Dawning Ceremony (Sexcraft Chronicles Book 3)

by Edmund Hughes

  Which brought him to a problem that he was less willing to confront so directly. Thirty seemed unbothered by their prolonged alliance, and Hal felt increasingly sure that it was an act, on her part. She would betray him. The only reason she hadn’t done it while they were having sex was probably because of the footsteps they’d heard nearby.

  He stayed silent, staring at Thirty where she sat on the other side of the building. She was testing the edge of a makeshift rock dagger that Hal hadn’t seen before. She glanced up at him after a few seconds.

  “What?” she asked. “Don’t tell me that you’re horny again?”

  Hal rolled his eyes.

  “We should get moving,” he said.

  From where they were, they had an easy enough route through the jungle and into the next safe zone, even cutting it as close as they were. The jungle began to thin as approached the end of their mile long hike. Hal lowered himself into a crouch at the end of the trees, peering out across the island’s center.

  He could see where what the Event Master had called the “award grounds” was. It was an odd, metal structure that looked like it had originally been an amphitheater designed to hold a few thousand people.

  There were only a few entrances, and Hal realized what that meant. Whoever made it inside first would have a massive advantage against anyone else. Hal had no doubt that after the next six-hour time limit had passed, the pain zone would expand up to the edge of the amphitheater, forcing them all to fight to the death inside.

  That’s how they end it. I’m sure at one time or another, there were people physically sitting and watching inside.

  “I’m so sick of this,” muttered Hal.

  He stepped forward out of the trees, and heard Thirty lunge at him an instant before her body collided with his. He hit the ground hard, feeling an odd mixture of having his suspicions confirmed along with the familiar stab of betrayal.

  He spun underneath her, pulling his knife up to strike. Thirty didn’t try to stop him. She couldn’t have, if she’d wanted to. A crossbow bolt was jutting from one of her eye sockets.

  Another projectile slammed into the ground hard a few inches from Hal’s shoulder. He shuddered, his stomach dry heaving as stared at his newly dead companion. He forced himself to focus, and looked in the direction the shots had come from.

  On top of the upper wall of the amphitheater stood Seventeen. The tattooed slave was smiling and loading another bolt into the same crossbow he’d taken from Thirty earlier in the contest. Around him were several other men and women, most of them new faces, rather than ones who’d been in the house Hal had obliterated.

  She pushed me out of the way of his crossbow bolt…

  The realization stirred Hal into action. He gently lifted Thirty’s body to the side, pausing to press his hand into her cheek. She was already starting to go cold. Hal felt a sharp pain in his heart, pain he knew would last for a long time. He hated whoever had created the Dragongrounds. He hated Seventeen. He’d find a way to take revenge.

  He started running, looping around the open plains that circled the amphitheater. The sun was nearly over the horizon, but for the moment, it still gave off enough light for Seventeen to spot him and launch another bolt. He needed somewhere to hide, maybe behind a rock, or in a building.

  Hal didn’t find anything, and got the sense that the area had been deliberately cleared. Another bolt struck the ground in front of him. It would have taken him through the chest, had he not slowed for a split second to glance at another lone participant sprinting his way.

  The slave approaching him didn’t seem bothered by Seventeen’s crossbow sniping. He had a spear, a real one, with vicious steel head. He wore a chain shirt made of black metal ringlets that reminded Hal of snake scales. It covered his chest, some of his neck, and his lower abdomen. Fighting against him with only a knife would be suicidal.

  Hal found himself wondering what options he really had left. If he didn’t fight this slave eventually, he’d have to fight whoever managed to kill him. The Dragongrounds were a game where the strong became stronger, and the weak died easily. It was about luck and skill, with the gains of the victors compounding until the fights were incredibly one sided.

  He decided that he didn’t feel like playing the way they wanted him to. Instead of rushing forward to fight the spear wielding slave, Hal sprinted back toward the jungle. Another crossbow bolt cut through the air, this one aimed at the new slave, who Hal assumed Seventeen had recognized as a greater threat.

