Level One God

Massian Rahma was almost precisely as Vitus had described him.

The tomte was grizzled and scarred, with one arm missing halfway through the bicep. His remaining hand looked like something had bitten through it and removed most of his fingers. An eyepatch hung over one eye, which, along with the wavy and curled black hair and beard, the trenchcoat, and the high boots, made him look like a pirate gnome.

Despite the damage to his body and the child-like size of the tomte, Massian still gave off an aura of importance and danger.

[Tomte, Level 45 (Iron)]

"Excuse us," I said.

Massian half turned with one hand on his drink. He was seated at the bar. "Something wrong with your head, boy?"

"Huh?" I said.

He knocked on his head. "You still got your helmet on. Were you planning to attack me, eh?" He got up from his stool, wobbled slightly, then raised his remaining arm and started shadow boxing toward me, nearly falling in the process. "Still want some after seeing that, you oversized bag of flesh?"

The wobble seemed exaggerated. His single eye tracked my movements too steadily for someone supposedly that drunk.

"We were actually here to ask for your help. It's about some friends of ours, and we heard you might be the best person to ask…"

Massian gave us both a quick once-over, his gaze lingering on my helmet longer than comfortable. His shoulders slumped and he nodded. He drained the rest of his drink, spilling two rivulets of amber-colored liquid into his beard as he chugged. He slammed the mug down, wiped his mouth, and set a couple coppers down on the bar.

"Alright. With me, then."

He took us through a doorway covered by a dangling cloth. Just before we passed through, I noticed him make a subtle hand gesture to the bartender. The bartender's eyes flicked to us, then away.

I frowned under my helmet. Whatever that was, I didn't particularly like it.

We followed him around a corner and into a private room that was dark except for a single candle burning on a crooked wood table. I only saw one way out of the room, but hoped I was only being paranoid. Titus seemed trustworthy enough, and he'd sent us to this tomte.

Would he really do that if he was the kind of person to ambush us or rob us?

Once we were all seated, Massian closed his eyes. A filmy bubble of warped air spread from him, extending until it reached the room's edges, encasing us all completely.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Barrier," Massian said. "It'll block sound and such. What?" he asked, grinning slightly. "You thought I was as good at what I do on pure intellect? Nah. My corestone comes with all kinds of goodies perfect for stealth and subterfuge." He leaned forward suddenly, arm slamming on the table and eye widening. "So think twice 'fore you fuckin' cross me, eh?"

He leaned back, smiled as if that had all been a joke, and then raised his palm. "Anyhow. You can speak freely now."

"We're looking for some friends of ours," I said. "Four escaped slaves. Two are human and two are sekmeti."

"Sekmeti?" Massian asked, his eye sharpening with interest. "You're certain?"

"Yeah?" I said. How the hell would I not be? The sekmeti were pretty hard to miss.

He ran his remaining fingers down his beard, lips pursed. "Then I reckon they went missing recently. Elsewise, I would've heard of it. Sekmeti are valuable. Strong workers. Exotic. People like looking at 'em. People like… using 'em." His eye watched me carefully as he spoke, gauging my reaction.

I felt an ugly chill run through me. "How did you get involved in your… line of work, exactly?"

"Used to be a soldier. Saw my fair share of bullshit." He leaned back, and I noticed his remaining hand never strayed far from his hip. "Now, nobody will ever say Massian Rahma doesn't enjoy his own flavor of bullshit from time to time. I'll cheat you at Vice. I'll weasel my way out of debts. I'll even take your woman while you're not lookin'. But slavery?" He hacked up something thick and spat it on the floor with a twist of his mouth. "Fuck that. And fuck 'em who practice it. So tell me what else you got to tell and maybe we can help these friends of yours, eh?"

The words seemed genuine, but something about the way he kept glancing at the door made me uneasy. "Time's wasting," he added.

"We lost track of them three days ago," I said. "We brought them to a tavern while pretending they were our slaves. We planned to meet up after they claimed some reward tokens in their—"

"Reward tokens?" Massian interrupted, his expression shifting. "You took them to the Arcanery? Here in Thrask?"

"Yes…"

His face darkened, but there was something calculating in his expression. "Ah. Well, the naidu here are bought and paid for by the king. There's your problem."

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"What?" I asked. "I thought the naidu were loyal to the dimensional realm or something like that."

"Hah. Sure. Little bastards have an iron-clad code of honor when it comes to accomplishments and all things dimensional. Won't tell you a fucking peep about what they learn from those boxes and accomplishment scrips. But ask them to rat out slaves or the comings and goings of people? Ask them that, and they'll stick their greedy, blue-ass palms out and wait for the bribe. Blueberry-tinted, tiny, creepy little fucks. I'd punt them through one of those portals and roll a turd in behind them if my back wasn't shot."

I tried not to smile. Roll a turd in behind them? What the hell?

"Okay," I said as I tried to connect the dots. "So the naidu would have told slavers where to find them? Is that what you're thinking?"

"That's right. You can probably rule out their original masters, though," Massian said. He pulled out a pocket watch, checked it briefly, then slipped it away. "It would be the king who has the naidu under his thumb, I'd wager. If your friends went missing after visiting the Arcanery, it would mean the king scooped them up with Thraskian slavers. And this time of year, I'd say there's one very likely reason he did that. I'll take a wild guess… Your friends have combat experience, don't they?"

Lyria and I both nodded.

