CHAPTER THREE

Hidden Figures

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Hajime came up for air as soon as Nike walked through the exit’s double doors.

“She took so long to leave,” he let out a deep breath, “I thought I’d be down there forever.”

Bram chuckled. “Need I remind you that you once made a giant nymph fall with your magic?”

“This and that are two different things,” Hajime argued. Then adding, “Besides, you and I brought her down together. I didn’t do it alone.”

“Teamwork makes the dream work.”

It was Chris’ line. One of many of his ‘Earth Wisdom’ that Bram was beginning to adopt.

Bram dropped Nike’s doll into the storage bin for collection. An attendant would get it later and give it to Rowan once all the summoning rituals were over so she could hide it in that secret place where she hid all the contracts. Not even Bram knew where that was…not for certain.

As for the prince, he was done playing attendant. The ‘Close’ sign he put on the counter said as much.

“You aren’t staying for the other rituals?” Hajime asked.

“You’re here. You don’t need me,” Bram pointed out.

Each of the dev team’s core members had their own duties.

The team’s Co-Executive Producer, Chris Chase, had returned to Earth before the feast began to ensure all alpha testers that had been hired by their game studio were ready to be summoned. That meant putting the testers to sleep while making them think they were logging into the game and then monitoring their health while they visited Aarde.

Ravi Samal, the team’s Tech Support Lead—also Vice Master to the Coven of Stargazers—supervised the sorcerers of his coven who were summoning travelers to Aarde. Even now, Ravi was in the summoning hall and reviewing the previous ritual to see how they could improve the next one which was set to happen in a few minutes.

Meanwhile, Hajime, the team’s Lead Game Designer, had the job of ensuring the transition and registration of travelers went smoothly. Hajime was also tasked with looking out for ‘bugs’ during this stage of the process.

“You can’t do that if you keep hiding underneath your booth,” Bram reminded him.

“Right,” Hajime sighed. “I’ll try channeling Bridge. She’s better with people.”

True, Bridget, the team’s Lead Narrative Designer, was a social butterfly. Even now, she was off in the Red Ruin managing a whole film crew of weargs and trying to finish the game announcement trailer by the time all hundred travelers of the ‘alpha testing phase’ started their adventure across Bastille Shire.

The plan was to show the trailer, Bram’s music video, and snippets of the travelers’ streams all at the same time to bombard this thing called the ‘internet’ with content for ‘The Loom of Ill Fates.’

Bram still couldn’t believe a device existed that could connect an entire world of people with each other—especially at the speed that Chris had boasted. One couldn’t even achieve that with magic. At best, there was a ‘Mass Telepathy’ spell that the capital’s grand sorcerers used to make imperial announcements to all twelve of the Imperium’s kingdoms. But this was a one-way spell with a limited range. Enchanted mirrors could’ve worked to bring Aarde news right into people’s living rooms, but only nobles could afford such an extravagant magic tool. So, at least in terms of information gathering, Earth’s science seemed better than Aarde’s magic.

In any case, Bridget swore this sort of content spamming would generate plenty of the ‘buzz’ Bram wanted for the game.

“You’ve got this, Hajime,” Bram insisted.

“Okay, but what will you be doing…?”

The prince glanced at the staircase behind them.

“I’m head of the monitoring team, so I should get to monitoring.”

Before he left his booth, Bram thought to put on a new disguise. He painted his eyes with dark violet dye. The same one he smeared over his lips. He added clay on his nose too, reforming it to look more hawkish than its original shape.

“One last thing.”

Bram took off his fancy red coat, replacing it with the teal gambeson worn by the soldiers of his household.

As much as he liked playing a bard, pretending to be a soldier made it easier for him to carry the steel sword he strapped to his belt. It was the spare he now brought along for those occasions when he couldn’t wield Dusk, the enchanted hilt that required a blood sacrifice to conjure its magic blade.

“Hajime, can I leave my lute with you?”

The lute that looked too common for a prince was Bram’s most prized possession. It had seen him through many years of contempt and ridicule, becoming his one source of comfort. Though he could’ve just put it into his dimensional diary for storage, he thought now would be a good time to boost Hajime’s sense of self-worth. For to ask another to keep his lute safe, this was the highest form of trust Bram could give.

Hajime recognized it as such, and so he took the lute with reverence and even laid it over his own thick traveler’s cloak.

He raised his hand in a gesture of farewell. “The Loom guide your fate.”

“It guides us all,” Bram replied.

