Dragon Breeder 3

by Dante King

  Gabby’s brow furrowed and his yellow hawk’s eyes gleamed through his curtain of auburn hair. He rapped the deck sharply with his knuckles and pointed at the cards in his hand.

  “Gabby’s right,” I said. “Forget about what might and might not be waiting for us. Let’s just chill out while we can, and let the chips fall where they may.”

  Chapter 7

  I sat in the comfortable suite below deck, after losing more scales to the gambling degenerates that made up my squad. Elenari dozed peacefully against me. Saya was staring out one of the portholes before she gave a little start and pointed outside.

  Elenari and I got up and walked over to where Saya was sitting. Elenari went to the porthole next to the one Saya had been looking out of, while the fearsome, blonde female warrior moved aside for me.

  “Holy shit, would you look at that,” I breathed.

  Below us was a low mountain, not in itself a summit that would stand out too much. However, at the base of this gray, snow-tipped peak was an enormous camp. An army camp of such proportions that it looked more like a shanty town than a regular encampment.

  Our sky-vessel dropped toward the earth, moving downward in smooth, wide spirals. A patch of land had been cleared from the rough pine forest surrounding the base of Galipolas Mountain, marked with lime-washed stones. I could see streets of tents, rough roads with crudely knocked up wooden stores and buildings on either side of them, and hundreds of soldiers moving around the area.

  It reminded me of a Dodge City of kinds, of a frontier town in which the notion of law was just that: a notion.

  As our transport got closer and closer, I noticed the faces of my fellow dragonmancers change. Gone were the looks of casual relaxation. Now, their expressions were all hard eyes and stern mouths.

  They were the faces of women who were steeling themselves to face the unknown. An unknown that was, most likely, going to prove deadly for a lot of those troopers milling around outside in the crude streets below us.

  Once we landed, the other dragonmancers and I exited the vessel ahead of our coteries. The mood was serious and intent. Eyes flicked from side to side. Nostrils dilated as new scents were sifted with dragon-enhanced senses. Ears were pricked for the slightest sound out of the ordinary. We might not have been walking around in enemy territory per se, but we were quite a way from the security and familiar surrounds of the landscape that encircled the Drako Academy.

  One thing was certain; we weren’t in Kansas anymore.

  We were met by a stern-faced sergeant and led away from where our ship and a couple of others had been moored. This sergeant took us to the edge of the enormous encampment where a massive tent had been erected.

  “This is the command tent,” the nameless sergeant informed me. “Dragonmancer Noctis, General Shiloh has requested you to step inside and talk with her. The rest of your companions have been asked to rendezvous with the dragonmancers already on site.”

  I looked over my shoulder and nodded at Elenari, Saya, Penelope, Amara, Renji, and Tamsin.

  “Better do as the General asks,” I said. “I’ll catch up with you all a little bit later, yeah?”

  “I’m going to check with the chief blacksmith and the quartermaster first,” Renji said, in a voice that brooked no argument.

  “Do what you’ve got to do,” I said, “then let’s get our asses down into the Subterranean Realms.”

  There was a chorus of agreements. Our party broke up, the sergeant leading my friends away so that only my squad and I remained.

  “All right, lads,” I said, “I better go and meet with this head honcho. If you hear me screaming, feel free to rush in and do your jobs.”

  “I have heard that General Shiloh is a b-b-bit of a hardass,” Rupert warned me in a low voice.

  I grinned and slapped our squad’s medic on the shoulder.

  “That actually makes me feel a little better,” I said.

  “Why?” Rupert asked.

  “Because if she decides she doesn’t like me and kills me, at least I won’t have to pay you fuckers back the money I owe you from Maim Mr. Turnip.”

  With that, I waggled my eyebrows, ripped open the tent flap, and strode into the command tent.

