A March of Kings - By Morgan Rice Page 0,15

of the Druids. Where your mother is from. You must go there to seek the answers.

How had MacGil known about his mother? How had he known where she lived? And what sort of answers did she have? Thor could not stop thinking about her. He had always assumed she was dead. The idea that she could be alive electrified him. He felt determined, more than ever, to seek her out, to find her. To find the answers, to discover who he was, why he was special.

As a bell tolled and MacGil’s corpse began to lower, Thor wondered about the cruel twists and turns of fate; why had he been allowed to see the future, to see this great man killed—yet made powerless to do anything about it? In some ways, he wished he had never seen any of this, had never known in advance what would happen; he wished he had just been an innocent bystander like the rest, just woken one day to learn that the king was dead. Now he felt as if he were a part of it. Somehow, he felt guilty, as if he should have done more.

Thor wondered what would become of the kingdom now. It was a kingdom without a king. Who would reign? Would it be, as everyone speculated, Gareth? Thor could not imagine anything worse.

Thor scanned the crowd and saw the stern faces of the nobles and lords, gathered here from all corners of the Ring; he knew them to be powerful men, from what Reese had told him, in a restless kingdom. He could not help wondering who the killer could be. In all those faces, it seemed as if everyone were suspect. All of these men would be vying for power. Would the kingdom splinter into parts? Would their forces be at odds with each other? And what would become of he, Thor? And of the Legion? Would it be disbanded? Would the army be disbanded? Would The Silver revolt if Gareth was named king?

And after all that had happened, would the others truly believe that Thor was innocent? Would he be forced to return to his village? He hoped not. He loved everything he had; he wanted more than anything to stay here, in this place, in the Legion. He just wanted everything to be as it was, wanted nothing to change. The kingdom, just days ago, had seemed so substantial, so permanent; MacGil had seemed like he would hold the throne forever. If something so secure, so stable could suddenly collapse—what hope did that leave for the rest of them? Nothing felt permanent to Thor anymore.

Thor’s heart broke as he watched Gwendolyn try to jump into the grave with her father. As Reese held her back, attendants came forward and began shoveling the mound of dirt into the pit, while Argon continued his ceremonial chanting. A cloud passed in the sky, blotting out the sun for a moment, and Thor felt a cold wind whip through on this warm summer day. He heard a whining, and looked down and saw Krohn at his feet, looking up.

Thor hardly knew what would become of anything anymore, but he knew one thing: he had to talk to Gwen. He had to tell her how sorry he was, tell her how distraught he was, too, over her father’s death, tell her that she was not alone. Even if she decided to never see him again, he had to let her know that he had been falsely accused, that he hadn’t done anything in that brothel. He needed a chance, just one chance, to set the record straight, before she dismissed him for good.

As the final shovelful of dirt was thrown on the king and the bells tolled again and again, finally, the crowd rearranged itself: rows of people stretched as far as Thor could see, winding their way along the cliff, each holding a single black rose, lining up to pass the fresh mound of dirt that marked the king’s grave. Thor stepped forward, knelt down, and placed his rose on the already growing pile. Krohn whined.

As the crowd began to disperse, people milling about in every direction, Thor noticed Gwendolyn break free from Reese’s grip and run, hysterical, away from the grave.

“Gwen!” Reese called out after her.

But she was inconsolable. She cut through the thick mob and ran down a dirt trail along the cliff’s edge. Thor could not stand to see her like that; he had to try to speak