Barbarian Gladiator (Princesses of the Ironbound Book 4)

by Aaron Crash

  And there, in the shadows near the Scrollery gate, he saw Sarina Sia standing in the shadows. Her dark eyes twinkled above the ironic smile on her lips. Her hair was like midnight in a crypt.

  Her voice came to him. Perhaps time is fragile, like ice, and perhaps you can crack it. You silly man. You make these rings, but you don’t know what they do. We have much work ahead of us. Kill this orc and let’s get on with it.

  Her meaning was clear. The Black Ice Ring could slow, if not stop, time. And that first ring he’d ever created was connected to the Gather Breath, since it needed to be fueled, and it was being fueled, by Lillee, Jenny, Tori, and Gatha. He’d felt their souls before, but now he felt a channel open between their duszas and his.

  He filled himself with their magic. He stood and raised a wall of ice in front of himself.

  Then? Time ceased cracking.

  Della let out a cry as the last of her energy left her. She’d done well to fight with such an empty soul, but she fell, and her sword rang off the cracked marble. The golem raised its blade.

  The marble boulders hit Ymir’s wall of ice. There were pops and crashes, and one burst through, but Ymir was already moving. He leapt around his snowy barrier and used the Winter Flame Ring to freeze Gulnash’s feet to the floor.

  “What is this?” the Betrayer howled, drawing his sword for the first time in the tournament. “You can’t cast spells! I emptied your dusza!”

  “Jelu prolium!” Ymir yelled and cast javelins of ice from his hands and into Gulnash.

  The Betrayer blocked some with his sword, but others pierced him—in the leg and in the arm. His blood flowed. He went to cast a spell, “Lutum—"

  “Jelu inanis!” Ymir called out, spoiling the spell. Then, “Caelum caelarum!” Ymir gave himself a burst of speed. He raced across the floor, scooped up the fallen mace, and used it to smash the book golem back into paper and bindings. Its sword fell before it could hurt his Princept.

  Gulnash shouted, “Ignis ignarum,” and a necklace of fire appeared around his throat. The flames flickered up, stopping Ymir from freezing his mouth so he couldn’t cast spells.

  Ymir could freeze his sword, though. He felt the Winter Flame on his pinkie finger, and he turned the Betrayer’s sword into an ice club. The barbarian didn’t stop there. He focused on freezing the water in the eyes of the Betrayer.

  The orc howled in pain as his eyes froze in his skull. He wasn’t going to go down on his knees, or claw at his face, however, but instead struck out at the last place he’d seen Ymir. He was using that ice-blocked sword as a cudgel.

  Ymir easily dodged the attack and took the mace in two hands. He slammed it into the side of the orc’s skull, smashing off his steel tusk and caving in the side of his face.

  That knocked Gulnash back, and he dropped the useless sword. He was a dead man standing.

  The Betrayer reached out, blindly, laughing. “It is fight or die for me, barbarian. Fight and die for you because you will be consumed by the Akkir Akkor in the end.”

  Ymir couldn’t care less what this asshole said. All these secret guilds and societies, these ghosts and demons—he couldn’t trust any of them. He would trust his own heart, and he would trust his women, and the Wolf could piss on all the rest.

  Della appeared next to Ymir, staggering as if drunk. She swung her sword and swept Gulnash’s head from his shoulders. He fell to his knees and slumped over. The biggest threat of the age had been taken care of by both the clansman and the Princept.

  Gulnash’s headless trunk hit the floor, bleeding out in a pool covering the marble. Ymir cast the death’s head mace away. He then walked into the puddle of Gulnash’s gore. He reached down and plucked the ring off the orc’s finger. A pouch on Gulnash’s belt came open, and coins fell, striking the floor. Only they didn’t ping as they struck the marble floor. Instead, they vanished.

  These were Gulnash’s magical coins. Ymir caught the last three and held them in his fist along with the ring.

  Della stood watching.

  He rose to face her. “Your school is safe. Your fucking continent is safe for the time being. Now? I’m going to enjoy my summer without all this fucking nonsense.”

  Della nodded, no expression on her face. “We’ll be talking about that ring you just took.”

