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

to a city. Thor looked down, and saw how smooth the road was, free of
rocks, of ditches, and lined with fine white shells. His heart beat faster:
they were approaching King’s Court.
    Thor looked out the back of the
cart and was overwhelmed: the immaculate streets were flooded with activity.
Dozens of carts, of all shapes and sizes and carrying all manner of things, filled
the roads. One was laden with furs; another with rugs; still another with
chickens. Amidst them walked hundreds of merchants, some leading cattle, others
carrying baskets of goods on their heads. Four men carried a bundle of silks,
balancing them on poles. It was an army of people, all heading in one
direction.
    Thor felt alive. He’d never seen
so many people at once, so many goods, so much happening. He’d been in a small
village his entire life, and now he was in a hub, engulfed in humanity.
    He heard a loud noise, the
groaning of chains, the slamming of a huge piece of wood, so strong the ground
shook. Moments later came a different sound, of horses’ hooves clacking on
wood. He looked down, and realized they were crossing a bridge; beneath them
passed a moat. A drawbridge.
    Thor stuck his head out and saw
immense stone pillars, the spiked iron gate above. They were passing through
King’s Gate.
    It was the largest gate he had
ever seen. He looked up at the spikes, and marveled that if they came down,
they would slice him in half. He spotted four of the king’s Silver, guarding
the entry, and his heart beat faster.
    They passed through a long, stone
tunnel, then moments later the sky opened again. They were inside King’s Court.
    Thor could hardly believe it. There
was even more activity here, if possible—what seemed to be thousands of people,
milling in every direction. There were vast stretches of grass, perfectly cut,
and flowers blooming everywhere. The road widened, and alongside it were
booths, vendors, and stone buildings. And amidst all of these, the King’s men.
Soldiers, bedecked in armor. Thor had made it.
    In his excitement, he unwittingly
stood; as he did, the cart stopped short, sending him tumbling backward,
landing on his back in the straw. Before he could rise, there was the sound of
wood lowered, and he looked up to see an angry old man, bald, dressed in rags
and scowling. The cart driver reached in, grabbed Thor by the ankles with his
bony hands, and dragged him out.
    Thor went flying, landing hard on
his back on the dirt road, raising up a cloud of dust. Laughter rose up around
him.
    “Next time you ride my cart, boy,
it will be the shackles for you! You’re lucky I don’t summon the Silver now!”
    The old man turned and spat, then
hurried back on his cart and whipped his horses on.
    Embarrassed, Thor slowly gained
his wits and got to his feet. He looked around: one or two passersby chuckled,
and Thor sneered back until they looked away. He brushed the dirt off and
rubbed his arms; his pride was hurt, but not his body.
    His spirits returned as he looked
around, dazzled, and realized he should be happy that at least he’d made it
this far. Now that he was out of the cart he could look around freely, and an
extraordinary sight it was: the court sprawled as far as the eye could see. At
its center sat a magnificent stone palace, surrounded by towering, fortified
stone walls, crowned by parapets, atop which, everywhere, patrolled the King’s
army. All around him were fields of green, perfectly maintained, stone plazas,
fountains, groves of trees. It was a city. And it was flooded with people.
    Everywhere streamed all manner of
people—merchants, soldiers, dignitaries—everyone in such a rush. It took Thor
several minutes to understand that something special was happening. As he
ambled along, he saw preparations being made, chairs placed, an altar erected.
It looked like they were preparing for a wedding.
    His heart skipped a beat as he
saw, in the distance, a jousting lane, with its long dirt path and dividing
rope. On another field, he saw soldiers hurling spears at far-off targets; on
another, archers, aiming at straw. It seemed as if everywhere were games,
contests. There was also music: lutes and flutes and cymbals, packs of
musicians wandering; and wine, huge casks being rolled out; and food, tables
being prepared, banquets stretching as far as the eye could see. It was as if
he’d arrived in the midst of a vast celebration.
    As dazzling as all this was, Thor
felt an urgency to find the Legion. He was