Barbarian Gladiator (Princesses of the Ironbound Book 4)

by Aaron Crash

  Her lips curved into a grin, then a smile, and then she was laughing as tears tracked down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop laughing, and Ymir found himself laughing with her. She threw back her head to howl more mirth. He’d never seen anything so wild, so free, and so cathartic.

  When Gatha sobered, tears were still in her eyes, but their nature had changed. “You know me, Ymir, son of Ymok. You know my soul, for we share the same soul, the same nature, and the same fate. When we die, we’ll die in blood.”

  He nodded at her words. “When we die, we’ll die in blood.”

  However, he didn’t plan on dying any time soon. Others would fall before him, but he would carve out years for himself and his women, with his wits, with his sword, and, yes, with the fucking magic.

  Chapter Five

  DELLA PENNEZ COULDN’T stop herself.

  The Summernight Festival thrummed and throbbed around her. She was in the Throne Auditorium, drinking wine heavy with fruit. With each beat of the music, she felt herself losing control. She felt sick with fear.

  Ymir’s words came to her. Yes, she would ease her mind by speaking aloud her fears. As a master assassin, she couldn’t have done that because it was her silence that kept her alive. But now? She needed her allies, and that strangely included the barbarian.

  All the Fourth Exams were done, the graduation ceremony for the dominists and the post-domini was over, and it was Saturday night. Summernight Festival started the summer, but there was also the Long Light Festival, celebrating midsummer, some weeks away. It felt closer, but it wasn’t. They’d had to add another week on to the school year because of the terrible merfolk business. Brodor Bootblack had already finished repairs to the campus, and it was good for him to be working. He still met with the other Morbuskor on Thursday nights, and he went drinking in StormCry with Gharam and Ymir, but Brodor was still struggling with the loss of the Ironcoats.

  Those Ironcoats—man and wife members of the Midnight Guild—had tried to murder Ymir.

  It still bothered the Princept, but she had more pressing concerns. She’d been given a great responsibility, and the weight of the deadly decision was crushing her. No more.

  The school year was over. She would get on with the bloody business of the summer.

  The Alumni Consortium had definite ideas about the decision she had to make. She could’ve fought them, but any sign of insubordination would’ve put her career in danger. She didn’t want to lose her position at Old Ironbound, and so she’d play the game to the best of her ability. That meant bringing in people who could help her, the school, the entire fucking continent.

  She marched through the partyers, trying to keep a smile on her face. She marched through the would-be bullies that Ymir had whipped into submission: Darisbeau Cujan, Odd Corry, and Viscount Roger Knellknapp. The boys stood with the Swamp Coast girls, including Nellybelle Tucker, and that shouldn't be. Nelly was a servant of the Josen family, and the Cujans were their sworn enemy. All that juvenile drama had been so tiresome, but Della missed dealing with such simple, mundane things.

  The Princept noticed that the denizens of the Zoo were at the party as well. Many would be graduating, a few had been expelled because they’d failed the Fourth Exam, and others had moved out. Normally, Della would be worried that Toriah and Charibda wouldn’t be able to find roommates to help pay the rent, but both the dwab and the mermaid came from royal families with money to spare.

  Finally, she found Ymir and his women. Lillee was dancing seductively, the grace of her body undeniable. The pale skin of her belly was exposed, including her cute belly button. A little golden trail of fur disappeared into the silk of her pants. Della noticed the other women as well: the swell of Tori’s breasts, Jennybelle’s flashing blue eyes, and Gatha’s hard muscles. Those women were beautiful, and they seemed at home next to Ymir’s tall, powerful form—such muscles, such strength, and such a handsome face. His eyes were a bright green, which meant he was aroused. Of course he was. Women writhed around him to the hypnotic beat of the music.

  Della had fantasized about watching him fuck his four women. With her oheesy full of her biggest glass phallus, she’d rubbed her sensitive little ohi and imagined it was Ymir filling her, while his women took turns sitting on her face. Sometimes, even after all this time, she’d feel guilty about the fantasies. She was the Honored Princept of the school, and any sexual relationship with a scholar would be impossible to maintain with any sort of dignity.

  But at the party, seeing the women with the barbarian, Della felt justified. Any woman with a pulse should want to be a part of the raging sex these young people enjoyed.

