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

by Aaron Crash

  Weeks had passed since Gatha had stormed out of Jenny’s apartment. When they finally got Tori calmed down enough to tell the whole story, Jennybelle had shaken her head. “Leave it to family to really fuck things up. I have family who tried to kill me too. Gatha and I should go out for drinks and swap stories.”

  Drinks weren’t going to happen any time soon. Gatha had run back to her books. Tori had escaped into her work. The dwab was friendly enough, but she always had an excuse to avoid them.

  The clansman was left with his first two princesses again, which felt good in a way. Fewer women meant less drama, and he didn’t miss his nights in the Zoo. He could lay in the middle of the Sea Stair Market and sleep better.

  Ziziva didn’t pay him any more visits, and her shop seemed to be doing fine. He hadn’t tried to sell her the xoca powder, not yet, not until the business with the merfolk was over. As long as Della didn’t tell Beryl the truth, the gossip was that the Fractal Clock was in the university in Four Roads. Once the Lover Moons passed, and if there was no attack, then Ymir could go to the fairy.

  If he were lucky, he might be able to see the Fayee girl again full-sized, bent over, and ready for him.

  However, it wasn’t like he was hurting for sex. Lillee took her cuff off every night, and Jennybelle was always game. And yet, part of him liked the idea of sampling more new women at Old Ironbound. He’d be a fool, though, to complain even for a single second.

  It was the first week of March, a Friday night, and they’d gotten a Rendlim Funnel. Tori, of course, had come through, even though she’d been distant. The dwab bought one from the Melancholia University in Kreenn. That was the capital city where King Velis IX lived, him and his moustache, which Ymir couldn’t understand. A beard kept your cheek warm. What was the point of a moustache?

  At some point, the clansman might grow a beard, but he wouldn’t have to do it for Tori. She hardly gave him a second look. It seemed her Inconvenience was gone for good. She’d made it clear she wasn’t going to try the Amora Xoca. She’d taken Gatha leaving hard, but there was something else going on with her. He didn’t think it had anything to do with the Veil Tear Ring, but he couldn’t be sure.

  She did mention she was enjoying her Thursday nights with the other Morbuskor.

  Ymir was a little surprised when Tori insisted on joining them to craft the Yellow Scorch Ring. The dwab carried the Veil Tear Ring now—he’d given her the pouch, which she wore on her belt. She’d only used it a couple of times. The ring didn’t work on fairies, and she was still learning how to control the visions. She’d tried it on Charibda and only saw her as a little girl, happy and carefree, swimming with her friends. Her father had been a kind man, and Beryl had been attentive. Beryl still was.

  So far, though, Tori hadn’t found anything useful. Ymir did think it was interesting that the Akkir Akkor had helped the dwab when they hadn’t helped him. Could it be they were angelic beings and could smell the stink of the Lonely Man on him? He didn’t know, but it made him feel a bit better about the Akkiric Rings in general.

  However, the last time Tori had used the ring, she’d seen the hellhound, all of those eyes, the four strong legs, and its other more horrid, quivering appendages. That thing had finally smelled the dwab, so each time she used the ring, she was in more danger. She said she had a plan. Knowing Tori, it would be both interesting and effective. He’d asked for more information, but then she’d run to work her kitchen job.

  The scent from their last cook filled the Amora Annex—that’s what they called their factory now. Gatha hadn’t forbidden them from using the front door, and she sometimes wandered in to shelve more of her books there. She wasn’t friendly.

  Ymir stood at the counter on the second floor. The fire was going, and he was glad for it. Though spring was in the air and the sky was clear for once, it was still cold outside. Inside it was hot, stuffy. The fire had been going all day, and the stove’s box was full of red coals. It wasn’t hot enough to melt gold. Not yet.

  They’d cobbled together an amateur version of an Alchemist’s Rack to use with the Rendlim Funnel. Ymir went over his copious notes, gleaned from the pages of Fifunn Rendlim’s writings. Yes, he had some odd ideas on the nature of the world. He was certain that stone, all stone, was solidified spirit, hence, like people, some stones were good, and some were bad. Ymir had quickly paged through those questionable ideas to get to other musings on the Akkiric Rings, especially the Yellow Scorch Ring.

  Lillee stood next to Ymir at the counter. She had copied down the poem that went over the instructions on how to craft the ring. Jenny paced around nervously. As for Tori, she was on the roof, preparing the final components.