Unsurprisingly, the prince wasn’t the only one to want a more fun assignment. As he made his way out of the summoning hall, the trickster appeared by his side.

“Nothing better to do?” Bram guessed.

“I’ll have you know, just breathing keeps me busy.” Rowan tucked her tablet-sized enchanted mirror between her arm and bosom. “But, yes, it seemed like you were about to go somewhere interesting.”

Besides being the battery that kept the Loom running, Rowan didn’t really have any other responsibilities. Well, technically, she was also the knight in charge of protecting Bram, but he’d become strong enough to fight demons solo, so she didn’t need to protect him like she had in the beginning. These days, if the others didn’t specifically ask for her help, Rowan just did whatever she wanted.

She linked her free arm around his. “You weren’t thinking of not inviting me along, were you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Bram gave her arm a pat. “As you so often remind me, I am bound to you and you to me… Now, shall we?”

Outside the unfinished building that housed the summoning hall was a wide avenue busy with half-finished constructions. The road itself was still being made, with large patches of dirt visible between its few paved cobblestones. Still, life was beginning to gather here at the campus, and that was a good start.

“It’s shaping up nicely, your Players’ Campus.”

“It’s brilliant, isn’t it.”

They weren’t there yet, but soon, this would be a place where champions and artisans were forged, the beating heart of the Loom of Ill Fates.

“Ah,” Bram pointed, “there she is.”

The avenue was bustling with a variety of workers and moving wagons filled with materials, but it was still easy to spot Nike in the crowd because of her hair. Cut short and neat like a boy’s, a style choice that was quite uncommon for women of Lotharin.

They followed Nike as she crossed through the arched gate that separated the Players’ Campus from the rest of Reise while the watchmen let her through without much fuss.

“Are they supposed to be that lenient?” Rowan asked.

These watchmen didn’t serve the town. They were Bram’s soldiers in disguise.

“Only for today. We are having a festival,” Bram promised, adding, “And don’t forget to put on your hood. We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

The last time Rowan forgot to put her hood up, the children of Reise who’d been bewitched by her otherworldly beauty followed her as she walked from one end of town to the other. By the time she’d reached the gates of the Players’ Campus, a long line of children stood behind her, possibly the entire town’s worth of tots. Since then, the townspeople have started calling Rowan the ‘Bewitching Lady,’ and the clerics of Phoebus’ temple were on guard for her reappearance in case she was one of those heretics who used magic for dark purposes.

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“Hood up, hood down, it doesn’t matter. A butterfly will never become a moth.”

Despite her assertions, Rowan did as Bram asked. She put on the hood of the cloak draped over her knightly garments; the custom teal gambeson and bronze skirt that Ser Anthony had made for her when she’d joined his Order of the Peerless Heart. It was fastened around her neck by an expensive-looking, leaf-shaped emerald brooch, earning it the name ‘Cloak of Seasons.’

Since it was late afternoon, Rowan’s cloak was still its natural emerald hue. However, as twilight would soon arrive, Bram didn’t doubt it would turn pale silver. Such was the nature of its ‘Camouflage’ enchantment that it changed color along with day and night.

Funnily enough, despite her deep hood keeping her face mostly veiled, the watchmen still couldn’t help but turn their heads as she passed them.

Seeing their flushed cheeks, Bram could only sigh.

“Not a butterfly. More like a siren in heat…”

His comment earned him an elbow in the gut. It had been a light jab, but coming from the rebel trickster of legend, even a light jab could knock the wind out of a man as large as Bram.

“It was”—Bram coughed—“a joke. A joke.”

Bram had never encountered a siren before, but as a bard he’d been fascinated by tales of how sirens could lure men and women to their deaths with just their voice. This power naturally birthed a rumor that sirens were beautiful maidens, but the truth was far different. According to scholarly texts, they were uglier than a fat cockatrice who’d gorged on a barrel of grog. Small wonder Rowan didn’t like the comparison.

The pair jostled each other some more, though their arms remained link. All while they continued to follow Nike into town at more than twenty yards distance.

They could’ve hidden themselves with magic to avoid her notice, but a spell like that might attract the attention of Reise’s locals, all of whom were sorcerers more advanced than Bram. Even the children could wield sorcery better than their prince did.

Meanwhile, the traveler who was now a player strolled along Reise’s main thoroughfare while marveling at every little detail she found of the charming little town.

On both sides of the wide cobblestone street were quaint-looking buildings painted in blues and yellows and pinks and greens—a variety of colors that had given Reise its nickname of the Rainbow Town.

