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Chapter B3: Backlash

However, the rest of the colors tended to have different body build, wing shapes, and wing beat tempo, which made formation flying particularly difficult. Some were thinner and cut through the air, while some were wide and meant for slow gliding – reds were typically famous for their long gliding powers. Browns tended to power through the air like they were trying to beat it into submission, and didn’t bother with currents and updrafts. The yellows, which dealt with energy (usually from the sun, though there were variations such as with Shadow), tended to fly better during the day even if their card didn’t use the sun’s power. No one could say exactly why.

All of this was to say that the silver Arthur rode upon was unexpectedly nimble in flight. He had slim, almost knife-like wings that cut through the air. Great for the dragon, but unfortunate for the rider. His seat was a jerky, unpleasant one where he bobbed up and down constantly and moved from right to left as if Arthur were sitting on a donkey cart with no suspension whatsoever.

Worse was that Arthur didn't have a saddle to hold onto, so he bent down and held onto the silver's neck as best he could, trying not to get in the way, and, most importantly, trying not to fall.

He couldn't wait until Brixaby grew big enough to ride. Though he suspected that Brixaby's acrobatics would take some getting used to.

Unsurprisingly, the interior of the Mesa Free Hive was designed to accommodate dragons just as well as humans. People had hallways that connected the large interior chambers, and dragons often used these. But dragons also could travel from chamber to chamber through connecting aerial tunnels. The silver used these now, and they were somewhat convoluted.

Arthur went from chamber five to three, and then crossed over, finally, to number two: the Crafters' Cave.

Now that Arthur had seen the other large bubbles, he realized that this one was more unusual. There weren't many smaller chambers for privacy, or dug-out places for residential private living units or vendor shops. Everything was a large, open-air marketplace, just underground. And it stretched on and on, with a wide mouth open to the desert at the far end.

The silver didn't have the wings to hover in place like Brixaby could do. So instead, he turned about in sharp circles, scanning the floor. "Where is he?"

Arthur gazed down too. His eyes flicked back and forth. "There!" he pointed to a red banner he had noted on top of the crafter’s booth the last time he’d been there.

The silver followed his finger and swooped down, aggressively moving people aside as he came in for a landing. Most of the buyers and crafters shot Arthur and the silver dirty looks, but they were more or less used to dragon antics and got on with their day.

Arthur vaulted off the silver's back almost before he touched down completely and ran the short distance to the booth. He spotted Brixaby slumped over on a back table, wings spread out, and his two forelimbs pressed over his head, eyes shut.

"What happened?" Arthur demanded. “Brix! Are you okay?”

The crafter who was involved with the chain mail turned to Arthur with a frown. "I don't know. He fell sick in an eyeblink."

"Brixaby?" Arthur went to his dragon's side, hands hovering, unsure. He wasn't bleeding, and Arthur felt no wavering from the link between them. But… had he somehow been poisoned? Could there have been a second assassin? Why had he left his dragon alone?

Brixaby's lid slid open slightly to reveal a ruby eye. "Stop talking so loud," he grumbled.

"I was about to summon a healer," the burly crafter said, "but he insists he doesn't need one."

Carefully, Arthur scooped Brixaby into his arms. His dragon wasn't feverish but was alarmingly limp. "What's wrong, Brixaby?"

"Headache," Brixaby gritted out.

That gave Arthur a clue. Instantly he went from worried to rueful.

"How long did you spend in your Personal Space?" he asked.

Despite his pain, Brixaby smiled a mischievous dragon smile. "Long enough to make this." With his eyes still closed, he held out a hand and pulled something, seemingly, out of midair. It was a chain mail construction about the length of Arthur's arm.

Arthur took it, eyebrows lifted.

He could see that Brixaby likely started from the open end of the sleeve, as the chain mail links were not quite as uniform as those further down. It ended in a sort of mitten shape. Dragons typically had three to four fingers per limb, though again, like the wings, this varied. Pinks were likely to have five, like a human hand.

The chainmail mitten There was one chunky portion for a thumb and a wider portion for the rest of the fingers.

"It's a prototype," Brixaby gritted, "And not completed yet. I need to reinforce the inside—It needs more metal." He winced. Apparently, talking this much hurt.

"Wait, you did this?" The chain mail master approached and stared in frank disbelief. "When did you have the time to make this?"

"I made the time," Brixaby said.

"And he's suffering the backlash because of it," Arthur explained. "He overused a card power."

"That is some card power, kid," the crafter murmured. He looked to Arthur. “You got him?”

