“You're so charitable, milard.”
“You vaporized them!”
Tasio pointed behind Eric. A rip in space/time opened up and another trickster floated out of it. He wore his golden-brown hair curled into a loop about his ears with a well-groomed beard, granting a distinguished air. He also wore a toga, sandals, and a ballpoint pen in his ear. He raised one hand above his head and snapped his fingers. The sound echoed like a stage whisper and more toga people walked out of the shadows. Each of them carried one or more people in their arms; the vaporized victims were present and accounted for.
“Allow me to introduce the Patron of Poets, the Arbitrator of Actors, the Original Special Effects Artist – my younger brother, Remho the Trickster.”
Remho took a bow. “Thank you for the introduction, elder brother, and for this marvelous opportunity. I haven't directed a stage this large in years.”
His followers placed the unwitting actors in a circle between the two tricksters and then retreated to a safe distance. Remho snapped his fingers and the people stirred from their slumber. When they noticed the guffawing Tasio and the proud Remho, they groaned and shot him dirty looks. All at once, they stood up and walked away. They only looked back to make sure there was nothing attached to their backs. The knight commander stayed only long enough to pull out a scry and say, “False alarm... It was only Tasio. I repeat: false alarm. It was only Tasio.”
When they were all gone, Tasio sighed and dropped his shoulders. He sank a little, but his feet remained off the ground.
“I give and I give, but I get not as much as a word of thanks in return.”
“It is very sad, milard, but...” Kallen said. Unlike her earlier teasing, this was completely sincere. “I appreciate what you do.”
Tasio descended fully to the ground to give her a proper hug. Kallen embraced him and nuzzled him. In all the time he'd known them, Eric had never seen such a tender moment. Kallen acted like she didn't care about anything and here she was like a five-year-old with her father; Tasio never touched the ground in his “king of the tricksters” persona, and here he was getting his divine feet dusty for a mortal. Despite what others say, I'm not the real Trickster's Choice. As the hug prolonged, Eric felt more and more like an eavesdropper. He was about to leave when they pulled away.
“Go back to bed, my favorite follower. You need the rest.”
Instead of backtalk, like Eric was expecting, Kallen nodded and walked back the way she came. Tasio poofed and was gone. Eric looked around the wreckage of the plaza and swung his staff behind him. Basilard ducked and reached for his wrist, but Eric jumped back and leveled the crystal at his neck.
“Better. So what do you think?”
“I think Tiza is behind me and Nolien is hiding in the rubble somewhere, muttering a curse.”
The veteran grinned. “You're not being tested right now. I meant, 'what do you think about the trickster's performance’?”
“I think it was self-absorbed entertainment that caused great property damage, injured many people, and interrupted my sleep. Good night!”
Eric ran off before Basilard could say anything else.
Without the Tazul stirring things up, the city resumed its peace and quiet. Damage-control crews quickly put out the flames (magical and otherwise) and darkness resumed its veil. Suddenly, Eric could see clearer than he had all night.
Everywhere he looked, friends and family hugged in the street. Fear had already been replaced by relief. The only tears were happy ones. They were too ecstatic that their loved ones survived the attack of an S class to wonder why no one had died. One guy was on his knees and holding a velvet case to a gal; she nodded tearfully and they made out on the sidewalk. Eric moved to the other side of the street. Shadow Dengel manifested next to him and walked nonchalantly beside him.
Humans and their miniscule lifespans...It takes a crisis to make them realize what is important to them. How foolish! He looked down his crooked nose. You are no different. Tasio, Krank, and Remho all know this and exploit it. They find your predictable reaction amusing.
“I suppose elves are never shy?” Eric asked himself, not Dengel. “They're never complacent about the safety of their loved ones?”
Elves never die! I...I...I'm talking to you...which means I AM alive....and...
Eric laughed merrily and it spooked the people on the street into scattering. As far as they knew, The Trickster was about to make more mischief. Eric watched them stumble over objects and bump into each other in their rush. Imagine a citywide scale and a greater catalyst...That’s The Trickster’s fun.
