by Aaron Crash
“I can assure you that I don’t plan on being kind to you any time soon.” Gatha’s lips curled into a grin. He saw her teeth there, strong and square. He didn’t see her hidden tusks. “And yet, there is something about you, barbarian, something I both love and hate. You were right. If we did fight, I would want to kill you. I’ve killed worse than you, and I’ve killed better.”
“I doubt we’d fight to the death,” he said. “In your fighting pits, there are rules of conduct. For being such a wild people, you do cling to your laws.”
“We do,” she agreed. “If we didn’t, the orc hordes would bathe Thera in blood, and we’d not stop until the slaughter was complete. Once you begin murdering, it can be very difficult to stop. You’re lucky I have so much self-control.”
Ymir moved forward, put his hands onto the desk, and leaned far over. He got close enough to smell her, really smell her, and he liked it. She’d washed in soap, her hair was clean, and yet underneath that was her own powerful musk. “No, Gatha. You’re lucky.”
If he could smell her, she could smell him, and her nostrils flared.
He went to brush his lips against hers, and she didn’t move.
Right before he kissed her, he drew back.
She stared up at him, silent but not sneering. Her eyes were wide, and she was breathing hard. He could see a line of sweat start in her hairline. Was that wonder on her face?
“Let’s hope we don’t fight,” Ymir said after a moment. “After our flirting, anything else might be a letdown. The sexuality of the dwarves and fairies might be a mystery but not the Gruul. Your people fuck. You don’t, though. You are aloof, yet I bet your passions aren’t dead. What kind of books do you read, Gatha? The erotic poems of Aeshulees? The romantic novels of Rie Wargen? The forbidden texts of the Countess Claudia Ebulska? I bet you get excited, and you revel in that excitement. And maybe, just maybe, you think of me.”
Gatha swallowed, licked her lips, and gathered herself. She stood. “Do you need anything else, Ymir?”
“No, I’ve done enough reading for tonight.”
She nodded. “Very well. Have a good night.” She turned and walked away, her sandals slapping the floor. The twin globes of her ass rose and fell under her tight tunic. Her muscular arms caught every shadow and every bit of light. Her back was equally as sculpted.
Ymir thought she’d lash out with her fists, or shout at him, or disregard everything he’d said, including his accusations about her interest in erotic literature.
She hadn’t. She’d turned cold and professional, which meant he might’ve pushed her too far, too soon.
He sighed. These orcs could be so moody. First he’d alienated Gharam, and now his hostile, heat-fueled relationship with Gatha might be a thing of the past. At least she’d still bring him books, though she might refer him to another librarian. She wasn’t the only one working the Coruscation Shelves.
In the end, he’d played his hand. He might not have done it well, but he’d played it. He’d see what the results were eventually, for good or for ill.
For now, he needed Tori far more than he needed Gatha. He had to hurry to meet the Morbuskor maid. He’d memorized her schedule, and she’d be coming out of the back of the feasting hall at any minute to gather water for the evening meal.
He hoped he’d have better luck with the Morbuskor because he was failing with the Gruul at Old Ironbound.
Chapter Seven
YMIR LEANED AGAINST the wall outside the feasting hall’s kitchen, waiting for Toriah Welldeep. He had the hood of his storm cloak thrown back as the rainwater dripped from the eaves. A cistern, collecting a large portion of the water off both the citadel and the feasting wall, was on the northwestern edge of the hall. The basin held a hundred gallons if it held an ounce.
Tori came bustling out the door, whistling a tune, the same Solstice tune that Lillee had sung. A bucket, nearly as big as she was, dangled from her grip. She wore a blue dress with an apron over it. Her legs were encased in black leather boots. Her arms were muscled and strong. Her dress strained to keep her big breasts strapped down.
The melody died on her lips when she saw him. She blushed. “Well, there’s the most famous barbarian in all of Thera, right here, where I collect the afternoon water. I’ll assume you’re waiting for me, since why else would you be here? Don’t make me suffer too long for an answer. The curiosity might kill me.”
