A March of Kings. Morgan Rice

quarters.

      Finally, he burst into the basement, to the turned heads of several servants. They had been in the midst of scrubbing enormous pots and boiling pails of water. Huge fires roared amidst brick kilns, and the servants, wearing stained aprons, were drenched in sweat.

      On the far side of the room Gareth spotted an enormous chamber pot, filth hailing down from a chute and splashing in it every minute.

      Gareth ran up to the closest servant and grabbed his arm desperately.

      “When was the pot last emptied?” Gareth asked.

      “It was taken to the river just minutes ago, my lord.”

      Gareth turned and raced out the room, sprinting down the castle corridors, back up the spiral staircase, and bursting out into the cool night air.

      He ran across the grass field, breathless as he sprinted for the river.

      As he neared it, he found a place to hide, behind a large tree, close to the shore. He watched two servants raise the huge iron pot and tilt it into the rushing current of the river.

      He watched until it was upside down, all of its contents emptied, until they turned back with the pot and trekked back towards the castle.

      Finally, Gareth was satisfied. No one had spotted any blade. Wherever it was, it was now in the river’s tides, being washed away into anonymity. If his father should die on this night, there would be no evidence left to trace the murderer.

      Or would there?

      Chapter Five

      Thor followed on Reece’s heels, Krohn behind him as they weaved their way through the back passageway to the king’s chamber. Reece had brought them through a secret door, hidden in one of the stone walls, and now held a torch, leading them as they walked single file in the cramped space, working their way through the inner guts of the castle in a dizzying array of twists and turns. They ascended a narrow, stone staircase, which led to another passageway. They turned, and before them was another staircase. Thor marveled at how intricate this passage was.

      “This passageway was built into the castle hundreds of years ago,” Reece explained in a whisper as they went, breathing hard as he climbed. “It was built by my father’s great-grandfather, the third MacGil king. He had it built after a siege – it’s an escape route. Ironically, we have never been under siege since, and these passageways haven’t been used in centuries. They were boarded up and I discovered them as a child. I like to use them from time to time to get around the castle with no one knowing where I am. When we were younger, Gwen and Godfrey and I would play hide and seek in them. Kendrick was too old, and Gareth didn’t like to play with us. No torches, that was the rule. Pitch black. It was terrifying at the time.”

      Thor tried to keep up as Reece navigated the passage with a stunning display of virtuosity, obvious that he knew every step by heart.

      “How do you possibly remember all these turns?” Thor asked in awe.

      “You get lonely growing up as a boy in this castle,” Reece continued, “especially when everyone else is older, and you’re too young to join the Legion, and there’s nothing else to do. I made it my mission to discover every nook and cranny of this place.”

      They turned again, went down three stone steps, turned through a narrow opening in the wall, then went down a long stairwell. Finally, Reece brought them to a thick, oak door, covered in dust. He leaned one ear against it and listened. Thor came up beside him.

      “What door is this?” Thor asked

      “Shhh,” Reece said.

      Thor grew quiet and put his own ear against the door, listening. Krohn stood there behind him, looking up.

      “It is the back door to my father’s chamber,” Reece whispered. “I want to hear who’s in there with him.”

      Thor listened, his heart pounding, to the muffled voices behind the door.

      “Sounds like the room is full,” Reece said.

      Reece turned and gave Thor a meaningful look.

      “You will be walking into a firestorm. His generals will be there, his council, his advisors, his family – everyone. And I’m sure every one of them will be on the lookout for you, his supposed murderer. It will be like walking into a lynching mob. If my father still thinks you tried to murder him, you’ll be finished. Are you sure you want to do this?”

      Thor swallowed hard. It was now or never. His throat went dry, as he realized this was one of the turning moments of his life. It would be easy to turn back now, to flee. He could live a safe life somewhere, far from King’s Court. Or he could pass through that door and potentially spend the rest of his life in the dungeon, with those cretins – or even executed.

      He breathed deep, and decided. He had to face his demons head-on. He could not back away.

      Thor nodded. He was afraid to open his mouth, afraid that if he did, he might change his mind.

      Reece nodded back, with a look of approval, then pushed the iron handle and leaned his shoulder into the door.

      Thor squinted in the bright torchlight as the door flew open. He found himself standing in the center of the king’s private chamber, Krohn and Reece beside him.

      There were at least two dozen people crammed in around the king, who lay on his bed; some stood over him, others knelt. Surrounding the king were his advisors and generals, along with Argon, the Queen, Kendrick, Godfrey – even Gwendolyn. It was a death vigil, and Thor was intruding on this family’s private affair.

      The atmosphere in the room was somber, the faces grave. MacGil lay propped up on pillows, and Thor was relieved to see that he was still alive – at least for now.

      All the faces turned at once, startled at Thor’s and Reece’s sudden entrance. Thor realized what a shock it must have been, with their sudden appearance in the middle of the room, coming out of a secret door in the stone wall.

      “That’s the boy!” someone from the crowd yelled, standing and pointing at Thor with hatred. “He’s the one who tried to poison the king!”

      Guards bore down on him from all corners of the room. Thor hardly knew what to do. A part of him wanted to turn and flee, but he knew he had to face this angry mob, had to have his peace with the king. So he braced himself, as several guards ran forward, reaching out to grab him. Krohn, at his side, snarled, warning his attackers.

      As Thor stood there, he felt a sudden heat rise up within him, a power surging through him; he raised one hand, involuntarily, and held out a palm and directed his energy towards them.

      Thor was amazed as they all stopped in mid-stride, feet away, as if frozen. His power, whatever it was, welling within him, kept them at bay.

      “How dare you march in here and use your sorcery, boy!” Brom – the king’s greatest general – yelled, drawing his sword. “Was trying to kill our king once not enough?”

      Brom approached Thor with his sword drawn; as he did, Thor felt something overcome him, a feeling stronger than he’d ever had. He simply closed his eyes and focused. He sensed the energy within Brom’s sword, its shape, its metal, and somehow, he became one with it. He willed it to stop in his mind’s eye.

      Brom stood frozen in his tracks, wide-eyed.

      “Argon!” Brom spun and yelled. “Stop this sorcery at once! Stop this boy!”

      Argon stepped from the crowd, and slowly lowered his hood. He stared back at Thor with intense, burning eyes.

      “I see no reason to stop him,” Argon said. “He has not come here to harm.”

      “Are you mad? He’s nearly killed our King!”

      “That is what you suppose,” Argon said. “That is not what I see.”

      “Leave him be,” came a gravelly, deep voice.

      Everyone turned as MacGil sat up. He looked over, very faint. It was clearly a struggle for him to speak.

      “I