Chapter 8 Heritage
The next day, Eric was awoken by knocking on his door. He slid out of bed, sleepily walked to the door, and looked through the peephole. Muttering to himself, he undid the many locks and opened the door. He yawned as a flurry of arrows rebounded on the wind wall he conjured in the doorway.
“You're gonna have to be more creative than that, Daylra. You did this already.”
Rubbing sleep from his eyes and rotating his joints, he woke up enough to see that the offending archer wasn't Basilard. Instead of his mentor, he saw four archers spread out in a crescent between his door and the edge of the ledge extending from the bridge.
“We are not your ‘daylra,’ Trickster’s Choice,” a weird-sounding voice said. “We are here to make sure The Trickster doesn’t have a reason to stick around Roalt.”
Voice modification spell. That’s why they sound weird.
“Only five?” He raised both hands and charged them with mana. “I can do more than that.”
Eric leveled his arms at the archers and fired one mana bolt from each hand that divided into ten each. Twenty bolts assaulted the four archers, followed by another forty. Their barriers withstood the barrage and the masked figures drew daggers for close combat. Then Eric fired two mana bolts that divided twice and cut clean through. The bolts smashed into their stomachs and doubled them over.
“A tent once told me that hitting the same spot consecutively would easily destroy a personal barrier. I did my studying, but I felt like showing off.”
The four recovered and attacked him at once. Eric vanished and used their brief pause from confusion to smack them all with his staff. Seconds later, they were on the ground, groaning in pain. Then he cast an earth spell to create primitive stone restraints on their wrists and ankles. Once he was sure they couldn’t attack him again, he decloaked.
Nayr was right. I don’t have a killer instinct.
“I may be a mercenary, but for your information, I helped end Tasio’s rampage.”
“Don’t say his name!”
Eric kicked that one in the stomach.
“According to you jerks, I already have his attention and I bring it to this city just by living in it. So I’m going to say his name whenever I want. I don’t care if his titles include the Ambivalent Saboteur, the Destroyer of Civilizations, or the Herald of Chaos. I don’t give a crap!”
Someone clapped directly above him.
“It's too early to talk to you.”
Tasio floated down to his level. “I came to congratulate you. Few indeed can wound an S-class and to do so at your age is unprecedented.”
Eric headed for the stairs and over his shoulder said, “Your approval fills me with shame, Overturner of Fortune.”
Tasio followed him. “You're not still mad about the 'suddenly and randomly returning you to Threa' thing, are you?”
“That was the worst period of my life. I haven’t been so miserable since my parents died.”
Tasio paused in midair. “I'm sorry to hear that.”
Eric paused in mid-step.
I'm so worn out from trickster mayhem, I'm hallucinating trickster sincerity.
“I’m also sorry about those guys. Usually, I can stop them before they get this far but this batch reacted faster than I expected.”
“Would you please go away? I don't want people to associate us any more than they already do.”
“The humdrum life of a simple mercenary?”
“If that's not too much trouble.”
Tasio disappeared and Eric continued on his way. The Dragon's Lair was only a few more blocks away. Tiza, Nolien, and Basilard joined him for the final block. Lit by the morning sun, the statue of the Mother Dragon cast a shadow over the street and them. This is the only shadow I want looming over me; the noble and maternal founder of my guild. The doorbell dinged as he walked in.
Inside, Mia was pacing back and forth behind her desk. She was hugging herself and biting her lip cutely. When she heard the doorbell ding, she looked their way, but then her eyes dimmed and they knew she was disappointed to see them. Even so, she put on a semi-cheerful smile.
“Hey...how did the … ahh...What did you think of Remho’s show?”
“Mia, tell us what's wrong,” Nolien said.
She shrugged. “I'm just waiting for a team to report in; nothing major.”
“If it were nothing major, you wouldn’t have bags under your eyes, caffeine on your breath, unwashed hair, and day-old make-up.”
Mia stopped pacing and fidgeted with one of her long pigtails. “You noticed all those things right away?”
“Of course; I care about you.”
Mia gave him a heart-stealing smile, and Tiza sent him a soul-chilling scowl. Nolien coughed.
