by Morgan Rice
A chorus of clanking erupted, tin cups banging against metal bars, and Thor looked to see the entire corridor filled with cells, grotesque-looking prisoners sticking their heads to the bars and, in the flickering torchlight, sneering out at him. Most were unshaven, with missing teeth, and some looked as if they’d been down here for years. It was a horrifying sight, and Thor forced himself to look away. Was he really down here? Would he be stuck down here, with these people, forever?
“Don’t worry about them,” Merek said. “It’s just you and me in this cell. They can’t get in. And I could care less if you poisoned the king. I’d like to poison him myself.”
“I didn’t poison the King,” Thor said, indignant. “I didn’t poison anyone. I was trying to save him. All I did was knock over his goblet.”
“And how did you know the goblet was poisoned?” screamed a voice from down the aisle, eavesdropping. “Magic, I suppose?”
Their came a chorus of cynical laughter from up and down the cell corridor.
“He’s psychic!” one of them yelled out, mocking.
The others laughed.
“No, it was just a lucky guess!” another bellowed, to the delight of the others.
Thor glowered, resenting the accusations, wanting to set them all straight. But he knew it would be a waste of time. Besides, he didn’t have to defend himself to these criminals.
Merek studied him, with a look that was not as skeptical as the others. He looked as if he were debating.
“I believe you,” he said, quietly.
“You do?” Thor asked.
Merek shrugged.
“After all, if you’re going to poison the King, would you really be so stupid to let him know?”
Merek turned and walked away, a few paces over to his side of the cell, and leaned back against the wall and sat down, facing Thor.
Now Thor was curious.
“What are you in for?” he asked.
“I’m a thief,” Merek answered, somewhat proudly.
Thor was taken aback; he’d never been in the presence of a thief before, a real thief. He himself had never thought of stealing, and he had always been amazed to realize that some people did.
“Why do you do it?” Thor asked.
Merek shrugged.
“My family has no food. They have to eat. I don’t have any schooling, or any skills of any kind. Stealing is what I know. Nothing major. Just food mostly. Whatever gets them through. I got away with it for years. Then I got caught. This is my third time caught, actually. Third time’s the worst.”
“Why?” Thor asked.
Merek was quiet, then slowly shook his head. Thor could see his eyes well up with tears.
“The king’s law is strict. No exceptions. Third offense, they take your hand.”
Thor was horrified. He glanced down at Merek’s hands; they were both there.
“They haven’t come for me yet,” Merek said. “But they will.”
Thor felt terrible. Merek looked away, as if ashamed, and Thor did, too, not wanting to think about it.
Thor put his head in his hands, his head killing him, trying to piece together his thoughts. The last few days felt like a whirlwind; he could hardly believe how much had happened, so quickly. On the one hand, he felt a sense of success, of vindication: he’d seen the future, had seen MacGil’s poisoning, and had saved him from it. Perhaps fate, after all, could be changed, perhaps destiny could be bent. Thor felt a sense of pride: he had saved his king.
On the other hand, here he was, in the dungeon, unable to clear his name. All his hopes and dreams were shattered, any chance of joining the Legion gone. Now he would be lucky if he didn’t spend the rest of his days down here. It pained him to think that MacGil, who had taken Thor in like a father, the only real father he had ever had, thought Thor actually tried to kill him. It pained him to think that Reese, his best friend, might believe that he’d tried to kill his father. Or even worse, Gwendolyn. He thought of their last encounter, of her thinking he frequented the brothels, and felt as if everything good in his life had been pulled out from under him. He wondered why this was all happening to him. After all, he had only wanted to do good.
Thor didn’t know what would become of him; he didn’t care. All he wanted now was to clear his name, for people to know that he hadn’t tried to hurt the king; that he had genuine powers, that he really saw the future. He didn’t know what would become of him, but he knew one thing: he had to get out of here. Somehow.
