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

Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Thor rode hard in the darkness, racing through the final gate of King's Court, barely slowing his horse as he jumped off it, breathing hard, and handing the reins to an attendant. He had been riding all day, the sun had fallen hours before, and he could see immediately from all the torchlight inside, hear from all the reverie behind the gates, that the king's feast was in full swing. He kicked himself for being away for as long as he did, and only prayed he was not too late.

He ran to the nearest attendant.

"Is all in order inside?" he asked in a rush. He had to find out whether the king was okay—though of course he couldn't directly ask if he had been poisoned.

The attendant looked at him, baffled.

"And why shouldn't it be? All is in order, except that you are late. Members of the King's Legion should always be on time. And your clothes are filthy. You reflect poorly on your peers. Wash your hands, and hurry inside."

Thor rushed through the gate, sweating, put his hands in a small stone laver filled with water, splashed it on his face, and ran it through his longish hair. He had been in constant motion since early in the morning, he was covered in dust from the road, and it felt as if it had been ten days in one. He took a deep breath, tried to calm himself and seem orderly, and strode quickly down corridor after corridor, towards the vast doors of the feasting hall.

As he stepped inside, through the huge arched doors, it was just like his dream: before him were the two feasting tables, at least a hundred feet long, at the far end of which sat the king, at the head of his own table, surrounded by men. The noise struck Thor like a living thing, the hall absolutely packed with people. There were not only the King's men, members of The Silver and of the Legion seated at the feasting tables, but also hundreds of others, bands of traveling musicians, groups of dancers, of jesters, dozens of women from the brothels.... There were also all manners of servants, of guards, dogs running about. It was a madhouse.

Men drank from huge goblets of wine and beer, and many of them stood, singing drinking songs, arms about each other, clinking casks. There were heaps of food laid out on the tables, with boar and deer and all sorts of other game roasting on spits before the fireplace. Half the room gorged themselves, while the other half mingled about the room. Looking at the chaos in the room, seeing how drunk the men were, Thor realized that if he'd arrived earlier, when it began, it would have been more orderly. Now, at this late hour, it seemed to have evolved into more of a drunken bash.

Thor's first reaction, aside from being overwhelmed, was deep relief to see that the king was alive. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was okay. He wondered again if that omen meant nothing, if his dream meant nothing, if he was just overreacting to fancies, making something bigger in his head than it should be. But still, he just could not shake the feeling. He still felt a pressing urgency to reach the king, to warn him.

Protect our king.

Thor pushed his way into the thick crowd, trying to make it the long way towards the king. It was slow going. The men were drunk and rowdy, packed shoulder to shoulder, and MacGil sat hundreds of feet away.

Thor managed to get about halfway through the crowd when he stopped, suddenly spotted Gwendolyn. She sat at one of the small tables, off to the side of the hall, surrounded by her handmaids. She looked glum, which seemed unlike her. Her food and drink were untouched, and she sat off to the side, separated from the other members of the royal family. Thor wondered what could be wrong.

Thor broke from the crowd and hurried over to her.

She looked up and saw him coming, but instead of smiling, as she always did, her face darkened. For the first time, Thor saw anger in her eyes.