Dragon Breeder 3 Dante King (spiritual books to read TXT) 📖

travel-worn and caked with mud. She looked about as far removed from the late Captain Remington Cade as it was possible to be. The General seemed like a woman who didn’t mind getting her hands dirty. A woman who could lead, and who warriors would follow. She radiated a raw, militaristic power like no dragonmancer that I had ever met since entering the Academy.

“Taking it all in and forming a few quick conclusions I see,” General Shiloh said, crossing her arms across her chest and smiling crookedly at me. She had her sleeves rolled up. Her forearms were covered in a short bear-like fur, the same chestnut color as her hair. Her keen gray eyes glinted in the light of the many fairy-filled lamps that hung about the place.

“Yes, General,” I said. Seemed pointless to deny that I was being a nosey bastard. I doubted there was much at all that got past this woman. “Just doing as I’ve been trained to do.”

The General laughed, a short grunting sound.

“Good,” she said. “And?”

“And what, General?”

“What do you see, lad?” General Shiloh said.

“I see a woman who has about as much patience for brown-nosing and shit-talking as I do, General,” I replied sincerely. “I see a woman who leads by example, who leads from the front when she can. You surround yourself with everything you need to get the job done as quickly and clinically as possible.”

I pointed down at the map spread out on the huge table and weighed down with a rock on each corner.

“And I see that, as far as the Subterranean Realms go, what lies ahead is still somewhat of an unknown,” I finished.

The bear-like woman regarded me for a moment or two, her hard, shrewd face giving nothing away. She would have made one hell of a poker player.

“You see a lot, dragonmancer, for a Rank One,” she said. “You’re accustomed to thinking fast, thinking on your feet, that right?”

I shrugged. Spending my teenage years on the streets of L.A. had probably taught me the value of being able to weigh up a situation, to see if I was going to walk out of it in one piece or at all.

“I suppose I had an interesting upbringing,” I admitted. “Learned how to fight. Learned when to run. You know how it goes, I’m sure.”

The General snorted. “You bet your ass I do, lad,” she said. “Oh yes, I know all about that sort of upbringing, don’t I just.”

General Shiloh stumped over to a sideboard, picking up a couple of clay cups and a jug that sloshed.

“Drink?” she asked.

“Is a frog’s ass watertight?” I replied.

The general grunted a laugh. Poured. Handed me a cup. Raised her own and said, “To?”

“To bread?” I suggested.

“Bread?” General Shiloh asked.

I shrugged. “Without bread, we couldn’t toast.”

General Shiloh raised her cup, laughing heartily. “To bread, then!”

We drained our cups. The liquor was unfamiliar to me, but it burned like battery acid all the way down to my stomach where it detonated like a concussion grenade.

“Like any good soldier,” the General said, refilling my cup with another tot of whatever the fuck vitriol she was serving, and going to sit down behind her desk, “I learned how to make my own booze when I was still a grunt. You know what I call it?”

I shook my head.

General Shiloh sat herself down, crossed her legs, and stared at me.

“Hangman,” she said.

I narrowed my eyes, considering this.

“Because one drop and you're dead?” I asked.

She wrinkled her stubby nose and smiled.

“May I sit?” I asked.

The General indicated the battered seat in front of her desk. I sat.

“So,” she said, taking another sip of Hangman, “you’re the latest and greatest swinging dick dragonmancer.”

“I guess so,” I said.

The General nodded. “Michael Noctis, Bearer of Noctis and Garth, the dragons of Onyx and Pearl.”

“Bit of a mouthful,” I admitted.

“I bear Bramen,” General Shiloh said, and pulled a thin knife from her sleeve. There was a small caramel-colored gemstone set into the very base of the blade, right near the small crossguard. “She’s a Rhinodrake.”

I nodded. I was quickly gaining the impression that I was probably talking to one of the most accomplished dragonmancers in the Mystocean Empire. I wondered whether General Shiloh was one of the few dragonmancers capable of accessing the coveted Titan Slot.

“You know why you’re here,” the General said. “I don’t think either of us need to rehash your instructions. The Overseer is a smart and perceptive woman. I like her. She knows the value of time.”

I was half tempted to mention how I’d felt that it had taken her long enough to give us the green light to start on this journey, but decided against it. That wouldn’t serve anyone any good.

I elected to say, “Time is one thing that is not on our side, General Shiloh.”

“You’re right,” the General said. “Although, as soon as we’re born, the sand starts trickling through the hourglass in some form or another. Time is the bitch of an enemy that just won’t relent.”

I knocked back my drink and set my cup on the table. General Shiloh did the same.

“All right,” the General said. “Your mission is important, perhaps the most significant mission that I have ever been asked to spearhead—and I’ve headed some of the bloodiest and prolonged campaigns our Empire has taken part in.”

“My experience in campaigning is nil, General Shiloh,” I said, “but I’m inclined to agree with you as to the importance of this journey.”

The General grunted. It was clear as day to me that my opinion on this matter was of very little import to her. All that mattered was that she had been asked to do this by the Overseer. That she agreed that the mission was crucial