included, and I had no way of contacting her. I didn’t know if she’d been able to convince Riley and the hatchlings to fight, but I had to assume that we were on our own—that no help would be coming.

  Truthfully, part of me hoped she wouldn’t come. After sending away the civilians, the true rookies and the small number of family units, there weren’t very many soldiers left. Surprisingly, few actual soldiers had opted to leave, and the number had been far less than I had expected, but the loss of every dragonslayer still hurt. From what I’d learned of the Night of Fang and Fire, Talon knew the exact number of soldiers stationed here; they would know the numbers needed to take us out. If the Order fell, if I died tonight in a hail of gunshots and dragonfire, I would rather Ember be far away, safe from the madness that was to come.

  “Good,” I muttered, stopping in front of the large square building in the center of the base. “That takes care of the antiair support. The rest of us will bunker down in the armory.” Of all the buildings in the chapterhouse, it was the most defensible, with reinforced doors, few points of entry and heavy brick walls that would hold up well to dragonfire. Pulling the door open revealed that it had already been prepared for an attack; the glass in the windowpanes had been taken out and replaced with boards and sandbags, giving soldiers a spot to fire at incoming dragons. Iron barricades had been erected, creating choke points for enemy forces and cover for the rest of us. A machine gun turret was in the process of being set up near the door, pointing straight toward the entrance, so that if the door was breached, the first thing the attackers would run into would be a storm of turret fire.

  I walked along the back wall, taking note of everything. Ammo, firearms, grenades, combat gear, fortifications. “Looks like we’re as ready as we can get,” I mused, feeling time slipping away from us. Only a couple hours till sundown, and after that, the countdown began in earnest. “I’ll need to report back to Martin with our progress. Is this everything?”

  “Nearly,” Tristan said, stopping at a long shelf covered by a tarp. “There is one more thing.”

  He flipped the canvas back, revealing a pair of RPGs—rocket propelled grenade launchers, designed to pierce armor and punch through tanks. Fired from the shoulder, the weapon’s pointed, nearly foot-long grenade did significant damage upon impact, and could severely cripple or even kill a full grown Adult dragon. Unfortunately, they weren’t that effective against agile, fast-moving targets, nor could they be deployed in public, so the Order rarely used them.

  “There is one more team we haven’t talked about,” Tristan explained, his dark gaze roaming over the deadly weapons. “If the dragons break through the defenses and get into the armory, we’re screwed. We need an ace in the hole, a crack team to hang back and hit the dragons from behind. To strike at the perfect moment and do the most damage possible.”

  “Basically, you need a suicide squad,” I said. “Because once that attack hits, that team is out in the open, isolated from everyone. They’ll have no support and no backup once the dragons turn on them. They go in and they wreak as much havoc as they can before they’re wiped out.”

  “Yep. And, of course, the commander will have to know just when to strike. If he springs the attack early, we lose any advantage. If it’s too late, we’ve already taken too much damage and the base could fall. We’ll need someone with experience, who can be patient and wait for the perfect moment, but who isn’t afraid to charge screaming at the enemy to save everyone else.” Tristan gave me an unreadable look. “So how ’bout it, partner? You up for leading one more counterstrike? Probably the very last one?” He shrugged, and a faint, rueful grin crossed his face. “Lieutenant Martin said he wanted the best leading this attack. But since we’re kind of short-handed, I figured I would ask you.”

  I gave a tired smile. That was Tristan extending the olive branch, on the last day we might be alive. I was grateful, however long it lasted.

  “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I’d be honored.”

  * * *

  “Damn fools.”

  I stood in Gabriel Martin’s office, hands clasped behind me out of habit, watching him replace the phone and shake his head. Behind him, the clock on the wall read 5:36 p.m.; I knew he’d been on the phone with various members of the Order since early this morning. Beside the clock, the red dragon hide glimmered dully, making my stomach twist. It was strange; I’d been in this office several times before, but had never really noticed the hide until now, never thought about what it truly represented. That a hatchling had been killed, murdered by the Order, and its skin had been taken for a trophy. I wondered what Ember would say if she could see it.

  Martin sighed, rubbing his forehead as he glanced up at me. “I’ve notified everyone I can think of,” he said. “I’ve warned the council about the impending attack, and I’ve sent a message to every base and chapterhouse I could get through to.”

  “Do you think they’ll listen?”

