A Quest of Heroes (Book #1 in the Sorcerer's Ring)

But he knew
it would not. That was the curse—and the power—of a legend. Stronger, even,
than an army.
    As he stared at it for the
thousandth time, MacGil couldn’t help but wonder once again who it would be.
Who of his bloodline would be destined to wield it? As he thought of what lay
before him, his task of naming an heir, he wondered who, if any, would be
destined to hoist it.
    “The weight of the blade is
heavy,” came a voice.
    MacGil spun, surprised to have
company in the small room.
    There, standing in the doorway,
was Argon. MacGil recognized the voice before he saw him and was both irritated
with him for not showing up sooner and pleased to have him here now.
    “You’re late,” MacGil said.
    “Your sense of time does not
apply to me,” Argon answered.
    MacGil turned back to the sword.
    “Did you ever think I would be
able to hoist it?” he asked reflectively. “That day I became king?”
    “No,” Argon answered flatly.
    MacGil turned and stared at him.
    “You knew I would not be able to.
You saw it, didn’t you?”
    “Yes.”
    MacGil pondered this.
    “It scares me when you answer
directly. That is unlike you.”
    Argon stayed silent, and finally
MacGil realized he wouldn’t say anymore.
    “I name my successor today,”
MacGil said. “It feels futile, to name an heir on this day. It strips a king’s
joy from his child’s wedding.”
    “Maybe such joy is meant to be
tempered.”
    “But I have so many years left to
reign,” MacGil pleaded.
    “Perhaps not as many as you
think,” Argon answered.
    MacGil narrowed his eyes at
Argon, wondering. Was it a message?
    But Argon added nothing more.
    “Six children. Which should I
pick?” MacGil asked.
    “Why ask me? You have already
chosen.”
    MacGil looked at him. “You see
much. Yes, I have. But I still want to know what you think.”
    “I think you made a wise choice,”
Argon said. “But remember: a king cannot rule from beyond the grave. Regardless
of who you think you choose, fate has a way of choosing for itself.”
    “Will I live, Argon?” MacGil
asked earnestly, asking the question he had wanted to know since he had
awakened the night before from a horrific nightmare.
    “I dreamt last night of a crow,”
he added. “It came and stole my crown. Then another carried me away. As it did,
I saw my kingdom spread beneath me. It turned black as I went. Barren. A
wasteland.”
    He looked up at Argon, his eyes
watery.
    “Was it a dream? Or something
more?”
    “Dreams are always something
more, aren’t they?” Argon asked.
    MacGil was struck by a sinking
feeling.
    “Where is the danger? Just tell
me this much.”
    Argon stepped close and stared
into his eyes, with such an intensity that MacGil felt as if he were staring
into another realm itself.
    Argon leaned forward, whispered:
    “Always closer than you think.”
     
     

CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
    Thor hid in the straw in the back
of a wagon as it jostled him along the country road. He’d made his way to the
road the night before and had waited patiently until a wagon came along large
enough for him to board without being noticed. It was dark by then, and the
wagon trotted along just slowly enough for him to gain a good running pace and
leap in from behind. He’d landed in the hay, and buried himself inside. Luckily,
the driver had not spotted him. Thor hadn’t known for certain if the wagon was
going to King’s Court, but it was heading in that direction, and a wagon this
size, and with these markings, could be going few other places.
    As Thor rode throughout the
night, he stayed awake for hours, thinking of his encounter with the Sybold.
With Argon. Of his destiny. His former home. His mother. He felt that the
universe had answered him, had told him he had another destiny. He had lay
there, hands clasped behind his head, and stared up at the night sky, visible
through the tattered canvas. He’d watched the universe, so bright, its red
stars so far away. He was exhilarated. For once in his life, he was on a
journey. He did not know where, but he was going. One way or the other, he
would make his way to King’s Court.
    When Thor opened his eyes it was
morning, light flooding in, and he realized he’d drifted off. He sat up
quickly, looking all around, chiding himself for sleeping. He should have been
more vigilant—he was lucky he had not been discovered.
    The cart still moved, but did not
jostle as much. That could only mean one thing: a better road. They must be
close