by Aaron Crash
The elf scratched his name on a piece of parchment. “Very well, Ymir. It seems you will have your chance, though you won’t get far without a dusza.” She made a face like she’d just swallowed a toad. She snapped her fingers, and one of the orc guards came forward. The guard had a wide jaw, strong, and while that should’ve made her ugly, it didn’t. Black hair, black eyes, she was as tall as Ymir. He wondered about her sex. Was it a normal woman’s slit? Or were there tusks down there? Drinking in tents growing up, he’d heard all sorts of strange stories.
Ymir collected his carcass and came around the table, on the side of the salty woman and her green eyes. The rock wall split down the center and along the sides. Arms of jagged rock came up in a defensive position as the legs bent. White eyes opened on different parts of the thing: its upper chest, a shoulder, down its arms. Crabs dashed away to hide in the porous body of the thing.
“By the Axman’s beard!” Ymir cursed. This thing wasn’t a coral wall, but a coral giant, strange and stinking of seaweed and crab shit.
He whipped out his hatchet. He’d cut the eyes out of the thing first and hope those crabs didn’t leap on him to clip off his ears.
The salty woman laughed. “Easy, clansman,” she said in a musical voice. “This is my friend, a golem I created out of coral.”
The wall shambled back, stone squealing and squeaking off stone. A few crabs inched out to see if there was any danger.
Ymir circled the golem and saw other milky eyes blinking on its back. Fighting it would be a challenge since it could see him coming from every direction. And how did you kill something made out of stone?
“Fucking magic.” He felt the pain pinch his heart.
The orc guard escorted him away from the coral golem and to the mouth of a passageway. A spiked gate rose, and she ushered him inside.
They walked, not speaking, their footsteps echoing. She wore thick boots. He’d lost his boots on his journey and had to make bark-bottomed sandals, wrapped in elk-hide strips to keep his feet warm.
Ymir thought to touch her skin. Would it be rough? Would her hair be like weeds, or would it be silkier? He was curious. He considered asking the strange creature any number of questions. However, he had a definite purpose here, and it didn’t involve women. Not yet, at least.
Two months was a long time for a man of the Black Wolf Clan to go without the caresses, the scents, and the sighs of a woman.
A proverb came to him: Do the first task first. Patience is in love with cunning. Grandmother Rabbit liked that so much that Grandfather Bear would grumble every time she said it.
Ymir and the orc woman emerged from the passage and walked onto a field of green grass. The sides were a clutter of structures, warrenlike houses, piled on top of each other. The field led to a blackened silver tower, one of four at the points of the compass, surrounding the central citadel he’d seen before. The four towers each had a bell hanging at the top behind barred windows.
As for the central fortress, the citadel rose to a spire where a large flag fluttered. The flag was divided into four sections, though the actual images were lost in the movement. The front of the nearest tower was adorned with a golden sunburst plaque, with a smattering of glass windows in the stone. Glass, real glass—the Therans might be depraved, but they certainly enjoyed their riches.
In the center of the field stood a golden tent, the biggest he’d ever seen—and Ymir knew about tents. The central poles must be made from the huge trees he’d walked through, but even then, what power held the canvas taut? More lady orc guards organized a dozen young men Ymir’s age or younger into a line as they waited their turn to take the Open Exam.
Everything smelled so wet. Though the sun was trying, it was failing to banish the chill. It was late summer, early fall, perhaps. He shouldn’t be cold, yet that dampness got into his bones. The Ax Tundra was a dry place, mostly—even the snow was dry. Ymir gritted his teeth.
The Axman’s moon was at its zenith, with the Shieldmaiden’s moon peeking shyly above the horizon. Of course, the third moon wouldn’t be seen for a few more years, in the year of the Wolf.
Ymir took his place at the end of the line. The green grass covered soft earth under his feet. Such a big tent in a wide field surrounded by walls and fortifications. This place had been a fortress, it seemed. The silver stone had been patched with black rock, but both were weathered. The rains here must be relentless, he thought.
The boy in front of him turned and looked Ymir up and down. Perhaps he wasn’t a boy, but he couldn’t be called a man. He was dressed in a fine shirt and silken pants, both embroidered with different patterns. Brown hair framed a doughy round face. He smirked. “I see you brought a snack.”
Ymir fixed his glare on the kid. “This is lunch. If you are not careful, you’ll be dinner. There is nothing I enjoy more than human flesh. Though I am curious to see what the meat of the other races tastes like.”
The shock in the boy’s eyes was comical. He collected himself. “That’s not true. You’re not a cannibal.”
