CHAPTER TWO

  Adventure Awaits

  Years of practig how to alter his gait on a whim helped Bram to walk straight on his way to the taverrance despite the world seeming to tilt slightly to the left.

  “Phoebus’ cock,” he cursed. “Remind me rog ever again…”

  “I’ll do no such thing,” Ser Anthony chuckled as he walked beside Bram. “It was good to see you rexing. If only for a while.”

  “That wasn’t rexing. It was torture,” Bram protested. Then, gng over his shoulder, added, “That poor barmaid…I hope you gave her a rge tip.”

  “Of course,” Ser Anthony replied. “Though one could argue that mopping a prince’s vomit will be the highlight of her—”

  Ser Anthony froze. So did Bram. He noticed what his prince felt, the strange heat suddenly pressing against the back of Bram’s neck.

  They both turned around and caught sight of the guard who had accosted Bram earlier. He was creeping nearby and gring suspiciously at the prih eyes that glowed with the telltale signs of sorcery, though seeing Bram’s molten gaze staring pointedly back at him caused the coward’s spellcasting to falter a him scurrying into the safety of his fellow guards.

  “Was he actually trying to pce a curse on me?” Bram asked incredulously.

  Ser Anthony’s hand flew to his sword’s hilt. “That brazen bastard tried to hurt his liege.”

  “He doesn’t know who I am though, which is what we wanted,” Bram reminded his knight.

  Atn’s seventh prince had been visiting Bastille’s Lowtown district for several days while in disguise to prove to Ser Anthony that he could ceal himself thhly without anyone disc his identity. It was the only way to get the old knight to agree with his daring pn. Though, secretly, Bram just liked visiting Lowtown. He ehe pany of oners far more than the nobles who plotted behind his back.

  “Still,” Bram smiled impishly, “a man should know his master’s face.”

  His impish smile vanished quickly though, repced by a g jaw that held back the bile climbing up his throat.

  “I ’t get this gods-awful taste out of my mouth…”

  Bram didn’t o be cursed by a foolish guard sihe grog had already suffitly cursed his innards. He took a moment tain his posure before leaning toward Ser Anthony who still smelled of the weed that he loved to smoke.

  “Remember those guards’ faces and have the ander of the Guard flog them for dereli of duty tomorrow,” he whispered.

  “You’re not usually oo enjoy such a spectacle,” Ser Anthony noted.

  “Well, luckily, I won’t be here to witness it,” Bram pointed out. “Besides, I may ge at ses of cruelty, but there are some things we ’t avoid.”

  For seventeen years Atn’s seventh prince had lived knowing few moments of kindness. Despite this disparity, and mostly thanks to Ser Anthony, Bram had learo be patient and passionate and learive wheuation called for it. This wasn’t one of those times though. Bram could five the tavern’s patrons for their treasonous thoughts because the oners of Lowtown didn’t know aer.

  The guards were different. They who wore his colors and served as soldiers of his household should know better. These people who spent the afternoon in revelry when they should’ve been manning their posts o be disciplined so the others who served the prince learned not to betray their oaths to him.

  “I’ll do it myself,” Ser Anthony promised.

  “Get the ao do it. We pay him enough,” Bram insisted.

  Fortunately, the nearby patrooo sloshed with drink to be paying attention to the two nobles scheming by the tavern’s front door.

  “You aren’t paying him anything, Yhness. You fired the man after he’d let the north’s spies ransack your office three days ago,” Ser Anthony reminded Bram.

  “Right, that little mishap happened.” Bram tapped the side of his temple. “Luckily, they found nothing because I’m crazy enough to keep all my pns in my head.”

  He patted the old knight gingerly on the shoulder.

  “I’ll rely on you to mete out the punishment…and Ser Anthony, make them hurt, a everyone know why, especially the Captain of the Watch…I hear he’s friends with these guards.”

  “I’ll make good examples of them.”

  The prind his protector stepped out of the old tavern and into the te afternoon feeling pleased with themselves. To these two men who endeavored to raise the Forest Kingdom of Lotharin from the squalor forced upon it by the Imperium’s other kingdoms, there was nothing more important than weeding out corruption in the ranks. How could growth occur if the soil was rotten?

  “Lowtown’s surprisingly and lively…it’s a beautiful neighborhood,” Bram observed.

  Few of Bastille’s nobles would cim this of Lohilike the wide avenues of Hightown with its vish mansions and manicured wns, was a district of tightly packed old buildings, narrow streets, and rough-looking oners. Still, unlike most other city slums, the white paint of the old buildings hadn’t wilted, there wasn’t a si of graffiti in sight, and the cobblestoreets were well-maintained enough that the children pying nearby need not worry about tripping on a pothole.

