Princesses of the Ironbound Boxset: Books 1 - 3 (Barbarian Outcast, Barbarian Assassin, Barbarian Alchemist)

by Aaron Crash

  Linny didn’t pause. “Ghosts is one translation. Demons is another. Still another? Lost souls of the dead that possess the living. We’re not here to test the veracity of them. We just wanted to discuss the ideas they represent, culturally. It’s a fascinating field of study.”

  Ymir knew the Lover’s Knot worked, but it didn’t summon spirits he didn’t think. It worked with Sunfire magic to burn the physical components and Moons magic to imbue the ash with power. Yes, there had been the chant to some goddess, but it might not mean a thing.

  Linny’s eyes shone brightly. “We also wanted to get your opinion on something else. Did you know that many think Old Ironbound was built on a nexus of magical energy? Some say there are hidden corridors that take you to the Stair, a realm outside of this reality. The Stair is connected to countless other worlds, some demonic, some angelic.”

  Ymir didn’t like the sound of any of that, and yet, it made sense. The Vempor Aegel Akkridor built his fortress on the cape for a reason. The clansman stood silently, thinking that this was just one more thing he’d end up studying.

  “Next Monday night?” Jenny’s grin wasn’t warm. “This all sounds fascinating, but really, tonight isn’t good for us. Ymir, Lillee, come in, now. You’ll catch your death of a cold.”

  “Things seem to be changing in Josentown.” Linny wasn’t relenting.

  Haylee finally called to her. “That’s enough, Linnylynn. Let’s leave them alone. We can meet in the Librarium next Monday night after dinner. Would that work, Jennybelle?”

  “It would.”

  Linny finally looked uncertain. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. I just get caught up in all the ideas. Again, sorry to bother you.”

  Jenny’s fake smile widened. “It’s fine.”

  More pleasantries were exchanged, and finally Linny and Haylee walked away.

  Jenny slammed the door with Ymir and Lillee inside the room. The Josentown princess, her back to the door, slumped down to the floor. “May the seven devils take my soul, but that was strange. That was a confession. That was a fucking warning, and you ain’t gonna tell me no different.”

  “And that is a double negative,” Ymir said. When she didn’t smile, he went over and helped her up. He moved her to the couch. Lillee was already getting wine warming on the stove.

  Jenny closed her eyes. “Those bitches. They’re here to kill me. And they know about the orishas, which aren’t the same as demons I don’t think. Not sure I believe any of it, but an orisha is supposedly a ghost, a pissed-off one, and demons are not people, never were. You really think that bear-butt with the tentacles ever kissed a girl or ate puff corn?” She sighed out her anger. Her fear continued to eat at her, a fear she wouldn’t talk about.

  Ymir knelt on the rug, pulling out the sand parchment, which had a series of Flow cantrips to both hide the truth and to reveal it. Those were relatively simple to cast, and the normal verbal component of “jelu jelarum” would be enough. The instructions to create the Veil Tear Ring seemed blissfully simple. That was a relief. And yet, Ymir’s Homme wasn’t as good as his Pidgin. And this was written in a Homme dialect, a distinctly different one from the Theranus he’d seen before.

  Akkir Akkor. That was the royalty of the other-spirited, and that made Ymir wonder about this idea of ghosts. That old anxiousness frosted fingers up his spine.

  He recalled lessons from Ibeliah Ironcoat’s poetry class. He leaned into the feeling and muttered, “Jelu jelarum.”

  He fell into a vision. He saw Jenny, lying on stone, her face pale, and blood splashed across her throat. She was dead, or close to it.

  Then Ymir felt the hands around his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He was being strangled.

  He was seeing and feeling what the Princept had seen and felt when she cast her Flow magic. This would happen during the Third Exams, unless they could stop it.

  He blinked open his eyes. He wasn’t going to say anything. Jenny seemed so on edge already, and he didn’t want to add to her nightmares. He was fairly certain, however, that he’d just added to his own.

  Lillee came over with some mulled wine for all three of them. She sat next to Jenny and held her hand. She didn’t need to say a word to comfort the swamp woman. Jenny seemed far more relaxed sitting next to the elf girl.

  Ymir massaged his throat, then let his hand drop. “Those professors might not be the evil that is attacking us. We’ll find out their true intentions with the Veil Tear Ring.”

