Barbarian Assassin (Princesses of the Ironbound Book 2)

by Aaron Crash

  She didn’t have any proof, but she was sure she owed Ymir—for breaking the spell on her, for exposing the half-elf as the demon-summoning villain she was, and for removing Haylee Heenn from her school.

  Questions remained. What was the nature of the Black Ice Ring? And why was the Midnight Guild interested in Ymir? Perhaps they saw him as too dangerous to keep alive.

  They might not be wrong. Ymir wasn’t going to be easy to tame. He was delving into sorcery that could very well destroy him. And if he was, he had more than demons to worry about. Della Pennez had killed before, and she would again.

  But if it came to that, she’d cast a Lover’s Knot spell of her own. She’d sample Ymir before she ended him. Both thoughts put an illicit thrill in her. That tingle between her legs felt much better than smoking kharo.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  YMIR STRODE ACROSS the Flow courtyard on a little errand. It was late Friday afternoon, the sun was shining, and the Fourth Exams were over. He’s survived his imprudens year.

  The last months of his life had been peaceful except for the dreams. The night brought him visions of the Ax Tundra, his battle brothers, Ilhelda, and his grandparents. It was like his soul wanted to return home. Was the Veil Tear Ring having an effect on him? He thought not. The dreams didn’t have disembodied voices warning him of hellhounds. No, the dreams were his mind shaking off the past as a snake sheds dead skin.

  The visions of his homeland would pass like Jennybelle’s nightmares passed. She now woke up rested in their big bed with Ymir and Lillee next to her. The clansman would kiss them both good morning. He didn’t feel sad that he’d been exiled. He looked forward to the day: Jenny’s gossip and laughter, listening to Lillee sing, and watching Tori’s cheerful face as she worked the front counter of the feasting hall.

  He did well in both his Third and Fourth Exams. Unlike the other tests he’d taken, he remembered them clearly. Again, he wondered if this was because of his new ring. In both cases no one tried to sabotage him. Some of the scholars failed one or the other, and their time at Old Ironbound was over. Everyone Ymir knew, both his beloved and those he despised, had passed the exams, however.

  The Third Exam had tested both his geometry and his Flow magic. The examination room had been a series of octagon platforms. He had to create ice bridges across the platforms while remembering combat tactics from the Age of Discord and unraveling a riddle concerning Obanathy’s famous sonnets on marriage. The one with the cursed bride and dead groom wasn’t among the poems. The Third Exam forced him to face a golem crafted from wood and bronze. After using his Flow magic to gain access to a sword, he realized that the golem wouldn’t drop unless he struck it in certain places on certain platforms. One octagonal platform had the sigil of the great Akkridorian vempor on the floor. Aeno Akkridor said that when possible, strike your opponent twice in the heart and once in the throat. However, another platform had quotes from an Obanathy sonnet that suggested all great marriages start in the head, rather than the heart. Ymir struck the golem in the head on the Obanathy platform and three times on the Aeno octagon, thus winning his way across the room.

  For Ymir, the Fourth Exam had been the most challenging, but it had also been the most fun. In that exam, he had to use his Focus ring to control an army of paper golems, hundreds of figures, each about six inches tall and crafted from black paper. They fought an army of green paper troops who came swarming down a hillside crafted into the room, a rather rudimentary recreation of the western slope of the Sunrise Mountains. Aegel Akkridor had won the Battle of the Borador Slope, defeating a coalition of elves, dwarves, and orcs. In this simulation, Ymir was Aegel, commanding the black troops. Ymir used the same techniques as the famous vempor to crush his enemies. Mostly it was by creating ice walls that drove the enemy paper troops right into the main phalanx of his soldiers. However, Ymir also used his Focus ring to freeze the paper arrows of the tiny green archers. Historically, the vempor had used Form magic and Moons magic to protect his forces. He’d been a brilliant tactician and a powerful sorcerer—not powerful enough, though, because in the end, someone slayed the famed Aegel Akkridor. Who that was? No one could agree, but Ymir had his theories.

  Suffice to say, he passed his two exams after memorizing more poetry than he thought was good for him. He ended the year with a Focus ring, and he was already considering his schedule once September came around.