“I have a business proposition for you,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. I have questions as well, but I have to admit, they are of a personal nature. So, you can choose, Tori, either business or pleasure.”
She put the bucket on the stone path. The walkway dropped down, steps eventually leading to both the Chapel of the Tree and the Moons campus. Ymir had taken it past the feasting hall on many nights when he’d had a rendezvous with Siteev Ckins in her classroom.
The fire-headed dwab frowned. “Well, now, bless my stone bits. Calling me Tori, are you? Are we that familiar?”
He nodded. “Yes. We’re friends. Or we were. You’ve been downright chilly these past few weeks. I’d like to know why.”
She chuckled as if she didn’t have a care in the world. The rising blush on her chest told a different story. Her cute freckled face glowed. “Now, Mr. Man, is that the business part of this deal? Or is that pleasure?”
“The pleasure,” he replied. “I do have business, but if you think ill of me, then we might not get to the business proposition.”
He towered over her. He was six foot five inches. She was just under four feet tall. He considered getting on his knees, or crouching, but that might seem rude. He didn’t know. He wished he had her Ax-damned stool. Most of the time, they had chatted with her on her stool and him leaning over the counter.
Tori huffed out a sharp laugh. “Pleasure is a dubious place to start, especially with the Morbuskor. We can sniff out a lie, and you can’t flatter me, obviously.”
That brought a question to his lips. Why couldn’t he flatter her? Instead, he would agree with her to make her feel comfortable. “Obviously. Because while you’re beautiful, you have too much sense to be taken in by my charms.”
She snorted. “Oh, I was taken in by your charms already, Ymir. While you’re a biggun, you have the devil’s dimple in your cheek when you smile. And that hot stare in your eyes can get to a person, even though your irises change color.”
Tori glanced away and pulled up the apron to cover more of the cleavage.
Her red hair glowed like a spring sunrise. He wanted to kiss every one of her freckles. Her lips were full, slightly wet, and her eyes were such a beautiful bright green. He knew his own pupils would be green, since he was feeling so attracted to her at the moment.
He averted his gaze to make her feel more comfortable.
She coughed a bit, swallowed, and went on. “Well, bless my stone bits, but you caught me, you did. You noticed I’ve been avoiding you. I’d hoped you wouldn’t. Probably not too bright for me to think you wouldn’t, but I can be so rock-headed at times.” She knocked her skull softly.
“I doubt that.” He didn’t like this girl talking bad about herself. He’d seen this before in people, and it was troubling. Everyone had good and bad in them. To think otherwise was foolish.
She squared up to him, put her hands on her substantial hips, and craned her neck. “Here’s the thing about you and me. I figured we’d be friendly, and we’d flirt a bit, since that’s fun, but once you got your elfy girl and your swamp witch, well, neither my ooby nor my ahmy raised their girl to play third fiddle in any man’s band.”
Those words Ymir didn’t recognize, but through context he got their meaning and her point. “Ooby and ahmy, those are your parents in Morbuskorian.”
“Right you are, Mr. Man. My oober and my ahmer raised me up right, and that means I’ll have one man in my life, and I won’t share him. But really, who am I kidding? In this day and age, and with my deformities, I’ll be forced into some kind of situation I don’t lik
e. The world adores a beardless dwab. I have my hopes, but milking a mineshaft would give me more to drink.” She chuckled and it came out sad, a little scared, a lot hopeless.
He didn’t know what deformities she was talking about. Perhaps she did have stone bits after all.
Tori caught how melancholy she sounded, so she laughed right through it. It was like she could laugh right through her despair, like an ax through a diseased limb on an otherwise healthy tree.
Her words brought up any number of questions for him. Why did the world adore a beardless dwab? And what was this about milking a mineshaft? That sounded like an idiom.
The Morbuskor maid slid up to him and pulled him down with surprisingly strong arms.
He found himself on one knee.
“Now, that’s better.” She pinched his cheek. “So, yes, I was a bit sad when you came into the feasting hall with that Lillee Nehenna. Now, I try to keep my own business my own since that just makes good sense right there, but she’s a beauty in anyone’s eye.”
