at her, to ingrain her face in her memory. It was a face she never wanted to forget-a face she never wanted to become.
“Our father looks down at you in disgrace,” Gwen said, feeling as if she were channeling her father’s voice.
With that, she turned, crossed the room, opened the door and slammed it behind her, its echo shaking the entire castle.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Thor sat with the other Legion members, and Krohn, on the ground in their makeshift camp at the top of the cliff, their roaring fire doing little to fend off the black of night. Dozens of them sat spaced around it, all exhausted, staring somberly into the flames. Thor looked back and saw the sky, alight with thousands of stars, reds and yellows and greens, positioned in such a way that Thor had never seen before in this part of the world. The fire cracked, but other than that, the night was silent.
They had all been sitting there for hours, frozen with exhaustion, pondering their fates after this grueling day of training. Thor, especially, was stung by his encounter with the Cyclops. He felt vindicated in the eyes of his brothers in arms, who looked at him now with a new respect. But he also felt shaken. He thought of how close he had come to dying, and wondered for the millionth time about the mystery of life. Just yesterday, Malic had been sitting with them all; now, he was dead. Where had he gone? Who might go next?
Kolk cleared his throat, and the boys turned and looked at him. He sat there, in the circle along with the others, resting his forearms on his knees, back erect, frowning into the fire. His eyes were wide open, and it looked as if he were remembering something vividly. The boys had been promised a tale around the fire, one of conquest and past glories. But they had been waiting for hours, and none came. Thor had assumed it was not going to come. But now, as Kolk cleared his throat, Thor settled in and prepared to listen. Beside him, Reese, O’Connor, Elden and the twins did the same.
“Twenty sun cycles ago,” Kolk began, staring into the flames, his voice somber, “before most of you were born, when I was the age of the eldest of you, when King MacGil was still alive, when he was just a prince and we fought side-by-side, there came the battle which gave me this scar,” he said, turning his cheek to reveal the long, jagged scar which ran along his jawbone.
“That day started out as any other. MacGil, Brom and I, with a dozen other legion members, were on patrol. Deep in the valley of the Nevaruns. The Nevaruns are separatists: they live on the far reaches of the southern provinces of the Ring. They are rebels-they owe allegiance to the MacGils, but are always threatening to align with one lord or other and break off from the kingdom. They are also tough, cruel people, who do not defer to authority. They have been a thorn in the MacGil’s side for centuries. They are half-breeds, part human and part something else. They have eight fingers and toes, and are twice as broad as the average man. It is said that humans mated with something else to breed them, centuries ago. Nobody knows what.
“The Nevaruns are a fierce people,” Kolk continued. “They don’t respect our code of ethics, of laws of chivalry. They fight to win-at any cost.”
Kolk breathed deep, eyes closed, remembering.
“It was a cold and windy day. Walking through a narrow valley, after days of silent patrol, we were ambushed. Several of them jumped us from behind, knocking me off my horse. One of them knocked me down with a spear, while another came up from behind, stabbed me in the back and then used his knife to do this handiwork,” he said, pointing at his jaw.
Thor swallowed at the thought of it, of what Kolk must have gone through. Even now, twenty sun cycles later, as he stared into the flames, it seemed as if Kolk were reliving it.
“I would have died if it were not for MacGil, who, luckily, had to relieve himself, and was catching up. He was fifty paces behind me, and they didn’t see him. He sent an arrow through their backs.”
Kolk sighed.
“I was foolish, and that is the point of this tale. I expected the enemy to fight on my terms. To meet me in the open. To challenge and face me as a man, as any warrior should. Not to be cowardly and jump me from behind, not to fight with two men against one, not to wait until I was in a space so narrow I could not maneuver. And this is what you must remember: your enemy will
“That does not mean you sink to his level. You must fight at all times with our code of honor and chivalry-or else you will lose the spirit of the warrior, which is what sustains you. The day you begin to fight as them is the day you lose your soul. Better to die with honor than to win in disgrace.”
With that, Kolk fell silent, and a deep silence enveloped all the boys around him. For a long while the only sound was that of the whipping of the wind high up on the cliff, of the distant crash of the ocean, somewhere on the horizon.
And then, some time later, came the sound of a distant roar, like thunder. Thor turned, as did the others, and saw something light up the horizon. He stood, with Reese and a few others, to go look.
Thor walked over to the cliff’s edge and looked out at the black night, the horizon lit by a world of stars, their light strong enough to illuminate the swirling red waters of the ocean beneath them. In the distance, far off, Thor could see a red glow. It came in short bursts, then stopped, like a volcano shooting up lava that lit up the night, then just as quickly faded out. There followed another rumbling sound.
“The cry of the Dragon,” came a voice.
Thor looked over, and standing there, set apart from the others, his back to him, staring out over the cliff and holding his staff, was Argon. Thor was shocked to see him.
Thor turned away from the other boys, and walked over to him. He stood beside him and waited until he was ready, knowing better than to disturb him.
“How did you get here?” Thor asked, amazed. “What are you doing here?”
Argon stood there, expressionless, ignoring Thor, still staring out at the horizon.
Thor finally turned and looked at the horizon with him, standing by his side, waiting, trying to be patient, to accept conversation on Argon’s terms.
“The Dragon’s breath,” Argon observed. “This is a dragon that chooses to live apart. You are in his land. He is not pleased.”
Thor thought about that.
“But we are to be here for a hundred days,” Thor said, worried.
Argon turned and looked at him.
“If he chooses to let you,” he responded. “These shores are littered far and wide with the bones of warriors who thought they could conquer the dragon. The pride of man is the feast of dragons.”
Thor swallowed, beginning to realize how precarious the Hundred was.
“Will I survive it?” he asked, hoping for a response.
“Your time to die has not yet come,” Argon responded slowly.
Thor felt immensely relieved to hear that, and surprised that Argon would give him a straight answer. He decided to push his luck.
“Will I also become a member of the Legion?” he asked.
“That, and much more,” Argon replied.
Thor’s spirits lifted even higher. He could not believe he was getting answers out of Argon. He felt a sudden burning curiosity to know why Argon was here. He knew he would not have come here, would not be talking to him, unless he had something important to say.
“Do you see the horizon?” Argon asked. “Beyond the Dragon’s breath? Past the flames? Out there, in the blackness, lies your destiny.”
Thor sensed what he was speaking of. He remembered MacGil’s dying words, about his destiny, about his mother.
“My mother?” Thor asked.