Massian's expression turned grim, but I caught the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "Sorry, boy. I reckon your trail ends here, then. Your friends are as good as dead."

"What? Why?" I asked.

"Rumor is this year's tournament has something strange in mind for the slaves. They've been collecting slaves who know how to fight. Buying them at outrageous prices from masters, kidnapping them, and even shipping in prisoners of war from the outer realms."

"Where do they keep the slaves for the tournament?" I asked. "Couldn't we try to sneak them out? Or could we maybe buy their freedom back?"

"How rich are you? You have something to the tune of two or three hundred gold jingling around in those fancy pants of yours?"

My stomach dropped. "That much?"

"For two sekmeti? You'd be lucky to get that price in normal times. Buying them from the city right now might cost you double that. Your human friends would be more affordable, but I'm assuming you want all of them."

"Shit," I whispered. "What should we do?"

Massian's eye glinted. "Decide if you want to join the crowd and watch their deaths in the tournament or turn away. Those would be your two options." He shifted in his seat, and I heard the faint clink of coins.

"How are you so sure they'll die if they participate?" I asked.

Massian narrowed his eye and tilted his head. "You telling me you've never seen the Thraskian tourney?"

"No," I said.

"Well, it's a fuckin' bloodbath for slaves. Wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

"But they'll at least have a chance, right?"

Massian checked his pocket watch again, and this time I noticed his hand trembling slightly. Not from drink—from nerves, maybe? "Oh, yes. Ask the nobility, and they'll tell you that anybody from the lowest commoner to the highest noble house has an equal chance of winning the tourney. But it's a crock of shit. All all slaves do in the tourney is get slaughtered. Every. Single. Year."

"Could a participant in the tourney try to help them? What would happen if… say, a pair of Aspirants were in the tournament and they tried to help the slaves survive?"

Massian gave me a knowing smile, but his eye kept darting to the door. "Ah. If a pair of Aspirants just happened to want that? Let's say you and your friend here—and, may I say your friend is stunning. If you're not already bumping uglies with Mr. Helmet, here, I would just like to add that my back may be shot, but the other remaining portions of my body work just fine."

Lyria blinked once, twice, and then shook her head. "I've got no interest in finding out which parts of your body work. Why don't we try to stay on topic?"

Massian shrugged. "It was worth a try. Anyway, if you two somehow managed to get selected by the Aspirants to fight in the tourney, you'd have your hands full surviving, first off. And we already established that you don't have enough money to buy your friends' freedom, which means you don't have the money to bribe a team of nobles to take you into their party. Even if you did, you'd probably only buy yourself some time before they backstabbed and betrayed you. Worse, the Aspirants who bribe and fail very often end up dead. The nobles take extra pains to make sure they don't survive to cause problems on the outside."

His eye flicked to the door again.

"Are you expecting someone?" I asked.

"Hm? No. Anyway, it's like I said. Your friends are dead. Even if you wanted to bravely get yourselves killed, maimed, or dishonorably eliminated from the tournament, you'd have next to no chance. The Aspirants are idiots, but they're skilled idiots. Making it high enough in their ranks to get into the tourney is beyond reach for most, and with only a month or so till the game begins, you're already short on time."

"Great," I said. "Then we had better get going. The guild isn't far from here."

Lyria watched me stand, expression serious. "You're disgusting," she said to Massian.

The tomte smiled, flashing a row of yellowing teeth at her, but the smile was strained now. "And you're a piece of art, darling. I've always enjoyed a woman with red hair. Sure, you'd look better with a beard, but I'm a man who appreciates women of all shapes, sizes, and hair deficiencies. There is a potion that would have you popping out a glorious beard in days. I have a contact I could—"

"We're leaving," Lyria said, cutting him off.

As we stood, Massian's barrier flickered—just for a moment—and I heard voices in the tavern beyond. Angry voices.

"Actually," Massian said, his jovial mask finally cracking. "You might want to use the back door. I said I'd tell them if a guy who refused to take off his helmet came by. Especially if that guy was traveling with a beautiful, sultry red-head. But I didn't say I wouldn't warn you first."

My blood ran cold. "You sold us out?"

"Nothing personal, of course. The guy threatened to open me up with his disgusting flesh blade arm. And… well, I believed him." He actually looked guilty for a moment. "But I did tell you the truth about your friends. Every word. And I held them off long enough to give you what you came for. That's more than most would do."

"You son of a—" Lyria started.

"Back door," Massian interrupted, pointing. "Through the kitchen, out the alley. They're expecting you to come out the front. You've got maybe thirty seconds before they realize you're not coming." He met my eyes. "Good luck. Hope you don't die."

I wanted to argue, to rage at him, but I could already hear footsteps approaching.

"Brynn," Lyria hissed. "We need to go."

"Run fast," Massian said, already turning back to his drink.

We ran. Behind us, I heard Massian's voice, loud and slurred again: "What? They left? Must've spooked 'em when I asked about the beard potion..."

The kitchen was cramped and steaming. We dodged a surprised cook and burst out into an alley that reeked of rotting garbage. My mind raced as we ran. Massian had sold us out, but he'd also warned us. Given us information and a head start.

In a fucked up way, he'd helped us and betrayed us in equal measure.

"Which way?" Lyria gasped.

"Gloomglow," I said, thinking of the place I'd visited for the first time yesterday. "The fog there will help us lose them."

Behind us, shouts echoed off the alley walls.

The hunt was on.