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

by Aaron Crash

Ymir knew it wasn’t so simple, especially after studying Derzahla Lubda’s slim volume, which was mostly ravings about demons rising from a place called the Stair to devour all of reality. That made Ymir think of something that Linnylynn Albatross had mentioned. Was Old Ironbound some kind of nexus with secret corridors that led to the Stair? Ymir knew the university’s secrets went deep. He’d have to keep an eye open.

  Lubda did have some pages on the Akkiric Rings, though the language wasn’t clear. He warned ringmakers in one paragraph and praised them in the next. As for the instructions on how to make a third ring? They were hard to follow and included a rhyming poem that seemed like complete nonsense. After all the fucking poetry he’d studied his second semester, it was a cruel irony that he had to decipher more stanzas. He figured it was the poetry that had driven Derzahla Lubda mad.

  Ymir had considered keeping the tome. That would’ve been a mistake. Della would’ve torn the school apart. If she’d found it anywhere near him, she would’ve expelled him. It was better he give it back and then lie.

  He did a lot of lying to the Princept. He found it oddly satisfying.

  She was a good opponent. At the same time, he knew, deep down, she was on his side. He could count on her if he really needed help. And he might.

  The Akkiric Rings were powerful, doubtless, but Ymir didn’t think they were demonic in and of themselves. The Akkir Akkor? That felt like a different issue. The words that voice had said haunted him: THE SLEEPER. THE AWAKENED. THE DREAM. What did all that mean?

  Ymir couldn’t find any real information on the mysterious forces behind the Veil Tear Ring. He thought of using the ring to slash through reality itself to investigate them, but Octovato said that he would be killed and eaten immediately if he tried.

  Ymir heeded the warning. Besides, if he was going to risk the hellhound, there were other things he wanted to see more. That was the purpose of his errand on that Friday afternoon—that little niggling idea in his mind hadn’t gone away.

  He brought the powerful ring with him across the Flow courtyard, down the Sea Stair, and to the sea alley showers. Most of the happy scholars were on their way to the Summernight Festival—another dance, more feasting, and more drinking. Ymir would get there eventually. First, though, he had questions to answer.

  He was going to tempt fate because that was what fate was there for—to push your destiny right up to the edge of sanity and death, and either the world gave you what you wanted, or it killed you. Either way, better to live the life of a warrior and not a whelp.

  Why shouldn’t he study damned magic? He was already damned because of this dusza thing inside of him.

  Ymir walked into the sea alley showers. He had wanted to put some time between the first time he used the Veil Tear Ring and the next.

  Standing in the shower, he smelled the mildew, saw the stains, and watched water drip from a spout. So far, no flames. Jenny still wanted them to come down here and have sex in the showers, where they might get caught. He’d have to add that to the list of things he would do over the summer. If Lillee kept her essess on, she’d be a good lookout for them. He could see her taking it off, though, and joining them.

  Ymir laughed a little and slipped the magical ring onto his pinky finger next to his other Akkiric Ring. He was back in the world of shadow, light, and noise. He smiled as thousands of women, over a thousand years, showered around him, soaping up breasts of all shapes, sizes, and colors. There were so many different kinds of nipples rising from so many types of areolae. Of course he was there to watch some secretly pleasure themselves, furtively, in the warm water. It must’ve been warmer a thousand years ago. He saw other women thrust up against the tiles, getting fucked by their men. Jenny wasn’t the only scholar who had exhibitionist inclinations.

  Then he brought himself forward to this year, to when he himself was there. Moments before, there had been someone in the shower. He couldn’t see them, their outline was blurry, but he could recognize the magic. They were using something similar to the Obanathy cantrips to hide themselves.

  He heard a gruff voice mutter, “May the night never end. May the day never begin. Ignis fascinara.” And then all the spouts glowed, enchanted.

  That voice wasn’t the voice of Hayleesia Heenn. It was gruff, and sounded male, but that might not be the case. If you took one of the she-orcs, Gurla the Janistra Dux, or the big-breasted Korga, they’d sound similar.

  Ymir felt fetid breath on the back of his neck. He smelled the shit and fire stink of the hellhound. He swept the ring off. The clansman was satisfied. When he’d touched Haylee’s life, it was clear she had summoned orishas to kill Jenny. The half-elf assassin had not used fire, which meant she hadn’t tried to kill Jenny in the shower. No, Ymir had been the target that day.

