Page 58 of Legion

DANTE

“Hello, Mr. Hill. We’ve been expecting you.”

A table of about fifteen dragons looked up at me as I entered the room. All older than me. All important. Some I recognized instantly. Mr. Roth, the Chief Basilisk, Mace, Lilith. Dr. Olsen and his team were present, as well, and the scientist bowed his head as I passed, approaching the table.

Fifteen sets of ancient dragon eyes watched as I took my place beside Mr. Roth. A few weeks ago, I would have been nervous, maybe even terrified, to be facing this many older dragons on my own. But that was before I knew who I was. Before I had the power of the Elder Wyrm herself at my disposal. I was not just some nameless hatchling; I was the heir to Talon, the son of the most powerful dragon in the world. No one here would dare challenge me.

Excitement and elation fluttered within. I was close. So close to finally achieving my dream. Just one more step to the top, and freedom. Everything I wanted was almost in my grasp. There was just one last thing I had to accomplish.

An old dragon rose from his seat, scarred and grizzled with a glass eye that glinted in the dim light overhead. “The Night of Fang and Fire is nearly upon us,” he said in a low, gravelly voice. “It is time to strike the final blow against Talon’s enemies and wipe them out for good. Commanders...” He gazed around the table. “You know why you are here. Are there any final questions before we begin?”

“Sir.” I rose from my seat. “If I may?”

“Mr. Hill.” The old dragon blinked his one good eye and stared at me. Clearly, he was surprised, and maybe a little annoyed, to have his meeting interrupted. But he only bowed his head and motioned for me to go on.

“I have a request, sir,” I said calmly. “If the targets have not already been determined, I would like to be in charge of leading the attack against the Order’s Western chapterhouse in the United States.”

“The Western chapterhouse,” the dragon repeated. “I don’t see why not, but is there a particular reason you want that target, Mr. Hill?”

“Yes,” I replied simply. “There is.” He waited for me to go on and, when I didn’t, gave a quiet huff.

“Such as?”

“My reasons are my own, sir,” I said as politely as I could. He grunted, obviously not pleased but not wanting to argue with me, as I’d suspected. “But this chapterhouse has given me, and Talon, a lot of grief in the past. Suffice to say, I want to make certain it’s destroyed.”

GARRET

“Ember.” I reached over and gently shook the girl beside me. “We’re here.”

She stirred and sat up in the passenger seat, taking a moment to scan her surroundings. It had been a long drive from the lone farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, and the scenery had certainly changed. Now large buildings, intersections and traffic replaced endless fields and open sky, unusual for the farmlands of Idaho but not for a city like Reno, Nevada. It was late evening, and the sun had nearly set behind the distant looming mountains. Headlights lit the roads and streets, horns blared and swarms of people meandered down the sidewalks.

I repressed a sigh. Another large, crowded city. I missed the brief respite of the farm; despite the many noisy teen dragons sharing the house, you could still walk outside and hear nothing but birds, insects and the wind in the trees. It reminded me of my old chapterhouse, isolated deep in the Mohave Desert, a sanctuary from the rest of the world.

“What time is it?” Ember asked, turning back to me.

“Eighteen forty-five,” I answered, and at her slightly bewildered look, added, “Quarter to seven.”

She nodded and gazed through the windshield at the restaurant on the edge of the parking lot. “He’s meeting us at seven-thirty, right?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Though knowing Tristan, he’s probably already here.” I’d contacted my former partner almost immediately after arriving at the farmhouse, though I hadn’t known whether I’d hear from him again. After what had happened with the Patriarch, I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted nothing to do with me. Once I’d sent the message, I’d wondered if Tristan himself was all right. I might have defeated the Patriarch in battle and destabilized St. George, but from what I’d heard from Ember, it was Tristan himself who had shot and killed the leader of the Order. He wouldn’t be punished for it; I knew that at least. The Patriarch had broken the rules of the duel, confirming his guilt, and Tristan had acted accordingly. But it was still a heavy weight to bear, executing the man the Order revered above all others.

To my surprise, he’d responded within minutes, insisting we meet face-to-face. Reno was a good halfway point, and an unassuming restaurant, surrounded by witnesses, was a good spot for both of us to know we weren’t being set up. We were still enemies, on opposite sides of the war, and I couldn’t drop my guard.

Ember checked the pistol strapped to her waist, pulled her shirt down to conceal the holster and glanced at me. “Ready?”

I nodded. “Stay alert,” I told her. “I know you’re aware of what we’re up against, but Tristan is still part of the Order. We can’t expect him not to turn on us.”

We walked across the parking lot together and ducked into the restaurant. Inside, the hostess smiled brightly as we approached, not noticing the way we both scanned the room, searching for enemies.

“Good evening,” she greeted us as we stepped up to the podium. “Two?”

I shook my head. “We’re supposed to be meeting someone here,” I told her. “St. Anthony?”

“Ah, yes. He told us you were coming. Right this way, please.”

She led us to a corner booth, gesturing to the seats with a bright, “Enjoy your meal,” before walking away. I continued to stand, feeling Ember go rigid beside me. For the man in the booth, gazing calmly up at us with his hands folded on the table, was not Tristan.

“Hello, Sebastian,” Lieutenant Gabriel Martin said, and indicated the seat across from him. “Please, sit down.”

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