Barbarian Alchemist (Princesses of the Ironbound Book 3)

by Aaron Crash

  Ymir’s sigh turned into a frustrated grunt. “I don’t mind Phoebe Amalbeub. She seems level-headed enough, and it gives me hope for the merfolk in general. However, Lolazny Lyla is downright ridiculous.”

  “She has helped you with your Form cantrips, though,” Tori pointed out. “You’ve even been able to do some stonework.”

  “That’s more due to my studying than her help,” Ymir insisted. He’d have to talk with Lolazny later that day.

  “I like them both,” Lillee said.

  Tori laughed and shoved the elf girl playfully. “You like everyone. But that’s okay. I do too, mostly.”

  Lillee fell against Ymir. The elf girl laughed. “If you can be friends with Ribrib, you can be friends with anyone. Even I have trouble with her.”

  “Oh, Ribby is okay. She’s just hateful is all. Maybe she has a right to be.” The dwab paused. “Now is a bad time to talk, but Ymir, I’ve been thinking about the Veil Tear Ring. I haven’t tried it yet, and I think I should. I could use it to do a lot of things we need, like find your assassin, and maybe discover the truth about that wave. And you know, the Delphino family is certain that it was humans that killed so many of them at the Red Tide Massacre. Maybe it was or maybe it wasn’t. But if I could get near someone who was there, I could ride their spirits back and maybe get the truth.

  Ymir hadn’t expected this. He stared into the hopeful, freckled face of the dwab, those green eyes so brave and so good. He didn’t want his dwab princess anywhere near the hellhound or the Akkir Akkor. However, those other-spirited things already knew of both Tori and Lillee.

  The elf girl nodded. “I could try as well.”

  The clansman didn’t answer right away. He listened to the rainwater drip onto the stone and plunk into the citadel’s moat. The Veil Tear Ring was powerful, and any information could help them all. Nevertheless, the dangers couldn’t be denied.

  Tori threw the hood over her red hair and danced merrily into the rain. “He’ll think about it. That’s what that silence means. I know you, Mr. Man. I can guess your every thought!”

  “But not the nasty ones,” he said.

  Tori laughed and flashed him a brilliant smile that made her freckled nose crinkle. “Especially the nasty ones, Mr. Man. Just because I’m not horny all the time doesn’t mean you aren’t.”

  Lillee caught the cheerful mood. “And when are you going to try the Amora Xoca, Tori?”

  “When dragons fill the sky, Lil! Or when Gharam forgives Ymir. Or when Gatha says she hates her books. You know, impossible things.” She strutted off toward the Form college to the north.

  Ymir kissed Lillee. “You have a good day. And yes, at some point, you two will have to try the ring. We have to be smart about it, though. We don’t have many chances with that hellhound around. Lastly? It might make any divination magic dangerous. Remember that night with Ribrib? I didn’t have the ring on, but the dog still found me.”

  “Maybe the hellhound can be tamed by Tori’s great beauty. Or mine for that matter?” Lillee kissed Ymir and hurried off toward the Flow Tower.

  Ymir jogged and caught up with Tori easily. They made their way through more covered walkways that bordered the Imperial Palace and then into the Form Tower at the northern tip of the university. Like the Flow field, the Form field was next to the western cliffs. The Form housing helped secure the northern wall. The tumble of apartment buildings ran into the Red Wall, which had been ramparts to keep the citadel safe from an attack from the eastern lands.

  The Form Tower’s bells rang right as Ymir and Tori entered the classroom.

  Kacky and Gluck waved at them. They all had the alchemy class together, along with a collection of sophists from all four colleges.

  Ymir and Tori were lab partners, and they took their place in front of an Alchemist’s Rack with a selection of solids and liquids in various vials and bowls. There was a new bowl there, filled with a pale blue liquid. Near it was a complex piece of glass with a wide mouth above and a reservoir below. A sphere sat at the top to collect vapor.

  Professor Bootblack started the class with a booming laugh and got down to it. “Hush now, you bunch of squealing scholars. Today, we’re going to have some bloody fun. Who knows what coelum aguadroxide is?”

  Ymir felt ice trace fingers up his spine. Suddenly, this class took on a new life, and he felt how important those words were. Coelum aguadroxide. He gripped the table because he was floating again, but he wasn’t about to dispel it, not when his lab partner raised her hand.