  Hal had only pushed ten feet into the jungle when the crystals on his harness triggered, dousing him with pain so complete that it made every inch of his skin and the inside of his teeth throb with pain. He fell to one knee, and pushed himself back, falling flat on his stomach no more than a few inches away from where the pain zone began.

  He caught his breath, and then turned his attention back to the action in the field. The spear wielding slave was now the one running from projectiles, looking about as entertained by the exercise as Hal had been. A group of slaves, possibly the same group of three he’d seen earlier, were making a confused, reluctant sprint toward one of the amphitheater’s entrances.

  There was another slave who’d decided to attempt a similar strategy to his, but on the other side, a good quarter mile or so around the edge of the jungle. He had a long bow, and the only thing that gave away his presence to Hal was a single white feather protruding from his headband. He took aim and fired at Seventeen, and though the arrow went wide, it was still enough to make Seventeen flinch.

  I’ll just wait here. If I can make it six hours, then…

  Then what? Hal felt as though he had less of an idea of how to win the game than ever. His current strategy, hiding and waiting, would fail him once the event area was reduced to just the amphitheater. And he got the feeling that most of the other remaining slaves were either well equipped like the one he’d seen with the spear, or operating in groups.

  Thirty had died so he could live. It made him feel ashamed of himself to think about it like that. He’d been so sure that she was going to betray him, and in the end, she’d died to save him. He wondered if she still would have betrayed him later on, had she survived. The thought made him feel even more ashamed of himself, like he was too attached to his own suspicions and cynicism to appreciate her sacrifice.

  He didn’t even know her real name, or what she’d done to end up in the Dragongrounds. It had seemed pointless to Hal to talk about those sorts of things, given the nature of the game. Now, it felt like a personal failure on his part. He hadn’t tried to get to know her, but he’d let her give herself to him as a woman. And he’d enjoyed it, even while keeping that emotional distance in between them.

  Hal felt new purpose flowing through him as he thought about what he need to do. He would kill Seventeen. It wouldn’t bring her back, but it was all he could do. He felt a depressing smile spread across his lips as he considered how long his life had revolved around revenge and killing. It felt like the only thing that motivated him anymore.

  For some reason unbeknownst to him, Laurel’s face popped into his head. It felt like it had been half a lifetime since he’d last seen her. Hal looked down at his dirty, blood smeared hands. Would Laurel still recognize him as the same person, if he returned to their comfortable little homestead? How many people had he killed in the past few hours?

  He didn’t know the answer to either question.

  CHAPTER 27

  Hal’s hiding spot was no more than a fallen log and a scattering of bushes, but it proved to be enough to allow his evasive strategy to work out. He stayed hidden and waited, watching the amphitheater in the center of the clearing, trying to develop a strategy as he observed the last hours of the game playing out.

  He was hungry, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that. It was the same for his thirst, the minor aches and pains of his body, and the emotional load he was carrying over Thirty’s death. He took the easy path, delegating all of those issu
es off to after the Dragongrounds, if he managed to survive.

  A familiar rhythm developed to the way the encounters in the field occurred. Seventeen and his gang watched from the upper wall of the amphitheater. Crystal lamps had been scattered about through the grass of the field and inside the award grounds, and the burst into vivid light as soon as the sun had set completely. Whenever a slave came out into the open, they attacked with ranged weapons, as though they were defenders holding off a siege from the ramparts of a castle.

  The reality was so much less noble and distinguished that it almost made Hal laugh. The slaves who took the risk of rushing the amphitheater mostly did it out desperation, forced out into the open by the few opportunist aggressive slaves who stalked the edge of the jungle.

  One of them had passed by Hal somewhere around the third hour of his vigil. Hal had gone completely still, holding his breath, even, while the slave had passed. He felt a surprising amount of fear, almost more than he had at any other point in the game. It was a pointless thing, but somehow, he couldn’t resist it. It was almost as though death became more real at that late stage of the competition, even though it had been just as much of a threat at the start. It felt like he had more to lose, now that he’d made it so far.

