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

surprise,
gave him a hug.
    A great cheer rose up in the
room.
    He pulled back, held Thor firmly
by the shoulders, and grinned down.
    “You served the Legion well,” he
said.
    A servant handed the king a
goblet, which the King raised. In a loud voice, he called out:
    “TO COURAGE!”
    “TO COURAGE!” shouted back the
hundreds of men in the room. An excited murmur followed, then the room once
again fell quiet.
    “In honor of your exploits
today,” the King bellowed, “I grant you a great gift.”
    The King gestured, and an
attendant stepped forward, wearing a long, black gauntlet, on which sat a
magnificent falcon. It turned and stared right Thor—as if he knew him.
    It took Thor’s breath away. It
was the exact falcon from his dream, with its silver body and the single black
stripe running down its forehead.
    “The falcon is the symbol of our
kingdom, and of our Royal family,” MacGil boomed. “It is a bird of prey, of
pride and honor. Yet it is also a bird of skill, of cunning. It is loyal, and
fierce, and it soars above all other animals. It is also a sacred creature. It
is said that he who owns a falcon is also owned by one. It will guide you on
all your ways. It will leave you, but it will always come back. And now, it is
yours.”
    The falconer stepped forward,
placed a heavy, chainmail gauntlet onto Thor’s hand and wrist, then placed the
bird on it. Thor felt electrified, having it on his arm. He could hardly move.
He was shocked by its weight, a struggle just to hold still as it fidgeted on
his wrist. He felt its talons digging in, though luckily he only felt pressure,
as he was protected by the gauntlet. The bird turned, stared right at him, and
screeched. Thor felt it looking into his eyes, and he felt a mystical
connection to the animal. He just knew it would be with him all his days.
    “And what shall you name her?”
the King asked, in the thick silence of the room.
    Thor racked his brain, too frozen
to even work.
    He tried to think quick. He
summoned in his mind all the names of all the famed warriors of the kingdom. He
turned and scanned the walls, and saw a series of plaques with all the names of
battles, all the places of the kingdom. His eyes rested on one particular
place. It was a place in the Ring where he had never been, but which he had
always heard was a mystical, powerful place. It sounded right to him.
    “I shall call her Estopheles,”
Thor called out.
    “Estopheles!” the crowd echoed,
sounding pleased.
    The falcon screeched, as if in
response.
    Suddenly, Estopheles flapped her
wings and flew up high, all the way to the apex of the cathedral ceiling, and
out an open window. Thor watched her go.
    “Don’t worry,” the falconer said,
“she shall always return to you.”
    Thor turned and looked at the
King. He had never been given a gift in his life, much less one of this
stature. He hardly knew what to say, how to thank him. He was overwhelmed.
    “My liege,” he said, lowering his
head. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
    “You already have,” MacGil said.
    The crowd cheered, and the
tension in the room was broken. A spirited conversation broke out among the
men, and so many knights approached Thor, he hardly knew which way to turn.
    “That is Algod, of the Eastern
Province,” Reece said, introducing him to one.
    “And this is Kamera, of the Low
Marshes…. And this, Basikold, of the Northern Forts….”
    Soon, the names became a blur.
Thor was overwhelmed. He could hardly believe that all these knights wanted to
meet him. He had never felt so accepted or honored anytime in his life and he
had a feeling that a day like this would never come again. It was the first
time in his life he had a feeling of self-worth.
    And he could not stop thinking of
Estopheles.
    As Thor turned every which way,
greeting people whose names flowed by, names he could hardly grasp onto, a
messenger hurried over, slipping between the Knights. He carried a small
scroll, which he pressed into Thor’s palm.
    Thor rolled it open, and read the
fine, delicate handwriting:
     
    Meet me in the back courtyard.
Behind the gate.
     
    Thor could smell a delicate
fragrance emanating from the pink scroll, and was puzzled as he tried to figure
out who it was from. It bore no signature.
    Reece leaned over, read it over
his shoulder, and laughed.
    “It seems my sister has taken a
fancy to you,” he said, smiling. “I would go if I were you. She hates to be
kept waiting.”
    Thor felt himself