Arthur nodded and the crafter grunted, turning to continue his own work.

Eyes still shut and grimacing, Brixaby continued, "The areas to shield the claws need to be reinforced. If those claws at the tips wear out… it won't matter… Ow…" He winced and covered his head again as if to press against his throbbing brain. "This is annoying. How long will I feel like this?" Brixaby asked, covering his head.

"For a while," Arthur admitted. "It will get better after a couple of hours.

“Hours?" Brixaby whined.

Arthur patted his back. "It’s nice that you worked so hard for Joy.”

"Of course I did. She's part of my retinue," he grumbled. "How can she serve me if she accidentally kills the next person by forgetting about her venom and hugging them?"

Brixaby had a disturbing point. Joy was apt to hug people on a whim.

Arthur looked again at the chainmail sleeve. "Do you think it will fit her?"

"… Perhaps."

Which Arthur translated as Brixaby having gotten so excited about the idea that he had rushed it without measuring. Not that Arthur had ever done the same thing or anything.

He looked at his dragon. "How far did you level your skill?"

Brixaby brightened at that. His red eyes slit open in a sly smile. "Level twenty-three."

That was a huge leap. No wonder he was suffering now. "Did you get any skill bonuses?"

"No, but I believe if I get a couple of secondary skills, I can get an advanced class."

Arthur nodded. That was one difference between his Master Skills and Master Body Enhancement card.

Skills got bonuses by combining similar skills together into classes which granted attribute points and additional bonuses. The Master of Body Enhancement, however, rewarded leveling up individual enhancements past level 20… And probably more, but Arthur hadn’t yet gotten an enhancement far past that level.

That was something to think about later. Right now, he had to figure out what to do with Brixaby. He was in no shape to see the council.

A crazy idea struck him. Brixaby was experiencing a sort of mental exhaustion. But… could it also be a psychic backlash?

Arthur shifted his dragon around and pulled both a sharp knife and the purple apple out of his storage. He cut a thin wedge out and returned the items.

“Brix, eat this.”

“I'm not hungry. Just take me somewhere cool and dark and let me be,” Brixaby moaned dramatically, flopping his head over the side of Arthur’s arm like a dead thing.

“Just try it. It might help.” At least, he was certain it couldn’t hurt. Flossie had said other test subjects hadn’t come to bad ends.

Brixaby grumbled but his nose had caught the scent of apple. He opened his mouth and allowed Arthur to place it in.

He chewed, swallowed, and went tense.

Then his head shot up, eyes wide. “What was that?!”

“Are you okay?” Arthur asked.

“I’m fine. The headache is gone. Where’s my prototype? Ah.” It was hanging off Arthur’s arm and Brixaby reached for it.

“No, don’t!” Arthur knocked his talons away, knowing that Brixaby was about to grab it and retreat into his Personal Space again. “It’s a psychic block, not a psychic heal. It’s like a painkiller,” he explained seeing Brixaby didn’t understand. “But your mind is still damaged.”

“Perhaps your mind is damaged,” Brixaby shot back. That was enough to convince Arthur he was feeling much better.

“Brix,” Arthur shot him a glare, then glanced around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. The silver was giving them baleful looks from the other end of the booth and the crafter was entertaining a few prospective customers. Neither were close enough to easily overhear. Arthur still lowered his voice. “You have to be careful in your Personal Space. When you spend a lot of subjective time in there, you’re going to get a bad backlash. It’s worse when you work on crafting. I’ve done it myself.”

“Yes, but now you have more skills… wait, was that an apple?” Brixaby eyed his rider. "How did an apple fix me?"

“I'll explain later, but you're not fixed. It only masks the symptoms, and I don’t know how long it lasts. For now, finish Joy’s chainmail in real-time.”

“Real-time is boring,” Brixaby said, but Arthur sensed he would obey him. The little dragon twisted around to look directly at the silver. “And why are you staring at my rider? He is mine. Find your own.”

The silver lifted his lip in what was either a sneer or a growl. Possibly both. “The council wishes to speak to your rider. You got in the way.”

Brixaby perked up. “An update on the assassin?” He hesitated, stared hard at the other dragon, then he nodded. “Yes, you may take us there… Er… What is your name?”

“Ghost,” the dragon said shortly.

“Ghost, then.” Brixaby smiled, all dragon teeth.

Despite the fact the Silver was many, many times Brixaby's size... he wilted a bit.

Brixaby added in Arthur’s mind, using the power he’d stolen from the mind-card, I senseGhost is unusually strong for an Uncommon. I may want him serving me in my retinue.