Barbarian Gladiator (Princesses of the Ironbound Book 4)

by Aaron Crash

  Della had to focus on her training. She had to sharpen her skills because when the time came, she needed to end Gulnash and any orc foolish enough to join his Gungarr.

  The problem the Princept faced wasn’t limited to the Betrayer, however. There was a good chance that one of the other chieftains, perhaps Shlak of Ssunash himself, might murder the other orc leaders in hopes of becoming the chieftain of the entire Blood Steppes.

  Della didn’t think that would happen—the chieftains of Rukklur and Goyyoat and even Shlak of Ssunash wanted to end the Gulnash problem and return to normal. The peoples of the three city-states were comfortable, happy for the most part, and their fighting pits gave them a relatively harmless outlet for their aggressions. However, the Princept wasn’t naïve. The winner of the Kurzig Durgha could claim their prize, and that prize was the Blood Steppes.

  Which brought up the sticky issue of someone in the host arena’s Gungarr winning. That might be Della, Ymir, or one of their other comrades. Della didn’t want to rule over orcs, and besides, they wouldn’t take to a round-eared half-elf ruling them. Ymir or Sturm would also cause a violent uprising. Gharam would rather hang than rule. And Gatha? Gatha had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with her people. She’d chosen books over a ptoor, any ptoor, even the royalty of her people.

  Valarenza walked up the Sea Stair in his red cloak over a leather jerkin and leather pants. His boots had the big frill, which meant this wasn’t his battle footwear. He’d brought an extra pair to dress up. She was surprised to see him coming up alone.

  The Princept was glad to see him, however. Not because he was handsome, no, that moustache was not something she wanted on her oheesy. She preferred clean-shaven men, like Ymir.

  There was another topic she needed to discuss with someone. It was news that had rocked her to her core.

  Valarenza swept off his hat. “Why, Princept, fancy meeting you here. To be honest, I’m glad. Those little girls wanted me, but I like an older woman.”

  “No woman likes to be referred to as older.” Della stood in her Sunfire robes, arms crossed, her kharo smoldering. She softened her smirk by seeming more bored than offended.

  “I meant no offense. It was my way of flirting. You do flirt, I assume.”

  “Why do you assume that?”

  “Because I’ve heard the rumors.” He grinned. He was up at the top of the stair now. He smelled good. No, she couldn’t give in to her passions. Not this time.

  “First I’m older. Now you claim there are rumors that I’m a whore. You must work on your flirting, Sir Valarenza Sturm. Good thing you have a keen sword and tolerable magic, or else I would worry for your future.” No, she didn’t want this man. She’d been thinking with her oheesy again. The fantasy of some men, and women for that matter, was far better than the reality.

  Except for maybe Ymir. And his harem. Sadly, they were off-limits.

  The knight winced. “I’ll not flirt because I’m afraid you seem better at it than I. And please, Sturm is fine. I left knighthood behind to stop Gulnash.”

  “The Betrayer.” Della took a puff of her kharo, held it, and let it out slowly. “He was offered Goyyoat. He won the seasonal fighting games there, won it soundly, and was given power, money, fame. Women fought to the death to enjoy his bed. But you know the story...”

  Valarenza shrugged. “And I don’t mind the retelling. I’ve been thinking a lot of the Betrayer as well. Gulnash could’ve won the favor of the people. He could’ve been chieftain of Goyyoat, the city of the black hair, of Lake City. But instead, in secret, his followers, hiding on the steppes, came into Goyyoat. While his horde put that city to the flame, Gulnash murdered the chieftain and swore that he would conquer the Blood Steppes. He betrayed his chieftain. He murdered his own family and friends, people he’d known his entire life, because of his lust for power. He betrayed his host, and it was only by the courage of the chieftain’s ptoor that Gulnash was pushed out of Goyyoat and onto the plains. Those strong women chose a new chieftain, and now Urag is coming here.”

  “As is Gulnash,” Della said. “He will arrive Monday. Nearly a month early. I’m supposed to find him a room, and I’m supposed to keep him safe. He’ll be here without his ptoor but with his Gungarr.”

  Valarenza’s face fell. His eyes widened. “You can’t be serious. And we aren’t going to kill him where he stands?”