  “I don’t know.” Martin shook his head. “Maybe. The council, certainly not. They believe this is a ploy by Talon to get us to panic and take advantage of the confusion within the Order.” He paused a moment, then sighed. “They are already calling for my resignation. The other ch
apterhouses might take the threat seriously—it’s difficult to say. But I’ve done all I can.” His jaw tightened. “What’s it look like on our end? Are we prepared?”

  “We’re as ready as we can be, sir.”

  Martin nodded. “And what of yourself, Sebastian?” he asked. “Have there been any problems with the rest of the men?”

  “No, sir,” I replied. Most of my former brothers had either accepted my presence with cool politeness, as if dealing with a squad leader we all knew was a jerk, or pretended I didn’t exist. There had been a few death glares, and one incident where someone had spit in my direction before being shouted down by his squad leader, but no outright challenges or attempts to corner me. This was partially due to the respect Gabriel Martin commanded, but an imminent attack from dragons also commanded everyone’s attention. The chapterhouse had been so busy preparing for the assault there had been no time for scheming or thoughts of revenge against a single soldier.

  Martin nodded, his face dark. “If they do,” he said, “if there is trouble, Sebastian, I want you to come to me. Don’t try to handle it yourself. If this attack doesn’t happen soon, tempers are going to fray, and the tension is going to drive some very foolish decisions. I don’t want this base to fall into chaos, nor do I need anyone in the infirmary right now. I know most of the men will follow orders, but I can’t be everywhere at once. If you think there could be trouble, I want you to tell me. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And that goes for your dragons when they get here, as well.”

  “They might not show up, sir. There are only a few hours of daylight left.” And the attack is supposed to happen tonight. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat. Ember, it’s probably for the best that you don’t come. I suspect very few of us are going to live to see the next morning.

  “Even so. If they do arrive, we’ll have our hands full keeping everyone in line.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said again, and he fell silent. I knew he was thinking of the Order, his chapterhouse and all the soldiers under his command. We both knew he was asking a lot of them—accepting the word of a known traitor, not surrendering the traitor to St. George, allowing dragons into the chapterhouse without repercussion. Such blasphemous procedures had never been considered before. But nobody had walked. No one had challenged him or me. I’d known leaders of other chapterhouses who’d governed through fear and intimidation, who’d had the soldier’s deference and obedience, but never their respect. Martin was not one of them. The soldiers of the Western chapterhouse trusted him with their lives, even if he was breaking every rule and tradition from the time the Order had been founded. I remembered the way he’d looked out for me after Lucas Benedict’s death, remembered how he’d come to my defense when I had accused the Patriarch of treason, the only officer to consider my words in an assembly of hundreds. And I wondered how many other secrets this man kept close to his chest.

  “Can I ask you something, sir?” I ventured. He glanced up and nodded, and I took a deep breath. This might not be a good time to bring this up, but I might never get another chance. “Sir, how long did you know my parents were part of Talon?”

  He let out a long sigh, as if he knew this had been coming for a while now. “From the beginning,” he replied, and gestured to the seat across from the desk. I slid into the chair, and Martin folded his hands on his desk. “Right after the raid on the compound,” he began, “Lucas contacted me and told me everything. That the mission was a success, that the target and all its servants were dead, but there was one survivor from the compound that he could not bring himself to kill. When he told me his plan was to bring you into the Order and raise you as a soldier, I said he was making a mistake. I told him that anything that came from dragons was evil, and that one day, you would turn on us and sell us out to the lizards.”

  “Sir...”

  He held up a hand. “Regardless of what I thought, Lucas would not hear it. He was determined to raise you as a soldier of St. George. He was adamant that there was something from that compound that could be saved, that didn’t have to be pure evil.” He paused, then said in a slow, weary voice, “Lucas knew your mother, Garret. That’s why he took you that day. Before he became a soldier, before she married a scientist and started working for the organization, they knew each other. Apparently, they were very good friends, perhaps even lovers, before life pulled them apart.”

  I sat there, reeling. More secrets, more truths that I had never suspected. How much had the people I’d trusted really kept from me? Was my entire upbringing one big lie?

