by Aaron Crash
This green-skinned woman warrior was a marvel, a revelation, a violent poet whose weapons were her words, a dancer of destruction, as elegant as even the most skilled sea ballerina. It was a joy to watch her, and to fight her? It would mean the mermaid would have to use every bit of her training.
Charibda bashed a tentacle into Gatha’s face. It was a good strike, but it didn’t draw blood.
A flame dagger came at the mermaid, and she caught the arm that wielded it in a single strong coil. Charibda had to bend backward to avoid another slash that nearly ended the fight.
The mermaid rolled back on her tentacles, and a million memories came to her, of sparring with her father, her uncle, any number of Aquaterreb maidens and lads, on islands of rock, on sandbars, in coastal tidepools. All in preparation for the glory of battle. She remembered the bloody day of fighting the Borlyone family near Yellow Kelp Rock, and the princess she killed there.
Charibda knew she could win this. She had to win this fight.
Gatha threw desperate fireballs, but burns wouldn’t end the fight, only blood. Those were the rules of the Blooding.
The she-orc paused for just a moment, and her Focus ring flashed with a bloody light that licked up her arm.
Charibda’s trident grew red-hot, too hot to touch, and she was forced to drop it. She was surprised at the sudden heat. Then Gatha struck her with the knives, and it was clear Charibda was about to lose.
Who could face this green queen of violence and win?
Who could fight death herself?
The mermaid had heard Gatha’s many names—the princess of the pits, death’s bride, war’s wet cunt.
Charibda felt a tentacle fall upon her net, and the barbarian’s big ax, and it was her only chance to win. She flipped the ax into the air, while trying to get a tentacle around the she-orc, to stop her from slashing Charibda’s arm, or a tentacle, or even a cheek.
Would Gatha give her facial scars like the ones marking her savage green face?
Charibda caught the ax in a hand, and it was so fucking heavy, but she was fast, and spinning, and she could sink that blade into the chest of the she-orc. She could slay Gatha and win her way onto their team.
The mermaid brought the ax around, but instead of striking Gatha, Charibda flung it against the wall. It clashed against the bricks, then clattered to the ground.
The she-orc’s fire dagger was at Charibda’s throat, burning her, but the mermaid didn’t move. She’d lost.
Only Gatha wasn’t slicing her. Charibda felt her tentacles twitching. All was silent except for the she-orc’s gasping breath. Both were dripping from the water attack, the steam, their sweat.
Gatha choked out two words, “Ignis inanis.” Her fire daggers turned into wisps of smoke and the stone edge crumbled away.
The she-orc strutted away, keeping her back to the mermaid.
Charibda fought back her tears. She’d lost. She wouldn’t be able to redeem the good name of the Aquaterreb. She wouldn’t win the respect of the scholars at Old Ironbound. All was lost.
Then she heard a sob.
From the she-orc.
Gharam made a face. “What is this? You won, Gatha. You didn’t cut her, but you could’ve. It was a close one, sure, and hard to follow since you two were going so fast. And by the blood of the pits, I’ll never get used to seeing a woman with tentacles.”
Ymir sauntered forward to retrieve his ax. “No, Charibda would’ve won that fight. If it had been a fight to the death, she would’ve buried the ax in Gatha’s chest. It was a battle by the Axman’s mighty thews, and one that I would pay to see again.”
Charibda whirled on him, rolling across the hard stone on her tentacles. She grabbed his arm with a coil. “What do you mean? It was a Blooding. It wasn’t a Maiming, and it wasn’t a Slaying. I lost the fight.”
Gatha stormed up, a look of pure fury on her face. “You will not fucking dishonor me by quibbling. You threw the ax instead of killing me. You will fight with us, and if anyone says otherwise, I will gut them like Goyyoat whiskerfish. Or at least I’ll try. It seems I might not be as good as I once was.”
Gharam let out a laugh. “Don’t be fucking stupid, Gatha. You’re as a good as you ever were in Ssunash. No, this little sea girl would’ve fed me my own sword. She is a demon for sure, with those octopus legs of hers. I’ve taught mermaids before, sure, but they weren’t interested in showing me that kind of dedication and fight. Why have you never taken a class from me, Ribby?”
