Foxfire (The Blood Oath) old version

Chapter 17: Soldier of Light

   

Drake awoke with memories that were not his own.

The brief flashes of images sieged his mind. The memories revealed images of men in their numbers bowing before a great darkness. He didn't understand what it meant.

His head was heavy, his dark hair wet, and slapped upon his skin. His knees were sunk in the puddle of water and when he looked to the sky, the entire world seemed to have turned and left him behind.

A hand came upon his shoulder, "Did you sleep in the rain, Drake?"

The voice was familiar. Drake turned and his eyes met with Elizabeth's. He staggered to his feet and rested his hand on the wall beside him.

"I feel like . . . I feel like . . ." he broke down, "I feel like . . ."

Elizabeth gaze did not move from his face. "Drake," she called softly, "your eyes."

"What about them?"

The girl stepped backwards, moving away from him. He saw in her eyes pure terror. Her face paled with cold dread.

"What about them!"

"Fire," Elizabeth muttered eyes widened.

Foxfire, Drake thought. A smile crept upon his face, and then he remembered. He remembered her. The White Wisp, Lady of Light, or whoever she was. Her promises had been kept. She had called herself the Light who had been in an endless battle with an entity she had only referred to as the Darkness or Chaos. He remembered his oath to her and even now he could feel her within himself.

Drake felt the urge to spill his secret to Elizabeth. It would go a long way to calm the terrified girl, but even in a world where achieving the impossible was a trend, there were still dungeons for those who are considered mad and witless.

The acrid stench of smoke wafted past Drake's nose. "Do you smell that?"

"Smell what?" Elizabeth raised her blue sensitive eyes at him, half terrified.

The smell was like burning peat. A gust of wind pushed billows of smoke towards them. The smell was stronger this time. A flake of ash settled on Drake's hand. The thick flowers of the garden rustled. Drake readied himself. A guard jumped out of the leaves and fell at Drake's feet.

"The Hall of Patron is burning, my lord," he pointed northwards, "Assassin comes to kill the king. . ."

The words fell on Drake's ears but his mind conjured something different. He weighed the risk of helping his father or brothers. What was he to gain from helping those who hated him? He would give up a thousand gold crowns to see William dead in the rubbles, but even so his heart troubled him.

Elizabeth had run half way down the narrow cobblestone pavement and halted when she saw him far behind her.

"Aren't you coming?" she yelled from afar.

Drake hesitated and gave no response. This was his opportunity. With his father and brothers dead, the throne of Elondale would fall to him. But he never wanted to be a leader in the first place. How would he stand and watch the charred remains of his pious half-brother, Philip?

A cold sensation ran beneath his skin. It felt like something cold was trying to claw out of his body.

Remember your oath, Drake son of Henrik, a calm voice sounded in his head.

Cold chill ran down Drake's spine. He looked from left to right, yet saw no one. "Who are you?" he asked, frightened.

I am you, the voice replied. Look into the water . . .