Mr. Everbright waved his hand at the kegs lining the walls, “Only if you share a brew with me, your pick.”
Lock couldn’t help but notice his auraband,
Lvl. 16 Human Male: Sherwood Everbright
Exp. 2,134/28,422
620/620 Health.
765/818 Mana.
344/344 Stamina.
Brilliant Blessing of the Alchemist
“I’m not sure drinking on an empty stomach is a good idea,” said Lock.
Mr. Everbright waved his hand again, “Nonsense,” and disappeared beneath his counter and popped up again with a pair of mugs, “They’ll be back any minute and I’ll share some of my sandwich with you. Besides, I need to thank you for helping my daughter. How better than sharing a drink?”
“Ha, I think she was the one helping me,” said Lock, “But who can say no to a free brew?”
“That’s what I like to hear. Which would you like to try?” asked Mr. Everbright?
“I don’t know much about beer. What do you recommend?” asked Lock.
“Can’t go wrong with any of them, but the latest batch of our Brightwater Pilsner came out exceptionally well,” answered Mr. Everbright as he tossed the mugs to Lock and pointed at the keg labeled Brightwater.
“Clare tells me your family has been brewing for generations?” asked Lock.
“Quite true, but Clare’s uncle and I are the first to settle in the Freelands. We’re well known in Willhelm, but this here’s a whole other market,” said Mr. Everbright.
“Ah is that where you’re from, Clare didn’t say,” said Lock as he filled the mugs with the frothy golden colored pilsner.
Mr. Everbright took his mug back and downed a good quarter of his beer, “That we are. How about the Sharp’s? Where are you from?”
“Nowhere really, bit of a roaming bunch. My dad and I have lived on the Stanwick’s lands off and on for most of my life,” said Lock.
“The Stanwick’s are good people, good to us foreigners at any right,” said Mr. Everbright.
“My dad says he’s a good man,” said Lock then took a long pull from his beer.
Mr. Everbright set his mug on the counter and shifted it until the handle was parallel to the edge of the counter, “You don’t agree?”
Lock swirled the beer in his mug while he searched for the right words, “I don’t disagree.”
“But you don’t agree either,” said Mr. Everbright, “Is that why you hope one of the other Lords will offer to be your patron?”
“Clare told you I didn’t take Lord Stanwick’s offer?” asked Lock.
“She did, and she said you could use the help,” Everbright took a sip of his beer, “Either you think you’re worth more or you have a problem with Lord Stanwick.”
“I don’t know what I’m worth,” said Lock under his breath but it was still loud enough to be heard.
“Few men do,” said Everbright as he adjusted his mug, this time so the handle pointed at the corner of the counter, “but I’ll tell you this. At least half of those young men and women that Stanwick offered to support will make terrible retainers and he’ll end up releasing them within a month of service.”
“Then why make the offer?” asked Lock.
“Excellent question. I can’t say for certain but as a businessman I can speculate,” said Mr. Everbright.
“What’s spectate?” asked Lock.
“Not spectate, speculate. It means I can guess. But he real question is’ why offer to help anyone before they’ve even attempted the challenges? Simply put, it’s an investment in his people. He gets to keep some of the best as his retainers. Plus, even those that are released from his service have been properly trained. At the end of the day, his people become more productive,” said Everbright.
“His people,” said Lock.
“That’s right, his people are the greatest resource he has and from what I’ve seen he helps as many of us as he can,” said Mr. Everbright.
“Does that include getting you this booth?” asked Lock.
“It does. Lord Stanwick pulled a few strings with the Santi’s,” answered Everbright.
“What’s your point? That I should accept Stanwick’s offer?” asked Lock.
“Not at all,” said Everbright, “My only intention is to help you understand his mindset. I don’t know Lord Stanley or Stanford but I approve of Stanwick’s approach to business.”
“I don’t know politics or business. But my gut tells me not to get in bed with him,” said Lock.