Charibda glanced into all the eyes looking at her. She would’ve lied if she’d had the heart to do so, but she was too overwhelmed to come up with a good story. She swallowed hard. “When the war came, I didn’t want you to know what I could do. I would’ve had to kill all of you.”
Ymir laughed. “And from your fight, you might’ve done just that. So, do we have our fifth, Princept?”
“We do,” Della Pennez said quietly. Again, she glanced at Gatha’s ring. Then she fixed her gaze on Charibda. “We can’t have Gulnash knowing about you. We’ll have Brodor step up to take Valarenza’s place. Professor Bootblack will train with us on the Sunfire Field.”
“I was going to suggest Issa Leel,” Ymir said. “I’ve seen her fight, and I have to say, I’d rather face Brodor. But you’re right. The dwarf will be less suspicious. We’ll change our Gungarr at the last minute.”
Gharam let out a howl of laughter. “I like you sneaky bitches and bastards!”
Gatha drew close to Charibda.
The mermaid didn’t flinch. She knew enough about orc culture to know that when someone locked their gaze on you, you kept eye contact.
The she-orc didn’t say anything. Neither did Charibda. But the mermaid felt a thrill go through her. What would it be like to have both Lillee and Gatha taking control of her? This strong she-orc was more than capable of the task.
Chapter Twenty-Three
THREE WEEKS PASSED with the Honored Princept, Della Pennez, keeping track of Gulnash’s every movement. She forbade the rogue orc from setting foot in the Librarium or the feasting hall. She’d also given him a curfew. He wasn’t going to do anything that would jeopardize her position or the coming tournament.
Della squinted at the timepiece on her desk. It was nearly seven, the Sunday before the tournament of death started. Any number of important dignitaries had come in, and they were having a reception in the Imperial Palace. Gulnash and his rogues were not invited. Della treated him more like a prisoner than a guest. And the strange thing? The rogue orc didn’t seem to mind. He spent time on the Sunfire Field fighting, or eating in his room, or at the Unicorn Uht until his curfew. The five orcs also went down to StormCry, but even there, they were behaving themselves. The local constables reported to Della that the orcs could be nasty, and they might look mean, but they weren’t doing anything that an ordinary Gruul warrior wouldn’t do.
The truth was, Della didn’t see much of the Betrayer, except for sometimes he would come and watch Della spar with her Gungarr on the Sunfire Field. Gulnash would stand there watching, a leer on his scarred face.
When he was there, Brodor didn’t fight, because it would be clear that the dwarf didn’t have the skills to be in the Kurzig Durgha. The dwarf looked good, though, holding the prokta hammer he’d crafted. He’d also made Charibda a prokta trident, and the epic battles between her and Gatha had made Della wonder about her own skills. The she-orc and the mermaid fought with a speed and deadliness that had even Ymir sweating.
Charibda had forced them all to improve. The mermaid had taken to wielding two prokta swords in her tentacles along with the trident. It was like fighting three people at once.
Gatha had lost as much as she’d won, and that had helped the she-orc to know she wasn’t perfect. It strengthened her. However, every time Della lost to the mermaid, which was about half the time, the loss was hard to take. This was Ribrib. This was a ridiculous mermaid who was the laughingstock of the school. Ribby beating her? It was rather embarrassing. Though
truly, the mermaid was a hurricane.
Della could shake off her losses because she had so much on her mind, and the dreams of Sarina Sia weren’t helping her. The former Princept’s ghost was haunting her, she knew, but she didn’t know why. Della had come to recognize the ghost’s perfume, a fragrant mixture of sweetness and the musk of sex. She’d wake up in the night with a strange shadow in her room. The minute Della lit a candle, the phantasm would be gone.
Della had become obsessed with the former Princept, so much so she’d had robes crafted to match the former ruler of the school. And yet, she didn’t have as much time as she wanted to study, and that included seeing if Gatha of Ssunash wasn’t wearing one of the Akkiric Rings. And Ymir had worn two rings when he’d fought Gulnash after Valarenza’s murder. Had that barbarian been lying to her? It was probable. It made her both hate him and admire him.
