Free A Quest of Heroes by Morgan Rice

through the circle. The lead guard stood there, breathing hard, pointing a finger at Thor.
    “He defied our command!” the guard yelled. “I am going to shackle him and take him to the King’s dungeon!”
    “I did nothing wrong!” Thor protested.
    “Did you now?” the guard yelled. “Barging into the King’s property uninvited?”
    “All I wanted was a chance!” Thor yelled, turning, pleading to the knight before him, the member of the royal family. “All I wanted was a chance to join the Legion!”
    “This training ground is only for the invited boy,” came a gruff voice.
    Into the circle stepped a warrior, 50s, broad and stocky, with a bald head a short beard, and a scar running across his nose. He looked like he had been a professional soldier all his life—and from the markings on his armor, the gold pin on his chest, he looked to be their commander. Thor’s heart quickened at the site of him: a general.
    “I was not invited, sire,” Thor said. “That is true. But it has been my life’s dream to be here. All I want is a chance to show you what I can do. I am as good as any of these recruits. Just give me one chance to prove it. Please. Joining the Legion is all I’ve ever dreamt of.”
    “This battleground is not for dreamers, boy,” came his gruff response. “It is for fighters. There are no exceptions to our rules: recruits are chosen.”
    The general nodded, and the King’s guard approached Thor, shackles out.
    But suddenly the knight, the royal family member, stepped forward and put out his palm, blocking the guard.
    “Maybe, on occasion, an exception may be made,” he said.
    The guard looked up at him in consternation, clearly wanting to speak out, but having to hold his tongue in deference to a royal family member.
    “I admire your spirit, boy,” the knight continued. “Before we cast you away, I would like to see what you can do.”
    “But Kendrick, we have our rules—” the general said, clearly displeased.
    “The royal family makes the rules,” Kendrick answered sternly, “and the Legion answers to the royal family.”
    “We answer to your father, the King—not to you,” the general retorted, equally defiant.
    There was a standoff, the air thick with tension. Thor could hardly believe what he had ignited.
    “I know my father, and I know what he would want. He would want to give this boy a try. And that is what we will do.”
    The general, after several tense moments, finally backed down.
    Kendrick turned to Thor, eyes locking on his, brown and intense, the face of a prince, but also of a warrior.
    “I will give you one chance,” he said to Thor. “Let’s see if you can hit that mark.”
    He gestured at a stack of hay, far across the field, with a small, red stain in its center. Several spears were lodged in the hay, but none inside the red.
    “If you can do what none of these others boys could do—if you can hit that mark from here—then you may join us.”
    The knight stepped aside, and Thor could feel all eyes on him.
    He spotted a rack of spears and looked them over carefully: they were of a finer quality than he’d ever seen, made of solid oak, wrapped in the finest leather. His heart was pounding as he stepped forward, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, feeling more nervous than he had in his life. Clearly, he was being given a nearly impossible task. But he had to try.
    Thor reached over and picked one, not too long, or too short. He weighed it in his hand—it was heavy, substantial. Not like the ones he used back home. But it also felt right. He felt that maybe, just maybe, he could find his mark. After all, spear throwing was his finest skill, next to hurling stones, and many long days of roaming the wilderness had given him ample targets. He had always been able to hit targets even his brothers could not.
    Thor closed his eyes and breathed deeply. If he missed, he would be pounced upon by the guards and dragged off to jail—and his