  He had to smile at the memory of Professor Issa Leel’s surprise and disgust. When Leel was passing out the Focus rings several weeks before the Fourth Exam, Ymir hadn’t taken the offered jewelry. Instead, he slipped the Black Ice Ring on his finger. Of course, Leel went screaming to Della.

  The Princept insisted on checking the Black Ice Ring again to look for signs of any kind of dark magic, but as far as she could tell, it was a simple piece of magical jewelry. She had Brodor Bootblack, Ibeliah Ironcoat, and Issa Leel also check it. They came up with the same evaluation.

  Ymir knew it wasn’t so simple, especially after studying Derzahla Lubda’s slim volume, which was mostly ravings about demons rising from a place called the Stair to devour all of reality. That made Ymir think of something that Linnylynn Albatross had mentioned. Was Old Ironbound some kind of nexus with secret corridors that led to the Stair? Ymir knew the university’s secrets went deep. He’d have to keep an eye open.

  Lubda did have some pages on the Akkiric Rings, though the language wasn’t clear. He warned ringmakers in one paragraph and praised them in the next. As for the instructions on how to make a third ring? They were hard to follow and included a rhyming poem that seemed like complete nonsense. After all the fucking poetry he’d studied his second semester, it was a cruel irony that he had to decipher more stanzas. He figured it was the poetry that had driven Derzahla Lubda mad.

  Ymir had considered keeping the tome. That would’ve been a mistake. Della would’ve torn the school apart. If she’d found it anywhere near him, she would’ve expelled him. It was better he give it back and then lie.

  He did a lot of lying to the Princept. He found it oddly satisfying.

  She was a good opponent. At the same time, he knew, deep down, she was on his side. He could count on her if he really needed help. And he might.

  The Akkiric Rings were powerful, doubtless, but Ymir didn’t think they were demonic in and of themselves. The Akkir Akkor? That felt like a different issue. The words that voice had said haunted him: THE SLEEPER. THE AWAKENED. THE DREAM. What did all that mean?

  Ymir couldn’t find any real information on the mysterious forces behind the Veil Tear Ring. He thought of using the ring to slash through reality itself to investigate them, but Octovato said that he would be killed and eaten immediately if he tried.

  Ymir heeded the warning. Besides, if he was going to risk the hellhound, there were other things he wanted to see more. That was the purpose of his errand on that Friday afternoon—that little niggling idea in his mind hadn’t gone away.

  He brought the powerful ring with him across the Flow courtyard, down the Sea Stair, and to the sea alley showers. Most of the happy scholars were on their way to the Summernight Festival—another dance, more feasting, and more drinking. Ymir would get there eventually. First, though, he had questions to answer.

  He was going to tempt fate because that was what fate was there for—to push your destiny right up to the edge of sanity and death, and either the world gave you what you wanted, or it killed you. Either way, better to live the life of a warrior and not a whelp.

  Why shouldn’t he study damned magic? He was already damned because of this dusza thing inside of him.

  Ymir walked into the sea alley showers. He had wanted to put some time between the first time he used the Veil Tear Ring and the next.

  Standing in the shower, he smelled the mildew, saw the stains, and watched water drip from a spout. So far, no flames. Jenny still wanted them to come down here and have sex in the showers, where they might get caught. He’d have to add that to the list o
f things he would do over the summer. If Lillee kept her essess on, she’d be a good lookout for them. He could see her taking it off, though, and joining them.

  Ymir laughed a little and slipped the magical ring onto his pinky finger next to his other Akkiric Ring. He was back in the world of shadow, light, and noise. He smiled as thousands of women, over a thousand years, showered around him, soaping up breasts of all shapes, sizes, and colors. There were so many different kinds of nipples rising from so many types of areolae. Of course he was there to watch some secretly pleasure themselves, furtively, in the warm water. It must’ve been warmer a thousand years ago. He saw other women thrust up against the tiles, getting fucked by their men. Jenny wasn’t the only scholar who had exhibitionist inclinations.

  Then he brought himself forward to this year, to when he himself was there. Moments before, there had been someone in the shower. He couldn’t see them, their outline was blurry, but he could recognize the magic. They were using something similar to the Obanathy cantrips to hide themselves.