  The last hour or two before the last area reduction was tense enough to make Hal grind his teeth. He had no way of telling exactly long it had been. It had been easy enough to estimate when the sun was out, earlier in the day, but it was all but impossible at night.

  If he rushed the amphitheater too early, he would be cut down by arrows and crossbow bolts. If he waited too long before making his charge, the pain zone would overtake him, and he’d be forced to fight with a pounding headache and other unpleasant side effects.

  Stop thinking like that. Wait. You’ll know when it’s time to go.

  Lacking any other options, Hal redoubled his commitment to waiting the minutes out. Eventually, he heard the sound of a heated argument between more than two people coming from within the amphitheater. The voices sounded odd from the way they echoed off the interior walls of the structure, but it was impossible to misinterpret the anger in them.

  Two slaves rushed out from the amphitheater’s side entrance, running at full speed toward the section of jungle where Hal was hidden. He almost jumped in surprise, but forced himself to stay hidden. They weren’t running toward him. They were running away from someone else.

  A group of three slaves emerged from the other side of the jungle, heading toward the fleeing members of Seventeen’s group. From within the amphitheater came the sound of combat and screams. It didn’t take much guesswork for Hal to figure out what had happened.

  It’s that stage of the game. They’ve started to turn on each other.

  He smiled, feeling a dark sense of satisfaction over the fact that he hadn’t betrayed anyone through the duration of the game. The thought instantly brought Thirty to mind, the crossbow bolt sticking out of one of her eyes, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. Her death had been so pointless, but more than just trading her life for his, she’d done something to his thinking. She’d undone some of the decay in the way he viewed and trusted other people in a single, stupid moment of ultimate sacrifice.

  Hal felt one of the crystals in his harness send a small, warning jab of pain into his body. He adjusted his grip on his knife and rushed out into the clearing, steeling himself for the fight to come.

  A dozen or so other slaves also picked that moment to test their fates. The field in front of the amphitheater was filled with small skirmishes. Most of them were one sided, with the slaves who’d found proper armor and weapons earlier in the game managing to overwhelm their opponents in seconds.

  Hal found himself face to face with another slave who’d been hiding no more than fifty feet from him in the jungle. He had a flail for his weapon, along with a thick leather coat that would provide a decent amount of protection from slashing weapons.

  He lunged toward Hal, but his movements were slightly awkward. Flails were not easy weapons to use, but they were also extremely hard to counter. Cadrian had taught him to avoid going up against anyone wielding one, primarily because nobody would be stupid enough to take one into battle without knowing how to inflict serious punishment with it.

  Things didn’t work like that in the Dragongrounds. Hal knew that the slave with the flail had probably found it in a chest, somewhere, and had used it out of desperation. He let the slave attack first, swinging the flail horizontally and falling off balance as the spike studded ball almost came entirely back around to the side.

  Hal didn’t hesitate. He knew that it would take a second for the slave to get his weapon back into position to be a threat. He slashed the slave across both thighs, and then across the throat. A spray of blood came out, splattering onto his shirt and crystal harness. The slave fell face down onto the grass.

  Hal debated taking the flail for a couple of seconds before deciding that it would only slow him down. He did take the time to pull the slave’s leather coat loose, however. It didn’t have that much blood on it, and it was flexible enough to let him move while still providing a bit of extra protection.

  He glanced up to see a group of two slaves charging him, both with swords and shields that looked like something out of a lord’s armory. Hal wasn’t stupid enough to try to take them both on. He ran the other way, almost charging into another pair of combatants who were both in the middle of a ranged weapon duel. An arrow whizzed by Hal’s ear. He ducked and ran through the field of projectiles, hoping that his pursuers would either balk at the prospect of taking an arrow to the chest, or at least decide that there were better targets nearby.