More than that, she needed their Gungarr to win by any means necessary. They needed to slay the Betrayer, if nothing else, to avenge Valarenza, who’d been killed weaponless.
Not that Della could blame the orc. When you wanted someone dead, it was best to murder them with as little fighting as possible.
Della could’ve ignored the blood coin and killed the Betrayer right there.
It would’ve meant her career, though. There had been too many murders at Old Ironbound of late. And if she’d let Ymir do the deed? He would’ve been expelled, if not killed by some Gruul warrior looking for the barbarian who’d ignored the rules of orc culture.
Della rose, adjusted her robes, and hurried down from her mezzanine office. She hurried up to the Reception Room in the Imperial Palace, on the third floor. The kitchen staff had done a great job in setting up the banquet. The balcony doors were thrown open wide, and most all the guests were out on the patio.
There were the combatants who had come for the tournament, and there was royalty from all across Thera, and that included King Velis Naoar IX of the Sorrow Coast Kingdom. He’d greased his moustache, which didn’t help his looks at all.
Magistrates from the Farming Collective were there, but of course they would be, since Old Ironbound was so close to the collective. They intermingled with the Alumni Consortium, a collection of races, men, and women, who were thrilled to be given the opportunity to visit the school again. Some of the Ohlyrran women had been Della’s classmates, and she’d even slept with one or two. It would’ve been tempting to get them in her bed, but the Princept was simply too busy.
Besides, a single woman in her bed couldn’t possibly match her fever dreams, where she witnessed more of Sarina Sia’s orgies. Some of these included more men than Ymir, though he and his harem were always there, and that included Charibda.
In every dream, Sarina Sia caressed her and whispered filth into her ear. Della would wake up wet and worked up, and she had to fuck herself hard and nasty to exercise the lustful demons possessing her. Then she’d fall back into a dreamless sleep.
Della walked to the buffet table and took a glass of wine. She’d enjoy drinking from the school’s expensive crystal. She nodded at the sickly Grand Vempor Acadius of the Holy Theranus Empire. He looked ragged and tired from his long journey from Four Roads. He also looked ridiculous in too much gold and too fine of velvet. He wanted to be important. He wasn’t.
There were far more powerful people there, and that included Jennybelle Josen’s aunt.
Auntie Jia was talking intently with a most unexpected woman: Shlak’s wife, Ghrinna of Ssunash. Jiabelle Josen and Ghrinna were joined by another striking member of the dignitaries coming in: Lillee’s father, Cebor Nehenna, the king of Greenhome. How did those three know each other?
Shlak himself stood outside talking with the chieftains of Goyyoat and Rukklur.
Ymir had told Della that Gulnash wanted the Kurzig Durgha, and he’d contacted Shlak to suggest it. Which meant either Shlak had seen an opportunity to murder the Betrayer, or he’d made a deal with Gulnash.
Either way, Della would have to keep an eye on him.
Of course, when the Princept asked Ymir how he’d gotten this information, the barbarian had grinned and replied, “Fucking magic.” The man was maddening.
Shlak laughed, talking with his fellow orc leaders. The chieftain of the Lake City orcs was Urag, and he had his people’s black hair in a single bristly ridge topping his head from his forehead to the back of his nape. He’d taken over leadership after Gulnash had slaughtered the former leader. Urag was the chieftain who wanted Gulnash dead the most.
Then there was Pargar, sporting long, bright, copper-colored hair that offset his dark green skin. He also had copper-colored eyes. He wore a leather jerkin and sandals, inlaid with gold. Out of all the city-states of the orcs, River City, the city of the red hair, was the wealthiest, with ties to the Undergem Guild in nearby Four Roads.
Speaking of that guild, a fairy fluttered near the orcs, a blue-haired woman with a glittering dress that matched the diamonds on her fingers and throat. Even her ears winked with jewels, however small to accommodate her body. That was Dillyday Everjewel. There was a good chance she ran the merchant guild, but it was hard to tell because those merchant fairies kept all their secrets to themselves.
Della would get to those people, but first she went to the strange trio. Why would a Swamp Coast matriarch, the most vicious Gruul woman outside of Gatha, and an elven king be chatting like they’d known each other for years?
