by Aaron Crash
Two months was a long time for a man of the Black Wolf Clan to go without the caresses, the scents, and the sighs of a woman.
A proverb came to him: Do the first task first. Patience is in love with cunning. Grandmother Rabbit liked that so much that Grandfather Bear would grumble every time she said it.
Ymir and the orc woman emerged from the passage and walked onto a field of green grass. The sides were a clutter of structures, warrenlike houses, piled on top of each other. The field led to a blackened silver tower, one of four at the points of the compass, surrounding the central citadel he’d seen before. The four towers each had a bell hanging at the top behind barred windows.
As for the central fortress, the citadel rose to a spire where a large flag fluttered. The flag was divided into four sections, though the actual images were lost in the movement. The front of the nearest tower was adorned with a golden sunburst plaque, with a smattering of glass windows in the stone. Glass, real glass—the Therans might be depraved, but they certainly enjoyed their riches.
In the center of the field stood a golden tent, the biggest he’d ever seen—and Ymir knew about tents. The central poles must be made from the huge trees he’d walked through, but even then, what power held the canvas taut? More lady orc guards organized a dozen young men Ymir’s age or younger into a line as they waited their turn to take the Open Exam.
Everything smelled so wet. Though the sun was trying, it was failing to banish the chill. It was late summer, early fall, perhaps. He shouldn’t be cold, yet that dampness got into his bones. The Ax Tundra was a dry place, mostly—even the snow was dry. Ymir gritted his teeth.
The Axman’s moon was at its zenith, with the Shieldmaiden’s moon peeking shyly above the horizon. Of course, the third moon wouldn’t be seen for a few more years, in the year of the Wolf.
Ymir took his place at the end of the line. The green grass covered soft earth under his feet. Such a big tent in a wide field surrounded by walls and fortifications. This place had been a fortress, it seemed. The silver stone had been patched with black rock, but both were weathered. The rains here must be relentless, he thought.
The boy in front of him turned and looked Ymir up and down. Perhaps he wasn’t a boy, but he couldn’t be called a man. He was dressed in a fine shirt and silken pants, both embroidered with different patterns. Brown hair framed a doughy round face. He smirked. “I see you brought a snack.”
Ymir fixed his glare on the kid. “This is lunch. If you are not careful, you’ll be dinner. There is nothing I enjoy more than human flesh. Though I am curious to see what the meat of the other races tastes like.”
The shock in the boy’s eyes was comical. He collected himself. “That’s not true. You’re not a cannibal.”
Ymir pinched the boy’s arm. “Yes, there is some fine marbling there. Your juices would smell good dripping on my fire. Damn the Ax, but I am getting hungry.”
The boy turned and took a few steps away from Ymir.
The clansman chuckled. If the South was filled with whelps like these, he could have his pick of the women. And there were so many.
Speaking of which, the apartment windows were full of faces, mostly female, all looking down.
He knew what they were doing. They were discussing the potential new scholars and growing excited at the prospects. Women were the same everywhere, but then, so were men. The world throbbed with those desires. In the midst of the inexplicable, Ymir had found something he could understand.
One woman stood alone in an uncovered walkway. She’d braided her platinum hair back to show her pointed ears. A blue cape covered her tunic, simple white cotton with a blue border. On her left arm was a piece of golden jewelry spiraling around her arm. It was similar to the one he’d seen the elf at the table wearing. Even from a distance, Ymir felt the elf girl’s gaze, and he wasn’t sure if it was fear or longing. She was striking, even from far away. Was she some kind of servant?
Icy fingers crawled up his spine as he felt it. Magic stirred within, and a name came to him—Lillee Nehenna, and he saw her in candlelight, her hair down and hanging in her face. She was sad, but he didn’t know why. She was—or had been—a scholar, working on some task he couldn’t understand.
Then the vision was gone. He blinked. The elf girl had disappeared as well. Was he seeing things? He loathed the sudden visions he got during the day. What happened to him at night was worse. He had to get free of this curse. His determination was like iron inside of him despite the pain of his wounded heart.
