by Aaron Crash
“I thought stealing might be a bit too harsh,” Ymir said. “You are doctoring the books in the kitchen so we can get cream, vanilla, beet sprinkles, and our other ingredients, am I right?”
She shook her head. “Bless my stone bits, but that would be so dishonest, Mr. Man. I told you people I was rich—ugly but rich. I couldn’t tell you I was financing your operation. You’d never allow it. But, ha, the joke’s on you because I totally was. Now, Ymir, you big hunk of an Inconvenience Partner you, how come stealing is just all right but charity for your business isn’t?”
Jenny stood with the green dress in her hand. The fabric was just blue enough to work with her eyes. The swamp woman’s mouth fell open. “A princess of the Ruby Stonehold? That’s not just rich, that’s stupid amounts of money.”
Tori shook her head. She was drunk after all, and willing to talk. “Oh, now, you females better not treat me any different than you normally do. I’m just one of Ymir’s princesses now. You overtoppers sure lose your cake over a little money.”
Lillee again poked her head out. She blinked at Ymir. Even she was impressed.
Jenny sputtered. “But you, you, you work. You live with a dozen other girls in that big rambling Moons apartment, and I won’t talk about how much of a mess that place is. The Zoo, that’s what they call it, and you live with Ribrib. She’s a nightmare. Why don’t you kick her out? Why don’t you hire a housekeeper?”
Tori frowned. “It’s a mess, all right. I try to get those girls to clean, but our resident mermaid is the worst. I guess sea caves are self-cleaning. And yes, Ribrib isn’t the easiest person to get along with, but I figured she’s just homesick. If you put me in the ocean for months on end, I’d be sad too.”
Ymir’s attention was immediately piqued. Ribrib was a mermaid? This was an interesting turn of events.
The little woman sipped her wine and giggled. “Just because I’m rich doesn’t mean I don’t want to live life to the fullest. Why else am I hanging out with you poor people? And you’re not even Morbuskor. Gotta say. Kinda gross.” She laughed far too much at what she’d just said. She sobered. “I think back to how I treated you back then—you, Lillee, and me running from Ymir. I was jealous, and I was intimidated, and sad about my fate. Just goes to show, you don’t know what’s inside the rock until you tunnel right through it.”
Lillee came out, a spectacle of grace and beauty. “I think the sex helped.”
“It did,” Tori whispered. “Lillee, I’ve never seen you look more beautiful. Oh, thank you.” The little woman got to her feet. She spilled her wine but was too drunk to notice.
She staggered and fell against the elf girl, wrapping her thick arms around Lillee’s slim body. Tori had her face buried in the soft gown covering Lillee’s belly. “Oh, thank you for being my first Inconvenience Partner here. And being sweet to me. And just thank you, Lillee. Thank you.”
Lillee held the little woman. The elf girl’s eyes were closed, and a peaceful look relaxed her beautiful face.
Jenny put on the green dress and sidled up next to Ymir. Her hand found his.
“Good choice,” he said in a low voice.
Tori then backed up, drew Lillee over, and forced them into a group hug. With the dwab at the center. “I’ve been rich, and I’ve been lonely, and I’ve made myself happy, and gosh, the money helps, but it’s not everything. This, here, with your love...this is happiness.” And the little woman broke down completely in sobs.
Jenny bent and kissed Tori’s red hair. She then turned and looked into Ymir’s eyes. Tears pooled in the blue heaven of Jennybelle Josen’s eyes.
He couldn’t help but kiss his Jenny. Then they got Tori onto the couch and gave her a handkerchief so she could wipe her tears and take care of her sniffles.
Lillee sat with her.
Jenny, finally, was ready to go. Good. Ymir’s stomach was growling. He couldn’t wait to stuff himself at the feast.
Ymir had the door open, waiting to let his princesses pass—all three of his princesses. He’d have to get more of the fire-headed dwab’s story. This was monumental news and could very well change everything.
Tori stopped, blinking, and a hand went to her breast. A blush colored her face, her mouth opened, and she started to breathe heavily. “Oh, Ymir. I think...I think it’s happening. I’m sorry, guys, but my Inconvenience is on. I...I can’t help it.”