  “And risk murder ourselves?” Della shook her head. “He is protected by the Kurzig Durgha itself. We can’t touch him, or else the entire Blood Steppes would want our blood. It does make me wonder if I could hire someone from the Silent Scream to take care of this problem.”

  Valarenza laughed, and it was low, a little uncomfortable. “We don’t want to deal with the Silent Scream. They kill for money, and if you aren’t the richer party, it might be you who eats the bloodcross mushroom. I’ve heard stories.”

  And I’ve lived those stories, Della thought. She could find a way. She could end Gulnash. No one would know. However, if one Gruul seer discovered the murder, it would bring chaos to not only the Blood Steppes, but to Old Ironbound.

  It would be hard to explain to the Alumni Consortium why an army of orcs had crossed the continent to lay siege to the Majestrial. The Consortium’s main investigator, Yannc Winslo, would die of outrage on the spot. Speaking of which, the old crone was coming to Old Ironbound to make sure no one tried to kill the Betrayer. And Yannc Winslo would have powerful Flow magic, epically powerful magic, to make sure the villain lived to see the tournament.

  Just because the Betrayer betrayed his people didn’t mean they could betray him in return.

  And Gulnash knew it. He was purposefully coming into harm’s way, daring them to break their traditions. He was a monster. He deserved a blade in the gut. And if Della did kill him and then gave herself to the orcs for justice? Would her life be worth the lives of the countless that Gulnash might kill?

  No, it would tarnish Old Ironbound and Della’s own legacy.

  She would keep the fucker alive and slaughter him in the orcs’ blood games.

  Valarenza stood there, stunned.

  “Yes,” Della whispered. “That was my reaction as well. Perhaps on Monday, he’ll slip in the feasting hall and break his wretched neck. I’ll keep the floors wet. We can only hope.” She patted Valarenza and excused herself.

  It was late. She’d been in Issa Leel’s Flow Tower office most of the night, going over details that drove the Princept mad. Issa Leel, however, found every detail endlessly fascinating. It had been too long since the Ohlyrran professor had some young man around to pound the details out of her.

  It was midnight, and Ymir wasn’t at his table. He was probably at the Zoo, enjoying his women, which, according to rumor, might include the Delphino girl.

  Rumors. Valarenza had heard rumors about Della. She couldn’t have that.

  She dropped those thoughts and instead felt happy at the idea of Ribrib not being so alone. It wasn’t often that a scholar took the Princept’s advice—the young and intelligent had no time for the wisdom of their elders—and so Della relished it when one of them did. She’d suggested Ribby befriend Tori, Ymir, and the rest of that tight group. It would be a good fit if the Delphino girl matured a little. No, she’d need to mature a lot.

  She imagined Ribby with her tentacles splayed, her sex showing in the middle of those coils, and Ymir finding that wet slit and driving his cock home into the mewling mermaid. It seemed everyone at Old Ironbound was having sex except Della. And Sturm Valarenza and his moustache. It still wasn’t as bad as King Velis Naoar the IX’s, but it wasn’t good.

  Della retired to her chamber, sipped wine, relaxed, and scrubbed the smell of the kharo off her fingers and her face.

  She fell into bed, exhausted, but she’d be up at sunrise the next morning, on the Sunfire Field training with her Gungarr.

  She heard music, far below her, haunting music, a slow drumbeat, a single flute, then a single violin. It was rhythmic, hypnotic, and, i
n the background, she heard something else...cries of pleasure.

  Della knew she was dreaming. She knew this wasn’t really happening, but she couldn’t stop herself. She drifted from her room, down the steps, out the door, and to the sixth-floor alcove. The lightning crackling across the Coruscation Shelves, giving her some light.

  What that light revealed in the alcove was impossible.

  Della saw herself there, on the cushioned couch, with her legs spread, masturbating. She was standing where the phantom had stood, on the night of the Summernight Festival, when she’d wanted to spice up her self-play. Was the music she was hearing coming from the Throne Auditorium? She didn’t think so. It was more muffled than that.

  Deeper. The drumbeat was coming from the Scrollery, as were the cries of pleasure—so loud, so full of ecstasy. The Princept felt the tingles race from the tips of her tits to her sex. She wanted to rub herself, but a voice whispered in Ohlyrran: Watch. Wait.