  Part of our dragonmancer training involved honing our dragon-enhanced senses. There was a lot of emphasis placed by our preceptors on our skills of observation and deduction. Being able to walk into a room and ascertain, in the first couple of seconds, the vibe of the atmosphere, the physical layout of the place, and any clues that might help you form an idea of the people or person inside was extremely important. Having a knack for interpreting the data supplied by your eyes, ears, and nose could be the difference between drawing your sword or not—or, as the case may be, summoning your dragon.

  The command tent was like every command tent that I had ever seen in films: big, square, and mostly filled by a huge table, spread with maps held down by tokens. I noticed straightaway that the map taking center stage depicted the rough layout of the base or township I found myself in. It was, I also noted, mostly blank. There were a few snaking tunnels leading out from the town, but they did not go far before they became nothing more than clean yellow parchment.

  “Dragonmancer Noctis,” came a deep voice from over in one corner, “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, lad.”

  There was a large square form sitting behind the square desk in the corner of the command tent. As my eyes flicked over to the owner of the voice, the figure straightened up, signed something with a flourish, and looked back at me.

  “General Shiloh,” I said. “It’s an honor to meet you, Ma’am.”

  I don’t think I had ever seen a more imposing woman. The General had shoulders that were about two axe handles wide. She was a head shorter than me, but looked like she could quite easily have lifted me over her head, dragonmancer or no. Her eyes were gray and quick and perceptive. Her chestnut-colored hair was cut short to keep it out of her eyes, flecked with gray at the temples and had one thick streak of white running down one side.

  The General was dressed in the all-sable battle gear of the fully qualified dragonmancer, with a silver dragon claw on each of her brawny shoulders. It was not the sort of crisp, deep sable that I might have been expecting for a general. Rather, it was worn and dusty, mud spattered up the back of her breeches, and a roughly stitched cut running down one arm. Her boots were travel-worn and caked with mud. She looked about as far removed from the late Captain Remington Cade as it was possible to be. The General seemed like a woman who didn’t mind getting her hands dirty. A woman who could lead, and who warriors would follow. She radiated a raw, militaristic power like no dragonmancer that I had ever met since entering the Academy.

  “Taking it all in and forming a few quick conclusions I see,” General Shiloh said, crossing her arms across her chest and smiling crookedly at me. She had her sleeves rolled up. Her forearms were covered in a short bear-like fur, the same chestnut color as her hair. Her keen gray eyes glinted in the light of the many fairy-filled lamps that hung about the place.

  “Yes, General,” I said. Seemed pointless to deny that I was being a nosey bastard. I doubted there was much at all that got past this woman. “Just doing as I’ve been trained to do.”

  The General laughed, a short grunting sound.

  “Good,” she said. “And?”

  “And what, General?”

  “What do you see, lad?” General Shiloh said.

  “I see a woman who has about as much patience for brown-nosing and shit-talking as I do, General,” I replied sincerely. “I see a woman who leads by example, who leads from the front when she can. You surround yourself with everything you need to get the job done as quickly and clinically as possible.”

  I pointed down at the map spread out on the huge table and weighed down with a rock on each corner.

  “And I see that, as far as the Subterranean Realms go, what lies ahead is still somewhat of an unknown,” I finished.

  T
he bear-like woman regarded me for a moment or two, her hard, shrewd face giving nothing away. She would have made one hell of a poker player.

  “You see a lot, dragonmancer, for a Rank One,” she said. “You’re accustomed to thinking fast, thinking on your feet, that right?”

  I shrugged. Spending my teenage years on the streets of L.A. had probably taught me the value of being able to weigh up a situation, to see if I was going to walk out of it in one piece or at all.

  “I suppose I had an interesting upbringing,” I admitted. “Learned how to fight. Learned when to run. You know how it goes, I’m sure.”

  The General snorted. “You bet your ass I do, lad,” she said. “Oh yes, I know all about that sort of upbringing, don’t I just.”

  General Shiloh stumped over to a sideboard, picking up a couple of clay cups and a jug that sloshed.

  “Drink?” she asked.

  “Is a frog’s ass watertight?” I replied.

  The general grunted a laugh. Poured. Handed me a cup. Raised her own and said, “To?”

