Foxfire (The Blood Oath) old version

Chapter 11: Acolytes of Malice

     

Drake shut his eyes.

Moments passed, but he felt no heat and did not smell the scent of burnt flesh. He opened his eyes. A bright ward of light had enveloped him. The flames had lashed upon the transparent shield. It was like a thousand firecrackers bouncing off a clear glass wall. Elizabeth was standing next to him with both hands merged together as streaks of white light passed through them.

The fire retreated to its bearer and she brought down the wall that shielded Drake.

"You dimwit," she snarled, "you could have killed him."

Edward smiled. He approached her and pulled her chin up with a finger. "That's no way to talk to a Prince. I guess it is a good thing you were here to save his arse from my fire."

"Okay Edward, you've made your point," Drake snarled. "I'm done with the both of you."

He threw the staff on the ground and walked towards Elizabeth. William charged towards him with a staff. Drake pushed Elizabeth out of the way and the blunt end of the rod jabbed upon his ribs. He fell from the force and rolled over on the garden's green grass.

Drake spat the thread of grasses that had found way into his mouth. Alfred had told him not let anyone know that his possession of foxfire can compensate for his weak bones when drawing a sigil, but he was running out of patience. He had thought that William's and Edward's cruelty were a result of lashing out in their frustration after their father had married his mother to fill the gap left by the death of a Queen.

The council of Elondale had demanded it, but what do young boys know? In their minds, Drake had stolen their place within the family, a more legitimate heir than a son of their late mother who was not born of a royal household. But the years haven't healed the hatred in their hearts and Drake could wait no longer.

Drake fingers dug into the soft grasses as he readied to push himself up. He felt a wave of energy surge through his body accompanied with an ire he could not hold back. His fingers let loose a spark of bright blue flame.

The grasses beneath blackened and died in seconds.

Drake quickly took deep breaths to calm himself. At the fifth rise of his chest, the flames died out. Drake lifted himself up. He drew a small knife from his belt and carved circles to form a triple spiral on his palm.

"Stay down, Drake!" Edward snapped.

Drake remembered the magic he had seen used by the assassin that killed Alfred. "Infusion," he muttered.

The air reeked of violence. Elizabeth slipped away from the scene. Drake watched William keenly. Wisps of black smoke rose from the floor spiraling upwards to reach William's hand. The smoke cleared to reveal a flaming double-edged sword. The hilt was held prisoner by William's fingers and the fire did not hurt him.

Few students of conjuration in the Drake's school could summon a flameblade as William had done. It was a skill that took years of training with masters of conjuration to achieve.

An ill feeling of envy itched at Drake's heart. It urged him to summon the secret of fire, to match William's show off. But Alfred's warning echoed in his head again.

"Come on, Drake," William taunted, "show me what you're made of."

Drake did not know much except for what Alfred had taught him. Even so, he had spent less time in the proving grounds horning his skills. He felt so inferior again, just like when the assassin had cornered him in the woods. Yet, the lady of the forest seemed to think he was meant for great things. The way he saw it, he would be lucky to be cleaning William's boot when he takes father's place as Duke of Dale.

"I think you need a little push, boneless!"

William came with a wide swing of his blade. Wisps of fire and smoke trailed the flaming sword. Drake ducked and the blade struck the trunk of a flowering tree, easily cutting it in half.

The tree was falling towards Drake. He crawled quickly with both hands and feet, escaping at the moment of impact. It dawned on him that William was wielding a real blade this time, not the fake wooden sword they sparred with while they were kids.

"William!" Edward grabbed his brother's sword hand, "stop it, you nearly killed him."

William swung his elbow backwards and hit Edwards lips. The boy winced and reached for his lips to stop the blood that broke out.

"Stay out of this, brother," William pointed his sword at him, "it is between me and the bastard."

Drake picked his staff.

He had not earned a sword yet, not until he graduated from a School of Magic. All boys were bounded by law never to touch a blade until they reach their seventeenth year or deemed worthy by the Scholars of their various schools. The punishment for breaking such was severe, even for a Prince of Dale.

He stretched the length of his arm on the floor to reach for the staff. William lashed his blade downwards. A trail of fire followed the boy's swing and whipped the floor, inches beside Drake's hand. Drake rolled away leftwards to escape the whips of flames. The strike had come with a great heat and would have severed his limb clean from his body if he had been too slow.

"I yield, William," Drake cried raising his arm to shield his face, "I yield."

"Coward!" William spat.

He stretched his blade towards Drake with the flame cloaked pointed edge almost kissing his throat. Drake felt the burning sensation on his skin.

"Stop it!" a voice thundered.

"William," an older boy in a brown belted tunic walked over Drake, "you know the rules. Brandishing Talents outside school or hostile environments is punishable by scourging."

"Pious Philip," William smiled raising his flaming sword, "are you going to tell on me?" he laughed.

Philip wrapped his fingers over the sharp edges of the burning sword. The fire smoldered instantly and Drake noticed a thin sheet of ice crusted on the blade. The ice grew through the length of the blade and as it reached the hilt, William abandoned it and shrieked in pain.

"What did you to me?" the boy cried, holding his right hand.

Diviners were usually confined to solitude where the meditated days upon days. But Philip proved something Drake had been curious about to be true. The School of Divination possessed an ability that made them impervious to any magic of a bloodwielder. It was the reason they were seen as self-proclaimed peace lovers.

Drake felt a hand on his shoulder. He lifted his gaze and saw Elizabeth looming behind him. "You called him didn't you?"

She nodded.

"Thanks," he whispered.

Philip circled his gaze around them, "You can save your energy for the coming weeks. Father has summoned all the members of his High council. He is going to announce the feast that marks the Transcendence Tourney. He wants the three of you to be there."

Drake grabbed Elizabeth's hand and she helped him up. It was finally there, the famous rites he had waited for all his life. If today proved anything, it was that he wasn't ready. This year, it was Elondale's turn to host. Representative to various schools of magic from the Nine Worlds crossed deserts and oceans to compete. Conjurers, Evokers, Destroyers, Restorers, Diviners, Protectors, Alterers Clairvoyants. They were the abilities of the bonded, but wining demanded more.

Edward escorted his twin, William, out of the garden.

"Are you okay, Drake?" Philip cleaned the blood on Drake's brow with a white cloth.

The older boy was difficult to read. He was not like William or Edward, yet he never showed his emotions. Drake had thought Philip was the cruel mastermind of his brother's sadism. But he had come to realize he was wrong. Philip proved his indifference to power when he looked over his inheritance as the Highprince of Dale to join the school of Divination. Of course father had renounced him as his heir.

Drake smiled. It was something he admired. Philip had been his role model, championing his desire to prove everybody wrong and be the greatest Conjurer in the history of the Nine Worlds. The stars has aligned perfectly, but he was not ready.