Before Thor could finish the thought, he heard footsteps, heavy boots clomping their way down the stone corridors; there came a rattling of keys, and moments later, there came into view a burly jail keeper, the man who had dragged Thor here and punched him in the face. At the sight of him Thor felt the pain well up on his cheek, felt aware of it for the first time, and felt a physical revulsion.
“Well, if it isn’t the little pip who tried to kill the King,” the warder scowled, as he turned the iron key in the lock. After several reverberating clicks, he reached over and slid back the cell door. He carried shackles in one hand, and a small axe hung from his waist.
“You’ll get yours,” he sneered at Thor, then turned to Merek, “but now it’s your turn, you little thief. Third time,” he said with a malicious smile, “no exceptions.”
He suddenly dove for Merek, grabbed him roughly, yanked one arm behind his back, clamped down the shackle, then clamped the other end into a hook on the wall. Merek screamed out, tugging wildly against the shackle, trying to break free; but it was useless. The warder got behind him and grabbed him, held him in a bear hug, took his free arm, and placing it down on a stone ledge.
“This will teach you not to steal,” he snarled.
He reached back, removed the axe, and raised it high above his head, his mouth open wide, his ugly teeth sticking out as he snarled.
“NO!” Merek screamed.
Thor sat there, horrified, transfixed as their warder brought down his weapon, aiming for Merek’s wrist. Thor realized that in moments, this poor boy’s hand would be chopped off, forever, for no other reason than his petty thievery for food, to help feed his family. The injustice of it burned inside him, and he knew that he could not allow it. It just wasn’t fair.
Thor felt his entire body growing hot, and then felt a burning inside, rising up from his feet and coursing through his palms. He didn’t know what was happening to him, but he felt time slow down, felt himself moving faster than the man, felt every instant of every second, as the man’s axe hung there in mid-air. Thor felt a burning energy ball in his palm, and reached back and hurled it at his warder.
He watched in amazement as a yellow ball went flying from his palm, through the air, lighting up the dark cell as it left a trail—and went right for the warder’s face. It hit him in his head, and as it did, he dropped his axe and went flying across the cell, smashing into a wall and collapsing. Thor saved Merek a split second before the blade reached his wrist.
Merek looked over at Thor, wide-eyed.
The warder shook his head and began to rise, to head for Thor. But Thor felt the power burning through him, and as the warder reached his feet and faced him, Thor ran forward, jumped into the air, and kicked him in the chest. He felt a power he had never known rush through his body, and heard a cracking noise, as his kick sent the large man flying back through the air, smashing against the wall, and down into a heap on the floor, truly unconscious this time.
Merek stood there, shocked, and Thor knew exactly what he had to do. He grabbed the axe, hurried over, held his shackle up against the stone, and chopped it. A great spark flew through the air, as the chain-link was severed. Merek flinched, then raised his head and looked at the chain dangling down to his feet, and realized he was free.
He stared back at Thor, open-mouthed.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Merek said. “I don’t know how you did that, whatever it is, or who you are—or what you are—but you saved my life. I owe you one. And that is
something I do not take lightly.”
“You owe me nothing,” Thor said.
“Wrong,” Merek said, reaching out and clasping Thor’s forearm. “You’re my brother now. And I will repay you. Somehow. Someday.”
With that, Merek turned, hurried out the open cell door, and ran down the corridor, to the shouts of the other prisoners.
Thor looked over, saw the unconscious guard, the open cell door, and knew he had to act, too. The shouts of prisoners were growing louder.
Thor stepped out, looked both ways, and decided to run the opposite way of Merek. After all, they couldn’t catch them both at once.
CHAPTER THREE
Thor ran through the night, through the chaotic streets of King’s Court, amazed at the commotion around him. The streets were more crowded than ever, throngs of people hurrying about in an agitated stir. Many carried torches, lighting up the night, casting stark shadows on faces, while the castle bells tolled incessantly. It was a low ring, coming once a minute, and Thor knew what that meant: death. Death bells. And there was only one person in the kingdom for whom the bells would toll on this night: the king.
