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

“You just tackled me through the fecking window, Corsa,” Cox said.

“I never did!” Corsa said.

I rolled my eyes and let the two women go.

The two inebriates gave each other a hug, like a couple of weary travelers who have not laid eyes upon one another for too long.

At that moment, the barman came storming out of the rickety establishment, a stout length of wood in his hand. He caught sight of the two embracing drunks and opened his mouth to start yelling.

Then, a great collective ‘Ooooooh!’ of delight rose and spread, until it engulfed the entire street and everyone on it. The landlord’s furious bellows were drowned by the sound of hundreds of throats all emitting the same sound of delighted awe. It was the same voice that people adopt when they are gathered into a large enough group and fireworks are let off.

I turned around and added my voice to the reverential chorus, as the music from all the different sources died.

The dragon lanterns were all aglow now, burning with fluttering flames of yellow, green, blue, pink, and purple. How they had been bewitched I had no idea, but even as I looked at them, I noticed that some of them were moving.

And not with the wind.

The lanterns began to break themselves free of the strings on which they were strung. They stretched papery wings, shook their long papery necks, and clambered up to stand on the strings from which they had so recently hung. The way that they moved, it looked like they should have been weighing the string down. Of course, though, they still weighed next to nothing.

“Damn, but this world just keeps on surprising you, doesn’t it?” I breathed to myself.

With a great rustling sigh, all of the dragon lanterns took suddenly to the air. It was a multicolored spectacle the likes of which I had never seen before, like a meteor shower in reverse. The flock of lanterns lifted into the air and drifted up, flapping, into the heavens. A few wolf-whistles rang out—as they can always be relied upon to do during such moments.

All in all though, the audience of thousands of troopers was quiet, stunned. Eyes were wide and reflected the many-hued light of the ascending paper dragon lanterns. Looking around, I spotted more than a few tear-streaked faces.

I thought it an interesting observation of intelligent life; that people could be surrounded by such miraculous magic all day every day, could walk the streets with all sorts of wondrous creatures, including dragons, and not bat an eyelid. Yet, with a bit of booze and some pretty, light-filled lanterns that any child could make, those same people—many of them hardened warriors—could be reduced to tears.

“Maybe,” Noctis’ voice echoed quietly in my head, “it is not the paper toys themselves that moves the humanoids so, perhaps it is the idea which their flight represents.”

“And what’s that?” I asked. My brain was sloshing about contentedly in ale, like a pig wallowing in mud.

“New life,” Noctis said at once. “That is what the releasing of the lanterns signifies, or it did when I was young. New life. New dragons rising. They embody the idea that even in a world of violent destruction, still great things can be created.”

“Anyone ever told you that dragons are a modest and self-effacing bunch?” I asked, staring up at the dwindling specks of light as they flapped heavenward.

“No,” Noctis said flatly.

The lanterns rose higher and higher, until their colors became almost indistinguishable, and those that were white or yellow or gold blended in with the stars in the velvet background behind them.

Chatter started to rise once more, but then a voice that I recognized as belonging to none other than Bjorn, roared out of the crowd.

“The Empire rises!”

The call was taken up, first by a few, then by many and then by all.

“The Empire rises!”

“The Empire rises! The Empire rises!”

“Long live the Mystocean Empire!”

As if on cue, music started up from all quarters once more and the volume of the assembled soldiers rose to meet it.

Smiling dazedly to myself, I dropped my eyes back to the street, thinking that I might just treat myself to something hot and greasy from Old Sleazy.

My eyes landed on the shaved head of the bearmancer, Hana.

She was standing gazing up at the lanterns that were all but invisible now. Her large eyes glimmering, a slight frown creasing her brow. Her hands were bound in front of her, although the manacles were not made to be obvious. The sleeves of her voluminous cloak almost completely hid them from a casual glance. There was a dragonmancer, whom I recognized from my Arcane Practice class, standing behind her, clearly acting as a guard.

Acting on impulse, I strolled up behind her and touched the dragonmancer on the shoulder.

“Can I chat with this one for a bit?” I asked her.

The woman, black-haired and black-eyed, shrugged. “No skin off my nose, so long as you don’t free her.”

I nodded my thanks, stepped forward, and touched the elbow of the engrossed bearmancer.

Hana’s head snapped around, and her lip curled back from her teeth in a bestial snarl. When she saw who it was, she relaxed somewhat.

“You,” she said.

“Me,” I agreed. “Are you enjoying the festivities?”

Hana looked up at where the dragon-shaped lanterns had vanished into the night sky. “It was… a moving spectacle,” she said grudgingly.

“Nice of General Shiloh to let you out to see it,” I said.

The bearmancer snorted and held up her chained hands. “Oh yes,” she said. “Your general is quite the hostess.”

I snared two cups of inferno rum from a generous man carrying around a small barrel and offering much needed libations to the hammered