A story of Archard, of the Empire of the Gleaming Banner ADRPG setting
Thanks go to Arref Mak for the creation of the EGB milieu.
After you find out a bit too much about your sister’s secrets, and your aunt sails literally halfway across the known Universe, its time to take a vacation.
Besides, it wasn’t as if everyone else had the idea, and with Grandmother’s unexpected and extended leave, the Palace was not precisely a place for a young scion of the Empire to find some solitude, some peace and some quiet.
Besides…Emerald Timbers was having a lovely bout of spring weather.
I should introduce myself. . I am Archard, of the Royal Family of the Empire. The Empress, Lora, is my great-grandmother. The Heir, the most honored, Sandmorel, is my Great Aunt.
I’m also a Trump Artist. The first real one in this generation of the Royal Family, as far as I can tell. Oh, I have no doubt those personages such as the Empress, with their long lives, may have picked up fewer or greater elements of the Art, but, currently, if someone in the Palace wants a Trump a notch above the usual commercial type, I’m the one to track down. Even the Heir found some use for my employment of a couple of tricks I had picked up during a recent and unique visit to the Courts of Chaos.
Trump Artists, sometimes, though, seek solitude. Just as I can sit in a café and watch the denizens of the Empire walk by, when I really want to produce, I go for a little bit of peace and quiet. And so, thus, I trumped myself to the family estate in Emerald Timbers.
The murmuring pines and all that, you know.
I had finished my latest creation that evening, a Trump of good Great Aunt Sandmorel. I had not done one of her before, mainly due to a slight intimidation factor. Heck. Grandmother Canthraal is positively a known quantity compared to the Heir.
And besides, I had only recently started really coming to attention of the Elders of the family. Trips to the Courts of Chaos, the presence of assassins in the heart of the city, and so forth does put a spotlight on you if you are at all involved.
And I expected this situation not only to continue, but also perhaps to intensify. I was going to be twenty-six in a month or so, so it was high time that more responsibility and interest in the matters of the Empire were in the cards, so to speak. And Grandmother’s leave was just going to make it more certain that my sister, Rakhi, and I both were going to be expected to have more and greater duties assigned to us.
Again, that’s why I visited Emerald Timbers. It did not explain, however, the fact that I woke up, suddenly, in the middle of the night, look out the window.
And decide to go home. A desire to cycle home, no less.
Okay, at this point, you are probably wondering why I, a Trump Artist, simply did not pull out one of my Trumps of the Royal Palace and go home. If I was going to leave in the middle of the night, or early morning, depending on your point of view, why would I go the long way?
I’ll give a radical answer. One you aren’t expecting, and one that will twist your mind more than a little, the more I think about it.
I had to cycle home, because, otherwise, I would not have had a story to tell.
In any event, I soon found myself on the Imperial Highway, cycling east, toward the Sunset Gate--or at least the Emerald Timbers side of the Gate. I figured, due to the proximity of the estate to the Gate, that it would take me only an hour or so to reach the stone structure, and thus return to the islands of home. I would then have a leisurely ride across the Island to the Palace.
The constellations wheeled overhead, the breeze was cool, the moon bright in the predawn sky. My unexpected departure would likely not really be commented upon…by the time anyone really noticed, I’d be back in the city, and my sudden disappearance attributed to a Trump trip.
The couple of miles seemed to pass even quicker than I thought, for there it was, the exit to Emerald Timbers, the huge Gate. Oddly enough, no one was coming through or going through it at this particular time. A bit peculiar, for the wheels of Empire commerce never stops turning. Even in the night, people are always coming and going.
After stopping for a short bit and admiring the form of the Gate in the late night moonlight, I started up and wheeled through, and onto the main island. The local time was only a couple of hours ahead, so I was, fortunately, not completely blinded by noontime sunlight.
Instead, I received the dazzle of the morning sun, and felt the tropical warmth of home. Inhaling and filling my lungs, I started pedaling with greater speed, moving right along. I had about 12 kilometers or so before I would reach the Palace, I figured. Not a long or arduous distance to go on my cycle. Cycles, by the way, are uncommon enough in Darrheabarr that citizens were watching me as I went along. Or, at least, I thought the cycle was the reason at the time.
It’s somewhat ironic that bicycles have only recently come to the Empire…as a matter of fact, they’ve been around only for a couple of decades. My friend the Professor tells me that the Empire’s version of them are relatively primitive, having the pedals attached to the front wheel.
