Harvest Tournament (Sexcraft Chronicles Book 2)

by Edmund Hughes

  “You can give into the passion,” said Cadrian. “But you can’t let it control you, Halrin. You must live with it and live through it, but never lose yourself to it.”

  She let out a slow sigh, biting her lip as she rocked back and forth a few last times on his still hard erection. It almost seemed to contradict her message to him, but Cadrian closed her eye for a moment, returning to her normal state as she left the Ruby Trance. She took a slow breath as she stood up, arching her back into a catlike stretch.

  Hal let himself return to his normal state shortly after. He lifted up onto his elbows, feeling bewildered and a little confused by how easily he’d been swept up in the passionate madness of the Ruby Trance. Cadrian was watching him with an amused look on her face.

  “It takes time,” she said. “You’re tapping into a power beyond your experience and training. You should not be worried about your progress, Halrin.”

  Hal felt his face flush slightly at her words. He hadn’t been worried until she’d suggested it.

  “It’s… difficult,” he said. “It’s not easy to ignore a beautiful naked woman with those kinds of emotions running through my body.”

  Especially a woman like Cadrian.

  He walked closer to her. She was in the middle of putting her robe back on, and as she tied the belt around her waist, she turned to look at him, her expression unreadable. She’d been his master for nearly a month, and they’d been intimate with each other dozens of times, but Hal still felt as though he knew almost nothing about her.

  “Cadrian,” he said, reaching his hand out to touch her cheek. “What happened here?”

  He let one of his fingers tap the edge of her eyepatch. She didn’t wince, smile, or react in the slightest. She took his hand in hers, kissed the knuckles, and nodded to his scattered clothing.

  “You should get dressed,” she said. “We’re done for today.”

  Her words almost felt like a rebuke to him, as though his interest in her had been a step too far. Hal sighed, reminding himself that as far as he could tell, that’s just how Cadrian was. She didn’t let anyone get close. She was his master, and he was her apprentice. She wouldn’t allow for any other interpretation of their relationship, regardless of how he might feel.

  “Alright,” he said. He pulled his clothes on in silence, pretending not to notice the way Cadrian subtly watched him out of the corner of her eye.

  CHAPTER 3

  Hal followed Cadrian down the trail that led to Fool’s Valley. The valley itself was a tiny haven of green grass, fruit trees, and fertile soil nestled in between the mountains above the sprawling desert to the south. A thin stream carrying water fresh from the snowmelt ran down into a pond, and along with the mild weather provided by the cool air currents from the peaks above, it made for a place where life could flourish.

  The homestead stood in the center of the valley, and it was as close to a home as Hal had anymore. Its owner, Laurel, had taken him in, helped him recover from the dragon attack that had killed his family, and given him a second chance to make a life for himself.

  The sun was setting in the distance, and the mountains had already begun to cast long shadows as the golden alpenglow disappeared behind their bulk. Cadrian continued forward wordlessly, stopping by the small stable next to the house, to saddle up her rugged desert mount.

  “I have some business to attend to outside of Lorne,” said Cadrian. “Your next lesson won’t be for a while.”

  Hal nodded, knowing better than to ask questions about where she planned on going, what she planned on doing, or even when she’d be back. Cadrian was a fiercely private woman, and as much as he wanted to know more about her, it would only ever happen on her terms.

  “Alright…” he said. “I suppose it doesn’t matter that much how fast I learn, now that Aangavar is dead.”

  The dragon had been his entire reason for seeking out Cadrian’s instruction. It, along with its mysterious rider, had brought Hal to the realm of Krestia’s Cradle against his will, unceremoniously dumping him onto Laurel’s front lawn.

  And I got to watch the dragon die. It was the revenge I wanted, though in the end, I’m not so sure I needed it.

  “Your training is important, Halrin,” said Cadrian. “You wield the heartgem. You are the Heart Holder, and with that comes a very serious responsibility.”

