Sorcerer's Ring (Books 1 ,2, and 3). Morgan Rice

be no skirmishers today!” he boomed in his kingly voice. “Not on this day of celebration! And not in my court!”

      Slowly, the crowd calmed.

      “If it is a contest you wish for between our two great clans, it will be decided by one fighter, one champion, from each side.”

      MacGil looked to King McCloud, who sat on the far side, seated with his entourage.

      “Agreed?” MacGil yelled out.

      McCloud stood solemnly.

      “Agreed!” he echoed.

      The crowd cheered on both sides.

      “Choose your best man!” MacGil yelled.

      “I already have,” McCloud said.

      There emerged from the McCloud side a formidable knight, the biggest man Thor had ever seen, mounted on his horse. He looked like a boulder, all bulk, with a long beard and a scowl that looked permanent.

      Thor sensed movement beside him, and right next to him, Erec stepped up, mounted Warfkin and walked forward. Thor swallowed. He could hardly believe this was happening all around him. He swelled with pride for Erec.

      Then he was overcome with anxiety, as he realized he was on duty. After all, he was squire and his knight was about to fight.

      “What do we do?” Thor asked Feithgold in a rush.

      “Just stand back and do as I tell you,” he answered.

      Erec strode forward into the jousting lane, and the two knights stayed there, facing each other, their horses stomping in a tense standoff. Thor’s heart pounded in his chest as he waited and watched.

      A horn sounded, and the two charged each other.

      Thor could not believe the beauty and grace of Warfkin—it was like watching a fish jump from the sea. The other knight was huge, but Erec was a graceful and sleek fighter. He cut through the air, his head low, his silver armor rippling, more polished than any armor he had laid his eyes upon.

      As the two men met, Erec held his lance with perfect aim, and leaned to the side. He managed to knock the knight in the center of shield while simultaneously dodging his blow.

      The huge mountain of a man tumbled backwards, onto the ground. It was like a boulder landing.

      The MacGil crowd cheered as Erec rode past, turned, and circled back. He raised his face plate held the tip of his lance to the man’s throat.

      “Yield!” Erec yelled down.

      The knight spit.

      “Never!”

      The knight then reached into a hidden satchel on his waist, pulled out a handful of dirt, and before Erec could react, threw it into Erec’s face.

      Erec, stunned, reached for his eyes, dropping his lance and falling from his horse.

      The MacGil crowd booed and hissed and cried in outrage as Erec fell, clutching his eyes. The knight, wasting no time, hurried over and kneed him in the ribs.

      Erec rolled over, and the knight grabbed a huge rock, picked it up high and prepared to bring it down on Erec’s skull.

      “NO!” Thor screamed, stepping forward, unable to control himself.

      Thor watched in horror as the knight brought down the rock. At the last second, Erec somehow rolled out of the way. The stone lodged deep into the ground, right where his skull had been.

      Thor was amazed at Erec’s dexterity. He was already back on his feet, facing this dirty fighter.

      “Short swords!” the Kings cried out.

      Feithgold suddenly wheeled and stared at Thor, wide-eyed.

      “Hand it to me!” he yelled.

      Thor’s heart pounded in panic. He spun around, searching Erec’s weapons rack, looking desperately for the sword. There was a dizzying array of weapons before him. He reached out, grabbed it, and thrust it into Feithgold’s palm.

      “Stupid boy! That is a medium sword!” Feithgold yelled.

      Thor’s throat went dry; he felt the whole kingdom staring at him. His vision was blurry with anxiety as he spiraled into panic, not knowing which sword to choose. He could barely focus.

      Feithgold stepped forward, shoved Thor out of the way, and grabbed the short sword himself. He then raced out into the jousting lane.

      Thor watched him go, feeling useless, horrible. He also tried to imagine if it were himself running out there, in front of all those people, and his knees grew weak.

      The other knight’s squire reached him first, and Erec had to jump out of the way, as the knight swung for him, barely missing. Finally, Feithgold reached Erec and placed the short sword into his hand. As he did, the knight charged Erec. But Erec was too clever: he waited until the last moment, then jumped out of the way.

      The knight kept charging, though, and ran right into Feithgold, standing, to his bad luck, in the place where Erec had just been. The knight, filled with rage at missing Erec, kept charging and grabbed Feithgold with both hands by his hair, and head-butted him hard in the face.

      There was a cracking of bone, as blood squirted from Feithgold’s nose and he collapsed to the ground, limp.

      Thor stood there, mouth open in shock. He could not believe it. Neither could the crowd, which booed and hissed.

      Erec swung around with his sword, just missing the knight, and the two faced each other again.

      Thor suddenly realized: he was Erec’s only squire now. He gulped. What was he supposed to be doing? He was not prepared for this. And the whole kingdom was watching.

      The two knights attacked each other viciously, going blow for blow. Clearly the McCloud knight was much stronger than Erec—yet Erec was the better fighter, faster and more agile. They swung and slashed and parried, neither able to gain advantage.

      Finally, King MacGil stood.

      “Long spears!” he called out.

      Thor’s heart pounded. He knew this meant him: he was on duty.

      He spun and looked at the rack, taking down the weapon that seemed most appropriate. As he grabbed its leather shaft, he prayed he chose correctly.

      He burst onto the lane and could feel thousands of eyes on him. He ran and ran, for all he was worth, wanting to reach Erec, and finally placing it into his hand. He was proud to see he reached him first.

      Erec took the spear and spun, prepared to face the other knight. Being the honorable warrior that he was, Erec waited until the other knight was armed before attacking. Thor hurried off to the side, out of the men’s way, not wanting to repeat Feithgold’s mistake. As he did, he dragged Feithgold’s limp body out of harm’s way.

      As Thor watched, he sensed something was wrong. Erec’s opponent took his spear, raised it straight up, then began bringing it down in a strange motion. As he did, suddenly, Thor felt his world go into focus in a way he never had. He intuited that something was wrong. His eyes locked on the knight’s spearhead, and as he looked closely, he noticed it was loose. The knight was about to use the tip of his spear as a throwing knife.

      As the knight brought down his spear, the head detached and sailed through the air, end over end, heading right for Erec’s heart. In seconds, Erec would be dead—there was no way he could react in time. From the looks of its jagged blade, it appeared to be armor-piercing.

      In that moment, Thor felt his whole body warming. He felt a tingling sensation—it was the same sensation he’d experienced back in Darkwood, when battling the Sybold. His whole world slowed. He was able to see the tip spinning in slow motion, was able to feel an energy, a heat, rising within him—one he didn’t know he had.

      He stepped forward and felt bigger than the spearhead. In his mind, he willed it to stop.