by Aaron Crash
Ymir didn’t know if he believed that. He’d flirted with Tori, and she seemed genuinely attracted to him. He’d figure her out eventually.
Lillee then spoke of what she knew about the dwarves, which wasn’t much.
As he listened, the clansman had to smile. His life was so strange.
He thought he would come to Old Ironbound to smash his dusza and be done with it. Then he’d decided to stay, to grow in his power, and to be with his princesses. Now? He was starting a business selling candy to soft-bellied southerners. Would he ever see a battlefield again?
He half listened to Jenny and Lillee chatting about dwarves and dwabs and such things. He suddenly found himself lost in a memory. He was with Grandfather Bear, in the mountains above Summertown. His grandfather had laughed when Ymir thought contracts and trading with the merchants were a waste of time.
“There are many kinds of battles,” Grandfather Bear had said. “And there are many ways to crush your enemies. We are going up against villains down there, and we will outwit them, we will outwork them, and we will cheat them if we can. We’ll bring back what we need, and for the lowest price possible. On the coldest winter night, when we have the supplies that keep us alive, we’ll see which you prefer, the contract or the ax.”
Ymir had to grin. He never thought he would start a war over candy, but he wouldn’t lose such a battle. In the world of the southerners, money was more powerful than an ax—money was a weapon he needed to keep his princesses happy and safe.
Chapter Five
DELLA PENNEZ, THE HONORED Princept of the Majestrial Collegium Universitas, stood with her sword under the archway of the Sunfire Tower’s entrance. She watched the rains sweep across the Sunfire Field. She wore her storm cloak over her robes, but that rain was going to drench her once her opponent appeared.
This fight was important. After the murder of Siteev Ckins, the morale of her professors had suffered. She had addressed them, one at a time, starting with the Flow professor Issa Leel, who thought she’d seen the last of Ymir. Conversation and gifts had been enough for the staff.
However, one teacher needed something far more drastic.
Della had waited until the very last moment, the day before classes started, three weeks after Solstice Day, to take care of this matter. She’d hoped that time would placate Professor Gharam Ssornap, the Sunfire Studia Dux. It hadn’t. The months since the murder had only made the disgruntled orc sulk more.
Her spirit, however troubled, was glad the Solstice holiday break was almost over. The six weeks in the middle of the winter was not her favorite time of the year. The days were short, and the rain unceasing. She found it cold, but then she thought of the barbarian. Having grown up in the frozen north, he’d laugh at her.
Ymir had done well on his last test. He’d passed three so far: The Open Exam, the First Exam, and now the Second Exam. The Second Exam took place before the Solstice break. The Third Exam would take place in the spring, and the Fourth Exam ended the school year. So the clansman had two more tests to pass in order to go on to his sophist year.
Damn the man. That autumn, she’d been under investigation because of the barbarian and his girlfriends. The Alumni Consortium had sent some human crone who thought she had the wisdom of the ages. How old was she? Seventy? Eighty?
Della was three times that age, and yet, this crone, Yannc Winslo, thought she deserved such respect. Della gave it to her. Sometimes you had to take your pride and stuff it down, way down, and play the fucking cards that were thrown to you. Della didn’t like to gamble, not with dice nor with the river deck, because the idea that luck might hold more sway than her own will made her nervous. No, Della was determined to make her own luck, and that meant outwitting her opponent.
In the end, the Alumni Consortium held all the power. They could fire Della without any real reason. So the Princept danced to their tune. Yannc Winslo interrogated enough people, got enough of the story to satisfy herself, and left. At least initially. Winslo did say that the investigation wasn’t closed, not yet. The best thing in Della’s favor was Siteev Ckins’s checkered past, and the fact she was sleeping with the clansman. Such a failure in character solidified Winslo’s opinion of the former Moons professor. Siteev was dead. Ymir was alive, and he’d told their story well.
Winslo had simpered over him. Such an interesting student—a barbarian with magic. He would have to be watched carefully.
