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

burned with hatred for his father, and nearly burst out of his skin as the soldier approached.

      The soldier stopped, for the first time, before his brothers. He looked them up and down, and seemed impressed. He reached out, grabbed one of their scabbards and yanked it, as if to test how firm it was.

      He broke into a smile.

      “You haven’t yet used your sword in battle, have you?” he asked Drake.

      Thor saw Drake nervous for the first time in his life. He swallowed.

      “No, my liege. But I’ve used it many times in practice, and I hope to—”

      “In practice!”

      The soldier roared with laughter and turned to the other soldiers, who joined in, laughing in Drake’s face.

      Drake turned bright red. It was the first time Thor had ever seen Drake embarrassed—usually, it was Drake embarrassing others.

      “Well then I shall certainly tell our enemies to fear you—you who wields your sword in practice!”

      The crowd of soldiers laughed again.

      The soldier then turned to his other brothers.

      “Three boys from the same stock,” he said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “That can be useful. You’re all a good size. Untested, though. You’ll need much training if you are to make the cut.”

      He paused.

      “I suppose we can find room.”

      He nodded towards the rear wagon.

      “Get in, and be quick of it. Before I change my mind.”

      Thor’s three brothers sprinted for the carriage, beaming. Thor noticed his father beaming, too.

      But he was crestfallen as he watched them go.

      The soldier turned and moved on to the next home. Thor could stand it no longer.

      “Sire!” Thor yelled out.

      His father turned and glared 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 turned and stepped towards 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 his back to walk away—but Thor could not allow it.

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

      A horrified gasp spread through the crowd, as the soldier stopped and 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 towards 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 stood there, 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 stood there, crestfallen, and 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 faded all around him, 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 screamed, as villagers 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