“She thinks you don’t like her,” Ymir said.
Tori sighed. “Yep, I was jealous, of her, of you, of...I don’t know, normal people. That’s a shame. I’ll be nicer to her. I promise. But it was an adjustment, me coming here. Working the kitchen helped keep me sane—the work, I mean. It kept my mind off you. Lillee was beauty enough, but then you went and doubled down with Jennybelle Josen, though you two are trying to keep it hush-hush. I know why. I listen to the scuttlebutt, and that butt is scuttling all through the halls. Nellybelle wasn’t off her boat five minutes when she heard one of her spies tell her it all. Took a big merchant ship to StormCry, then a littler boat to the hidden docks. Probably has a name for it, but I know stone, not ships.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I say all that to say this—you have fun with those ladies. Sad to say, you won’t have me.” She patted him and stepped back.
Ymir stayed on one knee so they could look into each other’s eyes. “The tundra clans are like the Morbuskor in that we are monogamous for the most part. Most tundra women don’t like sharing their man, not in the slightest. So I respect your decision. We’ll be friends. I don’t understand what kind of deformities you have. To me, you are a rare beauty. I hope you see that.”
She guffawed and waved him away. “Go on with your flattery, biggun, because I don’t believe a word of it. Now, we talked pleasure, which is to say there won’t be any, and even if you weren’t involved with two sweet, sweet, stone-cold sweeties, you and I could never work out, given our races and our views on rubbing noses.”
Again, Ymir thought that was an idiom. “You don’t mean rubbing noses. You mean sex. Is that right?”
She covered her face. “You don’t just say it out loud like that, Mr. Man. It’s why we have idioms, to say things we don’t necessarily want to say. Gosh me underground, but yes.”
“So, sex wouldn’t work. Because of the deformity?” he asked. He needed to pull back, to keep their friendship, but his curiosity got the better of him. He could hear Grandmother Rabbit’s warning: A curious calf gets the hunter’s shaft.
Tori kept her right hand over her eyes. She made more waving-away movements with her left. “No, no, no, not like that. Well, a little.” She sighed and hissed in embarrassment. “Well, it’s that Morbuskor are different from all you overtoppers, and we don’t let ourselves get caught up in the Inconvenience like you big folks do. In that way, at least we can understand the forest folk. The Ohlyrra have their cuffs, which keep their heads out of their own skinny butts. For the most part. No offense to you or Lillee.”
“None taken, Tori.” That answer satisfied a bit of his curiosity, enough to let the conversation drop. He hoped that he and Tori could be friends, though in the end, he found that doubtful. The dwab’s jealousy might get the best of her, no matter how cheerful she forced herself to be.
“Can I call you Tori?” he asked.
“You did, you can, you will,” she said. She picked up her bucket. “Now, already, my coworkers are wondering where the water is. Get on with the business part of this terribly awkward conversation. You do know that already I regret every single word I’ve said.”
“I hope that’s not the case,” he said.
She splashed her bucket down, filled it, then hauled it up and sat it on her head. That was five gallons of water, but she whipped it around easily. The rain continued to drip off the eaves, through the gutter and downspout into the cistern.
She turned. “This water isn’t going to get any lighter.”
From a pouch, he retrieved the bit of xocalati he’d saved from the elk. “Would you like to try a little of this candy?”
“You bet!” She opened her mouth.
He laid the candy onto her very pink tongue, noting her fine white teeth.
She chewed, grinning. “Well, that brings back some memories.”
So she’d had it before—that surprised Ymir. “I want to start a business making xocalati and selling it to students. I want to use the kitchen to cook. Ideally, I’d like to use Old Ironbound cream and beet sprinkles as well, which would mean you would get more of a profit, depending on the percentage points we agree on. Of course, we’ll do a contract, so we both can agree on terms.”
“You trying to run The Paradise Tree out of business?” Tori asked.