  Jenny brightened. “Tell me we need a veil. I love me some lace.”

  Ymir shook his head. “I don’t know if this is another Akkiric Ring, but I think it is. Akkiric, as far as I can tell, can be roughly translated into kingly. To collect them all just might make you a king. Octovato also mentions an akkor, or other-spirited. One of your orishas, Jenny.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  The clansman continued. “This ring is powerful with Moons magic, and you’ll be happy to know that we need another aszeculum.”

  Jenny laughed out loud. “That’s convenient. We know what that word means. And we know where one is. This is all very good.”

  Ymir nodded. “Yes, but we need the reflection of the Artist Moon, in a silver bowl consecrated by the heartbroken. We’ll need a feather for that. We need a piece of paper bearing bad news. We take that, and on it we make a sketch of the ring, with very specific dimensions. The ink is the important part. We need the tear of a blind woman. We need the blood of the innocent, and I read that as a virgin. We burn a cobweb, vision salt, Ethra mint, bay leaves, and high john root, mix that in with the spit of the wearer, and that’s the ink you use for the picture. You have to cut the picture to have the same dimension as the bowl. When one places the sketch in the aszeculum, as close to the sky as one can get, an open sky, with no rain, the ringmaker will be tested.”

  “What does that mean?” Lillee asked in a quiet voice. Followed by a very big yawn.

  Seeing his elf girl yawn put a smile on Ymir’s face. “That is a very good question. There will be an akkor for the Akkir, or I think that’s about what it means. Hard to say. The ringmaker’s test will either tear the veil, or it will destroy him.”

  Jenny let out a hiss of frustration. “Of course, here we go, we have the utter destruction thing again. This time it won’t shatter your dusza, but it might kill you. That’s fun.”

  “Who said it should be me?” Ymir asked. “Jenny, we might think about you crafting the ring and wearing it. Or maybe we try all three of us. It does say that multiple people can wear the ring. And it does say this will work better with other kingly rings. Kingly. Akkiric.”

  “Well, that does it. It should be you, on account of the Black Ice Ring.” Jenny leaned back to let Lillee rest her head on the swamp woman’s breast. “So, this is all very familiar. We have a lunar race against time. The Artist Moon will dominate the sky in three weeks, right when the Third Exam starts. We need a high place, and no rain. So basically we have to wait for summer.”

  “I think we should all try,” Lillee whispered. “I think we should all be tested, and if we’re to die, we’ll die together.”

  Ymir felt the anger fill him. “That will not happen. I’ll burn heaven down, I’ll wash out hell with oceans of blood, but I will not let anything happen to you two.”

  They talked more, but Lillee was worn out after her adventures with Gatha. She went to bed. Jenny fell asleep on Ymir’s chest, while he thought about the day. He didn’t like the fact that he’d found the visiting professors skulking outside Jenny’s door. And yet, if they were the assassins, they were incompetent ones.

  He watched the fire burn low. As it did, Jenny moaned in her sleep, twitched, and muttered something he couldn’t quite hear. He swept her up and took her to bed, hoping he’d saved her from a bad dream. He didn’t know if he had or not, but she didn’t cry out again.

  The night passed, and Ymir was up before them both, out of habit, though he didn’t need to clean for Gurla anymore.

  He
left Jenny’s suite to get a cup of kaif in the feasting hall. He wanted to go over his notes on Obanathy’s cantrips again and review the instructions on how to make the Veil Tear Ring. They’d need a list of ingredients.

  The morning didn’t have rain but a cold fog, blanketing Vempor’s Cape and obscuring the four college towers and the central citadel. The air smelled good, a fresh damp smell, salted with the ocean. He walked through the Librarium, which was mostly empty. Drippy the librarian sat at the desk, sleepily reading one of the town crier volumes, stale news from six months ago.

  In the feasting hall, he poured himself a cup of kaif from the urn and then sat at an empty table to drink and study his grimoire. He’d added some notes to his sand parchment the night before, then dumped the sand down the paper so the words would flow into his tome. He had a tray to collect the leftover sand.

  Tori whistled about near the feasting hall, adjusting things on the kaif table, adding to the cream, refilling the beet sprinkles. She then came and flounced down across from him. This day her dress was green, and her apron was white as ever.