Nike was oblivious to the observers who followed her from afar, who watched her speak to commoners, inspect their wares, admired the magic they wielded so casually—she showed off exactly the kind of reaction Bram wanted to see from the players. He hoped that their wonder would make them empathize with the people, inspiring them with thoughts of helping the land.

“I’d love to hear what she’s saying,” Bram whispered.

“I could cast a listening spell?” Rowan suggested.

“No need.” Bram snapped his fingers. “That’s what our scrying tool is for.”

From the administrator’s menu, he chose, [Scrying].

A new ghostly blue window appeared. It was much smaller than the ones that usually appeared.

“It’s empty,” Rowan noted.

“Wait for it,” Bram suggested.

“Hi.”

While they heard Nike’s voice as if she were right beside them, a line flashed on the blue window’s surface. It spiked upward when Nike spoke again.

“Can you point me to the bank?”

“Keep going ‘til you hit the square,” replied the bearded man who was directing the floating broom that swept his front porch.

“Thanks!”

As they followed Nike to the town’s square, Rowan asked how the Scrying tool worked.

“It’s the same principle as Loomtube,” Bram answered.

Loomtube was another of the Loom’s features, the same one Bridget was using to record the game announcement trailer.

“Loomtube gives one the ability to observe a scene through a user’s senses and then record that scene for posterity. Scrying makes use of this same ability but only for us admin to eavesdrop on the players’ senses.”

“Remarkable…and invasive.”

“True and true.”

“You wouldn’t need to fill the Oaken Council’s role of Spymaster. Simply use ‘Scrying’ on our enemies and we’ll know all their dirty little secrets.” To add to her current disguise, Rowan put on the horn-rimmed spectacles she’d had commissioned a week ago. “I believe our friends call it crowdsourcing.”

Seeing those specs caused Bram’s fantasy of the pretty scholar to resurface in his mind. That made him blush.

“I-It’s a good idea, but it won’t work for intrigue. The Scrying tool only works on users.”

“Pity.”

There were other magical means to spy on their enemies, but such means could be countered. Scrying with the Loom would’ve been impossible to block if only Bram were willing to risk empowering one of his enemies with the system. He wasn’t.

They waited for their player outside the Bank of Steel’s front doors, and it was here that she nearly caught them spying on her. Luckily, as Nike’s gaze focused on Bram who was standing on the opposite side of the street, Rowan quickly pulled him into what others might call an intimate embrace.

“What are you doing…?”

Her breath tickled his cheek.

“Bridget once told me that Earthers believe public displays of affection to be uncomfortable.”

Her nose brushed against his.

“I see…”

Bram was feeling a little uncomfortable himself, though not in a bad way. He wouldn’t mind staying like this a moment longer, which is why he didn’t bother pointing out that Nike wouldn’t have recognized him. His disguise was foolproof, or so he believed.

“Is that mint I smell?” Rowan asked.

With her arms around his neck, his own arms wrapped around her waist.

“Yes.”

He’d recently learned this trick from Chris’—chewing a stalk of mint ensured one’s breath was never rotten. These days, Bram carried dried mint branches in his pockets just in case a situation like this one arose and he didn’t have time to clean his teeth.

“I like this smell better than cloud weed.”

“I don’t smoke cloud weed that much.”

“Ser Anthony’s complains that you keep taking from his stash.”

“Only when I need to calm down. You know my mind. It goes to dark places sometimes…”

Rowan’s breath tickled Bram’s ear.

“Aren’t I enough of a calming influence…?”

Not right now. Definitely not, was what Bram wanted to say, but instead, he nodded. “Always.”

They stayed that way for long seconds until they noticed that Nike had moved on. Even then, it took them another long moment to disentangle from each other and chase after their mark.

While following Nike back to the Players’ Campus, Bram did get distracted by a curious scene.

There was a flurry of activity at the top steps of the entrance to the sun god’s temple. The yellow-robed clerics were bustling about installing something that made Bram’s skin crawl to see.

“Bloody hell…”

He recalled seeing a burnt stake outside the temple months ago. It was gone now, replaced by a brand new wooden stockade. For what purpose, Bram could only guess.

“It seems Phoebus’ fools are preparing for a show,” Rowan noticed too.

Bram sighed. “Can’t we have just one day of things not turning to shit…”

The prince hoped the clerics weren’t feeling overly devout. He didn’t need his players witnessing strange acts of cruelty. Not on this special day when they’d just finished signing their souls away. He knew better than to hope though, because the zealotry of Phoebus’ clerics was well-known in these parts.