“The Undergem Guild would say that healthy competition is good for everyone. We’re going to put a bit of love magic in our xocalati.” Ymir studied her face, trying to read her expression. Would she jump on board? Or would she shy away? “I’m assuming you’ve tried it.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “I grew up in the Ruby Stonehold, eating xocalati hargens on my birthday.” A hargen was a monstrous bear in the Theran mountains. “It was too expensive to mass produce, or my ooby would’ve tried. I was surprised to see that shop go up, but there it is. I was going to save up to buy myself treats. If I cooked for you, I wouldn’t have to.”
“You’re saying yes?”
“You get a reliable source of xoca beans, and then come and talk to me.” She smacked her lips, laughing merrily. “Bless my stone bits, that was a fine snack. You can pay me in xocalati!”
“No,” Ymir said. “You’ll get paid in shecks, enough to buy your tuition, so you won’t need to work in the kitchen.” It was a bold thing to say since they didn’t exactly know if this business venture would really pay out.
She raised her eyebrows. “You would’ve made quite the lover, Ymir, but as a friend, you aren’t too cracked. Don’t know if you’re shale, or if you’re granite, but time will tell. You get the xoca, and I’ll ponder a scheme where we can cook up batches of wonderful.”
“And make a great many shecks,” he added.
“I grew up with money, Ymir. It can buy some things. It can’t buy others. And happiness? Bless my stone bits, but that’s a gem of a different color—a color you can’t purchase with a few coins. I work in the kitchens because I like working in the kitchens.”
The door was thrown open and a big woman trundled out. The giant who ran the kitchen was as tall as Ymir, with forearms as big as her thighs. Her rough face had more facial hair than he expected. Her sweaty brown hair, streaked with white, was pulled back and clung to her big skull. Did she have a square jaw? Was her pale skin just a tad bit green? A name came to him: Francy Ballspferd.
She gave him a grimace. She lowered donkey-brown eyes at the cheerful dwab. “Tori, we need that water. Are you catching raindrops out here?”
“No, ma’am. Just coming.” Tori threw Ymir a last smile. “Good luck, Mr. Man. You’ll need it.” Balancing the bucket on her head, she maneuvered around Francy and disappeared inside.
The big woman nodded at him.
He nodded back before she slammed the door.
Ymir leaned back against the building, watching the rain splash off the rooftops of the Flow housing. He went over their conversation. He had some answers, he had some worries, and he had still more questions.
If the In
convenience was sex for the Morbuskor, what were Inconvenience Partners?
And if Nellybelle Tucker knew that Jenny had taken Ymir into her bed, and in doing so had betrayed her family, would Jenny’s murderous aunt send assassins?
His life had gotten complicated. He wanted to continue with his business venture, yet Tori was right. All the shecks in the world wouldn’t matter if he lost Jennybelle to assassins. There had to be a spell or artifact to detect such plots.
Back to the books. He’d find something even if he had to read every book in the Librarium.
After dinner, he was back at his second-floor table. The noise in the citadel grew as scholars left the feasting hall to chat in the wide-open space below him. Gatha was at her desk, growling at anyone who came near.
The she-orc had helped him find The Keez Forta Index, which was an exhaustive list of books, spells, and artifacts. It was dry reading, and he turned pages, searching for something that could help them. Some of the books were becoming familiar to him: The Mystery of the Worm, The Informatix Scroll, The Theranuvial Codex. Some of the same objects came up as well: the Calcifax Staff, the Calfinite Blade, the Cypher Wand, and something called the Fractal Clock.
The words began to blur, all the names started to look familiar, and then he noticed something—in the back section, where the more powerful Flow artifacts were listed, there was an entry smudged out. There were words there, but someone had carefully scratched them out. Flow artifacts could divine the future. This might be important.
Ymir felt the familiar chilly fingers trace up his spine and lift the hairs on the back of his neck. He floated off the seat, but instead of dispelling the out-of-control Moons magic, he focused on his Flow magic. If he could slip into a vision, he might get an answer to what he needed.
He whispered, “Jelu jelarum.” He settled back down, the floating magic turning into divination magic. In the vision, he saw himself with a piece of coal from Jennybelle’s fireplace. He put a blank piece of parchment down, and then, sliding the coal over the book, he could find the word that had been crossed out.