  He pondered that little poem—may the night never end, may the day never begin—that sounded like a motto for the Midnight Guild. They were up to their old tricks.

  He left the showers, the Veil Tear Ring in its own pouch he created on his belt. He hated holding the thing. He hated the touch of it. And he knew, the more he used it, the more the hellhound would close in on him. That did make him wonder if Lillee or Tori could wield the ring. The Akkir Akkor had mentioned Lillee’s sweat and Tori’s blood. Things would have to be desperate for him to suggest one of them try it on.

  Before he left, he checked his sea cell. They’d gotten ten more bags of xoca beans, more velvety black parchment, and more red ribbons. They’d also bought a stamp so they could stamp the cooling xocalati with the Amora Xoca’s own rune, one designed by Lillee.

  Salt Love and Sambal said they’d found some new trading partners and could get the beans, raw, as much as they wanted. Tori had jumped at the chance to be able to create machines that would allow them to process the raw beans themselves.

  That made Ymir wonder if he could undercut the merfolk and make a deal directly with Nan Honeysweet and her fairy shopgirl. That was the next place he was going to visit with the devilish ring. He didn’t take much of what the Princept said seriously. However, her warning about the fairy did strike him as worthy of his attention.

  He left his cell, thinking that they would need to move operations at some point. Della didn’t care about his xocalati business, but that might change. And others might come and break into his cell. They locked it now, with both iron and magic, but either could be broken. After fucking Tori in the StormLight storeroom on the bags of ficco beans, he might just use the xoca bean bags in Jenny’s suite on the little woman. They’d made good cushions.

  If only Tori was interested in sex. So far, the dwab’s Inconvenience hadn’t returned, and she wasn’t willing to try their xocalati. She still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of triggering her lust. The wide little woman spent most of her evenings with them, either studying in the Librarium at their second-floor table, or in Jenny’s apartment. However, she’d leave when Lillee took off her essess.

  They had new respect for the forearm cuff after seeing what it had done to the half-elf assassin.

  The victory over the assassin felt as good as passing exams. Best of all? He and his friends would be spending their sophist year together. The thought made Ymir smile. It had been a long week, and he couldn’t wait to hold his women in his arms.

  He had one more stop to make before he could do that.

  His recent adventures had started in The Paradise Tree – Fine Xocalati and Quality Confections, and he thought it made sense to pay one more visit there. This time, however, he’d do it shadowed in magic, tearing through the veil to get to the truth of the shop.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  YMIR STARTED UP THE Sea Stair. The sunset lit the western sky with warmth and light. He’d enjoy the clear summer skies while he could. Yes, the Sorrow Coast had a cold and rainy winter, but it was nothing compared to the howling blizzards that froze elk solid—those that were unlucky enough to be on the edges of their gangs. Mostly the old bulls sacrificed themselves to keep the young males, co
ws, and calves warm at the center of the herd.

  The clansman ducked into the shadows of the alley beside The Paradise Tree. It was open, and he heard the Fayee’s merry laughter and Nan Honeysweet calling to her shopgirl. “Tell her we’ll be open through the summer. I’m too old to find another place to live for three months out of the year!”

  Ymir fingered the Veil Tear Ring out of the cold, sodden pouch. He slipped it on and immediately felt the hellhound at his back. Those eyes, filled with that awful intelligence, saw him. It came for him, limping along on four legs, but it had more limbs, weird appendages that lengthened and shrank, dripped and swelled. Its brimstone and fecal stink fouled the air.

  Ymir left his body and moved his dusza form through the walls, into the back of the shop where Nan Honeysweet worked. For most of the history of the cape, it had only been a rocky hillside, but then the fortress had been built, and the ramparts rose in the distance. Finally, businesses grew around the vempor’s fortress. This particular stone building, the roof thatched, had been a fisherman’s storeroom for dried and salted fish pulled from the Weeping Sea. Generations of fishermen served the vempor, bringing Aegel Akkridor a variety of delicacies. Then it became a one-room, one-woman brothel, where an Ohlyrran woman with the mark of the Sullied had plied her trade, much to the delight of the orcs, dwarves, and soldiers who worked for the vempor. Hundreds of years and thousands of sex acts later, it became a gambling hall, then a general store, then it lay empty for decades before it became The Paradise Tree.