“Mia, have you been up all night?”
“I had work to do!” she said while brewing another cup of coffee.
“Excessive caffeine intake will only make your nerves worse.”
“I know that!” She dropped into her seat, crossed her arms, and pouted. “I still worry about Team 15! Oops…”
“They still haven’t checked in yet, have they?” Basilard asked. “It’s a dangerous mission, but they’ve come back from worse before. They can handle it.”
“What's so dangerous about it anyway?” Eric asked. “It involves mana mutation, doesn't it?”
Hands clasped behind her back, Mia looked away. “Yes, it does. Since you're the Trickster's Choice and Her Majesty's Pet, I guess it would be okay to tell you.”
Her Majesty's Pet?
Shadow Dengel appeared and petted him. It suits you.
Shut up.
“Team 15 was dispatched along with the Royal Ordercrafter Team to a mana storm in Ataidar's Territorial Waters. Their goal is to obtain a sample of the storm and an afflicted monster. Her Majesty plans to use this to prove Ataidar's commitment to mutation treatment and that these storms can be contained. They were supposed to check in last night, but they haven’t. I wouldn’t have gotten any sleep anyway, thanks to The Trickster’s latest prank…”
Suddenly, Basilard drew BloodDrinker and spun around in time to block a double sword strike from a man dual-wielding scimitars. This attacker’s weathered skin and scars made him look older and tougher than Basilard. His long blonde hair covered the twin sheaths on his back. He wore a rugged tunic, pants, and a grey bandanna tied over his eyes.
The blades clashed and locked, sending a wave of power through the guild lobby. It made the novices stumble and grasp the wall to steady themselves. The two warriors broke apart and lunged a second time to engulf each other in bear hugs.
“Long time no see, Inner Eye.”
“We had a soulcrafter hunt in Najica, Bloody Blade.”
“SATHEL!”
A blur of dirty clothes collided with the woman that walked in behind the man. She wrapped her arms around her waist and buried her face in her chest. The woman smiled and embraced the younger mercenary in turn.
She was a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length blonde hair. A long dress hung around her shoulders. It was close and practical and contained many pockets. She didn’t carry any weapons, but Eric knew this was because she didn't need any. This was Sathel, Tiza's legal guardian and a senior in Squad Four. No one told him what they specialized in (he didn’t even know where their lounge was), but given that their lieutenant was a deceptively harmless girl and their captain a ghost, he assumed they were the guild’s equivalent of black ops.
“How's my little Cocoon?”
Tiza moved away, cheeks pink. “Stop calling me that. I'm a full-fledged mercenary.”
“I'll stop when you make Regular. Don't pout; it'll happen soon.” She fingered a strand of Tiza's hair and a spider crawled onto it. “You grew your hair out.”
“Y-yeah…The wards are tied to it, so I figured longer would make them work better.”
“Really? Shoulder length looks lovely on you. Nolien Heleti, do you agree?”
Tiza blushed and looked to him, which made him look away and mumble incompressible things. He landed on “no,” but quickly changed to “yes” when he saw her scowl, which made her scowl deeper and that was how long it took him to realize that Sathel called him “Heleti.” By then, it was too late, so he changed the subject.
“Miss Aranid, I haven't had the pleasure of meeting your companion.”
She grinned and draped herself over the man. “This is my husband, Retina Corison. Dear, this is Nolien Heleti. He's the one taking care of our Tiza.”
Retina's stare, even through the blindfold, sent a shiver down Nolien's spine. He pointed at Eric and blurted, “He's in charge of cover fire!”
Sathel giggled and decided she had enough teasing for now. “Cocoon, now that we’re back, we will continue your Squad Four training.”
“Squad Four training?” Eric asked.
“Stop calling me Cocoon!” Tiza protested.
“Squad Four training?” Eric asked.
“Missions come first,” Basilard said.
“You know how important these lessons are,” Retina said.
“Squad Four training?” Eric asked. “I’d rather not ask a fourth time.”