  “Up early?” Ymir asked.

  “Pah!” the dwab burst out. “I’ve been up since four, working. And how are your princesses?”

  The clansman didn’t think either was very at peace, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to go into Jenny’s nightmares or Lillee’s taciturn nature. He was about to answer that all was well when movement caught his eye. Flickering in on wings, a familiar fairy shot toward them.

  Ymir felt the hair on the back of his nape lift. That chill of winter icicles tickled his spine. He knew what he needed to do. “Jelu jelarum.” He cast the Flow spell, but he didn’t force a vision; he imagined placing a mist as thick as the fog outside around himself and Tori.

  It was time to test one of Obanathy’s cantrips.

  Ziziva fluttered up and landed on the table between the two. She’d added a warm furry hat, furry mittens, and furry boots to her ensemble. “Oh, and isn’t this convenient? Both of you up so early? Planning mischief? Touch my wings, then touch my heart, but I think so. The barbarian and the dwab, having a little breakfast business meeting.”

  The fairy laughed and whipped off her little cap. Her short blond hair was mussed, but it made her even cuter. Too bad she was twelve inches tall and their competitor.

  “Ziziva, what business are you talking about?” Ymir asked.

  Tori rolled her eyes. “If she means funny business, well, she doesn’t know what’s what. You and I are just friends.”

  “The funny business of dwarves and dwabs is not my business at all, Toriah Welldeep. Tori, Tori, Tori is what your friends call you. And what do your enemies call you?” Ziziva danced over and put a boot on the rim of Ymir’s cup. Her inch-long bit of cleavage was very visible. “I’m talking about a sweeter business. You two selling xocalati? If so, let’s talk so this sweet business doesn’t turn bitter.”

  Ymir wrinkled his brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ziziva.”

  Tori was less polite. “She’s drinking too much of her own honeydew, Ymir. You know how the Fayee are. Dreamy and funny, the children of the Reveler.”

  The Reveler was one of the old gods.

  “Am not, dwab!” Ziziva launched up into the air, her wings fluttering into a blur. She buzzed up close to Ymir, and he was reminded of a summer fly bothering him. She then spun around, circled Tori, and came back to hover between them. “You two smell of the xoca bean, and I’ve heard stories, and I’ve heard words, and the Homme-ies and the Ohlyrra-ies and the Gruul-ies are getting wet and getting hard over the Amora Xoca. Even the half-elf from Panseloca loves a little of the xoca. And it’s Ymir, they say. And it’s Tori, Tori, Tori, they say and say.”

  The Fayee went spinning off to float in front of Tori. Ziziva crossed her arms. Ymir took a moment to admire her butt in that skin-tight gown. With the mittens and boots, she seemed even less clothed.

  Ymir gave Tori a steady look. They weren’t going to admit anything. They didn’t need to.

  “I love xocalati,” the dwab said with a cheery smile. “I grew up with it, since the Morbuskor had ways to avoid the Undergem Guild’s tariffs. I’ve had some friends bring me some from your shop. It’s delicious.”

  The Fayee swept around them, flying in circles.

  Ymir listened closely. He heard the fairy cast the Flow spell. He prayed to the Shieldmaiden that the Obanathy cantrip would hold.

  Ziziva spun around and landed on the table again. She sank her hands onto her hips, facing Ymir, not Tori. “Well, you big bully of a barbarian. I know something is up. I don’t know what, and you stink of old magic, forbidden magic, if you want to know the truth. Maybe when I know more about that, I’ll know more about you.” The smile was gone, and there was a glint in the tiny woman’s very blue eyes. Her nose was still upturned, her lips were still full, but her demeanor had changed.

  Ymir wasn’t going to grin or smirk. He wanted this tiny fairy woman to know that she wouldn’t be the one to disrupt his business. “I’ve been told I stink of elk. Others have said I just stink. I’m here to study magic and have sex with women. You’re magical. Not sure you’re a woman. But even if I did have a xocalati business, that would be no concern of yours. You have your shop, you have your profits, and if your product is good, it will sell. If it’s not?” He shrugged.

