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

stepped forward and held out a palm.
    “Stop there,” he commanded.
    Thor stopped short, gasping for
breath, barely able to contain his excitement.
    “You…don’t…understand,” he
heaved, words tumbling out between breaths, “I have to be inside. I’m late.”
    “Late for what?”
    “The selection.”
    The guard, a short, heavy man
with pockmarked skin, turned and looked at the others, who looked back
cynically. He turned and surveyed Thor with a disparaging look.
    “The recruits were taken in hours
ago, in the royal transport. If you were not invited, you cannot enter.”
    “But you don’t understand. I
must—”
    The guard reached out and grabbed
Thor by the shirt.
    “ You don’t understand, you
insolent little boy. How dare you come here and try to force your way in? Now
go—before I shackle you.”
    He shoved Thor, who stumbled back
several feet.
    Thor felt a sting in his chest
where the guard’s hand had touched him—but more than that, he felt the sting of
rejection. He was indignant. He had not come all this way to be turned away by
a guard without even being seen. He was determined to make it inside.
    The guard turned back to his men,
and Thor slowly walked away, heading clockwise, around the circular building.
He had a plan. He walked until he was out of sight, then broke into a jog,
creeping his way along the walls. He checked to make sure the guards weren’t
watching, then picked up speed, sprinting. When he was halfway around the
building he spotted another opening into the arena: high up were arched
openings in the stone, blocked by iron bars. One of these openings was missing
its bars. He heard another roar, lifted himself up onto the ledge, and looked.
    His heart quickened. There,
spread out inside the huge, circular training ground, were dozens of
recruits—including his brothers. Lined up, they all faced a dozen of the
Silver. The king’s men walked amidst them, summing them up.
    Another group of recruits stood
off to the side, under the watchful eyes of a soldier, throwing spears at a
distant target. One of them missed.
    Thor’s veins burned with indignation.
He could have hit those marks; he was just as good as any of them. Just because
he was younger, a bit smaller, it wasn’t fair that he was being left out.
    Suddenly, Thor felt a hand on his
back as he was yanked backwards, flying through the air. He landed hard on the
ground below, winded.
    He looked up and saw the guard
from the gate, sneering down.
    “What did I tell you, boy?”
    Before he could react, the guard
leaned back and kicked Thor hard. Thor felt a sharp thump in his ribs, as the
guard wound up to kick him again.
    This time, Thor caught the
guard’s foot in mid-air; he yanked it, knocking him off balance and making him
fall.
    Thor quickly gained his feet. At
the same time, the guard gained his. Thor stood there, staring back, shocked by
what he had just done. Across from him, the guard glowered.
    “Not only will I shackle you,”
the guard hissed, “but I will make you pay. No one touches a king’s guard!
Forget about joining the Legion—now, you will wallow away in the dungeon!
You’ll be lucky if you’re ever seen again!”
    The guard pulled out a chain with
a shackle at its end. He approached Thor, vengeance on his face.
    Thor’s mind raced. He could not
allow himself to be shackled—yet he did not want to hurt a member of the King’s
Guard. He had to think of something—and fast.
    He remembered his sling. His
reflexes took over as he grabbed it, placed a stone, took aim, and let it fly.
    The stone soared through the air
and knocked the shackles from the stunned guard’s grip; it also hit the guard’s
fingers. The guard pulled back and shook his hand, screaming in pain, as the
shackles clattered to the ground.
    The guard gave Thor with a look
of death. He drew his sword. It came out with a distinctive, metallic ring.
    “That was your last mistake,” he
threatened darkly, and charged.
    Thor had no choice: this man
would just not leave him be. He placed another stone in his sling and hurled
it. He aimed deliberately: he did not want to kill the guard, but he had to
stop him. So instead of aiming for his heart, nose, eye, or head, Thor aimed
for the one place he knew would stop him, but not kill him.
    Between the guard’s legs.
    He let the stone fly—not at full
strength, but enough to put the man down.
    It was a perfect strike.
    The guard keeled over, dropping
his sword, grabbing his