Lillee gave Ymir a heated smile and slipped off her essess.
Jenny exhaled good-naturedly. “Well, they don’t call it an Inconvenience for nothing.”
Ymir closed the door and started to take off his shirt. He’d get to eat eventually. First, he had a little business to take care of.
strength in whatever you do.
He’d done that at the Majestrial Collegium Universitas. He would continue to use his full strength in battle, in learning to control his dusza, and in loving his women.
The magic in him thrummed. He felt grateful for the power.
Barbarian Alchemist (Book 3)
SHE’S A SHE-ORC ON the streets, and a Princess in the sheets...
Ymir has heard rumors of possible trouble with the merfolk because the fish people are not to be trusted. But everyone's favorite barbarian turned scholar has other things to worry about. He's working on forging another ring, running a business, and studying for his alchemy exams.
The women of Old Ironbound aren’t making that easy.
There's a greedy fairy who won't take no for an answer, his dwarven girlfriend is sampling aphrodisiacs, and now Gatha, the she-orc librarian, is showing some interest in him—but only if he can defeat her in battle. Meanwhile, the seas around the Majestrial Collegium Universitas are boiling with trouble. Someone is coming for an ancient artifact inside the Librarium Citadel, and if they get it, the continent of Thera will never be the same again.
Chapter One
YMIR, SON OF YMOK, of the Black Wolf Clan had survived his first year at the Majestrial Collegium Universitas. So far his second year at Old Ironbound had been much less dramatic.
It was mid-October, and Ymir stood in the entryway of the Sunfire Tower. The late morning wind and rains were intense. The storm had come.
How he missed the summer weather—the bright days were full of sunshine, and an evening fog cooled Vempor’s Cape every night. Those had been such fine days, loving Jennybelle Josen and Lillee Nehenna, and having fun with Toriah Welldeep. He had a rich life with a human, an elf, and a dwarf. All kept him smiling.
Tori was the most cheerful, yes, but there had been a cloud around her for a little while now. Something was bothering her. He hoped that a night together, just the two of them, would help with that. He planned to sleep over in her apartment that very night. He wasn’t looking forward to it, for any number of reasons.
He’d survive a night in the Zoo. His life was good. He did have one problem currently plaguing him. One of his new classes, Personal Combat Techniques in the Sunfire College, wasn’t going well. The irony was bitter. He had to swallow his pride and get a tutor with only nine days until the First Exam.
None of the Sunfire professors wanted to teach him a thing. Even though it had been almost a year since Ymir had faced Gharam Ssornap in battle, the old Gruul professor still wouldn’t speak to him. Nor would any of his wives. That left Ymir trying to figure things out on his own. He’d found help from the unlikeliest of sources.
Already, students were filling the windows of the Librarium, the Sunfire dormitories, and the tower itself. Scholars would be in the stables, with the horses, out of the elements to watch the coming fight.
Everyone wanted to see Ymir fight Gatha, the surly she-orc librarian.
No one had beaten Gatha. No scholar. No professor. Gharam Ssornap said that Gatha was the best warrior he’d ever met, and Professor Slurp had ridden down rogue orcs on the Blood Steppes.
Ymir had signed up for Personal Combat Techniques knowing he’d not have a professor. He’d read a pile of books, he’d trained on his own, and
he’d fought anyone who would fight him. He’d hoped one of the Gruul would agree to train with him, maybe even Korga and her huge breasts, but she had refused. Gharam’s resentment was contagious.
Brodor Bootblack, the Form professor, was always up for sparring, as was the other dwarf professor, Brandmunli Ironcoat. Ymir didn’t much trust either of them, however. The hidden assassin on campus had a gruff voice. Ymir had heard it in the sea alley showers when he’d used the Veil Tear Ring to see into the past. That voice seemed to have come from either an orc or a dwarf, though the clansman supposed someone could’ve altered their speech.
The words he’d heard still haunted him: May the night never end, and may the day never begin. Ymir had read up on the Midnight Guild, but he couldn’t find much. No one thought it really existed. Something interesting, though—those words were part of a poem by the poet Obanathy, talking about the turning of the ages.
