A Quest of Heroes. Morgan Rice

Was it a message?

      But Argon added nothing more.

      “Six children. Whom should I pick?” MacGil asked.

      “Why ask me? You have already chosen.”

      MacGil looked at him. “You see much. Yes, I have. But I still want to know what you think.”

      “I think you made a wise choice,” Argon said. “But remember: a king cannot rule from beyond the grave. Regardless of whom you think you choose, fate has a way of choosing for itself.”

      “Will I live, Argon?” MacGil asked earnestly, asking the question he had wanted to know since he had awakened the night before from a horrific nightmare.

      “I dreamt last night of a crow,” he added. “It came and stole my crown. Then another carried me away. As it did, I saw my kingdom spread beneath me. It turned black as I went. Barren. A wasteland.”

      He looked up at Argon, his eyes watery.

      “Was it a dream? Or something more?”

      “Dreams are always something more, aren’t they?” Argon asked.

      MacGil was struck by a sinking feeling.

      “Where is the danger? Just tell me this much.”

      Argon stepped close and stared into his eyes with such intensity, MacGil felt as if he were staring into another realm itself.

      Argon leaned forward, whispered:

      “Always closer than you think.”

      Chapter Four

      Thor hid in the straw in the back of a wagon as it jostled him along the country road. He’d made his way to the road the night before and had waited patiently until a wagon came along large enough for him to board without being noticed. It was dark by then, and the wagon trotted along just slowly enough for him to gain a good running pace and leap in from behind. He’d landed in the hay and buried himself inside. Luckily, the driver had not spotted him. Thor didn’t know for certain if the wagon was going to King’s Court, but it was heading in that direction, and a wagon this size, and with these markings, could be going few other places.

      As Thor rode throughout the night, he stayed awake for hours, thinking of his encounter with the Sybold. With Argon. Of his destiny. His former home. His mother. He felt that the universe had answered him, had told him he had another destiny. He lay there, hands clasped behind his head, and stared up at the night sky, visible through the tattered canvas. He watched the universe, so bright, its red stars so far away. He was exhilarated. For once in his life, he was on a journey. He did not know where, but he was going. One way or the other, he would make his way to King’s Court.

      When Thor opened his eyes it was morning, light flooding in, and he realized he’d drifted off. He sat up quickly, looking all around, chiding himself for sleeping. He should have been more vigilant – he was lucky he had not been discovered.

      The cart still moved, but did not jostle as much. That could only mean one thing: a better road. They must be close to a city. Thor looked down and saw how smooth the road was, free of rocks, of ditches, and lined with fine white shells. His heart beat faster; they were approaching King’s Court.

      Thor looked out the back of the cart and was overwhelmed. The immaculate streets were flooded with activity. Dozens of carts, of all shapes and sizes and carrying all manner of things, filled the roads. One was laden with furs; another with rugs; still another with chickens. Amongst them walked hundreds of merchants, some leading cattle, others carrying baskets of goods on their heads. Four men carried a bundle of silks, balancing them on poles. It was an army of people, all heading in one direction.

      Thor felt alive. He’d never seen so many people at once, so many goods, so much happening. He’d been in a small village his entire life, and now he was in a hub, engulfed in humanity.

      He heard a loud noise, the groaning of chains, the slamming of a huge piece of wood, so strong the ground shook. Moments later came a different sound, of horses’ hooves clacking on wood. He looked down and realized they were crossing a bridge; beneath them passed a moat. A drawbridge.

      Thor stuck his head out and saw immense stone pillars, the spiked iron gate above. They were passing through King’s Gate.

      It was the largest gate he had ever seen. He looked up at the spikes, marveling that if they came down, they would slice him in half. He spotted four of the King’s Silver guarding the entry, and his heart beat faster.

      They passed through a long stone tunnel, then moments later the sky opened again. They were inside King’s Court.

      Thor could hardly believe it. There was even more activity here, if possible – what seemed to be thousands of people, milling in every direction. There were vast stretches of grass, perfectly cut, and flowers blooming everywhere. The road widened, and alongside it were booths, vendors, and stone buildings. And amidst all of these, the King’s men. Soldiers, bedecked in armor. Thor had made it.

      In his excitement, he unwittingly stood; as he did, the cart stopped short, sending him tumbling backward, landing on his back in the straw. Before he could rise, there was the sound of wood lowered, and he looked up to see an angry old man, bald, dressed in rags and scowling. The cart driver reached in, grabbed Thor by the ankles with his bony hands, and dragged him out.

      Thor went flying, landing hard on his back on the dirt road, raising up a cloud of dust. Laughter rose up around him.

      “Next time you ride my cart, boy, it will be the shackles for you! You’re lucky I don’t summon the Silver now!”

      The old man turned and spat, then hurried back on his cart and whipped his horses on.

      Embarrassed, Thor slowly gained his wits and got to his feet. He looked around. One or two passersby chuckled, and Thor sneered back until they looked away. He brushed the dirt off and rubbed his arms; his pride was hurt, but not his body.

      His spirits returned as he looked around, dazzled, and realized he should be happy that at least he’d made it this far. Now that he was out of the cart he could look around freely, and an extraordinary sight it was: the court sprawled as far as the eye could see. At its center sat a magnificent stone palace, surrounded by towering, fortified stone walls crowned by parapets, atop which, everywhere, patrolled the King’s army. All around him were fields of green, perfectly maintained, stone plazas, fountains, groves of trees. It was a city. And it was flooded with people.

      Everywhere streamed all manner of people – merchants, soldiers, dignitaries – everyone in such a rush. It took Thor several minutes to understand that something special was happening. As he ambled along, he saw preparations being made – chairs placed, an altar erected. It looked like they were preparing for a wedding.

      His heart skipped a beat as he saw, in the distance, a jousting lane, with its long dirt path and dividing rope. On another field, he saw soldiers hurling spears at far-off targets; on another, archers aiming at straw. It seemed as if everywhere were games, contests. There was also music: lutes and flutes and cymbals, packs of musicians wandering; and wine, huge casks being rolled out; and food, tables being prepared, banquets stretching as far as the eye could see. It was as if he’d arrived in the midst of a vast celebration.

      As dazzling as all this was, Thor felt an urgency to find the Legion. He was already late, and he needed to make himself known.

      He hurried to the first person he saw, an older man who seemed, by his blood-stained frock, to be a butcher, hurrying down the road. Everyone here was in such a hurry.

      “Excuse me, sir,” Thor said, grabbing his arm.

      The man looked down at Thor’s hand disparagingly.

      “What is it, boy?”

      “I’m looking for the King’s Legion. Do you know where they train?”

      “Do I look like a map?” the man hissed, and stormed off.

      Thor was taken aback by his rudeness.

      He hurried to the next person he saw, a woman kneading flour on a long table. There were several women