  Ymir hurried forward into the present. There, Nan Honeysweet sat in her chair, wrapping up a tree made of xocalati in metal hands.

  Ymir looked on in wonder with his spectral eyes. Yes, the thing in front of him rocked on a rocking chair, but she wasn’t an old woman. She wasn’t Homme, Ohlyrran, or Gruul. Her silver-colored hands were connected to brass arms. Steel cables worked underneath her metal skin. She had hinges and joints that allowed her movement. Gears spun, visible underneath her copper carapace. Her eyes clicked and, yes, she moved like she was an old woman, but she was a machine. Was this Knowing Lore? Was this Form magic, a kind of golem, like Siteev Ckins’s coral golem? Or was this strange automaton powered by an orisha, like the ones Hayleesia Heenn had summoned?

  Ymir had come looking for secrets that might give him an edge against the competing business. He’d found one. He then drifted about and saw a contract, printed on a small card, only a couple inches long and an inch wide. In minute handwriting, he could read just enough to know that Ziziva was getting her xoca beans from the merfolk. And they were charging more, far more, than Salt Love and Sambal.

  Before the hellhound could grab his soul, before the Akkir Akkor even warned him, Ymir rushed back to his body and slipped off the Veil Tear Ring. He felt the hellhound near him, could smell it, on the other side of the veil. Then the presence was gone, swept away by time.

  He walked around to the front just as a woman came out, clutching her bounty to her chest. Ziziva fluttered out in a wave of cool air. She had to keep the shop cool or all that xocalati would melt.

  The Fayee swung around and landed on Ymir’s shoulder. “Oh, if it isn’t my good friend, Ymir.” She grabbed his ear, hard, and he winced and went to bat the fairy off his shoulder.

  She fluttered around to float in front of him, just out of reach. “How did your second batch of Amora Xoca sell? And so much of it! Why, it makes a girl wonder at the state of the world, the world, this big ’ol world. Hmm?”

  She giggled, but those eyes were serious, and she was angry. Ymir was accustomed to sensing the anger of women. With his growing harem, that was a necessity.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ziziva.” Ymir rubbed his ear. It had been a bad pinch. Or had she cast a spell on him? He’d have to figure out a dispel magic charm soon to keep himself and his princesses safe—his two princesses and his very good Morbuskor friend. “Give my best to Nan. I’d like to meet her someday. She owns the shop, doesn’t she?”

  The Fayee did another circle around him. “Nan Honeysweet does, and her magic is in her name, and, yes, I’m just the shopgirl, yes, and I’m just the help. I get those men to look at my tiny little titties, I get those women to wonder about my sweet honeypot, which is so sweet, from my dirt box to my clitty top. And, someday, you big bad bully of a barbarian, if I don’t drive you out of business, I’ll drive you out of your mind. You have promise. Oh, yes, you have promise.”

  Around and around she went, and Ymir forced himself not to react. Again, she stopped to flutter in front of him.

  “Give my best to Nan,” he said. “She must have nerves of steel to run this business. I’ve heard she gets her xoca beans from the merfolk. That would take an iron will.”

  Ziziva wasn’t smiling. She gave him a long look, far too serious for a silly fairy. “I’ll tell Nan, and I won’t tell you. Not a thing about our deals or our business or anything at all, at all, not anything, not all. Bye-bye my business bully butthole. We’ll meet again, again, oh, yes, we’ll meet again.” She then flew in and gave him a quick kiss, or it might have been a lick, and then she was flying back into her shop.

  Which she owned. Nan Honeysweet was her Knowing golem and her cover. Why, Ymir didn’t know, but even Della Pennez spoke of the Fayee and their enterprises with a certain amount of awe.

  Ymir rubbed his face. Dealing with both the Veil Tear Ring and the fairy candy seller had made him feel dirty. In some ways, those two things felt worse than the idea that his assassin was probably still on campus and waiting for another opportunity to kill him.

