Rise of the Grandmaster

by Bradford Bates

  Jepsom moved to his desk and started to write a letter to his contact at the city guard while he waited for that idiot, Dunstin, to return with the half-breed.

  Malvonis entered the chamber with his head held high.

  Jepsom hated him for that simple act of defiance. This was his chamber, and anyone entering it should bow their heads as a show of respect. He looked at the half-orc from where he was sitting at his desk on the dais above him. The fucker would learn to respect him, or he’d hire someone to remove the half-breed from the equation.

  Although, maybe he needed more men with backbones. Too many of his followers just rolled over and exposed their bellies at the sight of him. If you couldn’t trust a man to stand up for himself, how could you ever trust him to stand up for you?

  If getting out of this mess meant giving the half-breed more leeway than he was comfortable with, so fucking be it. Maybe Jepsom’s curse didn’t have to be that he was surrounded by those with weak minds and even weaker hearts. How was he supposed to build an empire when the servants the goddess provided him weren’t up to the task?

  All of the goddess’ servants had crosses to bear. It mattered not that his was heavier than most.

  It was too bad his personal burden saddled him with worthless supplicants. Maybe once he took the temple from that blithering idiot Paul, he could find some worthy men to stand before the people and spread his message. It was high time the priests of the temple were recognized as better than the common man.

  Who else could heal the masses?

  Who else could bring them into the goddess’ warm embrace?

  There was no one more dedicated to the success and grandeur of the temple than Jepsom. He wanted the goddess’ house to shine above all others. The high priest should have power that rivaled the crown’s. Who else could the crown call on when its army marched to war? Without him and the healers he commanded, there might not even be a Promethia standing here today.

  But there was no way he could rule a kingdom if he couldn’t get the simplest of tasks accomplished.

  “Tell me you’ve found the assassin,” Jepsom sneered.

  Malvonis met the cardinal’s eyes. “All I can confirm so far is that it wasn’t someone local.”

  Why was he surrounded by halfwits? “How do I know you’re not just taking my gold and spending it all on cheap beer and whores?” Cardinal Jepsom put down the document he was reading and focused his full attention on the half-orc.

  Malvonis plucked a small leather pouch from his belt. He tossed it casually on the desk, where it landed with a wet thump. “Because I’ve taken the left thumb of every would-be assassin in Promethia. None of them took credit for the deed.”

  The half-orc motioned to the sack. “Trust me when I say none of these men were lying.”

  “So the thumbs of some peasants are supposed to make me feel better? If all I wanted was to feel good, I’d go to The Tart for a blowie, or maybe I’d visit your mother.” The cardinal picked up the leather pouch and threw it on the ground. “What I wanted were results.”

  “Do you think I wanted to come here with nothing?” Malvonis growled. “Do you know how many men I killed to stand here today? Of course, you don’t.” He turned away from the cardinal, upset with himself for losing his cool.

  Malvonis slipped a mask of composure over his face as he turned to face a fuming Jepsom. “The killer isn’t in the city, and if he is, no one’s ever heard of him.”

  The cardinal’s hand came down on his desk hard enough to crack the thick mahogany surface. “Not good enough.” Goddess save him, he was surrounded by worthless assholes.

  Jepsom sneered at the abomination but decided to turn a negative into a positive. “If you can’t handle the task I’ve given you, maybe there is something else you can do for me.”

  As much as it pained him to do so, Malvonis lowered his head in submission. “Tell me what you need done.”

  “There is a man in the slums healing the peasants for less than what the temple charges. While I’d prefer for him to simply disappear, that would raise too many questions. I’d like you to visit with him and impress upon him the severity of this matter.” Jepsom smiled. “Forcefully, if possible.”

  The cardinal’s eyes danced with excitement. “But not dead. At least, not yet.”

  Malvonis smiled at himself. This was a job he knew he could handle. It would be worth doing just to keep the cardinal off his back. “And where can I find this healer?”