I’m not a mechanic, I can’t see any other way to make one, but perhaps, one-day, they’ll be improved upon. Especially when the Professor teases me that a "ten speed" could be the ticket to keeping up with Jubilee…if and when she comes back to the Empire, that is. Perhaps in a few weeks I would try and Trump her, see if I could even reach that far out into Shadow. I had never had any reason to try to Trump someone that far away. It would be an interesting test of my ability. Jubilee, recently, had taken off on a trip through shadow, leaving the Empire and seemingly destined for a realm I had heard about, but never visited before. Jubilee was sailing to Amber.
In any event, I finally reached the heart of the city, and decided, on a whim, to stop in a café and grab a bit of breakfast before returning to the palace. The rumbles in my stomach, spurred on by my cycling, were inspiration enough for me to get food.
And I knew just the place. The streets of the City spilled out before me like an outpouring of semi precious stones onto a table in the glittering sunlight. I turned right, followed a boulevard, and there, on the right was a café I visit consistently. The view of the Boulevard of Sapphire, the people watching, and the light, airy pastries make Makruan’s a favorite of mine.
So, a few minutes later, I was sitting at one of the tables, enjoying the early breakfast, when a young chocolate skinned woman came up to me. Her eyes were as bright as her smile.
I did not recognize her…I think I would have remembered seeing a beauty like her before. I tried to not contemplate her ebony hair or her lithe form as she spoke to me.
"Prince Archard? Prince Archard the Trump Artist?"
"That would be me." I said, coolly. Asking who this person was seemed a bad move at the moment, even if the thought that I probably wasn’t that recognizable had crossed my mind. I also considered the possibility that a kidnapper or assassin had finally decided to target my family again.
"I just, you know, was hoping you would sign your picture in the current issue of the Royal Watch magazine. And I wanted to see that you were as cute as you are in the gazettes."
The still nameless young woman offered me a magazine like publication, emblazoned with the banner. "Royal Watch. Your guide to the Royal family." And indeed, on the cover of this issue…was a picture of someone I knew very well.
The picture was of myself. The story title under my picture, depicting me in a café not unlike this one was
"The Latest on the Royal Family’s Trump Enthusiast."
"Would you like me to put any message, or just sign my name?" I said, not quite knowing what to say at this point. My head was spinning, my mind racing, my thoughts a jumble. Something was wrong. There was something Very wrong. Indeed.
The young lady smiled. "You can just, like, put to Serina, that’s me, from Prince Archard or something like that, you know." She smiled once more and offered me a pen.
So, that is what I did. "To Serina, from Prince Archard." My admirer thought that perfectly well enough for her own needs.
"Bye, Prince Archard. I can’t wait to show this to everyone. They’ll be SO jealous!" With speed and energy rivaling Jubilee, Serina zoomed out of the café, and I couldn’t help but watch her maneuver through the growing tides of people on the street.
There was just one problem, I kept running over my mind, as I got onto my cycle and continued my journey to the Palace.
There were, as far as I know, no gazettes or any publications of any kind like the one I had just signed.
Okay, I was worried. This sort of thing did not exist in the Empire. They once had, I was given to understand, but they no longer did. They certainly would not have started again without someone finding out about it, and quickly. Great grandmother kept the public out of our spheres of privacy, taking on the role of the Royal family member that everyone knew about and followed the life of.
On a whim, I stopped off at a newsstand and picked up a copy of this Royal Watch magazine, with my picture on its cover so prominently. I had no intention of reading it at the moment, I was more interested in checking for other peculiarities…and thus I made extra speed as I wheeled through the streets, toward home. I thought I heard my name called several times as I cycled along.
I arrived at the Palace in mid-morning. Perhaps it was my nervousness or looking for things amiss that led me to believe that the Palace itself seemed slightly different than what I remembered, in the view from outside. The Tower of Ivory and Horn, for example, was on a different side of the Sapphire Courtyard.
Oh, yeah, and the more than usual set of visitors. Lots of people near the gate to the Palace. There is always people around the gates, mind you…the Palace IS a popular thing to take a look at when in sunny Darrheabarr, but it seemed a little more than usual today.
As my cycle wheeled toward the gate, I definitely and without mistake heard my name shouted, from the people. "Prince Archard" "Hey, its Prince Archard". I put a hand up, and wheeled my way through the gate, and into the grounds of the Palace.
That sort of welcome at the gates of the Palace was not exactly common, and was further proof of something amiss. In fact, I could not recall anything like it happening before. It was as if I was suddenly well known and famous.
A few minutes soon found me briskly walking through the Palace, toward my quarters. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do next, but I was sure that I needed to stop and think about what was going on. Things were happening with reckless speed.
I walked through a circular junction room I knew well, and headed down another corridor, continuing toward my apartments. I was taken aback, and stopped in mid-step, nearly tripping over my own feet.
