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

relate to her, though they never had
much warmth for each other.
    Gareth
shifted on his feet, impatient, waiting for it all to end.
    He
suffered through the ceremony, Argon presiding over the blessings, reciting the
spells, performing the rituals. It was all a charade, and it made him sick. It
was just the union of two families for political reasons. Why couldn’t they
just call it what it was?
    Soon
enough, thank heavens, it was over. The crowd rose up in a huge cheer as the
two kissed. A great horn was blown, and the perfect order of the wedding
dissolved into controlled chaos. The royal family all made their way back down
the aisle and over to the reception area.
    Even
Gareth, as cynical as he was, was impressed by the site: his father had spared
no expense this time. Stretching out before them were all manner of tables,
banquets, vats of wine, an endless array of roasting pigs and sheep and lamb.
    Behind
them, they were already preparing for the main event: the games. There were
targets being prepared for stone-hurling, spear-throwing, archery—and, at the
center of it all, the jousting lane. Already, the masses were crowding around
it.
    Crowds
were already parting for the knights on both sides. For the MacGils, the first
to enter, of course, was Kendrick, mounted on his horse and bedecked in armor,
followed by dozens of the Silver. But it was not until Erec arrived, set back
from the others, on his white horse, that the crowd quieted in awe. He was like
a magnet for attention: even Helena leaned forward, and Gareth noted her lust
for him, like all the other women.
    “He’s
nearly of selection age, yet he’s not married. Any woman in the kingdom would marry
him. Why does he choose none of us?”
    “And
what do you care?” Gareth asked, feeling jealous, despite himself. He too,
wanted to be up there, in armor, on a horse, jousting for his father’s name.
But he was not a warrior. And everyone knew it.
    Helena
ignored him with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You are not a man,” she said,
derisively. “You do not understand these things.”
    Gareth
blushed. He wanted to let her have it, but now was not the time. Instead, he
accompanied her as she took a seat in the stands, with the others, to watch the
day’s festivities. This day was going from worse to worse, and Gareth already
felt a pit in his stomach. It would be a very long day, a day of endless
chivalry, of pomp, of pretense. Of men wounding or killing each other. A day he
was completely excluded from. A day that represented everything he hated.
    As
he sat there, he brooded. He wished silently that the festivities would erupt
into a full-fledged battle, that there would be full-scale bloodshed before
him, that everything good about this place be destroyed, torn to bits.
    One
day he would have his way. One day he would be king.
    One
day.
     

CHAPTER
EIGHT
     
     
    Thor
did his best to keep up with Erec’s squire, hurrying to catch up as he weaved
his way through the masses. It had been such a whirlwind since the arena, he
could hardly process what was happening all around him. He was still trembling
inside, could still hardly believe he had been accepted into the Legion, and he
had been named second squire to Erec.
    “I
told you, boy—keep up!” Feithgold snapped.
    Thor
resented being called “boy,” especially as the squire was hardly a few years
older. Feithgold darted in out of the crowd, almost as if he were trying to
lose Thor.
    “Is
it always this crowded here?” Thor called out, trying to catch up.
    “Of
course not!” Feithgold yelled back. “Today is not only the summer solstice, the
longest day of the year, but also the day the king chose for his daughter’s
wedding—and the only day in history we’ve opened our gates to the McClouds. There
has never been such a crowd here as now. It is unprecedented. I hadn’t expected
this! I fear we will be late!” he said, all in a rush, as he sped through the
crowd.
    “Where
are we going?” Thor asked.
    “We’re
going to do what every good squire does: to help our knight prepare!”
    “Prepare
for what?” Thor pressed, nearly out of breath. It was getting hotter by the
minute, and he wiped the sweat from his brow.
    “The
royal joust!”
    They
finally reached the edge of the crowd and stopped before a king’s guard, who recognized
Feithgold and gestured to the others to let them pass.
    They
slipped under a rope and stepped into a clearing, free from the masses. Thor
could