All The Skills - Book 4 Chapter 11: Revenge Served... Immediately

Happy April Fools!

… Though this is a real chapter. (Or is it?!)

Arthur woke up.

Unlike when he had been put in Brixaby’s Personal Space, he instinctively knew that time had passed and he had not been there for it. It helped that the window he’d first seen the sunset through was now curtained off and shut. A soft card anchor lit the room.

He heard his dragon snoring, loudly and enthusiastically, right beside the bed. From where he lay, Arthur saw the top of Brixaby’s black spines rising and falling in time with his snores.

Only then did he realize that he wasn’t in any pain. In fact, he was comfortable, lying on a mattress that was much softer than the one Dannell had provided for him. His once bloody clothes had been changed, too. Now he was garbed in soft, though almost painfully thin, white clothing under the sheets.

Arthur pulled the neck of his shirt down and looked at his chest. The blood was gone, and so was the wound, save for a pinkish white line that went from one shoulder all the way down to his bottom rib on the other side, crossing his chest. It was slightly puckered, but when he poked at it experimentally, there was no pain at all. It was like a wound that had healed a long time ago.

The sound of shifting on the other side of his bed caught his attention. Marion sat in a chair next to his bedside, glasses perched on his nose. Predictably, he was reading a book.

His friend hadn’t changed much from when Arthur had seen him last. He had the type of face that was easy to lose in a crowd, with sandy brown hair, and unremarkable blue eyes. Long and lanky, he looked more suited to be a scholar than a fighter. That was a reason why Arthur had an almost instant kinship with him, back at the hive.

Seeing Arthur look at him, Marion gave an exaggerated sigh as if he were put out that he had to stop reading. Reluctantly, he closed the book.

“You’re awake. I suppose that means I have to return to work,” he said in a bored, cultured voice. “Your dragon insisted that somebody sit with you. How are you feeling, dragon rider?”

Arthur’s voice was creaky. “What are you doing here?”

Marion blinked. “Oh, so you do remember me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Arthur tried to sit up, but fell back down almost immediately. His arms were much rubberier than he had anticipated and wouldn’t hold his weight.

Immediately, Marion lost that half-amused look and rose to glance down at him, his hand hovering over Arthur as if wanting to check up on him, but wasn’t quite sure how. “Are you in pain? Should I call for a healer? Rosen insisted that you were all healed, but with all the scourgeling attacks, the we’ve all been stretched thin. It’s possible that they missed something –”

“No, I’m fine,” Arthur said.

Marion looked doubtfully at him, then glanced at a secondary card anchor that sat on a small table next to Arthur’s bed. This anchor glowed a steady blue. Arthur’s best guess was that this card anchor had been tied to him as a visual representation of his health.

“No,” Marion agreed reluctantly, “you don’t seem to be ill.”

“It’s backlash from a card,” Arthur sighed, raising his head and flopping back down on the pillow, annoyed with himself. “I used a boost from a card to increase my strength attribute by twenty points. This is what I get for pushing it so far.” He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling tired enough to slip back into sleep, but he had way too many questions to allow that. He snorted. “You should have seen what happened when I used the luck aspect one time. The worst things kept happening to me all the next day…” He opened his eyes. “What are you doing here, Marion, and why do you think I would forget you?”

Marion shrugged, though to Arthur’s eyes, he did look a little pleased that he had been remembered. “People of importance tend to forget boring underlings once they grow into power, and you are a Legendary dragon rider now.”

“You’ve never been a boring underling,” Arthur said. “You are a pr—”

Marion cut him off with a sharp shake of his head before he could even finish the word. “No, I’m not. You know better than most that I gave that up.” His lips ticked up in a smile. “In fact, rumor has it that you met my father by blood.”

Arthur noted the careful wording. Father by blood. Not King.

And it was true that Marion had given up his Legendary card that let him see five seconds into the future. It had been both half a blessing and half a curse. And yes, Arthur had certainly met with the king.

“You could’ve warned me about him,” Arthur said wryly.

“I’ve never met the man myself. Was it that bad?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, flatly.

