A March of Kings Read Free Page A

blade reached his wrist.
    Merek looked over at Thor, wide-eyed.
    The warder shook his head and began to rise, to head for Thor. But Thor felt the power burning through him, and as the warder reached his feet and faced him, Thor ran forward, jumped into the air, and kicked him in the chest. He felt a power he had never known rush through his body, and heard a cracking noise, as his kick sent the large man flying back through the air, smashing against the wall, and down into a heap on the floor, truly unconscious this time.
    Merek stood there, shocked, and Thor knew exactly what he had to do. He grabbed the axe, hurried over, held his shackle up against the stone, and chopped it. A great spark flew through the air, as the chain-link was severed. Merek flinched, then raised his head and looked at the chain dangling down to his feet, and realized he was free.
    He stared back at Thor, open-mouthed.
    “I don’t know how to thank you,” Merek said. “I don’t know how you did that, whatever it is, or who you are—or what you are—but you saved my life. I owe you one. And that is something I do not take lightly.”
    “You owe me nothing,” Thor said.
    “Wrong,” Merek said, reaching out and clasping Thor’s forearm. “You’re my brother now. And I will repay you. Somehow. Someday.”
    With that, Merek turned, hurried out the open cell door, and ran down the corridor, to the shouts of the other prisoners.
    Thor looked over, saw the unconscious guard, the open cell door, and knew he had to act, too. The shouts of prisoners were growing louder.
    Thor stepped out, looked both ways, and decided to run the opposite way of Merek. After all, they couldn’t catch them both at once.
     

 
    CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    Thor ran through the night, through the chaotic streets of King’s Court, amazed at the commotion around him. The streets were more crowded than ever, throngs of people hurrying about in an agitated stir. Many carried torches, lighting up the night, casting stark shadows on faces, while the castle bells tolled incessantly. It was a low ring, coming once a minute, and Thor knew what that meant: death. Death bells. And there was only one person in the kingdom for whom the bells would toll on this night: the king.
    Thor’s heart pounded as he wondered. He saw that dagger from his dream flash before his eyes. Had it been true?
    He had to know for sure. He reached out and grabbed a passerby, a boy running the opposite direction.
    “Where are you going?” Thor demanded. “What is all this commotion?”
    “Haven’t you heard?” the boy shot back, frantic. “Our king is dying. Stabbed. Mobs are forming outside King’s Gate, trying to get the news. If it’s true, it’s terrible for us all. Can you imagine? A land without a king?”
    With that, the boy shoved Thor’s hand off and turned and ran back into the night.
    Thor stood there, his heart pounding, not wanting to acknowledge the reality all around him. He could hardly believe it. His dreams, his premonitions—they were more than fancies. He had seen the future. Twice. And that scared him. His powers were deeper than he knew, and seemed to be getting stronger with each passing day. Where would this all lead?
    Thor stood there, trying to figure out where to go next. He had escaped, but now he had no idea where to turn. Surely within moments the royal guards—and possibly all of King’s Court—would be out looking out for him. The fact that Thor escaped would just make him seem more guilty. But then again, the fact that MacGil was stabbed while Thor was in prison—wouldn’t that vindicate him? Or would it make him seem like part of a conspiracy?
    Thor couldn’t take any chances. Clearly, the kingdom wasn’t in the mood to hear rational thought—it seemed that everyone around him was out for blood. And he would probably be the scapegoat. He needed to find shelter, some place to go where he could ride out the storm and clear his name. The safest place to go,