by Aaron Crash
Lillee walked faster. “Very big.” She halted her steps abruptly. “But don’t tell anyone. You know how people already look at me.”
Both Ymir and Jenny stopped as well. They were in the courtyard where he’d punched Daris Cujan the day before.
Jenny touched her own left temple. “Let them talk, Lillee. Certain bitches can’t keep their mouths open without shit falling out.”
“You know it’s different for me,” the elf said quietly.
Jenny nodded, frowning. “It is. You’re right. But it seems to me you’ve made some choices in your life, and not all of those choices made you feel very good. Maybe this is your chance to choose something happy.”
“Maybe. But please.”
Jenny mimicked locking her lips. She threw away the pretend key. “I won’t say a word. People can see it, though. You two are probably more famous than anyone here. The disgraced princess and the barbarian with magic. It’s sweet.”
Lillee certainly didn’t seem to think so. She hurried away, nearly running into the tower.
Ymir dropped his satchel and unfolded his robes. He got his arms in the sleeves. When he shrugged it on, the robe’s stitching creaked across his back. It was too small for his broad shoulders, and the cuffs stopped several inches from his hands. This was ridiculous.
“Was it something I said?” Jenny asked innocently, twirling her finger through her hair. He’d seen her do that before. It was a nervous tic, a chink in her armor.
Ymir growled, “If you know about those elkshit elven customs, then yes, you shouldn’t have said a word.”
The swamp woman shrugged. “Yeah, but she’s Sullied. It’s not like she’s a virgin. And she’s happy with you. You don’t see it, but I do. She loves looking at you.” A pause. “Do you love looking at her? You should.”
“I do.” He hefted his satchel. “We need to go.”
Jenny rolled her eyes. “We’re already late, and Issa Leel is gonna have kittens when we go in. At least you’re wearing shoes and your robes.” She touched his arm. “You know, you can’t have a future with Lillee. It’s not like humans and elves can’t have fun, but in the end, she’s gonna go back to Greenhome. You wouldn’t fit in so well there.”
“Today is enough for me.” Both of his grandparents had said that all the time.
“And she might not look it, but she’s a hundred years old if she’s a day. Elves live for a thousand years. We don’t.”
This woman was driving him mad. “What do you care? If you want to fuck me, you can. Lillee doesn’t own me, and I don’t own her. Or do you want to fuck her? If so, I’m sure we can arrange that.”
Jenny clearly wasn’t ready for his outburst. She blinked. Already her conniving mind was coming up with some story.
He walked into the tower ahead of her. She moved quickly behind him as they climbed the spiraling stairs. “I don’t want to have sex with either of you, Ymir. All I’m saying is that you have to think about your future. It’s not with the elf, I don’t think. But you should have your fun.”
“I plan to.” He turned and stepped down, driving her back. “What is it you want from me?”
“Lively conversation, obviously,” she replied.
“A good answer. I think there is something more.”
She lowered her face and blinked her blue eyes, outlined in dark, thick makeup. “We’ll be great friends, you, me, and Lillee. Just give me a chance. You gotta admit, I was nice to her. And I’ll keep her secret that isn’t a secret.”
“Good.” Ymir took another step down.
When Jenny didn’t move, he got close. He sniffed her. “I like your rich girl perfume.”
“Which is why it’s worth every sheck.” She put a hand on his chest. “I want to help with the Akkiric Rings. Why don’t you bring the parchment to my apartment tonight? I’ll have some wine, some food, and you, me, and Lillee can figure it out. I’m not as stupid as I smell. That ring is important, obviously.”
“I’ll think about it.” He stepped in closer until he had backed her up against the wall. “Do you taste as good as you smell?”
She laughed breathily. Her chest rose and fell. A blush crept up her neck. “That’s a good line. You’ve must’ve used it before...I can’t be the first—”
He kissed her mid-word. Her lips were full, thicker than Lillee’s. The princess’s fragrance masked her own natural scent. He tasted her perfume more than anything else. That was Jenny—she hid her true nature behind any number of masks.