Cebor had his daughter’s nearly white-blond hair, and it fell straight down his back. He had the unlined and lifeless face of a poet who’d been laid exactly twice in his life. Once for each of his daughters. He was dour and humorless.
For most of her life, Della had been grateful that Unger had changed her ears, making them human. She was half-elven, and that meant Cebor would’ve seen her as a whore since she didn’t wear a cuff. It was best that most thought she’d fucked a demon to keep her youth. Or that she was a demon. Either way, better that than dealing with celibate elven disdain.
She drifted over, wineglass in hand. It all felt so very familiar. This wasn’t the first of these parties she’d attended, and it wouldn’t be the last.
However, she’d rarely ever drunk wine with anyone as dangerous as the pair of women standing there, Jiabelle Josen and Ghrinna of Ssunash, Shlak’s wife.
Jiabelle was a breastless pole with midnight hair, faded blue eyes, and wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. They didn’t give her any sort of class, only a hungry look. She wore a dress that didn’t fit her, too loose to show what little curves she had and yet too tight. It was clear, however, that she’d rather cut someone’s throat than fuck them.
Then there was Ghrinna. Everything about her was either thinning or sagging. Her white hair was coiffed to try to hide her scalp. It didn’t work. Her leather gown was too tight and accentuated her sagging breasts and flabby buttocks. Her red eyes shone with hatred for all except for the two she was talking to.
And people thought Della was a demon.
The Princept nodded at the trio. “I’m the Honored Princept, Della Pennez, and I would like to formally welcome you, King Cebor Nehenna of Greenhome, Ghrinna of Ssunash, and Jiabelle Josen of Josentown.” Della then did something daring. She wanted to show them her suspicion. “And how do you three know each other? Or have you just met?”
Cebor didn’t have a lie ready. His face flushed. And Ghrinna was too busy glaring at the Princept. Of course, she wouldn’t like Della because Old Ironbound had given Gatha a home. Actually, the same was true for the human’s niece, as well as the elven king’s daughter. Della had thought of inviting Ymir and his harem, then thought against it. She wanted them focused on training and not on their wretched families.
It was Auntie Jia, of course, that came up with a lie that might’ve convinced Della if the other two hadn’t been stymied by the question. Her accent didn’t have the twang of the Swamp Coast. She sounded like she’d just returned from the Kifu Yun Lirum University in Four Roads. “Well, Princept, we all have r
elatives at this school, and we all are interested in Theran politics. Also, we are bound together by this Ymir person. This barbarian with magic. To think, a savage thing like that, able to cast spells. It’s the doom of our age.”
Cebor made a face. “I’d rather not talk about the ruffian. There was a time when Old Ironbound wouldn’t have allowed such a person to darken its halls.”
Ghrinna’s tusks slid out slowly, covered in her slobber. “But this Ymir is fighting for your Gungarr, is he not? I hear he is mighty. He killed the merfolk king single-handedly. Or so that was what we heard.”
“Something like that,” Della said noncommittally. What was going on here? She decided to press the three a bit more to see what their real connection might be. “The world seems to be changing. There are rumors of dragons in Ethra, and we have the barbarian with a dusza, and there’s even talk of the Wingkin causing trouble. If it were me, I would keep things just as they’ve been for centuries.”
Auntie Jia laughed. “We are in agreement there.”
Ghrinna threw Auntie Jia a glance, then pierced Della with a red-eyed gaze. “We hope that this Gulnash problem will be taken care of. I’m glad he’s not here. My husband might just cut the villain down where he stands.”
“Even though that would mean his death?” Della asked. “I don’t suppose he has a blood coin.”
Ghrinna shrugged. “None but the Betrayer was able to gather the chieftain’s blood to make one. As far as we know. There was a time when Gulnash was to be a great leader in Goyyoat. Not anymore. The former chieftain was a friend to my husband.”
Della doubted that, but her stomach was boiling with fear, and she was having a hard time swallowing. She licked her lips. “It’s tempting to sacrifice yourself for the good of Thera. I’m glad there are others that believe such things. The Ironcoats, for example, and a former professor here. One Siteev Ckins. All three lost their lives. It’s unfortunate.”