  “Some closed-down inn called the Blue Dagger.” Jepsom sniggered. “Have you ever heard of such an absurd name?”

  Malvonis shook his head. Thankfully Jepsom seemed to take his movement as acquiescence and didn’t notice how badly the words shook him. “I’ll track him down and deal with the situation as you’ve asked. Anything else I should know before I nip your little problem in the bud?”

  Jepsom leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers while he considered how much he should tell the half-breed. “I’ve dealt with one upstart in the slums already. If the rumors can be believed, this might be the same man. No one makes a fool out of me and lives long enough to do it again, especially not some entrepreneur too poor to find a decent place to live.”

  The cardinal moved away from his desk and down the steps to face Malvonis. He stared into the creature’s almost human eyes. “Find this man, and you might find the answer to your assassin problem.”

  Malvonis tried to keep the shock from registering on his face. The kid he’d sold the inn to was a healer, but could he also be an assassin? It didn’t make a lot of sense, but he was used to people not being what they looked like on the surface. He’d promised Tim he’d stay away from the inn, but it wasn’t like the cardinal would take no for an answer.

  “I’ll find him and impress upon him the seriousness of his situation.” Malvonis’ hand rested on the hilt of his dagger. “I’m sure after our little talk, you won’t have any further issues.”

  “I hope not.” Jepsom turned away from the vile creature and walked back up the steps to his desk. “The last place you want to end up is on my shit list. I might not be able to track down this assassin, but I know exactly where to find you.”

  Malvonis grinned at the cardinal and refused to be cowed. “When that day comes, don’t expect me to roll over and take it.” Without waiting for a response, the half-orc spun on his heel and left the room.

  Jepsom watched him leave, wondering if Paul had to deal with as many insufferable people as he did? Why was it that when you truly needed something done, there was never enough time? Events had clearly spiraled out of his control, but all it would take to get things on track were a few minor course corrections. It wouldn’t be long until he was back on top with the station of high priest firmly in his grasp.

  If this healer in the slums was truly an enemy of the temple, he’d have no choice but to use his influence to make sure the man disappeared. There wouldn’t be a public trial, but he would be convicted of crimes against the temple and thrown into the city’s dungeon. Problem solved, and all it cost him was a little extra gold.

  Thankfully gold was the one thing Jepsom wasn’t in short supply of.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  “Chug it. Chug it. Chug it,” ShadowLily shouted with the rest of the bar.

  Cassie finished the beer and slammed down the mug. “That’s ten, bitches.” She smiled blearily at ShadowLily as she tried to stand up. Her feet got tangled with something and she crashed to the ground.

  “Who tripped me?” Cassie slurred as she looked around the room. “And why is everything all spinny?”

  ShadowLily crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her friend. “I told you I’d be pissed if your class change quest involved beer.”

  “Don’t be a hater. I’m your bestie.” Cassie climbed to her feet, swaying from side to side. “It’s not my fault my class has a cooler quest than yours.”

  ShadowLily put an arm around Cassie’s shoulder and steered her toward the do
or. “So what’s next on the list, killer?”

  Cassie leaned against her best friend for support. Her eyes went blank as she pulled up her user interface and tried to focus on the text.

  Taking One For The Team:

  Now that you’ve made sure your team is safe by drinking all the beer in sight, it’s time for you to earn your keep. Head to the Rusty Spoon and sign up for the first available fight. It’s time to put your tankiness to the test.

  Enter the ring and take the first three hits before fighting back.

  Cassie grinned at her friend. Why was ShadowLily so tall? “I’ve got to go to this place and get punched.” She shared the location of the Rusty Spoon. “But I’m going to need some help getting there.”

  “Your quest doesn’t sound nearly as fun now.” The rogue smirked at her friend. “Let’s get your ass-beating out of the way so we can call it a night.”

  “One more beer, Garson!” Cassie roared. “If I’m going to get beat up, I need my pain medication.”

