Rise of the Grandmaster

by Bradford Bates

  All of the pieces were falling into place. Ernie didn’t want to work for the boss, but he was terrified of him. “How did Gaston get roped into all of this?” Tim watched Ernie’s face.

  The innkeeper looked up. His cheeks were still wet from crying. Tim could tell how heavily what had happened weighed on him. It was the kind of burden some men couldn’t take, but Ernie still found a way to get up every morning. “I was the leader of our guild and owned the inn. Gaston worked for me, so it was a package deal.”

  “So now you’re forced to work for this boss?” Tim hated the idea of being forced to do anything. “Or what, he kicks you out of the inn?”

  “Or kills us,” Ernie whispered.

  Tim had problems envisioning a man so powerful that he could kill Gaston. He moved like water. If Tim were up against the assassin on his best day and Gaston’s worst, he wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to hit him. If the boss was powerful enough to have Gaston worried, maybe violence wasn’t the way out of this issue.

  “Fuck, Ernie! How bad are you at dice?” Tim didn’t mean to shame the man further. He knew that for all addicts, there was a rock-bottom. What you did after hitting the bottom was what defined the rest of your life.

  Tim was pretty familiar with all kinds of addictions. One of his guilty pleasures was watching the show Intervention. Part of the pull was that it showed you how much people could hide from themselves. It reminded him to take stock of his actions before making any big changes.

  The same thing went for hoarders. It completely grossed him out, and yet he was somehow oddly fascinated by the process. Listening to them talk about things and why they were important to them, even unopened appliances, blew his mind. It also made him go through all his stuff on a regular basis and donate whatever he wasn’t using to the local Goodwill store.

  If you haven’t worn a shirt in a year, will you really wear it again?

  But if there were ever two things that shouldn’t be done together, it was drinking and gambling. Sure, the two went hand in hand, but there is a reason the casino gives you free drinks, and it’s not because drinking helps you make the best decisions. Tim had never met a drunk person, himself included, who didn’t think that they were better at everything after a few cocktails.

  But Vegas was built on the myth, the hype. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. At least until that paternity suit gets served at your house and you get divorced. Could you go to Vegas, drink your ass off, and have a little fun at the tables? You could, but you had to have a hard out.

  And the fortitude to stick with it.

  Tim never did anything without a plan, and gambling was no different. He always set a budget for losing and a hard out for winning. The last time he’d gone to Vegas, he’d brought a hundred bucks to play five-dollar blackjack. Lose the hundred, and he was done. Triple it, and he’d get up and walk out. In the end, he’d doubled it and then blown every last cent on fourteen-dollar Coronas in the casino’s bar. The house won every time, but it was a night he wouldn’t forget.

  And you can’t put a price on memories.

  Ernie managed a weak smile. “I’m actually pretty good at dice.” His face fell as he thought about where his confidence landed him. “As it turns out, I’m a shit drinker, though.”

  Tim laughed and clapped the innkeeper on the shoulder. If you could still joke about your mistakes, there was a chance you could conqueror them. Humans have this notion that people should never make mistakes, that they should be perfect.

  Chill the fuck out, people. Not everything is end-times extinction event stuff.

  Losing the inn and landing yourself and your friends in indentured servitude was pretty bad, but there had to be a way to fix it. Tim looked around the empty common room and imagined it full of people drinking and laughing. The streets outside were cobbled, and the rainwater was harvested for plants and profit. It was a nice dream, but all of it centered on the inn.

  “How much do you owe him, Ernie?” Tim hoped it wasn’t everything he had. There was no way he could risk all his gold to get this place back. Now that he knew exactly what was on the line and what the innkeeper had been hiding, Tim felt better about the situation. Ernie’s honesty already bought him Tim’s help, but there might be more he could do.

  “Fifty gold.” Ernie hung his head, sobs shaking his chest. “It’s more than this place would make in three years.” Ernie looked around the empty common room. “Back when we had customers.”