  “Just the one?” he smirked. “Gladly.”

  Above them, around them, the orcs started chanting. “Ymir Virtorg!”

  Others chanted, “Della Virtorg!”

  The clansman raised an eyebrow. “What does the word ‘virtorg’ mean?”

  An amused glint filled Della’s eyes. “Conqueror.”

  “Ymir the Conqueror,” he said with a laugh. “I like it.”

  The Princept raised her chin, sweat leaking down the side of her face. “Oh, sweet Ymir, Della the Conqueror sounds so much better.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  DELLA PENNEZ SAT AT her desk in her office, listening to the music of the Long Light Festival, midsummer, or the shy night, as Ymir liked to call it. A week had passed since that fateful night when Della added three more souls to the list of people she’d killed. Four if you included Orgorr, and five if you included Gulnash.

  Though even the orcs themselves couldn’t agree on who had finally killed the Betrayer.

  The Honored Princept was finishing up the last of the work and the last of the reporting on the events of that summer’s Kurzig Durgha. Gulnash the Betrayer was dead. The three major chieftains were dead as well. However, Glagga the Blade was already campaigning for her ptoor to usher in a new lineage. All the survivors of Old Ironbound’s tournament had a special place in the minds of the Gruul, but the leaders would be chosen by a combination of combat and political machinations. Or, as Gharam put it, blood and bullshit.

  Ymir had made it clear that he had no desire to rule the savage people of the Blood Steppes, though he had a title now, Ymir Virtorg, and that meant something at least to the orcs of Gulnash’s former horde. Della had the same title, and she’d also made it clear that she didn’t want an empire to rule. Taking care of the Majestrial was work enough.

  Yes, the Blood Steppes were unstable at the moment, but the Gruul were a steady people who believed in their customs and rituals. They would find their way.

  The casualties, though—the casualties of that bloody Friday night could not be taken lightly. One of Cebor’s wives, Ehmilee, would rule Greenhome now, and she would keep the trade contacts in Panseloca, as well as ties to Ssunash.

  Glagga the Blade publicly stated that she liked having a new queen in Greenhome. King Cebor had lost many people’s respect when he’d marked his own daughter as Sullied.

  Auntie Jia would be mourned, but Arribelle would find someone else to help her rule and to oversee her marriage to Darisbeau once he graduated. It seemed Arri wasn’t in any rush to marry. Or perhaps her many lovers in Josentown satisfied her.

  Either way, Della suspected that many people were relieved that both Auntie Jia and Ghrinna of Ssunash were gone.

  But was the Midnight Guild still in existence? Had Della murdered their leadership? Or would others rise?

  Della was done hiding in the shadows. She’d a written a letter to expose the Midnight Guild. And she knew she was risking her life doing it. She hadn’t sent it yet. She’d given it to Ymir to review first. The barbarian had helped her in her moment of need, and she valued his opinion, especially where the Midnight Guild was concerned.

  His rings? The rings were problematic.

  Most thought Ymir had taken Gulnash’s Focus ring as a prize, but some wondered exactly what it did. Shlak had spoken of how he’d felt his dusza being drained, and that pointed to the Crystal Null Ring. So far, Yannc Winslo and the Alumni Consortium hadn’t investigated.

  In some ways, Della was relieved, but in others, she was still troubled. For a week, Della’s sleep had been dreamless. She missed her visits from Sarina Sia, the visions of her orgies, and the fantasies of a naked Ymir surrounded by his harem.

/>   Della thought that, perhaps, the spectral Princept had been drawn back to Old Ironbound to help them deal with the Kurzig Durgha. And now that the tournament was over, Sarina would never return. Della would miss her, though letting go of Sarina had been easier than letting go of her love of kharo. The Princept found herself at night, breaking down, and going to Agneeyeshka for a single stick.

  Della heard laughter. She glanced down from her mezzanine office to see Ymir, surrounded by his harem, standing in the middle of the Librarium. The floor had been repaired, thanks to work from Form college students, led by Brodor Bootblack. The crest of the school was restored—the Sunfire, the three Moons, the closed fist, and the open palm.

