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

night before you saw me, I
am told that you visited the brothels. That you had your way with many women.
And you delighted in them all night long. Then, as the sun broke, you came to
me. Does that remind you? I’m disgusted by your behavior. Disgusted that I ever
met you, that you ever touched me. I hope I shall never see your face again.
You’ve made a fool of me—and no one makes a fool of me!”
    “My lady!” Thor yelled out,
trying to stop her, wanting to explain. “It isn’t true!”
    But a band of musicians got between
them, and she darted off, slipping through the crowd so fast that he could not
find her. Within moments, he completely lost trace of her.
    Thor was burning inside. He could
not believe that someone had gotten to her, had told her these lies about him,
had turned her against him. He wondered who was behind it. It hardly mattered:
his chances with her were now ruined. He was dying inside.
    Thor turned and began to stagger
through the room, remembering the King, feeling hollowed out, as if he had
nothing left to live for.
    Before he’d gone a few feet,
Alton suddenly appeared, blocked his way, and sneered down with a satisfied
smile. He wore silk leggings, a velvet blazer, and a feathered hat. He looked
down at Thor, with his long nose and chin, and with the utmost arrogance and
self-pride.
    “Well, well,” he said. “If it’s
not the commoner. Have you found your bride-to-be here yet? Of course you have
not. I think rumors have spread already far and wide of your exploits in the
brothel.” He smiled and leaned in close, revealing small, yellow teeth. “In
fact, I’m sure they have.
    “You know what they say: if
there’s a glimmer of truth, it helps spark a rumor. I found that glimmer. And
now your reputation is ruined, boy.”
    Thor, seething with rage, could
take it no longer. He charged and punched Alton in the gut, making him keel
over.
    Moments later, bodies were on
him, fellow Legion members, soldiers, getting in their way, pulling them apart.
    “You have overstepped your
bounds, boy!” Alton yelled out, pointing at him over the bodies. “No one
touches a royal! You will hang in the stocks for the rest of your life! I will
have you arrested! Be sure of it! At first light I will have them come from
you!” Alton yelled, and turned and stormed away.
    Thor could care less about Alton,
or his guards. He thought only of the King. He brushed the Legion members off,
and turned back for MacGil. He shoved people out of the way as he hurried for
the King’s table. His mind was swimming with emotions, and he could hardly
believe this turn of events. Here he was, just as his reputation was rising,
only to have it ruined by some malignant snake, to have his love cheated away
from him. And now, tomorrow, the threat of being imprisoned. And with the Queen
aligned against him, he feared that just maybe he would be.
    But Thor didn’t care about any of
that now. All he cared about was protecting the King.
    He pushed harder as he weaved his
way through the crowd, bumping into a jester, walking right through his act,
and finally, after pushing through three more attendants, making it to the
King’s table.
    MacGil sat there, in the center
of the table, a huge skin of wine in one hand, his cheeks red, laughing at the
entertainment. He was surrounded by all his top generals, and Thor stood before
them, pushing his way right up to the bench, until finally, the King noticed
him.
    “My liege,” Thor yelled out,
hearing the desperation in his own voice. “I must speak with you! Please!”
    A guard came to pull Thor away,
but the King raised a palm.
    “Thorgrin!” MacGil bellowed in
his deep, kingly voice, drunk with wine. “My boy. Why have you approached our
table? The Legion’s table is there.”
    Thor bowed low.
    “My king, I am sorry. But I must
speak with you.”
    A musician clanged a cymbal in
Thor’s ear, and finally, MacGil gestured for him to stop.
    The music quieted, and all the
generals turned and looked at Thor. Thor could feel all the attention on him.
    “Well, young Thorgrin, now you
have the floor. Speak. What is it that cannot wait till tomorrow?” MacGil said.
    “My liege,” Thor began, but then
stopped. What could he say exactly? That he had a dream? That he saw an omen?
That he felt the King would be poisoned? Would it sound absurd?
    But he had no choice. He had to
press on.
    “My liege, I had a dream,” he
began. “It was about you. In this feasting hall, in