  Fifty gold was a debt Tim could cover. If he could get control of the inn, he could start working on the rest of his plan. It was risky, and Ernie might hate having him as a boss worse than the one he had now, but it could work.

  Not that Tim wanted to keep the inn forever.

  If Ernie could stay away from the dice, they could work out a plan for repayment. Once Ernie paid off the debt, Tim would hand the deed back to him. The last thing he wanted to do was screw someone he considered a friend out of his life’s work. Ernie would get his inn back, and things might start to feel a little more normal around here.

  Plus, was there any better feeling than helping someone help themselves?

  Everyone needed a helping hand at some point. Asking for help was humbling, or at least Tim had always thought so, but you couldn’t solo your way through life. Everyone successful had people around them contributing to what they did on a daily basis, even if it was just with the little things so they could focus on the big picture stuff.

  Tim always appreciated it when opportunity wasn’t just handed to him. He liked to prove his worth, to put the work in, and he loved it when he was pushed to do a great job. When you did things right and put in the effort, the results would always be worth it.

  Just like the look on Ernie’s face would be when Tim placed the deed to the inn back in his hands.

  Ernie shook his head. “Malvonis won’t just want what he was owed originally.” He leaned back in his chair and released a weary sigh. “There will be interest, and he’ll still want whatever’s in the dungeon.”

  The innkeeper’s shoulders slumped. “And we can’t even make it to the fucking entrance.”

  “I see you’ve introduced our guest to the company.” Gaston kicked one of the kobolds in the side before sitting at the table. “And your incredibly tight lips seemed to have parted considerably in my absence.”

  “The kobolds are out of the bag.” Ernie snickered.

  “I wish we could put them back in.” Gaston looked at Tim. “Any bright ideas?”

  “Hey, man, I just found out about all of this.” Tim held out his palms facing Gaston. “Before we can do anything, I think I’m going to have to meet with this boss of yours.”

  Tim shifted his gaze from one man to the other, sensing their hesitation. “Come on, guys, it can’t be that bad.”

  Gaston’s eyes locked onto Tim’s like a falcon’s circling its prey from above. “Just remember, whatever deal you make, you have to be able to honor it. Otherwise, Malvonis will put you on the board, and every assassin in Promethia will be hunting you.”

  Being hunted by endless streams of assassins didn’t sound fun. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Tim gulped. “But I’d still like to meet him.”

  “Don’t go sticking your neck out for me, kid.” Ernie looked into Gaston's eyes, pleading for help. When it didn’t come right away, he continued, “There’s no reason for you to go down with the ship. Get out while you can.”

  The burley assassin shifted uncomfortably under Ernie’s gaze. “Maybe it’s for the best that you leave. You don’t want to be here when those things overrun the place.”

  Tim looked at the two men, not believing what he was hearing. “Come on, guys, at least let me try to help.” Tim watched the two men. “I’ve got an idea.”

  “Oh, fuck, now we’re really in trouble.” ShadowLily took a seat at the table next to Tim. “And guys…” She looked at Ernie and Gaston. “When I asked to redecorate the room, adding dead lizard-men to the floor wasn’t the mo
tif I was going for.”

  “It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision.” Tim laughed at the repulsed look on her face. “But we’re open to suggestions.”

  Ernie frowned at the two of them. “You should take this more seriously. People are going to die.”

  Tim met Ernie’s eyes. “An idea can turn into a plan pretty quickly.”

  “Food turns to shit pretty quickly,” Ernie snapped back.

  “Your idea better turn into a plan in the next few seconds.” Gaston looked toward the front door.

  “Trust me. It’s going to be fucking epic.” Tim said sagely.

  He might have been overstating things a bit. So far, he’d only decided to talk with Malvonis and help Ernie and Gaston stop the kobolds from overrunning the slums, but if they could get to the dungeon and defeat it, he might be able to accomplish even more. The framework was starting to come together, even if the details were all a little hazy. Still, he felt almost as if something else were guiding him, like the goddess was telling him to roll the dice.

