A March of Kings - By Morgan Rice Page 0,3

you in for?”

Thor sat upright, trying to get his wits about him. He leaned back against the wall, ran his hands through his hair, and tried to remember, to piece it all together.

“They say you tried to kill the king,” Merek continued.

“He did try to kill him, and we’re going to tear him to pieces if he ever gets out from behind those bars,” snarled a voice.

A chorus of clanking erupted, tin cups banging against metal bars, and Thor looked to see the entire corridor filled with cells, grotesque-looking prisoners sticking their heads to the bars and, in the flickering torchlight, sneering out at him. Most were unshaven, with missing teeth, and some looked as if they’d been down here for years. It was a horrifying sight, and Thor forced himself to look away. Was he really down here? Would he be stuck down here, with these people, forever?

“Don’t worry about them,” Merek said. “It’s just you and me in this cell. They can’t get in. And I could care less if you poisoned the king. I’d like to poison him myself.”

“I didn’t poison the King,” Thor said, indignant. “I didn’t poison anyone. I was trying to save him. All I did was knock over his goblet.”

“And how did you know the goblet was poisoned?” screamed a voice from down the aisle, eavesdropping. “Magic, I suppose?”

Their came a chorus of cynical laughter from up and down the cell corridor.

“He’s psychic!” one of them yelled out, mocking.

The others laughed.

“No, it was just a lucky guess!” another bellowed, to the delight of the others.

Thor glowered, resenting the accusations, wanting to set them all straight. But he knew it would be a waste of time. Besides, he didn’t have to defend himself to these criminals.

Merek studied him, with a look that was not as skeptical as the others. He looked as if he were debating.

“I believe you,” he said, quietly.

“You do?” Thor asked.

Merek shrugged.

“After all, if you’re going to poison the King, would you really be so stupid to let him know?”

Merek turned and walked away, a few paces over to his side of the cell, and leaned back against the wall and sat down, facing Thor.

Now Thor was curious.

“What are you in for?” he asked.

“I’m a thief,” Merek answered, somewhat proudly.

Thor was taken aback; he’d never been in the presence of a thief before, a real thief. He himself had never thought of stealing, and he had always been amazed to realize that some people did.

“Why do you do it?” Thor asked.

Merek shrugged.

“My family has no food. They have to eat. I don’t have any schooling, or any skills of any kind. Stealing is what I know. Nothing major. Just food mostly. Whatever gets them through. I got away with it for years. Then I got caught. This is my third time caught, actually. Third time’s the worst.”

“Why?” Thor asked.

Merek was quiet, then slowly shook his head. Thor could see his eyes well up with tears.

“The king’s law is strict. No exceptions. Third offense, they take your hand.”

Thor was horrified. He glanced down at Merek’s hands; they were both there.

“They haven’t come for me yet,” Merek said. “But they will.”

Thor felt terrible. Merek looked away, as if ashamed, and Thor did, too, not wanting to think about it.

Thor put his head in his hands, his head killing him, trying to piece together his thoughts. The last few days felt like a whirlwind; he could hardly believe how much had happened, so quickly. On the one hand, he felt a sense of success, of vindication: he’d seen the future, had seen MacGil’s poisoning, and had saved him from it. Perhaps fate, after all, could be changed, perhaps destiny could be bent. Thor felt a sense of pride: he had saved his king.

On the other hand, here he was, in the dungeon, unable to clear his name. All his hopes and dreams were shattered, any chance of joining the Legion gone. Now he would be lucky if he didn’t spend the rest of his days down here. It pained him to think that MacGil, who had taken Thor in like a father, the only real father he had ever had, thought Thor actually tried to kill him. It pained him to think that Reese, his best friend, might believe that he’d tried to kill his father. Or even worse, Gwendolyn. He thought of their last encounter, of her thinking he frequented the brothels, and felt as if everything good in his life had been