“Is that why you’re here, across the world?”

“No…” He shook his head. “It’s complicated.”

Though, in his quiet moments, Arthur thought that meeting with the King had been the moment where his confidence in the kingdom had started to fracture.

“You still haven’t answered any of my questions,” he pointed out.

“Do me a favor,” his friend, “just call me Marion. As far as anybody knows, I’m just here for the reshuffling, just like all the other foreign visitors.” Marion shifted slightly, and Arthur caught a flash of a card anchor tattoo on the inside of his wrist. To Arthur’s memory, that had been the one used only for one local language and for reading and writing.

That spoke more of Marion’s current situation louder than anything else could. As a prince, he should have been able to afford the very best of the anchors – the ones that had every language known. Instead, he had opted for only one of the normal tattoos.

And he was here for the reshuffling.

“You want to repair your heart deck,” Arthur guessed.

Looking closely, he could see the faint signs of strain around Marion’s eyes. His friend had voluntarily not taken back his Legendary card that had been in his heart. The hole left over would always be a permanent ache. Arthur suspected Marion had had his Legendary card from the moment he had been old enough to accept a card into his heart.

People could learn to live with the pain of losing their cards from the heart deck — Arthur’s father was proof of that. Some people became so inured to the pain that trading out cards from their hearts didn’t seem to bother them at all. Those were hard men and women, and usually existed without the capacity for empathy.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Marion said. “You have no idea what a burden that card was. I told you, now I can read books without knowing the ending, and I can talk to people, normally, without knowing what they’re going to say. But, yes,” he added, “I’m here to repair my heart deck — I’m hoping to start a completely clean deck. They say the reshuffling has many miracles, and if that’s the case, I’m here to remake myself as a new man.” He flicked his fingers around. “It’s one of the reasons why I’m working at the hospital. I figured if I’m going to remake myself anew, I need to be a different man from top to bottom. So, what can be more different than a former royal becoming a humble healer who deals with the sick and the poor?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said, “you could be a former royal who cleans out the sewers for a living.”

That got a flash of a smile from Marion.

“So, you want to be a healer,” Arthur repeated. He wished he could have said that he could easily picture that, but Marion didn’t seem to have the personality for a good bedside manner.

“Well, I’m not a healer yet,” Marion replied, “I’m only an attendant. Less than a nurse, even, since I don’t have any training or any cards to help me out.”

That got Arthur’s attention. “You gave up all your cards?”

“Every single one,” he said with a nod. “I had to afford the portal over here somehow.”

Arthur’s eyebrows rose. He was impressed.

If he were in the same place, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to give up all that power voluntarily. That was a disquieting thought, but he consoled himself by reminding himself that meant giving up Brixaby, too. That would be thinkable.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

He glanced over at his dragon to find him still gustily snoring away. Marion followed his look and stared at Brixaby for a moment, with an unreadable expression on his face, though Arthur was certain he caught a flash of envy. That made sense, considering that Marion, too, had been in contention for Brixaby’s egg.

“I see that he managed to grow a little,” Marion said. “He’s definitely a purple, then?”

“Best as we can tell. He flies like one.”

“They’re usually so much more… happy-go-lucky.” Marion tactfully didn’t add that purples tended to be good natured because they were very simple creatures.

“I didn’t think we would see each other again,” Arthur said.

“Me neither. When I heard there was a dragon rider in the city, I never would’ve thought…” Marion trailed off and shook his head. Then he looked at Arthur. “Why are you here? I rather thought that you would be ruling a hive by now.”

“It’s a long story —” Arthur started, but then stopped when Marion suddenly held up a hand. There was the sound of footsteps beyond the closed door. They waited as the footsteps grew louder, then left again. Just somebody passing by.

“Look,” Marion leaned in, “your dragon played the beast while you were unconscious and scared off all the doctors — even an overzealous sheriff that came to question you. But that’s not going to last. Now that you’re awake, they’re going to want payment.”

“Payment?” Arthur asked, puzzled.