  “Maybe,” said Hal. He felt like being contrary, if only to keep her talking. “But that responsibility seems less about chasing power, and more about not abusing it. What reason do I have to fight anymore, with the dragon dead?”

  The dragon rider still wasn’t dead, but only he knew that there had even been a rider in the first place. He’d mentioned it to Laurel, back when he’d first arrived in Fool’s Valley, but she’d assumed that he was just confused and overwhelmed by his contact with the monster. Dragon riders were just myths, old legends from a forgone time.

  “You might not have a reason to fight, but that doesn’t mean such a reason will never exist,” said Cadrian. “Trust me on this, Halrin. It is essential that you master both your emotions and the heartgem.”

  She smiled at him, and Hal felt a confusing surge of fondness and pride. She urged her mount forward, heading out of the stable and down the road without saying a goodbye. He watched her go, wondering just what it was he felt for his mysterious master, and whether it was an emotion that he wanted to be feeling.

  Hal walked past one of Laurel’s thriving vegetable gardens, continuing on around the trunks of the old desert apple trees that provided more fruit than they could easily eat on their own. Near the start of the slope in the far corner of the valley, there was a small stone of heavy granite, cleaned and standing upright to serve as a memorial for his lost family.

  It had been Laurel’s idea, originally. It was just a simple memorial, built for his benefit. The bodies of his father, Karnas, his sister, Lilith, and his best friend Mauve were all back in his homeland of the Collected Provinces. A world away from where he now lived, and the path he now walked.

  He’d spent two weeks’ worth of evenings slowly carving words into the granite, and it had felt as though he was committing his memories to the memorial along with their names. They’d been dead for over a month, and yet Hal still felt as though he was only starting to come to terms with the loss.

  He sighed, reaching his hand out and running his fingers across Lilith’s name. His precocious little sister had died at far too young of an age. Her loss was what hurt him the most, along with the fact that she’d died before Hal had gotten a chance to keep his word and mend bridges with his father.

  She would have forgiven me. That’s just how she was.

  Hal smiled and closed his eyes, letting out a heavy breath. He heard footsteps coming from the direction of the garden, and looked up to see Laurel approaching slowly, giving him time to wave her off, if he wanted. Hal dusted his hands off on his shirt and walked over to meet her.

  “Did Cadrian already leave?” she asked. “I was hoping to send her off with some apples.”

  “She did,” said Hal. He nodded to the basket she held in her hands. “Is that dinner for tonight?”

  Laurel grinned at him, her face full of youthful radiance, despite the rough scar running down her right cheek that was still in the process of healing. She was only two years younger than Hal, but something about her demeanor made the gap seem larger.

  “Dinner and dessert,” said Laurel. “I was hoping to try my hand at making an apple tart.”

  She wore a red cotton tunic over black leggings, an outfit that would have been considered scandalous back in the Collected Provinces. Hal had only gradually gotten used to how comfortable the women of Krestia’s Cradle were with wearing form fitting pants and short dresses that exposed ridiculous amounts of nude leg. It was a cultural difference that had made him more than a little uncomfortable at first.

  Laurel’s blonde hair fell loose across her shoulders, a slight curl rising at the end of each strand. Her eyes were a
deep blue, almost the same color as his heartgem when he was channeling it as a sapphire. She was pretty, though in a plain, unremarkable sort of way. Or at least, she had been, before the scar.

  “How’d your training go?” she asked.

  “Well enough,” said Hal. “Cadrian worked me over as hard as she usually does.”

  Laurel flushed slightly at his phrasing. She was aware of what Cadrian’s training consisted of, and accepted it only because of her trust and friendship with Hal. Cadrian taught what she called the “True Ruby Path”, a method of harnessing the essence of the gemstone without resorting to the herbs and tinctures used by the Temple of Lyris.

  “Why don’t I go get started on getting a fire going in the hearth?” suggested Hal, changing the subject.

  “Sure,” said Laurel. “The weather is pretty mild, so we’ll only need it for cooking tonight.”

