by Aaron Crash
Pae Nho was as bloodthirsty and deranged as any of the Akkridorian vempors—brilliant and cruel. Jenny would’ve loved him.
Ymir raced over to the left wall. He saw the tiles of the Nineenee River, but when he looked closely, he could see stones sticking out, the same blue as the river. He had to adjust his perspective to see them. Ymir then noticed the rock handholds above, lost in the brown and green of the Ohlyrran Forest. By using the footholds and the handholds, he made his way across the chasm and to the other side.
The mosaics showed an image of Pae Nho in his white bone armor with his Gruul sword, equally white. This image was life-size, and Ymir knew exactly what would happen next.
The tiles shifted, rising from the wall and becoming a mosaic man, complete with a sword. The tiles continued to shift around, shivering and clacking.
“Jelu prolium!” Ymir built himself an ice sword, taking the moisture from the air and channeling it into a cold length a yard long. It wouldn’t hold up against a real blade, but it would work fine against the tile weapon of the mosaic man.
Ymir recalled a line from Willmur Swordwrite’s historical play that dramatized the tragedy of Nineenee’s Sorrow. I see the pale hand of death, the white left hand of the murderer, as chaste as a dove, but his red right hand plucks sorrow from the breast of women, red with passion, red with lust, red with the blood of the innocent and the damned.
Was the Examiner supposedly death, the pale hand? That would mean they’d be in the left corner. Or was there murder in the Examiner’s heart? Then they’d be in the right corner, like the red right hand from the poem.
Ymir crossed blades with the mosaic man, who was using Gruul defenses, not unlike Gatha, though it was a more archaic form. Also, this mosaic man wasn’t fighting with any anger. It was cold and precise and easy. Ymir waited for the mosaic golem to lunge at him.
It was then a quick matter of using the wizarding riposte. Ymir beat the blow aside and shouted, “Caelum caelarum!” His ice blade was quickened with the attack and he shattered the mosaic man into a million tiles that scattered across the floor.
The walls changed, clattering once more, and as Ymir thought, it was a scene from Willmur Swordwrite’s play about Pae Nho. The main character, the vempor himself, stood in the left corner. In the right was his ethics teacher, whom Pae Nho had murdered. That teacher was in black-and-gray robes.
It was all too easy. Ymir went over to the right corner, ice sword in hand, and approached. “You, Examiner, are not the pale hand of death. You are red with passion and alive with curiosity. This exam was very entertaining. I applaud you.” The clansman was glad he’d remember the exam, since it had been fun. Most scholars wouldn’t.
The Examiner appeared in the right corner in their open-palm mask and Flow robes.
Ymir watched the figure take shape, and he felt another wave of cold sweep up his back and lift the fine hairs on the back of his neck. His dusza went cold. He floated off the ground while losing his sword. It turned to water in his hand, and the whole length splashed to the ground. He hardly felt it leave his hands.
He relaxed into the Flow magic taking him over. In fact, he helped it along. “Jelu jelarum.”
In the vision, he saw the merfolk racing up the steps of the Sea Stair, hundreds of them. They spilled out onto the Flow courtyard, women in armor, huge men with strange eyes and ears and beards split by mouths full of fangs.
The citadel’s portcullis, hidden up until this moment, slammed down. The bridges over the moat had been destroyed with Form magic, the rock twisted into walls and spikes. The merfolk had magic of their own. The water of the moat was frozen solid. The laughing eels had done their work, though, and several invaders had been bitten in half.
There, standing in the middle of the courtyard with tears on her face, stood Gatha, in her armor, holding a bloody sword and a battered buckler. She was surrounded by scaled warriors in their wet armor.
A merman, bigger than the rest, with a trident in his grip, towered over the she-orc. He was seven and a half feet tall, he must’ve weighed three hundred pounds, and he was covered in gleaming steel armor— at least the top half of him was. The bottom half was tentacles, eight thick writhing arms.
There was something else. Ymir was on the ground, with someone who was wounded, but he couldn’t see who it was. He had the Veil Tear Ring, and it had showed him the truth of the battle, though the truths now were hidden. Ymir also had the Yellow Scorch Ring, and he was going to use its power to destroy the merfolk. How? That too was lost to him.
