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Authors: Morgan Rice
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father.
MacGil could see the disappointment in his face. Clearly, he had expected to be named heir today. Even more: he had wanted it. Desperately. Which did not surprise MacGil in the least—and which was the very reason he did not give it to him.
“Why do you hate me, father?” he asked.
“I don’t hate you. I just don’t find you fit to rule my kingdom.”
“And why is that?” Gareth pressed.
“Because that is precisely the thing you seek.”
Gareth’s face turned a dark shade of crimson. Clearly, MacGil had given him an insight into his truest nature. MacGil watched his eyes, saw them burn with a hatred for him that he had never imagined possible.
Without another word, Gareth stormed from the room and slammed the door behind him.
In the reverberating echo, MacGil shuddered. He recalled his son’s stare and sensed a hatred so deep, deeper than even than those of his enemies. In that moment, he thought of Argon, of his pronouncement, of danger being close.
Could it be as close as this?
CHAPTER SIX
Thor sprinted across the vast field of the arena, running with all he had. Behind him he could hear the footsteps of the King’s guards, close on his tail. They chased him across the hot and dusty landscape, cursing as they went. Before him were spread out the members—and new recruits—of the Legion, dozens of boys, just like him, but older and stronger. They were training and being tested in various formations, some throwing spears, others hurling javelins, a few practicing their grips on lances. They aimed for distant targets, and rarely missed. These were his competition, and they seemed formidable.
Among them were dozens of real knights, members of the Silver, standing in a broad semi-circle, watching the action. Judging. Deciding on who would stay and who would be sent home.
Thor knew he had to prove himself, had to impress these men. Within moments the guards would be upon him, and if he had any chance of making an impression, now was the time. But how? His mind raced as he dashed across the courtyard, determined not to be turned away.
As Thor raced across the field, others began to take notice. Some of the recruits stopped what they were doing and turned, and some of the knights did as well. Within moments, Thor felt all the attention focused on him. They looked bewildered, and he realized they must be wondering who he was, sprinting across their field, three of the King’s guard chasing him. This was not how he had wanted to make an impression. His whole life, when he had dreamed of joining the Legion, this was not how he had envisioned it happening.
As Thor ran, debating what to do, his course of action was made plain for him. One large boy, a recruit, decided to take it upon himself to impress the others by stopping Thor. Tall, muscle-bound, he was nearly twice Thor’s size, and he raised his wooden sword and blocked Thor’s way. Thor could see he was determined to strike him down, to make a fool of him in front of everyone, and thereby gain himself advantage over the other recruits.
This made Thor furious. Thor had no bone to pick with this boy, and it was not his fight. But he was making it his fight, just to gain advantage with the others.
As they got closer, Thor could hardly believe this boy’s size: he towered over him, scowled down with locks of thick black hair covering his forehead, and the largest, squarest jaw Thor had ever seen. He did not see how he could make a dent against this boy.
The boy charged him with his wooden sword, and Thor knew that if he didn’t act quick, he would be knocked out.
Thor’s reflexes kicked in. He instinctively took out his sling, reached back, and hurled a rock at the boy’s hand. It found its target, and knocked the sword from his hand, just as the boy was bringing it down. It went flying and the boy, screaming, clutched his hand.
Thor wasted no time. He charged, taking advantage of the moment, leapt into the air, and
MacGil could see the disappointment in his face. Clearly, he had expected to be named heir today. Even more: he had wanted it. Desperately. Which did not surprise MacGil in the least—and which was the very reason he did not give it to him.
“Why do you hate me, father?” he asked.
“I don’t hate you. I just don’t find you fit to rule my kingdom.”
“And why is that?” Gareth pressed.
“Because that is precisely the thing you seek.”
Gareth’s face turned a dark shade of crimson. Clearly, MacGil had given him an insight into his truest nature. MacGil watched his eyes, saw them burn with a hatred for him that he had never imagined possible.
Without another word, Gareth stormed from the room and slammed the door behind him.
In the reverberating echo, MacGil shuddered. He recalled his son’s stare and sensed a hatred so deep, deeper than even than those of his enemies. In that moment, he thought of Argon, of his pronouncement, of danger being close.
Could it be as close as this?
CHAPTER SIX
Thor sprinted across the vast field of the arena, running with all he had. Behind him he could hear the footsteps of the King’s guards, close on his tail. They chased him across the hot and dusty landscape, cursing as they went. Before him were spread out the members—and new recruits—of the Legion, dozens of boys, just like him, but older and stronger. They were training and being tested in various formations, some throwing spears, others hurling javelins, a few practicing their grips on lances. They aimed for distant targets, and rarely missed. These were his competition, and they seemed formidable.
Among them were dozens of real knights, members of the Silver, standing in a broad semi-circle, watching the action. Judging. Deciding on who would stay and who would be sent home.
Thor knew he had to prove himself, had to impress these men. Within moments the guards would be upon him, and if he had any chance of making an impression, now was the time. But how? His mind raced as he dashed across the courtyard, determined not to be turned away.
As Thor raced across the field, others began to take notice. Some of the recruits stopped what they were doing and turned, and some of the knights did as well. Within moments, Thor felt all the attention focused on him. They looked bewildered, and he realized they must be wondering who he was, sprinting across their field, three of the King’s guard chasing him. This was not how he had wanted to make an impression. His whole life, when he had dreamed of joining the Legion, this was not how he had envisioned it happening.
As Thor ran, debating what to do, his course of action was made plain for him. One large boy, a recruit, decided to take it upon himself to impress the others by stopping Thor. Tall, muscle-bound, he was nearly twice Thor’s size, and he raised his wooden sword and blocked Thor’s way. Thor could see he was determined to strike him down, to make a fool of him in front of everyone, and thereby gain himself advantage over the other recruits.
This made Thor furious. Thor had no bone to pick with this boy, and it was not his fight. But he was making it his fight, just to gain advantage with the others.
As they got closer, Thor could hardly believe this boy’s size: he towered over him, scowled down with locks of thick black hair covering his forehead, and the largest, squarest jaw Thor had ever seen. He did not see how he could make a dent against this boy.
The boy charged him with his wooden sword, and Thor knew that if he didn’t act quick, he would be knocked out.
Thor’s reflexes kicked in. He instinctively took out his sling, reached back, and hurled a rock at the boy’s hand. It found its target, and knocked the sword from his hand, just as the boy was bringing it down. It went flying and the boy, screaming, clutched his hand.
Thor wasted no time. He charged, taking advantage of the moment, leapt into the air, and
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