  Now was the time for violence, however, and not sex. She marched up to Ymir. “I need to talk with you. And Gatha. Gharam is already waiting outside in the Reception Room of the Imperial Palace. We’ve opened the balcony there.”

  Thankfully, Ymir didn’t try to flirt, or demure, or play their game. He simply nodded. Did he know she would ask? Had he been waiting for her? It seemed so. That damn man. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had a crystal ball, or another Akkiric Ring, say the Veil Tear Ring, to show him the future. Or perhaps he was simply brilliant.

  Ymir and Gatha followed her out of the Throne Auditorium, over the little bridge connecting the citadel to the Imperial Palace, and up the stairs. Gharam stood on the ornate terrace with a flagon of mead. Sunfire torches flickered in the night wind. The two moons raced each other through the sky.

  Gharam slurped spit around his tusks and laughed. “Well, now, my two favorite fucking people at this school. Glad you could come. I hope we didn’t disturb your dancing.”

  Gatha walked with head high. She went to a table, filled her glass with blood wine, and turned. “Fuck dancing.”

  Ymir stood with his arms crossed. “I was wondering when our Honored Princept would tell me what was going on. I could smell something in the air.”

  Gharam slurped more and laughed more. “You called her Princept. Thank you. I wouldn’t want to cuff you across your head for calling her Della.”

  Ymir grinned. “Never.”

  Normally, Della might’ve enjoyed their banter. She was glad Ymir and Gharam were friends again. The business at hand, however, made their interplay annoying. “Enough, Professor.” She drained her wine. Then, from a little bag, she pulled a rolled kharo stick. Yes, she’d started smoking again. It was easy to blame the stress—harder to admit her weakness.

  With a Sunfire spell, she lit the kharo and sucked in the smoke. She let it out. “Gatha, your father contacted me two months ago. The situation with Gulnash the Betrayer has become critical. Your father suggested something...something that I resisted.”

  Gatha’s jaw muscles jumped. Her teeth were clenched. She knew exactly what the Chieftain of Ssunash had suggested. She snarled two words out in Gruul. “Kurzig Durgha!”

  Ymir, ever the quick student, knew exactly what that meant. “A tournament of death. The king of the Grass City thinks to bring Gulnash here and kill him in the pits. Why here?”

  “The Betrayer suggested it.” Della flicked the ash from her kharo. “The Ssunash chieftain, or the king of Grass City as you say, reached out to the Betrayer, challenging him. Gulnash agreed, but he wanted to do it here.”

  Gharam snorted, then spit. He drained his cup. “I’ll need another drink to take all this in. Damn strange that Gulnash would choose Old Ironbound. It will take him weeks to get here. Him and the warriors he has for the pits. His Gungarr.”

  “There will be five Gungarrs competing,” Della said. “The Betrayer’s followers, Grass City, Lake City, River City.”

  Della used the Pidgin names, but in Gruul, they were Ssunash, Rukklur, and Goyyoat. The city of the white hair, the city of the red hair, and the city of the black hair.

  “I count four teams,” Ymir said quietly. “The fifth is our own Gungarr. That is why you wanted to talk to Gatha and me. How can I fight if I’m not an orc?”

  Damn, the man was always a step ahead of h
er. Della squinted through the smoke of her kharo. “It is the host’s prerogative. We are hosting the event, and due to the rules of the Kurzig Durgha, we can field a team.”

  Gatha, breathing hard, burst out in cursing. “Fucking Gruul and our fucking rules. Everything is codified, especially when it comes to the Kurzig Durgha. And we must follow them blindly, or the penalty is death.”

  Ymir stood frowning. “And when is the tournament?” he asked.

  “Midsummer,” Della replied. “Six weeks from now, when we’ll be celebrating the Long Light Festival.”

  “Midsummer. The Long Light.” Ymir seemed to consider those words for several long minutes. “We would call it the shy night in the north. When the night is barely a few hours long, and the world flirts with the heavens. It was a time for fucking, not fighting. Nine months later, the shy children would be born.”

  Gatha stood fuming. Why was she so angry?

  Gharam was drunk. “The shy night? Come, Ymir, I can’t believe you barbarians are shy about anything, not even fucking elk. Or maybe I’m just a dumb old man to find that odd.” His laughter was loud, partly from the wine, partly because he was nervous.