  Bet Ernie used to tell himself the same thing.

  It was a sobering thought, but sometimes you had to take a risk. Tim had the money. Even at a hundred gold, he could afford to buy the place. But Tim had the feeling the gold wouldn’t be enough, and Malvonis would still want whatever was in the dungeon. While Tim was sure they could find a way to the entrance, he wasn’t so sure they could win.

  Maybe ShadowLily had someone on her friend's list that could help. Preferably someone who liked to carry a big-ass shield and hurl taunts at anything that tried to kill the rest of them.

  Yes, things were starting to come together, and his idea was starting to gain some traction.

  Now Ernie was also looking at the door. “You wanted to meet the boss.”

  Something hit the inn’s front door so hard it rattled in its frame.

  Gaston stood up and headed toward the door. “Here he is.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Jepsom hated the sight of the man in front of him, but not nearly as much as the smell.

  All great men were burdened with such problems. Why should he, the cardinal of the Goddess Eternia, be any different? Making the sign of the goddess over his chest, he mumbled a quick prayer and a request. “Bless me as I walk within your light.”

  He looked at Juan Pablo, who was kneeling before him. The man was a brute and a savage, but even the wicked had a purpose in this world. How could the righteous exist without the flames of anarchy driving the people into their loving embrace?

  This man was a tool, nothing more, yet every tool had a purpose.

  “Our loss at the docks was a heavy one.” Jepsom sneered at the man.

  Juan Pablo kept his head bowed. “Yes.”

  “With Don Diego dead, that loss falls on your shoulders.” Jepsom circled the kneeling man. “And correct me if I am mistaken, but you are not a man of wealth, correct?”

  Juan Pablo seemed to sink even lower. “You are not mistaken.”

  “Then tell me how you plan to make this right.”

  “I am but a soldier for you to command.” Juan Pablo knelt until his forehead was touching the ground. “Use me as you wish.”

  It was nice when the cattle knew their place. It made things so much easier. Not to mention, this smelly oaf had eliminated their biggest problem. With Paul’s champion returned to the light, the time was finally right for him to make his move. There was only one thing Jepsom needed to do first.

  I just have to get rid of that bitch and her followers.

  Thankfully, the goddess had supplied him with just the tool for the job. “There is something you can do for me.” Jepsom smiled cruelly at the man’s head, thinking about how easy it would be to stomp it into the tiled floor. Maybe he should just kill him now. The man was more of a loose end than a warrior of light. “Maybe even more than one.”

  “My blade is yours to command.”

  Of course, it is.

  “Next time you come here, I expect you to smell better.” He launched a kick at Juan Pablo’s ribs. His foot thudded into his side, flipping the man onto his back. He quickly flopped himself back over, scurried to his original spot, and placed his head against the floor.

  That was very good.

  “Lose the orange sash and get some new clothes, something befitting a servant of the Goddess Eternia.” He thought about kicking him again, but he was pretty sure the man understood his point.

  “Once you don’t smell like you spent the night rolling in horse shit and are properly attired, there is a task I need you to carry out.” A cruel smile lit Jepsom’s face. It held all the malice of a blood moon, and blood was exactly what he was after. “A certain lady has overstepped herself, and I need her knocked down a few pegs.”

  Juan Pablo kept his forehead against the ground, trying his best to ignore the dull ache in his ribs. “From the goddess’s lips to your mouth, your will is my desire.”

  Reaching inside his robe, Jepsom pulled out a list of names. “Take this and go.”

  Standing, Juan Pablo grabbed the list. He didn’t bother to look at it. Instead, he tucked the scrap of parchment inside his vest as he prepared to leave. “Thank you for your faith in me.”

  “It is Eternia who has faith in you.” Jepsom’s smile grew warmer like when he delivered his sermons to the masses. “Now go and show her that her faith hasn’t been misplaced.”

  The man almost ran out of his chambers. Jepsom’s nose wrinkled. The smell seemed to want to stick around. He moved to a brazier and lit a stick of incense. At least his nostrils wouldn’t have to be assaulted by the smell of unwashed bodies for much longer.