  And her eyes went back to herself, her robe open to show her breasts and their pink-capped nipples, two hard, throbbing nubbins but only a little areolae. The training had thinned her belly, though she wasn’t young enough to have her abdominal muscles exposed, not like someone younger, like Charibda for example. Della couldn’t think about her.

  The Princept shrugged away the forbidden thoughts and concentrated on the triangle of white pubic hair, and her fingers rubbing her pink ohi, and she knew this other self was about to come. She wanted to see it. This was a strange combination of voyeurism and exhibitionism. She was both the watcher and the nasty woman, playing with herself in public.

  Della’s other self had her eyes closed, mouth slack, both hands busy, pulling on a nipple and rubbing her pearl in big circles. She stiffened, muffling her moans. Della knew she was fighting back the urge to scream, to call out, to beg someone, anyone, to come taste her.

  The Princept watched her other self pull together her robes and go darting off. She didn’t want to get caught, not really.

  The music from the Scrollery was too hypnotic to ignore.

  Della walked down the rest of the way, growing closer to the music, to the sounds of sex. The Scrollery gate was open, and for a moment, the Princept was annoyed that Maezel, the head librarian, wasn’t securing the sensitive parts of the Librarium Citadel. Gatha must not have been working because she would’ve remembered. The she-orc was one of the best and most competent people at the school. What would it be like to be taken by Gatha? To be dominated by her? Or perhaps the strong warrior woman had a secret desire to be a slave to a stronger will? In her long life, Della had known such women, hard and strong on the outside but aching to be controlled on the inside.

  The Princept started down the steps toward the Scrollery. She was being drawn there, taken there, by a force she’d felt before. By an entity she’d been obsessed with at one time.

  Sarina Sia. Her spirit still haunted Old Ironbound, Della was sure of it.

  Della had her Sunfire robes on, pulled tight around herself. She wore the Sunfire because it was her favorite, but she’d mastered all aspects of the Studiae Magica. It was said that Sarina Sia had special robes with each of the four magics embroidered on them.

  Della reached the bottom, and she knew to go on would be to see things she shouldn’t see—to be invited down a path she shouldn’t walk. Yes, this was a dream, but it felt like more. It felt like she was being given a choice.

  However, it was a choice she didn’t have trouble making. She’d always been drawn to the forbidden, to the edge of her sanity, to find her limits. So far, she’d not found them. She’d kept safe from herself for a long time now because of the responsibility she felt toward Old Ironbound. She loved the school and took her duties seriously. She’d played when she could, like with Beryl Delphino, for example, and with Hayleesia Heenn before that. The affair with Haylee had been a mistake that had almost killed her. That was the price you paid if you explored the forbidden.

  It was a price Della usually didn’t mind paying.

  She walked out into the Scrollery itself. The normal shelves were gone, as was the long table in the middle. The cells were empty of scrolls. This was what the dungeon looked like before. This was from the time of Sarina Sia and her orgies.

  Overstuffed chairs and cushioned sofas sat on thick rugs covering the hard stone. Tables held candles and wine bottles and piles of sweets. The women weren’t eating or drinking. They were locked in embraces, kissing, sucking on each other’s tits, riding each other’s faces, and some were on all fours, being eaten from behind. It wasn’t just tongues and fingers, but there were also glass phalluses fucking swollen pussies. It was a dizzying array of women, some students, some professors. Every race was there—humans, elves, orcs, and even some winged people...not like Wingkin, but women with dragonfly wings. And yes, there was even a couple of dwabs, short and thick.

  There was one man, however, fucking an Ohlyrran woman from behind. The woman had the biggest tits Della had ever seen on an elf, and she wasn’t a young elf, either. She was older, with more flesh and wrinkles around her eyes. Her ass was wider as well, perfect for the muscled man pounding her. This mysterious stranger wore a cloak, the hood covering his face, though something about the man’s jawline looked familiar.

  Ohlyrran words whispered into Della’s mind. The mantle of leadership is heavy, my dearest Princept. All eyes are upon you. But with power comes freedom. With victory comes the spoils. The fruits of the world are yours to enjoy if you dare to pluck them from the Tree of Life.