  Ymir saw it. “I’ve fought you, Gharam. You’re not as old as you think.”

  “I’m fucking ancient,” the orc spat. Then slurped. “But my life doesn’t mean much. Don’t you see? If you can bury your ax in Gulnash’s brain, it will save countless lives. The biggest threat facing Thera will be gone. His followers will disperse.”

  “Not all of them,” Ymir countered. “Some will fall in this death match. You’re asking me to risk my life, Princept, for a country that is not mine. I am loyal to my family, and that includes Gatha. Perhaps she shouldn’t fight.”

  “Shut your mouth, clansman!” Gatha roared. She paced the balcony like a trapped lion. “I will fight. I will do this, though I shouldn’t. My father didn’t reach out to me. He reached out to you, and how long have you sat on this decision, Princept? A long while, I think.”

  Della didn’t respond.

  Gatha barked laughter. “And once again, I’m called to the Kurzig Durgha, to kill the Betrayer, who, by all accounts, is a rabid dog, a Blood Steppe wolf with the blood of his own litter painting his lips.”

  Della found the description apt. Gulnash had murdered thousands of his own people, and in a very literal way, he’d eaten his own children. But the Princept didn’t want her scholars fighting if they didn’t want to. “Gatha, you don’t have to do this.”

  Ymir answered for her. “She does.”

  “And why is that?” Della asked in a bitter voice.

  “Because of the warrior’s boredom. The fight with the merfolk has awakened her appetite for gore. This will more than slake it.” Ymir went for the strong festival beer they brought up from StormCry. With a full cup, he raised his drink. “You have me, Princept. If Gatha fights, I fight.”

  “So we have three,” Gharam said. “We’ll need two more.”

  “We have four.” Della took a last drag and then cast Flow magic to freeze the butt. She would have to quit for good. The kharo left her winded, and for the upcoming tournament of death, she would need every bit of lung she could get. “I will be fighting with you.”

  Ymir nodded. “Then we will have a chance.”

  Gatha stopped her stalking and marched over to the stone railing overlooking the Sunfire Field. She stood there with the lights from the citadel throwing a warm yellow glow on her troubled visage.

  Della realized the source of the she-orc’s anger.

  Gatha couldn’t possibly be afraid. She’d risen in the ranks of the Ssunash pits, and she’d undergone one of the bloodiest Kurzigs Durgha in that city’s history. She’d killed her own sister to win the ultimate prize: her freedom to choose whatever family she wanted, to choose her own fate. She’d left to become igptoor at Old Ironbound. Every Gruul at the school thought she was insane to choose books over family and battle.

  No, the tournament of death wasn’t the problem. It was her relationship with her father, her parents, that made this difficult.

  Ymir sipped his cup. “And who would be our fifth?”

  Della had that answer at least. “I have a list of possible warriors from every nation on Thera and even some Wingkin from the southern continent. The Bloody Dawn Guild has provided me their own list—mercenaries, gladiators, professional soldiers—and I’ve chosen someone from the Blood Steppes, a human, but he fights like an orc. I don’t want to say his name yet.”

  Ymir shrugged. “So, in this tournament of death, what does the winner get? I already have my freedom. I’m assuming there is a grand prize other than our lives and victory.”

  “This Kurzig Durgha is for the three cities of the Blood Steppes,” Della said quietly.

  Chapter Six

  THE HONORED PRINCEPT stood there, on the balcony, letting Gharam, Ymir, and Gatha get over their initial shock. “Yes, the stakes couldn’t be higher. The winner will get the three city-states of the orcs.”

  Gharam snorted. “A grand prize indeed. And it shows the desperation of our people. If Gulnash wins, we are giving him what he has always wanted—an empire, one that he will wish to grow.”

  Della kept all emotion off her face. “I’ve been assured by the three chieftains of Ssunash, Goyyoat, and Rukklur that they don’t wish to change things. They only want to kill Gulnash. Once he is dead, the tournament will end.”

  Gatha’s laughter was shrill, unhinged.

  Gharam slurped and chuckled.

  Ymir’s response was more to the point. “I doubt it is that simple. Theran history suggests that once you offer a king more kingdoms, he rarely will decline.” He paused. “If one us wins the tournament, will we be able to rule the orcs?”

