The Dragon Legion Collection(4)

“Not a lot of time to break hearts with this stone around,” Ashe said grimly, folding his arms across his chest. Ashe was stocky and practical, the son of a blacksmith.

“That’s why it has to be Damien to do it,” Tyrone retorted. “The rest of us don’t have a chance.” Tyrone was youngest of them all, an orphan who had virtually raised himself. He wasn’t one for emotion or undue optimism—and virtually any optimism was undeserved in his thinking.

Teasing Damien about his succession of romantic conquests was a familiar ploy used by them all to defuse a tight situation. Alexander was certain that the joking of more than one of the men—particularly the younger ones—was tinged with both jealousy and respect. Damien was nearly legendary for his successes with women.

“We should challenge him to make a conquest wherever the stone takes us, without being left behind,” Iggy said.

Damien snorted. “No woman could be worth that risk.”

They were all trying to make light of their situation, but Alexander could smell their fear and uncertainty.

All twelve of them were present and accounted for. Alexander refused to think of them as survivors. The important thing was that the light was flickering more quickly. He doubted he was the only one afraid to breathe.

“We need a new name,” Alexander said, hoping to distract his companions from their situation and the fear it created in them.

“The Survivors,” Ty suggested.

“The Last Pyr Standing,” Iggy replied.

“Careful what ideas you put into the world,” Peter advised grimly. “There might only be one of us left at the end.”

They collectively stifled a shudder. “The Dragon Legion,” Alexander suggested and felt them consider it.

“A Roman legion had more than three thousand warriors,” Damien noted.

“We are older than the Roman legions,” Drake said tightly. “And we are the best of the best. The last of an elite corps, tested by the challenge of men and of magic.”

The men nodded, and Alexander liked how Drake’s assertion made them stand straighter.

“The Dragon Legion it shall be,” Drake said with authority.

The light flared brighter and pulsed more quickly, silencing them all.

Thaddeus swore softly under his breath, then began to pray. Thad was both the most likely to find a practical solution to a problem and the most likely to invoke divine assistance. Alexander wondered, not for the first time, whether the combination was responsible for his consistent success.

“Any chance we can control it?” Orion asked. Orion preferred to take action, and was inclined to be impulsive and outspoken. “Maybe direct ourselves back to the others?”

Drake shook his head. “Any key lies in understanding what the darkfire is doing.”

“And maybe why,” Alexander added.

“It’s a primal force,” Peter complained. “It has no logic or reason.”

“Then maybe we should toss it away,” Orion suggested. “We could set ourselves free of its power.”

“And be trapped wherever it left us,” Ashe retorted. “Where are we even now?”

No one knew the answer to that.

“It is our responsibility to bear the darkfire crystal!” Drake said, his tone imperious. “That we do not know the detail of our mission is no reason to abandon it.”

“How do we know it is a mission?” Peter asked, and Alexander wished the other man would leave it be. Sowing dissent never aided a cause or a company of warriors.

The light flashed with sudden brilliance, and Alexander gritted his teeth as he was momentarily blinded. He felt the shift in the air around him and guessed it was happening again. Thad swore once more, then prayed with greater fervor.

Abruptly Alexander was swept up by a warm wind, one that swirled around him with savage force. As had happened three other times, he was filled with terror at his powerlessness. He reached out and snatched at Thad, who had been beside him, but his hand closed on empty air. He didn’t dare to breathe, for he didn’t know what surrounded him. It seemed that he was swept in a whirlwind and buffeted by changing winds for an eternity. He couldn’t hear or sense the others and the sense of solitude was even more frightening than having no control.

Just when Alexander was certain he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, he was flung downward. He felt discarded by some superior force, though he shared Peter’s doubt that there was intelligence behind the mystery of the darkfire. He landed with a thud on his hands and knees, then greedily took a gulp of hot, dry air. He knew he’d have bruises on his knees, but the dirt beneath his hands was sandy and arid, with no vegetation. He opened his eyes warily, then quickly counted his companions.

Still twelve. They’d mastered that detail, at least.

Then Alexander glanced around to see where they were. He couldn’t believe that he recognized the hills.

“Merciful Zeus,” he whispered, easing to his feet to stare.

“Zeus is anything but merciful,” Drake muttered, but Alexander ignored him.

It couldn’t be.

He knew this village, knew it as surely as he knew the lines on his own palm. He knew the hills of Boeotia, the curve of the road, the fact that that the sea was just beyond the lip of that hill. He knew the village spread at his feet, the names of the occupants of each house, that a potter’s wheel stood in the courtyard of the one house that drew his eye.