  “Well, this is wonderfully vexing,” Jenny complained. “I have to say, I like making xocalati far more than these Tree-damned rings. What if this ring burns up our whole school? What if it summons a demon? We don’t know what it does, do we?”

  Lillee raised a finger. “No, Ymir did find something on it. It excites the amwabs of objects given their magical components.”

  A pained look crumbled Jenny’s face. “No, not amwabs. Please. I get so bored.”

  Ymir shook his head. “How can you find the very building blocks of reality boring?”

  “This is me, changing the conversation.” Jenny sighed. “Ymir, you talk about the Axman, the Shieldmaiden, and the Wolf, but do you have a devil in your religion?”

  “Only the Axman when he’s drunk.” Ymir grinned. “The Wolf is devil enough. Sometimes he helps, sometimes he hinders, and sometimes, like the Axman, he doesn’t care. This world is a strange place. It’s luck, it’s fate, and it’s sorrow—all jumbled together—that’s the Wolf. Or the Axman when he loses his mind, which has happened a few times in some of the stories.”

  “They have demons,” Lillee said softly. “The Lonely Man.”

  Ymir shivered. “Yes, and there are tales of ghosts, and nasty things, like the Toothless Widow, an old woman’s spirit that follows the ways of the Wolf. An old woman, on her own, with grown children, is a powerful force for good, or evil, depending.”

  “Blame it on the old women,” Jenny grumbled. “Anyway, I’m just nervous. Using a human bone to make a ring feels like orisha magic, like what we used to do on the Swamp Coast.”

  “Too bad Linnylynn isn’t here.” Lillee couldn’t help but laugh a little at her joke.

  The Josentown princess nodded and came up to Lillee to stroke her back. “You’re not wrong there. Professor Albatross is obsessed. I can’t wait until Tori delves into her past. Hopefully it’s not as dramatic as Gatha’s.”

  Lillee’s voice broke a little. “It shattered her for us to know, for Tori to know. I watched her face. She used her anger to hide her grief.”

  “And that didn’t fucking work,” Jenny cursed. “Hey, Lil, why did you draw dirty pictures for her? I saw those books, but you never said anything.”

  Ymir had been getting annoyed with the chatter, but he turned because he wanted to hear Lillee’s answer.

  The elf girl blushed. “That Veil Tear Ring is devilish. I didn’t want you to know. Growing up, I had to hide my sexuality. A part of me still finds it exciting to have my secret fantasies. Sneaking around, drawing the pictures, touching myself—it felt like I was doing something wrong. I liked that. I’m sorry if you feel hurt.”

  Ymir laughed and kissed Lillee. “I don’t feel hurt at all. I can understand such things. It’s the Wolf, always causing mischief.”

  Jenny gave Lillee a hug from behind. “I’m not hurt either.” She paused with her cheek resting on the back of Lillee’s Flow robes. “It’s nice just the three of us. I like Tori all right, though I was probably never going to warm up to the she-orc. Us three together, though, just feels right.”

  “Us three making magic rings does feel right,” the clansman said. “But we have to focus, or we’ll lose the moon. Remember, we need an aszeculum again.” He and Lillee went over the poem in its entirety again, just to compare notes. />
  The Reveler’s fruit spoiled into chaos; what was sweet is now just stained

  A sorcerer’s voice that has long been silenced; the speechless dead might speak again

  Sour is the vineyard’s grieving; malleable becomes the ossified throat

  Pale blue is the peroxide water; dark crimson becomes the living heart

  Purity wrought from the murdering kiss; water taken from the ringmaker’s blood

  The yellow scorch burns blue into beauty; the open windpipe closed with gold

  The aszeculum catches the night’s sacred power; the amalgam washed in the terrible light

  Bone and gold melded neatly together; that which can burn will always ignite

  But what is summer can be made into winter; what is spring can be frozen into fall

  The white-stench crystals freezing wet fire; the flames of winter will rise to consume all

  The first part directed them to soak the neck bone in vinegar, which they’d been doing since that morning. Ymir did wonder if he would hear the dead talk, and what this former Princept had to say. Sarina Sia seemed like an interesting woman.

  The peroxide water was the coelum aguadroxide, the solution Professor Bootblack had showed them. Ymir would use his own blood to separate the compounds, the air and the water. The Rendlim Funnel would collect both with the help of a little Moons magic.

