Page 81 of The Last Dragon
Alex stops carving the wood with his knife and tosses a look at me. “The fuck are you on about?”
I point to the scar on his neck. He sneers.
“Want to talk about that?” I ask carefully, leaning forward, getting comfortable in case he does want to talk. I don’t know what he went through, but I do know that those lords tend to do disgusting, vile things. I never cared about the Middle, but he’s proof that I should start.
He scoffs, furrowing a brow. “Why? So you can lecture me about it? No thanks.”
“Alright,” I say softly, lifting myself up from the stone. “Well, you know where to find me if you want to talk.”
His frown drops. He looks at me with confusion, unsure if he should be scared or angry. “Why are you being nice to me?”
I pat my pants, removing the wood shavings that came off his carving. “You may be an asshole, Alex, but you probably have a reason for it. And whatever reason that may be, I hope at least the unit can prove that not everyone you meet wants you dead.”
He clicks his tongue, scoffing. “You’re starting to sound like Raumen.”
I guess I am. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing.
I offer Alex a smile. ”Well, now you have two people you know that aren’t assholes.”
“You mean one and a half,” Alex comments, pressing his lips together as if he didn’t mean to blurt those words out.
I chuckle. “Half an asshole.” I nod. “Good enough for me.” I begin to head back to the camp before I remember something. “Oh,” I say, turning back to Alex as I shove my hands in my pockets. “Thanks for teaching Nida how to throw knives. She wouldn’t have made the hit if you didn’t hand out pointers.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, raking his hands against his midnight curls. “She’s a quick learner, I guess.”
I smile. Letting it linger for a minute before I move back to the camp for the night.
CHAPTER 28
Morning. The soldiers are already in formation, the heat pressing down. Dust clings to their boots, the air thick with the scent of sweat and leather. The sharp twang of a bowstring in a Hunter’s grip as they load their bolts. The clink of glass vials jostling at a Tracker’s belt. A trace of herbs wafting from the Medic’s satchel. The grind of scales against stone as Defenders shift in heavy armor. Everyone waits for the command to march.
Wain approaches through the haze of sweat and muffled talk, a folded note in her hand. “No sighting,” she says, her voice flat as she offers the paper. A simple ’X’ beside the letter ‘D’—no dragon.
I hold the note a heartbeat longer, as though reading more than what’s written. Then I fold it and hand it back, silent. The paper is light, but the news settles in my chest like something heavy. No sighting, yet the tracks seem fresh. I’m missing something.
“Anything from our Scouts?” I ask.
“Nothing around the perimeter. Not even tracks.”
“Send out a hawk to General Grogol and tell him that we’re moving forward. Next is Medyn.” Wain nods and strides toward the Scouts.
I glance around, taking in every soldier who’s adjusting their bags, tightening their bootstrings, or stretching. Theo marches around, carrying several canteens of water around his neck, offering them to soldiers. He’s too far into the formation. He needs to stick to the wagons. His eyes meet mine, his grayish cap dampened from sweat.
“Theo,” I say. He fidgets with his hands, and trots to me. I can’t help but glance at the ground, ensuring no stones are peeking out so he doesn’t trip.
“Yes, sir?” he says, a smile on his face. Before I say anything, he’s already reaching for a canteen, unhooking it, and handing it to me. I take it, unscrewing the top and pressing it to my lips. The first sip is jarring—thick, metallic, like it’s been sitting in the sun too long. It hits my tongue heavy, not refreshing but stale. It’s warm. But it’s still water. Theo stares at me, satisfied, proud of being useful. The look in his eyes reminds me—just a little—of myself when I was younger.
“You need to be in your spot, kid.” I hand the half-empty canteen back.
His smile only grows bigger, more proud. “The sun’s really heavy today,” he says. “I thought, ‘hey, maybe there’s someone who needs water’. I took the chance since the formation ain’t moving yet, of course.”
I give him a gentle pat on his shoulder. “You’re doing well, kid.” He bows as a thank you, and runs off to hand out water to other soldiers. I can’t help but feel that if a dragon attacks, he’s going to be the first to go.
I hope he won’t.
And if he does—that it’ll be quick.
I shiver at the thought.