Which meant Winslo would be back at some point. Or she’d send a spy. The Consortium liked to keep tabs on Old Ironbound, for the good of the organization.
Della couldn’t worry about that. She needed to find a new Moons professor, and not just a teacher, but a Studia Dux. For now, Della would be taking over the classes Siteev had taught. It wouldn’t make her life any easier, though it would be nice to be back in the classroom again.
The Princept had found three very good candidates, and they’d arrived at the school to teach for the semester. That gave Della plenty of time to pick the right person to run the Moons College. All their credentials were exceptional. Della had been surprised that they’d been free—surprised and a bit suspicious. She’d set up a welcome dinner for them in the Imperial Palace’s reception hall the night of the New Year Festival later in the week, on Friday.
Lastly, Della was delving into the mystery of the Midnight Guild. She’d casually mentioned the shadowy organization to the investigator, and Winslo hadn’t had an opinion. Until there were more facts, the Midnight Guild wasn’t something that interested the crone. It was a logical response—Della could respect that. Yet her intuition wouldn’t be stilled. An agent of the Midnight Guild had infiltrated her school, and she loathed the idea far more than a Consortium spy.
Gharam Ssornap finally walked out onto the Sunfire Field, in his armor, with his own curved sword in his fist. Like Della, the big Gruul warrior, Sunfire’s own Studia Dux, preferred the curved blade of the orcs, a good weapon to use on a horse, where you could slash your enemies to pieces. Ohlyrran swords were longer, straighter, and designed to pierce armor.
Gharam stood in the rain, water dripping from his tusks and down his green chest. Metal plates covered his shoulders, arms, and legs. His white hair soon darkened from the downpour.
Della left the shelter of the tower and walked across the field.
Gharam grunted at her, slurped spit around his tusks, and then growled, “That barbarian needs to be gone. He’ll bring us nothing but trouble. You are a fool to keep him here.”
“Which is why we are here,” Della said. “First blood gets to decide on his fate. You win, he’s gone. I win, he stays, and you forget his disrespect. Are we agreed, Professor Ssornap?”
“Aye, we are.” Gharam slashed his sword through the air. He then fell into a defensive stance. Rain dripped from the tip of his sword. “I’m glad you see reason. The old gods will be with me in this fight—that I know.”
Della suppressed her smile. The old gods were long gone. The Tree of Life didn’t need them. And yet, the cult lived on.
Della wouldn’t use spells right away. She’d wait to see what Gharam would do. He had most every advantage—strength, reach, and that armor, which covered his extremities.
All Della had was her speed and experience. That should be enough. Orcs lived shorter lives than humans, and while Gharam was middle-aged, he simply wasn’t that old.
The Gruul danced forward, surprisingly nimble for such a huge creature. He was nearly two feet taller than she was and twice as wide. It was a big target, and all she needed was a scratch. She reached out with her sword, and he batted her blade away. She waded in close, struck, and her blade cracked across his armor.
He went to grab her, which would’ve ended the fight, but she dodged the fist, swept around, and thought she could open a wound on his back. That wasn’t meant to be. He turned, parried her attack, and then forced her back in a series of slashes.
Della watched his body and not his sword; those muscles forecasted his every tho
ught. She dodged his thrusts, parried his slashes, and allowed herself to be driven back. As long as he didn’t cut her, it would be fine. If he did, then she’d have no choice but to expel Ymir. That would involve any number of sand letters sent to the various members of the Alumni Consortium, including Yannc Winslo.
Above, scholars had gathered in the windows of a Sunfire dormitory to watch. Stable hands, who took care of the horses, stood under the dripping eaves of the barn. They would know this wasn’t a simple training match. They would know not to trifle with the Honored Princept Della Pennez.
She expected the orc professor to cast spells, but she hoped he wouldn’t. Then their fight would be over in seconds. He didn’t use magic since he was on the offensive, and she meant to keep him there because he was a big thing, and all that movement would tire him, and then she would strike.