  “To bread?” I suggested.

  “Bread?” General Shiloh asked.

  I shrugged. “Without bread, we couldn’t toast.”

  General Shiloh raised her cup, laughing heartily. “To bread, then!”

  We drained our cups. The liquor was unfamiliar to me, but it burned like battery acid all the way down to my stomach where it detonated like a concussion grenade.

  “Like any good soldier,” the General said, refilling my cup with another tot of whatever the fuck vitriol she was serving, and going to sit down behind her desk, “I learned how to make my own booze when I was still a grunt. You know what I call it?”

  I shook my head.

  General Shiloh sat herself down, crossed her legs, and stared at me.

  “Hangman,” she said.

  I narrowed my eyes, considering this.

  “Because one drop and you're dead?” I asked.

  She wrinkled her stubby nose and smiled.

  “May I sit?” I asked.

  The General indicated the battered seat in front of her desk. I sat.

  “So,” she said, taking another sip of Hangman, “you’re the latest and greatest swinging dick dragonmancer.”

  “I guess so,” I said.

  The General nodded. “Michael Noctis, Bearer of Noctis and Garth, the dragons of Onyx and Pearl.”

  “Bit of a mouthful,” I admitted.

  “I bear Bramen,” General Shiloh said, and pulled a thin knife from her sleeve. There was a small caramel-colored gemstone set into the very base of the blade, right near the small crossguard. “She’s a Rhinodrake.”

  I nodded. I was quickly gaining the impression that I was probably talking to one of the most accomplished dragonmancers in the Mystocean Empire. I wondered whether General Shiloh was one of the few dragonmancers capable of accessing the coveted Titan Slot.

  “You know why you’re here,” the General said. “I don’t think either of us need to rehash your instructions. The Overseer is a smart and perceptive woman. I like her. She knows the value of time.”

  I was half tempted to mention how I’d felt that it had taken her long enough to give us the green light to start on this journey, but decided against it. That wouldn’t serve anyone any good.

  I elected to say, “Time is one thing that is not on our side, General Shiloh.”

  “You’re right,” the General said. “Although, as soon as we’re born, the sand starts trickling through the hourglass in some form or another. Time is the bitch of an enemy that just won’t relent.”

  I knocked back my drink and set my cup on the table. General Shiloh did the same.

  “All right,” the General said. “Your mission is important, perhaps the most significant mission that I have ever been asked to spearhead—and I’ve headed some of the bloodiest and prolonged campaigns our Empire has taken part in.”

  “My experience in campaigning is nil, General Shiloh,” I said, “but I’m inclined to agree with you as to the importance of this journey.”

  The General grunted. It was clear as day to me that my opinion on this matter was of very little import to her. All that mattered was that she had been asked to do this by the Overseer. That she agreed that the mission was crucial was a happy coincidence.

  “All that being said,” General Shiloh continued, “allow me to introduce you to your two bodyguards.”

  She rang a small bell on her desk, and an orderly entered.

  “Fetch Ashrin and Jazmyn,” the General said curtly.

  The orderly saluted and hurried out.

  “These two dragonmancers are a pair of my very best, Dragonmancer Noctis,” the General told me. “It is why I have selected them to venture into the Subterranean Realms with you and your party. The main force of soldiers will be forging ahead, but should you encounter any trouble of the more determined variety, these dragonmancers will be able to ensure you don’t end up getting yourself killed.”

  “Your confidence in my abilities is heartening, General Shiloh,” I said.

  The General held up her hands and gave me a grave look. “I’m not here to disparage you, lad,” she said evenly. “Nor am I here to blow smoke up your ass, as I’m sure many people have done since you set foot on our world. I’m here to do my job. My job, as of the moment you walked into this tent, is to keep you alive. That’s it.”

  “I was just pulling your leg, General Shiloh,” I said. “I meant no disrespect. Humans often make light of the serious. It’s how we deal with all the bullshit that assails us.”

