“This is it,” Garret murmured.
From the backseat I peered past his shoulder to gaze up at the church in the middle of the clearing. Not a tiny wooden thing with a single room, either; this was a large stone building with a high steepled roof, soaring arched windows and a bell tower. Its walls were covered in moss, the roof tinged green, but the windows were all intact, and despite the emptiness of it all, it looked like it had been somewhat taken care of.
“Martin and the others are inside,” Garret said, gazing up at the building, too. “This is one of the Order’s safe houses. If any of the other chapterhouses survived, they would rendezvous here.”
“Great.” Riley opened his door with a grimace. “All right, then, three dragons and an ex-soldier knocking on the Order’s door. Let’s get this over with.”
“Have fun, kiddos,” Wes said, waving cheerfully beside me in the backseat. “I’ll just stay here and keep the car warm, in case the bullets start flying.”
We piled out of the Jeep, the three dragons in question—me, Riley and Mist. The only one missing was Jade, who had offered to stay back at the farm and watch the hatchlings, much to Riley’s relief. I knew he would have been even more reluctant to come if he’d had to leave his underground alone. Following Garret, we walked toward the large wooden doors at the top of the steps, where a guard waited beside the frame, watching us approach. He wore normal clothes instead of a St. George uniform, and would’ve looked like a regular person, if not for the M14 held in both hands.
“Sebastian,” he said as we stopped at the top of the stairs. His voice and stance weren’t overly hostile, but they definitely weren’t welcoming.
“Williams,” Garret returned. “Are you here to escort us in?”
The other soldier snorted. “The lieutenant ordered me to let you pass, you and your lizards.” He jerked his head through the door. “So get going. Last door on the right. He’s waiting for you.”
We did as he instructed, ducking into a dim, cool hall that soared high overhead. Light streamed through the tinted windows, casting colorful shadows over the floor, and a hush hung in the air. It was almost peaceful here, despite the tension on the faces of the few soldiers we passed, their gazes suspicious. We reached the last door on the right without being challenged, and Garret knocked on the wood.
“Enter.”
Lieutenant Martin stood in the corner of a tiny office, bookshelves lining the wall and a worn-out desk beneath them. He was speaking to a tall, lean soldier with short black hair, and my heart leaped as I recognized him. Garret drew in a short breath.
“Tristan,” he said, his voice soft with relief. “You made it.”
“Surprised?” The other soldier smirked at him. He had a bandage square taped to his temple, and the shadow of a bruise under one eye, but he was alive and on his feet, not motionless in a hospital bed. “I couldn’t let you take all the glory, could I?”
“Sebastian.” Martin came around the desk, and Tristan fell silent. His black eyes flicked over me and the others. “So, you’re back with the lizards,” he said in a neutral voice. “Has Talon made their move yet? Do we need to prepare for another attack?”
“No, sir,” Garret said. “We…have a request this time. For the Order.” Martin raised a brow, and Garret stepped aside. “I think it’s best that Riley explain it.”
Tristan and Martin looked to the rogue, who gave a heavy sigh, as if he still couldn’t believe he was doing this, and came forward.
“We have a problem,” he said without preamble. “And frankly, you have the same problem, St. George. We’re in a war, but we are completely outnumbered and outgunned. We can’t do anything against Talon, because we don’t have enough bodies to take up the fight.”
“I am well aware, dragon,” Martin said. His voice was calm, not angry or indignant, even when speaking to his ancient enemy. I suddenly realized why Garret respected this man so much. “But the Order of St. George is stretched rather thin at the moment. Am I to assume that you know where we can find more allies?”
The rogue leader nodded. “That’s pretty much the gist of it.”
The lieutenant regarded him solemnly. “And am I also to assume that these…allies…are dragons?” he asked.
Riley sighed again. “Yeah,” he muttered reluctantly. “They’re dragons. Talon has an island, in the North Atlantic Ocean. It’s…where they keep their breeder females. How many are there is anyone’s guess, but they’re the dragons they’ve chosen to produce fertile eggs for the organization, so at least a few.”
Behind Martin, Tristan straightened, eyes widening. “Then it’s true?” he asked in a breathless voice. “There really is a place where Talon keeps all its females.”
Riley glared at him. “Yeah, St. George. There is, and it’s a pretty shitty setup. Dragonells who fail in some way, or who defy the organization, get sent to the facility, to become broodmares for the rest of their lives. They never leave, never get off the island, never have the chance for a normal life. They’re basically prisoners whose only purpose is to pop out eggs for Talon. That sound like a cushy life to you?”
“Dunno.” Tristan smirked. “Private island, all meals provided, nothing to do but sleep, eat and breed? Sounds like heaven to me.”
“St. Anthony,” Martin warned before Riley could explode. “If you cannot behave yourself, you can leave.” Tristan held up both hands, falling silent, and Martin turned back to Riley. “So, these breeders,” he went on. “From your description, I would assume that they are unhappy with Talon’s treatment of them, and would fight the organization if they could?”
