Page 78 of The Last Dragon
Terror ripples through him. He squeezes his eyes shut, drags in one shaky breath, then forces the words out between clenched teeth. “Humanity, sir.”
I release my grip, slow enough that he feels the choice in it. “That’s right.Humanity.” I turn to the wagon behind me. “Leave two wagons. Now.”
Some hesitate, as if they didn’t hear it.
“I command it!” My voice thunders, and soldiers move to the wagons without a word, boots crunching over dry, brittle ground. One by one, they start unloading rations—dried meat, sacks of barley, and a few battered tins of food. It’s not much, but it’s more than these people have seen in weeks. I stand still,watching. Ensuring everything stays on the grounds of Pirlem and no soldier takes anything for himself.
From the edge of a burned house, a few children inch closer. Cautious. Curious. They keep low, eyes flicking between the soldiers and food. The smallest one hesitates, glancing up at me, with the rat still at her chest. Dirt and dry blood cling to her face. I don’t think it’s her blood.
I glance back at the soldiers. Nida stands silently, watching how people emerge from destroyed homes. A sigh of relief escapes her when a man and a woman caress her arms from behind. Her knees tremble, her posture falters at the sight of the couple. I barely recognize them, but the amber eyes they all share tell me enough. They don’t hug, they don’t move. They hesitate.
Nida jerks her head toward the rations. “Go,” she says silently, yet her eyes are still locked with her mother. “I’m fine,” she says. “Go.”
The couple slinks away, eyes still on Nida as she drops her head down, trembling. For a brief moment, their eyes meet mine and they take a startled step back as if they didn’t see me at first. Their faces gleam with gratefulness, a faint smile spreading. Sage. Bram. Names I’ve almost forgotten. Names I don’t want to forget again.
Soon after, a little girl emerges behind Nida, small and frail, tugging on her hand.
“Nini?” she whispers. Nida freezes. As if yanked by some invisible thread, she spins around and drops to her knees. Her hands reach instinctively, shaking as they push back the wild copper curls clinging to the girl’s dirt-smudged cheeks. The child looks up with hollow eyes—dim, dulled versions of Nida’s. She shakes, and her clothes hang off her small figure like loose paper, stained with old sweat and filth.
“Hey there, little mouse,” Nida says, voice breaking around the edges. She runs her hands gently over the girl’s tiny shoulders, pausing to squeeze her thin arms. Is she checking for muscle? For bruises? Illness?
The little girl parts her lips—cracked, caked, dirt clinging to the corners.They’ve been eating tree bark.My heart sinks at the sight.How the fuck did we let this happen?
“Go to mama,” Nida whispers, reaching for the cheeks and wiping the dirt off. The little girl looks up at me, her frown becoming more prominent.
“That man’s scary,” she says, her big oval eyes returning to Nida. I slump my shoulders—just a little bit—to seem less threatening. I guess she got scared when I yelled at the soldier for not wanting to leave rations. Not really an impression I want to have on little kids.
She hesitates to move.
“He won’t hurt you,” Nida reassures, running her hands over the little girl’s curls. She gives a few nods and then slowly walks toward the carriage, where the rest of the villagers gather supplies, food, and rations.
Once this is done. Once this is all over. I’ll do everything I can to make sure Pirlem not only survives, but thrives.
The autumn breeze reminds me that I’d better do it soon. Fast. Or they might not survive another winter.
CHAPTER 27
The night looms over us, shadows dancing on tree branches from the firelight, and the dark caresses me with its cold embrace. We stopped for the night to recharge, planning to head toward Medyn at first light. Scouts stalk around the field, ensuring our safety, or doing their best at least.
Around the camp, the soldiers settle in silence. Some chew on hard bread—too stale to break easily—dipping it in water to soften the bite. Others stretch their feet toward the warm fire, steam rising from wet socks. No one speaks unless they must. Voices carry too easily in a place like this.
The trees creak above us, tall and brittle, their bare limbs tangled against the sky like fingers grasping at stars. I only glance at them for a minute before my gaze returns to the fire. It’s strange how one thing can give you fear and comfort at the same time.
The grass is dry and cool beneath me. It presses against my palms, grounding me. Beside me, Raumen hunches over a dented tin cup, hands wrapped tight around it like it might run away. The rest of the unit jumps between campfires, either checking on everyone or just passing time. Alex sits on his own, poking the fire with a stick he found—desperately trying to keep it alive. No one wants to be near him.
“You think they’ll make it?” Raumen asks, voice low. “The villagers.” His breath fogs the air. I don’t answer right away. I glance back at the direction of the village. It’s too far away now to even notice a glimmer. Just the wind keeping us company.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I hope so. They survived this long.”
He nods like he didn’t expect more. He stirs the cup slowly, the thick grain mash clinging to the sides, grayish and plain and hot. A sack with a few pieces of bread lays between us. I don’t reach for it. It just doesn’t feel right.
Out of the bushes, Ilian emerges with a grin.
“Look what I caught,” he says, and he wiggles a squirrel between our faces, its puffy tail soaked in blood. I lean to the side as he squats behind us.
“Don’t waste bolts,” I grunt.
Ilian whisper-chuckles. “I made a snare,” he replies. “Didn’t take long for this little guy to get caught.” He sniffles, letting out a satisfying sound as he observes it.
