“Yes, they were,” the Patriarch agreed, stalking forward. “Because they both worked for the dragons. Because, intentional or not, they chose to serve evil and turn their backs on their fellow man.” He gave me another look of pity and loathing. “Your parents were dragon servants, soldier. They were employees of Talon.”
He came at me hard, lunging across the flats, his sword a streak of metal through the air. Still dazed from having my entire world shattered, I barely got my blade up in time to parry. The Patriarch’s sword screeched as it hammered into mine, sending vibrations up my arm. I staggered, and the sword clanged against mine again, knocking it away. And then there was a second fiery pain, as the Patriarch’s sword sliced into my leg, cutting through cloth and flesh and biting deep.
Gasping, I reeled away, scrambling to put distance between myself and the Patriarch, but my leg buckled and I fell, rolling several feet before coming to an agonizing stop. Salt shards cut at my bare arms, burning into scrapes and open wounds, but it was nothing compared to what my leg was feeling at the moment. Blood blossomed over my jeans, warm and sluggish, staining the material black.
Gripping my sword, I looked around for the Patriarch, but he hadn’t pursued. He watched me stagger upright with a triumphant look in his eyes. One way or another, he knew the fight was nearly done. Clenching my teeth as my torn muscles screamed in protest, I planted my feet and raised my sword, facing the Patriarch again.
“It’s over, Sebastian,” he stated, walking forward. “Do you have any final words before I send you to hell?”
Something clicked in my head, and for a second, the world seemed to stop. A memory, jarred loose from the shadows of my mind.
The dragon loomed overhead, dark and terrifying, yellow eyes glowing in the smoke and the gloom. It was close enough for me to see every scale on its massive body, smell the sulfur and ash that clung to it, feel the hot breath curling from huge, fang-filled jaws. It gazed down with impassive gold eyes, a nightmare creature regarding the small boy and his mother at its feet. It blinked once, rumbled deep in its belly and stepped aside, dismissing us. And then, everything fragmented.
A burst of gunfire.
My mother jerking up with a gasp, then falling on top of me.
The howls and screams of the dragon, mixed with more chattering gunfire, the shouting of men and the hiss of fire being extinguished by the rain.
The memory flared and was gone in an instant, a split second between breaths, but it was enough. I gaped at the man before me, momentarily forgetting the pain of my wounds. “It was you,” I rasped, as the aftermath of that scene came back in a flood, finally breaking through the wall that held it at bay. “My parents weren’t killed by dragons. They were killed by the Order! And you knew! All this time, St. George has lied to me. My whole life, they let me believe my family was murdered by Talon, when it was the Order all along.”
The Patriarch’s eyes glittered. “I should have ordered them to shoot you then and there,” he said. “The mission was to kill every living soul in that compound, regardless of age or gender. But the commander leading the raid begged me for permission to bring you into the Order, to raise you as a soldier for the cause. He thought you could be saved, or perhaps he was simply reluctant to kill one so young.” Very briefly, his gaze flickered to Gabriel Martin and narrowed with contempt. “Only a few knew your true lineage. It was kept a secret in the hopes that you would fully embrace our Code and become a soldier of St. George. That you would rise above your heritage and shake whatever evil lay within your soul.” He shook his head. “But once a dragon slave, always a dragon slave, it seems. I should have realized your betrayal was only a matter of time.”
Another memory jarred loose. Rain and mud and fire, me huddled beside the motionless body of my mother, hoping she would wake up soon so we could go home. A shadow falling over me, as I gazed into the stern, younger face of Lucas Benedict. And all the confusion, shock, pain and disbelief melted into a sudden blinding, fiery rage.
“So, we come full circle,” the Patriarch was saying, raising his sword as he closed in. “Talon’s wayward son shows his true colors at last. And now, I will finish what I should have done all those years ago, and send you to your masters where you belong!”
He lunged, bringing that sword down at my neck. I forgot my pain, forgot my mission, forgot everything but the image of my mother’s body, lying there in the mud. I reacted on instinct, dodging to the side and turning my body so that the blow missed me by millimeters. For just a moment, the Patriarch was off balance, and I slashed at him with everything I had left.
He turned, managing to block the blade, but the force hammered through his guard, and his own sword struck him in the face. Without a sound, he tumbled backward, hitting the ground on his side, the sword coming free of his grip. Almost immediately, he pushed himself to his knees, but before he got any farther, I staggered forward and put the tip of my blade against his throat.