  ShadowLily took the beer from the bartender and handed it to her friend. “Are you sure about this? I’m guessing they won’t let you into the ring if you can’t stand up.”

  The little tank sucked down half the beer, tossed a silver coin on the counter, and headed toward the door. She made it exactly four steps before falling flat on her face.

  “Sumofabitch, motherroofer,” Cassie slurred as she pushed herself up.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” ShadowLily picked up her friend and half-carried, half-dragged her to the door.

  The cool sea air hit Cassie in the face like a punch. The pungent odor almost made her puke, but the cold breeze helped more than the smell hurt. Why did you always get so hot when you were drinking? She wished she could walk by herself, but the beer and her spinning vision made standing on her own an impossibility. ShadowLily might have been carrying her now, but by the time they got to the Rusty Spoon, she’d be ready to fight.

  Not a rewarding quest for her best friend, but at least they didn’t have to deal with slimy fish guts again.

  The twenty-minute walk took them twice as long as it should have. Cassie’s head was throbbing, and while her balance was coming back, she was now dealing with a rebellious stomach. What she really needed to get through this was another beer.

  That was the problem with drinking. Once you’d gone too far down that particular rabbit hole, the only way out was to keep consuming more and keep the pain at bay by staying loose. Unfortunately, even in her groggy state, Cassie knew payback for tonight’s shenanigans was going to be a real bitch.

  She didn’t have days to nurse a hangover. All Cassie had was right now. If that meant drinking a few more beers so she didn’t pass out and have to try this again tomorrow, so be it. Just one more drink was all she needed. Anything was possible.

  The Rusty Spoon came into view, and even with her blurry eyes, Cassie could tell the place was a dive. The building had a rusted brown exterior, but she had no idea where they got the spoon part. Frankly, the fucking place sounded more like a restaurant down by the harbor than an underground fight club.

  ShadowLily held open the door for her. Cassie was just as disappointed by the inside as she had been by the outside. A few tables were scattered across the open space in front of her. There was a bar at the back with a lonely bartender holding down the fort.

  The bartender had a mustache. She fucking hated mustaches. People always seemed to think they looked better with them, but only a few men could pull them off. Tom Selleck and Burt Reynolds might have worn lip fuzz well, but most people just ended up looking like Joaquin Phoenix.

  Never be Joaquin with a mustache.

  Cassie sidled up to the bar and wondered where she was supposed to find someone to fight. “Yo, ‘stash, give me a beer.”

  ShadowLily held up a finger. “Make that two. I’m going to need one if we are hanging out here.”

  The bartender glared at them. “We’re all outta beer.”

  “What kind of shitty bar is this anyway?” Cassie groused. “I’m supposed to come here for a fight, and not only is there no one to hit, but I can’t get a fucking beer.”

  Mr. Stash’s look softened. “So, you’re looking to get a little rough and tumble?”

  Cassie slapped her hand on the counter. “From the looks of it, the last time this place got rough and tumbled was when the goddess still walked this plane.”

  “Looks aren’t everything,” the barman smiled. “But if you are looking for a fight, you’re in the right place.” He reached under the bar and pulled something out.

  A section of the floor slid to the side, and the noise of a thousand screaming voices poured out of the opening. The echo of flesh hitting flesh could be heard over the crowd. Someone down there was getting the crap kicked out of them. Cassie peered into the space, but all she saw were stairs.

  “Stairs.” She shook her fist like a cop in a black and white movie when their nemesis got away. “I’m in no condition to handle the stairs.” Cassie gave ShadowLily a pleading look. “Maybe we should just go home.”

  “And have to do this all over again tomorrow?” The newly minted rogue wrapped an arm around Cassie’s waist and dragged her toward the opening. “I don’t fucking think so.”

  “Fine.” Cassie shoved her off. “I can do it myself.”

  The stairs seemed to swim before her. Moving fucking steps make everything so much harder. She took them slowly, pausing on the first step until her vision cleared enough to take the next. Finally, her feet touched the bottom, and Cassie looked around to see what kind of trouble she’d just gotten into.