  As for the books that Gulnash had ripped from the shelves, Gatha had already catalogued what was missing, and she was hellbent on replacing them. By the Tree, she’d murder anyone who got in her way now that her ankle had been healed. The school’s doctor had taken care of that once the tournament had ended.

  Ymir stood there below, in his normal elk shirt and pants, but his women wore a variety of summer dresses, short, sheer, and sexy. Tori was dressed the most conservatively, but even she had forgone her vest and had her blouse unbuttoned to show some of her freckled cleavage.

  Ymir saw the Princept at her desk, and he excused himself from the four women. He walked up the steps and sat down in a chair, uninvited. “I read the letter.”

  “And?” Della asked.

  The clansman shrugged. “If this Unger is still alive, it will bring him to us. To say you have proof of the Midnight Guild’s existence is brazen.”

  “I don’t have to send it.” Della frowned. “We could let this pass and wait to see if the Midnight Guild reacts in some way.”

  “No,” Ymir said. “If we can lure them in, we can take care of them, once and for all. They have meddled with my life and the affairs of this world far too much.”

  Della knew that was the right answer. If Unger was smart, he would wait and bide his time. That might mean a year, or two, or it might mean months. “And if in the coming year, our campus is full of Silent Scream assassins?”

  Della’s question hung in the air.

  Ymir raised his left hand, and there was the Black Ice Ring. “We have the tools to face them. Are we going to talk about the rings?”

  “As long as we don’t have to talk about the kiss.” Della arched her eyebrows.

  Ymir smiled. “It was a difficult time. I understand, Princept. I don’t expect anything to come from it. I would imagine we’ve both kissed our fair share of people in our time.”

  “But you are a scholar,” Della protested. “It was completely inappropriate.”

  Ymir made a face. “I was never going to be simply a scholar at your school. The Axman did not cut an easy path for me here.”

  “And yet the Shieldmaiden has protected you, both from the whims of the Wolf and darker forces.” Della had studied up on his folk stories. “But I said we shouldn’t talk about the kiss, and here we are.”

  Ymir shrugged. “So let’s talk about the Akkiric Rings. I’ve used them, time and again, to undo the forces that threaten me and your school. They’ve even helped you a time or two.”

  Della inhaled. If they were talking about the rings, they had to keep their voices quiet. No one could ever know. “And when we complete the set, Ymir, they’ll go in the Illuminates Spire, yes? Better to have them created and controlled than to have them loose.”

  A condescending smile spread across Ymir’s face. “So that’s how you’re going to justify this to yourself.”

  “It’s either that or murder you.” The Princept smiled. “After all of our sparring this summer, I’d say it’s even odds who would win a fight.”

  “I’d put my money on you,” he said softly.

  She was surprised. “Why?”

  “Because you are dangerous, Della Pennez. I’m merely cursed.”

  There was a moment when they stared into one another’s eyes.

  Ymir loved how gray her eyes were. “For now, Princept, the Akkiric Rings will be in my care. We have two rings left to craft.”

  “And I want to be there,” Della said sternly, “when you create them. I want to be kept up to date. There is no room for negotiations.”

  “And you’ll help when you can, yes?” Ymir asked.

  “I will help when I can.” Della paused. “But I cannot give you access to any text that is in the Illuminates Spire. Though I can assure you, I went over that archive the minute I knew you forged the Black Ice Ring.”

  “Gulnash went through the Coruscation Shelves,” Ymir said. “He found something there, enough information for him to craft the Crystal Null Ring. I will work with Gatha. And there is the White Rose Society. They want the rings created.”

  Della didn’t like the sound of another secret society. “The White Rose?”

  Ymir nodded. “I can’t say more. Not yet. Maybe we can have a meeting. There is someone from the White Rose who works here.”

  “And can we trust them?” Della asked.

  Ymir stared right into her eyes. “We can’t trust anyone, except for ourselves and each other.” The clansman stood. He was smiling at her.

  Della smiled back. “There has never been a scholar like you here, and I am honored to oversee your education. But tell me...were you tempted to leave us and rule the Blood Steppes?”

  “No,” he said. “I like the Gruul, but I made a commitment to finish my studies here. I have things I want to learn, and I have two more rings to craft. And...”

