CHAPTER SIX
The Prince and His Trickster
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Where…?
It took Bram a second to gather his bearings and notice the strangeness surrounding him.
Ah, I see…
Above him was a clear blue sky half-veiled by the glass towers that rose to scrape against it. These lofty towers which seemed to have been made by the greatest of giant folk were taller even than the highest spires of the Sovereign’s palace.
I’m here again…
Beneath him was a wide street of gray stone that was unlike any road one might find in the Imperium. It was a street painted with otherworldly symbols that stretched outward like a great web in all directions, snaking out onto other paths and around buildings of stone, steel, and glass.
In this strange other world that plagues even my waking thoughts…
Around him was a great host of commoners dressed in strange but comfortable clothing that was vastly different from the restrictive uniforms and sweeping dresses of the imperium’s nobility.
Thoughts that did little to help me in my youth…and made me a target of ridicule and spite.
A shadow passed over him, drawing Bram’s gaze to the great steel bird soaring over the distant clouds. Instinctively, he knew that this giant bird was no animal, but a flying carriage that was but one of the many examples of this other world’s ingenuity.
Though I still believe now what I knew to be true then…that this other world would be the answer to my lack of sorcery…
A horn-like roar pierced Bram’s musing, drawing his gaze back to the street and the beast that had made this strange-sounding howl. It was a beast whose bright blue scales were wrapped around a body that was both wide and sleek.
This beast of speed raced toward Bram like a tri-bull charging a matador.
It’s why I sought out the cursed cave…
He locked gazes with its pair of glowing eyes which were bright and glaring, and felt a cold shiver climb up his spine as he thought of their imminent collision.
Because I believed the rebel trickster locked within it might help me wield this otherworldly knowledge for Lotharin’s sake…
Long seconds ticked by while Bram stood in the middle of the road unable to do anything as the shiny beast hurtled toward him. Theirs was a painful meeting that hastened a violent ending to his dream, causing Bram to awaken with eyes wide and a curse spilling from his lips.
“Fuck…”
The prince sat up with a groggy head, but his gaze was alert and searching.
“Where…?”
It didn’t take him long to recognize the curtains hanging on his four-post bed or the polished wooden paneled walls of the large bedroom that still didn’t quite feel like it belonged to him. He had only used it for two weeks though, so this feeling of unfamiliarity was understandable.
“Yours must have been an interesting dream,” spoke a deep, intelligent voice. “The drool on your chin gives you away.”
The prince’s gaze snapped to a dark corner of his bedroom where the shadows seemed extra thick. He peered into that unnatural abyss—and the abyss looked back at him with crimson eyes.
“It’s done then…” Unconsciously, Bram’s hand moved to his chest which was covered by a fresh linen shirt he hadn’t been wearing during his journey. “…I’ve set you free.”
She stepped out of the shadows and into the faint light of dawn’s first rays filtering in through the curtains of the large window to the left of the four-post bed.
“I’m free thanks to you.”
The prince’s eyebrows rose in slight surprise for the woman who revealed herself looked nothing like his expectations.
“You’re…the trickster?”
“Were you imagining a more horrific countenance?”
The rebel trickster of legend was no horrible monster who’d been burnt by the gods as her title suggested. She was a pale, crimson-eyed beauty who looked no different than the young highborn ladies of the Sovereign’s court. Her bright red hair was slicked back and tied in a messy bun behind her head, giving breath to a heart-shaped face that would make most men swoon to see. Her neck was long and slender, the sight of which made Bram remember the moment she had kissed his throat and sealed the bargain between them.
Bram’s hand flew to his neck, but she had left no wound for his fingers to brush against.
“Already regretting your choice, Prince of Atlan?” she asked in a teasing voice.
“I regret nothing,” Bram insisted. He glanced left and then right, before adding, “Where’s Ser Anthony?”
“Your knight was here earlier but went off to deal with your courtiers since you were still unconscious,” the trickster answered. Then, pointing to the bedside table, she added, “He asked me to tell you that he’s retrieved the item you promised to return after you came home.”
“Oh, right, I did promise to give him his pipe back.” A tinge of regret filled Bram’s face. “Pity, I was starting to enjoy the taste of cloud weed.”