  “When you were born, your mother no longer wished to be part of Talon,” Martin went on. “Perhaps she didn’t know what she was really working for until later, or perhaps she didn’t want to raise you in the company of monsters. But she knew that she could not simply take you and disappear—Talon would track you both down. So she waited, and somehow, she found Lucas again. She made a deal with him, that if the Order attacked the compound, her family would be spared. They would escape and disappear without Talon’s knowledge. And Lucas agreed that St. George would let them go.” Martin sighed. “But something went wrong. Your mother was killed, caught in the crossfire when the dragon showed itself.”

  “And my father?” I asked numbly.

  “His body was never found,” Martin said. “But we believe he was shot or burned to death along with the rest of the servants. No one in that compound survived.” Another heartbeat of silence, and then he added, “Lucas never forgave himself for that night. That’s why he took you in. If he couldn’t save your family, he would at least save something. But that is your true heritage, Sebastian. And that is why we are here. Because Lucas saw something in you that I did not—at least, not at first. He saw...not a Talon servant, not a soul tainted by dragons, but a boy. An orphan who was alone in the world, because of him. He decided then and there that he would not let the dragons have you. That he would honor your mother’s last request and save you from the organization.”

  For a long moment, I was silent, trying to process it all. I’d thought I knew Lucas Benedict. But he’d had another life before we ever met. He’d known my mother, and that thought sent a spear of anger through me. For years when I was a boy, I had dreamed of my mom and the family I’d forgotten. I wished I could have known them, especially my mother, but it seemed Benedict knew more of my family than I did.

  “Who else knew of this?” I asked, finally glancing up. “How many knew who my parents really were?”

  “No one who is alive,” Martin said quietly. “Myself, Benedict and the Patriarch were the only ones who knew your parents were Talon servants. But not even the Patriarch was aware of your mother’s connection to Lucas. He made me promise never to reveal that to anyone.”

  “Was he ever going to tell me?” I rasped. “Were you? Or were you going to let me believe that Talon killed my parents my whole life?”

  “No.” Martin’s eyes narrowed. “When you graduated basic training, Lucas was going to tell you himself, tell you everything. But after he was killed, I watched you push yourself to become that perfect soldier. I watched you in battle, watched you go after the enemy with a single-minded hatred I’ve only seen in veteran soldiers, and I knew that if I had told you your true heritage, it would have destroyed you. So I made the decision to let that other boy die. You became Garret Xavier Sebastian, the Perfect Soldier of St. George. The boy who was raised with dragons...we buried him and hoped he would never resurface.”

  “What were their names?” I asked softly. “My parents. Before I became Xavier Sebastian, what was my real name?”

  Martin gazed at me for several heartbeats, then rose and walked to the filing cabinet behind him. He opened a drawer and riffled through the contents, then spun and walked back to the desk, tossing a manila folder in front of me.

  I flipped it open. Inside, several photos, files and
newspaper clippings peered back at me. The story of a mysterious explosion at a private lab that had apparently killed every worker there. And a sheet of paper, crinkled and yellowed with time, that read Certificate of Birth at the top and had a familiar name typed into the line below it.

  “Garret David Olsen,” I murmured, then scanned the rest of the sheet. “Born in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Mother’s maiden name, Sarah Beckham. Father’s name, John Olsen.”

  “I took the liberty of researching your family once you came to live with us,” Martin said as I stared blankly at the sheet of paper, not knowing what to feel. “I think Lucas wanted you to have this eventually, despite my misgivings.” He sighed. “But who you were then and who you are now...it doesn’t make any difference, Garret.”

  I looked up, surprised. Both at hearing my first name, and that Martin would say something like that. Martin, a staunch supporter of St. George and all its ideals, who believed that a soul corrupted by demons was beyond hope. He hesitated, as if gathering his thoughts, then continued in a grave voice.

  “I once told Lucas nothing good comes from a dragon. That even a four-year-old boy was tainted beyond hope. That the evil within him would fester and grow, and eventually he would turn on us. And there are those in St. George who would say that is exactly what happened.” His face grew even darker. “The Patriarch certainly thought so, and it cost him his life.

  “However,” he went on, “I find it ironic that the one who accused you of treason was himself corrupt beyond measure. And that you risked your life to expose him.” Martin shook his head, his gaze becoming intense. “I’ve watched you through the years, Sebastian. I know you better than most. Though you did make me doubt you the night you escaped with those dragons, in this, at least, I can admit when I’ve been wrong. If there is evil festering in your soul, I’ve yet to see it.” His smile had no humor in it whatsoever. “Though that does throw everything the Order believes into question, doesn’t it?”