A Feast of Dragons - By Morgan Rice Page 0,49

at you in disgrace,” Gwen said, feeling as if she were channeling her father’s voice.

With that, she turned, crossed the room, opened the door and slammed it behind her, its echo shaking the entire castle.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Thor sat with the other Legion members, and Krohn, on the ground in their makeshift camp at the top of the cliff, their roaring fire doing little to fend off the black of night. Dozens of them sat spaced around it, all exhausted, staring somberly into the flames. Thor looked back and saw the sky, alight with thousands of stars, reds and yellows and greens, positioned in such a way that Thor had never seen before in this part of the world. The fire cracked, but other than that, the night was silent.

They had all been sitting there for hours, frozen with exhaustion, pondering their fates after this grueling day of training. Thor, especially, was stung by his encounter with the Cyclops. He felt vindicated in the eyes of his brothers in arms, who looked at him now with a new respect. But he also felt shaken. He thought of how close he had come to dying, and wondered for the millionth time about the mystery of life. Just yesterday, Malic had been sitting with them all; now, he was dead. Where had he gone? Who might go next?

Kolk cleared his throat, and the boys turned and looked at him. He sat there, in the circle along with the others, resting his forearms on his knees, back erect, frowning into the fire. His eyes were wide open, and it looked as if he were remembering something vividly. The boys had been promised a tale around the fire, one of conquest and past glories. But they had been waiting for hours, and none came. Thor had assumed it was not going to come. But now, as Kolk cleared his throat, Thor settled in and prepared to listen. Beside him, Reese, O’Connor, Elden and the twins did the same.

“Twenty sun cycles ago,” Kolk began, staring into the flames, his voice somber, “before most of you were born, when I was the age of the eldest of you, when King MacGil was still alive, when he was just a prince and we fought side-by-side, there came the battle which gave me this scar,” he said, turning his cheek to reveal the long, jagged scar which ran along his jawbone.

“That day started out as any other. MacGil, Brom and I, with a dozen other legion members, were on patrol. Deep in the valley of the Nevaruns. The Nevaruns are separatists: they live on the far reaches of the southern provinces of the Ring. They are rebels—they owe allegiance to the MacGils, but are always threatening to align with one lord or other and break off from the kingdom. They are also tough, cruel people, who do not defer to authority. They have been a thorn in the MacGil’s side for centuries. They are half-breeds, part human and part something else. They have eight fingers and toes, and are twice as broad as the average man. It is said that humans mated with something else to breed them, centuries ago. Nobody knows what.

“The Nevaruns are a fierce people,” Kolk continued. “They don’t respect our code of ethics, of laws of chivalry. They fight to win—at any cost.”

Kolk breathed deep, eyes closed, remembering.

“It was a cold and windy day. Walking through a narrow valley, after days of silent patrol, we were ambushed. Several of them jumped us from behind, knocking me off my horse. One of them knocked me down with a spear, while another came up from behind, stabbed me in the back and then used his knife to do this handiwork,” he said, pointing at his jaw.

Thor swallowed at the thought of it, of what Kolk must have gone through. Even now, twenty sun cycles later, as he stared into the flames, it seemed as if Kolk were reliving it.

“I would have died if it were not for MacGil, who, luckily, had to relieve himself, and was catching up. He was fifty paces behind me, and they didn’t see him. He sent an arrow through their backs.”

Kolk sighed.

“I was foolish, and that is the point of this tale. I expected the enemy to fight on my terms. To meet me in the open. To challenge and face me as a man, as any warrior should. Not to be cowardly and jump me from behind, not to fight with two