Foxfire (The Blood Oath) old version

Chapter 23: The Things To Die For

     

There was an unexpected quietness as he approached the Royal court. Drake went up the short stairs and slammed his fist upon the double doors. They flung open with ease and welcomed him into the dark hall. He took careful steps inside, circling his gaze around the pillars and windows. The hall was empty of its retinues, magistrate, chamberlain, nobles and most importantly, the Duke himself.

Drake paused. There was no one at all. Elondale's court was never empty. Its constant burning fires bore significance that there was still power at the heart of Dale, its capital. But the fire had been smothered. Something was wrong. Why would his father summon him to an empty court?

His eyes caught something on the far end of the floor. It was the figure of a man lying flat on his belly. Drake ran towards him.

"Are you okay?" he said as he reached the man.

He stretched his arm to touch him. Something moved through the air at great speed. His sharp ears had caught it quickly. Drake jumped away and rolled on the floor. A lightning-quick spread of throwing knives stabbed into the floor where he once stood.

Someone was trying to kill him, again.

The man on the floor suddenly sprang to his feet. Seven other men jumped down the pillars and roof. They circled Drake, all wearing white lose garments and masks that bore the faces of the Eight Patrons. The man on the floor stepped forward. He was wearing a mask with the face of Lothar, patron of Destruction magic.

"There are rumours that you carry a bond to all eight talents of infusion, Drake son of Henrik. We, the Brotherhood of Eight, do not believe this and if true, must be proven."

Drake stared at them in confusion. "Does my father know you are here?"

"We killed them all, everyone to the last," another man said.

"Look, I don't know what you heard," Drake clasped his hands, "but I am not what you think, I swear it. Just, let me go."

"It is too late," the man pulled a thin blade from a sheath at his side, "the door has been opened and we must pass through."

Drake noticed that each of them mirrored a Patron of infusion magic. They had donned the costumes of Annwyn matron of Restoration, Lothar patron of Destruction, Bourdicca matron of Protection, Horace patron of Alteration, Hamman patron of Divination, Izuna patron of Illusion, Serapis patron of Conjuration.

One was not among them, Evocation. The School of Mysticism had disbanded its Order since its Patron, Vvenom, was labeled a servant of darkness. Yet, they remained eight, even after the School of Evocation was replaced with the new School of Conjuration.

"Defeat us or die, the choice is all yours," the man said.

Is this some kind of prank? Drake thought.

The man masked with Lothar's face clasped his hands and as he released them fire spread from one to the other. The flames hurled around him as he moved his hands in patterns as if he was weaving the air. Drake was astonished at his adeptness using the sigil of destruction.

Lothar directed his flames at Drake. The fire hurtled like a flaming star falling from the sky. Drake quickly burned the sigil of protection on his palm. He opened his arms parallel to each other and weaved a bright transparent ward. The fire lashed upon the ward and was absorbed almost immediately.

"Good," the man heaved.

He looked to his left and nodded his head to signal the next man wearing a mask with the face of Horace, patron of Alteration magic.