by Blair Drake
No, he had to continue with his bluff and pray they set the old man free. It was his only hope. He glanced down at the victim and saw blood running from a wound on his face. Jasper’s anger surged inside him. Once again, his hands clenched into fists.
Refusing to be intimidated by Drakor’s glare, Jasper shrugged. “Perhaps you’re not as widely traveled as you have people believe.”
The crowd sniggered. Drakor’s face turned red. He turned angry eyes on Jasper. “How dare ye!” he spat. “I am the King’s representative. No one, and I mean no one, speaks to me like that!”
Without warning, the man lunged at Jasper and knocked him off his feet. Caught unawares, Jasper fell hard. Once again, the air was knocked out of him and he wheezed and gasped for breath. The crowd erupted into laughter. Anger and embarrassment burned on Jasper’s face. Anger won out. He surged to his feet, his fists at the ready.
Drakor laughed even harder. “Oh look, the young pup wants to fight me. How about that?”
The laughter of the crowd grew louder and Jasper understood why. Drakor was a mountain of a man. His heavy black beard and narrowed black eyes made him look even more menacing. Jasper glared at his opponent and at the same time tried hard to stem the trembling that had started in his body.
“Come on, then! Let’s do it,” Jasper urged before his courage gave out.
Drakor shook his head in surprise. He chuckled. “Don’t be stupid, boy. I’d knock yer head off. Now, go home to yer mother and leave us to finish our business. If ye turn and leave right now, I’ll forget yer impudence.”
Jasper turned his gaze on the old man who still lay curled up on the ground. One of his eyes was swollen shut, but he looked at Jasper out of the other one. Hope and desperation warred in the old man’s eyes. Tears leaked down his cheek. Jasper saw he was the man’s only hope. If he turned his back on him, the old man would surely be stoned and beaten to death.
“Come on, boy. It’s none of yer business. Go back home to yer momma, where ye belong.”
The guffaws and jeers of the crowd filled Jasper’s ears. For a fleeting moment, he thought about turning away and leaving them to it, but then he saw the poor man who cowered on the ground, and he couldn’t do it. With a surge of determination, he tightened his fists and charged the leader.
This time, he took Drakor by surprise and managed to get in a couple of good blows before the man recovered his wits. All too soon though, Jasper was outmaneuvered, and within moments, Drakor had him pinned up against a tree. Jasper breathed hard from the exertion. Drakor hadn’t even broken into a sweat.
“So, that’s the way it’s going to be, is it?” Drakor growled.
The huge man’s foul breath filled Jasper’s nostrils and made him want to retch. He squirmed against his captor, but the man’s hold remained firm.
Drakor half-turned toward the crowd. “What are we going to do with this young upstart?”
“Stab him!”
“Hang him!”
“Tie him up and tear him limb from limb.”
“Slice him up from top to bottom and feed his guts to the lions.”
The shouts grew increasingly louder and more barbaric. Jasper’s heart thudded with fear. What the hell’s happening? How did I get into this mess? And more importantly, how can I escape?
The questions spun through his head like an out-of-control kaleidoscope, escalating his fear. He struggled to keep it from showing. He didn’t want his tormentors to know he was close to full blown panic.
And then he felt heat on the top of his thigh, burning against his skin. He shoved his hand in the pocket of his jacket and started in surprise. His hand closed around a small object that was hot to touch. He pulled it out and realized it was some kind of school pin, and it was glowing red like a pile of fresh, hot coals.
How did this get here? Was it Headmistress Lalane?
His thoughts scattered when he felt a weird tingling in his arms. Without warning, a flash of electricity arced through him, leaving his nerve endings burning.
Suddenly, he felt taller, stronger, fiercer – as if nothing and no one could stand in his way. It was the strangest feeling, and he had no idea how it came about, but before he had time to contemplate it further, he was jolted back to awareness by the flash of a long-bladed knife.
“Let’s just fight it out, man to man,” Drakor suggested. He released his hold on Jasper and sent him a malicious grin.
Jasper warily eyed the knife clutched in Drakor’s fist, taking care to circle just out of reach. He looked around for something to use as a weapon, but there was nothing. The crowd was silent and now stood back, watching the show. Jasper gathered his wits about him and prepared for the fight of his life. He had no doubt it would be a fight to the death. Only one of them would walk away alive, and he had a horrible suspicion it wouldn’t be him.
Growing impatient with the cat-and-mouse game, Drakor lunged at him. The knife blade flashed. Jasper stepped out of the way just in time. Without pause, Drakor lunged again, and this time the blade caught Jasper high on the cheek. Searing pain, followed by a burning heat, immediately registered in his brain. He reached up, and his hand came away wet and dark with his blood. He stared at it in surprise, but before he had time to think too much about it, Drakor struck again.
Again, the knife blade flashed as Drakor swung in a deadly arc. This time, Jasper was ready and he neatly sidestepped the blow. In the same moment, he grabbed Drakor’s meaty forearm – the same arm that held the knife – and he squeezed as tightly as he could. Drakor’s eyes went wide. At the sound of breaking bone, he squealed with pain. A moment later, Drakor dropped the knife.
The crowd gasped collectively, and Drakor fell to his knees. Sobbing, he held his injured arm. The bone poked all the way through the skin and made a grisly sight. Jasper stared at the wound, amazed at what he saw.
How did I have the strength to do such a thing? It seemed unbelievable.
And yet, even in the dimness, he could see the chalky white bone of his opponent. Blood poured from the wound. His stomach somersaulted in revolt. He’d never been able to stand the sight of blood. Staring at Drakor’s compound fracture, he felt lightheaded and weak.
But this wasn’t the time to disgrace himself. He’d won the battle fair and square. He wasn’t sure how he’d done it, but he had and was going to use it to his advantage. He stood back and eyed the crowd.
“Is there anyone else who wishes to take me on?” he shouted, his voice loud and clear.
As one, the crowd subsided amid murmurs of fear and uncertainty while muttering and shaking their heads. Two brave men shuffled forward, helped Drakor to his feet, and led him away. Soon the only one still there was the old man who remained huddled on the ground. Jasper moved closer and crouched down beside him.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
The figure stared up at him through his one good eye and nodded cautiously. Jasper stood and reached out his hand. The man took it gratefully and slowly rose to his feet. Though he was as tall as Jasper, he had an air of fragility about him, and his skin was wizened and brown. A long white beard flowed down his chest, almost touching the ground.
He stared at Jasper. The eye that hadn’t suffered from the beating was the color of amber and filled with keen intelligence. Then it widened in recognition followed swiftly by alarm.
No, that can’t be right. There was no way the man could know him. Jasper had never been there before. He dismissed the notion as a trick of his imagination.
“Th-thank ye, boy. Ye saved my life.”
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