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

by Aaron Crash

  They struggled, grunting, sweating, and yes, he could smell the stink of her body, and it was familiar. How often had she brought him books after a long day? And they had their time in the Scrollery with Lillee, when Gatha broke the rules, both the Librarium’s and the ones guiding her moral compass. That was when she’d cut him off emotionally.

  Before that she and Ymir had flirted, and hated, and laughed, and longed for one another. After? They might as well have been going to different schools.

  Gatha wasn’t going to give up, and neither would he.

  In the end, though, Ymir knew this was a battle he couldn’t win. If he won, she would feel ashamed and she would run even further into her books. And if she won? She’d never be able to look on him again without knowing that she was stronger, faster, better. He’d become simply one more opponent she’d crushed.

  Gatha slashed at his face with her tusks. If she even nicked his cheek, she’d win.

  Ymir dodged her tusks. At the same time, he moved his hand down her fist, where she clutched the fiery sword, and he crushed her hand until she gasped in pain and dropped her sparring sword. The flame flickered away, the magic gone.

  She didn’t pause. She drew the silver knife from his own belt.

  He actually heard the scholars watching gasp in union.

  She had a weapon again. If he weren’t careful, he’d find that blade in his belly. His ice armor was melting from the heat of her flames. Chill water streamed down his skin. He could smell burning hair. He only had seconds to end the fight.

  He was going to risk beating this woman. Maybe it was out of pride. Or maybe he hoped that if he did win, her respect might grow into love. Either way, he was going to use his gifts, both magical, from the Lonely Man’s curse, and physical, from his own sinews.

  “Ignis inanis!” He dispelled her Sunfire armor, the spinning flames dissipating. It was obvious she hadn’t seen that coming.

  He darted forward and sliced into her neck, just enough to draw blood.

  At the same time, he felt his own silver dagger slide across his side, exposed because his armor had melted away.

  They’d cut each other at the same time.

  She roared. “This isn’t what I wanted! I won! I always fucking win! I didn’t hate you before, Ymir! But now I do. Now I fucking do.”

  She hadn’t felt the cut on her neck. He showed her the blood on the ice covering his broken sword.

  Gatha saw it. Her eyes widened. Her tusks snapped back into her mouth. Her hand went to her neck, and then she stood gazing at the blood on her fingertips.

  For an instant, for less than a second, she seemed so relieved. Then the tears came. She cried them, proudly, head up, not running away, and not ashamed.

  She threw his knife to the side.

  “That was a present from Jennybelle,” Ymir said quietly. “It’s Morbuskorian silver. It’s precious.”

  Gatha seemed calm now, calm if a little shattered. “No. Weapons are not precious. No gift you can hold in your hand is precious. All will be lost, or destroyed, or forgotten. What you have with your women is precious, but I’m not sure you know its value. And I don’t think you know my value. Worse yet? I don’t think I want you to know. Leave me be, Ymir. I didn’t come to this school for you. I didn’t come to Old Ironbound for love.”

  She swallowed a final time, raised her right fist, and pressed it into her left hand. She said something in Gruul, a long sentence, and then she bowed. She walked across the grass, strutting proudly, her head high.

  He watched her—strong and undefeated.

  She turned and shouted at him. “And I like my pornography, you fucking asshole.” She stood there a bit too long and her gaze was a bit too honest. There was sadness there, and longing.

  Ymir thought of what Lillee had once told him about Gatha—the she-orc wasn’t aware of the depths of her own loneliness and hurt. Perhaps, for a Gruul warrior, that was best. As for Ymir, he’d grown up being taught by his grandparents and the Sacred Mysteries of the Ax: A man who doesn’t know himself is a man who will die alone.

  Ymir always thought that was the worst thing that could happen to a person—to die alone.

  Now he knew there were much worse fates.

  The instant of honesty was gone. Gatha turned and continued her strut across the field. She looked like she’d won, even with the blood streaming down her neck.

  Gatha’s final words hung in the air. Leave me be, Ymir...I didn’t come to Old Ironbound for love.

  He’d said something similar to Jennybelle Josen. And now the two shared their lives as much as they shared their bed.

  Another bit of grandfatherly wisdom came to Ymir: The Axman cuts the path. The Shieldmaiden keeps it clear. And the Wolf pisses on it all.

