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

As much as it galled me, Jazmyn and Ashrin had ordered us to remain here and not press on. It was a justified order, and not one that I would have disobeyed given their arguments. The two dragonmancers had made the logical argument that, taxing as the fight with the ratfolk and the wild dragon had been, we should gather our wits and fill our stomachs.

“We should take this opportunity to eat and move on only when we’re recovered from the fray,” Ashrin said as we stoked up our campfires and put some of Old Sleazy’s travel rations over the flames to heat.

“That’s r-r-right, Dragonmancer,” Rupert said, being careful to observe the niceties when addressing any dragonmancer that was not me. “A full stomach and a little time to rest between potential battles can do the world of good.”

“The lad might look like a possum that’s just been hit by a bolt of lightning right up the browneye, but he’s right,” Diggens Azee said, meticulously manufacturing one of his roll-ups. “Besides, I’d say it’s barely past breakfast time. Can’t be too far past dawn out where the wind blows and the sun shines.”

“I guess it makes sense,” I conceded. “We did get the dragondust out of the fight. That puts us ahead of the game, really. We just need to find and retrieve at least one of these damn crystals and then we can get the hell out of here.”

The soldiers, summoned by the noise of the battle, began to quickly and methodically clean up the charnel house that the chamber had become. They were experienced troops, and they didn’t need their superior officers’ brisk instructions to know the importance of getting rid of this amount of dead flesh.

Lack of hygiene and illness had probably laid low more soldiers than battle through the years, and it would not be long before this number of bodies soon became a breeding ground for all sorts of nasty diseases. There was no glory for a soldier in going out via an infectious disease that could have been prevented by quick action. It was not a glamorous detail, but it was an important one, and the troopers set to it without a murmur of disgruntlement.

“Why the hell did those ratfolk attack us like that?” I asked as we watched soldiers begin to cart the bodies, or body parts, of our fallen enemies out of the tunnels. “Why did they just keep coming? We were cutting them down like grass and they just wouldn’t stop.”

“The ratfolk are not renowned f-f-for being great thinkers,” Rupert said.

Tamsin snorted. “You’ve got that right. We have had dealings with them up in the mountains of my own home—or at least some distant cousins of the members of this clan, perhaps. Territory is something that these creatures prize above all other things. It is a measure of wealth, I suppose, in a world without coin. They treasure it, hoard and protect it with mindless violence.”

“I rather think they had been aware of the encroachment of the Empire for quite some time,” Jazmyn said. “It was just our misfortune that we were at their entrance point when they decided to sortie against those they deemed to be invaders.”

Bjorn chuckled darkly. “Our misfortune,” he rumbled, running a whet stone along the edge of his axe blade. “I wouldn’t call it that so much, Dragonmancer. A bit of a morning training session might better describe it.”

There was some black quiet laughing from the other members of the coteries at this.

I scanned the faces of the gathered squad members. The squads that followed me, Tamsin, and Renji looked flushed with the fight they had been in, while those six men that followed Ashrin and Jazmyn looked pretty much indifferent to the blood and gore that spattered their armor.

I was glad that everyone had survived. All in all, with everything considered, we had done well for ourselves and got some much needed battle experience.

As we watched the steady clearing of the bodies, an older woman gestured for Ashrin and Jazmyn to come over and see her. She had wavy steel gray hair, wore a flowing scarlet cloak, and walked with the proud, sure tread of a dragonmancer.

Jazmyn sighed and got to her feet. “This is the one thing about this job I don’t like,” she grinned. “Bloody reporting.”

“We’ll be back in a moment,” Ashrin said to me. “Jaz and I will just give a report to the dragonmancer supervising the clean-up. Don’t go anywhere. Eat. Rest.”

Jaz dropped me a wink. “I know you’re itching to get a move on, Mike, but the more the chain of command knows, the easier it’ll be for us to move around in here.”

My two bodyguards left. I watched as they embraced the older newcomer and launched into their report, every now and again gesturing over their shoulders at our company.

As the three female dragonmancers conversed, a flash of light in the corner of my eye attracted my attention. I looked to my right and saw that the mysterious but helpful wisp had reappeared again.

“What the hell is that thing?” I asked, nudging Gabby with an elbow and pointing at the will-o’-the-wisp as I sat down.

Gabby shrugged and made a noise of vague disinterest.

“I don’t have a ruddy clue what it is,” Diggens said, exhaling smoke luxuriantly as he poked at the fire and stirred the pot of stew that was simmering on it. “But the little fella has been pretty helpful so far, hasn’t he?”

I watched the wisp darting about the place, hovering around soldiers and flying around with the random and unpredictable movements of a moth. I smiled. There was something inherently good-natured about the thing, whatever the heck it was. It reminded me of an eager puppy; keen to help and be a