“For healing. It’s not free here. In fact, it’s quite expensive. And you were gravely injured and needed the attention and mana of a single senior healer — they call them doctors here,” Marion explained, shaking his head. “It will be two or three Rare card shards, at least. You’re lucky that they didn’t require the payment upfront. That happens sometimes, when somebody already has a bill they haven’t paid from the last time.”

“But if they’re sick or already injured…” Arthur started.

Marion just shrugged.

Between paying for healing, government loans for cards, and the tax for scourgeling harvesting… Arthur wasn’t sure he liked the picture being painted here. “I can afford to pay.”

“Can you? Because the Sheriff seemed to be very concerned about any unauthorized harvesting.”

Arthur groaned. “Did any of them scan me?”

“No, your dragon forbade it, though they insisted on scanning him — and he seemed to be fine, so they at least decided to wait for you to wake up.”

That meant Brixaby must have eaten all of the shards they had collected. It also explained why he was so deeply asleep. Sometimes, when he ate a lot of Rare shards or a card, he needed to sleep it off.

That also meant they were only down to one card.

With a wince, Arthur pulled the illusion card out of his Personal Space.

Go Clone Yo’self

Rare

Illusion

This card grants the wielder the ability to create illusionary, non-corporeal clones out of him or herself. These clones will all be visually exact to the original. The number of clones depends on the amount of mana assigned to the task. These clones have the ability to act independently. However, they cannot exert a physical force upon the environment. When struck by a outside, physical force, the illusion will be dispelled. The wielder may resummon the illusion at any time, at the cost of additional mana.

This card uses and unlocks mana.

“Marion,” Arthur said, pushing the card at him, “I need you to hide this.”

Holding his hands up, Marion took a step back. “You’re seriously offering a card to a man who has none?”

That’s right. Marion had no cards at all, yet he was working in a hospital with people who had been injured and were suffering from scourgelings and attacks, perhaps even scourge rot. That had to be incredibly dangerous to him.

Arthur’s estimation of Marion went up another notch… though for a moment, Arthur considered letting Brixaby eat the card, instead. He could imagine how terrifying his dragon would be with an illusion card like this, even only if he gained a portion of its power.

Arthur could consume the card, too. He had Brixaby’s ability. But either option meant putting the card out of circulation forever.

He would do it if he had to, or if the right card came along. But he wasn’t at that point yet.

“I trust you,” he said, still holding it out to Marion. “And I know that I’m not in the position to ask favors of you —”

“Oh, please.” Marion plucked the card from his hand and slid it into a wide pocket on the side of his pants as if he was not the least bit tempted. “You faced down my father to return my card back to him. That meant he didn’t send assassins after me. I do owe you something.”

“Well, I was going to see your father anyway,” Arthur said. But he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Neither of them had even heard the footsteps approaching.

Brixaby snorted awake, his head popping up and his lips lifting back into an automatic snarl — a snarl that died when he saw that Arthur was fully awake.

“How are you feeling?” Brixaby said, halfway climbing up onto the bed to get a close look at him. The frame groaned alarmingly.

“It looks like I’ll have a scar, but otherwise I’ll be fine.”

The door opened, and an officious-looking man in a white smock and uniform strode in.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Arthur didn’t recognize his face, but he remembered his voice as the officious healer. “I’m healer Rosen.”

Sure enough, the man brushed by Marion as if he didn’t exist, ignored Brixaby like he was no threat, and stood by Arthur’s bedside to wave his hands over him. A blue mist, then a green mist, fell over Arthur — some kind of diagnostic card charm.

After a few seconds, Rosen grunted.

“You seem to be suffering from some kind of card backlash. I’m assuming it’s an effect of whatever it took to get you out of that mess with scourgelings?”

“Something like that,” Arthur replied.

“Well, whatever it is, you escaped by the skin of your teeth. And you have a whole pack of sheriffs waiting downstairs. I can’t keep them away for much longer, now that you’re awake.”

“Arthur will not see them until he is fully healed,” Brixaby growled, snaking his head around and glaring with blood-red eyes at the man in a way that made him look about twice as evil as normal.