He took a second to inspect the purple coat that was folded on top of the table which she must have brought back from the cursed cave for him. It was mostly burnt, certainly unusable, which was another pity, because it had been one of Bram’s favorite coats.
“Well,” Bram cast a furtive glance at the trickster’s crimson hair, “I guess I’ll wear red next time.”
He got out of bed only to find that his legs were made of jelly.
“Careful, you nearly died two nights ago,” the trickster reminded him. “You’ll need more time to heal.”
“Two nights ago…” Bram’s brow creased. “No, I’ve no time to lie in bed.”
With so little time left for him to fulfill his duty to Lotharin, a day wasted was one he could ill afford. More importantly, the mastermind of this plot to murder him wouldn’t give up after a single failure. They would try again, and soon. So, Bram must also be prepared to repel them with whatever meager force he could muster.
“There’s time at least to take a breath,” the trickster insisted.
Despite his protests, she forced him to sit by the edge of his bed with a delicate hand whose grip was as strong as steel.
“You needn’t worry about any further attempts on your life for the foreseeable future. I’ve dealt with what needs dealing,” she promised as she sat beside him.
The trickster motioned to the floor.
“Your enemies will receive the message loud and clear after they hear of this.”
She snapped her fingers.
Suddenly, as if a veil had been pulled from Bram’s eyes, he saw with clarity the scene before him.
“Bloody hell…you’ve been busy.”
The parquet floor around his bed was caked in the dried blood of numerous corpses, all dressed in the all-too-familiar armor of the White Rose. It was clear that they had died violently. Dismembered limbs had been the cause of the bloodstains on the floor, but there weren’t enough of these stains to explain the state of the dead. For all of them were like dry husks drained of life.
A stench of iron and decay filled his nostrils, causing Bram to pale. “How did I manage to sleep through all this…?”
“You were snoring,” she said teasingly, but also added, “They came like thieves in the night… Whoever sent them must have known you were bedridden and thought you vulnerable.”
The implication of her words wasn’t lost on him. There must be a spy in his household. One or several who needed to be rooted out lest his rivals learn of his plans.
“Their assumptions proved wrong.” The smile on the trickster’s red lips widened, slightly distorting her features but not marring her beauty in the least.
“And when whoever sent these assassins receives word of what’s happened…” Despite the queasiness of his stomach, Bram’s mind couldn’t help but turn its cogs. “…then they’ll think I’ve found myself a strong protector.”
Smugness flashed on the trickster’s face.
“They might even assume that I’ve found an ally in one of the Sovereign-guard—”
The trickster laughed. It was both a girlish sort of giggling and malicious laughter that made the hairs on the back of Bram’s arms stand on end.
“Don’t compare me to the frail guardians of your Imperium,” she complained.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Of course,” Bram conceded with a chuckle. “Your value is far greater.”
He glanced sideways at the trickster whose face seemed too innocent to have committed the massacre around them. Even her lithe but curvy form was more suited to a lady’s sweeping dress rather than the teal-colored gambeson and the tight-fitting leather breeches she wore. He belatedly realized that this was the uniform of the soldiers of his household, although the noble crest on her left sleeve—the one right below the golden griffin of house Attilan—was one he didn’t recognize.
“What you’ve done here will surely make the enemy pause and force them to rethink their tactics. It buys me time to see my plan to fruition…” Bram leaned back, relief flooding his face. “Thank you, Trick—”
He frowned.
“What do I call you?”
Before the trickster could answer, the bedroom doors flung open, and two maids walked in.
“You’re awake, Your Highness!” exclaimed the older-looking maid. “Lady Rowan should’ve informed—”
Noticing the corpses on the floor, the older maid let loose a high-pitched shriek of terror.
Not an illusion then, Bram mused. Out loud, he said, “To be fair, this probably isn’t the worst thing you’ve seen in my bedroom.”
He flashed the maids a smile, but neither of them smiled back.
The second maid screamed too—and then all hell broke loose.
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“They’re finally finished…” Bram sighed in relief.