From out of an inner door on the south side of the field, a group of human women emerged. They were led by an ink-haired beauty who walked regally toward him. That midnight mop made the girl’s pale skin seem even whiter. As she grew closer, he saw that dark eyeshadow emphasized her striking blue eyes. A skirt of flowing, sparkling material spread out from her ample hips. Long, polished black boots rose to her knee. A black velvet jacket showed a long line of pale cleavage that seemed to stretch forever. It was a valley of delight he could spend a lifetime exploring.
The regal girl strutted right up to him.
Chapter Two
JENNYBELLE JOSEN HAD spent the morning with her girls in a dorm room with a view of the Sunfire Field, watching the nervous boys thread their way to take the Open Exam. They were mostly local fishermen, though some had come from the Sorrow Coast Kingdom, lesser royalty no doubt. Also, Farmington Collective was represented. The Sorrow Coast Kingdom hugged the coastline of the western side of Thera. Farmington was between the kingdom and the Sunset Mountains.
The dirty-fingered farm boys would have to pass the Open Exam, while the finest and richest young men would pay their way into Old Ironbound even if their dusza was weak. That was the way of the world: money got you into places, and power kept you there.
Money and power were equally important. Jenny had met a few powerful people in her two decades of life, which seemed longer because of the many problems she’d had to face. Life itself seemed problematic, and sometimes she didn’t see the point—that was her poisonous past creeping into her thoughts. She had to be careful about that. Her thoughts needed to be on her sister, back in the Josentown Queendom far away and forever ago.
Jenny had spent the summer at Old Ironbound, learning the names of the professors, creating allies, and shunning enemies. She’d walked every alley and memorized every building because a conqueror needed to know her battlefield if she was going to win. And Jenny would win. Her family was counting on her, especially her Firstborn sister, though Jenny was serving Auntie Jia far more than stupid, cruel Arribelle.
Jenny and her Swamp Coast girls had spent the morning talking about the various boys, gauging their chances, guessing who would pass and who would fail. That had been enough. The food was good—mostly different canapes made from Angel Bay crabmeat and various breads. She’d gone easy on the wine because she needed to keep her wits sharp. Any of the boys might be the one.
Watching had been enough until the giant leather-clad barbarian joined the end of the line. A clansman here? How could that be? The Frozen Land barbarians were barely human, and they didn’t have duszas. Also, they feared magic, which is why they never came south. That fear must certainly be overwhelming to keep them away. You’d think the men would want to brave the sorcery since there were so many Theran women who were dying for a stiff prick thanks to the Age of Withering.
Suffice it to say, the giant barbarian struck her interest like nothing else.
“We’ve gotta talk to that one,” Jenny had declared.
Nellybelle Tucker had disagreed. “Why bother? I bet he can barely talk, and he won’t be able to speak Homme at all. Maybe he knows a few words of Pidgin, but it’s doubtful.”
“Then I’ll just look at him,” Jenny laughed and left. Of course Nelly and the others followed her. They knew who ruled them, though Jenny wasn’t Firstborn. Ha! Neither were any of them, which is why they were at the Majestrial Collegium Universitas.
Jenny strode u
p to the giant standing on the Sunfire Field. She didn’t need to adjust her skirts or her hair—she knew she looked good by the flash of lust in the giant’s green eyes. Hadn’t they been a muddy brown just a moment before? She wasn’t sure, but now they were a cat’s emerald pupils, drinking her in.
The giant nodded at her. He was weighed down with a big pack, an ax, and a deer carcass, of all things, hanging off his shoulder.
“Hello, I’m Jennybelle Josen, and these are my girls.” She waved a hand behind her. “We’re from the Swamp Coast. Ain’t seen something like you before. Where’re you from?” She tried to keep the twang out of her Pidgin, though it slipped through.
“Ain’t isn’t a word.” the giant said. “And I thought my grammar might not be the best.” He had a harsh accent to his Pidgin, and he hit certain vowel sounds oddly.
A feeling of uncertainty pierced Jenny. This beast was correcting her grammar. How dare he? She simply smiled because she knew the game.