  Ziziva marched over to his cup again. She nodded. “It’s easy to sell a product when you’ve cornered the market. There is a corner inside you, and it’s full of shadows. We’ll be friendly, Ymir, Ymir, but don’t think our friendly friendliness is any kind of weakness. It’s not.” She then bent and spat into his coffee.

  Ymir wasn’t squeamish, but he wasn’t going to tempt fate by drinking fairy spit.

  She giggled and rose up, placing her hat on her head. “Oh, and it’s Nan Honeysweet’s Paradise Tree, and I’m just the shopgirl. I take some classes here, have some friends here, and I’ve been known to take a cock or two.”

  “Small cocks from fairy boys you keep hidden away for special occasions?” Ymir asked.

  “Nope, silly, silly. I ride big uhts on hornier men than you.” Ziziva laughed her way away.

  Tori tilted her head, making a funny face of wonder. “Now, I’m not one to consider the intimate activities of other races, but I do wonder how that would work given her size.”

  Ymir had done some reading. There had never been a sighting of a male Fayee in Theran history. Most of what he read sounded like literal fairy tales—stories of fairies stealing away boys, raising them in secret villages on lost islands in the lakes and rivers of Thera. There, the boys were pampered and fed so they could have sex with the Fayee all day long. It wouldn’t be a bad life, Ymir didn’t think.

  Speaking of history, Ymir had his history class with Nile Preat later that day. The professor was an unorganized mess most of the time, with mussed hair and an obsession with clocks. Maybe studying history gave her a keen appreciation for the passage of time.

  Ymir had to consider that Nan Honeysweet and Ziziva were behind the entire demon attack. They were attacked after they secured the xoca beans from Salt Love and Sambal. The Fayee’s magical abilities weren’t fully understood, and so demon summoning could be a part of that. And he hadn’t seen the old woman, no one had, but she was there, in the shop, behind the curtain, preparing candies and packaging the xocalati sculptures.

  As for the flame attack in the shower? Perhaps the old woman and the fairy had seen into the future. With damn Flow magic, that was possible.

  “Fucking magic,” Ymir cursed.

  “Did that go well?” Tori shook her head and chuckled. “I don’t think that went well.”

  “I’ll teach you a spell to hide yourself from scrying,” he said. “I’d cast it a few times a day, just so we can stay hidden. Ziziva knows something is up. You can do Flow magic, correct?”

  “Enough to be dangerous,” the dwab laughed. “I tried to cool a tart the other day, cast some Flow cantrip, and
wound up freezing the tart completely. But I can try your special magic. I don’t like the Fayee in general, and that Ziziva in particular. I think she might be dangerous.”

  “Afraid?” Ymir asked.

  The dwab met his gaze with her clear green eyes. “Not of her. Only of when I get my Inconvenience again. Like I said, we’re friends, but I’m still hoping we can be Inconvenience Partners. Though it scares me, Ymir. It scares me like nothing else.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” the clansman said. “Perhaps answering the three questions might make you feel better.”

  Tori blushed. “I won’t get pregnant, not without some special Morbuskor magic, that I, of course, won’t talk about. As for myself? Yep, I guess I feel some shame, but the Inconvenience is something I have to deal with. I’d like your help, and Lillee’s, and maybe Jenny’s. I don’t know. It would make good stone sense for me to have more than just a couple of people in case it gets bad and I can’t find you.” She shook her head. “This sex business is a silly waste of time.”

  Was she trying to get out of answering the third question? Ymir couldn’t let her. “What about disrespecting your family?”

  Tori closed her eyes for a second, trying to hide her sadness. “No, my family, such as they are, figures I’ll disrespect myself one way or another. They don’t think it’s my fault. They just think that it was my bad luck being born me.” She knocked a hand on the table. “So we’re fine. Questions answered. I’m still scared.”

  She popped up, hiding away in her cheer. She came around and grabbed his spoiled mug. “Let me get you a fresh cup of kaif. The Morbuskor don’t like many races, and we definitely hate the Gruul, but you know, today I’m feeling a special hatred for the Fayee. The Morbuskor should be the only race to keep secrets about their bedroom activities. Those fairies are trying to one-up us in the secrets department.” She laughed at her own joke.

  “Wait, Tori.” Ymir found himself wanting to help this little woman, and not just with her Inconvenience. He liked her. He’d always liked her.