Beside him, the trickster let out a soft giggle while she leaned an elbow against the balcony railing. “It was fine practice for the next time they clean up our mess.”
There would be a next time, Bram agreed. The other royals would see to it.
“Well, like my old masters often say, never send an assassin to do a bard’s job.”
Bram couldn’t help chuckling at his joke. Of course, if one of the Delightful Troupe had come for him, he never would have seen them coming, and that thought sobered him quickly.
“Gods, the rumor mill will be working hard today…”
Bram’s brow creased while he watched his guards drag the last of the dead toward the auto-wagon waiting next to his bastion’s tall gate. Soon that auto-wagon filled with corpses would be driven out past the drawbridge and into the city’s Hightown district.
“If they didn’t think me peculiar and incompetent before…”
The stench alone would draw the gazes of the highborn in Bastille who would no doubt find a way to blame Bram for this ghastly incident rather than show sympathy for their new governor who’d been the victim of another assassination attempt.
“…They’ll certainly think so now,” he guessed.
“You don’t seem to mind playing the fool,” the trickster noticed.
He combed his hand through wavy strands of his pale blonde hair that had lost their purple shade. “Give them a show to ogle and they won’t see the knife coming for their throats.”
“Theatricality and misdirection?”
“Exactly.”
The trickster gave Bram an impish grin.
“And here I thought you despised intrigue despite learning to wield it yourself.”
“How would you know that?”
She pressed a sharp nail against the skin of Bram’s hand, drawing a tiny bead of blood.
“For the blood is the life…” She brushed her finger against the bead and then pressed that bead to her lips. “Your past, thoughts, dreams, even your desires…they are recorded in your blood like the moving pictures of that other world.”
“Cinema,” Bram recalled the strange word that felt alien on his tongue.
“Cinema,” the Trickster repeated more awkwardly. “Such wild and fantastic inventions your dreams bring you.”
Bram couldn’t help smiling at the compliment since it was the first time anyone complimented him for his madness. His gratitude was quick to wither though once he realized the implication of her confession. She knew his inner thoughts…he had yet to decide whether this was a gross invasion of his privacy or an accidental convenience that made it unnecessary to explain his otherworldly visions since she could see them for herself.
“What do you think of it?”
“Your great undertaking?”
Bram nodded.
“‘Tis…ambitious.”
To use his knowledge of the other world for the betterment of Lotharin, the weakest of the twelve kingdoms that made up the Atlan Imperium—ambitious seemed almost an understatement.
“Is it possible?”
“With my power…perhaps.”
Bram cast a sideways glance at his new collaborator.
The trickster basked in the light of Aarde’s morning sun which bathed the blue sky in a bright golden crown.
Bram thought it unfair that she knew everything about him, yet he knew nothing about her apart from the scattered tales he’d discovered of her nearly forgotten legend, the same ones he’d shared with the Mighty Greenwood Gang a week ago.
He observed her playful smile—how she enjoyed the freedom he’d given her—and he longed to know her truth. Despite this, he resolved not to ask the trickster about her past. Better that they build trust with one another first. Perhaps then she might be willing to share her tale. For now, it was enough that she possessed the power to help him realize his goals.
That thought made him frown.
Yes, she defeated the assassins who came to kill him, but did she truly possess the power to give him his heart’s desire?
“I sense your doubt.”
“You can sense my thoughts even without blood?”
“Reading your mind would require sorcery, and I’ve not done this,” she explained. “What I can sense without effort are the emotions bubbling to the mind’s surface.”
“An empathic link.” Bram couldn’t help feeling fascinated. “Could you show me more proof of your power?”
“The proof is right in front of you.”
“What do you mean?”
She pointed a finger at the corner of her left eye, drawing Bram’s gaze to something floating at the leftmost corner of his vision which only appeared after she pointed it out. It was a tiny twinkling thing bathed in a ghostly glow shaped like a single blue eye.
“The All-Seeing Eye shows hidden truth to those who seek it,” the trickster claimed.
This All-Seeing Eye seemed eager to show Bram its hidden truth, and with this realization came words that automatically spilled from his lips. “Show status…”
With this incantation—his second—the All-Seeing Eye expanded into the familiar ghostly blue window that had haunted the prince with thoughts of power he couldn’t wield. Today, however, it seemed power had come to him at last.