Ymir and Obanathy had a strange relationship. The clansman hated the man’s fucking poetry, but he loved the poet’s Flow cantrips. They kept Ymir hidden from prying eyes.
The clansman was used to learning things on his own, and he’d mastered all of the moves in the syllabus except for one attack, called the wizarding riposte. It was a vicious strike after a parry. There was a magical component to the move that he couldn’t quite master on his own.
The clansman thought that the Honored Princept, Della Pennez, would agree to help him. She was skilled. Last year, she’d bested Gharam in a duel on the Sunfire Field, a day of rain and violence. Gharam still bore the scar from her slash up his belly. The Princept, though, was too busy, and so she’d suggested Gatha of Ssunash.
To his surprise, the she-orc librarian had agreed. However, she was now late to their meeting. He wasn’t surprised.
Gatha finally walked out of the back of the Throne Auditorium and walked to the middle of the Sunfire Field. She was wearing armor that covered her shoulders, arms, and legs. A band of leather held her breasts down. A loincloth hid her sex.
It was the first time he’d seen her in her sparring gear, and she was an impressive sight. Her white hair, braided and tied, was pulled back from her face. Rain dripped down her green skin. She had a thick, square jaw above a muscular neck. That jaw held her retractable tusks. Even with such heavy features, she was beautiful. White eyebrows arched over fiery rose-colored eyes above a fine nose and bow-shaped lips that rarely smiled.
She stood with a curved Gruul sparring sword, the steel edge blunt. He had a similar sword. For this exercise, they would be using their respective school’s prolium magic, the attack spells of the Categoria Magica.
Ymir walked out into the sheets of rain and tromped across the green grass. He was drenched in an instant. In the middle of the field, he took off his robe and his shirt. He liked the way the wet brought out the fragrance of the grass, and he liked the she-orc’s musk in the wind.
He sat on the grass to remove his boots—Gharam Ssornap’s boots—and he’d bet anything that the old Gruul professor was watching. Ymir’s girls—Tori, Jennybelle, and Lillee—would be in the citadel. They’d offered to come to the field to be with him, but he’d told them he’d rather be alone.
Alone? That was a laugh.
The entire school was there. Della was probably looking down from her chambers, far up at the top of the citadel, on the seventh floor. Or maybe she was watching from the eighth floor, the Illuminates Spire, at the very pinnacle of the old fortress. That was where she kept the forbidden texts and ancient artifacts that could destroy the world.
Gatha strutted over to stand above him. She shouted over the wind, “I didn’t come out here to watch you strip. Let’s get this fucking lesson over with.”
Ymir blinked rain out of his eyes. “This isn’t just a lesson. Yes, I need to know the wizarding riposte, but we have an audience. We’ll have to give them a fight.”
“You’d lose,” she said.
“I wouldn’t.” He stood. She was only a bit shorter than he was and nearly as thick. Ymir was six feet, four inches tall and weighed two hundred and fifty pounds. Gatha must weigh at least hundred and eighty pounds if not a full two hundred—she was all hard bone and flexing muscle.
She clenched her teeth, and her lips trembled. “I told you. I don’t want to fight you. I want to show you the move and be done with you.”
“I remember.” He lifted his chin. “You don’t want to know that you can beat me. Why does it matter, Gatha? You can’t hate me much more than you already do.”
She lost control of her rage. Her tusks snapped out of her mouth. With those dark pink eyes, those tusks, and her green skin dripping, she appeared monstrous. “I don’t hate you! Ignis prolium!” The Focus ring, a red metal band on her left hand, flashed a scarlet light. Fire wreathed her sparring blade. She’d gone with a more advanced spell, using the prolium verbal component and not just the normal ignis ignarum. Word choice was just one aspect of the magical arts.
Ymir would match her. “Jelu prolium!” Shadows swirled around the Black Ice Ring on his left ring finger. He felt his dusza working with the ring to both fuel his magic and protect his core. He’d gotten more adept at using the Akkiric Ring, though he still hadn’t unlocked its secrets.
