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

became an all-out brawl. It
was chaos. Men were swinging wildly, grabbing each other in locks, driving each
other to the ground. The crowd swelled and it threatened to blow up into an
all-out war.
    A
horn sounded and guards from both sides marched in, managing to split up the crowd.
Another louder horn sounded, and silence fell as King MacGil stood from his
throne.
    “There
will be no skirmishers today!” he boomed in his kingly voice. “Not on this day
of celebration! And not in my court!”
    Slowly,
the crowd calmed.
    “If
it is a contest you wish for between our two great clans, it will be decided by
one fighter, one champion, from each side.”
    MacGil
looked to King McCloud, who sat on the far side, seated with his entourage.
    “Agreed?”
MacGil yelled out.
    McCloud
stood solemnly.
    “Agreed!”
he echoed.
    The
crowd cheered on both sides.
    “Choose
your best man!” MacGil yelled.
    “I
already have,” McCloud said.
    There
emerged from the McCloud side a formidable knight, the biggest man Thor had
ever seen, mounted on his horse. He looked like a boulder, all bulk, with a
long beard and a scowl that looked permanent.
    Thor
sensed movement beside him, and right next to him, Erec stepped up, mounted
Warfkin and walked forward. Thor swallowed. He could hardly believe this was
happening all around him. He swelled with pride for Erec.
    Then
he was overcome with anxiety, as he realized he was on duty. After all, he was
squire and his knight was about to fight.
    “What
do we do?” Thor asked Feithgold in a rush.
    “Just
stand back and do as I tell you,” he answered.
    Erec
strode forward into the jousting lane, and the two knights stayed there, facing
each other, their horses stomping in a tense standoff. Thor’s heart pounded in
his chest as he waited and watched.
    A
horn sounded, and the two charged each other.
    Thor
could not believe the beauty and grace of Warfkin—it was like watching a fish
jump from the sea. The other knight was huge, but Erec was a graceful and sleek
fighter. He cut through the air, his head low, his silver armor rippling, more
polished than any armor he had laid his eyes upon.
    As
the two men met, Erec held his lance with perfect aim, and leaned to the side.
He managed to knock the knight in the center of shield while simultaneously
dodging his blow.
    The
huge mountain of a man tumbled backwards, onto the ground. It was like a
boulder landing.
    The
MacGil crowd cheered as Erec rode past, turned, and circled back. He raised his
face plate held the tip of his lance to the man’s throat.
    “Yield!”
Erec yelled down.
    The
knight spit.
    “Never!”
    The
knight then reached into a hidden satchel on his waist, pulled out a handful of
dirt, and before Erec could react, threw it into Erec’s face.
    Erec,
stunned, reached for his eyes, dropping his lance and falling from his horse.
    The
MacGil crowd booed and hissed and cried in outrage as Erec fell, clutching his
eyes. The knight, wasting no time, hurried over and kneed him in the ribs.
    Erec
rolled over, and the knight grabbed a huge rock, picked it up high and prepared
to bring it down on Erec’s skull.
    “NO!”
Thor screamed, stepping forward, unable to control himself.
    Thor
watched in horror as the knight brought down the rock. At the last second, Erec
somehow rolled out of the way. The stone lodged deep into the ground, right
where his skull had been.
    Thor
was amazed at Erec’s dexterity. He was already back on his feet, facing this
dirty fighter.
    “Short
swords!” the Kings cried out.
    Feithgold
suddenly wheeled and stared at Thor, wide-eyed.
    “Hand
it to me!” he yelled.
    Thor’s
heart pounded in panic. He spun around, searching Erec’s weapons rack, looking
desperately for the sword. There was a dizzying array of weapons before him. He
reached out, grabbed it, and thrust it into Feithgold’s palm.
    “Stupid
boy! That is a medium sword!” Feithgold yelled.
    Thor’s
throat went dry; he felt the whole kingdom staring at him. His vision was
blurry with anxiety as he spiraled into panic, not knowing which sword to
choose. He could barely focus.
    Feithgold
stepped forward, shoved Thor out of the way, and grabbed the short sword
himself. He then raced out into the jousting lane.
    Thor
watched him go, feeling useless, horrible. He also tried to imagine if it were
himself running out there, in front of all those people, and his knees grew
weak.
    The
other knight’s squire reached him first, and Erec had to jump