And yet, finally, he got to kiss her. And he felt her big tits press up against him. He enjoyed the wet lushness of her full mouth and her gasping. He broke their embrace before it went any further.
He leaned back. She kept her eyes closed. Her mouth was half open.
Ymir marveled at her slightly wet lips, parted to reveal white teeth. Her tongue teased his gaze. He hadn’t truly kissed her, but it was kiss enough.
“I’ll consider your offer,” he said. “You’ll go in first, and I’ll come in after you. That worked with Gurla, though this Issa Leel is a very different creature.”
“That’s it?” Jenny demanded. “You kiss me, and then we go to class? You know, I’m not gonna just fall into your bed.”
“I don’t invite snakes into my bed.” He smiled.
“I’m not a snake.” She was huffing now, angry maybe, or confused.
“I think you’re a swamp snake, and I’m going to read all about your kind. There must be a book on the Swamp Coast queendoms in the Librarium. In Pidgin, I hope.” Another smile, and he was on his way to his first class, late, though he couldn’t imagine it could matter. He wasn’t a child.
He waited outside the door. Professor Leel spoke in low tones on the other side.
It took a bit, but Jenny finally walked up the steps. He motioned for her to go inside first.
She managed a dazed grin before opening the door. “Sorry I’m late, Professor Leel. Ymir is right behind me. And he’s wearing his robes.”
Ymir inhaled, squinted his eyes shut, and clenched his teeth. He had the mystery of the parchment to unravel, but here he was, attending a class. He hoped, by the Axman’s sure hand and keen eye, this schooling was worth it.
He went into the classroom and took an open seat at the front next to the dwarf. Other students had their parchment out and were writing furiously, pens scratching. Ymir set his satchel on the side and stretched out his legs. He was a clansman and would rely on his memory. He knew the power of writing from the contracts his clan had made with the Summertown merchants. The contracts were important because the meaning shouldn’t change when agreements were made. For stories and other knowledge? You remembered what was important, and every story changed each time you heard it. Meaning changed as you aged. What you thought was important as a child became laughable when you became a man.
Professor Leel, standing tall, her silver hair perfectly combed to reveal her pointed ears, cast Ymir a hateful glance, her blue eyes cold. She adjusted the silver cuff on her left arm before continuing. She talked about dusza, Focus rings, and the power of water. The Flow was water-based magic, and that included ice. However, the Flow also went deeper, to open windows into the future and to contemplate the mysteries of life.
Ymir listened carefully, his mind opening. The Flow was water. The Form was earth, stone, and wood. Moons magic was everything that had to do with the air, including lightning. And Sunfire dealt in flames, attack, battle.
Earth, air, fire, and water. Ymir was familiar with the four elements.
The teacher finished her opening notes by saying, “To align oneself with the Flow is to find your life’s true purpose.”
Ymir’s purpose had been to keep his clan alive and strong. Now? He wasn’t sure.
These Akkiric Rings just might change everything.
Chapter Nineteen
YMIR’S SCHEDULE THAT semester would mostly be Flow magic with Professor Leel. However, he had other classes. He was taking mathematics with Brodor B
ootblack, who was blunt and mean, and Ymir liked how he snarled at scholars. That was in the Forms Tower and included sophists and judicians as well as imprudens.
Ymir’s history class was taught by a woman named Nile Preat, a squinting, frizzy-haired woman with bad skin. Professor Preat had various timepieces in her classroom, including one big clock she had strapped to her wrist. She was a woman bound by time.
Ymir had thought Gharam Ssornap would be teaching his Classic Warfare class. No, it was one of his wives, a big green-skinned woman named Korga, as wide as a dwarf, with humongous boobs she didn’t bind. They flopped in her robes, a dizzying sight. That was in the Sunfire Tower and not on the field, though Korga said she’d take them out twice a week to practice drills from ancient soldiers. Half the class would teach strategy on a grand scale while the other half would focus on actual fighting. That had Ymir’s interest like nothing else. He’d love to take a wooden sword to Odd the Smirk and teach him some manners.
