by Morgan Rice
They rode all day, hardly taking a break, until Thor was exhausted, out of breath. He could hardly believe Erec’s stamina—yet he dared not let Erec know he was tired, for fear of seeming weak.
They passed a major crossroads, and Thor recognized it. He knew that if they bore right, it would bring them to his village. For a moment, Thor felt overwhelmed with nostalgia, and a part of him wanted to take the road, to see his father, his village. He wondered what his father was doing right now, who was tending the sheep, how irate his father must have been at his not returning. Not that he cared for him much. He just, momentarily, missed what was familiar. He was, in fact, relieved he had escaped from that small village, and another part of him wanted to never return.
They continued galloping on, farther and farther south, to territory even Thor had never been to. He had heard of the southern crossing, though he had never had reason to be there himself. It was one of three major crossroads that led to the southern reaches of the Ring. He was a good half day’s ride now from King’s court, and already the sun was getting long in the sky. Thor, sweating, out of breath, was starting to wonder, with trepidation, if he would make it back in time for the king’s feast tonight. Had he made a mistake to accompany Erec this far?
They rounded a hilltop, and finally Thor saw it, there on the horizon: the unmistakable sign of the first crossing. It was marked by a large, skinny tower, the King’s flag draped from it in all four directions, and members of the Silver standing guard atop its parapets. At the site of Erec, the knight atop the tower blew his trumpet. Slowly, the gatehouse rose.
They were but a few hundred yards away, and Erec slowed his horse to a walk. Thor had a knot in his stomach as he realized these were his last few minutes with Erec until who knew how long. Who knew, indeed, if he would even return. One year is a long time, and anything could happen. He was glad, at least, that he had had this chance to accompany him. He felt as if he had fulfilled his duty.
The two of them walked side-by-side, their horses breathing hard, the men breathing hard, as they approached the tower.
“I may not see you for many moons,” Erec said. “When I return, I will have a bride in tow. Things may change. Though no matter what happens, know that you will always be my squire.”
Erec took a deep breath.
“As I leave you, there are some things I want you to remember. A knight is not forged by strength—but by intelligence. Courage alone does not make a knight, but courage and honor and wisdom together. You must work always to perfect your spirit, your mind. Chivalry is not passive—it is active. You must work on it, better yourself, every moment of every day.
“Over these moons, you will learn all manner of weapons, all manner of skills. But remember: there is another dimension to our fighting. The sorcerer’s dimension. Seek out Argon. Learn to develop your hidden powers. I have sensed them in you. You have great potential. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sire,” Thor answered, welling with gratitude for his wisdom and understanding.
“I chose to take you under my wing for a reason. You are not like the others. You have a greater destiny. Greater, perhaps, even than mine. But it remains unfulfilled. You must not take it for granted. You must work at it. To be a great warrior, you must not only be fearless and skilled. You must also have a warrior’s spirit, and carry that always in your heart and your mind. You must be willing to lay down your life for others. The greatest knight does not quest for riches or honor or fame or glory. The greatest knight takes the hardest quest of all: the quest to make yourself a better person. Every day, you must strive to be better. Not just better than others—but better than yourself. You must quest to take up the cause of those lesser than yourself. You must defend those who cannot defend themselves. It is not a quest for the light-hearted. It is a quest of heroes.”
Thor’s mind spun as he took it all in, pondering Erec’s words carefully. He was overwhelmed with gratitude for him, and hardly knew how to respond. He sensed that it would take many moons for the full message of these words to sink in.
They reached the gate of the first crossing, and as they did, several members of the Silver came out to greet Erec. They rode up to him, big grins on their faces, and as he dismounted they clapped him hard on the back, as old friends.
Thor jumped down, took Lannin’s reins and led him to the keeper at the gate, to feed and wash him down. Thor stood there, as Erec turned and looked at him, one last time.
In their final goodbye, there was too much Thor wanted to say. He wanted to thank him. But he also wanted to tell him everything. Of the omen. Of his dream. Of his fears for the king. He thought maybe Erec would understand.
But he could not bring himself to. Erec was already surrounded by knights, and Thor feared that Erec—and all of them—would think him crazy. So he stood there, tongue-tied, as Erec reached up and clasped his shoulder one last time.
“Protect our King,” Erec said firmly.
The words sent a chill up Thor’s spine, as if Erec had read his mind.
Erec turned, walked through the gate with the other knights, and as they passed through, their backs to him, Thor watched as the metal spikes slowly lowered behind him.
Erec was gone now. Thor could hardly believe it, felt a pit in his stomach. It could be an entire year until he saw him again.
Thor mounted his horse, tightened its reins, and kicked hard. The sun was nearly falling, and he had a good half day’s ride to make it back for the feast. He felt Erec’s final words reverberating in his head, like a mantra.
Protect our king.
Protect our king.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Thor rode hard in the darkness, racing through the final gate of King’s Court, barely slowing his horse as he jumped off it, breathing hard, and handed the reins to an attendant. He had been riding all day, the sun had fallen hours before, and he could see immediately from all the torchlight inside, hear from all the reverie behind the gates, that the king’s feast was in full swing. He kicked himself for being away for as long as he did, and only prayed that he was not too late.
