A March of Kings. Morgan Rice

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “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; so much had happened so quickly. On the one hand, he felt a sense of success, of vindication: he’d seen the future, had foreseen 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 Reece, his best friend, might believe that he’d tried to kill his father. Or even worse, Gwendolyn. He thought of their last encounter – how she thought 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 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 placed it on a stone ledge.

      “This will teach you not to steal,” he snarled.

      He removed the axe from his belt 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 seconds, this poor boy’s hand would be chopped off, forever, for no reason other than his petty thievery for food, to help feed his family. The injustice of it burned inside him, and he knew 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 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 hurled it at his warder.

      He watched in amazement as the yellow sphere 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 apprehend 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. Thor 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 Merek’s 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 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, СКАЧАТЬ