  “It’s good for wounds,” Tori said. “My ahmer would pour some on my cuts when I was but a babe.”

  Brodor nodded at her but didn’t look at her. It was like he knew if he looked at all, he’d stare. “That’s right. It’s a mixture of the air around us, as we understand, and water. Guess what? You put a little blood in it, and you can divide the air from the water. You need a bit of a spell, but that’s why we have cantrips. Now, for air, do we use Form, or do we use Moons?”

  Gluck gave Kacky an evil smile. Kacky nodded. And so the big-bellied orc raised her hand. “Professor Bootblack? Moons or Form? Is that the difference between a fart and a shit?”

  It was a risky joke. Brodor could’ve berated her for wasting their time. Instead, he erupted into laughter. “No, but I appreciate the joke.”

  A few of the Ohlyrran women in the class looked both disgusted and annoyed.

  “I know, I know, you fucking elves don’t shit at all,” Brodor said, swaggering over to Kacky and Gluck with a stool he carried around since the lab tables were made for humans. “Since you two like to shoot off your mouths, how about we use your blood. And to answer my own fucking question, you can use either, but it depends on what you are focused on. If you want more pure air in the exchange, use Moons. If you want more pure water, use Flow.”

  The elves in class never liked Brodor cursing, but that hardly stopped the dwarf.

  Ymir glanced down at the pale blue liquid in the metal bowl.

  Tori saw him, and she also saw his feet were off the ground. She quoted from the poem. “Pale blue is the peroxide water; dark crimson becomes the living heart. Yeah, I know. Now, dispel your little floating act. I can’t concentrate with you several inches off the ground.”

  An utterance of caelum caelarum from Ymir had his feet back on the stone.

  They watched as Brodor stepped up onto his stool. He set the metal bowl on a little stand on the complex piece of glass. “This is a Rendlim Funnel, and it will trap the air and collect the water. When the blood hits the coelum aguadroxide, you’ll see the alchemy in action. And yes, this was made by Fifunn Rendlim, the famous dwarven alchemist. He also dabbled in some other unsavory things.”

  Ymir made a note on his sand parchment, which he could translate into his grimoire. That simple name could change everything.

  Professor Bootblack took a knife from his side, grabbed Kacky’s arm, and cut her hand.

  “Did that hurt?” the professor asked.

  The Gruul woman laughed. “I’ve been pricked far harder than that, Professor. Just this past weekend, Gluck and I found someone to play with.”

  Gluck wasn’t about to stay quiet. “And I’ve bled far more during my monthlies.”

  Brodor at first made a face. “See? You took it too far.” But he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Regardless, I’m glad we’ll have a whole other semester together. You two she-orcs do make my Mondays interesting.”

  The blood from the she-orc’s hand dripped into the bowl. Immediately the liquid began to froth.

  “Caelum caelarum,” Brodor hissed.

  The bubbling mixture boiled upward, the air escaping into the glass sphere. The froth became water, which flowed out of the bowl and into the reservoir.

  Two lines from the poem came to Ymir:

  Pale blue is the peroxide water; dark crimson becomes the living heart

  Purity wrought from the murdering kiss; water taken from the ringmaker’s blood

  Purity meant p
ure air, and it didn’t need a murder, only a bit of blood, the ringmaker’s blood. And if this Fifunn Rendlim dabbled in unsavory things, he might have something on the Yellow Scorch Ring.

  At the top of the Rendlim Funnel, there was a small brass nozzle.

  Brodor finished off his presentation by opening the nozzle and casting a Sunfire cantrip. The pure air hit his spell and became a tongue of dancing flame rising out of the sphere.

  “I see a certain ring in your future,” Tori said a little breathlessly.

  Ymir barked out a question for the dwarven professor. “I’ve seen the word ‘peroxide’ before. Could that be referring to the coelum aguadroxide?”

  The professor stroked his long auburn beard. “Oh, sure, it’s an old word, but yes, you’re not wrong there.” He snapped his fingers. “Now, everyone, you try, and don’t nick a vein. If you need a heal, I can fix you up readily enough. Like so! Lutum cura!” The dwarf closed the cut on Kacky’s hand.