“Don’t worry. They won’t ruin our event. We won’t let them,” Rowan promised.

Bram felt slightly reassured if only because he knew how much Rowan would love to stomp on the temple’s pride should they cause a scene.

“So long as things don’t get too crazy.” Shrugging, he led the way again. “Today needs to be perfect.”

In the end, Nike followed Bram’s advice, though not exactly in the way he envisioned. Instead of visiting the Smithy, Nike found her way back to the front doors of the unfinished summoning hall.

“Isn’t that one of the young Stargazers we rescued from the Red Ruin?” Rowan whispered.

While she and Bram observed the player from behind a stack of timber planks, a young woman in green robes exited the building’s front doors and greeted Nike as if she’d been waiting for her.

“It’s Phecda,” Bram whispered back.

Phecda of House Asher had pale blonde hair that ended in curls around her shoulders and a voluptuous figure that even her sorcerer’s robe couldn’t completely hide.

“Ah, yes,” Rowan resisted the urge to giggle, “she’s the one who ran away from home to escape being married to you.”

One of the granddaughters of the Dux of Acrae, a powerful noble in the Sovereign’s court, Phecda did escape a possible betrothal to the ill-fated prince a few years ago by joining the Coven of Stargazers that was based far from the Imperium’s capital.

Since being rescued from the Red Ruin by the boy she’d spurned, Phecda had tried to reach out to Bram several times, possibly to thank him. Or, more likely, to apologize for how she treated him when they were younger. However, the prince had found plenty of excuses to avoid the awkward meeting.

Bram didn’t hate Phecda. Not anymore at least. He just didn’t want to be reminded of his sordid dating history. Especially not by Rowan.

“Here’s the money.”

Nike’s voice drifted from the small ghostly window hovering next to Bram, giving him the perfect excuse to avoid talking about his past.

At the same time as they could hear her, Nike dropped a small pouch into Phecda’s hand. It was quick to disappear into the young Stargazer’s robes.

“Interesting. It seems they’ve made some sort of bargain,” Rowan deduced. “How do you suppose this happened?”

“Phecda must have been Nike’s summoner. Either that, or they’d met in the hall’s workshop,” Bram guessed.

It was the only logical conclusion for a deal to be made between them. The better question in Bram’s opinion was why Phecda would need griffins at all since she was a granddaughter of one of the wealthiest nobles of the Imperium.

“Here’s what I promised.” After checking left and right, as if ensuring no one was looking, Phecda pressed an item into Nike’s hands. “Something that can go ‘boom’ like you wanted.”

It was a sorcerer’s staff; a wooden pole of white ash about five feet in length with another half foot for its bottom end that was capped by a spear’s blade. On its top end was a dull-looking orb of blue sorcerite set on a layer of branches.

Nike hefted the staff in her hands.

“It’s light.”

“A sorcerer’s staff is rarely heavy.”

“How do I use it.”

“Figure it out on your own… I’m already late for the next summoning.”

Phecda turned away from Nike, and Bram resisted the urge not to shake his head.

She hasn’t changed much since our academy days…

However, just as he was about to think something mean, Phecda turned around, and looking suddenly remorseful, said, “The trick is channeling magic into the staff. If you can manage this then its enchantment will naturally activate.”

One of Bram’s eyebrows hitched upward.

He couldn’t believe it.

The girl who’d helped make his academy days miserable was trying to be helpful to someone of a much lesser station than her.

“I guess people can change…” he whispered.

With her hint given, Phecda wished Nike luck, and then she vanished back into the summoning hall.

As for Nike, it didn’t take her long to figure things out. Phecda’s hint was more than enough to spark inspiration in her brain.

INTELLIGENCE: 18

A quick peek into her status showed she had less magic than Hajime whose intelligence score had been a whopping [30] when he first arrived on Aarde. Still, Nike managed to perform the feat of channeling magic faster than the genius did, and without the need of a near-death experience to goad her.

She’d simply spent the time to understand her new item. Fortunately, the Loom was very helpful with this.

Nike’s success delighted her observers…and this was but the beginning.

Later, much later, after Nike began her quest to hunt a red grizzly, Bram and Rowan were witnessed to an incredible sight, one that sent the roar of a foghorn streaking across the woods of Sundermount along with a blast of magic that turned a would-be enemy into easy prey. And just like that, the kingdom’s first marksman would be born.