Iron Elf - A Race Reborn (Book 2)

by Klay Testamark

  Next was Herkus. He would lumber into the ring, arm swinging. My own sword arm was usually tired so it was tough keeping my guard up. He battered away, giggling all the while. “Hee hee!”

  I desperately missed my magic. Were I allowed, I could wipe the grin off his face with a fireball. I could give myself strength and speed enough to outfight them all. In fact, I could bring the entire training hall down on their heads, that’s how much firepower a grey mage had. Sadly, that would be cheating. So I endured long enough for Sham to take his turn. They were good swordsmen, all of them, but Sham had reach and a half. I was generally too tired for fancy footwork so he only needed to keep his distance. I knew then what besieged castles felt like.

  “Get over here!” I grabbed his sword in a mailed fist. He twisted it out of my hands and I had to parry. I lunged and cut low, but he stood with his legs together and reached forward—my helmet rang. “Dammit!”

  Was I getting better? Slowly, yes. If they switched the order to play to my strengths (Sham or Laraib while I was still agile, Herkus or Lister while I was still strong) then I gave as good as I got. I did even better in one-on-one matches where neither opponent got a break.

  “Don’t get cocky,” Vitus said. “You’re still nowhere near Hafgan’s level. Whatever he hits, he destroys.”

  It wasn’t entirely a grind. As Vitus pointed out, that would be counterproductive. Motivating me would get harder and harder and the risk of injury would increase. Capran medicine was about as capable as elven medicine, but nowhere as gentle. Think of their hangover cure, but worse. They had a potion that could knit bones overnight, something the finest water mages couldn’t do, but it wasn’t the fun kind of potion. Side effects included stabbing pains.

  A lot of workouts were just to keep me training despite my aches and pains. If I was limping we’d do some archery and if I was sore we’d swing around some weighted clubs. My meals were filling and my sleep was deep. There were other compensations.

  “Is the sauna broken?” I asked Vitus. The door was locked.

  He harrumphed. “Why don’t you go to your room and lie down?”

  I wondered about that. I walked into my apartments and found Tamril there. “Darling!” She bounced. “You’re just in time!”

  “Just in time for what?” I stepped back when I saw her in a bikini, but then I saw the massage table. “You’re a masseuse?”

  “I’m good with my hands and like to oil down my men. Sure. Don’t be scared. They say you’ve been working hard. You’re feeling it, aren’t you?”

  I was in pain. I’d been punching with hand weights and my shoulder blades glowed. “No bad touching, okay?”

  “Honey, I never touched a man wrong.”

  It was nice. The thing about exercise is, it feels so good when you stop. You sweat, your muscles burn, and you feel you’ve accomplished something. When you’re pleasantly tired it seems perfectly fine to lie back and let the heat out of your pores. No wonder so many elves became addicted! It’s even better when there’s a woman waiting to make you feel better. Damn, this must be what it’s like to be married.

  “How was your day, dear?” Tamril had warm hands and a grip like steel. The knots in my back melted away.

  “Mmm. The usual. Go to the gym, get my head bashed in. How was your day?”

  “Tiring. I spent all day drafting a declaration of war. For if you lose.” She found another sore spot and kneaded it away. “I couldn’t bear to lose you, but I’d still have a duty. And it’s invade or die, my husband. You know this. Our race has no future in the Silver World.”

  “Why not emigrate? All I’m saying is—”

  “The elves would never allow it. They pushed the dragons to extinction. They drove the dwarves underground. They eat halflings.”

  “Just on special occas—” I stopped. Only the most debauched of elves did that, but I couldn’t defend it. It’s not like we cared. It wasn’t even illegal.

  “You’re tensing up,” she said. “Easy. It’s us or them, baby. But maybe it won’t come to that. Maybe they’ll surrender. You say they don’t give up easily, but something made them abandon their colonies.”

  I sank down and let her work. Her hands and elbows were gentle but insistent. Soon I was as soft as cookie dough. “You’re good at this. Remind me why you didn’t get into massage therapy instead of diplomacy.”

  “I’ve always had a weakness for foreign affairs.” She giggled. “And I only like two kinds of men: domestic and imported. I must confess a soft spot for the elven crown prince.”

  “Angrod? That fine young man?”

  “Tell me about it,” she purred. “With your permission, I’d like to hump his bones. Turn over, you’re done on this side.”

  I tried to adjust the towel around my waist but she snatched it away. “Why bother? We’re man and wife!”

  She’d discarded the bikini and stood before me, solidly nude. Her bush was black to match her head hair. So was the fur on her lower legs. She did a slow turn, showing me every single curve she had. She bent forward and looked back at me. Her little tail wagged. “Like what you see, lover?” She finished the turn and straightened, opening her legs as she did so. She looked even more scandalous from the front.

  I wanted to lock myself in the bathroom. But I was so damn relaxed it sounded like too much work. I could only watch as she rubbed lavender oil all over herself, starting with her small, perfect breasts, her arms, then her generous hips. She didn’t stop till she was slick all over.

