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

upon by the guards and dragged off to
jail—and his chances of joining the Legion would be ruined forever. This one
moment held everything he had ever dreamt of.
    He prayed to God with all he had.
    Without hesitating, Thor opened
his eyes, took two steps forward, reached back and hurled the spear.
    He held his breath as he watched
it sail.
    Please, God. Please.
    The spear cut through the thick,
dead silence, and Thor could feel the hundreds of eyes on it.
    Then, after an eternity, there
came the sound, the undeniable sound of a spear point piercing hay. Thor didn’t
even have to look. He knew, he just knew, it was a perfect strike. It was the
way the spear felt when it left his hand, the angle of his wrist, that told him
it would hit.
    Thor dared to look—and saw, with
huge relief, that he was right. The spear found its place in the center of the
red mark—the only spear in it. He’d done what the other recruits could not.
    Stunned silence enveloped him, as
he felt the other recruits—and knights—all gaping at him.
    Finally, Kendrick stepped forward
and clapped Thor hard on the back with his palm, with the sound of satisfaction.
He grinned widely.
    “I was right,” he said. “You will
stay!”
    “What, my Lord!” screamed the
King’s guard. “It is not fair! This boy arrived uninvited!”
    “He hit that mark. That’s
invitation enough for me.”
    “He is far younger and smaller
than the others. This is no peewee squad,” said the general.
    “I would rather a smaller soldier
who can hit his mark than an oaf who cannot,” the knight replied.
    “A lucky throw!” yelled the large
boy who Thor had just fought. “If we had more chances, we would hit, too!”
    The knight turned and stared down
the boy.
    “Would you?” he asked. “Shall I
see you do it now? Shall we wager your stay here on it?”
    The boy, flustered, lowered his
head in shame, clearly not willing to take up the offer.
    “But this boy is a stranger,” protested
the general. “We don’t even know where he hails from.”
    “He comes from the lowlands,”
came a voice.
    The others turned to see who
spoke, but Thor did not need to—he recognized the voice. It was the voice that
had plagued him his entire childhood. The voice of his eldest brother: Drake.
    Drake stepped forward, with his
other two brothers, and glared down at Thor with a look of disapproval.
    “His name is Thorgrin, of the
clan McCleod of the Southern Province of the Eastern Kingdom. He is the
youngest of four. We all hail from the same household. He tends our father’s
sheep!”
    The entire group of boys and
knights burst into a chorus of laughter.
    Thor felt his face redden; he
wanted to die at that moment. He had never been more ashamed. That was just
like his brother, to take away his moment of glory, to do whatever he could to
keep him down.
    “Tends sheep, does he?” echoed
the general.
    “Then our foes will surely have
to watch out for him!” yelled another boy.
    There was another chorus of
laughter, and Thor’s humiliation deepened.
    “Enough!” yelled Kendrick,
sternly.
    Gradually, the laughter subsided.
    “I’d rather have a sheepherder
any day who can hit a mark than the lot of you—who seem good at laughing, but
not much more,” Kendrick added.
    With that, a silence descended on
the boys, who weren’t laughing anymore.
    Thor was infinitely grateful to
Kendrick. He vowed to pay him back any way he could. Regardless of what
happened to Thor, this man had, at least, restored his honor.
    “Don’t you know, boy, that it is
not a warrior’s way to tattle on his friends—much less his own family, his own
blood?” the knight asked Drake.
    Drake looked down, flustered, one
of the rare times that Thor had seen him out of sorts.
    But another of his other
brothers, Dress, stepped forward and protested: “But Thor wasn’t even chosen. We were. He is merely following us here.”
    “I’m not following you,” Thor
insisted, finally speaking up. “I’m here for the Legion. Not for you.”
    “It doesn’t matter why he’s
here,” the general said, annoyed, stepping forward. “He’s wasting all of our
time. Yes it was a good hit of the spear, but he still cannot join us. Has no
knight to sponsor him, and no squire willing to partner with him.”
    “I will partner with him,” called
out a voice.
    Thor spun, along with the others.
He was surprised to see, standing a few feet away, a boy his age, who actually
looked like him, except with