Rosen gave him a look as if he faced down annoyed dragons every day. “Which, in my professional opinion, he is.”

Then the healer turned to Marion with a scowl. “And what are you doing in here? Reading again?” he asked.

“I’m watching the patient,” Marion said.

“Well, there are other patients you can go help with. Room three. Go.”

Marion shot Arthur an apologetic look and made his way out.

Arthur struggled to sit up fully, though he needed a little bit of help and the addition of some pillows. The backlash from the 20-point spree had really drained him. He really wanted to sleep, but…

“Please send in the sheriffs. I need to speak to them. There are dangerous scourgelings out there on the road.”

“Says the dragon rider who came in half-dead,” Rosen muttered, annoyed all over again, as he shuffled out.

“Arthur,” Brixaby spoke to him the moment the door was shut. “They will scan you for the card—”

“It’s with Marion,” Arthur said.

“And there is a matter of pay,” Brixaby continued. “They wanted Rare card shards first before the healing would happen. Or an entire lesser card. I told them that I would simply kill them, harvest them, and then use their healing card myself to heal you.”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose.

Brixaby gave him a look. “You should be proud that I did not reveal that I could have simply ripped out the cards without killing them. I was discreet.”

“I suppose there is that,” Arthur said, dropping his hand. “Good job, Brixaby.”

He had meant it sarcastically, but the dragon preened as if he had just been given the highest of compliments.

A moment later, a small group of men and women in uniform trooped in, including, to Arthur’s mild amusement, Sheriff Walker with her two assistants.

The woman looked like she hadn’t gotten any sleep. Considering it was likely the small hours of the morning, she may not have.

“Well,” she drawled, stopping by his bedside, “I’d say that your first official mission was not a success. Give me a report.”

Arthur scowled. “You could have gotten all of this hours ago from my dragon.”

“Your dragon?” one of the sheriffs seemed taken aback.

“Brixaby is as intelligent as I am,” Arthur said.

“And I speak much more eloquently,” Brixaby rumbled.

Arthur continued, “There is a group of a dozen Rare ranked scourgelings hitting wagon caravans on the eastern interstate. We managed to kill two —”

“Three,” Brixaby corrected. “I killed one more after you were stuck.”

“Three,” Arthur said.

“Are their bodies still there for us to harvest?” Walker asked, as if that was the most important thing.

Arthur gave her a look. “Those were Rare ranked scourgelings. They set a trap for us, so I suspect they are also intelligent enough to harvest the bodies of their dead.”

“That’s convenient,” she said, seeming skeptical. “Speaking of, let’s get this over with,” she nodded to one of her assistants who pulled out a wand and started to scan Arthur.

Arthur kept his expression calm. The wand beeped at the end, and the man frowned at it.

“No, there’s no extra card signature, but there is something else…” he trailed off, looking perplexed. “Your life signature is… it’s about twenty times what it usually is.” He looked at Arthur, who was still sick in bed.

Life signatures? Then it hit him, and he was briefly ashamed he’d forgotten. “Oh, right.” Arthur said. “Yes, I’m afraid there’s something else that I need help with.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll come back to that,” Walker said and gave him a severe look. “You do realize that without scourgeling bodies, you can’t get paid. And as you’re a contractor, not a city-state employee, we will not be covering the costs.”

Her attitude annoyed him, but he had a good idea for revenge.

“How about a reward for saving survivors?” he suggested cheerfully. Then, before anyone could protest, he started to unstore the children from his Personal Space. One by one, they rapidly appeared in the hospital room.

The kids were shocked to find themselves in a room with a dragon, and were loud about it, even though Brixaby was on his best behavior and had pulled his wings in, and looked as least-murderous as possible.

But they were safe, not underground anymore, and Arthur’s Personal Space felt much emptier.

“I suspect you have some sort of assistance for the young, and a reward for us,” Brixaby said pointedly.

The sheriff looked as if she had just tasted something sour. Arthur, who after working as a leader in the hive, was well aware of the ways of bureaucracy and knew had just dumped hours of paperwork on her lap.

“Yes to both,” she conceded.