Welcome, Bram.
It was the first time the system had ever shown him kindness. The sight of its greeting sent emotion swirling into his chest.
Please wait while the system measures your current capabilities.
“At long last…”
A tear fell across his left cheek.
“You’re finally on my side…”
A new ghostly blue window appeared before Bram, carrying a word he’d longed for from the moment he first learned its meaning.
STATUS NAME: Bram Lothaire of House Attilan RACE: Human (Atlan) LEVEL: 1 JOB: Administrator Lv.1 LIFESTYLE: Not yet determined AFFILIATION: [Atlan Imperium], [Kingdom of Lotharin], [Bastille Shire], [Central Martial Academy], [The Delightful Troupe] TITLE: [Seventh Prince of the Atlan Imperium], [Ill-Fated Prince], [Contractor of the Burned One], [Governor of Lotharin], [Eorl of Bastille], [Apprentice of the Delightful Troupe]
“Titles?”
Bram scanned the list, his eyes narrowing at seeing his ill-fated moniker. Instinctively, he tapped a finger against it and wasn’t surprised when a smaller window appeared to superimpose itself over the first.
[Ill-Fated Prince: Doubles experience required to level up, doubles points required to increase fame, doubles experience required to grow lifestyle, chance of learning skills or spells is lowered by fifty percent [50%], random encounters with monsters in a field or dungeon is increased by twenty percent [20%], item drop rates and experience gain rates lowered by [10%].]
“I should have known,” Bram sighed.
“Truth is not always good,” the trickster admitted. “‘Tis not all bad either.”
True enough, his title of seventh prince gave Bram several boons; a discount on knight or councilor recruitment fees, larger levies in wartime with higher taxes during peacetime without incurring penalties such as lower fame and higher tyranny with Lotharin’s population, and, to Bram’s delight, a ten percent bonus to experience earned for both jobs and lifestyles.
“Brilliant,” he grinned.
He had once dreamed of becoming a ‘Knight Enchanter’ like his brother Balor or a ‘Sky Ranger’ like his sister Camilla, his two older siblings who hadn’t shunned Bram outright for his ill fate. Unfortunately, such professions required sorcery and were impossible for the ill-fated prince who lacked magic in his veins. Now, however, a quantified reflection of Bram’s physical traits showed him proof of his changing fate.
HEALTH POINTS (HP): 120 MAGIC POINTS (MP): 10 STAMINA POINTS (SP): 200 FATIGUE: 38%
“Is this…truly real?!”
The prince’s shoulders shook because he couldn’t control the tide of emotion washing over him as he saw the numbers showing him a truth he longed for.
“How did you do this?”
Bram felt a hand on his shoulder. The warmth it instilled in him calmed his trembling.
“I gave you only what your body could handle,” the trickster answered. “Enough magic to awaken this fascinating sorcery hidden inside of you.”
Bram was at a loss for words, although his gratitude was obvious when he took her hand and kissed it. Because of this trickster, the ill-fated prince was no longer a lame duck. Magic coursed through him now. A tiny amount by anyone’s measure, and certainly not enough for proper sorcery, but this was a new beginning for him.
“‘Tis not time to celebrate. ‘Tis but the start of our rebellion,” she said encouragingly. “So, what shall we do next, My Prince?”
“For a kingdom to thrive, there are five considerations to meet.” Bram flexed the fingers of his right hand. “Of these five, the ‘Martial’ issue is Lotharin’s most urgent concern.”
No spark of magic flashed across his fingers, but he didn’t feel disappointed.
“We lack soldiers, knights, and sorcerers. We lack…champions.”
His eyes drifted to the status window floating in the air.
“In my visions of the other world, I saw its cities teeming with people — like spiders rushing across a web of stone paths leading into glass cocoons — they are the resource we need to set our plan in motion.”
JOB/s: Administrator Lv.1
“We will summon these people to Aarde…” Bram tapped on this strangely named job, and what he read of its status made him smile. “…And give them a reason to fight for us.”