He ran to the nearest attendant.
“Is all in order inside?” he asked in a rush. He had to know that the king was okay—though of course he couldn’t directly ask if he had been poisoned.
The attendant looked at him, baffled.
“And why shouldn’t it be? All is in order, except that you are late. Members of the King’s Legion should always be on time. And your clothes are filthy. You reflect poorly on your peers. Wash your hands, and hurry inside.”
Thor rushed through the gate, sweating, put his hands in a small stone lavender of water, splashed it on his face, and ran it through his longish hair. He had been in constant motion since early in the morning, he was covered in dust from the road, and it felt as if it had been ten days in one. He took a deep breath, tried to calm himself and seem orderly, and strode quickly down corridor after corridor, towards the vast doors of the feasting hall.
As he stepped inside, through the huge arched doors, it was just like his dream: before him were the two feasting tables, at least a hundred feet long, at the far end of which sat the king, at the head of his own table, surrounded by men. The noise struck Thor like a living thing, the hall absolutely packed with people. There were not only the King’s men, members of the Silver and of the Legion seated at the feasting tables, but also hundreds of others, bands of traveling musicians, groups of dancers, of clowns, dozens of women from the brothels…. There were also all manners of servants, of guards, dogs running about. It was a madhouse.
Men drank from huge casks of wine and beer, and many of them stood, singing drinking songs, arms about each other, clinking casks. There were heaps of food laid out on the tables, and boar and deer and all sorts of animals roasting on spits before the fireplace. Half the room gorged themselves, while the other half mingled about the room. Looking at the chaos in the room, seeing how drunk the men were,
Thor realized that if he’d arrived earlier, when it began, it would have been more orderly. Now, at this late hour, it seemed to have evolved into more of a drunken bash.
Thor’s first reaction, aside from being overwhelmed, was deep relief to see that the king was alive. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was okay. He wondered again if that omen meant nothing, if his dream meant nothing, if he was just overreacting to fancies, making something bigger in his head than it should be. But still, he just could not shake the feeling. He still felt a pressing urgency to reach the king, to warn him.
Protect our king.
Thor pushed his way into the thick crowd, trying to make it the long way towards the king. It was slow going. The men were drunk and rowdy, packed shoulder to shoulder, and MacGil sat hundreds of feet away.
Thor managed to get about halfway through the crowd when he stopped, suddenly spotted Gwendolyn. She sat at one of the small tables, off to the side of the hall, surrounded by her handmaids. She looked glum, and it seemed unlike her. Her food and drink were untouched, and she sat off to the side, separated from the others. Thor wondered what could be wrong.
Thor broke from the crowd and hurried over to her.
She looked up and saw him coming, but instead of smiling, as she always did, her face darkened. For the first time, Thor saw anger in her eyes.
Gwen slid her chair, got up, turned her back, and began to march away.
Thor felt as if a knife had been plunged into his heart. He could not understand her reaction. Had he done something wrong?
He raced around the table, hurrying over to her, and grabbed her wrist gently.
She surprised him by throwing it off roughly, turning and scowling at him.
“Don’t you touch me!” she screamed.
Thor took a step back, shocked at her reaction. Was this the same Gwendolyn he knew?
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I meant you no harm. And no disrespect. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“I have no words left for you,” she seethed, her eyes aglow with fury.
Thor could hardly breathe; he had no idea what he had done wrong.
“My lady, please tell me, what have I done to offend you? Whatever it is, I apologize.”
“What you have done is beyond remedy. No apology will suffice. It is who you are.”
She started to walk away again, and a part of Thor thought he should let her be; but another part of him couldn’t stand to just walk away, not after what they’d had. He had to know; he had to know the reason why she hated him so much.
Thor ran in front of her, blocking her way. He could not let her go. Not like this.
“Gwendolyn, please. Just please give me one chance to at least know what it is that I have done. Please, just give me this.”
She stared back, seething, hands on her hips.
“I think you know. I think you know very well.”
“I do not,” Thor stated earnestly.
She stared, as if summing him up, and finally, seemed to believe him.
“The night before you saw me, I am told that you visited the brothels. That you had your way with many women. And you delighted in them all night long. Then, as the sun broke, you came to me. Does that remind you? I’m disgusted by your behavior. Disgusted that I ever met you, that you ever touched me. I hope I shall never see your face again. You’ve made a fool of me—and no one makes a fool of me!”
“My lady!” Thor yelled out, trying to stop her, wanting to explain. “It isn’t true!”
But a band of musicians got between them, and she darted off, slipping through the crowd so fast that he could not find her. Within moments, he completely lost trace of her.
Thor was burning inside. He could not believe that someone had gotten to her, had told her these lies about him, had turned her against him. He wondered who was behind it. It hardly mattered: his chances with her were now ruined. He felt that he was dying inside.
Thor turned and began to stagger through the room, remembering the King, feeling hollowed out, as if he had nothing left to live for.