  Bram watched these waifs unch spurts of water at each other from the tips of their fingers using a well-knowaught to children learning the sorcerous arts for the first time.

  If only I’d managed a simple ‘Water Finger’ spell when I was young. I wouldn’t be having such a hard time now…

  He shook his head.

  Then, turning away from useless thoughts, Bram breathed in the st of earthy fragrand fresh linen—and then he rao the er of the tavern so he could vomit out the remaining grog that refused to settle inside his stomach.

  Ser Anthony chuckled. “If Princess Camil saw you like this, she’d ugh you out of town.”

  The old knight stood guard behind his prince.

  “D-Don’t mention that drunkard’s name…” Bram breathed hard. “Just hearing it’s making me more nauseous.”

  He would puke his guts out some more on their way to the stables, with the st of the grog leaving him right as Ser Anthony brought him the hart he’d purchased from the stables’ proprietor.

  “Did you…” Bram wiped the spittle from the ers of his mouth with the back of his hand. “…pay him double the asking price?”

  “To keep his mouth shut,” Ser Anthony replied, but, with a warm smile aimed at Bram, added, “and because you’re too generous.”

  “What’s the point of being royalty if I ’t funt it every on a while?”

  “You funt it all the time.”

  Bram winked. “As a fool should.”

  He walked over to ihe hart Ser Anthony bought him.

  It was a rge beast, with glossy bck fur, and a fierce look to it. Its antlers were a muddy ivory hue, but with few enough brao suggest its young age.

  “How did you find a creature this beautiful in Lowtown’s stables?”

  “The stableboy who cared for it said this hart had the blood of a bckheart stag.”

  “Not a purebred but a hybrid… Is that possible?”

  “The fell beasts of Sundermount have been known to mate with harts from time to time.”

  As if to prove the stableboy’s story true, the bck hart pulled against its reins, refusing to follow Ser Anthony who was leading it out of the stables’ front yard. It bucked against the old knight’s hold, though his strength was more than enough to suppress it. Just not to calm it down.

  “That’s not how you make a new friend, Ser Anthony.”

  Bram moved to stao the defiant hart and pced his hand on it. Softly, while he caressed its neck, fingers gently brushing its fur, Bram sang to it, willing the beast to serenity with his dulcet tones.

  “Dark as the wings of a raven in flight, and swift like the tides of the river Rhyne’s might,” he sang. “O’ mighty hart, won’t yhten up, banish away the night with your an~~ntler’s light?”

  Bram’s song carried no magi it, but such was his talent that his voice was enough to calm the hart’s temper.

  ‘Ping!’

  Once more, he heard the otherworldly tone, and again, he chose to ig. He had his reasons. Mainly, he didn’t want to feel disced…not on the eve of a new adventure.

  “Wouldn’t you rather travel in a fortable aute?” Ser Anthony asked, and not for the first time.

  “Hush,” Bram covered the hart’s ear, “we wouldn’t want him to get jealous… Does my new friend have a name?”

  “The stableboy called him Renfri.”

  “Renfri… I like it,” Bram grinned. “A fierce hart should be named after a hero of the Imperium.”

  Bram climbed up Renfri without difficulty, a upon its saddle as if he were born to ride this hart.

  “I should be going with you, Yhness…”

  “The nobles of Bastille would notice if you were gone from the city, Ser Anthony, which would make this secret journey less secret.”

  “You believe they won’t notice their new governor is missing?”

  “I’ve spent years pretending to be a recluse. So, it wouldn’t be such a surprise if we let it slip that I’m in hiding because I’m weary of the responsibility py inpetent shoulders.”

  Bram ughed out loud. Ser Anthony didn’t share his humor.

  “You are far from inpetent.”

  “Yet I’ve had to pretend to be…to stay alive.”

  Without talent for sorcery, Atn’s seventh prince had to find other means to survive the maations of those who resided in the Sn’s court. So, he hid his true self—his ambition to be worthy—in fool’s clothes and was often seen mingling with unsavory folk or wasting time in drug dens and pleasure houses. Little did his minders know that Bram used such pces to shed his disguise, and i rooms that few would know of, learned of other ways to challenge his ck of sorcery.

  “Should this journey bear fruit,” Bram couldn’t help feeling hopeful, “if I find the a power hidden in this nd that will give me the means to summon aid from others who could help end Lotharin’s dee…then I won’t have to py the fool ever again.”

  “This great uaking is a radical one.” Doubt fshed across Ser Anthony’s face. “Must you go to such lengths as to search for something even the gods feared?”

  “When we e of age, each child of the Sn must lead one of the twelve kingdoms that make up hty Imperium to see which of us is worthy to bee the heir,” Bram recalled his mother’s words. However, it was her expression—her ck of expectation—which was engraved onto his heart.