Thor’s heart pounded as he wondered. He saw that dagger from his dream flash before his eyes. Had it been true?
He had to know for sure. He reached out and grabbed a passerby, a boy running the opposite direction.
“Where are you going?” Thor demanded. “What is all this commotion?”
“Haven’t you heard?” the boy shot back, frantic. “Our king is dying. Stabbed. Mobs are forming outside King’s Gate, trying to get the news. If it’s true, it’s terrible for us all. Can you imagine? A land without a king?”
With that, the boy shoved Thor’s hand off and turned and ran back into the night.
Thor stood there, his heart pounding, not wanting to acknowledge the reality all around him. He could hardly believe it. His dreams, his premonitions—they were more than fancies. He had seen the future. Twice. And that scared him. His powers were deeper than he knew, and seemed to be getting stronger with each passing day. Where would this all lead?
Thor stood there, trying to figure out where to go next. He had escaped, but now he had no idea where to turn. Surely within moments the royal guards—and possibly all of King’s Court—would be out looking out for him. The fact that Thor escaped would just make him seem more guilty. But then again, the fact that MacGil was stabbed while Thor was in prison—wouldn’t that vindicate him? Or would it make him seem like part of a conspiracy?
Thor couldn’t take any chances. Clearly, the kingdom wasn’t in the mood to hear rational thought—it seemed that everyone around him was out for blood. And he would probably be the scapegoat. He needed to find shelter, some place to go where he could ride out the storm and clear his name. The safest place to go, he knew, would be far from here. He should flee, take refuge in his village—or even farther, as far from here as he could get.
But Thor did not want to take the safest route; it was not who he was. He wanted to stay here, to clear his name, and to keep his position in the Legion. He was not a coward, and he did not run. Most of all, he wanted to see MacGil before he died, assuming he was still alive. He needed to see him. He felt overwhelmed with guilt that he hadn’t been able to stop the assassination. Why had he been doomed to see the king’s death if there was nothing he could do about it? And why had he envisioned him being poisoned when he was, in fact, stabbed?
As Thor stood there, debating, it came to him: Reese. Reese was the one person he could trust not to turn him into the authorities, maybe even to give him safe harbor. He sensed that Reese would believe him. He knew that Thor’s love for his father was genuine, and if anyone had a chance of clearing Thor’s name, it would be Reese. He had to find him.
Thor took off at a sprint through the back alleys, twisting and turning against the crowd, as he ran away from King’s Gate, towards the castle. He knew where Reese’s room was—on the eastern wing, close to the outer city wall—and he only hoped that Reese was inside. If he was, maybe he could catch his attention, help him find a way into the castle. Thor had a sinking feeling that if he lingered here, in the streets, he would soon be recognized. And when this mob recognized him, it would tear him to bits.
As Thor turned down street after street, his feet slipping in the mud of the cool summer night, he finally reached the stone wall of the outer ramparts. He stuck close, running alongside it, just beneath the eyes of the watchful soldiers who stood every few feet.
As he neared Reese’s window, he reached down and picked up a smooth rock. Luckily, the one weapon they had forgotten to strip him of was his old, trusted sling, and he extracted it from his waist, placed the stone, reached back, and hurled it.
With his flawless aim, Thor managed to send the stone flying over the castle wall and perfectly into the open-air window of Reese’s room. Thor heard the stone clack into the inner wall, then waited, ducking low along the wall to escape detection by the King’s guards, who flinched at the noise.
Nothing happened for several moments, and Thor’s heart dropped, as he wondered if Reese was not in his room after all. If not, Thor would have to flee this place; there was no other way for him to gain safe harbor. He held his breath, his heart pounding, as he waited, watching the opening by Reese’s window.
After what felt like an eternity, Thor was about to turn away, when he saw a figure lean his head out the window, brace both palms on the windowsill, and look around with a puzzled expression.
