The hatching process took much longer than Hal expected. He and Laurel watched, mostly in silence, as the baby dragon continued to break open the egg from within, making progress at a tortuously slow rate.
Close to an hour had passed before the dragon’s head, no larger than a child’s fist, poked out from the shell. It opened its mouth and made a tiny mewling noise, its eyes still closed tight. One of its claws pushed forward against the edge of the shell, tearing loose a larger chunk, and then the egg tipped onto its side. Both the green goo and the dragon spilled onto the floor of the homestead, and Hal was thankful that the smell was sweet, rather than sour.
It was a tiny creature, still soaked in ooze, barely capable of moving itself across the floor. It looked like nothing so much as a hairless, drenched cat with a pair of leather wings stitched onto its back. It made the tiny mewling noise over and over again, and Hal couldn’t stop himself from laughing.
“You were right to be scared, Laurel,” he said. “Quite the fearsome monster we have on our hands.”
“Oh, shut up!” said Laurel.
He crouched down next to the baby dragon, tentatively reaching a hand out toward its nose. The dragon moved in a sudden surge of movement, opening its mouth and snapping down on the same finger Hal had gotten a splinter in earlier that night.
“Ow!” he cried.
It was Laurel’s turn to laugh. She’d found a towel, and brought it over to wrap the tiny creature in. She lifted it up into her arms and gave it a curious look. The dragon mewled and opened it eyes. Its irises were vertical, like a cat’s, but blood red in color.
“I think he likes me better.” Laurel brought her hand to its snout in much the same way Hal had, and the dragon gave her fingers a lick instead of clamping down.
“You can tell that it’s a boy?” asked Hal.
“Of course,” said Laurel. “He wasn’t exactly hiding what he had in between his legs.”
She gave Hal an odd look, and he felt suddenly uncomfortable. He looked away from her and cleared his throat. Laurel began rocking the baby dragon back and forth, humming one of her songs to it softly.
“Should we… try to feed it?” asked Hal. “Does it even eat meat, or should we try to give it milk, or…?”
“We have to name it first,” said Laurel. “And I need your help for that. I’m no good at coming up with names.”
She smiled at Hal, revealing the dimples in her cheeks, her face radiating excitement and joy. It was the first time since the attack on Lorne that Hal had seen her smile like that, and it made her look beautiful.
“What is it?” asked Laurel. Hal realized he’d been staring at her and instead turned his attention toward the creature in her arms.
The dragon had mostly dried off, and seemed to be gaining energy by the moment. There was a natural intelligence in its eyes, and as Hal looked into them, he could sense a sentient being staring back at him. There was something challenging and playful in the way that it looked at him, and Hal got the feeling that it might try to bite him again if he let his hand get too close.
“How about Karnas?” asked Hal. “As a name?”
Laurel’s brows went up. She opened her mouth and then hesitated, as though thinking better of whatever she was about to say. Hal had told her plenty about his father over the weeks. She knew what the name meant to him.
“It’s perfect,” said Laurel. She proffered the swaddled baby dragon out toward him. Hal accepted it hesitantly, immediately feeling surprised by how light the creature was in is arms.
“Little Karnas,” he said. “Hey there. You’re so tiny.”
The dragon made a mewling noise. Hal felt stupidly amused by it, so tiny and innocent and pathetic.
The son of the monster that killed my family… And I gave him my father’s name.
The thought settled over him with an almost physical weight, and he had to remind himself of the deal he’d made with Aangavar to keep it from taking hold on his emotions. Dragons, as far as Hal could tell, were extremely intelligent creatures. This one could be different. There was no reason for him to assume evil in the eyes of a newborn.
A knock came at the door of the cabin. Hal and Laurel both jumped slightly, and the baby dragon made a surprised noise in his arms.
“Were you expecting company?” asked Hal.
Laurel shook her head.
“It could be Vrodas, I guess?” she suggested.
“He wouldn’t risk traveling so late at night,” said Hal.
They both looked down at the tiny dragon. Hal was already moving to hide it in Laurel’s bedroom. They’d kept the existence of the dragon egg to themselves, even keeping it secret from Cadrian. It seemed like too much of a risk to be open about it now that it was born and in an even more vulnerable state.
The knock came again, along with the sound of a muffled woman’s voice. Hal set the baby dragon on Laurel’s bed, hoping that it would be alright with staying put for a while, and then hurried back out to clean up the remains of the green goo and shell.
“Just a minute!” called Laurel. She helped Hal with the last bit of the mess, the two of them wrapping it all into a towel and then stuffing it into their waste bin.
Hal stood by Laurel’s side as she opened the door, one of his hands resting on the handle of his pistol, just in case. She seemed to recognize the woman on the other side, and the woman clearly recognized her.
“Laurel…” said the woman. “Oh, by the Five! Your face… What in Lyris’s name has happened to you?”
“Precia!” Laurel seemed to barely hear the question as she took the woman’s hand and pulled her into the cabin. “It’s been so long! Please, come in! Right this way!”
The woman was short and slightly chubby, though the expensive purple dress she wore seemed tailored to emphasize certain curves while minimizing others. Her hair was deep red, and the defining feature of her face was a splotch of freckles that ran across her nose and both cheeks.