  As he made his way up through the Sea Stair Market, he was thinking of what he’d learned—about Ziziva, the xoca bean deals she was making with the merfolk, and his own profit margins. The Sunfire torches were flickering on in the twilight.

  Outside of the Unicorn’s Uht, with tankards of ale in their hands, were Darisbeau Cujan and Nellybelle Tucker. Odd Corry and Roger the Viscount must be inside with the rest of the Swamp Coast girls.

  Ymir ignored Daris. He fixed a glare on Nellybelle’s face. He walked up to her, while Darisbeau stood back, smirking.

  He didn’t say a word, just stared, and Nelly stared back, too stupid or too scared to talk.

  Ymir smiled. “I find it ironic.”

  “What’s that?” the woman asked in a choked voice.

  “I find it ironic that professors have a way of coming to Old Ironbound and dying. When I got here, I heard rumors it was the scholars that wound up cold.” He nodded at her.

  Then he walked away.

  He heard their whispers. Daris, Nelly, and their ilk hadn’t made a serious attempt on his life, but they would. It would be amusing to have such piss-poor enemies after what he and his princesses had already overcome.

  At the top of the steps, which ended at the Flow courtyard, he turned and walked to Jenny’s suite and his home. There, the lingering scent of perfume filled the dampened air, moist from the shower. Jennybelle was in a rush, trying to find the right thing to wear. She was loud, happy, and full of life.

  Sunfire candles glittered. The fireplace was cold. It was warm enough outside they didn’t need to worry about heating the suite anymore.

  Lillee was in a white-gold dress, just a shade darker than her platinum-colored hair. It hugged her hips and ass and was tight enough that her thick nipples showed through. The outfit was positively indecent and would have the stuck-up Ohlyrran professors shaking their heads all summer long—the Sullied elf wasn’t following their stupid rules. The elf girl was freer than ever with herself. He was glad to see the cuff on her left arm, though, or they’d never get out of the apartment. They’d spend the entire Summernight Festival in bed.

  Lillee stood in the bathroom, at the mirror, putting on a little makeup she didn’t need. The cosmetics were gifts from Jenny, who still had money. Her aunt had tried to kill her, but the Josentown princess hadn’t been cut off yet.

  Tori was sitting on the couch, drinking sparkling wine and
laughing. At what, he didn’t know, but the little woman was as cheery as ever. She was in a green dress with lots of lace, and she’d put away her normal big work boots for something sleeker and with a higher heel. Her red hair was braided perfectly. She didn’t have makeup on, and yet, her lips were red, her cheeks flushed, and her nose sprinkled with her cute freckles. Her green eyes shone a little too brightly. If she wasn’t drunk, she was close to it.

  Jenny came out of the bedroom in her pannee but with her big breasts hanging out—wide areolae and little nipples. She had a dress in either hand, one green, another golden. “I can’t fucking decide! Ymir, would you be a dear and tell me which one you like? Should I match Tori or Lillee? I’ve been trying to split the difference, but I can’t decide.”

  “I’m wise enough to know that whatever I say you’ll disagree with.” Ymir walked over to the kitchen area, found himself the bottle of wine, and frowned. They had wine bottles, but not beer yet, and he’d have to change that. Brewing and bottling his own beer, with a bit of magic thrown in, would be a great business. He could add a little charm to make people cheerful or chatty.

  The Princept was right. The xocalati business would only get him so far.

  “Ymir!” Jenny complained. “I need help.”

  “I’d go with that blue dress that brings out your eyes,” he said.

  “Ugh, ain’t that just some shit under my shoe?” She rolled those striking blue eyes. “You didn’t listen. I want to match one of our girls.”

  “My girls,” Ymir said, and he poured himself some sparkling wine. It was too sweet and bubbly for him.

  Lillee popped her head out of the bathroom to give him a warm look. “Your princesses.”

  He nodded. “Two princesses and the cleverest, prettiest little dwab to ever embezzle ingredients for the world’s best xocalati.” He’d have to tell her about Ziziva’s clockwork grandmother, but not that night. They would have all summer long to talk business.

  Tori snorted. “Who says I’m not a princess? You’re looking at the thane of Ruby Stonehold’s oldest little baby daughter. I’m the ugly one, it’s true, but I’m a gosh-me-underground princess all the same. And who said anything about embezzling?”