  Chapter Two

  THE HONORED PRINCEPT, Della Pennez, stood with the other professors at the top of the Imperial Palace, in an eastern conference room with windows that showed the Sunfire Field. There, the troublesome Ymir fought with the equally troublesome Gatha.

  The Princept frowned as the professors started taking bets.

  The conference room had a wall of windows, showing the Sunfire Field to the east and the Sunfire Tower at the tip of the Throne Auditorium. Beyond the field was the Red Wall and the Sun Gate. A long table with enough chairs to fit all of her faculty dominated the room. Sunfire lanterns, turned low, sat on the table, giving them light in the gloomy day. Across from the glass wall, a mosaic of the Akkridor line, all thirty generations, starting with Aeno Akkridor and ending with Aegel Akkridor, filled the wall. Two thousand years, thirty-one kings, and one of those kings lived most of those centuries, if the histories were to be believed.

  Brodor Bootblack hooted. “I’ll bet five gold shecks on the barbarian. He has the reach and the experience.” The dwarf stroked his auburn beard, standing sturdy in his huge boots.

  Gharam Ssornap slurped back spit. “I’ll take that bet, but I’d do five platinum shecks on Gatha. You don’t know her history or what she can do. I’ve sparred with both. The barbarian asshole is good. Gatha is better.”

  Professor Issa Leel, never a friend of Ymir’s, scowled. “I’ll bet against Ymir. We won’t be betting in platinum, though. Five gold, and I’ll take that bet.”

  Brodor guffawed. “I’ll take both. Nile, you want in, lass?”

  Nile Preat, the dizzy, frizzy blond history professor blinked behind her thick glasses. She wore a wrist clock on each wrist. “No, combat was never my specialty. Though I will say Ymir’s mind is very sharp. He has some convincing arguments about the death of the Vempor Aegel Akkridor.”

  Denalia Fisherking frowned and didn’t say a word. She was nearing eighty, old for a human woman. She was not particularly fond of Ymir, son of Ymok, since the clansman had never set foot in her classroom—he’d skipped out on her Courtly Manners and Arts class.

  The Ironcoats, Ibeliah and her Brandmunli, pushed themselves to the front of the teachers. The pair stood, watching.

  Brandmunli chuckled. “Why, Brodor, the wife and I would like in on this, but we agree with you. Ymir is a cinch to win. The Gruul might have perfected the sword, but the other races wield it better.”

  Gharam sucked up spit. “What does a Morbuskor know about swordplay? Hammers and axes and darkness and caves would blunt anyone’s perspective.”

  Ibeliah laid a hand on her husband. “Now, Brand, let’s not be a cliché. Dwarves don’t have to hate orcs, and vice versa.” The woman was as hairy, bearded, and big bellied as her husband. Only her small breasts and hips told the world she was female. Both had red-brown hair as thick as Brodor’s.

  Della had wondered about the sexuality of the Morbuskor, and in her more prurient fantasies, wondered what it would be like to lie with a bearded woman. That, however, was unlikely, given the secrecy and xenophobia of the Morbuskor.

  Two other professors stood back, clearly annoyed that their faculty meeting had been hijacked. Lolazny Lyla, a fairy, sat on the shoulder of her friend, a merm
aid professor named Phoebe Amalbeub. Both taught the upper-level Flow classes, so neither had been involved in the barbarian drama yet.

  Phoebe was a tall woman, chesty compared to other mermaids, and she wore more clothes. She was in a gown but had a blouse over it. She had fine pink hair and pale green eyes. Della knew little of her past and was glad to have her on staff, given what the Princept knew of current events. The mermaid was a patient, soft-spoken woman, and Della shuddered to think of her and Ymir in the same classroom. Ymir needed adjustments and guidance, continual adjustments and guidance. Was Phoebe up to the task?

  The fairy fluttered off the mermaid. Lolazny would have no trouble with the barbarian. She was a mouthy, shrill creature, with short dark hair and black eyes. She could be a handful, not to make a bad pun out of her small stature.

  Twelve inches tall, dressed in gossamer, Lolazny fluttered up to Della. “Most highly honored Princept, bad enough, getting Lolazny here on Saturday, Saturday, but making her watch the fighty-fights? Nay, say it’s not true. You had important newsy-news for us, did you not?”

  Phoebe nodded. The mermaid was justifiably tense. War was on the horizon.

