by Aaron Crash
Granny Heehee was obviously too drunk to wave.
Nameless and her sister, Fransigga, climbed up onto Figg’s platform, where I stood. Both sisters wore dripping wet swimming gowns. Both hugged me, and I held them close.
Nameless started to cry. Her sister joined her in weeping.
I swallowed down my emotion. “Your mother died, but she’ll be the last. As long as I’m here with my Escort, no one else will die.”
It was a big promise, but I was growing in power, daily, and Figg now had two of the five Pentakorr brands. We’d get her the other three. And I’d master the Five Magics Skill Tree. That would give me power enough to see into the future and detect any threats before they happened.
Fransigga got embarrassed. “We’re just glad you’re back. Where is Rhee?”
Figg couldn’t stand on her own. She sagged against me. “Where is Rheesee Helleen, the Dawn Coast Hellion, and the scourge of the Uchina Sea?”
I squeezed her. “I’ll be right back.”
Nameless and her sister dove back into the water, which looked a lot greener, and far less yellow. Figg must’ve started removing the silt.
Dryx stripped off her armor, kicked off her long boots, and set her swords aside. “I will stay here and start on the festivities. You will bring Broom and Rhee. We will drink, we will eat, we will have sex out here in the sun.”
Figg giggled.
That was a surprise. I thought she was completely incapable of making such sounds.
“Come on, Feathers,” Figg sighed. “You have to put on some clothes. In Foulwater, we’re far more modest. I’ll find something for you. Or one of the rajani will!”
Cheriela had already noticed. She came forward with a covering for everyone’s favorite angel girl in Foulwater. The four other women—Syren, Deela, Monala, and Serene—all came up and hugged me and kissed me. I had a very MILF moment.
Geeze tottered up because where the rajani were, he wasn’t far behind. He came up to me, touched my chest with his one good hand, and gave me a little smile. “Your father reached out to you. Your mothers as well. You are increasing in power. By the seven angels, Axel Drokharis, we have much to discuss. Everything is changing, and yes, the hell machine of the Pentakorr may very well come to life again. We’ll discuss them, and the valiant Aquaterreb, soon enough. Today we party.” He wheezed and smacked Serene’s ample butt.
She let out a yelp, turned, and then fell against the old elf. She kissed him. “Nasty Geeze.”
The ancient elf waggled his eyebrows.
“I don’t need to be seeing this,” I said with a sigh. “I’m too young.”
“We shall talk more, Axel Drokharis, for you are the son of fire. And yet, it is my hope, and it is your mother’s hope, that you will one day become the father of peace.” Then Geeze was off to drink and party with rajani, Bragg Bharta, and other townspeople. Even Bragg’s dour wife, Nina Heart, seemed to be enjoying herself.
The constable and the schoolteacher were near them, drinking and giving me long looks. That was okay by me. I caught them kissing at one point. It seemed everyone in town was loosening up.
As I flew away from the party, I was relieved to realize no one in Foulwater had betrayed us, not Nina Heart, not the new constable, and not the new schoolteacher. Uncle Dog had gotten the whole terrible war with the merfolk started, but he’d only been following his fucked-up nature. We’d not let that happen again.
I retrieved Broom and Rhee from the western gate and flew them to my attic room where we stowed our travel gear. We’d have to make the ceilings far taller for the giantess. Rhee nearly ran to get to the party on the New Pier water park. Broom was nervous, but excited, to meet the village.
By the time I strolled up, shirtless and in pants, Rhee was sitting with Figg. Both of them were smoking dully, drinking bilk, and eating jimps. Dryx sat apart, drinking from a glass of wine, chilled thanks to Vanka magic.
Broom didn’t go for the more revealing swimming gowns, but she had unbuttoned her shirt to let her freckled cleavage show. She’d also taken off her pants but had on a skirt. She had a little hole to allow her tail to be free. Her legs weren’t freckled, but a white color, and she sat in the shade, thanks to some stonework and some old sailcloth. She was drinking beer, and smiling, but not saying much. When people came up, she’d introduce herself, but she showed far more social skills than I would’ve thought. Maybe she was nervous. Maybe she wanted to put her best foot forward. Or maybe she was far smarter than she let on.
I got my own chair and sat down heavily. I was bone tired. Rhee handed me a bidi, and I was going to say no, until I smelled it.
It had a skunky smell to it, a little stink, a little sweetness, and I realized what it was. “That’s the Sweetleaf dully that Cash gave you, isn’t it?”
Rhee nodded.
I took it from her. I then inhaled as much as my lungs could hold. I held it, and then let out the smoke, immediately feeling mellow and just a little dizzy. More than anything, I was content. We had a lot of work to do on the town, and I had my training, and of course, a buttload of mysteries to solve.
However, that was the work of another day.
I listened to the happy calls of the children, mothers calling after their kids, and men laughing. Uncle Dog laughed, and Granny Heehee heeheed. This little village was happy again. I’d helped with that. And I knew my family would be proud of me—especially my uncle Jared.
I sighed happily and leaned back. “I am going to drink bilk, smoke dully, and eat jimps until I can’t move. Who is with me?”
