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

side, as if he were an object he’d rather not see.
His beefy palm stung Thor’s chest.
    A great rumbling arose, and
townsfolk poured out from their homes, lining the streets. A growing cloud of
dust heralded the caravan, and moments later they arrived, a dozen horse-drawn
carriages, with a noise like a great thunder.
    They came into town like a sudden
army, halting close to Thor’s home. Their horses stood there, prancing,
snorting. It took too long for the cloud of dust to settle, and Thor anxiously
tried to steal a peek at their armor, their weaponry. He had never been this
close to The Silver before, and his heart thumped.
    The soldier on the lead horse
dismounted his stallion. Here he was, a real, actual member of The Silver,
covered in shiny ring mail, a long sword on his belt. He looked to be in his
30s, a real man, stubble on his face, scars on his cheek, and a nose crooked
from battle. He was the most substantial man Thor had ever seen, twice as wide
as the others, with a countenance that said he was in charge.
    The soldier jumped down onto the
dirt road, his spurs jingling as he approached the lineup of boys.
    Up and down the village stood
dozens of boys, at attention, hoping. Joining The Silver meant a life of honor,
of battle, of renown, of glory—along with land, title, and riches. It meant the
best bride, the choicest land, a life of glory. It meant honor for your family,
and entering the Legion was the first step.
    Thor studied the large, golden
carriages, and knew they could only hold so many recruits. It was a large
kingdom, and they had many towns to visit. He gulped, realizing his chances
were even more remote than he thought. He would have to beat out all these
other boys—many of them substantial fighters—along with his own three brothers.
He had a sinking feeling.
    Thor could hardly breathe as the
soldier paced in silence, surveying the rows of hopefuls. He began on the far
side of the street, then slowly circled. Thor knew all the other boys, of
course. He also knew some of them secretly did not want to be picked, even
though their families wanted to send them off. They were afraid; they would
make poor soldiers.
    Thor burned with indignity. He
felt he deserved to be picked, as much as any of them. Just because his
brothers were older and bigger and stronger, didn’t mean he shouldn’t have a
right to stand and be chosen. He burned with hatred for his father, and nearly
burst out of his skin as the soldier approached.
    The soldier stopped, for the
first time, before his brothers. He looked them up and down, and seemed
impressed. He reached out, grabbed one of their scabbards and yanked it, as if
to test how firm it was.
    He broke into a smile.
    “You haven’t yet used your sword
in battle, have you?” he asked Drake.
    Thor saw Drake nervous for the
first time in his life. He swallowed.
    “No, my liege. But I’ve used it
many times in practice, and I hope to—”
    “In practice !”
    The soldier roared with laughter
and turned to the other soldiers, who joined in, laughing in Drake’s face.
    Drake turned bright red. It was
the first time Thor had ever seen Drake embarrassed—usually, it was Drake
embarrassing others.
    “Well then I shall certainly tell
our enemies to fear you—you who wields your sword in practice !”
    The crowd of soldiers laughed
again.
    The soldier then turned to his
other brothers.
    “Three boys from the same stock,”
he said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “That can be useful. You’re all a
good size. Untested, though. You’ll need much training if you are to make the
cut.”
    He paused.
    “I suppose we can find room.”
    He nodded towards the rear wagon.
    “Get in, and be quick of it.
Before I change my mind.”
    Thor’s three brothers sprinted
for the carriage, beaming. Thor noticed his father beaming, too.
    But he was crestfallen as he
watched them go.
    The soldier turned and moved on
to the next home. Thor could stand it no longer.
    “Sire!” Thor yelled out.
    His father turned and glared at
him, but Thor no longer cared.
    The soldier stopped, his back to
him, and slowly turned.
    Thor took two steps forward, his
heart beating, and stuck out his chest as far as he could.
    “You haven’t considered me,
sire,” he said.
    The soldier, startled, looked
Thor up and down as if he were a joke.
    “Haven’t I?” he asked, and burst
into laughter.
    His men burst into laughter, too.
But Thor didn’t care. This was his moment. It was now or