  It was complete chaos. The grass was slick in places from blood. A small river of it ran along a thin indentation in the ground next to where two of the larger groups left had charged each other with spears.

  Hal was acutely aware of the fact that it was all happening for the entertainment of the Upper Realm. The view crystals were giving the elves an unobstructed view of the desperate, bloodthirsty battle. Not just the elves, but the humans allied with the Upper Realm, too. Great House Ardstone, and Cadrian.

  The thought disgusted him, but it also answered a question. If Cadrian could watch the Dragongrounds and enjoy it, she was evil, and that was why she’d done what she’d done. She was capable of ignoring the value of human lives if it got in the way of her enjoyment or objective.

  I’ll make them pay for this. For all of it.

  He spun, dodging the attack of a slave with a heavy club and disemboweling him in the same movement. Another stab of pain came from his crystals. Hal saw an entrance into the amphitheater that was clear, aside from a few corpses out front. He sprinted through it, his footsteps echoing as he ran through the tunnel, eyes scanning for any threats ahead of him.

  The members of Seventeen’s gang, as Hal had assumed, had turned on one another. The battle was still underway, with men screaming at each other like animals as they cut down their fellows. More slaves were rushing in through the amphitheater’s other entrances, most of them solo and already injured.

  Hal climbed up the rows of stone benches, trying to head toward the high ground where he’d have somewhat of an environmental advantage. A heavyset slave with a dagger in each was already charging toward him higher up. He turned to run to the side instead, only to see a slave with an axe hacking into a downed opponent blocking the way.

  The smell of blood was thick on the air, and it reminded Hal of the butcher’s shop near his family’s estate back in the Collected Provinces. It was a dank, heavy sent that triggered the instincts, making his heart pound and his breath run shallow.

  The heavyset slave was nearly upon Hal when the sound of flapping wings came from the sky above. Most of the combatants in the amphitheater paused to glance upward. A dragon was descending at high speed. It let out a breath of smoke and curling flames as it drew within landing distance, which by some stroke of luck, was aimed Hal’s neare
st opponent, the heavyset slave.

  He tumbled forward, screaming and patting at his immolated clothing. Hal jumped out of the way as the slave rolled over the benches and onto the grass below. The ground shook as the dragon landed in the center of the amphitheater, crushing one slave underneath him and seizing another in its claws.

  Something collided with Hal from the side. He fell at a bad angle, the side of his head catching against one of the stone benches. Stunned, he blinked his eyes in time to see Seventeen looming over him. The tattooed slave had lost his crossbow at some point, and was readying his dagger to stab down into Hal’s chest.

  Hal swung his knife, the tip of it coming closer than expected to cutting across Seventeen’s face. Seventeen jumped back, grinning as though he enjoyed everything about what was happening. Hal stumbled to his feet. His head was pounding, and a thin trail of blood was trickling across his cheek from where he’d hit his head.

  Before the two of them could reengage, the dragon turned its head in their direction. It blasted a stream of fire toward them, the flames expanding wide enough to potentially hit both. Hal jumped backward, as did Seventeen, but the air was still heated to point of making him flinch backward, an afterimage of color left in the center of his vision.

  Only a few of the slaves were still fighting amongst themselves. It was mostly the ones who’d made it high up into the amphitheater’s seats earlier, desperate to defend their high ground now that others were rushing to flee in that direction.

  Some of the participants seemed to have completely given up. Hal saw a woman lying on her back, propped up on her elbows, staring passively at the grass. Another slave took off at a dead sprint out of the amphitheater, taking their chances with the pain that the crystal harness would induce.

  It was the most pointless display of violence and brutality Hal had ever seen, let alone taken part in. Seventeen was one of the few slaves that still seemed to be focused on the game. He’d turned his attention away from Hal, but he was hurrying through the stands, killing as many others as he could. It wasn’t a bad strategy, Hal decided. Kill everyone else before the dragon killed him.