“I am!” Dryx said. “I am with you! For you are mighty, dragon man.”
Broom snorted from where she sat in the shade. “Oh, beans, Axel. I didn’t walk all this way to sit on my duff, but who am I to ruin a party? I’m just happy to be here.”
Rhee gave me a smile. “I’m with you, Axel. I’ll always be with you.”
Figg sat. It was her turn, but she wasn’t saying anything. We all were looking at her.
“What’s the question?” my very stoned summoner asked.
We laughed, and I relaxed in the sunlight of this other world, glad to be alive, glad to be with these amazing women, glad to be the son of fire.
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The lands to the South are full of depraved women driven mad by forbidden sorcery. Now that sounds like fun for a barbarian from the Black Wolf Clan.
THE BARBARIANS OF THE frozen north live to fight, drink, hunt, and screw, and Ymir is a true son of the Ax Tundra, until a demon curses him with magic. Orphaned by battle and banished by his tribe, Ymir heads south to Old Ironbound, a university where the rich and well-connected learn to master magic. Will Ymir’s traditions and pride lead him to failure? Or will the centuries of knowledge—and the lusty human, elven, orcish, and dwarven noblewomen—give him limitless power?
Either way, while his days are all
about studying and scheming, his nights are filled with wild sex in the beds of beautiful women. Because in the lands of the South, there are few men, and those Southern women have needs.
Chapter One
YMIR STRODE UP THE red road, which had flattened out after a series of switchbacks that climbed through scrub. The red bricks were scorched from time and fire. Where he was going was an old place. Or so the man at the Winterhome inn had told him. He didn’t know anything for sure. This whole land was strange and troubling.
Down the stretch of road was the fortress at the top of the cape. A mighty central citadel stood in the center of four round silver towers blackened with age, fire, or both. The fortress was surrounded by a red wall the same color as the road.
The big man, weighted with gear, pondered his fate.
Ymir’s father, Ymok of the Black Wolf Clan, didn’t much like stories. The clan king didn’t quote from the Sacred Mysteries of the Ax very much, but when he did, he always drove the same thing into his son’s head.
When you strike, strike hard. Always use your full strength in whatever you do.
And that was what Ymir planned to do. He was tall and muscled, his hair the color of wet tundra wheat. He stood on a red brick road under a cloud-strewn sky near the ocean. So far, there was sunlight, though it felt cold.
Ymir was alone.
Ymir was cursed.
There was only one place where he could repair the damage done to him, and damn the Ax, he was going there, and nothing would stop him.
He was determined to strike, and strike hard.
He adjusted his pack, his battle ax, and the carcass of the deer slung across his shoulder. Most of his pack was filled with the bear fur that had kept him alive on the long journey from the North. He had two full wineskins and a full quiver. His bow was unstrung, the string waxed and stowed.
He’d gotten up early after sleeping in a farmer’s field, surrounded by alien trees, far too big to be natural. They’d failed to hide Ymir’s prey, and he dropped the animal with a single arrow. He’d hung his kill overnight from one of the strange trees to bleed out. On the Ax Tundra where Ymir grew up, trees were rare. Here, they grew into the sky and were so thick he couldn’t get his arms around one of them. The deer he’d killed was a small buck, only a few points on its antlers. Still, even if the animal were full grown, it would be scrawny compared to the elk herds that kept the tundra clans fed.
The deer wasn’t skinned yet; he could do that later. He might even make more clothes for himself since his elk-leather shirt and pants were stained after his months of travel. It was a long trip to the Sorrow Coast Kingdom from the tundra of the northern lands.
While he walked, he fingered the shaft of his double-bladed battle ax. He had it strapped under his pack. He’d forged and assembled the weapon himself with the help of his grandparents. While Ymir’s father wasn’t moved by the stories, his wife’s parents began every morning and ended every night whispering passages from the Sacred Mysteries of the Ax.
Ymir didn’t think he’d need his big blades. If he found himself in a fight, he had his hatchet hanging from his belt by a leather thong.
A crowd of people stood around a tall yellow gate—like the red brick road, the gate was scorched, as were the high walls the same color as the road. The silver stone towers only grew taller as he approached. He smelled the ocean, and he smelled the women. There were so many women, all in their finest dresses, showing legs, and cleavage, and hair nicely combed. A few men stood with arms folded, but not many. So the stories were true—the South was full of women.
Ymir grinned. Perhaps coming to Thera wouldn’t be as unpleasant as he first thought.
He lost his smile as the wound in his heart pinched him. It wasn’t the curse; no, it was his shame. Outcast. Alone. Without family or friends or battle brothers. Ymir had rarely been alone in his life. Three months of walking alone hadn’t given him a taste for solitude.
These people, however pretty, were not his clan. He knew how they would see him. He knew how they would treat him; the world didn’t have much mercy for strangers, especially strangers from the North.
The whispers started as the crowd let him pass through so he could get to the gate. Most spoke in a language he didn’t know. Others, though, spoke in Pidgin, and he’d learned that language early.