  Hal nodded. The summer had slipped away from them, day by day, but it was still warm for early fall. The two of them had developed a regular routine over the past month, tending to the endless chores of the homestead and living together as close friends.

  It had taken Laurel a few days to recover after the dragon’s attack on Lorne, and Hal had stayed by her side until her injuries had healed enough for her to travel safely back to Fool’s Valley. She’d accepted his assistance and company as easily as he’d accepted hers when he’d been the one recovering from dragon inflicted wounds.

  In truth, Hal had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. The idea of heading back to the Collected Provinces was no more than a fantasy for him, given the intense stretch of desert between him and his homeland. He still hadn’t fully realized his revenge, and even though Aangavar’s death hadn’t brought him any real closure, he still felt the need to determine the identity of the mysterious dragon rider.

  Hal broke from his reverie, heading off toward where they stored their firewood, picking up several logs to carry back inside. The homestead had only three rooms, one for Laurel, one for her brother, which Hal was currently occupying, and the main sitting room which also doubled as their kitchen and dining chamber.

  The singular thing out of place within the modest cabin also tied back to Aangavar. The dying dragon had made a request of Hal in the form of asking him to care for his offspring. So far, fulfilling that task had taken little more than keeping the large egg in the corner of the homestead, and occasionally touching it to make sure it was keeping its warmth.

  Laurel was already cleaning off the table, setting out apples, potatoes, dried beef, and some hardy greens to construct their meal from. She hummed a song as she worked, one that Hal had heard her play many times before on her carved wooden flute.

  “Do you think you can help me with the cider press tomorrow, Hal?” asked Laurel. “Willum used to be the one who handled it, and it takes more strength than my arms have to do it properly.”

  “Of course,” said Hal. “Especially if it means fresh cider and apple wine.”

  Laurel flashed a conspiratorial grin at him, but there was a shadow of sadness in her expression. Hal sensed that she hadn’t meant to mention Willum, her missing brother. His disappearance was still something Laurel struggled with, the reality of him being gone butting heads with her optimism and faith that he was still somewhere out there, alive and well.

  “It will be a nice change of pace for your muscles, instead of swinging a sword,” said Laurel. “You didn’t earn yourself any new bruises today, did you?”

  “No,” said Hal. “I just made the old ones bigger.”

  “You are such a boy,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  Hal ran his finger the wrong way across the piece of wood he was adjusting, giving himself a splinter. Laurel’s comment had reminded him so much of Lilith that he’d almost forgotten who he was talking to. His little sister used to chastise him in exactly the same way.

  The fact that she reminded him so much of Lilith should have been painful, but instead, it was strangely soothing, like a numbing salve on a fresh burn. Hal sucked on the splinter in his finger, noticing the quick, worrying glance Laurel gave it.

  “I have some glenwood sap that I could use to draw that out with,” she said.

  “It’s fine,” said Hal.

  “No really,” said Laurel. “I don’t mind.”

  Hal rolled his eyes, deciding it was easy to go along with her rather than waste time arguing. She disappeared into her room for a moment, returning with a small cloth bundle that she used to store her healing supplies.

  “This is an old, but effective little trick.” She took his finger, rubbed sap onto it, and then placed a small square of bandage onto it. “Let that set for a minute or so, and when you pull it off, the splinter will come right out with it.”

  Hal smiled at her, and Laurel beamed in light of his approval. She was still holding his hand, looking at him with an odd expression in her eyes. Hal noticed her scar again and felt the burden of shame he carried over not having acted fast enough when the dragon had attacked Lorne.

  It hadn’t been his fault, but he still felt like it was. Hal recognized the feelings of guilt as being as much for his lost family as it was for her, the emotions tied more to his own lack of control than anything.

  An odd silence settled between them as Laurel returned to preparing dinner. Hal managed to get the fire started, and pushed the logs around with the iron poker as he waited for her to put the pot on.

  “Will you tell me another story about your life in the Collected Provinces?” asked Laurel.