  Brodor shouted and made a fist. “Get her, Ymir. Brand, you can take five gold from Professor Leel. I’ll take five from my friend Gharam.”

  Gharam growled and shook his head, spit dripping from a tusk. “Yes, we can divide the bets that way, but you’ll not get a sheck from me. Gatha’s faster, better, invincible. Ha, watching her, it reminds me of the fighting pits in River City, or the Ssunash arena, where Gatha fought before.”

  While those professors watched the fight, Della addressed Lolazny and Phoebe. “We are still waiting for a few more teachers. Linnylynn, I know, should be coming.”

  The Scatter Islands woman, Linnylynn Albatross, was having issues fitting in. She was a strange woman, a bit taken aback by the death of her friend, Hayleesia Heenn. Heenn had claimed she wanted to become the Studia Dux of the Moons College, but actually, she’d been an assassin, hired to kill Jennybelle Josen.

  She was dead. And Della didn’t expect others to follow. The Princept made it clear to Jiabelle Josen that Auntie Jia would re-evaluate her relationship with her niece without endangering a single soul at Old Ironbound. Any other assassins would be met with sorcery and death.

  So far, things were quiet on that front, though the gossip said that Jenny’s aunt would likely cut her off. Her first semester was paid for, including the very expensive suite she rented in the Flow housing. As for her second semester, Della wondered what would happen to the girl. Of course, she knew Ymir would come up with something. He said he wasn’t making or selling that damn Amora Xoca, but Della didn’t believe him.

  If only Della could scry him. He was hidden from her, which wasn’t necessarily against the rules, given the privacy laws laid down by the Sun, Moon, & Stars Guild, which dealt in magic and magical legislation. However, not being able to keep a close eye on Ymir didn’t make her life any easier.

  Linnylynn Albatross stumbled into the room, followed by a few other teachers.

  Linny’s dark face took on a blush. She adjusted some of her black curls. “I’m sorry, Princept. The halls were crowded. I guess something is happening on the Sunfire Field.”

  Then she was forgotten as Brodor roared, “See that! Even with a broken sword, he got that Gruul bitch right on her neck. In a real fight, he’d have stabbed her in her rock-blessed throat!”

  “Mr. Bootblack, there is no need for vulgarities!” Denalia Fisherking warned. “Yes, we understand the Morbuskor and Gruul are bitter enemies, but using such a term for a scholar is very upsetting.” The old woman tsked him.

  Della had to agree. “Yes, Brodor, don’t call—”

  Gharam cut her off. “No! My girl got him in the side. The dumb bastard shouldn’t have taken off his fucking shirt.” The orc threw a glance at the etiquette teacher. “My apologies, Ms. Fisherking.”

  Professor Leel sighed. “The bets are off. The barbarian wins even when he loses. He’s broken my heart every day for over a year, and he’ll continue to break my heart.” She shook her silver hair sadly.

  “Enough!” Della snapped her fingers. “We’re all here, and we can begin the meeting. All of you, back from the window, and take your seats. The spectacle is over.”

  “A Tree-damned tie,” Professor Leel said bitterly.

  The professors took their seats at the table while Della stood at the front of the room. Her eyes kept going to the mermaid professor, the pink hair, and the pink sheen on her skin. A few scales rose out of her neck, a common occurrence for the merfolk when they got nervous or upset.

  This year wasn’t going to be easy for Phoebe Amalbeub.

  Della cleared her throat and immediately commanded the room. “As many of you know, relations between the Sorrow Coast Kingdom and the merfolk have been tense. The most powerful of the merfolk families— the Delphino, the Bukaloba, and the Ubobo—have come together, and they want to charge passage for all commercial traffic on the Weeping Sea. Of course, the Sorrow Coast Kingdom doesn’t see the ocean as being owned by anyone. There have been some attacks, some ships have been sunk, and sea travel has never been more dangerous.”

  She saw worry on the faces of some of the professors. “Don’t worry, our kaif suppliers have not been affected.” She had to smile at how intrepid Salt Love and Sambal were. Those smugglers on the Wind Raider had kept the kaif coming, which fueled the entire university.

  The Princept continued. “We have scholars who will be sailing home for Solstice break. It would be a shame to lose any of our people because of the current political climate.”

