A Quest of Heroes. Morgan Rice

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 never.

      “I want to join the Legion!” Thor said.

      The soldier stepped toward Thor.

      “Do you now?”

      He looked amused.

      “And have you even reached your fourteenth year?”

      “I did, sire. Two weeks ago.”

      “Two weeks ago!”

      The soldier shrieked with laughter, as did the men behind them.

      “In that case, our enemies shall surely quiver at the sight of you.”

      Thor felt himself burning with indignity. He had to do something. He couldn’t let it end like this. The soldier turned to walk away – but Thor could not allow it.

      Thor stepped forward and yelled: “Sire! You are making a mistake!”

      A horrified gasp spread through the crowd, as the soldier stopped and once again slowly turned.

      Now he was scowling.

      “Stupid boy,” his father said, grabbing Thor by his shoulder, “go back inside!”

      “I shall not!” Thor yelled, shaking off his father’s grip.

      The soldier stepped toward Thor, and his father backed away.

      “Do you know the punishment for insulting the Silver?” the soldier snapped.

      Thor’s heart pounded, but he knew he could not back down.

      “Please forgive him, sire,” his father said. “He’s a young child and – ”

      “I’m not speaking to you,” the soldier said. With a withering look, he forced Thor’s father to turn away.

      The soldier turned back to Thor.

      “Answer me!” he said.

      Thor swallowed, unable to speak. This was not how he saw it going in his head.

      “To insult the Silver is to insult the King himself,” Thor said meekly, reciting what he’d learned from memory.

      “Yes,” the soldier said. “Which means I can give you forty lashes if I choose.”

      “I mean no insult, sire,” Thor said. “I just want to be picked. Please. I’ve dreamt of this my entire life. Please. Let me join you.”

      The soldier looked at him, and slowly, his expression softened. After a long while, he shook his head.

      “You’re young, boy. You have a proud heart. But you’re not ready. Come back to us when you are weaned.”

      With that, he turned and stormed off, barely glancing at the other boys. He quickly mounted his horse.

      Thor, crestfallen, watched as the caravan broke into action; as quickly as they’d arrived, they were gone.

      The last thing Thor saw was his brothers, sitting in the back of the last carriage, looking out at him, disapproving, mocking. They were being carted away before his eyes, away from here, into a better life.

      Inside, Thor felt like dying.

      As the excitement around him faded, villagers slinked back into their homes.

      “Do you realize how stupid you were, foolish boy?” Thor’s father snapped, grabbing his shoulders. “Do you realize you could have ruined your brothers’ chances?”

      Thor brushed his father’s hands off of him roughly, and his father reached back and backhanded him across the face.

      Thor felt the sting of it and glared back at his father. A part of him, for the first time, wanted to hit his father back. But he held himself.

      “Go get my sheep and bring them back. Now! And when you return, don’t expect a meal from me. You will miss your meal tonight, and think about what you’ve done.”

      “Maybe I shall not come back at all!” Thor yelled as he turned and stormed off, away from his home, toward the hills.

      “Thor!” his father yelled. A few of the villagers who remained on the road stopped and watched.

      Thor broke into a trot, then a run, wanting to get as far away from this place as possible. He barely noticed he was crying, tears flooding his face, as every dream he’d ever had was crushed.

      Chapter Two

      Thor wandered for hours in the hills, seething, until finally he chose a hill and sat, arms crossed over his legs, and watched the horizon. He watched the carriages disappear, watched the cloud of dust that lingered for hours after.

      There would be no more visits. Now he was destined to remain here in this village for years, awaiting another chance – if they ever returned. If his father ever allowed it. Now it would be just him and his father, alone in the house, and his father would surely let out the full breadth of his wrath on him. He would continue to be his father’s lackey, years would pass, and he would end up just like him, stuck here living a small, menial life – while his brothers gained glory and renown. His veins burned with the indignity of it all. This was not the life he was meant to live. He knew it.

      Thor wracked his brain for anything he could do, any way he could change it. But there was nothing. These were the cards life had dealt him.

      After hours of sitting, he rose dejectedly and began traversing his way back up the familiar hills, higher and higher. Inevitably, he drifted back toward the flock, to the high knoll. As he climbed, the first sun fell in the sky and the second reached its peak, casting a greenish tint. Thor took his time as he ambled, mindlessly removing his sling from his waist, its leather grip well worn from years of use. He reached into the sack tied to his hip and fingered his collection of stones, each smoother than the next, hand-picked from the choicest creeks. Sometimes he fired on birds; other times, rodents. It was a habit he’d ingrained over years. At first, he’d missed everything; then, once, he hit a moving target. Since then, his aim was true. Now, hurling stones had become part of him – and it helped to release some of his anger. His brothers might be able to swing a sword through a log – but they could never hit a flying bird with a stone.

      Thor mindlessly placed a stone in the sling, leaned back, and hurled it with all he had, pretending he was hurling it at his father. He hit a branch on a far-off tree, taking it down cleanly. Once he’d discovered he could actually kill moving animals, he’d stopped aiming at them, afraid of his own power and not wanting to hurt anything; now his targets were branches. Unless, of course, a fox came after his flock. Over time, they had learned to stay clear, and Thor’s sheep, as a result, were the safest in the village.

      Thor thought of his brothers, of where they were right now, and he steamed. After a day’s ride they would arrive in King’s Court. He could just picture it. He saw them arriving to great fanfare, people dressed in their finest, greeting them. Warriors greeting them. Members of the Silver. They would be taken in, given a place to live in the Legion’s barracks, a place to train in the King’s fields using the finest weapons. Each would be named squire to a famous knight. One day, they would become knights themselves, get their own horse, their own coat of arms, and have their own squire. They would partake in all the festivals and dine at the King’s table. It was a charmed life. And it had slipped from his grasp.

      Thor felt physically sick, and tried to force it all from his mind. But he could not. There was a part of him, some deep part, that screamed at him. It told him not to give up, that he had a greater destiny than this. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it wasn’t