  He came of age a little over two weeks ago. Sadly, for the Forest Kingdom of Lotharin, they drew him as their new leader.

  “I didn’t ask to be governor, and I don’t want to sit on the Burnt Throher. It’s bloody hideous,” he joked. “But since I’m here, I’ve no choice but to do the best I .”

  Ser Anthony spoke no words of encement. Instead, he drew his long pipe and pouch of weed from his pocket and then offered them to Bram.

  “No offense, but my disguise is good enough. I don’t o smell like an old man too.”

  “It’s for luck.”

  The old knight seemed so sihat his prince couldn’t help but take the gift and then hide it ihe many pouches that lihe inside of his purple coat.

  “I don’t expect I’ll use it, but thanks. I’ll give it back to you when I return.”

  “I’ll hold you to that promise.”

  Bram made one final check of his gear; the bright purple coat of many pouches he wore, the rations bag Ser Anthony packed for him, his beloved lute, his trusty disguise kit, and the longsword strapped to his thick leather belt.

  “Your coat’s tht.”

  “A bard o dress fmboyantly to be successful.”

  “’t you that lute on a while?”

  “The smudges help make it look cheaper than its actual value.”

  “Wouldn’t you prefer a magic sword?”

  “I’m magicless. I wouldn’t be able to use one.”

  “At least take—”

  “Enough with the nagging, Ser Anthony,” Bram sighed exasperatedly. Then, smiling reassuringly at his knight, he added, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

  “The Sn’s light shine on you, Yhness.”

  “May her radianever dim.”

  With their farewells given, Bram pulled on Renfri’s reins ahe hart toward Lowtown’s ate and onto the wider world.

  Bram’s destination was the lonely mountain of Sundermount risi of Bastille. Near its peak was a cursed cave which legends cimed was a dungeon with one oct; an arickster who once defied the gods, who, failing in its rebellion, was imprisohere by the gods’ champions. In his desperation, the prince hoped to meet this a malevolend borrow its power to ge his fate and the fate of all Lotharin…whatever the cost.

  It would’ve been a day’s journey of hard riding on the Sn’s Road to reach the town by the mountain’s foot, but Bram chose to take a detour to keep potential pursuers off his tail.

  Instead of east, he traveled south, crossing the Rhyne River and then passing through neighb Lorraine Shire while avoiding the walled city of Lorraine whose lord, Eorl Adler, hadn’t yet sent any message of fealty to Bastille Shire’s new eorl, who, ially, was also Lotharin’s new governor. To be fair, Bram hadn’t heard any bad rumors about Eorl Adler either. Still, the prince would rather camp out in a grove of trees skirting the southern banks of the Rhyher than spend a night in a city whose allegiance remained ambiguous.

  “I know it reeks…”

  Bram watched Renfri turn its nose away from the stick of inse he pnted on the ground.

  “But it’ll keep unwanted guests from catg our st tonight…”

  He did more than simply mask their st. Once Renfri was settled on a b he hid behind a thick wall of thorny bushes, the prince erased all traces leading to their campsite. He went as far as to make fake hoofprints with a tool he’d had fed in Bastille’s smithy days ago. These racks led southward, toward Lorraine, which was a likelier destination for a prince who’d never learo explore the wilds…or so people thought of him.

  “Ser Anthony used to sneak me out of the capital so we could camp uhe sky.” Bram caressed Renfri’s neck. “All so I could rest in pces where others couldn’t judge me for dreams so otherworldly I often remember them even in my waking hours…”

  A wistful look appeared on Bram’s face.

  “He taught me nature craft, hunting, fishing, and even how to read the stars, though it was another who taught me how to stay hidden.”

  Bram shared stories of his childhood and his strange dreams with his new friend, and Renfri listeo him as if it could actually uand human nguage. That’s how they spent the early evening.

  Later, as night deepened, Bram didn’t light a fire, choosing io snuggle o the hart that y on its b. He took warmth from Renfri’s fur while he gazed up at a night sky half-veiled by a opy of pine needles.

  Of the twin moons that lit up the night, the blue moon, known as the eye of Phoebe, Goddess of Prophecy, was already far into its waning stage. In a few nights, it would disappear from the sky, leaving only its sister to guide those foolhardy enough to travel under her reddish light. For while the blue moon was known as a portent of possible fortuhe red moon was its exact opposite. The eye of Pandia, Goddess of Vengeance, brought woe and misery when it flew across the sky without its twin.

  “You’d think with all the misfortune I’ve received; fate would at least spare me some luck when I …”

  As if to prove Bram’s luck was truly terrible, there came a sound from far off. It was the beating of many hooves across the hard earth. Renfri heard this too, and it stiffened underh Bram’s touch.