  The General smiled humorlessly. “Sounds like the same way that soldiers deal with things,” she said. “Still, I warn you; I’ve seen more than enough explorers and troops let themselves be sunk by their pride. Don’t become one of ‘em, Dragonmancer Noctis.”

  Before I could respond, the flap of the tent was pulled open and two women stalked in and stood to attention.

  “Dragonmancer Noctis,” General Shiloh said, “may I introduce you to the two women tasked with guarding your body. This is Ashrin, Bearer of Alzad the Toxin Dragon.” The General pointed at one of the warriors; a woman wearing sleek black armor that looked like an insect’s carapace, and who had feline features and cat ears poking through her spiky black hair.

  Ashrin nodded to me but did not smile.

  “And this is Jazmyn, Bearer of Meoko, the Crescent Dragon,” General Shiloh said, indicating the other dragonmancer.

  Jazmyn also reminded me of a feline of some kind, though she did not have the cat-like ears that Ashrin had. Her hair was cut short too, but was the black-gray color of ash. She too wore black burnished armor—the color of the qualified dragonmancer—though she also wore a bright red sash around her waist.

  Jazmyn nodded at me too but said nothing.

  “Dragonmancers Ashrin and Jazmyn have been apprised of your mission,” the General said. “Together with their coteries, they will help you and your fellows seek out the crystals and whatever substance you need to regenerate your… potency. I will stress this one last time: this mission is one that must bloody well succeed. The future and fate of the Empire requires it. Do the three of you understand?”

  “Yes, general!” the two black-armored dragonmancers said in unison.

  I got to my feet.

  “I understand, General Shiloh,” I said.

  “Good,” the General said. “Now, go and get it done.”

  Chapter 8

  I exited the command tent with Dragonmancers Jazmyn and Ashrin on my heels. My squad was waiting outside and straightened up when they saw me although, thankfully, they didn’t go so far as to salute or any bullcrap like that.

  “All right, lads,” I said, “I guess that’s it. We’ve got the okay from the General, and I think we’re good to go. Let’s round up the others and fucking get this job done.”

  A snort from behind my left shoulder made me grit my teeth. I knew that kind of snort. It was one of those derisive ones. Judging by t
he glowering expression on Gabby’s face, I was not the only one who had picked up on the tone.

  I turned and saw Jazmyn and Ashrin exchanging dubious looks with one another.

  I sighed. I could see where this was going.

  “What’s up, ladies?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” Ashrin replied in a sweet voice. “Nothing at all.” Her tone, somehow, brought razorblades hiding in cotton-candy to mind.

  “Nah, nothing’s wrong,” Jazmyn said. “This is the sort of detail that every dragonmancer fuckin’ dreams of when they pass the final trials and are finally allowed to wear the all-black, isn’t it? The fuckin’ babysitting assignment.”

  “I thought so,” I said, a dangerous smile curving my lips upward.

  “You thought what?” Ashrin asked, folding her slender arms across her plain, but quite large, breastplate.

  “This is where you come out with your wounded pride, right?” I said. “This is where you have a little bitch and a little moan about being way too overqualified, way too badass, to be hanging out with a bunch of lowly Rank Ones, yadda yadda yadda, and we have to apply a bit of salve to those injured egos of yours somehow, yeah?”

  The two women, standing in their matching sable armor, glared at me, but said nothing.

  “This is the part where you vent your spleens a little isn’t it?” I said. “Well come on then, let’s get it the fuck over with, because in case you hardasses weren’t aware, we have limited time here.”

  Jazmyn, who was clearly the more aggressive of the two women, stepped forward and narrowed her eyes at me. “You think that just because your special—”

  “Oh, come on,” I said, with a little disbelieving laugh. “You’re not going to try that line on me are you? You think that I reckon I’m special just because I’m packing a staff down my breeches? Look at you, look at all the insanely capable and deadly women that I arrived with? How the hell could I give myself airs encircled by all those flint-hearted badasses, huh?”

  Ashrin cocked her head to one side and regarded me through dark, intelligent eyes.