Before he’d gone a few feet, Alton suddenly appeared, blocked his way, and sneered down with a satisfied smile. He wore silk leggings, a velvet blazer, and a feathered hat. He looked down at Thor, with his long nose and chin, and with the utmost arrogance and self-pride.
“Well well,” he said. “If it’s not the commoner. Have you found your bride-to-be here yet? Of course you have not. I think rumors have spread already far and wide of your exploits in the brothel.” He smiled and leaned in close, revealing small, yellow teeth. “In fact, I’m sure they have.”
“You know what they say: if there’s a glimmer of truth, it helps spark a rumor. I found that glimmer. And now your reputation is ruined, boy.”
Thor, seeing with rage, could take it no longer. He charged and punched Alton in the gut, making him keel over.
Moments later, bodies were on him, fellow Legion members, soldiers, getting in their way, pulling them apart.
“You have overstepped your bounds, boy!” Alton yelled out, pointing at him over the bodies. “No one touches a royal! You will hang in the stocks for the rest of your life! I will have you arrested! Be sure of it! At first light I will have them come from you!” Alton yelled, and turned and stormed away.
Thor could care less about Alton, or his guards. He thought only of the King. He brushed the Legion members off, and turned back for MacGil. He shoved people out of the way as he hurried for the King’s table. His mind was swimming with emotions, and he could hardly believe this turn of events. Here he was, just as his reputation was rising, only to have it ruined by some malignant snake, to have his love cheated away from him. And now, tomorrow, the threat of his being imprisoned. And with the Queen aligned against him, he feared that just maybe he would be.
But Thor didn’t care about any of that now. All he cared about was protecting the King.
He pushed harder as he weaved his way through the crowd, bumping into a jester, walking right through his act, and finally, after pushing through three more attendants, making it to the King’s table.
MacGil sat there, in the center of the table, a huge sack of wine in one hand, his cheeks red, laughing at the entertainment. He was surrendered by all of his top generals, and Thor stood before them, pushing his way right up to the bench, until finally, the King noticed him.
“My liege,” Thor yelled out, hearing the desperation in his own voice. “I must speak with you! Please!”
A guard came to pull Thor away, but the King raised a palm.
“Thorgrin!” MacGil bellowed in his deep, kingly voice, drunk with wine. “My boy. Why have you approached our table? The Legion’s table is there.”
Thor bowed low.
“My king, I am sorry. But I must speak with you.”
A musician clanged a cymbal in Thor’s ear, and finally, MacGil gestured for him to stop.
The music quieted, and all the generals turned and looked at Thor. Thor could feel all the attention on him.
“Well, young Thorgrin, now you have the floor. Speak. What is it that cannot wait till tomorrow?” MacGil said.
“My liege,” Thor began, but then stopped. What could he say exactly? That he had a dream? That he saw an omen? That he felt the King would be poisoned? Would it sound absurd?
But he had no choice. He had to press on.
“My liege, I had a dream,” he began. “It was about you. In this feasting hall, in this place. The dream was…that you should not drink.”
The King leaned forward, eyes opened wide.
“That I should not drink?” he repeated, slowly and loudly.
Then, after a moment of stunned silence, MacGil leaned back and roared with laughter, bellowing, shaking the whole table.
“That I should not drink!” MacGil repeated. “What a dream is this! I should call it a nightmare!”
The King leaned back and bellowed with laughter, and all of his men joined in. Thor reddened, but he could not back down.<
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MacGil gestured, and a guard stepped forward and grabbed Thor and began to take him away—but Thor roughly yanked the guard off of him. He was determined. He had to give the King this message.
Protect our King.
“My King, I demand that you listen!” Thor screamed, red-faced, pressing forward and banging the table with his fist.
It shook the table, and all the men’s turned and stared at Thor.
There was a stunned silence, as the King’s face dropped into a scowl.
“YOU demand?” MacGil yelled. “You demand nothing of me boy!” he screamed, his anger rising.
The table quieted even more, and Thor felt his cheeks redden in humiliation.
“My king, forgive me. I mean no disrespect. But I am concerned for your safety. Please. Do not drink. I dreamt you were poisoned! Please. I care very much about you. That is the only reason for my saying so.”
Slowly, MacGil’s scowl lifted. He stared deeply into Thor’s eyes and took a deep breath.
“Yes, I can see that you do care. Even if you are foolish boy. I forgive you your disrespect. Go on now. And don’t let me see your face again until the morning.”
He gestured to his guards, and they yanked Thor away, strongly this time. The table slowly resumed its merriment, as they all went back to drinking.
Thor, dragged several feet away, burned with indignation. He feared for what he had done here tonight, and had a sinking feeling that tomorrow he would pay the price. Maybe even be asked to leave this place. Forever.
As the guards gave him one last shove, Thor found himself at the Legion’s table, maybe twenty feet away from the King. He felt a hand on his shoulder and spun to see Reece standing there.
“I’ve been searching for you all day. What happened to you?” Reece asked. “You look as if you have seen a ghost!”
