Page 34 of Upon Buried Embers (Upon Buried Embers #1)

Elf

“Dragons, though large, are like untrained house cats. You need to be strong-willed against one,” Calian says, as he helps me feed the horses. “You also need to have respect for them, and they will respect you back.”

“Drogonah hates me.” I sigh. “It takes me three times as long as Rohan when he fetches heat stones. Sometimes he will heat it, sometimes he won’t.”

Calian laughs. “Drogonah doesn’t like many things apart from his Dragonbond. Ignore it.”

“He looks like he would rather eat me than help me whenever I enter the den.”

Calian looks over at me. “You’re like a snack to him, pay no mind.”

I get to Serah and smile, running my hand up her nose. “Hi.” She shakes her head playfully, and I laugh, sneaking her an apple from my waistband when I’m sure Calian isn’t looking. “Don’t tell the others.” She crunches it as I place hay in her stall.

“Rohan assigned me to you to make sure you’re training well.” I sigh at that. “Kaldar will help with hand-to-hand, but I will help with weapons.”

“I’ve never held a weapon in my life unless it was cutting vegetables.”

“Vegetable cutting still needs precision,” Tofa says, bouncing over to me, a smile on her face.

“I thought you were cleaning the leather?” Calian says, eyeing her, and I notice he gives her a once-over.

She shrugs. “Beau said he would do it.”

“It still needs to be done by you,” Calian barks at her, and her eyes dim a little at his tone.

“Fine,” she mutters, and stomps off, shoulders slumped.

I can’t help but feel sorry for her. The way Calian spoke to her seemed unnecessary.

He runs a hand down his face before he shakes his head.

“Anyway, hurting people isn’t hard, Short Stack.” I frown at the name. “It’s avoiding getting hurt that is the difficult part, otherwise you just point and stab.”

“I’m very easily hurt,” I gesture to myself. “And you can’t point and stab with an axe,” I point out.

“Have you seen Rohan train?”

“No. Of course not. I do my chores and then I go to the cabin or the den.”

“And the dragons let you stay there?”

“Yes, I think so anyway. Apart from Drogonah grumbling.”

“Humph. They kick me out after a while.”

My mouth drops open. “They do?”

“Yeah. Growl in my face and nudge me out with their feet.”

“But… they don’t do that with me.”

He eyes me for a moment. “So it seems. Follow me.” I place the rest of the hay down and follow Calian, peeking into the saddle room where Tofa’s rubbing a saddle, angry little mutters coming from her as Beau eyes her warily.

“Ignore her, I will see to her later,” Calian says, though he looks back at the room himself.

Ignoring her is what’s got her looking so mad.

“I think she just wanted to spend time with you,” I whisper to him, knowing it isn’t my place.

He eyes me, and I expect him to tell me to shut my mouth, but he surprises me. “We spend enough time together.”

Not in the way she clearly wants.

“Maybe she wants more time. Isn’t it nice to have someone that wants to spend time with you?”

He thinks for a moment, but he doesn’t say anything else on the matter.

Calian walks me through the camp that’s quiet in the early afternoon, leading me to the east, moving further and further away from the tents and cabins. We crest a hill where people are standing or sitting, and then I hear shouting, metal on metal, more shouts and grunts.

I pant, trying to catch my breath, looking down at what I can only assume is… chaos.

Men and women fight each other in a large area that’s fenced off in a circular shape. Weapons line the outside of the fence, and people loiter there, arms dangling over the wood as they watch on. Cheering and some shouting.

“What is this?” I ask, watching Adora punch someone in the face, blood spurting from her nose as she falls to the ground, and I realize it’s Darcia.

Fiona rushes over to help her up, and they both leave the area, stopping to stand by the fence.

I look away from them.

The snow there is now turned to slush, and those fighting don’t seem to mind the cold as most males are topless, and the women in very short tunics that stop just under their breasts.

“Training,” Calian tells me.

“This is training?” Fear spears through me. There’s no way I can do that!

“For them, anyway.” The flapping of wings comes from above, and I look up at a green dragon flying overhead, looking down at everyone.

Hedoric.

All he would have to do is open his mouth and set the fire in his belly free, and they would all be dead.

“This is barbaric,” I say when I look back down and see that a man has a woman in a chokehold, and another woman has a man on his knees, gasping for air.

A woman with brown hair does a jumping kick thing that knocks out another woman, then she turns quickly, jumping on the back of another as a man gets thrown to the floor.

If I have to go in there… all I would do is get hurt.

“This is clan training, Short Stack.”