The boys in front of the giant stood up a little more stiffly, chests out. Their eyes found her. She enjoyed the attention, and her uncertainty was gone. “Yes, well, we are from different places, now aren’t we? Or should I say, are we not?”
“You can talk how you like,” the giant said easily. “You know where I’m from. So let’s not play that you don’t. Can you tell me about the Open Exam?”
Jenny sniffed. “Not hardly. I got in because I got the money, and I got the skills.”
“But not the grammar.” The giant grinned and a dimple appeared on the left side of his face—a devil’s dimple, or so Auntie Jia would’ve called it. He let his insult sink in before he asked, “What’s dusza? It seems that’s important.”
Nelly scoffed behind her.
Jenny tried to soften that unfortunate reaction. “Dusza is soul, or at least the part of our spirits that makes magic possible. To work magic, you need dusza. But the tundra clansmen don’t have that, do they?”
A darkness flowed down the giant’s face, shadowing his eyes, and that green turned to brown, right in front of her. She’d never seen such a thing.
He shrugged and tried to hide his pain. Jenny felt her heart quicken. The dimple was cute, but this giant pretending to be strong was even more adorable. She hoped he was dumb, or weak, or damaged in some other way. Then she could honestly tell Auntie Jia that the barbarian wasn’t a good candidate. Suddenly, she wanted him. Not for her mission, but for herself.
His pain was evident. She wanted to rub his back and tell him it was okay. “Do you know magic?” she asked as gently as possible.
“Fuck magic,” the giant spat. Any vulnerability was gone. His eyes burned blue before mellowing into green. “But yes, I can do magic, only...” his voice dropped. “Well, let’s leave it at that. Okay, dusza. Thanks for that. Is the Swamp Coast far away?”
A titter went through Jenny’s girls. The Farmington guy in front of the giant tried to hold in his laughter and failed.
“Southern part of Thera on the Blue Sea,” Jenny explained. “Seems my grammar needs work, but your geography ain’t so good.”
The giant nodded, the cute grin back on his face. “Good thing this is a school. I would imagine I’ll learn a great many things after I pass the Open Exam.”
Professor Gharam Ssornap, a huge orc nearly seven feet tall, emerged from the Exam Tent. He was dressed in a leather kilt; armor covered his shoulders and arms, leaving his great hairy chest bare. He called out, “Viscount Roger Knellnapp of Farmington, you are next!” His great yellow tusks burst from his bottom teeth. He made a slurping sound as he sucked spit back into his mouth. That was why Jenny and the girls called him Professor Slurp.
An ashen-faced young man wearing the homespun robes of a fisherman emerged from the back of the tent. He was led across the green grass by more orc guards—females. The females had the tusks but could hide them through a complicated piece of biology. It did make them a lot more pleasant to look upon.
The line shifted forward.
“Looks like he failed,” the giant said grimly. Fear wasn’t on his face, but something close. Uncertainty? Desperation? Would the mysteries of this stranger never end?
“Looks like it.” Jenny curled a finger into her hair and let it drop. It was a bad habit, and it made her look weak. She couldn’t have that. “You speak Pidgin real good. Where’d you learn it?”
“I speak Pidgin well,” the clansman corrected. “Between winters, we crossed the Bearspine Mountains to trade with the Hell Sea merchants in Summertown. My grandparents made sure I learned the language well because those bastards love to cheat us. We wrote contracts to make sure that didn’t happen.”
Nelly just had to interject something. “So you can read and write? Good for you.”
“Good for me.” The giant gave her a patient smile.
Jenny shot her friend a warning glare. Then she addressed the strange giant. “We don’t call it the Hell Sea down here. It’s the Frozen Sea, and since sometimes us Therans aren’t too clever, those are the Frozen Mountains. You call it the Ax Tundra. For us, it’s the Frozen Land. See? Not too clever.”
“Geography should be an interesting subject for me indeed.” He looked at her closely and gestured around his eyes. “Why paint your face like that? You’d be pretty enough without all that paint.”
Her girls gasped. This was an insult. Or was it? He’d also called her pretty. She wasn’t sure how to take the interaction. Was he trying to flirt? Or was he toying with her? Anger boiled up her insides.