  “Shouldn’t you be oiling me up?” I asked.

  “I’m warming it up for you.” She climbed onto the far end of the table and worked her way up, and soon I felt her breath on my cheek. She nipped my ear and wet my neck with kisses. She panted. We clasped both hands and she raised herself. “Oh, my king, my brave, beautiful king, I’ve waited so long. How I wish I could give you a happy ending.”

  I groaned. “Wait a bit.”

  CHAPTER 15: MEERWEN

  “Lamemheth,” I said. “You will never find a more wretched hive. If there’s a bright centre of Brandish, you’re in the city it’s furthest from.”

  “Doesn’t look so wretched to me,” Mina said. “Doesn’t look too dark either.”

  Actually, Lamemheth was well-lit, even extravagantly so. The crystal dome hid the sun and stars. However, it was an excellent mirror for the gaslights that blazed on every street. The brass street lamps were more than bright enough but each establishment had ornate lanterns and glowing signs. A golden city indeed. It was gaudier than I was used to but most people didn’t mind. They all seemed to be having a good time.

  “Thank you.” Mina accepted a flyer from a halfling girl. The girl was underdressed for winter, but under the dome it was surprisingly warm.

  “This is certainly an improvement over the cold outside,” Mina said. “Why do you have a low opinion of Lamemheth? Hey, there’s Goldore Gil!” She pointed at a sign shaped like a dwarven miner, who waved at pedestrians with a mechanical arm. “I always wanted to see him. Do you think we have time for a little gambling?”

  “Have you forgotten our mission? People could be dying as we speak!”

  She accepted another flyer. “Maybe on the way back? It’s my first time to the entertainment capital.”

  “It gets old after a while.”

  “How could you get tired of this?”

  Humans swaggered in their varied costumes, which owed more to personal taste than practical need. They wore leather and fur but showed as much skin as they pleased. It was illegal in the city for civilians to wear heavy armour or weapons but plenty of Northlanders looked like they’d stepped off the battlefield. On the other hand, just as many pushed the limits of public decency. There was a woman who wore furry boots, a furry hat, and three bits of fur in between.

  “Do you ever wish you could walk around like that?” Mina asked. “I don’t have the legs for it.”

  “And I don’t have the brazenness. Why do people dress like that?” />
  A blonde god of a Northlander passed. He wore a loincloth, a cape, and the gazes of every woman on the street.

  “That,” Mina said. “That’s why. Because they can.”

  “Mmm. I ought to arrest him. I’ll think of something.”

  Humans were more numerous here than in any other city but they were far from dominant. It was an elven metropolis, after all, and we passed many of my people. There were stiff-backed Mithenian nobles and purple-robed Vergaran mages. There were aristocrats from every province, their wealth evident in their costumes and their retinues. There were even a few wood elves. You couldn’t separate a wood elf from their longbows, but they compromised by carrying a single arrow. It was more than enough deterrent.

  There were dwarves aplenty, which was no surprise. They had a fortress in the Goldore Mountains and controlled much of the mining. Those in the city were either assayers or sellers of mining equipment. They paraded about in silks that shone with flowers of gold and silver thread.

  “Your fellow dwarves walk boldly in this city. Almost like they owned it.”

  “Where you see boldness I see confidence,” Mina said. “Or is that against the law nowadays?”

  I held up my hands. “I spoke carelessly.”

  Thankfully we were distracted by a young capran and his retinue, which included a guide, a valet, a sketch artist, and six young women. “This way! This way!” the capran said. “I want to get one next to Goldore Gil!”

  He was ridiculously dressed in the latest elven fashions. The cap was too tight, the sash was too wide, and the sleeves were way too long, even if the idea was to show that their wearer did no manual labour. A smallsword hung too low from his belt.

  The artist had a sketchbook out and was busy recording scenes. He was a capran like his employer, and for some reason that made me uneasy.

  “We’ve been seeing more capran tourists lately, have you noticed?” Mina asked.

  “Young men on a grand tour,” I said. “Apparently they’ve added Brandish to the itinerary.”

  “Funny how the travel is all one-way. I’m probably the only dwarf who’s seen the Silver World. It’s almost identical to Brandish, except capran cities stand in place of elven cities. I never saw any other dwarves, and certainly no elves or humans except for Angrod and Heronimo.”

  “What about halflings?”

  “Oh, sure. But they’re everywhere.”

  Indeed, even now the halflings all around us were quietly outnumbering everyone else.

  “I thought there’d be more prostitutes,” Mina said.

  “We don’t have time for that either.”

  “I mean, I don’t see anyone who looks like it.”

  “That’s not how it works here. Take a look at those flyers you’ve been collecting. The two-for-one looks like a bargain.”

  “Oh. Oh.” We fell back into step. “So what’s the plan?”

  “If I were alone I would be back on another ice yacht. But you told me you hired a team. A team of what, exactly?”