  “Ymir, conqueror of the orcs!” Gharam boomed drunkenly.

  The barbarian smiled. “No, I’m thinking our Princept will leave us to become the Vempress of the Blood Steppe Empire. Is that right, Honored Princept?”

  “No,” Della said pointedly. “This tournament is to kill Gulnash. Let’s all be clear on that.”

  Ymir studied her. “What are you not telling us?”

  “I’m telling you everything,” she assured him.

  “First time?” the clansman asked with a grin.

  Della gave him a bored look.

  Gharam laughed loudly. “The way you two flirt is shameless, shameless I tell you! Perhaps I’m too old, but I wouldn’t miss this. I’d die happy if I could rip Gulnash the Betrayer’s heart out of his chest and devour it whole.”

  “If you got that far, you wouldn’t be the one dying,” Ymir pointed out.

  Gharam scratched his chin. “Fine, barbarian. I could die happy knowing that it was you who ripped out his heart and devoured it whole.”

  “I would imagine I’d cook it first,” Ymir said.

  Gharam slurped spit. “I still say a barbarian with a dusza is a fucking joke.”

  “And yet, here you and I are—friends. You lack judgement, Professor, though that’s not your biggest problem.”

  “Oh, is that right? What’s my biggest problem?”

  “You’re so damn ugly.”

  The pair laughed.

  Della drifted over to Gatha, who had her tusks out as she stood at the railing. She was incensed, obviously, and troubled beyond words.

  Della kept quiet. Sometimes, when dealing with orcs, silence could do what words couldn’t. Perhaps they didn’t heal through their mouths, but Della had. She felt better now that Gatha and Ymir were with them. She’d seen the pair fight, and between them, they might best the rogue Gruul and his raiders.

  Gatha turned. Her face was dark. Her rose-colored eyes glinted in the torchlight.

  Della didn’t glance away.

  This hard woman had had a brutal life, and Della was asking her to return to the pits she’d escaped. Only, it seemed like it might be exactly what the she-orc wanted.

  Looking into her eyes, Della was surprised to see them soften for a min
ute, to see a smolder there, and for the briefest second, she felt the pull to kiss this green-skinned warrior woman. Della then stepped back and nodded.

  The she-orc seemed to have felt the same pull. She cleared her throat and retracted her tusks. “I don’t blame you, Princept, for my father’s failings. I left under very bad circumstances.”

  “Would you like to talk about it?” Della asked.

  Gatha stiffened and raised her chin. “With Ymir, yes, eventually. Not with you. When do we start training?”

  “Monday,” Della said.

  “That is all I need to know...” And the she-orc strode away, moving like a mountain panther, as sleek and as strong.

  Della had already gotten permission from the Alumni Consortium to allow Majestrial scholars to fight. They knew about Gatha, and Ymir had acquired fame as the barbarian with magic. Monday morning, the training would begin. Six weeks was a short time to get into fighting shape, but they were all accomplished warriors.

  Della soon excused herself from Ymir and Gharam, who were exchanging war stories. Ymir had grown up fighting other clans on the Ax Tundra. Gharam had hunted rogue orcs on the Blood Steppes. Both knew about bloodshed.

  And Della? Hers had been back-alley fights, assassinations gone wrong, but, no, murder wouldn’t be new to her. In fact, Ymir hadn’t been wrong when he’d talked about the thrill and focus of a good fight. And if any of her Gungarr fell? Could she live with that? Of course. As long as they won, and Gulnash the Betrayer was slain. He’d been raiding caravans, cities, and settlements for years now, slowly gathering followers and promising them a new Gruul empire.

  Della knew Theran history as well as any scholar at the school. They didn’t need another empire cut from the flesh of its people. If there was to be a new age, it should be one of commerce and prosperity, not one of ruin and rape.

  She made her way up to the top of the Librarium Citadel, to the alcove on the sixth floor. This was her special meeting place, semi-private, with two chairs, a couch, and a low table. She and Beryl Delphino had spent many nights on that couch, licking each other, coming again and again, and then there was the night that Beryl had made love to Della with her tentacles. That had been new and dirty. That newness had made Della howl when she orgasmed, stuffed full of the mermaid’s coils.