Free A Sea of Shields (Book #10 in the Sorcerer's Ring) by Morgan Rice Page B

he recognized their intonation, recognized they were part of the formal, ritualized language of the Ring, the ancient language reserved for kings, for holy events.
    Argon chanted again and again, and Thor felt as if he were melting into Argon’s palm, as if he were surrendering his brain, transforming, becoming someone else.
    Finally, Argon paused, then slowly removed his palm.
    Thor slowly opened his eyes and the world was filled with an intense, bright light. He saw Argon standing there, looking down.
    “Thorgrin of the Western Kingdom of the Ring,” Argon proclaimed formally. “You are being endowed with the highest honor of the Ring. You are being inducted into a society in which every King has joined. You are being allowed into a sacred brotherhood, dubbed a warrior for all time. You will be the youngest member ever inducted into the Silver. This is an honor that can never be retracted, for your entire life, and for lifetimes to come. Now I ask you: is this an honor that you will accept?”
    “It is,” Thor said back.
    “Do you vow to uphold the principles of the Silver, to protect the weak, to champion the poor, to lay down your life for your family, your people, for any woman in distress?”
    “I do,” Thor replied.
    “Do you vow to protect your brothers in arms, to give up your life for them?”
    “I do.”
    “Do you vow that any injury to your brothers is an injury to yourself?”
    “I do.”
    Argon paused, taking in the silence, closing his eyes.
    Finally, he nodded.
    “Follow me,” he said.
    Argon turned, and Thor watched, amazed, as Argon walked out onto the water. Thor couldn’t believe what he was seeing: Argon kept walking out onto the lake without sinking, his feet atop the water, as if he were walking on dry ground.
    Thorgrin watched him go, then he followed, taking a step in. Thor walked in, unable to float as Argon did, and the water was unnaturally cold for this summer day. He continued to walk in, deeper and deeper, teeth chattering, until finally he was in up to his chest, standing beside Argon.
    Argon reached down with his staff, placed the bottom atop Thor’s head, and gently pushed down.
    “Immerse yourself, Thorgrin,” he commanded, “and rise a member of the Silver. Rise a Lord. Rise a Knight.”
    Thor felt Argon pushing his forehead down into the water, and Thor gave in.
    Thor submerged, and soon his head was completely underwater, and his entire body felt the chill. He stayed there for several seconds, Argon’s staff holding him down.
    As he was underwater, Thor felt his entire life transforming, flashing before his eyes. He felt as if he were leaving one person behind, and becoming someone new.
    Argon lifted his staff, and Thor rose, gasping for air, above the water. He stood there, water dripping into his eyes, breathing deep.
    As he rose, the sun broke through the sky over the lake, and Thor no longer felt the cold. He turned and looked back, to all of his brothers in arms staring back at him from the shore, approval on their faces—and he felt reborn.
    Finally, Thor felt as if he belonged.
    They all raised their fists into the air.
    “THORGRIN!” they cried out. “THORGRIN!”
    *
    Thorgrin, still elated from the ceremony, sat in the small stone workshop of Brendan, the royal armorer, warming up beside a roaring fire in the fireplace, wearing new, dry clothes given to him as he watched the armorer at work. In the room with him sat Erec and Kendrick, having led him here right after the ceremony, and watching over the handiwork, too.
    Brendan, a short, stout man in his fifties, proud, with a big belly, a balding head, and a long dark beard, sat hunched over his forge, scrutinizing his work as if it were his only child. As he sat there, Brendan meticulously explained each piece of armor, what purpose it served, how it was made. He worked on a dozen small pieces at once, holding them up, reexamining them, fitting them onto Thor, then taking them off and adjusting