A Feast of Dragons - By Morgan Rice Page 0,51

The Ring needs you.”

Thor could scarcely comprehend it. How could the Ring need him, just a single boy?

“Tell me, Thor, what do you see? Look into the blackness. Close your eyes. What do you see in the Sorcerer’s Ring?”

Thor did as instructed, closing his eyes, breathing deeply. He tried to focus, to allow whatever it was to come to him.

But whatever power he had, he could not summon it. He could not focus.

“Be patient,” came Argon’s voice. “Don’t force it. Allow it to come to you. You can see it. I know you can.”

Thor kept his eyes closed, breathed, again and again, and tried to let go of controlling it.

Then, he was shocked. He began to see something. Great visions, lucid, as if he were witnessing them. He saw destruction in the Ring. Murders. Fires. Rubble. He was horrified.

“I see great calamity,” he said, struggling to comprehend his visions. “I see death. Battle. Destruction. I see the kingdom collapsing.”

“Good,” Argon said. “Yes, tell me more.”

Thor furrowed his brow.

“I see a great darkness in Gareth.”

“Yes,” Argon said.

Thor opened his eyes and looked at Argon, distraught.

“Gwendolyn,” he said. “What about her? I can’t it clearly. But I sense something. Something dark. Something I did not like. Tell me it’s not true.”

Argon turned away, looked into the blackness.

“We each have our own destiny, I’m afraid,” he sighed.

“But I must save her!” Thor exclaimed. “From whatever it is, from whatever dark thing that is going to happen to her.”

“You will save her,” Argon said. “And you won’t.”

“What does that mean?” Thor pleaded. “Please, tell me. I beg you. No more riddles.”

Argon slowly shook his head.

“You have come here to learn to be a warrior. Yet the physical is but one side of a warrior. You must learn to develop your inner skills. Your powers. Your ability to see. Don’t get caught up in swords and spears. That is the easy route.”

Argon turned and took a step closer to him, and stared into his eyes with burning intensity.

“The greatest battle ahead of you lies within yourself.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

100 DAYS LATER

Gareth sat in his father’s throne room, on his father’s throne, looking down at the dozens of councilmen and lords and commoners before him, all with their own problems, and he was miserable. Months had passed since he had assumed the throne, and with each passing day, he felt more tortured, more paranoid—and more alone. He had ousted his closest friend and advisor—Firth—long ago, relegating him to the horse stables and forbidding him to see him, and he missed him. Ousting Firth was the right thing to do—he was reckless and had become a liability. After all, he remained the only one who could connect Gareth to his father’s murder, and he did not want to be associated with him anymore.

He had brought in a half dozen of his friends to be his mentors, and it was these people who surrounded him these days. They were ruthless, ambitious, aristocratic types—and that was exactly what he wanted. Gareth didn’t necessarily trust them, but at least they were his age, and they were as cynical and ruthless as he. They were the kind of people he wanted to surround himself with. They saw the world as he did, and he needed the new guard to counteract the old. His father’s people were still entrenched, like an institution, and he felt increasingly oppressed by them. If he could, he would raze King’s Court and build the whole thing anew. Everything new. He held no respect for history—he despised history. For him, the ideal was a modern, blank slate, and the destruction of every history book that ever was.

“My liege,” said yet another commoner, as he stepped before him and bowed.

Gareth sighed, bracing himself for yet another petition. All day long, petty matters had been brought before him. He’d had no idea that ruling a kingdom could be so mundane; this was never how he had envisioned being King. One person after another streamed in, all wanting answers, judgments, and an endless stream of decisions needed to be made. Everyone wanted something, and everything seemed so trivial. Gareth had imagine being king more glorious.

Gareth looked to the stained glass window, high above his head, and he longed to be outside—to be anywhere but here. He was deeply bored. He felt something stirring inside him, and whenever he felt that way, he knew he had to break up the monotony of his life and create some trouble, some havoc for those around