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

added.
    “What
else?”
    Thor
racked his brain, but was running out of options.
    “Throwing
knives,” Reece yelled.
    “What
else?”
    The
other boys hesitated. No one had any ideas left.
    “There
are throwing hammers,” Kolk yelled, “and throwing axes. There is the crossbow.
Pikes can be thrown. So can swords.”
    Kolk
paced the room, looking over the faces of the boys, who stood rapt with
attention.
    “That
is not all. A simple rock from the ground can be your best friend. I’ve seen a
man, big as a bull, a war hero, killed on the spot by a throw from a rock by a
craftier soldier. Soldiers often don’t realize that armor can be used as a
weapon, too. The gauntlet can be taken off and thrown in an enemy’s face. This
can stun him, several feet away. In that moment, you can kill him. Your shield
can be thrown, too.”
    Kolk
took a breath.
    “It
is crucial that when you learn to fight, you don’t just learn to fight in the
distance between you and your opponent. You must expand your fight to a much
greater distance. Most people fight with three paces. A good warrior fights
with thirty. Understood?”
    “Yes
sir!” came the chorus of shouts.
    “Good.
Today, we will sharpen your throwing skills. Canvass the room and grab what
throwing devices you see. Each grab one and be outside in thirty seconds. Now
move!”
    The
room erupted into a scramble, and Thor ran for the wall, searching for
something to grab. He was bumped and pushed every which way by other excited
boys, until he finally saw what he wanted and grabbed it. It was a small
throwing axe. O’Connor grabbed a dagger, Reece a sword, and the three of them
raced out, with the other boys, into the field.
    They
followed Kolk to the far side of the field, where there were lined up a dozen
shields on posts.
    All
the boys, holding their weapons, gathered around Kolk expectantly.
    “You
will stand here,” he boomed out, gesturing to a line in the dirt, “and aim for
those shields when throwing your weapons. You will then run to the shields,
retrieve a different weapon, and practice throwing that. Never choose the same
weapon. Always aim for the shield. For those of you who miss a shield, you will
be required to run one lap around the field. Begin!”
    The
boys lined up, shoulder to shoulder, behind the dirt line, and began to throw
their weapons at the shields, which must have been a good thirty yards away.
Thor fell in line with them. The boy beside him reached back and threw his
spear, missing by a hair.
    The
boy turned and began to jog around the arena. As he did, a member of the King’s
men ran up beside him, and laid a heavy mantle of chainmail over his shoulders,
weighing him down.
    “Run
with that, boy!” he ordered.
    The
boy, weighed down, already sweating, continued to run in the heat.
    Thor
did not want to miss the target. He leaned back, concentrated, pulled his
throwing axe back, and let it go. He closed his eyes and hoped it hit its mark,
and was relieved to hear the sound of it embedding itself in the leather
shield. He barely made it, hitting a lower corner, but at least he did. All
around him, several boys missed and broke off into laps. The few that hit raced
for the shields to grab a new weapon.
    Thor
reached the shields and found a long, slim throwing dagger, which he extracted,
then ran back to the throwing line.
    They
continued to throw for hours, until Thor’s arm was killing him and he had run
one too many laps himself. He was dripping in sweat, as were others around him.
It was an interesting exercise, to throw all sorts of weapons, to get used to
the feel and weight of all different shafts and blades. Thor felt himself
getting better, more used to it, with each throw. But still, the heat was
oppressive, and he was getting tired. There were only a dozen boys still
standing before the shields, with most of them broken off into laps. It was
just too hard to hit so many times, with so many different weapons, and the
laps and the heat made accuracy more difficult. Thor was gasping, and didn’t
know how much longer he could go on. Just when he felt he was about to
collapse, suddenly, Kolk stepped forward.
    “Enough!”
he yelled.
    The
boys returned from their laps and collapsed on the grass. They lay there,
panting, breathing hard, removing the heavy coats of chain mail that had been
draped on them. Thor, too, sat down in the grass, arm exhausted, dripping with
sweat. Some of the King’s men came around with buckets of water