The clansman felt the vision leave him. “Caelum inanis,” he said softly. Flying was Moons magic, and he dispelled it so he could float back down.
The Examiner nodded. “You have passed the exam, Ymir, son of Ymok.”
Ymir frowned, thinking of his vision of the future. He didn’t know where he’d be in this fight, but he did know one thing. He’d have a third Akkiric Ring by the time the merfolk attacked. And it would play a critical part in the coming conflict.
Chapter Seven
LATER THAT EVENING, Ymir strode down the covered corridor to Jennybelle’s suite. He found her out on her balcony, enjoying the last of the warm sunshine. Not a single cloud marred the blue sky. Even the Weeping Sea looked tranquil down below.
The rooftops, chimneys, windows, and other balconies cluttered the cliffside. The smells of the taverns cooking dinner, the scent of kharo from the Sea Stair Market, and the shouts of happy scholars drifted up to them.
Somewhere a drummer started up a rhythm, a lute followed, and then came the siren sound of a violin. Some Ohlyrran musicians must’ve been playing over near one of the taverns. It was a nice night for it, probably the last for a long time.
Ymir sat down. Jenny had procured him a tankard of heavy beer.
He sipped the brew, heavy and bitter and solid, like drinking a loaf of bread. He approved. “Where did you get this? It’s for the Harvest Festival, and that’s not until tomorrow night.”
“I have my ways,” Jenny said. She was in loose black pants and a puffy shirt. From how floppy she was, it was clear her breasts were flying free. They all were feeling good. Another bout of exams done and successfully completed.
“Where are the rest of the princesses?” Ymir asked.
Jenny drank from her own tankard, holding it with her right hand while she twirled her hair with her left. It was a nervous habit, so something was bothering her.
The swamp woman caught herself and stopped. “Lillee is alone, sketching and singing. That girl sings all the time.”
“I like it,” he said. “I used to lay in my cell down in the sea alley and listen to her sing for hours on end. I’m not surprised our elf is taking some time for herself. As for Tori, I can answer my own question. She’s in the kitchens working.”
“Actually.” Jenny raised her eyebrows. “I have secrets to tell. One is surprising, and it has to do with our favorite freckled dwab. The other is not surprising and is quite sad. While Nellybelle Tucker is a two-faced murderous whore, my friend Prissybelle has remained steadfast, ever faithful. Which secret do you want to hear about?”
“The good news, then the bad.” Ymir sipped more. “I’ll celebrate the good, and by the time I hear the bad, I’ll be a little further on my way to feeling good.”
“Drink faster,” Jennybelle chuckled. “The good news is quick, and the bad news is more complicated. Isn’t that just the way life works?”
Ymir wasn’t going to drink faster. After his exam, and after the long weeks of studying, training, and sex, he was going to take his time with the beer.
He thought back to their summer together in Jenny’s apartment. Those days had been lazy indeed. Ymir had spent long hours in the Librarium reading, but mostly it was relaxing with his princesses. They’d done another batch of Amora Xoca, which took a bit to sell since so many students had returned home. However, many stayed, including Tori, who had her customers in the Zoo. It seemed Ribrib was especially fond of the xocalati,
either for the taste or for the more arousing aspects of the candy. She’d buy a pound, which meant she was rich, and she’d lock herself in her room, probably to take care of the tickle in her glitter box, as Jenny would’ve said.
Both the swamp woman and Lillee had gotten over their recent troubles. The elf girl had embraced the idea of living in the moment. They had their brief minutes together, and yes, Ymir and Jenny would be dead in decades whereas Lillee would live for centuries. However, they could celebrate the nights they had together and forget about those bad days on the far horizon.
Jenny no longer had nightmares, and she didn’t talk about Siteev Ckins at all. Nor did they mention Hayleesia Heenn much. Jenny had said the second kill was easier, and she wasn’t wrong.
There hadn’t been much drama, emotional or otherwise, over the summer. The warm weeks had passed quickly. Ymir stopped worrying about his women, but his concern over the Akkiric Rings grew. Most serious scholars thought they were demonic in nature, and most agreed they hadn’t been forged since the Age of Discord. That had been the high point of the rings, but even then, historians and sorcerers disagreed on who wore them. Some said all eight adorned both Aeno Akkridor’s hand and, thirty generations later, Aegel Akkridor’s. Others said that Aegel’s royal guard wore them, the Corvidae, seven warriors who weren’t human, but orishas.