“The instincts of a true entrepreneur,” said Everbright, “I’m sure you’ve had enough serious talk, so how about a more entertaining topic. How did you do on the challenges?”
Lock took a long pull form his beer until his mug was empty, “I know I got 778 points on Thread the Needle and a solid time on the Endless Hourglass. Breaker’s tower, I’m not really sure to be honest.”
“Sounds like you’ve got nothing to worry about. My son scored 1034 with a time of 11.6 seconds and received respectable offers from four out of the five minor lords,” said Mr. Everbright with a tinge of pride in his voice.
“Good to know, I have no idea what a good score or time looks like,” said Lock.
“Times can be all over the place but generally if you hit it with your first or second shot you did well. Scores vary; anything below 500 is seen as poor. Around 1000 is pretty average. The noble families and their retainers will probably have scores between 1000 and 1500. Above that is exceptional. Usually the Santi’s and a few children of their retainers will score that high. Alexis Auditore was one of the highest last year, 1613 if my memory’s right.”
“The Santi’s actually attempt the challenges?” asked Lock.
“Of course, for the Santi’s the challenges are more about reminding everyone why they are the ruling family,” said Everbright.
“In other words, a chance to flex their muscles,” said Lock.
“Yes, but also to reassure everyone that they can still keep them safe,” said Everbright.
Lock opened his mouth to say something then stopped.
Everbright had a way of seeing the positive side of the situation. Perhaps he saw the negative side of things too and chose not to focus on it. Regardless, there was no reason to point out that the only people at the festival without a Blessing were children. Commoners were too poor to buy anything and as Lock experienced at the gate; not allowed entrance. There was also no point in telling him that Lord Stanwick’s generosity was limited to families that had a Blessing. And there was absolutely nothing to gain by telling him that the way Lord Stanwick ‘pulled some strings’ was to get the Everbright’s a booth five steps away from a shithouse.
For Everbright Lock’s gut instinct was a trait to be admired because he thought it was a spur of the moment thing. The truth was it came from a life of seeing how Stanwick treated ‘his people’. The privileged and the poor.
All of a sudden Lock had gone from being the ignored to being valuable. He understood what it took to become worthy of Lord Stanwick’s generosity. Being worthy felt great but it did not erase the sixteen years that he and his father were one step away from living on the street. Stanwick didn’t help them then, so why should he accept his help now?
Because without help he was stuck.
Because without help he would forever be the one trick pony that puked every time he performed.
Then the question was, if not Stanwick who’s help would he accept?
Certainly not Lord Stanford. After his run in with the Stanford brothers, he’d never make an offer.
But Lord Stanley, or the Deluca’s, the DeCarlo’s? What about the Di’Santi’s or the even the Santi’s? They could be even worse than Lord Stanwick. Then again if a family that powerful made him an offer, was it smart to turn them down.
“Whatever their reasons, I hear they put on a good show at this afternoon’s tournament,” said Lock.
“Oh yeah, Lord Santi’s eldest son is among the duelists. He�
��s still young but my money says he ends up winning it,” said Everbright.
Before Lock could answer Clare bounced into the Everbright booth, “I’ll take that bet.”
“Hey Clare,” said Lock as gave a little wave with his empty mug.
“Who’s your money on Clare-bear?” asked Mr. Everbright.
“Would you stop calling me that, I’m not five ya know,” said Clare.
“As soon as you stop being my little girl,” replied Mr. Everbright.
“Meaning never,” said Clare as she slouched over one of the kegs.
“Why not bet on it,” suggested Lock.
Clare bounced back to her feet, “Yeah dad, why not bet on it?”
“That depends, who’s your money on?” asked Mr. Everbright.
“Gwen Rios, she’ll wipe the floor with Liam any day,” said Clare.
Clare’s friend Shela walked into the booth carrying a stack of sandwiches wrapped in sheets of grease-stained paper, “Considering she’s his retainer, I bet she lets him win.”