Della Pennez kept herself fit for just such occasions. Long runs, walking up to her room at the top of the Librarium Citadel, training with Sunfire students, all kept her body working and ready. Hers could’ve been a sedentary life if she’d allowed it. She didn’t. She’d given up puff corn and took her kaif straight, no cream and no beet sprinkles.
She couldn’t see Gharam sweat, not with the rain soaking them both, but she could see his movements slow as his blade came for her, again and again. She was on the edge of the field, near the Red Wall, which marked the boundary of the college on the eastern side. She had run out of room.
And that was when she struck.
She parried a final blow, dodged left, feinted right—he was slow now, so winded. She easily stepped close and slashed her blade up his belly and chest, a long, thin line, barely scratching his skin, though she could’ve opened his abdomen up with surgical precision if she had wanted.
The poor Gruul. He always forgot that she had several centuries of swordplay on him. This wasn’t the first time they’d fought, and it wouldn’t be the last.
She danced behind him, sword ready. She was soaked, from both the sweat and the rainwater.
The Gruul professor chuckled with his back to her. “Your skills are wasted at this school, Princept.”
“I love this school.” She let out a shaky breath. “And I believe Ymir will be one of its greatest scholars. You liked him at one time. No, you adored him. You wanted him in Sunfire. And yet, now, you hate him. Is it only your pride at being defeated?”
Gharam turned. Blood covered his chest and belly, a smeary red from the rain falling in sheets on them. “We Gruul are a complicated people. We love the chaos of battle. We lust for passion, uncontrolled by our minds. We are an animalistic people who fuck, and fight, and feast. We are a people of extremes. Unlike the elves, we don’t use magic to cage our passions. We govern ourselves by the rule of law and our own honor. In that way, we don’t allow the chaos of our culture to destroy all that we would love. Ymir broke the rules of this school. And he wasn’t punished. That, Princept, is why I am angry. And that is why I wanted to face you on the field of battle.”
“And I bested you,” Della said. “The old gods did not quicken your blade. Gharam, you and I both wouldn’t give Ymir a second look if he wasn’t who he is. He has a rebellious nature, and it is a part of his character. In the end, he doesn’t fit here, and yet, he is too unique for us to cast him out. I chose to give him clemency for his own good and the good of this school.” In truth, things were more complicated than that. Ymir had agreed upon the cover story, him being there legitimized the fiction, and that went a long way in saving them all embarrassment and censure.
The Princept had a last question for the orc. “Is there no room for mercy in your laws?”
“Only the weak need mercy,” Gharam spat. “Neither you nor the clansman are weak. He broke the rules, he lifted his ax against me, and there are no consequences.”
Della doubted that Ymir had fought the Gruul Studia Dux with his ax. If that had been the case, Gharam would’ve had chunks hacked out of him. Instead, she listed off the consequences. “You hate him. He had to return to his work study. He has reached the end of my patience. Another such event will have me escorting him out the Sun Gate myself.” She gestured to the entrance of the school, on the eastern edge of the university and at the top of Vempor’s Road, which led to StormCry. Before it was a college, Old Ironbound had been a fortress for the Vempor Aegel Akkridor himself.
“Ymir scoffs at my hatred,” the orc professor rumbled. “As for his work study, he doesn’t have the shecks to pay his tuition even with his schemes. Lastly, you said it yourself, he is too unique to expel. That means he can do whatever he wants. That cannot stand, not if we are to have order.”
“Order in the chaos?” the Princept said quietly. “Isn’t that what the old gods brought to the world before the Seven planted the Tree of Life?”
“That is what some stories say,” Gharam agreed. “Ymir doesn’t want order. He wants to follow the path cut by his savage, strange god. That path cuts through our world. I will be watching, Princept, to see if you follow through on your threat. I will be watching the barbarian, and I will be watching you, and if either one of you fails, I will be there. I won’t use my sword. I will use the law, upon my honor, I will.”
That made the Princept grin. Yes, everyone was watching her, in the sunlight, in the darkness, and in the rain. All eyes were on her to see if she could rein in the clansman. Oddly enough, she felt up to the task.