Ymir pinched the boy’s arm. “Yes, there is some fine marbling there. Your juices would smell good dripping on my fire. Damn the Ax, but I am getting hungry.”
The boy turned and took a few steps away from Ymir.
The clansman chuckled. If the South was filled with whelps like these, he could have his pick of the women. And there were so many.
Speaking of which, the apartment windows were full of faces, mostly female, all looking down.
He knew what they were doing. They were discussing the potential new scholars and growing excited at the prospects. Women were the same everywhere, but then, so were men. The world throbbed with those desires. In the midst of the inexplicable, Ymir had found something he could understand.
One woman stood alone in an uncovered walkway. She’d braided her platinum hair back to show her pointed ears. A blue cape covered her tunic, simple white cotton with a blue border. On her left arm was a piece of golden jewelry spiraling around her arm. It was similar to the one he’d seen the elf at the table wearing. Even from a distance, Ymir felt the elf girl’s gaze, and he wasn’t sure if it was fear or longing. She was striking, even from far away. Was she some kind of servant?
Icy fingers crawled up his spine as he felt it. Magic stirred within, and a name came to him—Lillee Nehenna, and he saw her in candlelight, her hair down and hanging in her face. She was sad, but he didn’t know why. She was—or had been—a scholar, working on some task he couldn’t understand.
Then the vision was gone. He blinked. The elf girl had disappeared as well. Was he seeing things? He loathed the sudden visions he got during the day. What happened to him at night was worse. He had to get free of this curse. His determination was like iron inside of him despite the pain of his wounded heart.
From out of an inner door on the south side of the field, a group of human women emerged. They were led by an ink-haired beauty who walked regally toward him. That midnight mop made the girl’s pale skin seem even whiter. As she grew closer, he saw that dark eyeshadow emphasized her striking blue eyes. A skirt of flowing, sparkling material spread out from her ample hips. Long, polished black boots rose to her knee. A black velvet jacket showed a long line of pale cleavage that seemed to stretch forever. It was a valley of delight he could spend a lifetime exploring.
The regal girl strutted right up to him.
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Patreon
THANKS SO MUCH FOR reading Kraken Killjoy (The Son of Fire Book 2)! On my Patreon page, I’m posting cover art, chapters, and giving away free eBooks when they come out. Yes, being my patron gets you the chapters and the eBook before anyone else! It’s a deal.
Also, if you have an idea for a story, or a suggestion, my Patreon page is the perfect place to reach out. That’s the thing with Patreon—if the fans want a specific story, I’ll write one, however spicy, in any of my worlds, including American Dragons, Full Frontal Galaxy, The Princess
es of the Ironbound, and the Son of Fire.
It’s been my lifelong dream to become a professional novelist, and I hope to share more of my journey with you as I continue to write books people love.
Sign up here at www.patreon.com/aaroncrashbooks.
Thanks again!
Aaron Crash
Acknowledgements
THANKS TO DONNY BOY Bauman, who is awesome.
Thanks to my friend Ella who tossed in some good ideas.
Thanks to TJ who gave me the word Gurgaloid.
I can’t thank my Lord-Level patrons enough: Clinton Haid, TJ McFadden, and Colt McIntosh. You guys are awesome, and I appreciate the rupas.
Finally, here’s another book from the amazing Black Forge Books team. Thanks to DJ, Tamara, and the gang for making sure this latest Foulwater adventure was as smooth as it could be. I love that I get to write about another Drokharis and the epic quests of the Son of Fire.
Dedication
THIS BOOK IS FOR MY friend Chris. You are amazing.
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GameLit, Harem, and Cultivation on Facebook
IF YOU LOVE GAMELIT and Cultivation and want to find more awesome books, check out the GameLit Society on Facebook! Or if you’re a wuxia diehard, you’ll want to stop by the Western Cultivation Stories Group! Looking for a Harem fix? You can get more on the Harem Lit Group!
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Copyright
Kraken Killjoy is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Aaron Crash and Black Forge Books.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the publisher, subject line “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.
[email protected]
About the Author
Aaron Crash writes adrenaline-fueled odysseys into the extreme regions of speculative fiction. If you're looking for cyborg vampires or jellyfish centaurs, you've come to the right place. He is the co-author of the War God’s Mantle series (Shadow Alley Press) and other over-the-top sci-fi/fantasy novels. He’s been an Amazon All-Star and his books have broken into Amazon’s Top 100. When he’s not wrestling the word dragons, he mountain bikes, kills pixels dead, and has been known to watch a movie or three. He lives in Colorado where he does devilish things.
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