A Feast of Dragons - By Morgan Rice Page 0,28

wasteland for hours, the only sound that of their boots crunching on rocks and dirt, each lost in his own world of anticipation. It was unusually cold for a summer morning, even as the first sun began to rise, and the mist still lingered, up to their ankles. A persistent cold breeze swept through this place that never seemed to go away. The eight of them walked in silence, side-by-side, marching with nothing but more wasteland on the horizon. Thor swallowed, thirsty, nervous, wondering if they would find wherever it was they needed to go—and not sure he wanted to. It had been much more reassuring having dozens of his Legion members around—and with just the eight of them, he felt more prone to attack.

Thor heard the distant screech of an animal, and it was unlike any animal noise he’d ever heard. It sounded like an eagle crossed with a bear. The others turned and looked, too, and Thor saw real fear in William’s eyes. Thor looked around, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from, but it was impossible. There was nothing but wasteland, fading into the mist.

The others looked on edge—except for the final boy, the dark-haired one whose name, Thor remembered, was Malic. He still scowled, and he seemed preoccupied, lost in his own world. As Thor observed him, he began to dimly remember who he was. He remembered hearing rumors about him, the one boy who had joined the Legion by killing a man. If the rumors were true, they had come to his town for Selection and had skipped him over, and he rushed forward and killed a man twice his size in front of them. Impressed, they had decided to change their minds and accept him into the Legion. Apparently in every crop of the Legion, so Reese told him, they liked to take in one person who set everyone else on edge, who was a trained, ruthless killer. In this crop, that was Malic.

Thor looked away, and focused again on the landscape, on his surroundings, trying to stay vigilant. He looked up and realized there was a different hue to the sky, an orange green; there was a strange, thick feel to the mist, a different smell to the air, cool and crisp. This place was different than any place he’d ever been. Everything about it felt foreign. Whatever power he held within him was telling him something about this place, that it was different, primordial. He could feel the presence of the dragon, the force of its breath.

In fact, as they walked, he couldn’t help but feel as if they were inside a dragon’s lair, walking on the mist created by its breath. The place felt magical. It was like the feeling he’d had when crossing the Canyon—but it was different here. Here, it had a more ominous quality. Thor felt certain that other creatures lived here, too—and none that were welcoming.

“And what if when we find these Kavos they say no?” O’Connor called out to the group, wondering aloud the same thing that was on everyone’s mind.

“What if they don’t give us permission?” O’Connor continued. “Then what?”

“Then we make them give us permission,” Elden answered. “If it is not given to us, then we fight for it. Do you think our enemies in battle will grant us permission to invade their towns? That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Isn’t that what this is all about?”

Reese shrugged.

“I don’t know what this is all about,” he said. “All I know is that I remember the stories I heard from my older brother, Kendrick. He told me of the first time he came here. His close friends both died.”

Thor felt a chill at his words. He turned and looked at Reese, and he could tell from his face that he was serious. The others looked more anxious than before.

“How?” O’Connor asked.

Reese shrugged.

“He wouldn’t tell me.”

“But do you really think they would let Legion members die here?” Conval asked.

“What purpose would that serve? To kill off their own recruits?” Conven added.

Reese shrugged, and fell silent as they all continued marching.

“You said it yourself. Recruits,” Malic suddenly said.

Everyone turned to him, surprised. His voice was dark and guttural, surprising Thor, as he had never heard it before. He did not look back at them, but stared straight ahead, his hand always on the hilt of his dagger, playing with it as if it were his best friend. Its black-and-silver handle gleamed in the light.

“Recruits,” he added.