His last class was Introduction to Languages taught by Siteev Ckins in Moons. The salt-and-pepper woman gave Ymir a nice smile as he strutted in with Lillee by his side. There was a definite sparkle in Siteev’s eyes when they fell on him. He liked the heat in them. The coral golem stood in the corner. All its eyes were closed. The crabs seemed asleep inside the giant.
On his schedule was a class called Courtly Manners and Arts taught by a professor named Denalia Fisherking from Kreenn. He wasn’t about to waste his time with that. He went to the Librarium instead. If the Princept pulled him aside to sternly correct him, he’d agree to go, and then still wouldn’t, not until they threatened to expel him. He’d play the games at Old Ironbound his own way.
He wasn’t sure what Gatha’s schedule was since she seemed to live forever in the citadel, surrounded by her books.
He approached her with his robes slung over his shoulder. Wearing them felt like being suffocated. He’d have to fix the garment at some point.
First, though, he was going to gather information on his would-be enemies.
He stood above the desk where the orc librarian read from her pile of tomes. “Gatha, I want a book on the Swamp Coast queendoms, their customs, their beliefs, things like that. I need it in Pidgin.”
She sat back and gave him a glare. “How do you know my name?”
“Only your first name, not your family name,” he said.
“I have no family name.” She rose. “I have no ptoor. I am igptoor.”
Ymir had heard of those words before. Where, he wasn’t sure. Maybe from Gharam Ssornap. A ptoor was the Gruul word for harem. To be an igptoor was to be a woman outside of a harem.
That was surprising given Gatha’s beauty.
She was as tall as he was. And as thick. Her Sunfire robes were open, and she wore a leather tunic that showed off her green skin and the depths of her cleavage. She was chesty and savage.
“You see, I don’t know what those words mean. I’ll study the Homme, and then I’ll study the Gruul. Do you have a book on the Swamp Coast?”
“Yes,” Gatha sneered. “What you want is easy. But you should be in class.”
“I shouldn’t be here at all. The Flow that brought me here is stupid. And yet, here we are.”
Gatha didn’t pause. She walked in leather sandals up the steps, and he paused to appreciate the curve of her flexing calves. They reached the second floor of the Coruscation Shelves. Electricity arced from book to book and from shelf to shelf.
The she-orc went to a large silver lever. She hissed, “Caelum inanis,” and pulled it down. The lightning gave a final crack and then turned to smoke. Ymir sniffed at the sharp ozone smell. “Why the lightning?”
Gatha walked right by him. He smelled her musk, untouched by perfume, an earthy, raw stink. Unlike Jenny, the she-orc didn’t mask herself at all.
“The iron in the bindings would rust. The magical electricity keeps that rust away.” She walked to a ladder that extended to shelves twelve feet above. She climbed up on muscular legs and Ymir glanced up.
Her calf muscles flexed, as did her shapely thighs. As she climbed higher, he found himself gazing up at her sex, which was uncovered. Her lips were darker green. She might have white hair on her head, but there wasn’t any hair below. He felt the thrill of lust weight his belly.
She pulled a book out and crawled down.
Ymir stepped to the side. “Thank you.”
“I should strike you down for what you just did.” Tusks inched out of her mouth. Her rose-colored eyes flashed.
“What did I do?” Ymir asked easily.
“Looking up my tunic. You have the manners of a dog.” The tusks snapped forward, white and sharp. They’d slice through his skin easily if given the chance.
“The manners of a dog, and the appetites of one,” he said, half grinning. He stared into her eyes. “I won’t look again if you don’t want me to.”
“A good man wouldn’t have looked.”
“I’m not a good man, merely a dog. A dog will look. It’s in our nature. Since it angered you, I will not look at you again.”
She burst out in the Gruul language, full of harsh consonants and a few sharp vowels.
He chuckled. “I don’t know what you just said, but your hate amuses me.”
“I’m not here for your amusement.” She slammed the book into his chest. Heavy with iron, it was a nice strike. He wasn’t knocked off-balance. He took the tome from her, feeling the soft skin of her hands. Sure, it was soft—all she did every day was deal in books. Yet, she could fight; he could tell by her movements.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“To get animals like you books, it seems. Return it to me. Do not take it out of the Librarium.” She charged away, sandals slapping.