  Then they would burn sulfur in the pure air, and that would burn a beautiful blue color. In that flame they would bathe the ring and the U shape of the hyoid bone would be closed with gold. That would be set in a bowl that reflected the moon, only a single moon that night, the Artist Moon waning until it would be touched by the Warrior later that month.

  Lillee’s brows were knit. “That all seems clear, but do we know what the white-stench crystals are?

  Ymir thought he did.

  He didn’t answer. Tori threw open the trapdoor on the roof above and tromped down the ladder. “That last part of the stone-damned poem is a head-scratcher. This ring is about fire, obviously, but those last lines completely change the meaning. What are the flames of winter?”

  “A cold fire,” Ymir said. “Rendlim thought that hot and cold weren’t so different. It’s the essence of the item you are manipulating. For example, gold and lead are both metals, but he claimed they had different spiritual properties, which he measured in amwabs.”

  “No!” Jenny shouted. “We ain’t discussing amwabs. We get it, Ymir. You love this stuff.”

  Tori raised a hand. “I love it too. Tell us the rest.”

  The clansman consulted his notes. “Rendlim talked about something called hot ice, which was vinegar and salis bicarbonate, let set for an hour. Once cooked with additional water and with a bit of ammiax powder, it would crystalize in water. The ammiax powder is pungent. I think this is the white-stench crystals. We’ll make it with the vinegar we used for the bone as well as the water we get from the coelum aguadroxide.

  “Ready to cook it all up on the roof, Mr. Man,” Tori said.

  Ymir wasn’t sure that what they were doing would work. This didn’t have any sort of verbal component nor written runes that might trigger the creation of such a powerful magic item. It felt like they were doing a very elaborate alchemical experiment for no good purpose.

  “Let’s get on with it. But, a bit of warning, once we start, we can’t stop. That’s the bad news. The good news? This is all going to go quick!” Tori seemed like her old self again, though that might be an act. In some ways, Tori was as good as Jennybelle at wearing masks.

  Ymir took the silver dagger and cut his hand. The minute his blood dripped into the coelum aguadroxide, it frothed and spat. “Caelum caelarum,” he hissed. The water drained over the side of the bowl even as the air flowed up the funnel’s mouth and into the sphere.

  Tori dipped a vial into the water and thrust it at Lillee. “Take that upstairs for the hot ice crystals. I got a little pit stove up there. You’ll see, the coals are hot, and we have the bowl and water ready.” The dwab had thought of everything.

  The elf took the water from the dwab. Meanwhile, Jenny put a wide piece of cork in the upper part of the Rendlim Funnel, trapping the pure air inside the glass sphere. She followed Lillee up the ladder to the roof.

  Ymir took the hyoid bone from the bowl where it had been soaking in the vinegar. He pressed the now malleable bone so that the ends of the U nearly met. He laid it into a casting mold.

  “Ignis ignarum,” Tori muttered over the hot stove. The instant she cast the Sunfire spell, the red-hot coals glowed a whitish-purple color as the temperature soared.

  Hands covered in leather gloves, Tori picked up a set of tongs holding a crucible. It didn’t take long for the gold ingots in the lead cup to melt in the supernaturally hot fire.

  Tori poured the gold into the mold, connecting the ends of the bone.

  Ymir had his own gloves and an extra set of tongs. He took the mold up the ladder. Up on the roof, the clouds swept through the sky. The moon, drifting among stars, shone through an opening in the cover.

  “Those clouds could undo us.” Jenny blew out some anxious air.

  Thunder boomed across the sky. Lightning crackled on the western horizon, and a bit of wind blew in from the ocean. If the storm hit, or if the winds grew fierce, they wouldn’t be able to finish the ring.

  They could try again, perhaps, but that meant another bone.

  Besides, they had the aszeculum for the moment.

  They would simply have to hurry.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  YMIR STRODE ACROSS the roof of the Amora Annex. The wind wasn’t bad just yet. At least the night smelled good, salty from the ocean, wet with the coming rain.

  Tori had put up a screen on a table near a little pit stove, the portable cooker heating the white-stench crystals. The glass sphere full of pure air sat in a holder Tori had designed. The cork sealed it shut. Next to the orb sat an alchemist’s dipper, the bowl full of yellow powder. A lantern hanging on a stand gave them light.

  All of the windows in the buildings around them were dark. Above, in the Flow apartments, lights twinkled, but they’d be too far away to see anything. They could hear drunk people singing in the taverns on the Sea Stair Market.

