Dragon Breeder 3 by Dante King (motivational books for students txt) 📗

half a dozen more members of the Overwatch Guard stood in identical poses around the walls of this antechamber. All wore the same uniform. They all stood in matching attitudes of alertness, their left hands resting on the pommels of their swords.

An outstretched hand from the lead nymph stopped our small escorted party in their tracks.

“If you’re going to read me then read me,” I said brusquely, “but make it fast, please. The reason that I’ve turned up on the Overseer’s doorstep is because I need to see her urgently. Trust me, I can tell you I’m not here for the fun of it.”

“We understand,” said the Wind Nymph in charge. She spoke in the reasonable, unhurried voice of the born mediator and bureaucrat. “Still though, we must inspect your innermost mind. We believe there is something pernicious inside of you, Dragonmancer Noctis.”

I had no real idea what the woman was talking about. It was not until I spared a second and looked within myself, that I detected the potential problem. The emotion the Wind Nymphs were detecting was probably simmering, directionless rage. It was the fury I felt at the Overseer and the Martial Council. It was the resentment that I harbored, the resentment for the time it had taken for them to reach what I deemed a straightforward decision.

It took a lot of willpower to force the emotion aside, but I did my best, making a concerted effort to calm myself.

Almost at once, the face of the Wind Nymph in front of us cleared.

“Ah, we see,” she said softly. She glanced around at the other members of the Overwatch Company and nodded her head. “It was a pure and righteous anger. You may proceed, Michael Noctis, but allow us to counsel you. Try and keep a lid on that temper while in the presence of the Overseer, if you please.”

I nodded curtly. Despite the calm and almost dreamy subcurrent the Wind Nymphs generated, clearly these warriors could throw down like fiends from hell, if it came to it. They weren’t dragonmancers, as far as I could tell, but they had their own kind of innate magic. And I knew that non-dragonmancers could be formidable if they possessed equipment enchanted with dragonblood, which no doubt these members of the Overwatch Company did.

The lead guardswoman stood aside, and pushed the heavy, iron-shod door in front of me open. My companions and I walked inside.

The Arthurian round table was just as I remembered it, as was the assembly of men and women gathered around it. The few particular faces that had stuck in my memory leapt out at me once more: the old guy with the salt and pepper mutton chops; the woman with the dangerously pretty smile, the waspish face, and the short, faded pink hair. Then, of course, there was the short guy with a spare tire around his midriff—the asshole who had suggested I could use an extensive probing and interrogation session at the hands of skilled torturers.

The Overseer, once again, captured the eye in the same inexorable way that the fire draws the moth. She was clad in another simple dress today, sapphire blue instead of the emerald green that I had last seen her in. A russet fur draped her statuesque shoulder. Her bright green eyes were locked on my face. A curious and highly intelligent smile pulled at her lips.

It was a disarming smile that snuffed out the last stubbornly burning flame of anger inside of me. I had still had half a mind to blow my top, even as I was stepping through the doorway of the chamber, but under that smile, I was suddenly turned to putty.

“Dragonmancer Noctis,” she said in greeting, in a soft and beautiful voice that could have stopped a riot.

“I think your Overwatch Company are not entirely convinced I can be trusted to hold my temper in check,” I said, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice, while simultaneously endeavoring to keep my gaze from straying to the fat bastard who’d been so adamant about the whole probing thing. “I think they believe me to be dangerous.”

The Overseer cocked her head to one side and then looked slowly around the room at the six men and six women that made up the Martial Council.

“You are a dragonmancer,” the Overseer said pleasantly. “Not only that, but you are also a father who is worried for the wellbeing of his offspring. I would be concerned if they did not think that you were a danger to me and everyone in this room.”

A brief silence stretched out. A heavy silence loaded with unspoken words of warning.

“All I want to know,” I said, “is when we’re leaving and what we’re doing. Give me it in layman’s terms, if you’d be so kind. I’m a simple guy at heart, and I’d like to think that this is a simple mission. I’m going to save my son.”

The Overseer nodded.

“Very well,” she said.

The gorgeous woman held up a hand to stop the fat Martial Council member from opening his mouth, as he looked like he was threatening to do.

“Indulge me a moment,” she continued, “and allow me to tell you a little of what has been happening. In this way, you might better understand what is to happen next. Empress Cyrene gave the go-ahead for the Drako Academy to increase our movements into the Subterranean Realms. Now, admittedly, the Mystocean Empire has been doing so for the past year, but without any real kind of dedication or direction.”

“You were basically just showing your face down there, were you?” I asked. It was a blunt question, but not rude. I just was not in the mood to dance about when we could cut to the chase in far less time.

The man with the salt and pepper mutton chops began sputtering like