Dragon Breeder 3 by Dante King (e novels to read online .TXT) 📕

sliding slowly across the cabin as the day progressed. I went topside to get some air before lunch and played a few hours of cards with my squad. I was endeavoring to get the hang of the game that all the soldiers played, Maim Mr. Turnip.

I had lost more scales to those three smug bastards than I cared to remember while learning how to play, but I felt like I was on the cusp of turning the corner. My plan was to finally figure out a strategy against them, feign idiocy for a little while longer, and then take them to the cleaners.

After a delicious lunch, which I took with the rest of the dragonmancers below decks, I reconvened with my squad for a few more rounds of Maim Mr. Turnip. I noticed, as I took my turn to deal, that I was getting more than a few weird looks from the members of the other dragonmancer coteries. Not so much those members of Elenari’s, Penelope’s and Saya’s squads, but certainly from the others.

“It’s because we’re playing cards, boss,” Bjorn grunted, when I mentioned this.

“What? You’re not allowed to gamble or something?” I asked, laying down two cards onto the ‘market’ pile and then dealing out a card each to everyone. “I thought all the soldiers played this. There’s a rumor that there’s even a high stakes, invitation only game of Maim Mr. Turnip involving a couple of members of the Martial Council.”

Gabby raised an eyebrow at this bit of news.

“Big Greasy told me,” I explained.

Gabby rolled his eyes.

“It’s not that we’re playing cards, Mike,” Rupert said. “It’s m-m-more that your deigning to spend your rec time with us, and not the other dragonmancers.”

“Shit, that’s right,” I said, making show of slapping my forehead with the palm of my hand. “The whole hierarchy thing. I’m always forgetting that. Now,” and I slapped down a four of chains and a five of bones, “which one of you lowly motherfuckers wants the privilege of cleaning my boots with your tongue?”

Bjorn snorted with such sudden mirth that a glob of snot shot from one nostril and hit the bulwark that I had been leaning against. It was only my dragonmancer’s heightened reflexes that stopped me from wearing the loogie.

“Sorry, boss,” the big warrior said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

“I don’t know about taking your b-b-boots,” Rupert said thoughtfully, “but I will prevail myself on your kindness once again and relieve you of some more of your coin.”

He laid down four nuns on the deck with an annoying flourish.

“Son of a basilisk!” Bjorn growled.

Gabby pulled the finger at the side of Rupert’s head, threw down his cards, and shoved over the pile of scales.

“Any of you guys get told ghost stories when you were younger, about the Subterranean Realms or the Shadow Nations?” I asked as Gabby started shuffling the cards with fingers that moved almost quicker than sight.

“Sure,” Rupert said, arranging his matchsticks with a neatness that spoke of a mind poised precariously on that special fulcrum which separates genius from madness. “My grandpoppa always used t-t-to tell me that if I didn’t stop picking my nose the Shadow Nations would come and carry me off.”

He paused in his matchstick organizing and dug an exploratory finger into his left nostril.

“I always f-f-found that an odd and illogical threat,” he said. “I mean, why would they wait for me to start excavating for nose coal before they abducted me? Who really wants to deal with some nose-picking brat?”

“A fair point,” I said.

“I only ever heard, from my uncle, that nothing good ever came of pokin’ around in dark holes,” Bjorn rumbled. His scarred face, with its glowing red eyes, split into a grin that showed off his tombstone teeth. “Course, that might have just been because the dirty prick spent so much time in brothels!”

He slapped his leg at that, his great sides heaving with merriment at his own wit.

“Why do you ask, sir?” Rupert asked, rearranging his cards and sticking his tongue between his teeth as he surveyed them.

I contemplated telling Rupert to quit with the ‘sirs.’ I chose not to speak up because I figured he was making a show of the proprieties for the other squads sitting and standing around the deck.

“Just wanted to see if anybody actually knew anything concrete about this gods-damned place we’re about to go delving into,” I said.

“Bone of the other d-d-dragonmancers know anything?” Rupert asked me.

“Only what has been passed down to them in the form of rumors and stories and eldritch warnings,” I said. “I’m not sure if I’ll get a briefing when we arrive, but I imagine someone knows something.”

Bjorn nodded and snapped his fingers at Gabby for another card.

“Sounds about right, boss,” he said. “Can’t be that many folks who have gone poking about down there. Not for years uncounted.”

Gabby’s brow furrowed and his yellow hawk’s eyes gleamed through his curtain of auburn hair. He rapped the deck sharply with his knuckles and pointed at the cards in his hand.

“Gabby’s right,” I said. “Forget about what might and might not be waiting for us. Let’s just chill out while we can, and let the chips fall where they may.”

Chapter 7

I sat in the comfortable suite below deck, after losing more scales to the gambling degenerates that made up my squad. Elenari dozed peacefully against me. Saya was staring out one of the portholes before she gave a little start and pointed outside.

Elenari and I got up and walked over to where Saya was sitting. Elenari went to the porthole next to the one Saya had been looking out of, while the fearsome, blonde female warrior moved aside for me.

“Holy shit, would you look at that,” I breathed.

Below us was a low