Dragon Breeder 3

by Dante King

  Chapter 18

  The knowledge that the army town surrounding the base of Galipolas Mountain, and one of the entrances to the Subterranean Realms, was to potentially play host to a dragon birth was greeted with great delight by the inhabitants.

  Not having been born and raised in the Mystocean Empire, I was more detached from the novelty and inconceivable import of a new dragon being birthed. Add this to the fact that I was the very catalyst for the celebration.

  Excited chattering ran through the place that I was more and more starting to think of as Dodge City. Hardened soldiers were turned suddenly into feverish washerwomen. Gossip passed from ear to ear. Speculation was rife as to what sort of dragon I, the Dragon Breeder, had knocked up with the fearsome hobgoblin dragonmancer.

  The battle in the Subterranean Realms against the ratfolk and, in particular, the wild dragon had been deemed classified by General Shiloh and the rest of the brass. This, of course, meant that every single trooper in the camp knew what had happened. Somehow, even word of what had happened down the tunnel, in the ratfolk’s settlement, had made it into general circulation in Dodge City.

  The rumors and tangled stories, the conclusions drawn about ratfolk that conducted bizarre rituals in honor of wild dragons, and the presence of bearmancers running about in profusion in the Subterranean Realms were not so far from the truth as soldier’s gossip usually is.

  A few days after Tamsin and I had tested the dragondust, and I had successfully impregnated the hobgoblin, preparations for a large celebration were in full flight. Those who had not been present during General Shiloh’s announcement were uncertain who had given the order for the designated merrymaking. Some of the Empire’s warriors guessed that the order had come down from General Shiloh herself, while others were more inclined to believe that Old Sleazy had got the ball rolling.

  Old Sleazy was an individual that could smell an opportunity to profit from a mile away. A military victory, combined with the unprecedented revelation that there were still wild dragons in the bowels of the earth and a dragonmancer pregnancy… Well, if a gnoll couldn’t wring a scale or two out of that sort of excitement then was he even a gnoll?

  I was quite willing to bet that General Shiloh had not expressly organized the celebrations, which looked like they were fast taking on Mardi Gras proportions. However, the head of this outpost was a woman who knew which way the wind was blowing. She would be quite aware that putting a stop to the celebrations would have a detrimental effect on the camp’s morale. Better to keep a close eye on things and let the men and women of the Galipolas Mountain battalion have their fun. I imagined that a bit of carousing and a lot of hangovers were a fair trade for asking the troopers to give their lives if required.

  The military was still busy clearing out the depths of the mountain, so until the area was safe, most of us were all on standby.

  I spent the days wandering around the encampment, exploring the various stalls and grog shops, and generally enjoying a little downtime. I walked through the bustling, muddy streets with their sidewalks of hastily constructed timber planking, passing by groups of off-duty soldiers dicing or playing hands of Maim Mr. Turnip. There was a great deal of singing and story-swapping in the rough taverns, soldiers fought good-naturedly in the street, and men and women labored to erect scores of booths, stages, and carts.

  Four days after 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 day. The camp medic and apothecary seem to think that she could pop at any time.”

  Old Sleazy shook his head. “What a thing,” he said, turning the meat once more and spraying it with a bottle of juice that he produced from his Sex, Drugs & Sausage Rolls apron. “Truly boggles the mind.”

  “What’s that?” I asked. “The miracle of creation?”

  Old Sleazy shot me an astonished sideways glance, his beady eyes narrowing under his chef’s toque as if he thought I was teasing him.

  “The miracle of… No, lad, I was referring to the madness that drove you to have three offspring at your age. You must be off your ruddy nut.”

  I laughed and heard Rupert snickering behind me.

  “Haven’t you heard, you grouchy shit?” I said. “I’m saving the Empire one fuck at a time.”

  Old Sleazy made a face, pushed his toque to the back of his green head with one stubby finger, and scratched at his thatch of white hair.

  “Well, I’ll admit that using your manroot to further the dreams of the Empire sounds preferable to using a sword, but I can ruddy well say this from the bottom of my heart, Dragonmancer Noctis: rather you than me.”

  The little gnoll squeezed the meat on the barbecue between thumb and forefinger, then leaned forward and listened attentively to it.

  “Ah,” he said, nodding his head, “that’s some ruddy perfectly cooked marmoset that is. Come and get it, lads!”

  My coterie moved in with the eagerness of a pack of hyenas that have just seen the zebra they’ve been chasing fall over.

  I grabbed a piece of the unfortunate creature that Old Sleazy had so lovingly cooked. When I took a bite out of it, I discovered that the meat was meltingly tender, juicy, and infused with a basil flavor that sent fireworks dancing across my tastebuds.

  “Goddamn, I wish I could afford to eat from your cart back at the Academy every day, Old Sleazy,” Bjorn grunted, tearing into his chunk of flat-eared marmoset.

  “There’s still three scales on your slate as it is, you debtor,” Old Sleazy said, his eyes shining as he watched us eat with obvious, caveman-like enthusiasm. “Maybe if you had as much of an appreciation and taste for my cooking as you do for those ladies of negotiable affection down Grabbygrab lane, you might have more cash handy.”

  Bjorn snorted. “Who are you, my mother?”

  “Gods no.” Old Sleazy pulled a tiny knife from under his toque and speared a slither of flesh from the board he had placed in front of us. “And I’m mighty fuckin’ glad of that. I don’t think I could stand the shame.”

  Gabby grunted a laugh and licked his fingers. The mute pointed at Old Sleazy, and then around at the pop-up military town; at the hammering and the sawing, at the paper lanterns and the stalls in various stages of completion.

