The Dragon's Consort

Chapter 7

ZURDEN

Zurden didn't want to consider the young dragon's words. Didn't want to understand what the ramifications would mean, should it be true. It was unsettling, to know that there was even a possibility that the females had been treated poorly when they still lived.

It made sense... Females were rare, the species was dying, the males were desperate. No excuse of course, but it wasn't unrealistic. If anything, it was more logical. That thought made him shiver.

Why would the boy lie? What did he have to gain? Or even to lose?

The notion was horrible, and crass, and so beyond disgusting, but dragons have never been creatures unaffected by depravity. They were known to give into it. But such acts were far beyond lust and bloodthirst. They were cruel and monstrous, especially when its against their own people.

And that look Sarros gave him when Zurden claimed that his mother had loved her family. Pity, regret, and a chilling look that whispered secrets. He knew something, and Zurden wasn't quite prepared to hear what it was. He guessed based on the look itself, but he wouldn't hear it. Would never be able to accept it.

He frowned, and buried his face in his hands and groaned. Tried lulling his mind away from the tension and gloom that clouded the air. He instead thought about how the flames moved once Sarros had left.

They chased after him, as if longing for the comfort they knew they'd find in that scrawny mess of a youngling. Even as he spoke they roared and died with emotions. Zurden doubted that the boy even realized what he was doing. What an incredible feat that was.

The raw power the royals possessed. He'd heard rumors, from all walks of people; but never would he have believed it. The laws of nature were delicate and to be respected, and yet nature gave way to these creatures and obeyed their will.

No wonder they were kings and queens. No wonder the council had been desperate to find Sarros' father after the Demise. Wanted to ensure their illustrious bloodline was preserved. Perhaps even wanted their hands on the power, the council was known for their selfish motives after all.

Zurden carefully listened to the rustling in the camp, making sure that Sarros made it safely to the tent. It was unlikely that a wild animal would dare to come close, not when there were four robust male dragons lurking nearby. Even if a youngling was tempting prey.

Something about that scraggly thing had awoken a protective instinct in him. He wondered how the thing had made it this long. The wilds had only gotten harsher in the centuries since dragons had started dying out, left unprotected by their guardians. Yet somehow this boy survived by hiding out in treetops and hunting with a simple bow.

He had to admit, that he himself would've never survived without his brothers. Most had lost their younger siblings to the wild. The young simply couldn't survive on their own. But this one had. Probably had something to do with his royal blood, perhaps nature bowed to him just as the fire had.

The kid looked barely fourteen, but had a pair of balls on him that rivaled even Cadmus. The sheer attitude and pig-headedness matched that of a creature who could fight off any threat. Even if the boy had insane talent, he was too thin and boney to have any real muscle. Any skill would be rendered useless.

Maybe tomorrow he could test the lad's abilities for himself, see what made the youngling survive that long.

***

That morning was unremarkable. Kano had relieved him of his watch, and he had slept in until midday. His sleep was fitful and short but it was sleep nonetheless.

Sarros had been busying plucking a pheasant for the past few hours, at least that was what Illdrie had said. Grumpy that he was left without a job. The kid had been so entranced in his task that he paid no mind to Zurden's watchful eye.

He sauntered up to the boy. Slightly annoyed that he didn't even acknowledge his presence. A complete lack of survival skills.

"Sarros," he drawled, the kid didn't even look up. "It is tradition that males train with each other to hone their fighting skills."

"I have no need for that. My father taught me plenty," Sarros plucked out a tail feather with unwarranted aggression.

"I assume your father had been dead for awhile. With any skills you claim to have learned, you'd be out of practice."

"I am not. I've practiced everyday for the past four years since his death," the boy said. Four years. That was far longer than he had anticipated. He thought a year at most, even that was a stretch, but four?

"Then allow me to evaluate your skills myself."

Sarros slowly peeled his eyes up to meet Zurden's, "fine."

He set the bird aside and wiped off any feathers that clung to his clothes. Too many clothes for a male. Too restricting and covering, males had no reason to hide their bodies; took too much pride in them to do so.

They walked to an open part of the clearing, and Sarros untied the charms that hung around his neck and one of his horns. They were admittedly cute, but entirely useless. He also shucked off his cloak, making his boniness even more obvious.

Sarros rolled his shouldered and sighed, as if sparring was beneath him.

"I'll go easy on you. Come at me first-" before Zurden could even finish the sentence, the kid lunged at him. A fist met his stomach and he tried not to double over at the sheer force behind it. Another met his jaw, and an elbow followed, smacking him square in the nose. He fell onto his back, cursing as he held his nose.

Sarros stood over him, eyes rolling. Zurden swore as his healing kicked in and his broken nose slowly fixed itself.

"What the hell?" he muttered, sitting up, but not ready to stand.

"I told you I could fight," he scoffed.

"Not like that..."

"You didn't believe me, that's on you."

Zurden stood, "one more time. This time I'll come at you."

Sarros snorted, not even readying himself this time. Zurden huffed as a wave of pain followed the healing. He threw himself forward, not going easy, not by a long shot. He threw a punch, harder than he would even with Qaris, and his brutish strength. It met Sarros' jaw but he didn't even flinch, just glared at him.

"That's it?"

Now Sarros attacked, kicked him in the chest, sent him flying several feet back. He groaned, not bothering to sit up. He heard whooping from the other side of camp.

"Go tiny prince!" Kano hollered, Illdrie and Qaris beside him, both looking equally amused.

"Are you done yet?" Sarros asked.

Goddamn royals and their strength. Younglings had no business being that strong. No wonder the kid was cocky. He had no doubt most dragons would've been sent on their ass. Except Cadmus perhaps, he was the strongest out their lot.

"Yes," he mumbled, running away to go sulk, and maybe sleep for a few more hours.