  Lolazny Lyla sat cross-legged on the table, though she had sense enough to pull down the wisps of her tiny gown to cover herself. She fluttered her wings. “What can we do to address this, Princept, Princept? Isn’t this outside of our realm of influence?” The tiny voice didn’t trip at all on those last two words, and she wasn’t giggling. Della suspected the Fayee loved pretending to be far more stupid than they were.

  Della nodded. “Yes, officially, the Majestrial isn’t a part of the Sorrow Coast Kingdom, and we are outside of their sphere of influence. However, a war would disrupt things, like our kaif and the travel of our scholars, and if history teaches us anything, it points to Vempor’s Cape being a strategic target.” Her eyes went to Nile Preat.

  The history professor nodded. “There’s a reason why Aegel Akkridor chose Vempor’s Cape for his western fortress. It is nearly impregnable. Yet during the Age of Discord, the merfolk took over the fortress at least once, if not twice. Most serious scholars, and I put myself in this category, know that the merfolk were able to breech the defenses. They occupied the cape. And something, or someone, murdered every last one of them. Aegel returned from another battle and found the halls filled with the corpses of the merfolk.”

  Linnylynn nodded and spoke. “Yes, and it’s not just the strategic position of the fortress on the cape. This is a vortex of spiritual energy. Here, the veil is thin between our world and the world of the Stair—a vast place some call hell, though I like to be more open-minded.”

  Brodor chuckled, not quite under his breath, and it was enough to trigger the Ironcoats, who also tittered.

  Linny frowned at them.

  Della wasn’t about to let the meeting spiral into a discussion of demonology or the nature of the universe. “Be that as it may, the Majestrial has a stake in this. We don’t want war between the Sorrow Coast Kingdom and the merfolk families. Yes, Lolazny is right; we don’t have a lot of influence, but we do have some, it seems. The head of the Delphino family, Marrib Delphino, has reached out to the school, requesting a meeting with King Velis Naoar IX of the Sorrow Coast Kingdom. They want to do it here and they want to do it in a month. I will moderate.”

  The Princept hadn’t been surprised by the request. Neither was she intimidated by the responsibility it entailed. Della had a wide array of responsibilities. Yes, she had to take care of the
school itself, but she also had diplomatic duties since Old Ironbound was its own entity. In addition, she’d sworn to protect the artifacts in the Illuminates Spire. There was a reason why the merfolk had attacked Vempor’s Cape twice.

  Aegel Akkridor had used a secret weapon against them, and even now, Della was torn. She couldn’t use the weapons and texts in the Illuminates at all, under any circumstances. It would take approval of the Alumni Consortium, as well as special dispensation from the Sun, Moon, & Stars Guild. The amount of debate and bullshit that would involve would take months.

  Della should’ve told them about the book Ymir had borrowed from the Illuminates Spire. She hadn’t. The thing about having worked as a Silent Scream assassin was that she could turn off her conscience. Guilt was a waste of her fucking time.

  Already, she’d survived back-to-back investigations by the Alumni Consortium into the deaths of two professors in the same year. She and Yannc Winslo, the old woman who delved into the murders, were very tired of each other.

  “So why bring us in here to tell us that?” Gharam demanded. “It’s not like we get a vote.”

  “I would like your opinions,” Della said. “This puts our school at risk. It could be a ruse by the merfolk to get a contingent of soldiers here to murder King Velis. That would disrupt the Sorrow Coast and make it more susceptible to attack. Also, we need to prepare our defenses, and that is all of our responsibility.”

  Professor Leel adjusted the silver essess on her arm. She threw a glance at Phoebe. “I’d like to hear from Professor Amalbeub. What does she think of this turn of events?”

  The pink-haired woman nodded. “This goes back to the Red Tide Massacre, ten years ago.”

  Most of the teachers in the room didn’t follow the current events of the merfolk. Many threw a questioning look at Nile Preat. The frazzled woman shivered under all the attention. “The Red Tide Massacre is a controversial subject. The merfolk had come up during the bloom of algae in the Weeping Sea, near the Farewell Islands. That year, the red bloom coincided with the Reveler Moon of 5988. There were religious ceremonies and festivals. The party ended in murder. Some think pirates found them and murdered them. Others think it was the Sorrow Coast Kingdom’s navy, while others think it was demon-spawn from Ethra, the so-called firebloods. Suffice to say, the merfolk family hardest hit was the Delphino family, which is the most powerful of the merfolk. Does that help, Phoebe?”