But his cousin and his cousin alone possessed the knowledge required to pass the horde through fating portals that had not been originally assigned to their race. This meant Damianos and the rest of the drakkon would fight this day. And the new king would most likely show up toward the end of battle to issue orders, regarding the portals that he’d hypothesized could issue the members of their castaway horde to the most sexually compatible drakki from their destroyed planet.
If only our initial plan to assassinate that mostly useless puppet had worked, Damianos thought to himself as his father started delivering mission notes in the new king’s absence. Yes, they’d all be stuck here on this useless planet for the rest of their lives, but Damianos would be the one in charge. Not his unworthy cousin.
However, this was not the time for emotion. He extinguished those resentful thoughts and did his best to keep his frustration from showing in his flame.
As his father had told him so often, only strategy and patience would win the throne.
“We could not have asked for better conditions,” his father declared to the horde in the old language. “This particular tribe of the Terrible Destroyer’s wolf mutations refers to the solar event happening above us as Freya’s lights. They believe they are a sign from one of the gods they created to entertain themselves around their fires. A call for all North Wolves to go forth and mate. For this reason, claiming the village will be the easiest part of our mission. During this time, they divert much of their energy to feasting, drink, and fornication. Most likely they will be so deep in their silly celebrations, the entire village will burn to the ground before it occurs to their warriors to put their penises and plates away, so that they might fight back.”
Damianos and the other drakkon all exhaled steam with derisive grunts.
After thousands of years of being stranded on this water planet, they’d all observed how obsessed the upright primates were with food and sex. Drakkon only mated to procreate. And while drakkon had enjoyed hunting on this game planet before their own home was destroyed, eating was considered no more than a required ingestion of needed nutrients.
However, the upright primates seemed to think of little else, and those two activities were often the impetus for their species’ greatest successes and downfalls alike. And after making his home in the southern Greek peninsula overseen by the Roman Empire for the last few centuries, Damianos had no trouble believing that their horde would find the warriors in the midst of an orgy of feasting and sex, just as his father predicted.
“Perhaps we should only have a small advance team of warriors attack the village,” Damianos suggested. He flickered his flame, as if the idea was just now occurring to him and hadn’t been discussed with his father the previous night.
“This is a good idea, Royal Huntmaster,” his father answered, using his son’s formal title and flickering his own flame with surprised delight. “There is no reason to waste our energy with a full battalion.”
Or share the glory, Damianos silently noted before choosing five other drakkon to accompany him into battle. “The rest will hold their position in the air, in case reinforcements are needed, which they will not be,” he told the horde.
“We must wait for the new king to approve this strategy,” Hwedo, the Lead Researcher pointed out. He was a dragon of the deepest red and liked to do everything, including choosing their leader, by the old rules. “Don’t you agree, Royal Overlord?”
The red drakkon’s point played so perfectly into his father’s plan, Damianos had to wonder if it was a sincere question, or if his father had also held a secret conversation with their fussiest comrade last eve.
“Yes, I agree,” his father answered, his flame burning with benevolent good will. Damianos couldn’t help but admire his father in this moment. Impatience and rage often caused Damianos to lose control of his fire. But his father held his with a firm grip of carefully curated heat signatures. “We shall wait for the king’s arrival and hope he approves of my son’s proposed plan.”
And so they waited. And waited
“It is now well past the mutation’s mating hours,” his father observed when their waiting reached the near dawn hour. “We might very well lose the surprise advantage if we don’t attack now. Can we all agree to let my son lead us into battle in place of the former prince.”
Damianos inwardly commended his father’s use of titles. He used his son’s most intimate designation to remind the other drakkon of his illustrious connection to their mission leader. At the same time, he reminded them of the mere title the new king had held when they’d first arrived on this water planet.