For, coming down the hallway toward me was a man I had never seen before, save in pictures.
"Hello Archard" he said as the distance between us diminished from being measured in meters to being measured in smaller units. My mind raced, and oddly enough rather than focused on the fact that he should not be here, I wondered why he pronounced my name as if it rhymed with "orchard". Most, but not everyone, accents the second syllable, and thus my name rhymes with "shard"
I took a deep breath.
"Good day to you, Prince Roland." I said, and shook the hand that he offered me.
I was nervous. I was scared. I didn’t quite know what to say or do. I wanted to talk to him, but was afraid to do so. I trembled inside like a leaf in a monsoon. I decided to be as brief and hurried as possible. "I’m sorry, Uncle, I will talk to you later."
I sidled by him, and continued down the hall, a little faster than before, a little more determined to reach my quarters. My mind was racing, thinking a horde of things at once. I considered every wild possibility of what had happened to me. But one thing was clear…this was not the Empire that I knew…it was different, significantly so. I shuddered what else might be different in this Empire-that-Was-Not. I existed…but it could be that Jubilee didn’t…or my sister. Or any number of differences could be found.
In the Empire I knew, Prince Roland, darling of the people and the Empire, had been assassinated, foully and brutally. Since that time, the Empress had kept the citizens of the Empire at arm’s length from our private lives, but in this alternate Empire, it seemed, at the very least, that had not happened. The simplest point of divergence, then, was that.
It occurred to me, briefly, that I might profit by consulting the strange Vox Ambassador who had accompanied us on the trip to Chaos. Surely his old race would be able to tell me if I was delusional, mad, or really had somehow stepped into the wrong world, a world where history had run differently. Heck, he might provide an even weirder explanation. I did not relish, however, the thought of what price the Vox might ask me for such knowledge, and I quickly squashed the idea. A version of him might not even be found here, in this weird place.
I didn’t want to find out. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to escape this place I had someone found myself in. I made it to my rooms, and opened the door. My quarters were still there, but subtly different. I should know. I know the layout and position of every object in my quarters and I was certain that this…version of my quarters was not the same as the one I had left when embarking on my vacation.
I strode through the room, narrowing missing a slightly misplaced bed and walked over to the studio section of the room. I wasn’t sure why I had to come to my room…but now that I was here, I realized I had seen enough of this world that should not be. I pulled out my Trump of my quarters in Emerald Timbers. Perhaps if I Trumped there I could escape this alternate world. I made the contact…and went through…into a dark room.
I fumbled around in the dark a bit, and finally collapsed on the bed. My adrenaline, excitement, anxiety and stress conspired to close my eyes…
I finally awoke. Sunlight was streaming through the window. I looked around the room. Was everything all right, I wondered? I was ready to dismiss all that I had encountered, when I looked to my right.
There, next to where I was sleeping, was the copy of the magazine with my picture. I picked it up, and placed it with my stuff. I headed downstairs to get some breakfast. It was then and there that I found out the truth.
I had, as far as anyone knew, never left. My entire journey had not been noticed. It had, apparently not occurred. I even checked…my cycle was NOT missing. There wasn’t any evidence of my departure.
Still…I had the magazine, which I was afraid to show anyone.
I wasted little time packing, and then returning to the Empire via a Trump…and wasn’t I ever glad that things were as I knew. The Empire seemed normal, and so did the Palace. No screaming fans. Roland was back in the annals of history. My sister was still the sorceress I knew and loved. Jubilee was still sailing to Amber. Even the Vox ambassador was still his cryptic self.
Still, I showed no one the magazine, to which I, almost every day, look at and wonder what had really happened that fateful night and day. It's hard to explain, my horrific fascination for this...this simple booklet from my experience. It rightfully, by any stretch of the imagination, should not have been sitting by my side in bed when I woke up. And yet...there it was, in its entirety.
What does it mean that it came with me? Is it meant as reminder that I walked into a reality different than my own? I've debated bringing my sister into the picture, and letting her examine it...but my whole experience would then be revealed. And I have the strangest feeling, the weirdest sense, that telling people of my experience might make them prone to it happening to them. That the NOTION of it might have it occur to them, somehow
And, perhaps, they may not be able to leave that weird alternate world, be it real, dream or something in between, as I managed to do. So, I look at the cover picture of myself, flip through pages on events which never happened to the Royal family and keep the thing away from anyone else even accidentally to find. There are more things in the Universe than in anyone's knowledge, the Professor once told me...and this copy of Royal Watch magazine is living proof of that.
My experiences were all a Dream...weren’t they?