  Ymir cut himself just enough to let some blood fall into the pale blue liquid. Then, with the Moons cantrip, he had the potion bubbling, the pure air rising up through the mouth of the funnel and into the sphere. Water bubbled into the reservoir. He unhooked the container from the funnel and drank it.

  The dwab wrinkled her nose. “Are you sure?”

  Ymir returned the reservoir to its place. “Tastes like water taken from the ringmaker’s blood. If I survive my lesson with Professor Lyla today, I’ll talk to Gatha about finding me books by this Morbuskorian alchemist. I hope his work is in the Coruscation Shelves.”

  “Why wouldn’t you survive your fairy teacher?” Tori asked.

  “Because I’m going to ask her about her friend Ziziva and The Paradise Tree. The two know each other. I’m wondering if I can get some information. I’m also wondering if we can borrow one of those Rendlim Funnels. We’re going to need it.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  MONDAY SPUN AWAY, AND before he knew it, Ymir was climbing the stairs of the Flow Tower. With Professor Leel still convalescing, he met with Professor Lolazny Lyla in the Flow Tower. The fairy had a cramped office near the top, and so when the bells rang, it was deafening. Lolazny Lyla didn’t seem to care.

  She had a perch, a similar platform to what Ziziva had in The Paradise Tree—a bronze tray was attached to the wall and held a little desk, a desk chair, and a reading chair under a tiny lantern fixed to the central bronze pole. The platform sat at eye level of a human-sized seat with human-sized shelves. They held all sorts of things—a piece of quartz, bits of grass wrapped around dried flowers, a mouse’s skull, any number of tiny books, and some even tinier scrolls.

  The fairy professor was helping him with his independent cantrip studies. Most of the time they met in her office, but sometimes they went out to the Flow field, perched at the top of the western cliffs with a view of the ocean smashing into the rocky coastline below.

  Professor Lyla had short dark hair and tiny dark eyes. She wore Flow robes, with slits cut in the back to allow her wings to spread. A tight black dress lay under those robes, both open so her tiny cleavage was never hidden.

  The professor seemed to be in a relatively good mood. They worked on Form cantrips, where Ymir shaped a block of stone into patterns. It wasn’t hard, though he found he didn’t much care for Form magic. He liked Sunfire sorcery the best. He knew the power of fire—it kept you warm, but it could also kill. He’d survived a tundra fire when he was ten.

  “Ymirry dearie, you’re doing well.” The fairy fluttered around him. “Good for you, and good for me, because it won’t be long before Leel returns to thee.”

  “Thee and thou,” Ymir growled. “You sound like Willmur Swordwrite and his damn plays. Ibeliah Ironcoat has me reading everything the man has ever written. But yes, my friend Lillee says Professor Leel will be back with us after Solstice break.”

  The dark-haired fairy returned to her perch. She sank a hand to her hip. “And so, Ymirry dearie, we are done today. Unless there is something else?”

  Ymir sat. “After the wave hit, I saw you and Ziziva together. It seems you’re friends. I was worried for her and her shop, though the shop seems fine now. Still, she was upset. Do you know why?”

  Professor Lyla waggled a tiny finger at him. “That’s not school, and that’s not scholarly. That’s about your business with your Amora Xoca, and where are you getting your xoca? There was a bit of an interruption for The Paradise Tree. Had to do a little juggle there, or so Ziziva tells me, because this isn’t school, and this isn’t scholarly, and I don’t know anything about anything.”

  “So we shouldn’t be talking about this,” Ymir said. “Because Ziziva only works at The Paradise Tree. It’s not like you and her, or maybe all the fairies, are in business together. No, Nan Honeysweet owns the shop, after all.”

  Professor Lyla swung up into the air. She hugged her arms to her chest and fluttered her wings. “Oh, so you’re trying to get me to spill the xoca beans, but no, it’s not a Fayee business down there on the Sea Stair...in the market that is. Nan runs it all, and she’s just fine.” She floated back down. She batted her eyes and then leaned forward, so both her robes and her dress fell open. “If you have questions about the candy business, don’t come talking to me, mister, mister. You should talk to Nan. She’s the very human, who is very in charge. Good day, Ymirry dearie. Good day to you, sir!”

  She then spun around and exploded in a cloud of fairy dust. The air was full of a sweet smell, and Ymir felt a little dizzy. From the dust? From the smell?