  He heard a gruff voice mutter, “May the night never end. May the day never begin. Ignis fascinara.” And then all the spouts glowed, enchanted.

  That voice wasn’t the voice of Hayleesia Heenn. It was gruff, and sounded male, but that might not be the case. If you took one of the she-orcs, Gurla the Janistra Dux, or the big-breasted Korga, they’d sound similar.

  Ymir felt fetid breath on the back of his neck. He smelled the shit and fire stink of the hellhound. He swept the ring off. The clansman was satisfied. When he’d touched Haylee’s life, it was clear she had summoned orishas to kill Jenny. The half-elf assassin had not used fire, which meant she hadn’t tried to kill Jenny in the shower. No, Ymir had been the target that day.

  He pondered that little poem—may the night never end, may the day never begin—that sounded like a motto for the Midnight Guild. They were up to their old tricks.

  He left the showers, the Veil Tear Ring in its own pouch he created on his belt. He hated holding the thing. He hated the touch of it. And he knew, the more he used it, the more the hellhound would close in on him. That did make him wonder if Lillee or Tori could wield the ring. The Akkir Akkor had mentioned Lillee’s sweat and Tori’s blood. Things would have to be desperate for him to suggest one of them try it on.

  Before he left, he checked his sea cell. They’d gotten ten more bags of xoca beans, more velvety black parchment, and more red ribbons. They’d also bought a stamp so they could stamp the cooling xocalati with the Amora Xoca’s own rune, one designed by Lillee.

  Salt Love and Sambal said they’d found some new trading partners and could get the beans, raw, as much as they wanted. Tori had jumped at the chance to be able to create machines that would allow them to process the raw beans themselves.

  That made Ymir wonder if he could undercut the merfolk and make a deal directly with Nan Honeysweet and her fairy shopgirl. That was the next place he was going to visit with the devilish ring. He didn’t take much of what the Princept said seriously. However, her warning about the fairy did strike him as worthy of his attention.

  He left his cell, thinking that they would need to move operations at some point. Della didn’t care about his xocalati business, but that might change. And others might come and break into his cell. They locked it now, with both iron and magic, but either could be broken. After fucking Tori in the StormLight storeroom on the bags of ficco beans, he might just use the xoca bean bags in Jenny’s suite on the little woman. They’d made good cushions.

  If only Tori was interested in sex. So far, the dwab’s Inconvenience hadn’t returned, and she wasn’t willing to try their xocalati. She still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of triggering her lust. The wide little woman spent most of her evenings with them, either studying in the Librarium at their second-floor table, or in Jenny’s apartment. However, she’d leave when Lillee took off her essess.

  They had new respect for the forearm cuff after seeing what it had done to the half-elf assassin.

  The victory over the assassin felt as good as passing exams. Best of all? He and his friends would be spending their sophist year together. The thought made Ymir smile. It had been a long week, and he couldn’t wait to hold his women in his arms.

  He had one more stop to make before he could do that.

  His recent adventures had started in The Paradise Tree – Fine Xocalati and Quality Confections, and he thought it made sense to pay one more visit there. This time, however, he’d do it shadowed in magic, tearing through the veil to get to the truth of the shop.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  YMIR STARTED UP THE Sea Stair. The sunset lit the western sky with warmth and light. He’d enjoy the clear summer skies while he could. Yes, the Sorrow Coast had a cold and rainy winter, but it was nothing compared to the howling blizzards that froze elk solid—those that were unlucky enough to be on the edges of their gangs. Mostly the old bulls sacrificed themselves to keep the young males, cows, and calves warm at the center of the herd.

  The clansman ducked into the shadows of the alley beside The Paradise Tree. It was open, and he heard the Fayee’s merry laughter and Nan Honeysweet calling to her shopgirl. “Tell her we’ll be open through the summer. I’m too old to find another place to live for three months out of the year!”

  Ymir fingered the Veil Tear Ring out of the cold, sodden pouch. He slipped it on and immediately felt the hellhound at his back. Those eyes, filled with that awful intelligence, saw him. It came for him, limping along on four legs, but it had more limbs, weird appendages that lengthened and shrank, dripped and swelled. Its brimstone and fecal stink fouled the air.