“You traveled all the way here?” asked Laurel. “How? Why? Not that I don’t appreciate the visit.”
“We came over the pass,” said the woman. “Broga and I. The rumors of the desert dragon’s demise spread quickly.”
“And you brought news with you?” asked Laurel. “Has Willum arrived back in the capital safely, then?”
Precia’s frowned and gave a small shake of her head.
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “I came to visit. And to carry Maxim Cedric’s invitation for you to attend the Harvest Tournament.”
Laurel looked momentarily crestfallen, but she seemed to recover from it quickly. Behind Precia, a tall and thin ogre woman had entered the homestead. She wore leggings and a simple tunic, and her black hair was cut short. If not for the slight curve of her bust, Hal might have thought her to be a man.
“I’m… not sure what I was expecting.” Precia shot Hal a sour, suspicious look. “Maxim Cedric claimed that you and your brother had established an estate here. This cabin, and this man…?”
“He’s my servant!” said Laurel, quickly. Hal flinched with surprise. He opened his mouth to speak and saw the expression on Laurel’s face, the silent desperation in her eyes for him to stay quiet.
“Oh,” said Precia. “Right.”
“Halrin,” said Laurel, in a commanding voice. “Why don’t you head outside to help Broga stable the horses?”
Hal’s face warmed with embarrassment. It was more than just having a role dropped on him so suddenly for him to play. She was treating him like a servant, like his father used to treat the hired help back in Cardvale on his family’s estate.
He’d never stopped to consider the specifics of his situation and status in Krestia’s Cradle. Laurel had her homestead, the money she made off selling the produce from her gardens, and a small fund left to her by her brother. Hal had her generosity and not much more. He’d been so busy training with Cadrian and adjusting to life on this side of the desert that he hadn’t taken the time to consider where he fit in
to things, with no money, no connections, and no prospects.
“Halrin?” snapped Laurel. “Are you listening to me?”
Her voice was stern, but her expression was apologetic. Hal found it hard to meet her eyes. He nodded and headed out, closing the door behind him and walking alongside Precia’s servant.
CHAPTER 5
Night had fallen, but Hal was familiar enough with the yard to navigate by the thin shafts of starlight trickling down through the clouds overhead. He tried not to assume too much about the way Laurel was acting, knowing that she was his friend, and would explain why the deception was necessary in due time.
If it truly is a deception. Maybe I am just her servant, and have been since the day she offered me shelter.
He shook the thought loose and turned his attention to Broga, who followed a few paces behind him. She seemed content enough with her position, and waited patiently as Hal opened the doors to the stables and used his heartgem to light one of the lanterns inside.
“So…” he said, breaking the silence. “How long were you and Precia on the road for?”
Broga frowned at him and pointed to her mouth.
“You don’t speak common?” asked Hal.
She shook her head and then opened her mouth. It took Hal longer than it should have to notice what she was showing him, or the lack thereof. She had no tongue, and bowed her head slightly after a few seconds, as though shamed by it.
Her hands moved slightly down by her waist, gesturing fluidly, and Hal suddenly realized that she could still communicate in a way he could understand. He stretched his fingers, trying to remember the different hand dancing letters and words taught to him so long ago by Roth.
“I know some movements,” he signed, frowning as he fumbled the message out. Ogres used all four arms when they did their hand dancing, and for a human to make an attempt at it was a bit like a person trying to talk through their teeth.
“You speak my language?” asked Broga, with fast, fluid hand signs. She grinned at him, and Hal couldn’t help but smile back.
“Very small,” he said, not knowing exactly how to say that he spoke just a little.
“I understand common,” signed Broga. “You can speak out loud, and I will respond with my hands. It’s been so long. I crave conversation like a horse craves grass. Starved for communication, you could say. A fate that I never desired…”
She continued on, her hands moving faster and faster until Hal had to shake his head and ask her to stop. She seemed a little disappointed by Hal’s limitations when it came to understanding her, but her personality was still much more upbeat than it had been when she’d first arrived.
“Broga?” Precia called out to her servant from the door of the homestead. “Are you finished yet? Please try to hurry, I need you up here.”
They hadn’t even started yet. Hal opened two empty stalls, petting Laurel’s horse, Toothy briefly as he went by.
“Let’s finish this, uh, conversation after,” said Hal.
“Yes,” said Broga.
Hal made sure that each of the horses had enough food and water, and then headed back up to the cabin with Broga. He entered cautiously, unsure of how a servant was supposed to act when returning to their master in the midst of hosting a guest. Laurel and Precia were in the middle of a conversation, but it was easy to guess what it was about, even without context.
“It really isn’t as bad as it looks,” said Laurel. “And it could have been so much worse! I could have lost an arm, or a hand, or even my life. I’m lucky to have gotten off as easily as I did.”
She was smiling, but her words were laden with barely suppressed pain, and her voice sounded empty and hollow. Precia was sitting next to her at the table, holding one of her hands, looking deeply worried.
“Well, I’m glad that you’re alright,” said Precia. “And I’m sure there is something that a healer could give you to… reduce the visibility of it. And there’s always cheek paint, barring that.”