  The fairy came close, whispered “Caelum devocho,” and snapped her fingers. “You won’t remember this, so I can say what I want to you. You are a bad man, a bad, bad man, to be so mean to Ziziva. Your Amora Xoca is hurting our business. You weren’t wrong, you big dumb human thing...all us fairies are running that shop. And we are running it exceedingly well.”

  Ymir blinked. “What do you mean I won’t remember? And should you really be telling me this?”

  The professor laughed, and it wasn’t happy and fairy-like. It was bitter, a tad sarcastic. “I’ll do you one better. Ziziva can’t decide if she wants you dead, or if she wants your cock in her butter hole. We have talked about you in great detail.”

  The clansman squeezed his eyes shut. He did feel muddled. He opened his eyes, shot to his feet, and reached out a hand to grab Lolazny Lyla like he’d grabbed Ziziva.

  The professor was ready for that. “No, Ymirry dearie, Ziziva said you were fast. And good. But no grabsy-wabsy today.”

  She buzzed high above him, completely out of reach.

  “Very well, Professor, and I think I’ll call you Lolazny at this stage. Three things. First, what if I don’t forget? Secondly, someone is trying to kill me, and I don’t know who it is. If you fairies are, I’ll find out soon enough, and I’ll come after you. Lastly? Which hole is the butter hole?” He laughed. He was genuinely curious.

  Professor Lyla flew around him, throwing more sweet dust in the air. “Oh, you’ll forget. If you don’t? It’s your word against mine, and I’m a tenured professor and a silly fairy. No one takes anything I say seriously.”

  Ymir noted the change in her demeanor.

  She continued. “None of the Fayee at Old Ironbound want you dead yet. No, Ziziva, if anything, wants you alive and in her bed. As for the butter hole? If you’re lucky, you’ll know soon enough. Now, out of my office! Caelum caelarum!” A wind caught him and blew him from the room along with a few papers. The door slammed shut.

  He staggered against the wall. He went over every word of the strange conversation. His hand strayed to the Veil Tear Ring. So as with his exams, his memory wasn’t affected by fairy magic. This was a very interesting turn of events indeed.

  “Fucking magic,” he growled happily and continued down the steps. So the fairies weren’t as silly as they appeared, yet that hoax had permeated the entire Theran continent and not just his school. Rumors and stories abounded, though, and they all said the same thing—you
didn’t mess with fairies when it came to business and money. He had to get to the library and get to Gatha. He had several things to study. Not only did he need to look at the works of Fifunn Rendlim, he was going to read up on fairies.

  Grandfather Bear had said that there were many kinds of battles, and there were many ways to crush your enemies. Ymir would be damned if he lost this candy war, not when he had a clear way of winning it.

  It all depended on the Solstice break cook. But first, he had to pass the Second Exam, and that meant more reading, and more plays by Willmur Swordwrite. Speaking of which, his literature professor, Ibeliah Ironcoat, and her husband were in the Librarium when he walked in. Gatha was helping them get some books. The she-orc’s bruises had healed, and she was as pretty as ever despite her square jaw and her hard expression.

  The two Morbuskor had reddish-brown beards, big noses, and big ears, and they were dressed in the same brown leather and black velvet—the dwarf had the trousers, while the dwab had the dress. She waved him over. “Ymir! Over here, Ymir! You do know the Second Exam is next week. Have you finished The Twelve Midnights?”

  Gatha replied before he could. “Ymir hasn’t. But I made mention of all the Moons imagery in that play, and Ymir has made a note of it. He’s not as dim as he first appears.” She gave him a little twinkle of a smile, but mostly she kept her face emotionless.

  He wondered if they would ever be more than friends. Perhaps that was enough, but he liked the smell of her. He liked their one brief kiss. Looking back, their fight seemed almost sexual now. Compared to how platonic their friendship was, the fistfight might be the closest they ever got to sweating on each other.

  Ibeliah laughed and stamped a boot. “You two. I heard about your fights, both of them. How come you didn’t use magic in the second one?” Those brown eyes were on Ymir. Something about the bearded dwab’s gaze was troubling. She seemed a bit too interested in his answer.

  Brandmunli nodded, making his beard move. “Yes, with the first fight, with the swords, there was a great deal of magic. Us professors took bets on you both. Gharam was for Gatha, naturally, and Brodor backed you, Ymir.”