“Nonsense,” said Clare as she snatched a sandwich out of Shela’s hands.
“Winning by default, is still a win,” said Mr. Everbright, “You’re on Clare-bear. If Gwen Rios wins then I’ll consider you all grown up.”
Clare started to hand her dad one of Shela’s sandwiches then pulled it back, “You mean if Liam Santi loses.”
“Same thing, the only other contender is Damien Castle and there’s no way he’ll beat either of them,” said Everbright then with a surprising bit of athleticism he leaned on the counter and snatched the sandwich out of Clare’s hand.
Clare frowned at her dad then turned to Lock, “How about you, where’s your money?”
Lock put his hands up, “In my pocket, where I like it. Besides, I don’t know any of the duelist.”
Shela tossed a sandwich at Lock’s chest, “Then let’s go watch some of the duels.”
Clare barked out a laugh, “So you can drool over Damien.”
“I’ll be too busy making sure you don’t lose all your money,” replied Shela.
As Lock tore into his sandwich the two girls continued to banter like they’d known each other all their lives. They probably had, but instead of it making him feel like the odd man out, it helped him relax. That or it was the food.
Either way it was exactly what he needed after the stressful morning of challenges. His mind turned to the tournament, what better way to learn the potential of his own Blessing than to watch two people pummel each other.
The only duels he’d seen were at Bruno’s and all of the fighters there didn’t have Blessings, but the core of the duels should be the same.
Chapter 6:
It took only one duel for Lock to realize he was completely wrong. First thing being the rules. At Bruno’s if fight’s had rules, it was like one out of a thousand. The rest of the time they were a fight where you tried to beat the other guy into submission as fast as possible. In reality that meant it was a test to see who the better swordsman was. But just as often that meant snapping a finger or twisting an arm until they tapped out. Occasionally, it meant breaking a leg or knocking someone unconscious but most of the time nobody died. Still death was a very real possibility.
Bottom line, at Bruno’s duels were brutal, where the toughest son of a bitch pummeled his opponent until he was declared the victor.
Here, duels were civilized. For one, duelist didn’t use their fists, or even try to get close. They kept their distance. They fired blasts of mana. And when one of them connected or someone ran out of mana, they forfeit. It seemed almost silly that someone would admit defeat so easily.
That said there was only one thing that was similar; duels ended fast. It was why his father was undefeated at Bruno’s. He could knock the wind out of someone and put them on their ass before anyone knew what happen. Granted these duels were more of a quick draw competition than a stand up fight, but the deciding factor was the same. Speed.
That was unless you counted Gwen Rios. Her tactic was the complete opposite of speed, and Lock immediately saw why Clare liked her. She was tall, blond and had an infectiously sunny disposition. A little like Clare, minus the sunny disposition. Probably why she looked up to Gwen in the first place. Regardless, Gwen was not the fastest. Not by a long shot but she was fast enough. Instead of being fast she won her duels by using overwhelming force. Which was yet another trait that Clare looked up to, and coincidentally possessed.
In most of her duels she fired a single massive orb of golden mana. It knocked her opponents attack out of the air and slammed into them with enough force to throw them completely out of the ring.
“What do you think of the duels now?” asked Clare with a vicious smile.
“They’re certainly flashier than I expected,” said Lock.
Shela nudged Lock’s arm, “So who do you think’s going to win?”
“What was the tan guy’s name? Val Un’deer?” asked Lock.
“Val’n Daré, really? All he did was stand there, he never even fired a shot,” said Clare.
“He didn’t have to,” said Lock.
Plus he moves like a professional.
“That might work here. In the main arena there’s more room to evade and throw around mana. He won’t make it past the first round,” said Clare.
“You’ll see,” said Lock.
Shela nudged Lock’s elbow again, “Confident enough to bet on it?”
“I’m confident but I won’t risk my wallet for a bit of fun,” said Lock as he swatted her in the leg.
