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

their group reached the end
of the field, and Thor saw six horses, prancing about.
    “Take up the reins!” Kolk
commanded. “Hold them steady, and walk them around the arena until they break.
Do it now!”
    Thor stepped forward to take the
reins from one of the horses, and as he did, the horse stepped back and
pranced, nearly kicking him. Thor, startled, stumbled back, and the others in
the group laughed at him. Kolk smacked him hard in the back of the head, and he
felt like turning and hitting back.
    “You are a member of the Legion
now. You never retreat. From anybody. No man, no beast. Now take those reins!”
    Thor steeled himself, stepped
forward, and grabbed the reins from the prancing horse. He managed to hang on,
while the horse yanked and pulled, and began to lead him around the wide dirt
field, getting in line with the others. His horse tugged at him, resisting, but
Thor tugged back, not giving up so easily.
    “It gets better, I hear.”
    Thor turned to see O’Connor
coming up beside him, smiling. “They want to break us, you know?”
    Suddenly, Thor’s horse stopped.
No matter how much he pulled on the reins, it would not budge. Then Thor
smelled something awful; there was more waste coming from the horse than he
ever imagined possible. It did not seem to end.
    Thor felt a small shovel pressed into
his palm, and looked over to see Kolk beside him, smiling down.
    “Clean it up!” he snapped.
     

CHAPTER
TWELVE
     
     
    Gareth
stood in the crowded marketplace, wearing a cloak despite the midday sun,
sweating beneath it, and trying to remain anonymous. He always tried to avoid
this part of King’s Court, these crowded alleyways, which stank of humanity and
common man. All around him were people haggling, trading, trying to get one up
on each other. Gareth stood at a corner stall, feigning interest in a vendor’s
fruit, keeping his head low. Standing just a few feet away was Firth, at the
end of the dark alleyway, doing what they had come here to do.
    Gareth
stood within earshot of the conversation, keeping his back to it so as not to
be seen. Firth had told him of a man, a mercenary, who would sell him a poison
vial. Gareth wanted something strong, something certain to do the trick. No
chances could be taken. After all, his own life was on the line.
    It
was hardly the sort of thing he could ask the local apothecary for. He had set
Firth to the task, who had reported back to him after testing out the black
market. After much pointing of the way, Firth had led them to this slovenly
character, whom he now furtively spoke with at the end of the alleyway. Gareth
had insisted on coming along for their final transaction, to make sure
everything went smoothly, to make sure he was not being swindled and given a
false potion. Plus, he was still not completely assured of Firth’s competence.
Some matters, he just had to take care of himself.
    They
had been waiting for this man for half an hour now, Gareth getting jostled in
the busy market, praying he was not recognized. Even if he was, he figured, as
long as he kept his back to the alley, if someone should know who he was, he
could merely walk away, and no one would make the connection.
    “Where
is the vial?” Firth, just a few feet away, asked the cretin.
    Gareth
turned just a bit, so as not to be noticed, and peeked from the corner of his
cloak. Standing there, opposite Firth, was an evil-looking man, slovenly, too
thin, with sunken cheeks and huge black eyes. He looked something like a rat.
He stared down at Firth, unblinking.
    “Where’s
the money?” he responded.
    Gareth
hoped Firth would handle this well: he usually managed to screw things up
somehow.
    “I
shall give you the money when you give me the vial,” Firth held his ground.
    Good , Gareth thought, impressed.
    There
was a thick moment of silence, then:
    “Give
me half the money now, and I will tell you where the vial is.”
    “Where
it is?” Firth echoed, his voice rising in surprise. “You said I would have it.”
    “I
said you would have it, yes. I did not say I would bring it. Do you take me for
a fool? Spies are everywhere. I know not what you intend—but I assume it is not
trivial. After all, why else buy a vial of poison?”
    Firth
paused, and Gareth knew he was caught off guard.
    Finally,
Gareth heard the distinct noise of coins clacking, and peeked over and saw the
royal gold pouring from Firth’s pouch, into the man’s palm.
    Gareth
waited, the seconds stretching