  Ymir left his body and moved his dusza form through the walls, into the back of the shop where Nan Honeysweet worked. For most of the history of the cape, it had only been a rocky hillside, but then the fortress had been built, and the ramparts rose in the distance. Finally, businesses grew around the vempor’s fortress. This particular stone building, the roof thatched, had been a fisherman’s storeroom for dried and salted fish pulled from the Weeping Sea. Generations of fishermen served the vempor, bringing Aegel Akkridor a variety of delicacies. Then it became a one-room, one-woman brothel, where an Ohlyrran woman with the mark of the Sullied had plied her trade, much to the delight of the orcs, dwarves, and soldiers who worked for the vempor. Hundreds of years and thousands of sex acts later, it became a gambling hall, then a general store, then it lay empty for decades before it became The Paradise Tree.

  Ymir hurried forward into the present. There, Nan Honeysweet sat in her chair, wrapping up a tree made of xocalati in metal hands.

  Ymir looked on in wonder with his spectral eyes. Yes, the thing in front of him rocked on a rocking chair, but she wasn’t an old woman. She wasn’t Homme, Ohlyrran, or Gruul. Her silver-colored hands were connected to brass arms. Steel cables worked underneath her metal skin. She had hinges and joints that allowed her movement. Gears spun, visible underneath her copper carapace. Her eyes clicked and, yes, she moved like she was an old woman, but she was a machine. Was this Knowing Lore? Was this Form magic, a kind of golem, like Siteev Ckins’s coral golem? Or was this strange automaton powered by an orisha, like the ones Hayleesia Heenn had summoned?

  Ymir had come looking for secrets that might give him an edge against the competing business. He’d found one. He then drifted about and saw a contract, printed on a small card, only a couple inches long and an inch wide. In minute handwriting, he could read just enough to know that Ziziva was getting her xoca beans from the merfolk. And they were charging more, far more, than Salt Love and Sambal.

  Before the hellhound could grab his soul, before the Akkir Akkor even warned him, Ymir rushed back to his body and slipped off the Veil Tear Ring. He felt the hellhound near him, could smell it, on the other side of the veil. Then the presence was gone, swept away by time.

  He walked around to the front just as a woman came out, clutching her bounty to her chest. Ziziva fluttered out in a wave of cool air. She h
ad to keep the shop cool or all that xocalati would melt.

  The Fayee swung around and landed on Ymir’s shoulder. “Oh, if it isn’t my good friend, Ymir.” She grabbed his ear, hard, and he winced and went to bat the fairy off his shoulder.

  She fluttered around to float in front of him, just out of reach. “How did your second batch of Amora Xoca sell? And so much of it! Why, it makes a girl wonder at the state of the world, the world, this big ’ol world. Hmm?”

  She giggled, but those eyes were serious, and she was angry. Ymir was accustomed to sensing the anger of women. With his growing harem, that was a necessity.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ziziva.” Ymir rubbed his ear. It had been a bad pinch. Or had she cast a spell on him? He’d have to figure out a dispel magic charm soon to keep himself and his princesses safe—his two princesses and his very good Morbuskor friend. “Give my best to Nan. I’d like to meet her someday. She owns the shop, doesn’t she?”

  The Fayee did another circle around her. “Nan Honeysweet does, and her magic is in her name, and, yes, I’m just the shopgirl, yes, and I’m just the help. I get those men to look at my tiny little titties, I get those women to wonder about my sweet honeypot, which is so sweet, from my dirt box to my clitty top. And, someday, you big bad bully of a barbarian, if I don’t drive you out of business, I’ll drive you out of your mind. You have promise. Oh, yes, you have promise.”

  Around and around she went, and Ymir forced himself not to react. Again, she stopped to flutter in front of him.

  “Give my best to Nan,” he said. “She must have nerves of steel to run this business. I’ve heard she gets her xoca beans from the merfolk. That would take an iron will.”

  Ziziva wasn’t smiling. She gave him a long look, far too serious for a silly fairy. “I’ll tell Nan, and I won’t tell you. Not a thing about our deals or our business or anything at all, at all, not anything, not all. Bye-bye my business bully butthole. We’ll meet again, again, oh, yes, we’ll meet again.” She then flew in and gave him a quick kiss, or it might have been a lick, and then she was flying back into her shop.