Source & Soul: A Deckbuilding LitRPG

Chapter 21

Fortune’s Little Tricks

“Thank the Twins,” Basil huffed as we arrived at platform 4. “You haven’t missed it. Get up there.”

I wiped the sweat from my brow, tried to slow my breath, and went for the stairs. My courage failed and I turned back to the boy. He’d pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve to dab at his temples and throat. “We should have gotten the scalemail. I’m going to lose. You want me to lose.”

His nostrils flared and his lips thinned. “Who won our match?”

I thought about hitting him, but even in the Lows we knew not to stick a man that’s just done you good. “You did. Barely.”

“Call it handily and you’ll come closer. Just don’t forget to use the potion when I told you.”

I shook my head, feeling stubborn. It was easier to argue with the little shit than face my next match. “You’ve got me wasting a turn of invulnerability. It’s stupid.”

“I am not re-litigating this, Hull. Get up those stairs and thrash the fellow.”

I licked my lips and considered the dueling ring. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Hull.” Basil’s voice lost its snooty air as he leaned in and spoke earnestly. “You can win this. I’m done for the day; I’ll be here watching. I half feel that I should want you to lose, but Esmi’s got it right on this one. We ought to help each other when we can.”

An announcer’s voice broke in overhead, sounding annoyed. “The match is ready to begin. Competitors, take your positions.”

Basil waved up the stairs. “They will disqualify you if you dawdle. Go on, and don’t make me look a fool for spending time on you.”

Steeling myself and putting the odd, infuriating little nobleman to the back of my mind, I mounted the short flight of stairs to the dueling square. The man that I found staring back at me from the far side was, as I’d been warned, actually an elf, and he was wearing even richer clothes than Basil and his friends. My guts cramped in anxiety, and I suddenly wondered if my deck upgrades would be of any use against Life cards I’d never even heard of before.

The tall, beautiful, whip-thin creature swayed bonelessly over to me, all blond hair, cheekbones, and casual arrogance. “So you’re the poor kid with the good card, are you? You’re the perfect ideation of this garbage heap of a city.” He leaned close. “Don’t tell anyone I said it.” His breath stank of liquor, but even that smelled expensive.

He was right up in my face and it wasn’t time to hit him yet, so I backed up a step. “Are you drunk? Before a duel?”

He straightened and put his hands on his hips, looking proudly over the arena as if he owned it. “I am.”

Look at this idiot. Nobody ever said elf-folk were so dumb. He didn’t look any older than the rest of the competitors, but the stories said elves lived for ages and looked young the whole time, so who knew? Maybe he was just young and inexperienced. I couldn’t help but thank Fate for her boon. The stories also said elves were fast, fierce, and relentless.

With a sudden, despondent sigh, he folded himself up at my feet, sitting in a heap. “One reason I was sent. Exactly one. Lose to the Prince so he gets the gift and then bow out of the tournament gracefully. I did as the mothers told me, and then… Fortune. Fortune, you heartless bastard!” He laughed, a melodic, despairing sound. It looked like he was crying.

I looked around. The Dueling Dome was bound to go up any second, and the crowd watching us was murmuring in confusion. Basil, still watching from outside the ring, shrugged helplessly. “I… don’t think we’re supposed to be talking.”

He grabbed me by the wrist from where he sat, striking like a snake. Drunk or not, he was fast. “The rarest card almost always gets picked for ante; the Twins like high stakes. Do they hate me? Why did they make me forfeit a Common to the Prince? It’s the whole reason I was sent; the card was a message! What message does a Common send? I’ll tell you: it’s that my kind would just as soon shit on the Sun King’s head, that’s the message it sends.” He cocked his head and shrugged loosely. “And that’s true enough, I suppose, but it’s not the message the Prince was supposed to get! I tried to apologize, tried to give it to him, but the little whoreson walked off in a snit.”

Another glance at Basil showed him even paler than usual and with eyes as round as the moon. The elf wasn’t talking quietly. A few of the spectators in the lowest stands were guffawing and passing the drunk elf Ambassador’s words to their friends.

The commentator’s voice cut in as the Dueling Dome went up in haste. “Sorry for the unexpected delay, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s give our competitors a moment to collect themselves while we start the final match of the day for these two. Welcome back to Hull, an unexpected up-and-comer, and Fferun, envoy from the Elven tribes of the Eastern Blue Wilds!”