  There was a giant ring painted in a washed-out rust color in the center of the room. The walls of the ring were just over waist-high on a man. Not high enough to keep you in if you had a mind to run away, but high enough that if you got hit, you wouldn’t flop out into the crowd.

  Women in shimmering silver dresses were bringing drinks to the crowd, and men with numbers stuck onto the brims of their hats were taking bets. It didn’t take her long to figure out where to sign up for a fight. There was a big sign hanging in the corner with an arrow that pointed down toward a tiny desk.

  Only a couple people bitched when Cassie bumped into them. For the most part, she just received sour stares and a few unhelpful shoves. Ignoring the haters, she continued pushing her way through the crowd. All of them were just jealous she was about to make one of their fighters her bitch. Anyone who thought they could stop her could fuck right the fuck off.

  Cassie swayed just a bit as she approached the counter. She didn’t think this was the kind of place that cared if you were drunk or not, but she tried to keep from listing to the side as she stood there.

  “I’d like to sign up for the first available fight.” Her eyes didn’t want to focus, but she could worry about that when she was in the ring.

  The man behind the counter tipped his cap back so he could get a better look at her. “Are you sure? The next guy up is a real bruiser.”

  “Just put my name down in your little book.” She turned to ShadowLily and gave her a look that said what in the fuck, I thought I was pretty clear.

  “It’s your face, darling,” the man muttered as he scrawled something on the paper.

  “It might be your face if you call me darling again,” Cassie snapped. “Now, where can I get a beer?”

  “Better drink it quick. You’re up next.” He pointed past him toward a bar at the back of the room. “Good luck.”

  Cassie pushed her way through the crowd toward the bar. When she reached the counter, she slapped her hand on it. “I need a beer, and I don’t have a lot of time.”

  A girl in some kind of sparkly crop top set a beer down in front of her. “That will be a silver, honey.”

  She tossed the coin on the bar and took a sip from her beer. “What’s with all the cutesy nicknames?”

  ShadowLily grinned. “Just wait till you see what they called you on the betting board.” She poked h
er friend in the ribs. “Half-pint.”

  “Fuck, no one wants a half a pint of anything,” Cassie grumbled as she glared across the room at the man who took down her name.

  “With ten to one odds against you, I’ll clean up if you win.” ShadowLily showed Cassie her betting sheet. “I put a gold on you. Don’t let me down.”

  “You do realize I have to let the guy hit me three times before I can even fight back, right?” Cassie smiled as she waved down one of the men taking bets and put a gold on herself. Hopefully, betting on your own fight wasn’t frowned upon.

  “I thought all the extra beer was so you wouldn’t feel a thing.” ShadowLily tipped her friend’s cup back to her lips. “Drink up.”

  “Maybe I can win if I just throw up on him?” Cassie giggled and then let out a huge belch.

  ShadowLily wrapped an arm around the tiny tank’s shoulders and moved them toward the ring. “How about a little less throwing up and a little more kicking ass? You’re out there representing the guild. Let’s make sure you get a win.”

  That was the thing with joining a guild; you couldn’t be a dick to anyone because your actions reflected on the entire guild. Not that she wanted to be mean to people, but sometimes you just wanted to talk shit. Shit-talk built fucking character.

  Cassie smiled as the man at the side of the ring motioned for her to enter. There hadn’t ever been a good fight that didn’t have a little trash talk to start. People are still quoting Ali. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” It was one of the greatest sports quotes of all time, mostly because he backed it up.

  That was the thing with trash talk; it only worked if you could also walk the walk.

  She wasn’t too worried. The fighters leaving the ring as she entered didn’t look very tough. They were about Tim’s size, and Cassie was pretty sure she could take their fearless leader out without breaking a sweat. All she had to do was take three hits, and then she could let loose. The beer should help diminish the pain she’d feel tonight, but she’d be sore as hell tomorrow.