Thor stood, darting out several steps away from the wall, and waved one arm high.
Reese looked down and noticed him. Reese’s face lit up in recognition, visible in the torchlight even from here, and, Thor was relieved to see joy on his face. That told him all he needed to know: Reese would not turn him in.
Reese signaled for him to wait, and Thor hurried back to the wall, squatting low just as a guard turned his way.
Thor waited for he did not know how long, ready at any moment to flee from the guards, until finally Reese appeared, bursting through a door in the outer wall, breathing hard as he looked both ways and spotted Thor.
Reese hurried over and embraced him. Thor was overjoyed. He heard a squeaking, and looked down to see, to his delight, Krohn, bundled up in Reese’s shirt. Krohn nearly jumped out of the shirt as Reese reached down and handed him to Thor.
Krohn leapt into Thor’s arms as Thor hugged him back, whining and squealing and licking Thor’s face.
Reese smiled.
“When they took you away, he tried to follow you, and I took him to make sure he was safe.”
Thor clasped Reese’s forearm, in appreciation. Then he laughed, as Krohn kept licking him.
“I missed you too, boy,” Thor laughed, kissing him back. “Quiet now, or the guards will hear us.”
Krohn quieted, as if he understood.
“How did you escape?” Reese asked, surprised.
Thor shrugged. He did not quite know what to say. He still felt uncomfortable speaking about his powers, which he did not understand. He didn’t want others to think of him as some kind of freak.
“I got lucky I guess,” he responded. “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”
“I’m amazed a mob did not tear you apart,” Reese said.
“It’s dark,” Thor said. “I don’t think anyone recognized me. Not yet, anyway.”
“Do you know that every soldier in the kingdom is looking for you? Do you know that my father has been stabbed?”
Thor nodded, serious. “Is he okay?”
Reese’s face fell.
“No,” he answered, grim. “He is dying.”
Thor felt devastated, as if it were his own father.
“You know I had nothing to do with it, don’t you?” Thor asked, hopeful. He didn’t care what anyone else thought, but he needed his best friend, MacGil’s youngest son, to know that he was innocent.
“Of course,” Reese said. “Or else I would not be standing here.”
&
nbsp; Thor felt a wave of relief, and clasped Reese on the shoulder gratefully.
“But the rest of the kingdom will not be so trusting as I,” Reese added. “The safest place for you is far from here. I will give you my fastest horse, a pack of supplies, and send you far away. You must hide out, until this all dies down, until they find the true killer. No one is thinking clearly now.”
Thor shook his head.
“I cannot leave,” he said. “That would make me seem guilty. I need others to know I did not do this. I cannot run from my troubles. I must clear my name.”
Reese shook his head.
“If you stay here, they’ll find you. You’ll get imprisoned again—and then executed—if not killed by a mob first.”
“That is a chance I must take,” Thor said.
Reese stared at him long and hard, and his look changed from one of concern to one of admiration. Finally, slowly, he nodded.
“You are proud. And stupid. Very stupid. That is why like you.”
Reese smiled. Thor smiled back.
“I need to see your father,” Thor said. “I need to have a chance to explain to him, face-to-face, that it wasn’t me, that I’d nothing to do with it. If he decides to sentence me, then so be it. But I need one chance. I want him to know. That is all I ask of you.”
Reese stared back earnestly, summing up his friend. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he nodded.
“I can get you to him. I know a back way. It leads to his chamber. It’s risky—and once you’re in, you will be on your own. There is no way out. They’ll be nothing I can do for you then. It could mean your death. Are you sure you want to take that chance?”
Thor nodded back with deadly seriousness.
“Very well then,” Reese said, and suddenly reached down and threw a cloak at Thor.
Thor caught it and looked down in surprise; he realized Reese must have planned for this all along.
Reese smiled as Thor looked up.
“I knew you’d be dumb enough to want to stay. I’d expect nothing less from my best friend.”