  “Hush now.” He caressed the hart’s neck. “Let’s not draw attention to ourselves.”

  It didn’t take long for them to appear; fures mounted on harts that were ed in the same white mist that g to their riders like hooded cloaks.

  What sort of sorcery turns men into ghosts…?

  The magic that hid their features also veiled their purpose, though Bram could guess at what sort of reasht these ghost riders into these woods so te at night.

  Are they looking for me…?

  Their appearance here g with his departure from the safety of Bastille’s walls seemed too tal. He could have been wrong, but it didn’t matter. Whatever their reasons, Bram chose to stay hidden. He y low while keeping Renfri quiet.

  Silently, as if they were actual specters, the ghost riders searched the woods, bing it thhly, with one of them ing close enough to Bram’s wall of thorny bushes that he, who watched through a space between brambles, couldn’t help reag for his sword’s hilt.

  The rider s the air like a beast, though it would only catch the earthy aroma left behind by the inse Bram had lit that was meant to fuse hounds from catg a person’s st.

  Just mreens here…so go away.

  Renfri fidgeted at Bram’s side, making a barely audible sound—but the ghost rider’s head turoward the tall bushes anyway.

  Bloody hell.

  It urged its mount closer, ing within te of the thick wall of bushes. Aep or so and it would see over them, revealing Bram and Renfri lying low behind it.

  Bram’s fiightened on his sword’s hilt.

  The rider drew closer.

  Bram readied himself to barrel through the bushes because surprising his foe was the only way escape could be possible. However, just before he threw caution to the wind, a strahing happehe rider turned away as if alerted by some unheard call. Only then did Bram remember to breathe.

  The ghost riders verged on a spot south of the campsite, leaving Bram to guess that they’d found the fake trail he’d left there. His guess proved right wheched them ride south toward Lorraine, proving that they were indeed chasing after him.

  ‘Ping!’

  Bram’s nerves were so frayed by his close enter with strange foes that he couldn’t help looking at it, the otherworldly message that appeared in the air whily he could see.

  GRATULATIONS! You’ve used what you’ve learo successfully hide from your pursuers, earning you the achievement [Apprentice of the Delightful Troupe]! This begiitle increases the ce of success for Stealth aion wheing disguises, hiding in covered areas, or moving uhe cover of night.“This would be a useful boon if only you meant to give it to me…”

  ALERT! Your body is unsuited to receiving the system’s boons. Activation of [Apprentice of the Delightful Troupe] is celed.“Hah.”

  ALERT! [Administrator Lv. 1] prevents you from earning experience.Bram ughed ironically.

  ALERT! You ck the magic to use the system to your be. Progressing in your job-exclusive quests may help to remove this penalty.“Once again you tauh promises of power but show me no path forward in seizing it.”

  Here y the reason why Bram often ighese otherworldly messages. He would see them pop up every time he achieved something of note, although they were stantly ive and always denied him the boons he rightly deserved.

  When he was much younger, Bram had mistaken these otherworldly messages for a rare form of sorcery, and though he’d tried to show them to others, no one else could see these ghostly blue windows. That didn’t stop Bram from insisting the messages were real though, and everyone had bullied him for it. His teachers scolded him for his wild imaginings while his peers called him a liar, a fraud, and any number of hurtful insults children might hurl at each other. All because he was different—the only magicless boy in the whole empire who saw and dreamt of things no one else could.

  Retly, Bram had learhe trick to sharing these notifications with others, but the knowledge had e too te and he was loathe to share them now. Because, for him, this strange power that was his alone only served as a reminder of his ill-fated moniker.

  He didn’t need false hope though. He decided a while ago that he would grasp success tightly by the balls without this otherworldly system’s help.

  “Just like tonight.”

  Bram grinned. He couldn’t help it. Thwarting those who meant him ill was a satisfying pastime.

  “Still, if they’ve tracked me to these woods, they must have e from Bastille…”

  He frowned.

  Only Ser Anthony knew of his departure, but he old the old knight of his route through Lorraine. Besides…

  “Ser Anthony would never betray me.”

  Beiain of this fact left Bram with only one clusion.

  “They’ve been watg the road, which means they don’t know where I’m goi.”

  He was nearly certain of this dedu. For if they knew Bram’s mad pn, they would have ambushed him as he climbed the mountain. It would be easier than chasing him across the tryside.

  “What do you think, Renfri?”

  The hart let out a hearty grunt that he assumed was its answer.

  “Yes, you’re right, if they’re really after us, then we’ll have to be even more careful.” Bram grinned again. “Luckily, we don’t need sorcery to hide in pin sight…”

  GD_Cruz