  “Do I reckon it’s going to be a big evening?” Old Sleazy asked, chewing thoughtfully on another morsel of meat.

  Gabby nodded.

  Old Sleazy grinned. Avarice and excitement glittered in equal measure in his cunning eyes.

  “Oh yes indeedy, lads,” he said. “I think that this evening is going to be one of those evenings people will be talking about for good long while. Old Sleazy has been around this world a time or two. If there is one thing that you can be sure of, it’s that there are very few people who can throw a better shindig than a bunch of soldiers that can smell a battle or campaign just around the corner.”

  Chapter 19

  The night sky was alive with more stars than I could ever hope to count, punctuated often and loudly by fireworks that would have given the U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission a heart attack. Dodge City’s boardwalks were crammed with soldiers; men and women singing, drinking, and eating, their arms around one another.

  I walked along the uneven wooden boulevard with my squad in tow, a broad smile on my face and a large tankard of ale clutched in one hand. Behind me, Gabby swaggered along with a horn of some syrupy, dark mead that smelled like it could be used as paint-thinner. Bjorn had Rupert in a casual headlock, while the smaller man pounded at the half-Jotunn’s thigh.

  The night was alive with a thousand scents and with a thousand sounds. The long, communal barbecue grills manned by gnolls shed a comforting orange light on the sweating faces of the chefs watching over them. Somehow, that same light turned the visages of the hungry revelers into the masks of insatiable demons. Meat from a dozen different beasts sizzled over the coals.

  Music of varying tempos floated out of the doorways of the many drinking establishments, competing with the myriad songs, jokes, insults, and stories being traded in more accents than I could hope to count.

  Several enterprising individuals had started up books, with the chief subject of a wager being when Tamsin was going to give birth. One of these bookkeepers almost soiled his breeches when he approached our quartet and began telling us how he was offering very nice odds on the hobgoblin taking another week before she birthed the dragonling, before he realized who he was talking to.

  “I-I-I-I meant no offence, Dragonmancer!” he said as he took a step back and respectfully made the sign of the claw with his index finger hooked above his heart. “No offense at all! It’s just… Uh…”

  I patted the worried guy on the shoulder and flicked a golden coin at him. The booky snatched the gleaming coin out of the air and stared at it in puzzlement.

  “Put me down for tonight,” I said. “No doubt that’d be my luck. Enjoying one hell of a party only to be called away for something as life-altering as a dragon being born.”

  Gabby whacked me on the shoulder with the back of his hand and shook his head.

  “What?” I said, taking a swig of ale.

  “Gabby is r-r-right, Mike,” Rupert said, with a lopsided drunken smile on his face. “That’s most definitely got to be a case of insider betting!”

  “Yeah, you don’t get much more inside than—” Bjorn started to say until he was stopped by a dig in the ribs from Gabby.

  “I’m afraid they’re right, Dragonmancer Noctis,” the booky said apologetically, handing back my scale with regret. “You’re a bit too involved to be able to take this bet. A little close to the action.”

  “You don’t get much better action than—ooph!” Bjorn said, receiving a blow to the stomach this time from Gabby.

  “Ah well, good luck to you,” I said to the booky. “When are people leaning toward by the way?”

  The booky grinned shyly at me as he backed into the swirling crowd. “Same as you, Dragonmancer. Most of the money is on tonight!”

  The four of us meandered our way through the mad throng as, over us, the moon shone out whiter and brighter as the night progressed.

  There were all sorts of diversions and games where a drunken soldier might quite happily fritter away a few coins. Tests of strength, games of chance, and diversions that required a woman or man to have that rarest of qualities—in that whirling carnival, at least—a good memory.

  Rupert made a complete ass of himself at a pin the tail on the minotaur stall, somehow managing to pin the tail into the arm of a passing trooper as she walked by the stall. Only Gabby’s timely and smooth interjection s
topped the woman laying hands on the blindfolded Rupert.

  “How the fucking hell does he do it?” Bjorn asked, staring morosely from Gabby and the pretty trooper to the empty tankard in his hand. “I mean, the fella doesn’t even have a tongue for fuck sake!”

  “Chicks love a man with a bit of mystery around him,” I said, smiling at the big albino-looking warrior next to me. “And old Gabby wears mystery like you and I wear underpants; unthinkingly and every day.”

  Bjorn looked startled. “I don’t wear—I mean, yeah, boss, I guess you’re right…” The half-Jotunn frowned as he watched Gabby. “Are you going to let him get away with that, boss?” He asked me, in a slightly jealous voice, as we watched the mute and his companion vanish into the crowd.

  “Let him do what?” I asked.

  “You know, neglect his duty,” Bjorn growled.

  I patted the big man on the arm. “Tonight is a special case, Bjorn. If you can find a partner drunk enough, I’ll gladly let you neglect your duty all night long, so long as you report bright and early tomorrow and only allow your hangover to get the better of you when I’m not looking. That goes for you too, Rupert.”

  Bjorn’s big, scarred face brightened. He started scanning the crowd around us, as if he hoped some hammered chick would sweep him off his enormous feet and take him back to her barrack bunk for a few rounds of doing the greased-weasel tango.

  It was the most remarkable thing, but whenever I found my ale cup empty or my tankard drained, some well-wisher would be standing at my elbow, intent on buying me a cup of wine or do a merman monsoon shooter. Manners dictated that I should refuse these offers and save the well-wisher their coin, but when I tried to do this graciously, the look of disappointment on the man or woman’s face was such that I ended up crumbling. After about the sixth drink I gave up, accepting the proffered beverage with either a crisp high-five or a hug.