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

empty, no throne
left where one used to be; the Destiny Sword lay on the ground, untouched. The
windows were all shattered, stained-glass lying in heaps on the stone. He heard
distant music, turned toward the sound, and walked through empty room after
empty room. Finally he reached huge double doors, a hundred feet tall, and
opened them with all his might.
    Thor stood at the entrance to the
royal feasting hall. Before him were two long feasting tables, stretching
across the room, overflowing with food—yet empty of men. At the far end of the
hall was one man. King MacGil. He sat on his throne, staring right at Thor. He
seemed so far away.
    Thor felt he had to reach him. He
began to walk through the great room, towards him, between the two feasting
tables. As he went, all the food on either side of him went bad, becoming
rotten with each step he took, turning black and immediately covered with
flies. Flies buzzed and swarmed all around him, tearing apart the food.
    Thor walked faster. The king was
getting close now, hardly ten feet away, when a servant appeared out of a side
chamber carrying a huge, golden goblet of wine. It was a distinctive goblet,
made of solid gold and covered in rows of rubies and sapphires. While the king
wasn’t looking, Thor saw the servant slip a white powder into the goblet. Thor
realized it was poison.
    The servant brought it closer,
and MacGil reached down and grabbed it with both hands.
    “No!” Thor screamed.
    Thor lunged forward, trying to
knock the wine away from the king.
    But he was not fast enough.
MacGil drank the wine in big gulps. It poured down his cheeks, down his chest,
as he finished it.
    MacGil turned and looked at Thor,
and as he did, his eyes opened wide. He reached up and grabbed his throat
until, gagging, he keeled over and fell off his throne; he fell sideways,
landing on the hard stone floor. His crown rolled off it, hit the stone floor
with a clang, and rolled several feet.
    He lay there, motionless, eyes
open, dead.
    Estopheles swooped down, landed
on MacGil’s head. It sat there, looked right at Thor and screeched. The sound
was so shrill, it sent a shiver up Thor’s spine.
    “No!” Thor screamed.
    *
    Thor woke screaming.
    He sat up, looking all around,
sweating, breathing hard, trying to figure out where he was. He was still lying
on the ground, on Argon’s mountain. He could not believe it: he must have
fallen asleep here. The fog was gone, and as he looked up and saw that it was
daybreak. A blood red sun was breaking over the horizon, lighting up the day.
Beside him, Khron whined, jumped into his lap and licked his face.
    Thor hugged Khron with one hand
as he breathed hard, trying to figure out if he was awake or asleep. It took
him a long time to realize it had just been a dream. It had felt so real.
    Thor heard a screech and turned
to see Estopheles, perched on a rock, just a foot away. He looked right at him
and screeched, again and again.
    The sound sent a chill up Thor’s
spine. It was the same screech from his dream, and at that moment he knew, with
every ounce of his body, that dream had been a message.
    The king was going to be
poisoned.
    Thor jumped to his feet and, in
the breaking light of dawn, sprinted down the mountain, heading for King’s
Court. He had to get to the king. He had to warn him. The king might think he
was crazy, but he had no choice: he would do whatever he could to save the
king’s life.
    *
    Thor raced across the drawbridge,
sprinting for the castle’s outer gate, and luckily, the two guards recognized
him from the Legion. They let him through without stopping, and he continued
running, Khron by his side.
    Thor sprinted across the royal
courtyard, past the fountains, and ran right to the inner gate of the king’s
castle. There stood four guards blocking his way.
    Thor stopped, gasping for air.
    “What is your purpose, boy?” one
of them asked.
    “You don’t understand, you have
to let me in,” Thor gasped. “I need to see the King.”
    The guards looked at each other,
skeptical.
    “I am Thorgrin, of the King’s
Legion. You must let me through.”
    “I know who he is,” one guard
said to the other. “He’s one of us.”
    But the lead guard stepped
forward.
    “What business have you with the
king?” he pressed.
    Thor still fought to catch his
breath.
    “Very urgent business. I must see
him at once.”
    “Well he must not be expecting
you, because you are ill-informed. Our King is not here. He left with