That had sidetracked him again, and he had to research to see if orishas were demons. No one could agree on that either. This world of study was complex. No one could agree on anything.
Some said Aegel’s seven wives wore the rings, and Aegel himself had the master ring, which controlled them all and kept them all ageless. When he died, his seven wives died with him, and they were all in hell, roasting. Or was Aegel and his wives waiting there, until they could rise again?
The theories didn’t end there. Aegel had divided up Thera into seven regions, and those governors were sorcerers, long-lived, and each wore a Focus ring. Or were those the Akkiric Rings?
In the end, Ymir had put aside the construction of the third ring, the Yellow Scorch Ring, because he wasn’t sure what it might do. Most likely, such a ring would have Sunfire properties. Or would it open a portal to hell itself? He’d copied several sections from the book he’d stolen from the Illuminates Spire. Akkiric, Akkoric, Akkarotic by Derzahla Lubda was mostly the delusions of a madman, but the author was clear. To craft the rings was to court chaos and death. All of reality could be shattered like ice in sunlight. Derzahla Lubda had enjoyed a dramatic turn of phrase. He’d also fancied himself a poet, which led to that damn poem he and Tori hated.
Lillee, though, liked the dumb thing. She had some ideas on what it all might mean. He could’ve thrown himself further into the research, but he was still wondering at the nature of these rings. And after hearing the voice of the Akkir Akkor and feeling its presence—or was it their presence?—Ymir thought it best to wait.
Such lovely summer days passed quickly. And before he knew it, he was watching the men line up for the Open Exam. A couple men won their way in, but not many. The imprudens were suddenly underfoot, and school had started.
A week later, Salt Love and Sambal brought them more xoca nibs, and they did another cook in the kitchen. His life became selling, and studying, and sex. He loved it when Tori would show up at Jenny’s apartment, red-faced and sweating, so horny she couldn’t wait for him to get his cock into her. There would be little to no talking, just the itch inside the randy dwab that needed to be scratched. Lillee would slip off her essess, and she’d catch that itch. Jenny was always ready for a go. Then Tori would be cheerful and fine for days, until her Inconvenience caught her again.
Now, at the end of October, on Jenny’s balcony, Ymir wondered at how much time had gone by.
The Josentown princess kicked him with a pink-toed foot. “Hey, barbarian, come back. Drink more beer, and I’ll tell you the good news about Tori. And wouldn’t you know it? It involves our gal Gatha.”
Ymir wrinkled his nose. “Only Tori uses the word ‘gal.’ Or have you started?”
“Isn’t language fun?” Jenny laughed. “Tori and Gatha have become friends, but they’re keeping it secret. And it gets better. Gatha has been seen smuggling books down to the Sea Stair Market. Prissy thinks she’s opening a bookshop. I tried to talk to Tori, but she changed the subject and got downright embarrassed.”
Ymir tilted his head. “Could Gatha be an Inconvenience Partner for our Morbuskor princess?”
Jenny shook her head. “Nope. Tori is almost as repressed as Lillee with her cuff on. You know what I think?”
“What?” Ymir asked.
“Gatha has a thing for Tori. Do you know why?” Jenny had her lips pressed together, big blue eyes wide and twinkling. She was waiting for an answer.
“Because Tori is as beautiful as you are, though she doesn’t believe it,” Ymir said.
The swamp woman rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know, I’m beautiful. And I have big old breasts. Tori is also large chested. And Gatha’s teats are fine, big for such a lean woman, but no, come on, you’ve seen her looking at me. We’ve talked about it.”
Ymir shook his head. “Gatha is not friends with Tori because of the woman’s tits.”
“Come on, clansman,” Jenny erupted. “Lillee told me that Gatha stared at her chest while you two had sex. The she-orc also went on and on about how she loved our elf’s tits. Her nipples are sexy, so I get it.”
Ymir remembered that magical night in the Scrollery fondly. He’d thought it would be the beginning of something. Instead, it had been the end.
“And I’ve caught Gatha sneaking glances at me,” Jenny said. “She has a thing for boobs, I’m telling you.”