The cheers and applause from the audience muted as the Dome closed overhead, but I heard as much laughter as anything else. The drunken fool of an elf was making an ass of himself and spilling secrets besides. Not that I cared: the more people wanted to hear about honored allies talking about shitting on my blessed father’s head, the better.

“Get up,” I said, taking the morose elf by the hand and pulling. “The match is about to start.”

He staggered up, swayed like a tree in a windstorm, and gave a soul-deep sigh. Then he visibly steeled himself and focused his gaze in on me. His irises were a sunny yellow flecked with bronze. Suddenly he looked entirely sober.

“I’m going to grind you to powder and win this mockery of a tournament,” he whispered. “Nobody makes a fool of me.”

I couldn’t help a laugh as he walked away. “Looks like you’re doing a pretty good job of that all on your own.”

He didn’t acknowledge my words, his back ramrod straight. I didn’t even hear the commentator as she went through the opening paces of the match; suddenly a card flew out from behind my ear and the elf’s at the same time. Both were immediately magnified overhead, and the crowd gasped as one, the chatter falling momentarily silent.

“Really?” the elf called bitterly to the sky. “Now it comes out?!”

“We have our highest stakes of the tournament so far, everyone,” said the commentator, sounding awed. “An Epic against a Mythic!”

The crowd lost their damn minds. They cheered, they swore, they pounded each other on the backs. Within seconds the stands closest to our dueling square held twice as many people as the word spread and gaping city folk came to watch us fight over cards that only the richest of the rich would ever lay hands on. I shook my head and tried to get my head into the match. You can hit harder than ever, and Basil says the Potion is the best thing for me. Maybe he’s even right. He might be a rich little prick, but he did win.

Fferun’s drunkenness seemed to have evaporated in the face of his anger. He glared at me from over a handful of cards. A quick squint showed me his Mind Home was thicker with cards than Lily’s had been, but only by a little. If things went like Basil assured me they would, I might be able to outlast him. I drew all three of my cards from my Mind Home and filled out my opening hand of five with Nether from my heart. I was glad to hear the announcer say that Nether took first turn against life as we both put our first source into play, and then, suddenly, we were in the thick of it.

Same first play as always. Hit first, hit hard. I pulled two more source into hand, launched myself toward the willowy elf even as I devoted my Nether overhead, and summoned my newly-elevated Hammer.

It felt heavier and somehow meaner in my hand as I swung at him, and Fferun grimaced prettily, smoothly moving his card hand up to intervene even as he began to draw on his own vine-wrapped ball of Life source overhead. A card shattered out of his hand.

“Ah, a smart discard on the Ambassador’s part,” the announcer called. “The Flock Mother would be of little use against an opponent with such a thin deck; by the time he might put her to use, Hull is likely to have all his cards in play.”

I hardly heard the man; all I knew is that was one less card between me and a win. The elf flowed away from me smoothly, summoning an Order source even as he moved. That was a surprise – I’d thought he was playing pure Life. That wasn’t the uppermost thought in my mind though; if this was how quickly the bastard moved when he was drunk, I was glad I wasn’t facing him sober. A Soul misted into being next to him, and a clipped word from its Summoner sent it racing toward me before it had even finished appearing.

The blank-faced elf warrior was on me before I knew it, jabbing a curved silver sword at my ribs. Heart hammering, I backpedaled and tripped as the sword came at me. Fate’s Grace overtook me, slowing the moment in time, and I had the extremely odd sensation of falling backwards very slowly. I couldn’t let the blow land; my Mind Home was empty. My only option was to block with the source in my hand, and two of the cards of ink-purple clouds disappeared into shards. Time sped back up, and catching my balance cost me the chance to swing back at the attacking Soul.

That’s all right. He’s mine now. Fferun had devoted the Warden Soul in order to attack with it, and now it was defenseless, down on one knee right by Fferun as it recovered. I could attack it at my leisure, and with both of his summoned sources focused, there wasn’t a thing Fferun could do about it.

I put another Nether overhead. It was time to cast my Sucking Void, but I dithered for a heartbeat, wishing I could hold off for another turn. The later I cast it, the longer it would last. That was lunacy, though: if Fferun had another cheap Soul in hand, he could summon and devote it to strip even more source out of my hand, and the more source I lost before putting it out, the less I’d be able to use to power my blows with Nether. Do what works. Don’t get fancy. I devoted the newly summoned Nether and cast the Spell.

