A feast of dragons

Or had his fate changed somehow?

For the first time since he had embarked, Thor took seriously the idea that he might not return. For some reason, he thought of Gwendolyn. He thought of her waiting for him, of his never showing up, of his not returning for her. It broke his heart.

Before he could finish the thought, suddenly, from out of the cave came the largest beast Thor had ever seen. The Cyclops took three huge steps, ducking his head, unbelievably, despite the thirty foot opening, then raising himself to his full height as he stepped outside. He was enormous, like looking up at a mountain.

As he stepped, the earth shook. He leaned back and roared, and it felt as if it would shatter Thor’s eardrums. Thor’s body froze with fright. Finally, Malic’s did, too. He stood there, open-mouthed, staring up, his sword hanging limp in his hand. Krohn snarled, fearless.

The Cyclops must have been fifty feet tall. He was broader and thicker than an elephant, the grey skin on his muscles rippling, his one eye blinking madly, and had two huge fangs, each the size of Thor. He leaned his head back and roared again, his hands bunched into fists, his arms rising high then coming down, too fast, like tree trunks, swinging right for Thor and Malic.

Thor jumped out of the way just in time, as the monster’s fists slammed into the earth, creating a huge crater, shaking the ground so hard that Thor stumbled. Malic barely escaped, too.

Thor looked at the short sword in his hand, at the sling at his waist, and wondered how he could ever combat this creature. He was a speck next to this beast; Thor doubted his sword could even puncture its skin. It would take an army, and an arsenal of weapons, to even attempt to kill it.

Malic threw caution to the wind. He raised his sword, and with a battle cry, charged the creature, attempting to puncture the beast in its shin. But he did not even get close: the beast merely swatted him away, and Malic went flying, landing hard on the ground, rolling and tumbling.

The beast turned to Thor. It charged him, the ground shaking as it went, and Thor was too frozen with fear to move. Thor wanted to turn and run, but he forced himself to stand in place, to hold his ground. There were too many eyes watching him; he could not let down his Legion brothers. He remembered what one of his trainers taught him: it was okay to feel fear-but it was not okay to give into it. That was the code of a warrior.

So instead, Thor forced himself to be strong. He forced himself to draw his sword, to step forward, and swing for the monster’s calf. It was a direct hit.

But the monster’s skin was so thick, the sword merely bounced off, falling from Thor’s hands. It was like striking stone. Thor scurried to pick it up again. The creature, angered, swung its huge fist at Thor; Thor managed to duck, and he saw his chance. He darted forward, raised his sword high, and plunged it in the beast’s smallest toe.

The beast shrieked as rivers of blood poured out. It was an awful noise, shaking Thor to the very core-so horrific, Thor almost wished he had never attacked it.

The beast was much faster than Thor had anticipated. Before Thor could react, he swept down again with one hand, and this time grabbed Thor and hoisted him high into the air. He squeezed Thor so hard, he could barely breathe.

The beast raised Thor higher up, all the way.

Krohn, down below, snarled and charged the Cyclops. He sank his teeth into its toe, and dug in, shaking it, until finally the Cyclops, infuriated, threw Thor down.

Thor felt himself go flying through the air and land hard on the ground, rolling several times, covered in dust, winded.

The beast roared again, then reached down and swiped for Krohn, who got out of the way just in time. It then yanked Thor’s short sword out from his toe as if it were a toothpick, and snapped the sword in half with a single hand.

The beast stepped towards him, and as Thor lay there, watching, helpless, he was sure he was dead.

But then the beast surprised him. It stopped, turned and looked at Malic instead. In one quick motion, it swooped down, grabbed Malic, and lifted him high into the air, squeezing him harder than he had Thor. Malic shrieked, and Thor could hear his ribs breaking even from here.

The beast held Malic close, right to his face, as if relishing this. Malic squirmed in his arms, but it was useless.

The beast suddenly pulled Malic to him, opened his mouth, revealing rows of jagged teeth, then brought Malic face first into his mouth. He chomped down, biting off Malic’s head. Blood came gushing down like a river. It happened so fast, Thor could barely process what he had witnessed.

The Cyclops dropped to the ground what was left of Malic’s body.

It then stopped and turned to Thor, staring at him, and Thor’s heart slammed in his chest. He prayed that the legend was true, that the monster would only kill the guilty.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the beast slowly turned its back, and marched to its cave. Thor held his breath, beginning to realize that the nightmare was over.

Thor could not believe it. His trial had taken place, in the eyes of his brethren, and he had been vindicated. He would live.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Gareth walked slowly into the throne room, needing time to be alone, to gather his thoughts, to remember why he wanted to be King. He entered the immense chamber, with its vaulted ceilings, stone floor and walls, and crossed it slowly, head down, his mind racing as he walked in the path his father had so many times.

Halfway across the room, Gareth looked up-and froze in place.

To his surprise, his throne had been turned around in the middle of the night, so its back was to him. Even more surprising, there was somebody sitting in it. In his throne.

Gareth could see the outline of a body, the arms resting on its arms, and he burned with rage, wondering who could be so impudent as to sit on a king’s throne. He also was puzzled as to how they had managed to turn around the throne, this ancient seat that had been rooted to its place for a thousand years.

Gareth walked quickly towards it, prepared to confront the intruder.

As he reached the base of the steps, to his shock, the throne suddenly spun around. On it, facing him, looking down, sat his father, his eyes open in disapproval.

Gareth stood unmoving, breathless, feeling as if a sword had been thrust into his chest. His feet were stuck to the floor: he could not get himself to pick them up, to put one after the other to ascend the stairs. After all, it was his father’s throne. And now his father was seated in it. He did not know how it was possible.

“The weight of my blood hangs on you,” his father proclaimed. “It is a weight you will not escape. Blood will have blood.”

Gareth blinked-and when he opened his eyes, the throne sat empty. He breathed hard, looking all around, wondering what had happened. He felt a presence lingering in the air, but his father was nowhere to be seen.

Legs shaking, Gareth ascended the ivory steps, one at a time, tentative, until finally he reached the throne. He sat in it, slowly, afraid to lean back. Gradually, he did, and looked out over the empty room.

Suddenly, he felt a horrific pain in his hands, his forearms, his thighs, even the back of his head. He looked down and saw the throne was now covered in thorns, growing thicker by the moment, rising up like an unstoppable vine, wrapping themselves around him, chaining him to it. The thorns grew wildly, embracing him, squeezing him, until he was bleeding all over his body. He struggled, leaned back and shrieked from the pain-until finally the thorns rose up and wrapped themselves around his mouth.

Gareth woke screaming.

He jumped from his bed in the muted light of dawn and paced his room, breathing hard. He made his way to the far wall, leaned a palm against the stone, and bent over, gasping for air.

It had felt so real, all of it. He spun around his room, almost expecting his father to be in it.

But he was not. He was alone.

Gareth felt haunted. He had an awful, sinking feeling that his father’s spirit would not let him rest. Would never let him rest.