  Della had dared all her life. And she’d known her fair share of victories.

  Two elven scholars, their cuffs long cast aside, walked from the multitudes of sweating bodies to come close to Della. They eased her robes off her. Both were smiling, comfortable in their nudity, one honey blond, the other strawberry blond. Both were so young, so beautiful, with little breasts and fuzzy little oheesies. Both had wet pink mouths that were soon kissing Della’s skin.

  She wasn’t going to fight them. It was wrong, they were scholars at the school, but most likely both were long dead now, centuries dead. Now, if Della could give them pleasure, why wouldn’t she allow them access to her body?

  One caressed Della’s ass, the other lightly scratched her nails up Della’s leg, coming dangerously close to her sex. And that was what she wanted. She wanted these elf girls to make love to her. She wanted to taste all the women. The flame-haired she-orc forcing a thick human girl to tongue her engorged slit. A small-breasted professor with graying black hair eating another she-orc from behind. Two scholars, locked in the Congress of the Crow, their tongues licking their ohis while they fucked each other with glass phalluses.

  Della found herself kissing the honey blonde, sucking on her tongue. The strawberry blonde was kneeling in front of her, her face between the Princept’s legs. It wasn’t long before the elf girls licked and kissed the Princept into an orgasm.

  Dimly, Della was aware that she was naked in her bed, the sheets cast aside, and she was rubbing her clit. That was in her room, in reality, but here in the dream, she came in the strawberry-blond girl’s face.

  The cloaked man stopped his thrusts, and the black-haired elf woman looked up. Her eyes were so dark brown they appeared black. Her mouth was red and wanton. She was gazing into Della’s eyes from across the room.

  That was Sarina Sia being ravished by the cloaked man. It was Sarina Sia’s voice whispering into her mind. I found those who thought like I did, who accepted the wildest parts of themselves, and we made a pact to keep silent about our secret festivals of the flesh. We were successful, we grew the school, we grew in power, so no one could stop us. We ate the fruit from the Tree. We ruled. You can rule, Della Pennez. You can eat the sweetest of forbidden fruit.

  Della shuddered from her first orgasm, both in her bed and in the dream. A blink later, all the women had separated. Their hair was disheveled, and their faces were wet from kisses, from licking, from lust. Naked, they knelt in two lines with a c
lear aisle for Della to walk down. She recognized her two young elf lovers, the honey blonde and the strawberry blonde.

  Sarina Sia was with the Princept, behind her, with one hand on Della’s hip. Like everyone else, they were naked. At the other end of the room, between the two lines of kneeling woman, stood the cloaked man. He stood with his arms crossed, his face hidden, and his huge, hard cock jutting out from his body. Those arms were familiar—Della had seen them flexing on the Sunfire Field every morning. Those legs were strong and powerful.

  You can have him if you want him, Sarina Sia whispered into her ear. He is not a scholar. He is a conqueror. He is a usurper. Go to him. Feel him inside you.

  Della walked the line and was startled to recognize faces. Faces, past and present, were there. Jennybelle Josen knelt there, raven-haired, eyes as bright as sapphires. Lillee Nehenna was there, proudly showing off her thick nipples on her upturned breasts. One of the dwabs had red hair and freckles and a cute face, eyelids heavy with lust. Those huge freckled breasts were so big and her thick thighs were so tempting. That was Toriah Welldeep. And, yes, Gatha was there, her white hair wild, unkempt, and a look of lust in her rose-colored eyes.

  Charibda Delphino knelt, her blue hair with the purple stripe, her long thin body, her breasts with the tiny nipples, and the thick clamshell of her sex between her thin, muscled thighs. Ribby nodded at her, a knowing smile on her wet face.

  Della shivered under the gaze of all the young women. And still she walked forward, until she knelt down in front of the cloaked man. Sarina Sia knelt behind her, kissing her neck before licking the side of her face. The spectral Princept gripped Della’s tits and rubbed her own soft tits against Della’s back.

  The man drew back the cloak. It was Ymir. His dirty blond hair was held back with a leather thong. His eyes burned green like bright emeralds. When he fought, they were blue. When he studied, they were brown.