Page 43 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

T wo weeks came and went. Now, I’m outside the Third’s gates, waiting for soldiers to form up, load the rations, and bring in the wagons with horses.

The formation is smaller. Splitting up the army into two is a better plan than sending all of us against this Redsnout.

The previous expedition proved that. I’ll lead the first formation together with Lieutenant Wain—acting as field officer with two other lieutenants—and two Scouts acting as messengers to the second army.

Ilian packs his bag, dropping an item or two with his shaky hands and cursing under his breath. It’s his first mission in two years. The only time he saw a dragon up close was during the battle at the Gates two years ago, and the thought of seeing one again clearly gets under his skin.

“This is a suicide mission,” he says, his voice shaking. I look at him as he crouches over the bag, rapidly packing rations and attempting to make himself as small as possible. The morning sun casts my shadow over him.

“If you don’t have the guts to go, then don’t,” I say, looking around, observing several others who are having second thoughts. Eyes darting, hands shaking, some vomiting.

Ilian shoots up, glaring at me with a wrinkled brow. “The hell, Zel?” he growls. “You think I’ll just let others take the risk and not participate? Unlike you, some of us are still human.”

I look back at him, completely unfazed. I get it. He’s scared. Most of them are. He continues to pack the last ration into his backpack. Eryca is a few feet away from us, eavesdropping on our conversation. By the looks of it, she isn’t too happy that I riled up her brother.

“Not sure what you’re trying to do here,” she says, staring me down, “but if you’re here to give us a pep talk then you aren’t doing a good job.”

“I just don’t want cowards on this mission,” I sharply, calmness still lingering in my voice, even though deep inside there’s worry brewing.

“Says you,” Eryca crosses her arms. “When was the last time you were on a mission? Two years ago?” She scoffs.

“What happened two years ago is why you and your brother are still alive,” I growl.

“You forget that we were there too. The difference between us and you is that we remained in a unit, while you left,” Eryca snaps back, taking determined steps toward me.

“Are you two done?” I turn to see Sam with a crate full of herbs and vials in hand. I grunt, taking a step away from Eryca.

“What’s this?” Ilian asks, approaching the crate as Sam loads it into one of the carriages.

“Medical supplies,” Sam says, dusting his hands off.

Sam meets my gaze, a shiver of worry buried deeply in his green eyes.

He stares at me for a minute, but his eyes linger a bit lower.

I tug my collar up. Is he watching my veins?

Are they peeking out too much? I furrow my brow. Did Sayna put him up to something?

He pushes the crates forward. “Take some, in case I don’t make it in time,” he says to Ilian and Eryca and takes a few steps toward me. He places his hand on my shoulder, barely putting weight on it, while darting his eyes around.

“Make sure to stay focused,” he says, barely a whisper. Worry twists my stomach. I hope I don’t get any seizures. Sam pats my shoulder twice and returns to Ilian and Eryca rummaging in the crate.

I look through my bag, counting how many rations I have for the trip, and making sure I have enough packed for an emergency.

My serum is there too. Ilian sits on planks—splintered barricades destroyed after the dragon attack.

The sun beats down like it has something to prove, and there is no wind in sight to help cool us.

It takes me back to those long days near Pirlem, running around the rivers and dipping our toes in the water to cool off.

I’m not sure if the river has dried up or not. I guess I’ll see when I’m there.

“Theo!” Commandant Lorren shouts, diverting my attention to the supplies piled high and precariously by the carriage, some slowly tipping and falling from the vibrations of passing horses and carriages.

A boy, the same age as I was when I first applied for the Corps, flinches at the commandant’s shout.

He stands clenching a bag as if he’s protecting something valuable in it.

“I’ve said this! The water canteens need to be on the other carriage with the first expedition army!” The commandant barks, pointing his finger toward the carriage that’s the opposite of where he was. “Move them! We’ll be heading out soon.”

“Y-yes, sir!” he stutters without meeting the commandant’s piercing gaze. “Of course, sir!”

The commandant grunts, looking him up and down, disappointed in having to raise a pup.

Theo scurries to the closest bench, still clutching his bag.

I follow his frantic movements until the poor fool stumbles and falls over the bench.

The soldiers around him laugh, mocking him and questioning how he can ever become a soldier.

And that pisses me off. He’s young. Younger than any of us.

How he got himself into the Corps, I’ll never know.

He’s clumsy. But that doesn’t make him less of a soldier.

It just makes him a blank canvas. He’s shaking.

I’m a commander—if I have to lead these people, I need to make sure they’re focused. That they still believe in themselves.