  He smiled at the earnestness in her voice.

  “Honestly… There’s not much more to tell,” said Hal. “I wasn’t a warrior, or an explorer, or famous, or anything like that. The most interesting things I’ve done with my life have happened since coming here.”

  “Tell me something boring, then,” said Laurel.

  Hal chuckled.

  “Alright,” he said. “I once spent three days straight inside a library.”

  Laurel gave him a puzzled look.

  “A library?” she said, slowly. “You mentioned that before, right? One of the big rooms filled with books?”

  Hal nodded, again reminded of one of the stark differences between the Collected Provinces and Krestia’s Cradle. For all the two realms had in common, from the mostly shared language, to the similar cultural roots of its peoples, they were not the same in everything.

  The Collected Provinces had advanced ahead on a different path, developing gunpowder, the typewriter, the printing press, and other advancements to make life easier. Krestia’s Cradle had, in the place of advancing the sophistication of their tools, found magic in the form of gemstones instead.

  “Exactly,” said Hal. “I was looking for a specific book. One that was supposedly written by my old master, Roth.”

  “And did you find it?” asked Laurel.

  Hal nodded.

  “Like I said, it took me three days, but I finally tracked it down,” said Hal. “Roth had been evasive when I’d asked him about it, never quite confirming whether it existed or not. When I finally opened the cover, I understood why. It… was a cookbook.”

  “A cookbook?” asked Laurel.

  “Lists of different recipes,” said Hal. “Lots of recipes for traditional ogre food. All of Roth’s favorites.”

  Laurel was stirring the pot on the fire, and looked captivated by the idea that such a thing could exist.

  “Did you try cooking anything listed in it?” she asked him.

  “I did,” said Hal. “Several things. And all of it tasted terrible.”

  Laurel burst laughing, almost splashing the soup with her spoon as her hand jumped to cover her mouth.

  CHAPTER 4

  Unlike Roth’s recipes, Laurel’s dinner tasted fantastic. Hal devoured his first bowl and took seconds, sipping on apple wine as he ate. It always seemed to put Laurel in good spirits when he enjoyed her cooking, and the inside of the homestead felt warm in both temperature and company.

/>   Hal was in the middle of wiping his bowl clean with a scrap of bread when he heard an odd scraping noise coming from the edge of the room. He froze, thinking that it might be one of the rats that Laurel had admitted occasionally found a way into the home.

  “Do you hear that too?” asked Laurel.

  Hal nodded. He stood up, following the direction of the noise to the corner. He did a double take when the source became apparent.

  A small flake had fallen loose from the dragon egg, creating a tiny opening about the size of coin. A sweet smelling green liquid was oozing out of it, leaving a long, streaking line down the pale egg. The egg was mostly translucent, and Hal could see the tiny dragon within slowly working a claw against the inside of the shell.

  “It’s… moving,” he said.

  Laurel stood up so quickly that her chair fell over backward. The two of them had never seen the baby dragon move inside the shell before. They’d been debating whether the poor thing would even make it to hatching, or die a still birth without every breaking free.

  “Oh…” Laurel shook her head. “By Mystra, and Darros, and Hymel! The dragon’s hatching! What are we supposed to do?”

  Hal shrugged. He reached over to the table, took Laurel’s goblet, and poured her another glass of apple wine.

  “We stay calm,” said Hal.

  “What if it burns the cabin down?” asked Laurel. “What if… it burns us? Should we put it outside?”

  “It’ll be okay,” said Hal. “It’s just a baby. I don’t know much about dragons, but I have to assume it won’t be that dangerous.”

  This might be the biggest assumption I’ve ever made. Maybe putting it outside wouldn’t be that bad of an idea?

  He forced himself to take his own advice and stay calm, pouring another goblet of wine for himself and holding it to his chest, like a shield, as he drew closer to the egg. The dragon was gently working another chip loose from it, and green goo continued to ooze loose from the opening.

  “You should probably get a rag,” said Hal.