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

we had returned from the Subterranean Realms and Wayne had burst forth as a Smog Dragon, I was headed from my tent toward the center of the Mystocean’s Dodge City. I planned on grabbing a bite of breakfast from Old Sleazy or one of his understudies. My squad, as their duty required them to do, joined me on my excursions.

“Shit, they’re going all-out for this party this evening, huh?” Bjorn rumbled from next to me as we clomped along one of the wooden sidewalks. His red eyes were angled upward, watching a couple of soldiers string a series of dragon-shaped paper lanterns across the street.

“Well, what d-d-do you expect?” Rupert asked him mildly. “To think that we live in times where the existence of wild dragons comes once again to light! To think that the likes of us will b-b-be in the very place where dragonlings will be born and take their mature form! I never even imagined that such a day was possible, let alone that we would be in the right place at the right time to witness it.”

Gabby made a noise of vague agreement in his tongueless mouth.

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Bjorn said. “Any day when you’re on duty and you’re allowed to tuck into the ale barrels is a bloody good day.”

We found Old Sleazy and his team of encampment apprentices already slaving over the hot coals of their enormous, long barbecue pits. Judging by the glowing red embers, the team of gnoll cooks must have been up since dawn.

Gabby pointed out Old Sleazy directing things from a small podium that had been rigged up for him. He was bellowing at the milling, sweating cooks below him, ordering them to add a pinch of that or a dash of this to some dish or other.

“For the love of all that is good and holy in this world, Scumbo!” the gnoll screamed, his hideously lank mustache blowing about his lips like a wisp of marsh fog.

The thought of a wisp brought to mind Will, the little light ball I’d met in underground. Where had he gotten off to? Had he even returned after our expedition? I hadn’t seen Diggens Azee since then either, so maybe the two were still down in the Subterranean somewhere?

I banked the thought for later when Old Sleazy’s screaming kicked up a notch.

“In what sick universe do you think the haunch meat of the rock coyote should be allowed to even see a marinade containing candied nutmeg?!” the gnoll cried. “Your mother, had she not been knitting with only one needle herself, would be ashamed of you! Ah, Mike, so good to see you, my friend! Such a pleasure! And your squad too. Get over here and let Old Sleazy give you a bit of breakfast, eh?”

The speed with which Old Sleazy went from acerbically ballistic to strictly obsequious showed just what a professional wheeler-dealer the gnoll was.

“Sure, Old Sleazy,” I said, “I could eat a little bit of your grub, I’ll not lie to you.”

Old Sleazy ushered us over to his desk and the stretch of the enormous communal barbecue that was apparently under his solo jurisdiction.

“I’ve got an absolutely lovely bit of flat-eared marmoset which I’ve had hanging whole in a shed for three days. It’s covered in a rue made up of ox butter and thunder basil. You boys are going to lose your bloody marbles when you try it. I’m saving it only for my best customers, you understand.”

As Old Sleazy busied himself at his grill, I watched more teams of soldiers stringing up even more of the dragon-shaped paper lanterns. At the rate things were going, it wouldn’t be long until Dodge City was festooned in them.

“What’s the deal with the lanterns, Old Sleazy?” I asked as Gabby, Bjorn, and Rupert leaned themselves comfortably on a row of barrels. Gabby’s and Rupert’s eyes flickered around the excited crowd of milling soldiery, alert for any sign of danger. Bjorn’s red eyes were glued to the grill and the lumps of marmoset that were now sizzling on it. A sound like a washing machine full of soup being boiled told me that the big warrior’s stomach was rumbling and ready for breakfast.

“The lanterns?” Old Sleazy said, itching at his squashed green nose with the edge of his tongs. “Ah, the lanterns. Very old custom for when an important child is born. I won’t spoil the surprise for you, so you’ll just have to see the part the lanterns play for yourself.

We sat in silence for a time, while the meat on the grill spat and sizzled and the day grew warmer. Above us, the sky was a beautifully clear washed blue. The sound of men and women bantering as they worked filled the air. Insects buzzed. The smell of fresh cut lumber was heavy and comforting in my nose. Distantly, I was aware of Garth and Wayne messing about somewhere up in the foothills. Noctis had taken the two young dragons hunting for deer.

“How’s that firecracker holding up?” Old Sleazy asked me.

I blinked, stirred, and turned toward him. “What?”

“That damned saucy she-devil of a dragonmancer, Tamsin?” Old Sleazy sprinkled a little salt, along with some unfamiliar yellow spice, onto the meat and turned it. “How is she holding up with the dragonling and everything, man?”

Old Sleazy was the only person that I had ever met that talked about dragonmancers with such temerity. Everyone from farmers to fishermen, bureaucrats to infantrymen, spoke of and talked to dragonmancers with nothing but the utmost respect and reverence, but not the gnoll. To him, all customers were created equal—and equally liable to be chiseled in some way.

I grinned, thinking how Tasmin would take to being referred to as a “saucy she-devil.” She’d probably love it.

“Yeah, she’s fine, Old Sleazy,” I said. “Just resting and getting bigger and bigger by the