“Hey, Theo,” I call out calmly to not scare him any further. His eyes search in my general direction, shielding himself from the sun with his small hands. I wait until his big blue eyes meet mine.

“Water.” I point at the canteen lying beside him, signaling for him to bring it to me. He hastily picks up the canteen and scurries to me, but not before he turns around and grabs his bag that he left lying on the bench.

I take the canteen before he’s able to lift it for me to properly reach it. He’s slow, his eyes darting around the distractions behind me. My unit.

“You’re unit seventeen!” he exclaims.

“Yeah,” Eryca raises her voice, her brow furrowing. “And what unit are you in, kid?”

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I-I’m in unit thirty-seven. But I’m also the waterboy,” he says with a smile that only a child who hasn’t seen death would bear. He clears his throat before proceeding. “Lieutenant Abern is my uncle. He helped me apply.”

Ilian stops rummaging in his own bag and looks at Theo, partly with disgust, but mostly pity.

“Why would you want to apply for something like this?” Ilian’s voice is low. Theo is ready to give his answer, but Ilian doesn’t bother to listen. Instead, he stands up, throws his bag over his shoulder, and leaves.

Theo’s head drops, hurt by the words.

A loud whistle from Lieutenant Wain echoes through the field, signalling everyone to gather into their formations and prepare to leave. I pat Theo’s shoulder, giving him a soft smile, and head to my formation.

“Don’t forget the water, kid,” I say, breaking him out of his trance. He scurries away, merging with the crowd of soldiers who are gearing up and turning their emotions completely off.

In the crowd of soldiers rushing past, Alex peeks from behind a carriage. His arms crossed in a way only the Middlers do—his demeanor making him stick out like a sore thumb, completely unprepared. He has nothing. No bag, no bow. What does he think a dagger will do?

I roll my eyes, grab a bow, and stride toward Alex. He leans against the carriage, even after he notices my approach. It sickens me, knowing he and I wear the same leathers yet differ in so many ways. He shifts slightly, leaning back, his eyes warning me about coming closer.

“Here,” I say, throwing the bow his way, and he catches it, his eye pinned on me. “Make yourself useful.”

He smirks. “Are they really sending out inexperienced soldiers to patrol?” he asks, observing the bow like he’s disgusted by it. “That’s suicide.”

“Haven’t you read the form?” I raise a brow, and he looks at me, confused.

“What form?”

“The application form,” I say, turning on my heel and walking back to my unit. “Joining the Corps is suicide.”

We get into our final formation. It’s a company consisting of three squads, and each squad is made of six units. Almost two hundred soldiers total. The other two hundred in the second army will follow later. It’s safer, but also less firepower.

The six units get into their position, and the formation looks like an arrow.

Four units behind one another and two units beside the second.

My unit is last in our squad, observing for any potential threats from the back and making sure everything is as organized as possible.

On each side, there are two additional scouts that will be reporting to the second army.

Lieutenant Wain has formed her own unit in the front, together with Vera.

There aren’t enough horses for everyone—nearly all of them are for the second company, in case we need backup. While I need soldiers who are mostly on foot. Nida stands beside me, clutching her bow as she adjusts her hair.

“You should cut it,” I say, scanning the front as Wain barks orders at the units beside her. “It’s in your way—obscures your vision.”

“I’ll just put it in a tail,” she whispers. “Or you could braid it for me again?”

I glance at the smile forming on her lips. “You’re just as good at weaving bracelets as me. If not better.” I remember as a kid, she said she would never grow out her hair. I wonder what made her change her mind about that.

“Yeah, but it’s more fun when you do it.”

Something twists in my stomach. I take a breath and shake my head.

Ilian, Raumen, Sam, and Eryca get into their positions, with Hayden and Caspian reinforcing as Defender and Medic—two fifth-years.

They’re both skilled, and I’m certain we will benefit from them.

I’ve known Hayden—Sayna’s son—better than Caspian.

Alex is behind me, since he doesn’t have a Tracker yet, so he takes up the role of reinforcement for either me or Ilian.

I observe the unit in front of us—fixing the supply carriage with two horses and putting in the last poles and arrows. Then they signal that they’re ready.

The outer gates begin to open, and my heart beats faster and faster.

It feels like eternity, and I can’t stop thinking of all possible outcomes for this expedition, trying to weed out things I shouldn’t do as I lead.

Raumen stands beside me, watching me. He gives me a warm smile and a thumbs up—his way of attempting to reassure me.

But the only time that would feel reassuring is if he didn’t have to follow me—or in the worst case, die because of my mistake.

I hope that doesn’t happen. I hope I can bring everyone home.

The gates are now fully open, and we march to what I hope won’t be our doom.