“Hull casts his signature Spell, meaning he can’t be harmed for three rounds,” the announcer murmured. The crowd whistled and cheered as the starlight skin of invulnerability tightened around me. The folks in the cheap seats loved watching a little shit like me beat up on the fine folk. The sound warmed my heart as I attacked again, targeting the kneeling Elf Warden. It shattered into shining bits, and a wave of force from my Overkill hammer pushed through the sparkles toward Fferun.

The elf Ambassador spat something in Elvish that sounded like a curse before flicking another card up to block the passthrough damage.

“Fferun is taking more than he’s giving,” the announcer said. “He needs to turn this around before the upstart gets out of hand.”

“They needn’t tell me how to do my job,” the elf snapped. He looked baffled and frustrated now that he couldn’t hurt me. Another Life source went up over his head, and he devoted both Life source and focused his one Order. My heart clenched – this would be a big one.

I blinked. What was wrong with that card? Why was part of it upside down? And how had a 1/1 taken five source? It vanished before I got a good look. But as I goggled at the slender elf maid in her furs that was coalescing, she misted again, taking on another form.

Oh. The pretty elf girl had turned into a slavering wolf-man standing on his hind legs. What he lacked in looks he made up for in scariness. I was suddenly very glad of my untouchability – that thing had a wicked jaw, and I wasn’t excited to meet it.

The elf Ambassador cursed in his melodic language again. He obviously wanted to send that nasty Soul after me but couldn’t do anything while I was protected. He turned aside and spat, stumbling just a hair as he did so. Maybe the drink was still affecting him after all.

“My turn,” I whispered, putting up another Nether. Time to deal some real damage.

Piercing through the roar of the crowd, I heard a nearby voice yelling, “Now! Use it now!”

I knew that snotty tone. Basil was trying to run my match while I was right in the middle of a fight. My heart rebelled. What does he know? He’s an idiot noble that just wants to order me around like his own private life-size toy. I’m the one fighting here. I needed to hit this elf bastard hard, and I needed to do it now, not summon some piddly potion.

The quiet part of me, though, pushed back. Why ask for help if you’re too proud to take it? You’re in over your head and he knows more than you. Admit it.

Hating it even as I did so, I devoted both of my available Nether, but I only channeled enough for 1 extra damage into my arms, and the rest I used to summon the new Relic Basil had foisted on me.

The Potion manifested in my hand. Popping the cork, I downed the thick, red brew, trying not to gag. It both looked and tasted suspiciously of blood. A moment later, I felt a card re-materialize in my Mind Home. The Sucking Void that had been in some invisible waste space had come back to me. Once I drew it next turn, I could use it again.

As I rushed at Fferun with my hammer, I thought back on how I’d argued with Basil about the strategy he’d dreamt up for me. Obviously getting my Spell back in order to cast it again was a great move, but I’d wanted to wait until the next turn. As it was, he wanted me to cast it on my third turn of invincibility, essentially wasting one of my turns of protection as it reset to turn one while still on turn three.

He’d countered that I couldn’t afford the turn of vulnerability if I let the Spell expire on its own. With no Souls to block and nothing else but source in my hand, a big swing from my opponent could knock me out before I could cast again.

Now that I could feel the Spell back in my Mind Home, I knew he’d been right. I just hadn’t wanted to say so. He’d have been so smug. Last thing that boy needs to hear is that he’s right.

Fferun was keeping up a steady stream of cursing now, varying in volume and intensity to match his own movement. With an agonized look at his own hand of cards, he gave a flick of his fingers, and his Werewolf dove in front of my hammer, protecting him. It didn’t look nearly so scary when it burst into shards, even if it did absorb the entire blow.

“What was that about grinding me to powder?” I called to him as he backed away.

“It’s not wise to boast before you’ve actually won, little boy,” he growled. “That Spell of yours is about to run out.”

I gave him a winning smile. “Is it, though?”

Snarling, he put up another Life source, focusing both it and his single Order to bring out another Soul.

Fferun looked at the starlit skin that still covered me, and even with his new card in play, he cursed a third time in disgust. “I might as well drink tea with him as pretend to fight you.” The Leaf Whisperer stood at the ready, waiting for its master’s call, but Fferun left it idle and ready to block. “That’s the most annoying Spell I’ve ever seen.”

“I kind of like it,” I responded, drawing my Sucking Void and another source. I devoted the two I had available, cast the Spell again, and used the rest to power up my hit.

