Page 101 of The Last Dragon
“What’s wrong?”
He looks up, startled—as if just remembering I’ve been standing in the room. He draws a breath before offering a smile and returning to the table. He quickly scribbles another note. Sam is probably the most strategic person I know. And we soldiers who fight the battles for humanity are not the reason humanity has a chance of freedom. People like Sam are.
“Interesting,” he states, neatly stacking some papers side by side. “Seems like the trade from the Second and Fourth Strongholds is less profitable compared to the First and Fifth. This wasn’t the case before.”
I lean forward in my chair. He pushes away a few stacks of paper from my side of the table and places the records in front of me.
“Look here,” he says, gesturing toward a long list of calculations spanning the last five years. “The Second provides cattle and grain. The First supplies fish and sea goods. TheFourth offers wood, and the Fifth, stone. Trade between the Second and Fourth is down twenty-five percent compared to two years ago.”
My eyes grow wide. “Twenty-five?”That’s a lot within two years.
“What’s more interesting is that the Second and Fourth are the closest Strongholds to the Third. So why is trade faster and better from those that are farthest?” Sam crosses his arms. I stare back at the numbers inked on the dull paper.Twenty-five percent.That’s unlike anything I’ve seen. We’re not moving forward—we’re moving backwards, to the time the Center was starving the elderly and killing the sick.
“Were there any dragon attacks?” I ask, hoping that will explain everything, but Sam shakes his head. He reaches for another stack of papers tucked under a few books and scrolls. As he pulls them out, there’s a loud thud as books and scrolls tumble to the ground. He hands the stack of papers to me, highlighting the latest dragon attacks in the Second and Fourth.
There are none.
“What the—”
“It’s been over thirty years since the lastsightingof dragons near the perimeter of other Strongholds,” Sam says, his voice low. “And there haven’t been any sightings since way longer around First and Fifth.”
I run my fingers over the pages, analyzing every fading word written on the crumbling paper. The candles on the table flicker, Sam’s shadow dancing on my arms and fingers. The silence is so loud.
“Are you telling me,” I begin, my fingers slowly digging into the papers, “that the beasts have only been attackingthe Third?”
Sam’s breath catches, his eyes darkening. “We are furthest into the Outskirts…and closest to the Northern Ravine. The last known dragon’sden.”
My stomach turns. I draw in a breath, as though the fire from the candles is depriving me of air. I think about everyone in the Front. My parents. Children. Elderly. All of them burned by the dragon that left me scarred.
“How’s the trade looking between the other Strongholds?” I ask as I place the record on the table. Sam is already holding them, as if he expected me to ask this.
“It has decreased, however, not as much as the other two.” He hands the papers to me with a worried look. “In the next couple of years, things will be more dire. Unless we do something about it.”
“You mean we need to force an expansion,” I say, the wrinkled papers still in my hand. Sam nods. Expansion means more expeditions—hundreds will die. And I will be leading them to their deaths. There’s barely any soldiers left. And with no Pirlem, there will be less who apply.
“The dragons have been preventing us from expanding for the past few decades. A hundred years before that, it was a lot easier. We weren’t close to their breeding ground. Now, progress has stopped. If we can’t find a way to kill these dragons, other risks will come with it. There’s no proper fertile land in the Second, and wood grows too slow in the Fourth. Advanced boats can’t be built without proper materials from the Fourth and Fifth. Fishing in deeper waters won’t be plausible. Things will go slow. First, it will be the people at the Front. Then the Third, followed up with the rest of the Strongholds. The first two will survive longer with their fish and cattle. The Middle will push itself back to the Center—causing riots and flooding the cities with fear. Eventually, a civil war will break out, leaving thousands dead. And then—” he pauses, taking a deep breath. “The Center will fall. And so will humanity.”
I listen attentively to every word Sam says. Every word, intonation, every carefully constructed sentence. But somethingbothers me. I know him well enough to know that everything he says is with purpose. Precision. And I’m wondering if he’s trying to tell me something else instead. He said dragons.Plural.
“Sam,” I say slowly, putting down the papers. My heart screams in my chest. I press my lips together, my mouth dry, and stare at his cup of cold, bitter tea. “How dire would the situation be if there weremorethan one dragon left?”
He blinks, but his facial expression remains calm. He doesn’t flinch or tense up. Instead, he stares at me, his eyes slowly dropping to the chaos on the table. He looks up at me again, taking a deep breath.
“Equally.”
The silence between us is heavy, speaking louder than words. He knows. He knows that there’s a possibility of more than one dragon out there. No. Not a possibility.A guarantee. He should have saidworse. He. Should. Have. Said.Worse.
Equally.
He knows. I know. Nida knows. There’s more than one dragon. There has to be. But he also knows that if he were to say anything, he’d lose his head. We all would. Yet the general and lieutenants are soconvincedthat there’s only one. I cannot understand why. Arewewrong? Or is General Grogol?
CHAPTER 35
Ineed to clear my head before I go to the General and tell him our theories. It’s a risk—but a risk I’m willing to take. I’m certain he’ll listen to me.
I sit on the rooftop, feet dangling off the edge, staring at the spiked barricades under me. If I fall, I’ll most likely die.
Shit.