“There are other ways to have fun,” said Shela.
Lock glanced at Shela, and raised a finger toward the next duel, “Like watching some duels,” While his hand was still raised Clare jabbed Lock in the side, “Gah, what?”
As he turned to defend himself in case Clare decided to continue her assault. That’s when it dawned on him that he was sitting between two women. Which may not have been a smart decision.
Clare just glared at him and flicked her eyes to the side, “I’m going to check if the scores have been posted yet. I’ll be back.”
“Screw that, I need to check my score too,” blurted Lock before he realized that it was the wrong thing to say.
Thankfully, Shela jumped up and saved him before Clare got homicidal, “Yeah, we’ll come with you.”
Clare rolled her eyes and turned her back as she stood up, “Fine.”
With a little shove from Shela, Lock got up and hurried to catch up with Clare. If there was one thing that stunk about growing up with his dad, it was that he had never spent much time around women. Well he knew girls, he’d flirted with plenty growing up. But being friends with a girl was a totally different story. That was a test of patience and understanding to an extent that he could hardly hand it.
Now that he was trapped with two of them, he learned that he had to be mindful of every single word. It seemed like the smallest things could make them laugh, cry or want to kill him. That or they were intentionally screwing with him. Either way, he kept his mouth shut the entire walk to the main arena.
“Nervous about your score?” asked Shela.
Lock paused to consider what to say, “Yes. A patron is the only way I’ll be able to go to Waystar and I’d rather not accept Stanwick’s offer.”
“I hope I got over 700. My score on the tower wasn’t so great,” said Shela.
Lock was about to give Shela a reassuring pat on the back then reconsidered, “I might have done the same. The tower was messed up.”
“It wasn’t messed you dolt,” said Clare as she pointed at the board in front of the main arena, “It’s just old.”
“Then why’d I have a negative score,” argued Lock as he pushed his way up to the board. Sure enough right next to his name there was a time and three numbers and the first one was negative. 0.6 seconds, -511, 778. Total 665.
“And how the hell is my score 665, that isn’t even correct math,” said Lock.
“Yeah th
at’s weird, but don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll have someone fix it,” said Clare as she continued to scan the board, “Yes! My brother is going to be so pissed.”
“Huh?” asked Lock still confused by what he was reading next to his name.
“11.2 seconds on the Endless Hourglass, 220 on Thread the Needle, and 942 on Breaker’s Tower. That equals 1,162. In other words, I’m faster and better than my brother,” said Clare with a satisfied smile.
Lock reread his scores, ‘0.6 seconds, -511, 778.’ then tried to calculate his real total score and failed. Where was Lucas when he needed him?
That’s right, he disappeared because you did something to insult him.
“How do I calculate the total?” asked Lock.
“267, but if you take away the negative it should be 1289,” said Clare.
“Really?! Mother fucker,” cursed Lock as he felt panic start to set in, he could have done abysmal or amazing “What about the time? How do I convert that to points?”
“You don’t. The time is just a time,” said Clare.
“I thought you got points for being fast enough,” said Lock.
Clare pursed her lips, “I’ve never heard that.”
“Then I got fucked. What am I going to do?” asked Lock to himself then he started scanning the board to get sense for the other scores. A good two thirds of the individual scores were between eight-hundred and one thousand. By scoring under seven hundred he was part of the bottom ten percent of initiates.
Panic shifted to dread and a knot of tension started to bunch in his stomach. He failed. Now what? That question ate at him as he shuffled behind Clare and Shela while searched for seats. Knowing them they tried to get as close to the front as possible. For two cute young girls they were surprisingly good at muscling their way through the crowd. Not once did Lock need to use his muscle to push through the crowd.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll fix it,” said Clare in an attempt to snap Lock out of his daze.
Shela squeezed his arme in what was presumably the female version of a supportive pat on the back, “Yeah they’ll fix it.”
The Whetstone Fist 2 Page 4