“What is the point of this? They’re just hurting each other.”

Calian folds his arms. “There are a few reasons. One, to train is to learn to absorb pain, no one comes out unharmed. The reason?” The crowd cheers.

“To learn to carry on in a fight with some pain. Oh, that was a good punch.” He points to a man now missing a tooth.

“Another reason is to train instincts in offense and defense, to hone quick thinking and decision making to either not get hurt, or to hurt others.”

“You make it sound so… formal.”

He turns to look at me, the scars on his face shifting. “It is, Short Stack.” He turns back to them. “Danger is everywhere, even more so now. The king is our enemy, other clans are our enemy. Wild dragons can be our enemy.” He looks me over. “ You could be our enemy.”

“I would never!” I gasp.

He shrugs. “We cannot be lax about clan safety. Including the dragons.”

My brows furrow. “I thought the king left you alone because of the truce in place. That’s why you have The Games? And why are other clans the enemy? Surely they want to be left alone, too?”

He looks over those training with a keen eye.

“The king leaves the Dragorie people alone, publicly, for the most part. But he sends out others to kill us often. We don’t know whether it’s to test our defenses, or kill us all.

We’ve managed to get rid of those threats.

But more specifically, he probably wants to kill our dragons.

He’s made it no secret that he hates us having them on our side. ”

Others see it as a threat . That’s what Rohan said.

“And the other clans?” When I met the other leaders at The Graveyard, they seemed okay. Scary, but other than Karag, they weren’t outright disrespectful to Rohan.

He shrugs. “We’ve been at odds with the other clans since before I was little.

We’re friendly at times, and then tension rises again.

Having Dragonbonds clash in power and honor is unavoidable at times, and blood is spilled at least once yearly, so it isn’t a stretch to think one would hire others to come and either sabotage our food supply or try and kill us. ”

“As in, hired assassins?”

“Mercenaries,” he corrects. “Apart from that, we try to kill each other every now and then.” He turns and smiles, and it’s not a friendly one. “Nothing like a fight to show who is greater.”

My hands shake and I clasp them in front of me.

“But why?”

The violence is so unnecessary, fittingly barbaric.

“Being Dragorie, we pride ourselves in strength. It’s our honor. To be seen as weak is like a killing blow. So why not try and kill a Dragonbond? It’s a great honor to do so.”

“So people come and try to kill Rohan?”

He nods. “A few times a season, at least.”

“That’s terrible,” I whisper, watching as a man and a woman are thrown over the fence by three men, who throw their heads back and laugh, until they get tackled to the ground.

Darcia and Fiona swing towels in the air as they chant something.

“Terrible? Is it? Wouldn’t you want to kill your Master? Take your power back? Show him you’re the one on top?”

I’ve never had any power over anything or anyone.

The mention of my Master fills my veins with ice, and I choke out, “I just don’t want to see him ever again.” I rub my arms, my shoulders hunched and a roar comes from the crowd.

Rohan is in the center, leaping in the air and hitting the face of a man.

He crashes to the ground, and Rohan wastes no time turning his body and extending his leg, kicking another in the face.

He’s shirtless, those ribbons around his forearms and his skin shining with exertion, but there’s a smile on his face I haven’t seen before.

The fight continues, more blood is spilled, more sweat dripping from their bodies, and before we know it, there are only four people left— bruised and bloodied as the others limp away to the edges.

Rohan bares his teeth at a man and grabs him by the jaw as another comes at his back, jumping on him. I suck in a breath as Rohan’s choked, but it’s like he’s not even affected.

“Rohan is a great warrior and a fierce protector, no one can beat him in our clan,” Calian says, a proud smile on his face.

The man in Rohan’s grasp is thrown to the floor and kicked in the stomach before he reaches behind him and grabs the man on his back, throwing him over his shoulder and punching him in the face as he lands.

He’s knocked-out cold.

That leaves one. Kaldar.

Kaldar smiles at Rohan, wiping blood from his mouth and Rohan smirks back, lifting his hand and bending his fingers in a “come on” motion.

They collide in a flurry of punches and kicks, and the wounded watch on, catching their breath and nursing their wounds.

Those on the hill with us cheer on their Dragonbond, and Kaldar takes a moment to lift a middle finger at them, laughing.

Kaldar dodges a kick, then sends his fist flying toward Rohan’s face, but instead of dodging, Rohan takes the hit, then spears Kaldar in a tackle, taking them both to the floor. They wrestle, trading blows and eventually, Rohan is wrapped around him, bending Kaldar’s arm at an odd angle.