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

an
ancient rivalry. But there are hundreds of years of spilled blood. The souls
cry out for vengeance. And that cannot be appeased with a single marriage.”
    “What are you saying?” MacGil
asked, taking another gulp of his wine, feeling nervous, as he often did around
Argon.
    Argon turned and stared at him
with an intensity so strong, it struck panic into MacGil’s heart.
    “There will be war. The McClouds
will attack. Prepare yourself. All the houseguests you see before you will soon
be doing their best to murder your family.”
    MacGil gulped.
    “Did I make the wrong decision to
marry her off to them?”
    Argon was silent for a while,
until finally he said: “Not necessarily.”
    Argon looked away, and MacGil
could see that he was finished with the topic. There were a million questions
he wanted answered: but he knew his sorcerer would not answer them until he was
ready. So instead, he watched Argon’s eyes, and followed their gaze to
Gwendolyn, then to Thor.
    “Do you see them together?”
MacGil asked, suddenly curious to know.
    “Perhaps,” Argon answered. “There
is still much yet to be decided.”
    “You speak in riddles.”
    Argon shrugged and looked away,
and MacGil realized he wouldn’t get any more from him.
    “You saw what happened on the
field today?” MacGil prodded. “With the boy?”
    “I saw it before it happened,”
Argon replied.
    “And what do you make of it? What
is the source of the boy’s powers? Is he like you?”
    Argon turned and stared into
MacGil’s eyes, and the intensity of his stare almost made him look away.
    “He is far more powerful than
me.”
    MacGil stared back, shocked. He
had never heard Argon speak like this.
    “ More powerful? Than you?
How is that possible? You are the king’s sorcerer—there is no one more powerful
than you in all the land.”
    Argon shrugged.
    “Power does not come in only one
form,” he said. “The boy has powers beyond what you can imagine. Powers beyond
what he knows. He has no idea who he is. Or where he hails from.”
    Argon turned and stared at
MacGil.
    “But you do,” he added.
    MacGil stared back, wondering.
    “Do I?” MacGil asked. “Tell me. I
need to know.”
    Argon shook his head.
    “Search your feelings. They are
true.”
    “What will become of him?” MacGil
asked.
    “He will become a great leader.
And a great warrior. He will rule kingdoms in his own right. Far greater
kingdoms than yours. And he will be a far greater king than you. It is his
destiny.”
    For a brief moment, MacGil burned
with envy. He turned and examined the boy, laughing harmlessly with Reece, at a
table for squires, the commoner, the weak outsider, the youngest of the bunch.
He didn’t imagine how it was possible. Looking at him now, he looked barely
eligible to join the Legion. He wondered for a moment if Argon was wrong.
    But Argon had never been wrong
and never made pronouncements without a reason.
    “Why are you telling me this?”
MacGil asked.
    Argon turned and stared at him.
    “Because it is your time to
prepare. The boy needs to be trained. He needs to be given the best of
everything. It is your responsibility.”
    “Mine? And what of his father?”
    “What of him?” Argon asked.
     

CHAPTER
ELEVEN
     
     
    Thor peeled open his eyes,
disoriented, wondering where he was. He lay on the floor, on a mound of straw,
his face planted sideways, his arms dangling over his head. He lifted his face,
wiping the drool from his mouth, and immediately felt a stab of pain in his
head, behind his eyes. It was the worst headache of his life. He remembered the
night before, the king’s feast, the drinking, his first taste of ale. The room
was spinning. His throat was dry, and at that moment he vowed he would never
drink again.
    Thor looked around, trying to get
his bearings in the cavernous barracks. Everywhere were bodies, lying on heaps
of straw, the room filled with snoring; he turned the other way, and saw Reece,
a few feet away, passed out, too. It was then he realized: he was in the
barracks. The Legion’s barracks. All around him were boys his age, about fifty
of them.
    Thor vaguely remembered Reece
showing him the way, in the late hours of the morning, and crashing on the
mound of straw. Early morning light flooded in through the open windows, and
Thor soon realized he was the only one yet awake. He looked down and saw he had
slept in his clothes, and reached up and ran a hand through his greasy hair. He
would give anything for a