The shadows turned to white mist around his right hand and his sword. Ice crackled as it covered his blade in a mist of cold fed by the rainwater and his own sorcery. He’d grown accustomed to wielding a Gruul sword. It had its advantages, though he longed to use his big ax in battle, for there was nothing like hacking apart your enemies, breaking their swords, cleaving skulls, and lopping off limbs.
He didn’t think he’d get to wade into any kind of real war any time soon. He’d make do with these skirmishes.
“Jelu armatus!” Ymir called out. Yes, he was showing off. He covered his arms and legs with layers of ice, armor that adjusted with his movements. A wide-necked helmet of blue cold protected his head. He’d come far since he’d first used the magical armor earlier that year. This fucking magic shit wasn’t that hard, not for him. The Black Ice Ring gave him a bit more power, and he’d already impressed his professors with his stores. Most importantly, he’d learned control. However, he’d still find himself floating every now and again, or lost in a vision.
Such visions made him nervous now that he’d caught a glimpse of what lay beyond reality using the Veil Tear Ring, which he kept in a special pouch on his belt. Better he have it and not use it than for anyone else to use it against him.
Ymir stood with his blade of ice and his armor of cold. “I think you do hate me.”
“I don’t.” Rain popped off Gatha’s sword of flame. Steam roiled around her.
As for Ymir, more rainwater froze on his blade, marking it with running droplets. "If you don't, then why do you spurn me like a bitch dog abandoning her runts to the cold?"
“That’s stupid.” Gatha swept her fire sword through the air. “I don’t bite. I don’t bark. I avoid and ignore. Now I’m going to lunge at you. You will parry, then you will strike, while at the same time, you use a Moons cantrip to increase the speed of your blade. Strike my armor, please. I don’t feel like bleeding today.”
She flung herself forward; Ymir smacked her sword away. The ice snapped as the fire hit it. He then spat, “Caelum caelarum!” It was a specific cantrip to increase his speed, and he felt the change in his strike. He angled his blade to hit the armor on Gatha’s right wrist.
The misting cold around his sword froze a patch of her armor.
“There,” the she-orc said. “You’ve learned the wizarding riposte. There are some things you can’t get from a book, sadly.”
“Like love?” he asked.
“Fuck you!” she snarled.
He looked her right in the eyes, tired of her ire. “You can read your pornography all you want, but it will never replace the caresses and stink of a real lover.”
Did her green skin darken with shame? Or was that simply more fury? This woman seemed to have an endless supply of
rage.
“You say stink like it’s a good thing,” she shot back.
“The Axman gave me a nose to use.” He smiled. “By his hidden name, I’ll experience this world with all my senses before I die. Now, let us fight to first blood. Let us end the suspense. Perhaps you’ll quit ignoring me if you know you can’t beat me.”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He stabbed at her chest, ready to pull his point if she didn’t block his attack. She did, and her flames blazed brighter, spitting in the rain against his ice. He went in, grabbed her armor, and threw her back, trying to throw her down.
“It’ll be a sad day when I can’t bleed an asshole like you.” She kept her feet, whirled, and fought back. Her sword cracked down on his arm. The slash would’ve ended the fight if he hadn’t had his ice armor. He wasn’t bleeding yet.
He danced back, blocking one blow, then the next.
There was a grim expression on her face. Her tusks were still out, dripping. “Ignis armatus!” Fire swam around her armored body, flickering in the wind, sizzling in the rain.
He blinked the wet from his eyes and lunged. She did the wizarding riposte, and he barely survived the sweep of her flames. The heat of her, though, felt good in the chill air, made worse by his ice armor.
He ducked, and her blade of fire roared over his head. He chopped at her leg, and she took it on the plate of her armor. She then brought her sword down with a mighty, perfectly placed strike. Her fire sword burned through both the ice and steel of his blade.
He was left with a dagger-length shard. Which was fine. He got inside her defenses and grabbed her sword arm while she gripped his right wrist before his cold knife could nick her skin. Her fire armor made him wince, but he kept his head down, and his ice helmet protected him. Both of them grunted against the other. Ymir was impressed with this woman’s strength. But he was stronger.