  “Not mercenaries, certainly. A friend of mine set himself up as a knight-errant. He and his band have been wandering the countryside doing good deeds. I told him to wait for us at the Crippled Boar Inn. I don’t know where that is, but how hard could it be to meet him in an inn?”

  Of course, this was Lamemheth, the city of second chances, where the entire merchant quarter is a red-light district. The Crippled Boar was an inn only in the sense that there were also rooms where gamblers could get a few hours’ sleep.

  “Oh, dear,” Mina said. We stood at the head of the staircase that descended into the casino pit.

  Virtually every elf has extrasensory and telekinetic abilities. Playing cards might as well be transparent. Dice are literally child’s play—toddlers enjoy making them float in the air. It goes without saying that every casino makes special arrangements.

  Every single piece of equipment was dwarven-made. The dominoes couldn’t be teleported or transmuted. The slot machines and roulette tables were shielded and rigged with alarms. Floormen patrolled in pairs, scanning the players with normal vision and the Sight. There looked to be just fifty gaming tables and only a hundred one-armed bandits—a small casino to a Lamemhessian. Even so, it was a great deal of carpet to cover.

  “How will we find your friend?” I asked Mina.

  “We’ll circulate, I guess. Shouldn’t be too difficult to recognize him. After all, it’s only been sixteen years.”

  I walked up to the bar. They had a good selection, from Corinthan ice wines to Vergaran spirits. “Whiskey on the rocks,” I said.

  “Isn’t that a man’s drink?”

  I turned and almost backed into the bar—it was a huge Northlander, fully seven feet tall and built like a stone wall.

  I recovered. “Do I look like an umbrella-drink kind of girl?”

  He shrugged massively. His arms and shoulders were covered in blue tattoos. “I meant no offense. And those drinks can be surprisingly strong.”

  I tried to picture him holding a glass with a pineapple wedge and bendy straw. My imagination failed. “Tell you what, why don’t I buy you a cocktail?”

  He bowed. “Gods forbid I refuse a drink from a pretty girl. Is there any way I can help you?”

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  “Aren’t we all.” He laughed. He was quite old, I saw, his face lined with the years. He was bald but bearded. It rested on a bare chest because he wore only a single fur, which wrapped around his waist and hung to his knees. It was secured with a massive belt.

  “You were startled when you first saw me,” he said. “You hid it well, but I saw.”

  “Bad memories. I fought a human your size. I defeated him, but at some cost. He was a bandit chief.”

  He laughed. “A great victory! I’ll drink to that!” And in one massive hand he raised his umbrella drink.

  I bought another round and we wandered from the bar. We found Mina getting up from a Sparrow table. I frowned. “Good game?”

  “It was.” She gestured at the halfling beside her. “He’s one of the best players I’ve ever met.”

  He grinned. He was very black. “You’re not bad yourself.” He looked at the Northlander. “Is that a mai tai?”

  The Northlander raised his glass. “It is small, but surprisingly potent.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.” To us he said, “Borlog prefers tankards, if not pitchers.”

  The human patted his massive belly. “Makes pleasant dreams.”

  They were an odd pair. The human was big and round, the halfling tall and lean. They carried themselves like fighting men and I saw their hands trying to rest on weapons that weren’t there. (As an unarmed combat specialist I had no problem with casino policy.)

  A new set of players had taken up the Sparrow table. They were shuffling the tiles for another round, swirling them on the table with a sound like pebbles falling.

  “Ever bucked the tiger, milady?” asked the halfling.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve lost the mood for games of skill,” he said. “And as it happens, I see a game of Tiger starting up.”

  We walked to the black velvet table. Painted on its surface was an array of designs.

  “Ten numbered tiles and four court tiles make one suit. There are four suits but only the suit of swords is represented. Twenty-two trump cards make thirty-six. Think of it as roulette with tiles. Choose a tile and watch as the dealer draws a pair. The first tile is the banker’s tile, or losing tile. All bets on it are lost. The second is the player’s tile, or winning tile. All bets on it are doubled. The house and the players are thus equally matched unless the winning and losing cards are the same number. Then the house takes half the bet.”

  “Simple enough,” I said. “But I don’t know if we have the time. Mina…?”

  “I’ll do it.” She started digging into her purse. “Look around you. It’s a slow day and we’re the largest group around. My man is sure to be dra
wn to us.”

  “It’s also a fast game, in any case,” said the halfling. “And you can pull out anytime.”

  “This is a game of pure chance,” I said. “None but fools trust to luck.”

  He grinned. “I trust my luck completely. Or are you afraid to play with me?” He really was a rogue—I forgot we would be playing against the house and not each other.

  I reached for my webbing. “You’re on.” We bought chips and markers and the dealer shuffled the tiles into rows of thirteen. He drew the first tile (The World) and discarded it, leaving seventy-seven tiles in play. “Gentlemen, ladies, you may punt.”