“We hope so,” I said as Riley still looked like he might snap Tristan’s head off. “If we can get to the dragonells and free them, we think a few at least will take up the fight with Talon. But we don’t have the numbers to stage a rescue. We can’t get to the island on our own.”
“And that is where you need us,” Martin finished.
“Yes, sir.” Garret nodded. “We hope that the Order would be willing to ally with us, on a more permanent basis. If we combine our people and resources, we’ll have a better chance against Talon.”
Martin didn’t say anything, standing there with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed in thought. “Allying with the rogues would be tactically sound,” he finally agreed, frowning. “However, there are those who would think the Order is being used, that you came to us solely for our help in rescuing these breeder dragons, and when that is done, you will either leave or turn on us.”
“You know that’s not true, sir,” Garret said.
“I know,” Martin agreed. “But I’m not the one you’ll need to convince. I might lead this chapterhouse, but the soldiers are the ones who will be going into battle with you. And if others from St. George show up, what then? How will you convince them that you are not enemies, that you mean the Order no harm?”
“How about not burning this place to the damn ground?” Riley growled. “Or not tearing some idiot’s face off when they keep threatening us? That feels like a pretty good indicator to me.”
Martin’s voice was flat. “It’s not.”
“What do you suggest, Lieutenant?” I asked.
He glanced at me. “If you could do a small task for the Order,” he replied, “work with a few of the soldiers, that would be a sign of goodwill. At the very least, it would be a start.”
“A small task,” Riley repeated. “Of course. And let me guess, you have just the thing in mind, don’t you?”
Martin turned and stepped back around his desk, where several sheets of paper lay across the surface. “The Order took a massive blow when the clones attacked,” he said, picking up one of the documents. “We’ve been scrambling for supplies, resources, anything that will help defend us when we’re attacked again. Recently, I received word about an item that could specifically help our cause. A weapon capable of firing shots with such velocity that it can punch through damn near anything. A high-powered rifle meant to pierce through tanks, armored cars, bunkers…and possibly the chest plates of a full-grown Adult dragon.”
My eyes widened, and Riley gave an incredulous snort.
“Oh, a dragon-killing gun,” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “That’s definitely something the Order needs. We’ll get right on that.”
“If we are to fight Talon, we need all the resources we can get,” Martin said firmly. “You said so yourself—we are vastly outnumbered and outgunned. We all saw the Adult clone the night the base was attacked. What if Talon has more of them? This might give us an edge against such enemies.”
“Sadly, it doesn’t exist quite yet.” This came from Tristan, indicating the two of them had been discussing the weapon before we came in. I wasn’t surprised. Tristan was the Order’s best sniper; he would certainly be interested in a rifle capable of punching through the armor of a dragon. “It’s a prototype, being designed by the military. But they’re transporting it to another base tomorrow night. And since it’s top secret and they don’t want anyone catching wind of the prototype and possibly stealing it, they’re doing it by train.”
“By train?” Riley repeated. “Why?”
“Possibly to keep it hidden. Military escorts draw attention.” Tristan shrugged. “And a train is harder to hijack, especially if there are armed guards in every car. Which there probably will be.”
“So, let me get this straight.” The rogue leader crossed his arms. “You want us to track down a train guarded by the US military, steal a prototype weapon specifically designed to kill dragons and hand it over to the Order of St. George?”
“Basically?” Tristan looked at Garret, who said nothing. “Yeah.”
“If you do this,” Martin added, “you will be sending a message to the rest of the Order that you are willing to help us, to stand with us. And we will be more inclined to help you, in return.”
“Or we get ourselves killed, and you don’t have to worry about it,” Riley muttered. “No skin off your nose. I don’t see you volunteering any of your men to help.”
“That is not true,” Martin replied calmly. “St. Anthony will be going with you.”
“I… Sir?” Tristan glanced at the lieutenant in surprise.
Martin’s lip curled in a faint smile. “You wanted to see the prototype, St. Anthony. Now’s your chance.” Tristan looked like he wanted to argue, but he was too well disciplined to talk back to his superior officer. Martin narrowed his eyes. “The dragons cannot be the only ones making the sacrifices, soldier,” he said. “The Order of St. George, and this chapterhouse, is more honorable than that. We must meet them halfway at least. Go with Sebastian, procure the weapon and aid them in any way you can. That is an order, St. Anthony.”
Tristan saluted. “Yes, sir.”
“Uh, one question,” Riley said. “How are we supposed to get on this armed train? I assume it’ll be moving. And they’ll certainly notice a car pulling up alongside it.”
Martin gave that faint smile. “A stealthy approach is definitely recommended,” he replied, and I suddenly realized what he was implying. “If I were to plan an attack, I would suggest a drop from above.”