Now, instead of being on turn three of you-can’t-touch-me, I was back on turn one. Fferun’s face went slack with the realization, and the sight made me laugh. The Nether felt good in my veins. I still felt the rage I always had, but focusing on the match kept my head clearer. As I leapt and swung my weapon, I suddenly realized that I really enjoyed dueling. Yes, I might be dead tomorrow under Ticosi’s knife, but this was what the old duelist I’d gotten that first card had meant: I hadn’t lived until now.

This time the elf was silent and grim as I hit him. He didn’t block with the Leaf Whisperer; maybe he hoped to keep it out long enough to do some good later. For whatever reason, he blocked out of hand again. Two cards shattered, leaving his hand empty.

A quick glance at his Mind Home showed that he only had three cards left. I might just do this! It was getting easier to shift my eyes into the strange blurriness that let me see the cloud of cards around him.

Fferun drew two cards from his Mind Home, leaving him with only one, and then devoted all three of his Life source. I braced for another big summons, but instead, he merely glowed a little, and nothing happened.

“The Ambassador uses his source ability to Heal for 2,” the announcer said. “A smart move to keep this heavy hitter at bay.”

I gaped and looked back to his Mind Home. Where a moment before there had only been a single card remaining, now there were three. “You can do that?” I said.

He gave me a bitter smile. “You’re not the only one allowed to Heal. Some of us learn to do it in our cradles.”

Shit. I’d thought he was almost done for, but now he had a couple of his dead cards back. What went first? The bird lady and the Wolfkin? I really didn’t want to face the Werewolf again. The good news was that it looked like using Life to Heal was expensive; he didn’t summon anything with his remaining Order source.

I needed to close this out, and quick. I was now on my second turn of the Sucking Void. I put up my one remaining Nether out of hand, leaving me with three I could use right now; the other two were still refreshing. I wanted to devote them all to swing as hard as I could, but that small, wise part of me wondered if it might not be smart to save a little juice for the following turn. I shook my head at myself as I split the difference, devoting one and focusing the other two. Who even am I if I don’t go hard? Basil’s infected me with something.

Still, I was hitting for 4, and Fferun took it on the chin again, holding his Leaf Whisperer in reserve. Two more cards bit the dust in a silver shower.

There was that incredible Mythic. I wanted it so badly I could taste it. Who cared if I could never use it – my mind spun at the thought of all the incredible trades it could bring me. Yes, I wanted to win so I could keep my Epic, of course, but that card!

Fferun took a deep breath, steadied himself, and drew one from his Mind Home and one source. I spared a moment’s pity for him: he needed source to cast anything, but he needed cards in hand to block as well.

Whatever he had been hoping to see, it wasn’t what he drew, because he gave a despairing laugh, shot me a quick glance to count the source I’d have coming up, and then cast his hand up in the air. They vanished in midair.

“I concede,” he said in a loud voice.

I stopped dead in my tracks, and the crowd did too. Then everyone went wild.

“You can do that?” I muttered. The emerald-bordered card flew away from the elf with the bowed head and landed heavily in my hand.

I couldn’t believe it. The image of the beautiful elf and the regal-looking man moved, speaking silently to each other as they consulted the book before them. I didn’t even know how much a card like this was worth, and it was mine. I felt light-headed. This couldn’t be real.

A slender hand intruded on my field of vision, and I automatically clutched the card to my chest.

“You shake hands, do you not?” Fferun said. “The mothers told me you barbarians press your stinking, dirty hands together to show respect. If I’m going home in shame, I might as well congratulate the one who wasn’t supposed to beat me but did anyways.”

I shook his hand. His grip was hard, and he jerked me in close. I could still smell the liquor on him.

“They’ll come for you,” he told me. “That card was meant for their Prince.”

Then he let me go and moved away smoothly, only staggering the tiniest bit. “I wash my hands of it. I never want to see this city again.”

I stumbled down the stairs in a daze. Basil was right there, bouncing on his toes. “You did it! You really did it!”

“You said I would.”

“Yes, but I didn’t really believe it! And what a prize. May I see it?”

It was a sign of how dazed I was that I actually allowed him to hold the card for a moment.

“Incredible,” he breathed. “We can manage some amazing trades with this.”

I focused in on him as he handed the Mythic back to me. “We?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, laughing. “There are going to be exotic card dealers at the Spring Soiree tonight, and you’re going to be there. I won’t allow anything else. Get to your room and have them bring you a tub – you’re dining with the high rollers tonight.”