“Boobs and books.” Ymir swallowed more of the strong beer. He’d not eaten, and he was enjoying the light-headed feeling. “Tori thinks Gatha might have a place for our cooking. This bookshop, maybe.”
The swamp princess touched her nose and pointed at him. “Right on the mark. All in all, it’s a juicy bit of gossip. Now, how are you feeling?”
Ymir nodded. “Good. I’m ready for the bad news.”
Jenny sighed and returned to twirling her hair. “Got a sand letter from Auntie Jia. I’m cut off from the family, as far as money goes. She wants me home, and she says maybe, maybe, if I’m sufficiently sorry, I might be invited back into the queendom and the business of running it. Not bad after an assassination attempt, dontcha think?”
Ymir turned to face her. “I’m sorry. I know what it feels like to be cut off from family.”
She dropped her hand to her lap. Tears shone in Jenny’s eyes. “I get that she’d try to have me killed. Both Auntie Jia and my sister Arri hate any kind of disobedience. And I get they’d yank away the money. Hell, I think they’re impressed we put Hayleesia Heenn down so quickly. I have this year’s tuition and the suite until this summer. I think in some strange way Auntie gave me the money as a present for surviving. But how dumb does she think I am to go home? My welcome wine would be laced with bloodcross mushrooms. I wouldn’t last the night.”
Ymir set his tankard down. It was nearly empty anyway. He drew up Jenny’s foot, the same one that had kicked him, and massaged it, lightly pulling on the toes, rubbing her sole, and caressing her skin.
Jenny blinked the tears away and laughed. “Remind me to be an outcast more. I love you touching me.”
“And I love touching you,” Ymir said. “I had a vision, Jennybelle. War with the merfolk is coming, and there’s going to be at least one battle fought at Old Ironbound. This gives us a chance to increase our profits. Also, there is always work study. You might have bought your way into this school, but the Princept has to respect your studies and your progress.”
The princess laughed bitterly. “I go from being royalty to cleaning toilets. I might be too prideful for work study. I know you and Lillee did it, but y’all are tougher than me. I’m a fucking precious little princess, Ymir.”
“Then we’ll have to keep you in the luxuri
es you’ve grown accustomed to.” He raised her foot and kissed her toes. “We’ll start on this Sunfire ring, the Yellow Scorch Ring. I think we’ll need it in our fight against the merfolk.”
Jenny’s smile was unexpected. How drunk was she, to go from tears to grinning like a fiend? “This is why I love you, Ymir. You were never gonna whine and cry with me. I lose my family, and you offer me an adventure. Well, sir, I’ll take it.”
Ymir squeezed her foot hard enough to make her yelp.
“You know,” the princess said, “I do have a question about our main competition in the xocalati market. How does Ziziva handle school and running The Paradise Tree?”
Giggles sprinkled the air, and the fairy herself rose up on whirring wings, scented with such sweetness, a bit too much like candy for Ymir. But he liked how Ziziva smelled.
She landed on the marble lip of the balcony. She was only twelve inches tall, with translucent wings on her back, and her blond hair was cut short to show off her tiny pointed ears and her big blue eyes. Her gown hugged her curves, from her plump breasts to her shapely hips. The gown caught the light in a prismatic spray, and Ymir couldn’t guess the material. If pressed, he would say it looked like the silk of spiderwebs woven into a dress. Her feet were bare and cute. She had golden bangles on her wrists. Those were new. And it meant her business must be doing well.
The fairy gave them a big smile.
Ymir didn’t like it one bit.
Chapter Eight
YMIR WAS ENJOYING THE warm evening on Jenny’s balcony, but he found Ziziva’s giggles annoying.
“Hee! Hee! Sweet, sweet Swamp Coast woman talking about little Ziziva and her little old business, which is just as sweet and twice as nice! That rhymes, and you’ll catch me rhyming all the time!”
The fairy launched up, wings blurring, and then she fluttered down and landed on a little table between Ymir and Jenny. She sank a hand to her hip. “All sold out of the Amora Xoca, you two? You wanna tell me where you get your powdery powder powder? You wanna maybe come up with a little dealie-wheelie so we can make money and be sweet together, sweet forever?”