“And if I break the rules?”
“Then I get in trouble. And I won’t get you another book. I’m surprised you can even fucking read.” She went to the lever, whispered, “Caelum caelarum,” and pushed it up. A hiss later, lightning erupted, covering the shelves in electricity. Gatha descended the steps and was gone.
There was a small table and chair near the railing, away from the lightning, and he sat. Glancing down, he saw the Princept’s perch was empty, the papers on her desk stacked carefully.
Could Della Pennez have given him the ring parchment? It seemed unlikely, but he didn’t know. He’d see Lillee again for dinner, and they could finally discuss the rings. Only one ring had been sketched on the page. But Jenny had said there were more.
Maybe he should’ve confronted the Josentown princess directly about his doubts instead of reading about her people. Would he get the truth? It would be hard to say. Jenny was very comfortable with lying. There were many ways to win a war, and sometimes you needed cunning rather than strength.
He opened the book and found the handwriting tolerable. The introduction was about the history of the queendoms. He wasn’t concerned about that. He read something about the Akkridorian Empire and the Vempor Aegel Akkridor, who seemed to have lived for a thousand years. His empire broke up and the Age of Withering began. Some of the remnants of the empire stayed at Four Roads and founded the Holy Theranus Republic, south of the Blood Steppes. Others went farther south to the coast, where they splintered into fighting queendoms.
A map showed him the coast and the Scatter Islands in the Blue Sea. There was a university called Verra Nassa on a bigger island, in a port city called Williminaville. He flipped through pages so worn that some of the handwriting blurred.
So many words, verbose and redundant. Why didn’t the author get to the point?
The clan contracts with the Summertown merchants had to be complex, and each word could mean the loss of revenue or war. By their nature, they simply couldn’t be concise. This, however, was only a history book. The writer must have loved his sentences too dearly to cut even a single one.
Finally, Ymir found what he was looking for. Everything that Jenny had done made sense now, except she’d made a few vital mistakes
. Because she liked him. Because part of her wanted him for herself. That had undone her schemes to a certain extent. Like Gatha’s hate, Jenny’s desire was amusing.
“What kind of witch’s web have you found yourself in, clansman?” he asked himself with a sigh.
He closed the book. He might as well put it back himself. He went to the lightning lever and tried to pull it down. It wouldn’t move, not an inch. “Caelum inanis,” he said. Still nothing. He obviously didn’t have the magic.
Down he went, and he set the book down on Gatha’s table. The orc librarian wasn’t around. Classes had ended, and scholars wandered through the citadel, chatting.
Lillee was among them, and she stepped quickly to him. She pulled him down to a table near the side of the citadel.
He sank down into a chair as she placed the parchment on the tabletop. “I’ve studied it as best I could, but there are some words I simply do not know.”
“Why is there a sketch of only the one ring?” he asked. “Jenny mentioned several.”
At the swamp woman’s name, Lillee frowned, her brow furrowed. That was going to be a longer conversation, especially after what Ymir had learned.
“Eight rings total,” Lillee said. “Four are based on the schools of magic, and four others, which are lost to riddles. Or it might be my poor understanding of archaic Homme. If Jenny can help us, we might consider going to her.”
“She invited both of us to her apartment for dinner tonight. She lives at the top of the Flow.”
Lillee raised an eyebrow. “And how would you know?”
“Jealous?”
Lillee shrugged. “Not especially. Curious is more accurate.”
“Cleaning. That fucking work has some benefits. I overheard Gurla saying some of the richer students hired cleaning staff to take care of their personal apartments. Not cells, mind you—apartments. Jenny is a princess of Josentown. She can afford it. Actually, she has the best apartment in the Flow, and that is saying something.” He tapped the parchment. “What else did you learn?”
Lillee caressed his hand before pointing to the edge of the parchment. “It’s not been ripped from a book, that is clear, and the ink is rather fresh. This was copied from a longer work, I believe, since it mentions other pages. Do you have any idea who might have left it in your cell?”
