Morgan Rice - A Sky of Spells

As Thor reached the end of the line, he saw several older boys who were a head taller than the others, with broad shoulders. One of them glared at Thor, looking him up and down reproachfully. Thor could hardly believe his insolence: he would have never done that to a member of the Silver.

“They sent you to choose us ?” the boy asked Thor derisively. He was a large, farming boy, twice the size of Thor, and a few years older.

“How old are you?” the boy added, stepping out of the line and staring at Thor, hands on his hips.

“He looks younger than us all,” said the boy beside him, equally derisive. “Who are you to pick us? Maybe we should pick you.”

The other boys chimed in with laughter, and Thor reddened.

“To insult a member of the Legion is to insult the queen herself,” Thor said firmly, calmly, walking towards the boy. Thor knew he had to face this conflict head-on; he could not tolerate such a public insult.

“Then I insult the queen,” the boy sneered back. “If she is sending you out for the Selection, then the Selection must really be hurting.”

“Are you a fool?” one of the boys hissed to the insolent boy. “Do you not know to whom you speak? That is Thorgrinson. The most famed warrior of the Ring.”

The large boy squinted his eyes at Thor skeptically.

“Thorgrinson?” he repeated. “I should think not. Thorgrinson is a great warrior, twice the size of any man. The wielder of the Destiny Sword. This boy here is but a boy, another common boy sent on a Queen’s errand.”

The boy stepped forward towards Thor threateningly.

“You tell the Queen to send us a real man to choose us, or else to come here for us herself,” he said. He then stepped forward and raised his hands towards Thor’s chest, as if preparing to shove him backwards.

But this boy did not realize who he was provoking. Thor was now a hardened warrior, having been through life and death, in the Ring and in the Empire, and as a warrior, he was highly attuned to any and all potential enemy movements. As the boy came close and raised his hands, Thor was already in motion.

Thor stepped aside, grabbed the boy’s wrist, twisted it behind his back until the boy screamed out in pain, then he shoved the boy hard, and sent him stumbling to the ground, landing face-first.

The other boys watched in shock; they weren’t laughing now. They stood there, silent.

Thor turned his back and walked down to the opposite end of the line, looking over the other boys. He heard a sudden snarl, and he turned and saw Krohn, snarling at Thor’s attacker, who was rising from the ground and preparing to charge Thor from behind.

But the boy looked down, saw Krohn, and thought better of it.

Thor turned and faced them.

“You are not joining the Legion,” Thor said to the boy and to his friends. “None of you.”

The other boys looked at each other, suddenly upset.

“But you have to pick us!” one said. “Our parents will give us a beating!”

“We are twice the size of any boy here!” cried another. “You can’t turn us down. You need us!”

Thor turned, sneered, and walked right up to them.

“I don’t need any of you,” he said. “And size does not matter. Honor does. And respect. That is what builds a warrior. Both of which you lack.”

Thor turned his back on them and began to walk away and as he did, he heard a scream. The largest one broke free from them the line and charged Thor’s back, swinging his fist for the back of Thor’s head.

Thor, though, sensed it coming with his lightning-fast reflexes; he swung around, backhanded him with his gauntlet, connecting with the boy’s jaw and sending him spinning down to the ground.

Another boy rushed for Thor, but before he could come close, Krohn charged, leapt onto him and sank his fangs into the boy’s face. The boy shrieked, trying to get Krohn off, as Krohn thrashed left and right.

“I YIELD!” the boy screamed, frantic.

“Krohn!” Thor commanded.

Krohn let go, and the boy lay there, bloody, moaning.

Thor glanced at the other boys one last time, and they looked like a sorry lot. This village was, after all, exactly as he remembered, and he felt he had wasted his time to come here.

Thor turned to leave, when one boy stepped out from the line at the far end.

“SIR!” the boy called, standing proudly at attention. “Thorgrinson, please forgive me for speaking. But we have heard far and wide of your reputation. You are a great warrior. I wish to be a warrior, too. I yearn to be one. Please, allow me to join the Legion. It is all I have ever dreamed of. I promise I shall be loyal and serve the Legion with everything I have.”

Thor looked the boy over doubtfully. He was young, and skinny, and he looked somewhat frail. Yet he also had something in his eyes, a hollowed-out look, a look of desperation. Thor could see that he really wanted it, more so than any of the others. There was a hunger in his eyes that made Thor overlook his size, that made him think twice.

“You don’t seem the fighter,” Thor said. “What can you do?”

“I can throw a spear as good as any man,” the boy said.

Thor went to his horse, drew a short spear from the saddle, and handed it to the boy.

“Show me,” Thor said.

The boy looked down in awe at the weapon’s fine quality, its gold and silver shaft, feeling its weight. Thor could see that he was impressed. This was no easy spear to wield; if the boy could throw this, he was indeed as good as he claimed.

“That tree there,” Thor said, pointing to a large, crooked tree about thirty yards off. “Let’s see if you can hit it.”

“How about the one beyond it?” the boy asked.

Thor looked out and saw, a good thirty yards past that tree, a small, narrow tree. Thor looked back at the boy in surprise.

“I know of no Legion or even Silver who could hit that tree from here,” Thor said. “You are a dreamer. And I have no time to waste for dreamers.”

Thor turned to head back for his horse, but he heard a cry, and turned to see the boy take several steps forward, raise the spear, and hurl it.

The spear soared through the air, past the first tree, and on to the second. Thor watched in awe as the spear lodged into the center of the skinny tree, shaking it so that its small apples fell to the ground.

Thor looked back at the boy, in shock. It was the most masterful throw he had ever seen.

“What is your name, boy?” he demanded.

“Archibald,” the boy said proudly, earnest.

“Where did you learn to throw like that?”

“Many long days in the open plains, tending cattle, with nothing else to do. I swear to you, sir, joining the Legion is all I’ve ever wanted from life. Please. Allow me to join your ranks.”

Thor nodded, satisfied.

“Okay, Archibald,” he said. “Make your way to King’s Court. Seek out the training ground for the Legion. I will meet you back there in a few days’ time. You will be given a chance to try out.”

Archibald beamed, and clasped Thor’s hand.

“Thank you. Thank you so much!” he said, clasping both Thor’s hands.

Thor mounted his horse, Krohn following, and kicked, preparing for the next town. Despite the rocky start, he felt encouraged. Perhaps this Selection would not be a waste of time after all.

Thor rode and rode, until the second sun began to set, making his way ever south, on the lookout for the next village. Finally, as the second sun hung sat as a red ball on the horizon, Thor reached a crossroads atop a small hill, and he stopped. His horse, and Krohn, needed a break.

Thor sat there, all of them breathing hard, and looked down at the vista of rolling hills before him. The road forked, and if he took it to the right, he knew, it would ironically lead him to his home village, just a few miles around the bend. To the left, the road forked east and south, towards other villages.