  He stopped.

  “And what?” she asked.

  The big man thought for several long minutes. Then he smiled. It was obvious he wasn’t going to finish that thought. He tried to fool her with something else. “And I need to figure out how to give Charibda the ability to breathe on land. We lost her in this...she’s not dead, but she’s not here. And she has a remarkable ability when it comes to sex.”

  “I’ve had my own experiences with a mermaid,” Della said, though she thought Ymir was thinking of something other than tentacles and the juicy oheesy.

  Ymir nodded, turned, and got halfway down the steps. He turned and walked back up. “Come, Honored Princept. You have done enough work. Come to this festival. The Ohlyrran band is especially good, I hear. They are playing tribute after tribute, honoring the fallen king of Greenhome.”

  The Princept didn’t comment on the irony there.

  She stood and walked down with Ymir to the festival. Her faculty were there, and it was crowded, with the remnants of the Kurzig Durgha audience, as well as some scholars who had returned early. In six weeks, there would be the Open Exam. And to think it was only two years ago that Ymir had come to the Open Exam with a dead deer tossed over one shoulder. So much had happened in that short time.

  Dillyday Everjewel had remained behind and was buzzing around a corner of the room with a retinue of fairies, including two former scholars, Ziziva and Zorynda Gold. Both had decided not to return and would be focusing on their business at The Paradise Tree, which was booming.

  Dillyday sent her several meaningful looks. Della was surprised the head of the Undergem Guild hadn’t left. Nor did she seem to be planning to. She was rich enough to buy out half the Sea Stair Market, though Della wasn’t sure where the Fayee matriarch was staying.

  Was she there merely to oversee the expansion of The Paradise Tree? Or was she there for other reasons? Della didn’t know, but something about the Fayee aroused her. She was glad Dillyday was staying. She wanted to get to know the powerful woman better.

  Thinking of The Paradise Tree, and their expanded menu, made Della appreciate Ymir’s luck and hard work. There, too, the clansman had an empire, yet, like the Gruul, the simple money didn’t interest him.

  What did?

  Della watched the barbarian dance with his harem, and she enjoyed the festival, but she didn’t dance. No, she was still the Princept, and she had to keep a certain level of decorum. The entire continen
t was satisfied with how she’d handled the tournament of death. Her methods had been questionable, but the outcome had been exactly what the kingdoms, queendoms, collectives, and guilds had wanted. The Blood Steppes would be peaceful once more by the time the fall winds came blowing.

  Before she went to bed, Della sent the sand letter to the town criers.

  It might be a mistake, but sometimes it was the mistakes that made life delicious.

  That night, Sarina came to her, in her bed.

  Half asleep, half awake, Della didn’t know if she was masturbating or if she was being licked to ecstasy by the spectral Princept. All she knew for sure was that Sarina had returned because a part of her knew that trouble would be returning to Old Ironbound.

  And she welcomed it.

  It was easy to enjoy peace and victory equally, for peace and victory were easy on the heart. But to long for strife? To enjoy conflict? To court death? To love battle required a certain strength of spirit, and Della knew she had that strength.

  And if she weakened, she would have Ymir.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  CHARIBDA COULDN’T ENJOY the Blue Dark, nor the palaces of the Delphino family, nor the coral archives, nor the playfields of the Undersea. No, she didn’t even like sleeping in her bed net any more. Underwater, she didn’t snore anymore, and that was ironic. She didn’t belch either, but no one cared.

  Or they cared too much. She was around her friends again, but they were friends because she was the daughter of the Ocean Mother Divine. Her family was sweet to Charibda, but she’d soon run out of things to talk with them about.

  The worst thing had happened to her. After spending two years loathing the dirt worms, now all she wanted was to return to them. Yet that was impossible.

  Charibda’s mother brought in tutors, she brought in trainers, and, yes, there was even talk of Charibda going to live on StormLight island permanently. But Charibda knew she would have to kill Damnation Sue and eat her cat Pussy Face. That old woman was insufferable, and the land animal could be so annoying. Sue knew that she’d be seeing Charibda there, and she’d even set up a room for the mermaid in the lighthouse itself.