Jenny took control of herself and smiled serenely. “Paint, you call it? It’s a gold sheck for an ounce. And if you must know, it makes my blue eyes bluer. Or is it more blue? You’re the grammar expert. Gonna teach a class?”
He raised a hand. “You’ll have to forgive me. All of this is very strange to me. It seems I upset you.”
“I ain’t upset.” Oh, but she was, and hiding it was killing her. “Excuse me, I am not upset.” Raising her eyebrows, she tilted her head coquettishly and added, “We get that you’re an uneducated barbarian and so, awkward.” Now she could bring in Nelly. “Isn’t he awkward, Nellybelle?”
“He’s trying, Jenny,” her friend said. “You know he’s trying his best.”
“But I’m not.” The giant pointed at the tent. “I’ll do my best in there. Here? I am merely passing the time, and it’s not so insufferable.”
Jenny had to mentally translate that last word from Pidgin to Homme. He had quite the vocabulary, and she was still growing accustomed to his accent. He was playing with them. Well, she could play back.
Professor Slurp emerged from the tent and bellowed for the next person in line. As for the Farmington viscount, Roger Knellnapp, he came out of the other side scorched and soaked. Blood covered half of his face. But judging from his smile he’d made it into Old Ironbound and would be starting classes with the rest of the imprudens in two weeks.
“I bet you love that.” Jenny laughed. “Whatever happens in the Open Exam, there’s blood involved, and you barbarians love that whole thing. It’s what you live for, isn’t it? To crush your enemies and drink mead out of their skulls?”
The giant held up a finger to shush her. “Did you notice something odd?”
“Besides the blood?” Jenny put a hand to her chest. “Or the scorch marks, or that the farm boy was dripping wet?”
“No. It’s quiet. I’ve been listening, and there is no sound from inside the tent.” He frowned. “Fucking magic.”
“Fucking or magic or both?” Jenny asked with a little giggle, put on for the occasion.
He avoided the question. “We mostly burn our dead enemies.”
“Come again?” Jenny said.
“You asked what we do with our enemies,” the clansman explained. “We burn them when we can or bury them when we can’t. Scooping out the brains and washing the skull is a lot of work to make a cup. Actually, cups are a lot of work. We mostly drink beer directly from our skins.” He tapped a wineskin connected
to his pack.
If she’d stung him with her barb about skulls, he didn’t show any sign of it. The only time he’d seemed off-balance was when they talked of magic. She’d return to that. To test him, she reminded herself. She had a mission, and their banter was just part of that mission. “So, you said you did magic, or maybe it was fuck magic, but anyway, how did you cross the Frozen Sea?”
“I built a boat and sailed it across, though it would’ve been easier to make the journey in winter. Then I could’ve walked and eaten sea cows as I went.”
“Built a boat? Out of trees?” Nelly asked.
“Out of moose hide. I used birch saplings to create the frame.” He threw Jenny an uncertain glance. The look was subtle, but oh so telling.
She sprung her trap. “But no magic. Is it true that the northern clans fear magic? I studied history back in Josentown, on the Swamp Coast, which is where I’m from, but we’ve established that. Just trying to help with your geography. Back to Homme Studia—that’s the study of humans. What are your thoughts on your people’s fear of sorcery?”
No shadows on his face this time. No furtive glances from eyes, only the green pupils which sparkled with an intelligence that belied his muscular form and savage appearance. He sank his hands on his hips and squared up with her. “While you are a relatively interesting distraction, I have to consider the Open Exam. How about when I pass this test, you and I can talk about fucking, magic, and any other elkshit your pretty little head comes up with?”
It was clear—he was done. His eyes went from green to blue, flashing anger.
Jennybelle Josen swayed a little, head back, to consider this giant. She didn’t want to smirk, but by the Tree of Life, she couldn’t help it. “You think I’m pretty? You’re not bad yourself, barbarian, though why do your eyes change color like they do?”
Her first trap had failed. Her second trap caught him, and he was laid low. “What do you mean? I have brown eyes.” He did at that moment: muddy, uncertain, and a bit scared.