A Feast of Dragons

chapter SIXTEEN

Thor descended down the mountain for the caves of the Cyclops, the sunset sky breaking all around him, lighting the world in a million shades of scarlet, and he felt as if he were being marched to his death—as if he were descending into hell itself.

He marched, the Legion members a safe distance behind him, Malic beside him, both of them still bound, Krohn to his side, the shouts of the beast, concealed in the cave, growing louder. The earth trembled as they went, and Thor could only imagine the ire of this beast.

Thor hated Malic with a passion reserved for no other. He had been unfairly setup because of him, unfairly accused, dragged into this, his potential death. Thor only prayed that the legend of the Cyclops held true—and that only the guilty one would be killed.

Thor thought back to that scene on the sparring field, and he remembered Malic’s trying to kill him first. He still didn’t really understand what had happened, or why.

“Before we are sent to our deaths,” Thor said to Malic, walking side by side, “tell me one thing. Why did you do it? Why did you try to kill me back there? And when you failed, why did you then kill that man?”

Malic continued walking, and, to Thor’s surprise, even as he was being marched to his death, he smiled, as if he enjoyed this. This boy was truly sick.

“I never liked you,” Malic said. “From the moment I met you. But that was not the reason. I was paid handsomely for it—to kill you.”

Thor was aghast.

“Paid?” he asked.

“You have very rich enemies. I gladly took their fee for attempting something I wanted to do myself.”

“Then why did you kill that man I was wrestling with?” Thor asked. “What has he to do with me?”

“When I missed my chance to kill you,” Malic said, “I figured my next best chance was to kill him and pin it on you. Then the warriors would kill you, and save me the trouble.”

Thor frowned.

“Well it didn’t work out that way, did it?” Thor asked.

“You will die by the Cyclops hand,” Malic said.

“But so will you,” Thor countered.

Malic shrugged.

“Everybody has to die sometime,” he said, then fell into silence.

Thor could not understand him—he truly seemed apathetic to life. He wondered what evil had befallen him to make him this way.

“Just tell me one more thing before your death,” Thor urged. “Who paid you? Who are my enemies?”

Malic continued walking, silent. Clearly, he was done speaking.

“Well,” Thor concluded, “I hope you’re satisfied. Now you’re going to get us both killed.”

“Wrong,” Malic said. “I don’t believe in legends and fairytales. The monster won’t kill me. I am stronger than any monster. It will only kill one of us. And it will be you.”

Thor looked at him with a hatred beyond calculation.

“I would kill you right now, if I could,” Thor said.

Malic smiled.

“Then too bad we are both bound.”

They continued marching, silently, getting ever closer, the sky turning darker, and the monster’s roars growing louder.

“I like you,” Malic said, surprising Thor. “In another life, we would be friends.”

Thor looked at him, unbelieving.

“You are sick,” Thor said. “I don’t understand you. You said you hated me. We would never be friends. I am not friends with liars—or murderers.”

Malic threw his head back and laughed loudly.

“Lying and murdering is the way of the world,” he answered. “At least I am bold enough to admit it. Everyone else hides and cowers behind a façade.”

The two of them continued marching, farther and farther down the hill, getting closer to the cave of the Cyclops. The sky morphed into a brilliant, glowing red, looking as if it were on fire. Thor could not help but feel as if he were walking into the very pit of hell.

Finally, the ground leveled out, the cave hardly thirty yards before them, and they stopped as two warriors came up behind them and cut their ropes, freeing their hands. The warriors turned and ran back uphill, to the large crowd of Legion members who watched at a safe distance uphill.

Thor and Malic glanced at each other, then Thor turned and marched boldly right up to the huge cave. Malic followed. If Thor was going to die, he would do so bravely. Krohn walked beside him, growling.

“Go back, Krohn!” Thor commanded, wanting to spare him.

But Krohn refused to leave his side.

There came another earth-shattering roar, and it was enough to make Thor want to stop in his tracks. Beside him, Malic continued marching, relaxed, with a smile on his face, as if happy to meet the monster. Maybe he was happy to meet his death, Thor thought. He seemed suicidal.

Thor’s mind raced as they approached the cave. The opening was so high, soaring at least thirty feet, it was ominous; it made Thor wonder about the size of the creature that lived within it. He wondered if these would be his last moments on earth, if he would die this way, down here, in this cave, on this island. All because of Malic, because of a crime he did not commit. He wondered about his fate and destiny, if it had all been wrong. After all, Argon had never seen this, had never seen his encounter with the Cyclops—or at least had never warned him of it. And Thor had never seen it himself. Was his power not as strong as he thought? Was this where it would all end? 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.