“I decided to multi-class while you were gone,” Tiza said. “Since you and Tenderfoot are mage/fighters, I decided to become a fighter/rogue. Spider Daylra and Daylra’s Dear are helping me expand my skillset. My favorite so far is Third Eye.”
“Is that what you were practicing the day I came back?”
“Yep! It’s a special vision skill that only me and Daylra’s Dear can do. It’s got all kinds of uses from deadly dodging to detecting ghosts to lock picking. I’d tell you how it works, but it’s a secret.”
“I hate to break up the family reunion, but – phew!” Mia waved a hand before her nose. “Next time, please shower before delivering your report.”
“We would have,” Sathel said, “but Aaloon likes his reports immediately.”
“I'd like to go on missions, but we can't have everything we want.” Mia turned to Basilard. “Team Four has been requested at the Darwoss Herald.”
Sathel gave Tiza a kiss on the forehead and Retina ruffled her hair.
“Training will resume when you come back.”
Because of Remho’s “performance,” city streets had to be cleared of debris and repaired, and city walls had to be patched and any missing wards redrawn. Private homes and businesses suffered damage from broken windows to smashed roofs and collapsed floors. Construction workers were everywhere, addressing these problems.
Roalt’s arteries were clogged with them moving from job to job, carts moving their raw materials and mythril flakes dropped from the Tazul, and civilians trying to go about their daily lives. Some of the latter had taken to roof hopping to get away from it. On every street, teams of giants carried orichalcum scales that were big even to them. This put everybody on edge. If one of them were to lose their grip and drop the scale, garden-variety magic would not stop it from crushing someone.
Royal clerks practiced parkour to cross the city quickly in their effort to get a handle on the situation. The Knight of Public Works needed to know what was destroyed, what was needed to fix it, where the scales landed, how to accommodate those who had them, how to transport them, how to send resources and labor where it was needed, the priority for them, and how to keep the streets moving through all this. Only then could he be
gin the repair work.
Other clerks mingled with the crowds that were gossiping to get their finger on the public pulse. They needed to figure out how to assure every citizen that their semi-divine queen had everything under control when she and her advisors were still sorting things out. Eric knew beyond doubt she spent all night working on it, and was likely more hyped up on caffeine than Mia.
He noted these clerks wore different uniforms than the ones he saw at the castle. Instead of the red-yellow flame motif on their castle counterparts, these clerks wore golden-brown cloaks emblazoned with the Crowned Tiger on the right breast and the Sign of Chaos on the left. The latter was a circle of ten lines intersecting at the middle into a tangled mess. He eavesdropped with Magic Hearing but couldn’t keep up with all the logistics.
“Is that Tasio's cleanup crew?” Eric asked.
“Their proper name,” Nolien injected, “is the Royal Department of Trickster Management and Maintenance. Their duties include –”
Eric tuned out the rest because he already knew it all from his nine-day library stay. He was more interested in watching them work.
Now that the city had calmed down and the smoke had cleared, he realized that most of the damage was concentrated on derelict, unused, and otherwise dead growth. Tasio's cleanup crew led the rebuilding on its ashes. “The city wanted more space.” Filling those spaces would take a lot of work; it would provide a lot of work. Mythril and orichalcum are rare and sought-after materials...even after paying for damages, the city will make a substantial profit. A local source of it will be a boost to local industries without usual expenses. Despite this, he heard many complaints and grumblings before he arrived at the Darwoss Herald.
“Abyss take The Trickster....”
“I had that cart for years!”
“This scale almost flattened me!”
“Doesn't he have anything better to do...?”
Apparently, he doesn’t. He could have simply given the stuff to them instead of causing a ruckus.
The Herald itself was pierced through the middle. It was a two-story building and yet the scale reached from the floor past the roof. It was incidents like these that proved Tasio’s title as “The Overturner of Fortune.” Destruction like this would have shut down the newspaper for good, but selling the scale that caused the destruction would enable Darwoss Senior to rebuild it from scratch and with state-of-the-art equipment too. Until then, the editor-in-chief worked in the alley next door.
Looming Shadow: Journey to Chaos book 2 Page 19