Morgan Rice - A feast of dragons

“My liege, our people will not suffer this form of mistreatment.”

Gareth stood, turning red himself.

“Yes, they will suffer it. Because I am King now. Not my father. And you answer to me. Now leave me. And don’t show your face here again!”

The lords stared back at Gareth, mouths open in shock. Not a pin drop could be heard in the chamber, not among the dozens of attendants or councilmen or nobles seated and standing everywhere.

The group of nobles slowly turned, and marched out the chamber, their boots echoing. They slammed the door behind them.

As they went, Gareth noticed their conspiratorial glances. He could see in their eyes their resolve to overthrow him. He already could sense all the enemies in his court, all the plans to depose him. He would deal with each of them, one at a time. He would imprison every single one if he had to.

“Is that all then?” Gareth hastily asked the remaining councilmembers, slowly sitting back down.

“My liege,” Aberthol said, tired, his voice broken, “all that remains is the investigation into your father’s death.”

“Of what do you speak?” Gareth demanded. “The investigation is closed. My brother Kendrick has been imprisoned.”

“I’m afraid it is not so simple, my lord,” Aberthol said. “The Silver is fiercely loyal to Kendrick. They are unsatisfied with his imprisonment. The staying of the execution helped, but not for long. There is great dissatisfaction among the ranks, especially after you cut their salary, and they call for a new investigation. You risk a revolt otherwise.”

“But the vial of poison was found in Kendrick’s chamber,” Gareth protested, his heart pounding.

“Yet there remains no definitive proof linking Kendrick to the murder.”

“As of today, I declare the investigation over,” Gareth announced. “Kendrick will wallow in that dungeon every day of his life.”

“But my lord-”

“Do not bring this matter up to me again,” Gareth snapped. “Now leave me! All of you!”

Quickly, the room filed out, and Gareth found himself alone, sitting on the throne in the deep silence.

Gareth sat there, his heart pounding, seething; he had feared something like this might happen if Kendrick was not executed immediately. He fumed as he remembered, a few months ago, his mother’s sudden interference, her using her powers to prevent him from executing Kendrick. He had heard that Gwen had gotten to her, that they had teamed up to stop it. He seethed with hatred for them both. He could not be safe as long as they were alive.

He recalled his bumbled attempt to have his man torture Gwen, months back. It hadn’t worked. Perhaps now was time to try again. This time, he could outright kill her.

Gareth smiled, as a plan hardened in his mind. Yes, this time might just do the trick.

Thor stood alone at the helm of a large, empty boat, in the middle of the ocean, the tides pulling him along at tremendous speed. The sails were bent by the wind, even though there was no one but him on the boat. It was a ghost ship, and he stood at its helm, looking out at the horizon, which was covered in an unearthly mist, golds and yellows and whites sparkling in the morning sun.

As the mist drifted, the outline of an island began to take shape, more of a mountain rising up from the sea than an island, its single peak soaring into the sky. It rose higher than any mountain Thor had ever seen, and at its top sat a castle, emerging from the rock, built into the edge of a cliff. The sky was expansive, filled with greens and pale yellows, a huge crescent moon hanging in its corner. The place was eerie and mystical. It seemed alive.

As Thor stood there, his boat rocking, somehow he was not afraid. He felt the ocean taking him there, and knew that this was the place he was meant to be. He knew, somehow, that his destiny awaited him there. That it was a place he was meant to be. That, in a strange way, it was home.

Thor could not remember setting sail, or how he got on this boat, but he knew it was a journey he was meant to take. Somehow, this place had always been in his dreams, somewhere deep down in the corners of his consciousness. He felt with certainty that his mother lived there.

Thor had never really contemplated his mother before. He had always been told she had passed away in childbirth, and had always felt a supreme guilt over this. But now, as he got closer to this island, he sensed her presence. That she was waiting for him.

A huge wave suddenly lifted the boat, hoisted it higher and higher into the air, and Thor felt himself rising higher and higher in the ocean. The wave picked up speed, like a tsunami, and he rode it all the way as it brought him rushing towards the island, faster and faster.

As he got close, he began to see a figure. It was a lone figure, standing atop a cliff. A woman. She wore flowing, blue robes, her chin was lowered, and her palms were out at her side. An intense light shone from behind her, radiated from her palms, shooting out like lightning. The light shone so brightly, that as Thor looked up, trying to see her, he had to shield his eyes. He could not make out her face.

He sensed that it was her. More than anything, he wanted to see her face, to see if she looked like him.

“Mother!” he called out.

“My son,” came a soft voice from somewhere. It was the kindest, most reassuring voice he had ever heard. He longed to hear it again.

Suddenly, the wave came crashing down, and took the boat plunging down with it, and he braced himself as he headed for the rocks.

Thor woke with a start, sitting upright, breathing hard.

The dawn was breaking over the horizon, and all around him, the Legion members were strewn about, fast asleep. His mind spun with the dream: it had seemed so real.

As he got his bearings, he realized that today was the day. The final day of the Hundred. The day they had all been dreading.

He felt a hundred years older than when he’d arrived here a hundred days ago. He could not believe that he had made it, and that this was his final day. His time here had far exceeded his imagination. Each day been harder than the next, each training more grueling, pushing him and his brothers harder and harder. Days became longer and longer, as he had learned to train with every weapon known to man-and some not even known to man. They had been forced to train in every possible terrain, from swamps to glaciers, and had been screamed at from early morning to late at night. More than one of his brothers had dropped out, had been sent home alone on a small ship. Many had been injured. Two had died accidentally, slipping off a cliff on a particularly stormy day. They had all encountered trials and tribulations together, fought against monsters, survived every type of weather. This island was unforgiving, and had gone from hot to cold with no warning, seeming to have only two seasons.

As Thor sat there, Krohn beside him, a part of him dreaded this final day, wanted to lie back down, to go back to sleep-but he knew he could not. These last hundred days had forged him into a different person, and he was ready to face whatever they would throw at him.

Thor sat there in the early morning light, waiting. Soon, they would all arise, gear up, embark on their final mission. But until they did, he could revel in being the first to rise, and sit there and enjoy the silence, watch the sun break one final time over this place he had come to love.

*

Thor stood with the others on the rocky, narrow beach, hands on his hips, looking out at the storm tossed sea, feeling the chill in the air of the new season. He had learned to become so used to adverse weather that he no longer shivered as a freezing gale brushed across his body. He stared out at the sea, his grey eyes glistening, and felt hardened, impervious. He felt like a man.