*
Thor saw himself standing at the top of a mountain, staring out over the entire kingdom of the Ring. Before him was King’s Court, the castle, the fortifications, the gardens, the trees, and rolling hills as far as he could see—all in the full bloom of summer. The fields were filled with fruits and colored flowers, and there was the sound of music and festivities.
But as Thor turned slowly, surveying everything, the grass began to turn black. Fruits fell off the trees. Then the trees themselves shriveled up to nothing. All the flowers dried up to crisps, and, to his horror, one building after the next crumbled, until the entire kingdom was nothing but desolation, heaps of rubble and stone.
Thor looked down and suddenly saw a huge Whiteback slithering between his feet. He stood there, helpless, as it coiled around his legs, then his waist, then his arms. He felt himself being suffocated, the life squeezed out of him, as the snake coiled all the way around and stared at him in the face, inches away, hissing, its long tongue nearly touching Thor’s cheek. And then it opened its mouth wide, revealing huge fangs, leaned forward, and swallowed Thor’s face.
Thor shrieked, then found himself standing alone inside the King’s castle. It was completely empty, no throne left where one used to be. The Destiny Sword lay on the ground, untouched. The windows were all shattered, stained glass lying in heaps on the stone. He heard distant music, turned toward the sound, and walked through empty room after empty room. Finally he reached huge double doors, a hundred feet tall, and opened them with all his might.
Thor stood at the entrance to the royal feasting hall. Before him two long feasting tables stretched across the room, overflowing with food—yet empty of men. At the far end of the hall was one man. King MacGil. He sat on his throne, staring right at Thor. He seemed so far away.
Thor felt he had to reach him. He began to walk across the great room toward him, between the two feasting tables. As he went, all the food on either side of him went bad, becoming rotten with each step he took, turning black and immediately covered with flies. Flies buzzed and swarmed all around him, tearing apart the food.
Thor walked faster. The King was getting close now, hardly ten feet away, when a servant appeared out of a side chamber carrying a huge, golden goblet of wine. It was a distinctive goblet, made of solid gold and covered in rows of rubies and sapphires. While the King wasn’t looking, Thor saw the servant slip a white powder into the goblet. Thor realized it was poison.
The servant brought it closer, and MacGil reached down and grabbed it with both hands.
“No!” Thor screamed.
Thor lunged forward, trying to knock the wine away from the King.
But he was not fast enough. MacGil drank the wine in big gulps. It poured down his cheeks, down his chest, as he finished it.
MacGil turned and looked at Thor, and his eyes opened wide. He reached up and grabbed his throat until, gagging, he keeled over and fell off his throne; he fell sideways, landing on the hard stone floor. His crown rolled off it, hit the stone floor with a clang, and rolled several feet.
He lay there, motionless, eyes open, dead.
Estopheles swooped down, landed on MacGil’s head. It sat there, looked right at Thor, and screeched. The sound was so shrill, it sent a shiver up Thor’s spine.
“No!” Thor screamed.