“Of course,” said Laurel. “I hardly even think about it, to be honest.”
There was no conviction in her statement, and it made Hal’s heart ache to hear. He’d never brought up her scar in conversation since the incident, figuring that it was better to let her speak of it if she wanted to, and not be forced to, if she didn’t. But now, he wondered if that had been wise. Precia’s concern seemed to have a soothing effect on Laurel, even if it forced her to confront the ugly truth of her injury.
A noise came from Laurel’s room, and everyone looked in that direction. Hal bit his lip, wondering how best to approach the fact that they still had the baby dragon to think of, along with their guests.
“What was that?” asked Precia.
“Just the creaking of the floorboards!” Laurel said, quickly. “You’ll get used to it. Halrin, open us another bottle of apple wine, would you?”
Hal resisted the urge to scowl as he pulled a bottle out of storage and set about refilling Precia and Laurel’s goblets. Precia only then seemed to notice him again, her disapproving frown telling him what was on her mind ahead of her words.
“This new servant…” she said. “I take it he was a recent addition to your estate? Your brother would have never stood for you having a young man in such close proximity while he was absent.”
Laurel shrugged.
“It’s a lot of work tending to the homestead,” she said. “And with Willum gone…”
She trailed off, taking a deep sip of her wine.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s fine, Laurel!” said Precia. “There were several groups out in the northern forests for the summer hunt. If I had to guess, I’d say his party just decided to extend their adventure. I bet he’ll be back in the capital by the time you arrive for the Harvest Festival!”
Laurel nodded, but it seemed like a forced gesture.
“With that said,” continued Precia. “I, myself, have some concerns about your current… living arrangements. Might we have an honest conversation before bed?”
The look she gave Hal made him want to tip the wine bottle over her head, but somehow, he tamped the urge down. Instead, he poured himself a goblet, and then one for Broga, enjoying the look of disbelief on Precia’s face over a servant acting so freely.
“Hal has served me and guarded me well, Precia,” said Laurel. “I know what you’re thinking, but please. You know me well enough to know that it isn’t like that.”
She blushed slightly and took a deep sip of wine.
The night progressed slowly, with Laurel and Precia sharing stories and drinking heavily. It was late when Precia finally announced that she was too tired to keep her eyes open for any longer. Laurel offered her a hand to help her to her feet, and then to Hal’s surprise, began leading her to his room.
“You can sleep in my brother’s bed for tonight,” said Laurel.
Willum’s bed. My bed.
“Thank you,” said Precia. “Broga and I will be setting off first thing tomorrow morning. You should come with us. It would make the trip that much more companionable.”
“I can’t leave immediately,” said Laurel. “I have to wait at least until the day after so arrangements can be made for the homestead in my absence.”
Hal was only half listening to their conversation, still internally seething over having been evicted from his room. Laurel didn’t say anything after helping Precia to bed, immediately heading to her own room and shutting the door.
Broga had already found a spot on the floor, near the hearth, and Hal settled into place not far from her. She was looking at him curiously in the fire’s dying light. Hal had to pay extra attention to make out the movements of her hands as she began to communicate.
“You are no servant,” she said.
Hal chuckled.
“Correct,” he said. “But somehow, I get the feeling that you aren’t either. Or at least, you haven’t always been.”
Broga smiled at him.
“My village was overcrowded,” she said.
“I worked first as a mercenary. It didn’t end well for me, as you might have guessed. Only working as a servant to save money.”
Hal nodded, and then had a thought.
“It’s a shame that you can’t stay in the area for longer,” he said. “There’s another ogre, uh, I mean, another maug who lives in Lorne, the nearby town. A fellow named Vrodas. He’s a friendly guy, missing a hand, but I think you’d get along with him.”
Broga’s eyes widened slightly, and she gave her head a vigorous shake.
“Shamed one,” she said. “Deep deep shamed one.”
She continued making the signs for “deep” and “shame” over and over again, to the point where Hal was sure that he was missing some of her meaning.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Hal. “He’s a friend of mine.”
At that, Broga’s hands stopped moving. She shook her head and said no more, lying down with her back turned to him. Hal took the hint and went to sleep.
CHAPTER 6
Hal spent the early hours of the next morning maintaining his role as a servant, and detesting it more with each passing minute. He kept expecting Laurel to pull him to the side and whisper an explanation or an apology, but it never happened.
The fact that Precia didn’t seem to approve of him as a servant, or really at all, only made matters worse. And whatever Hal had said wrong to Broga the night before left her still unwilling to talk to him, leaving him with nobody to vent his frustration to.
Laurel and Precia said their goodbyes to each other, both promising to find time to get together once they were back in Meldence, and then the guests set off to the north. Hal waited until they’d disappeared into the mountain pass before turning to Laurel and crossing his arms.
“Are you ready to explain what all of that was about?” he asked, with more than a little terseness in his voice.
Laurel winced.
“I’m sorry, Hal,” she said. “You have to understand. It’s different in the capital. For an unmarried woman to be living with a man, especially one of your status… it would cause a scandal.”
Harvest Tournament (Sexcraft Chronicles Book 2) Page 3