  It seemed as though the Lady had smiled on his ventures. Yes, she took away with one hand, but with the other, she offered new opportunities. Juan Pablo was the perfect scapegoat. If he managed to kill a few of the names on his list before getting himself dispatched, Jepsom would consider the outcome a win.

  “Lady Briarthorn will not be my undoing.” He raised a clenched fist into the air. “I swear it to the goddess that she will be dealt with in a manner most fitting.”

  A cruel chuckle escaped his lips as he locked the door. Turning back toward the room, Jepsom picked up a glass of wine and sipped. All he had to do now was wait for the smug smile the high priest had been wearing at their last meeting to disappear. That was when he’d know his plan was working.

  It wouldn’t be much longer; the path to ascension was open. He could just reach out and take it. Soon, when people looked at him, it would be with respect instead of fear. What else could they do? When Paul was dead, only one man would be strong enough to replace him. Soon he wouldn’t be just Cardinal Jepson, he would be the high priest of the Goddess Eternia.

  Kind of had a nice ring to it.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Malvonis must have been half-giant.

  Tim thought Gaston was big for a thief, but the man walking into the inn had to stoop just so he could make it under the door. He must have been at least seven feet tall, but he wasn’t thin and wiry like a lot of taller men. Malvonis was built like a diesel truck.

  Gaston disappeared completely when the massive thief stepped in front of him to remove his cloak. With a frown, the man formerly known as the biggest thief ever took his boss’s cloak and hung it on the rack before pointing in the direction of the main room where everyone was seated.

  Malvonis shuffled forward, and with every step, the frown on his face grew deeper. His eyes moved to each person in the room as if he were mapping out their positions in case of an attack. Tim watched the man come closer, wondering what kind of mental damage someone must have to even consider getting in the thief’s way.

  The two dead kobolds on the floor claimed Malvonis’ attention. With slow, deliberate steps, he moved toward the two corpses. As the enormous thief stepped into the light, Tim noticed that his bottom incisors were long enough to poke out through his lips, and he knew he’d been wrong about the man’s heritage.

/>   Malvonis wasn’t a giant, he was a halfbreed. From the looks of it, he was half-orc and half-human. Tim wasn’t sure what the man’s orc heritage would do to his stats, but he expected that the half-orc would be stronger than he looked.

  And he looked plenty strong already.

  It wasn’t every day you ran into a half-orc. Tim wasn’t sure until now that halfbreeds even existed in The Etheric Coast, but he’d seen enough pictures of them in other games to know what one looked like. If he had to put money on it, he’d wager that he was staring at the real deal right now.

  Ernie moved around the room lighting the lanterns hanging from the posts. Now that the room was fully lit, you couldn’t miss all the little differences. Outside of the teeth, Malvonis also had a few other abnormalities. His head was wider than a normal man’s. His skin looked tougher and had a green sheen to it. The real kicker was how little his bald head did to hide his pointed ears.

  Ernie finished with the lamps and motioned for Malvonis to take his seat while he went to grab another chair for himself. “I wasn’t expecting you so early,” the innkeeper said, sounding frazzled.

  “Oh, I never like to go to places at the same time. Makes it a little too easy for your enemies to lay traps.” Malvonis sat, and the chair creaked underneath his bulk. “As for this place, I hope to never return.”

  Malvonis frowned, making his tusks jut out even farther. “But until you get me what I need, I’m forced to return time and again.” He looked from Ernie to Tim. “Is it just me, or does it only rain in the slums?”

  “It’s not just you,” Tim replied, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt.

  Calm wasn’t how he felt, though. Ernie dashed about like a mad man attempting to tidy things up as he brewed some tea, and Gaston kept looking at him and making the slit-throat gesture. Tim wasn’t sure if Gaston meant shut the fuck up or if he was implying that he’d be dead soon. Shit, the gesture might even be code for he was about to try to kill Malvonis and wanted help.