Gharam nodded at her. “Smile all you want for now. I have my classes to prepare for.” The big Gruul warrior paused. “I do appreciate your fight, the blood, and the steel. You understand me, Princept, and by the Pits, you’ve earned a bit of my respect. Once it is gone, however, it is gone. The Gruul know how to hate.”
Della gave him a long stare. “Yes, we know of Gruul resentment, and we know of Gruul swords. Both are very sharp and make excellent weapons.”
That made him grunt laughter and shake his head. “I don’t think I could work for anyone but you, Della Pennez. You don’t age, and I don’t know if you are demon or angel, but I do know you are a tough old cunt.”
If he only knew, she thought. She allowed a small smile on her face. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Professor, but I wouldn’t say that to another woman at Old Ironbound.”
“No other woman at this school could best me in a fight.”
Della didn’t mention Gatha in the library. No, this was a good time for her to withdraw. Gharam would go over the fight to see his mistake, and he’d think that he should’ve used magic. That would’ve been a mistake. Della wasn’t as deadly with magic as she was with a blade, but she was deadly enough.
Leaving the Sunfire Field, she entered the Librarium Citadel. Scholars were there, chatting and reading. The feasting hall was closed for the afternoon while the staff prepared for the evening meal. The citadel buzzed with life and conversation. Della took a minute to enjoy the energy from all these young people and their young lives. A school without scholars was a sad place. This felt better. Yes, all those lives meant so much drama, but they also brought hope, laughter, and love to Old Ironbound.
She noticed the barbarian at his normal spot on the second floor, at his table with a view of her office on the mezzanine. It was like the two were stalking one another. But who was the tundra wolf and who was the elk? Maybe they took turns.
Ymir was reading. That man could read for hours and never lose his focus. He was born for Old Ironbound whether he knew it or not. And he must know it. If Ymir thought Della and her faculty were wasting his time, he’d leave the next day. At least he wasn’t wearing that damn Black Ice Ring. She’d read up on it, and she needed to talk with someone about her theories, but there were precious few people steeped in artifact lore, and fewer people she trusted.
Della looked at the steps that led all the way up to the door of the Princept’s Chamber. The entrance was on the sixth floor of the Coruscation Shelves. A staircase led to the seventh floor, where her rooms were. The Illuminates Spire was on the eighth floor, at th
e very top of the Librarium Citadel.
She decided she’d gotten enough exercise on the field. “Caelum caelarum!” She cast the Moons magic and floated upward while scholars whispered below her. She drifted past the skeins of lightning crackling around the books, keeping them free of rust.
When she was even with the highest shelves, above the railing, over the ledge, she whispered, “Caelum inanis.” The flying magic left her, and she drifted to the ground. Then it was another staircase up to her room: the glass tables, the silver-studded furniture, and her big bed in the far corner under ornate windows, marked with rain and showing the shrouded eastern sky.
She set her sword onto a stand. She stripped off her cloak, then her robes, and finally, her pannee and her brassiere. Naked, she padded into her washroom and onto the tiles of her shower. The hot water gushed, the exact temperature she liked, a little too hot at first, just right a second later. Flow magic gave her water and Sunfire spells adjusted the temperature.
She used a lavender soap on her body, feeling the smooth soap slide over her skin. She thought of the Gruul warrior she’d just fought. She had no attraction to Gharam. But in her wilder younger days, in Four Roads, when she’d first started teaching at the Kifu Yun Lirum University, before she’d gotten hired on full time, she’d been struggling and working for Unger.
She couldn’t think about Unger. She couldn’t think about those days and what she’d had to do for money.
Unger had sent her on a job, and she’d done it. Afterwards, she found herself drinking at a tavern on the northern edge of the city, the one nearest to the Blood Steppes. A group of women came in, along with their man, a big orc soldier named Chugan Ugnish.
This would’ve been nearly a hundred and fifty years ago. Chugan and his three wives had come to sell their swords to the Bloody Dawn Guild, and they thought they were the best fighters the Holy Theran Empire had ever seen. They had been mistaken.