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

had pictured war and glory and battle,
training and competition among boys his own age. He never saw himself as a
servant-in-waiting. He was starting to wonder if he had made the right
decision.
    They
finally left the dark stables for the bright light of day, back in the jousting
lanes. Thor squinted from the change, and was momentarily overcome by thousands
of people cheering the noise of opposing knights as they smashed into one
other. He’d never heard such a clang of metal, and the earth quaked from the
horses’ massive gait.
    All
around were dozens of knights and their squires, preparing. Squires polished
their knight’s armor, greased up weapons, checked saddles and straps, and
double-checked weapons as knights mounted their steeds and waited for their
names to be called.
    “Elmalkin!”
an announcer called out.
    A
knight from a province Thor did not recognize, a broad fellow in red armor,
galloped out the gate. Thor turned and jumped out of the way just in time. He
charged down the narrow lane, and his lance brushed off the shield of a
competitor. They clanged, and the other knight’s lance struck, and Elmalkin
went flying backwards, landing on his back. The crowd cheered.
    Elmalkin
immediately gathered himself, though, jumping to his feet, spinning around, and
reaching out a hand to his squire, who stood beside Thor.
    “My
mace!” the knight yelled out.
    The
squire next to Thor jumped into action, grabbing a mace off the weapons rack
and sprinting out towards the center of the lane. He ran toward Elmalkin, but
the other knight had circled back and was charging again. Just as the squire
reached him to placing the mace into his master’s hand, the other knight
thundered down upon them. The squire did not reach Elmalkin in time: the other
knight brought his lance down—and as he did, his lance sideswiped the squire’s
head. The squire, reeling from the blow, spun around quickly and went down to
the dirt, face first.
    He
did not move. Thor could see blood oozing from his head, even from here,
staining the dirt.
    Thor
swallowed.
    “It’s
not a pretty sight, is it?”
    Thor
turned to see Feithgold standing beside him, staring back.
    “Steel
yourself, boy. This is battle. And we’re right in the middle of it.”
    The
crowd suddenly grew quiet, as the main jousting lane was opened. Thor could
sense anticipation in the air, as all the other jousts stopped in anticipation
of this one. On one side, out came Kendrick, walking out on his horse, lance in
hand.
    On
the far side, facing him, out walked a knight in the distinctive armor of the
McClouds.
    “MacGils
versus McClouds,” Feithgold whispered to Thor. “We’ve been at war for a
thousand years. And I very much doubt this match will settle it.”
    Each
knight lowered his visor, a horn sounded, and with a shout, the two charged
each other.
    Thor
was amazed at how much speed they picked up, and moments later they collided
with such a clang, Thor nearly raised his hands to his ears. The crowd gasped
as both fighters fell from their horses.
    They
each jumped to their feet and threw off their helmets, as their squires ran out
to them, handing them short swords. The two knights sparred with all they had.
Watching Kendrick swing and slash mesmerized Thor: it was a thing of beauty.
But the McCloud was a fine warrior, too. Back and forth they went, each
exhausting the other, neither giving ground.
    Finally
their swords met in one momentous clash, and they each knocked each other’s
swords from their hands. Their squires ran out, maces in hand, but as Kendrick
reached for his mace, the McCloud’s squire ran up behind him and struck him in
the back with his own weapon, the blow sending him to the ground, to the
horrified gasp of the crowd.
    The
McCloud knight retrieved his sword, stepped forward, and pointed it at
Kendrick’s throat, pinning him to the ground. Kendrick was left with no choice.
    “I
concede!” he yelled.
    There
was a victorious shout among the McClouds—but a shout of anger from the
MacGils.
    “He
cheated!” yelled out the MacGils.
    “He
cheated! He cheated!” echoed a chorus of angry cries.
    The
mob was getting angrier and angrier, and soon there was such a chorus of
protests that the mob began to disperse, and both sides—the MacGils and
McClouds—began to approach each other on foot.
    “This
isn’t good,” Feithgold said to Thor, as they stood on the side, watching.
    Moments
later, the crowd erupted: blows were thrown, and it