Blood Oath (Book 2 of Alfireán age)

Trapped like Rats

Memories of a much younger version of the older man standing in front of him flooded Drake's mind. Most of them had been before he had become the spy master. He blinked in disbelief. Had it really been that many years since he had seen his uncle? He knew he had lived a backroom and secretive life, but had he really kept himself in the shadows that long?

"Get that fond look off your face. I wasn't that great of an uncle!" the bearded fellow barked.

A small smile parted Drake's lips. He ran towards the man and a thought shot into his mind. Wait, if it's been that many years, there's no way he should be able to recognize me. Especially with my confusion spell in place. Drake came to a stop and took a second look at his uncle.

The man was no ordinary fellow: an assortment of spells covered him from head-to-toe, and he had at least three, if not four, magic tattoos activated. Most surprising of all, though, was the magic signature of one of his father's Imperial crests, one he didn't recognize.

The older gentleman noticed the change in his eyes and promptly said. "Yes, I work closely with your father, and I'd like to know what in the Dragon's fire is going on! But first, you need to wake up my son." He stood to his feet, being careful to keep both his hands on the shield. "I believe the smelling salts are in my right cargo pocket."

Drake pushed aside the questions which normally took prevalence in his mind and dashed over to him. Using his dragon eye to locate the smelling salts, he quickly retrieved them from his uncle's left cargo pocket and headed for Alf.

"Don't bother. That one is down for the count and will be out for quite some time. My son over there, on the other hand, from the looks of it, should wake up with just a little coaxing," Rex's father called after him.

One glance at Alf with Ra'avah and Drake knew he was right; blood seeped from Alf's head and energy swirled like a cyclone inside his brain as it desperately tried to heal the sudden damage to his neural passageways. Drake tore his eyes away and sprinted past him, around the crater, and over to Rex. Breaking the smelling salts, he swooshed it back and forth underneath the nose holes in Rex's damaged mask.

The vice champion shot up like a rocket and pulled away, coughing and gagging. "Ah man, I hate those things!" he gasped, rubbing his hand under his nose. Then he remembered where he was and frantically looked around till his eyes fell on Alf. "Oh, that can't be good."

"It's not!" Rex's father yelled. The sound of distant marching footsteps echoed up the street and all color drained from Mr. Havanger's face. "And things just got far worse."

"Dad?" Rex turned to see his father. "When'd you get home?"

"About fifteen minutes ago, and what do I find? Freaks wearing strange uniforms barring my way back into my own hometown, that's what! Worse yet, after I disposed of them, I find out that my arena has been attacked while I was gone and it's missing one of its walls to boot."

Some of the tension in Rex's shoulders faded away. "I'm glad you're home dad."

"I am too son, but I need you to listen to me and not argue with me about what I'm about to tell you to do, for the first time in your life."

Rex's father's tone caused his son to freeze in his tracks.

"Dad, what's wrong?" Rex asked in trepidation.

"I need you to pick up little Drakovy, and your friend there in the cocoon, then run for your life."

"No! No way! I'm not leaving you here alone with that freak!"

"You don't have a choice," Mr. Havanger said, his voice stony and hard. "Any minute now, two-hundred enemy soldiers, men who have had their energy opened by dark magic, are going to come around that corner. Normally, I would let this thing go and both of us together would've kicked his butt, but there's just not enough time for that, and from what I've seen of this freak, there's no way you could escape carrying all three of us."