  Tori was right behind him. She had another stepping stool so she could help him. Lillee and Jenny stood nearby, dressed in their storm cloaks.

  Tori nodded. “I’ll get that beautiful blue flame for you, Ymir. You deal with the windpipe closed with gold.”

  The clansman set the mold on the table.

  The dwab used another Sunfire cantrip to get the sulfur powder burning. She removed the cork at the top and lowered the dipper into the sphere. The minute that burning sulfur hit the pure air, the flames turned a beautiful blue color. Tori rested the dipper on the bottom.

  She stepped back. “Your turn, Mr. Man.”

  Ymir used his tongs to grip the ring of bone and gold. He set the amalgam into the blue flames.

  That’s when he heard the voice on the rising wind. IT AMUSES ME TO BE OF USE AFTER SO MANY CENTURIES DEAD. IT AMUSES ME YOU HAVE FOUND THIS SCHOOL, YMIR OF THE BLACK WOLF CLAN, AND FUNNIER STILL IS YOUR QUEST TO REMAKE THE AKKIRIC RINGS. WHAT WOULD YOUR MOTHER SAY?

  “Nothing good!” Ymir laughed. Every bone in his spine felt like ice. Every hair on his body was standing on end.

  A few round circles from raindrops splattered the rooftop. The Artist Moon was covered in clouds for the moment, but they were moving fast. It would be revealed in a second. A blast of cold wind blasted across their outdoor laboratory. Jenny and Lillee ran to protect the white-stench crystals from blowing away.

  “Sarina Sia!” Ymir shouted. “I don’t suppose you can help with the wind or the moon.” The back of his neck was crawling, and he felt his heart shrivel. He was talking with the dead. This was fucking necromancy, he knew it. Perhaps all of the many ghost stories he’d heard growing up had been true. He’d always been a bit dubious.

  “You can’t be talk
ing to her!” Tori called out. “She’s dead!”

  Ymir realized only he could hear the voice. He held the bone-and-gold ring inside the blue flame, and it was shrinking even while the radiance dimmed as the mystical fire ate away the air and the powder.

  DEATH IS THE FUNNIEST JOKE OF ALL, YMIR. YOU YOURSELF KNOW THAT LIFE IS ENDLESS. ONCE CREATED, THOSE THAT ARE CREATED CAN NEVER TRULY DIE. KEEP THAT IN MIND WITH THESE RINGS YOU ARE CRAFTING.

  He fought his revulsion. He hardened his will. “And what are the nature of these rings? Are they evil? Am I insane for dealing with the Akkir Akkor?”

  A woman’s laughter filled the air. It was happy, and somehow arousing. He couldn’t believe it, but he was getting hard. THE RINGS ARE SWORDS FOR THE SOUL. IS A SWORD EVIL? ONLY IN THE HANDS OF AN EVIL MAN. AS FOR THE AKKIR AKKOR? I AM BOUND FROM SAYING MORE, BOUND BY POWERFUL MAGIC. WHAT FUN WOULD YOUR LIFE BE IF I REVEALED ALL? There was more laughter, and Ymir had the idea this spirit was teasing him.

  “How do I know you’re Sarina Sia?” Ymir asked.

  YOU, DELLA PENNEZ, EVEN THE LOVELY GATHA KNOW OF MY WONDERFUL DEBAUCHERY. I LIKE THAT DELLA. OUT OF ALL THE PRINCEPTS TO HAVE SERVED THIS SCHOOL, SHE IS THE ONE CLOSEST TO ME IN SPIRIT. ENJOY YOUR FLESH, YMIR, AND IF YOU CAN, ENJOYS DELLA’S FOR ME AS WELL. NOW I WILL HELP YOU WITH THIS NEXT PART.

  Ymir winced. He really was dealing with a spirit. He had to keep reminding himself he was forging a sword, and if he didn’t use it for evil, it wouldn’t be evil. Unlike with the Akkir Akkor, he trusted this ghost woman. She had a sexy voice, she liked to laugh, and there was something whimsical about her.

  The blue fire was gone. Ymir took out the smoking ring. The pretty bone-and-gold hoop would fit on his finger now. Of course, the burning sulfur wouldn’t have done that. Normally, such fire would’ve only scorched the bone.

  The clouds parted, and moonlight filled the bowl on the table.

  Jenny and Lillee continued to protect the pot on the pit stove, which had been reduced from a wet mulch to fine crystals. Both looked scared out of their wits.