From the women:
“Such a big man. And handsome.”
“Agreed. Eyes so dark. Hair like dirty gold. I wonder what else is dirty.”
“Young. I thought the barbarians were all old.”
From the few men:
“Look at that ruffian and his deer. I’d bet you a silver sheck he eats it raw.”
“No one would take that bet for a silver. For a copper? Sure.”
“I wonder if he fucked it before he killed it.”
“No! After!”
Laughter followed. That last exchange was between two fishermen with barely a tooth in their heads.
Ymir chuckled at the joke. Men seemed to speak the same wherever he went.
Perfume from the women greeted him. Their sweet smells were so different from Ilhelda’s, but he couldn’t think about her—that hurt. He’d never heal the wound in his heart if he thought of her.
A long table with a flowing scarlet tablecloth blocked the entrance. The fabric flapped in the breeze. The big yellow-painted wooden gates were thrown back against the blackened red wall. At the table sat a human, an elf, and a dwarf, all older than him but not so old as the two fishermen.
Behind the three stood a woman with bone-white hair and almond-shaped gray eyes, marked by age. Her ears were lost in her frosty locks, so he couldn’t see if they were pointed or not. She wore a red robe with a bright starburst on the front. Standing silently, she watched him. She carried herself as someone who had power and enjoyed it. He tried to guess her age and couldn’t. She seemed like a young woman who had been born an old soul, the body of a maiden and the soul of a crone.
Even that description wasn’t right. She seemed ageless. Was it because of her skin color or the shape of her eyes? He didn’t know. He’d never seen anyone like her before.
Behind her, the courtyard was empty save for two green-skinned women, their armored breastplates bowed to accommodate their tits. They stood with hooked, long-bladed spears next to a passageway blocked by a spiked gate. Orcs. Those guards were orcs.
Ymir hid his shock. These were the first Fallen Fruit people he’d ever seen. Of course, he knew about the other races of Thera, but part of him had been skeptical. Could there be pointy-eared forest dwellers? Or craggy-faced bearded men, living underground, as wide as they were tall? And what of the green-skinned warriors of the wide steppes? Were they as savage as tales told?
It seemed so. Ymir’s world had widened, unbearably so, ever since he first walked down into the dank cave of the Lonely Man, who hadn’t been a man at all. He swallowed at the memory of shadow and flame, darkness and destruction, and so much more. That had been months ago, when spring snow still clung to the tundra.
His eyes went to the three at the table. The elven woman had silver-colored hair and steely-blue eyes. A piece of jewelry, like a silver vine, covered her left arm from her hand to her elbow. On her right ring finger was a gray-and-black ring, which glimmered slightly.
The elf frowned at him. When she spoke, her Pidgin had a strange accent, stately and precise. “StormCry is down the road. You seem to be lost.”
Ymir grinned. “I’ve never been more lost. Yet, I know where I am, and I know what I want. Today is the first of September, the day of the Open Exam. I will take the test.”
Seated beside her, the human woman squinted, her smoldering green eyes marked with wrinkles. Salt lines streaked her pepper-black hair. She, too, had a ring on her right hand, a mixture of blue and white. Next to her stood a wall of water rock, also known as coral—or that was the Pidgin word for it. The big slab of dripping stone was odd, standing next to her, with crabs scurrying from hole to hole.<
br />
The dwarven man grunted laughter through his braided auburn beard. His eyes were a dark brown. His ring was green and brown. “Well, bless my stone heart, I’d have thought I’d seen it all. You don’t have the dusza for the task, boy.”
Ymir thumped the deer carcass onto the table. It was getting heavy, and he wanted to make a point. “I don’t know what dusza is. I do know I have a cock, a big cock, and that will give me entrance. You hold the Open Exam for men, isn’t that right?”
The elven lady was clearly shocked. The dwarven man burst into a storm of guffaws. The salty-haired woman’s eyes went to his elk-hide pants. The red-robed woman standing behind them didn’t show any sort of reaction.
Ymir’s hands went to his belt. “Should I show you the proof?”
The elf’s mouth fell open, showing fine white teeth in her fine pink gums.
The salty woman blushed from her chest to her hairline. Next to her, on the coral wall, a crab scurried from one orifice to another. Did the wall move? Or just the crab?
The crowd behind him fell into a hush.
“We don’t need to see your stem,” the dwarf chuckled. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Ymir, son of King Ymok, of the Black Wolf Clan.” He knew this wasn’t the truth. He had no clan, and he had no father, not anymore. He showed these southerners nothing. If they turned him away, he’d hack apart their table and grab the ageless woman by her red robes. He’d take the red-and-yellow ring off her hand. Of course she had one.
He’d use his ax to force them to follow their own rules.
It might be heroic to the outside eye, but his shame would tell the truth: he was desperate, and he had no place else to go. It had merely been luck that he’d been told of the Majestrial Collegium Universitas in the first place.
The university went by another name: Old Ironbound. The name alone seemed more like destiny than luck to Ymir. Iron he could understand. To be bound? No, that word made him bristle. The tundra clans were a free people.