A March of Kings (Book #2 in the Sorcerer's Ring)

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Thor ran through the night, through the chaotic streets of King’s Court, amazed at the commotion around him. The streets were crowded, 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. The dagger from his dream flashed 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, turned and ran back into the night.

Thor stood there, his heart pounding, not wanting to acknowledge the reality all around him. 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, no one in the kingdom was in the mood to hear rational thought—it seemed 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 would be far from here. He should flee, take refuge in his village—or even farther, as much distance 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: Reece. Reece was the one person he could trust not to turn him in to the authorities, maybe even to give him safe harbor. He sensed Reece would believe him. He knew Thor’s love for his father was genuine, and if anyone had a chance of clearing Thor’s name, it would be Reece. 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, toward the castle. He knew where Reece’s chamber was—on the eastern wing, close to the outer city wall—and he only hoped that Reece 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 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 Reece’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. He extracted it from his waist, set the stone in place, and hurled it.

With his flawless aim, Thor sent the stone flying over the castle wall and perfectly into the open-air window of Reece’s room. Thor heard it 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 Reece 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 Reece’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.

Reece looked down and noticed him. Reece’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: Reece would not turn him in.

Reece 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 Reece appeared, bursting through a door in the outer wall, breathing hard as he looked both ways and spotted Thor.

Reece hurried over and embraced him. Thor was overjoyed. He heard a squeaking, and looked down to see, to his delight, Krohn, bundled up in Reece’s shirt. Krohn nearly jumped out of the shirt as Reece reached down and handed him to Thor.

Krohn—the ever-growing white leopard cub Thor had once rescued—leapt into Thor’s arms as Thor hugged him back, whining and squealing and l*****g Thor’s face.

Reece smiled.

“When they took you away, he tried to follow you, and I took him to make sure he was safe.”

Thor clasped Reece’s forearm in appreciation. Then he laughed, as Krohn kept l*****g 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?” Reece 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,” Reece 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?”

Reece’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,” Reece said. “Or else I would not be standing here.”

Thor felt a wave of relief, and clasped Reece on the shoulder gratefully.

“But the rest of the kingdom will not be so trusting as I,” Reece 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 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.”

Reece 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.

Reece 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 I like you.”

Reece 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 had 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.”

Reece 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. There will 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,” Reece said, and suddenly reached down and threw a cloak at Thor.

Thor caught it and looked down in surprise; he realized Reece must have planned for this all along.

Reece 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.”