Read Online A Quest of Heroes by Morgan Rice - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Morgan Rice
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kicked the boy, planting his two front feet squarely on the boy’s chest. But the boy was so thick, it was like kicking an oak tree. The boy merely stumbled back a few inches, while Thor stopped cold in his tracks and fell at the boy’s feet. This did not bode well, Thor thought, as he hit the ground with a thud, his ears ringing.
Thor tried to gain his feet, but the boy was a step ahead of him: he reached down, grabbed Thor by his back, and threw him, sending him flying, face first, into the dirt.
A crowd of boys quickly gathered in a circle around them and cheered. Thor reddened, humiliated.
Thor turned to get up, but the boy was too fast. He was already on top of him, pinning him down. Before Thor knew it, it had turned into a wrestling match, and the boy’s weight was immense.
Thor could hear the muted shouts of the other boys as they formed a circle, screaming, anxious for blood. He looked up and saw the face of the boy, scowling down; the boy reached out his thumbs, and brought them down for Thor’s eyes. Thor could not believe it: it seemed this boy really wanted to hurt him. Did he really want to gain advantage that badly?
At the last second, Thor rolled his head out of the way, and the boy’s hands went flying by, plunging into the dirt. Thor took the chance to roll out from under him.
Thor gained his feet, and faced the boy, who gained his, too. The boy charged and swung for Thor’s face, and Thor ducked at the last second; the air rushed by his face, and he realized if it had hit him, it would have broken his jaw. Thor reached up and punched the boy in the gut—but it hardly did a thing: it was like striking a tree.
Before Thor could react, the boy reached around and elbowed Thor in the face.
Thor stumbled back, reeling from the blow. It was like getting hit by a hammer, and his ears rang.
While he was stumbling, still trying to catch his breath, the boy charged and kicked Thor hard in the chest. Thor went flying backwards and crashed to the ground, landing on his back. The other boys cheered.
Thor, dizzy, began to sit up, but just as he began, the boy charged, reached down and swung and punched him again, hard in the face, knocking him flat on his back again—and down for good.
Thor lay there, hearing the muted cheers of the others, feeling the salty taste of blood running from his nose, the welt on his face. He groaned in pain. He looked up and could see the large boy turn away and walk back towards his friends, already celebrating his victory.
Thor wanted to give up. This boy was huge, fighting him was futile, and he could take no more punishment. But something inside him pushed him. He could not lose. Not in front of all these people.
Don’t give up. Get up. Get up!
Thor somehow summoned the strength: groaning, he rolled over and got to his hands and knees, then, slowly, to his feet. He faced the boy, bleeding, his eyes swollen, hard to see, breathing hard, and raised his fists.
The huge boy turned around and stared down at Thor. He shook his head, unbelieving.
“You should have stayed down, boy,” he threatened, as he began to walk back to Thor.
“ENOUGH!” yelled a voice. “Elden, stand back!”
A knight suddenly stepped up, getting between them, holding out his palm and stopping Elden from getting closer to Thor. The crowd quieted, as they all looked to the knight: clearly this was a man who demanded respect.
Thor looked up, in awe at his presence: he was tall, with broad shoulders, a square jaw, brown, well-kept hair, in his 20s. Thor liked him immediately. His first-rate armor, a chainmail made of a polished silver, was covered with royal markings: the falcon emblem of the MacGil family. Thor’s throat went dry: he was standing before a member of the royal family. He could hardly believe it.
“Explain yourself, boy,” he said to Thor. “Why have you charged into our arena uninvited?”
Before Thor could respond, suddenly, the three members of the King’s guard broke
Thor tried to gain his feet, but the boy was a step ahead of him: he reached down, grabbed Thor by his back, and threw him, sending him flying, face first, into the dirt.
A crowd of boys quickly gathered in a circle around them and cheered. Thor reddened, humiliated.
Thor turned to get up, but the boy was too fast. He was already on top of him, pinning him down. Before Thor knew it, it had turned into a wrestling match, and the boy’s weight was immense.
Thor could hear the muted shouts of the other boys as they formed a circle, screaming, anxious for blood. He looked up and saw the face of the boy, scowling down; the boy reached out his thumbs, and brought them down for Thor’s eyes. Thor could not believe it: it seemed this boy really wanted to hurt him. Did he really want to gain advantage that badly?
At the last second, Thor rolled his head out of the way, and the boy’s hands went flying by, plunging into the dirt. Thor took the chance to roll out from under him.
Thor gained his feet, and faced the boy, who gained his, too. The boy charged and swung for Thor’s face, and Thor ducked at the last second; the air rushed by his face, and he realized if it had hit him, it would have broken his jaw. Thor reached up and punched the boy in the gut—but it hardly did a thing: it was like striking a tree.
Before Thor could react, the boy reached around and elbowed Thor in the face.
Thor stumbled back, reeling from the blow. It was like getting hit by a hammer, and his ears rang.
While he was stumbling, still trying to catch his breath, the boy charged and kicked Thor hard in the chest. Thor went flying backwards and crashed to the ground, landing on his back. The other boys cheered.
Thor, dizzy, began to sit up, but just as he began, the boy charged, reached down and swung and punched him again, hard in the face, knocking him flat on his back again—and down for good.
Thor lay there, hearing the muted cheers of the others, feeling the salty taste of blood running from his nose, the welt on his face. He groaned in pain. He looked up and could see the large boy turn away and walk back towards his friends, already celebrating his victory.
Thor wanted to give up. This boy was huge, fighting him was futile, and he could take no more punishment. But something inside him pushed him. He could not lose. Not in front of all these people.
Don’t give up. Get up. Get up!
Thor somehow summoned the strength: groaning, he rolled over and got to his hands and knees, then, slowly, to his feet. He faced the boy, bleeding, his eyes swollen, hard to see, breathing hard, and raised his fists.
The huge boy turned around and stared down at Thor. He shook his head, unbelieving.
“You should have stayed down, boy,” he threatened, as he began to walk back to Thor.
“ENOUGH!” yelled a voice. “Elden, stand back!”
A knight suddenly stepped up, getting between them, holding out his palm and stopping Elden from getting closer to Thor. The crowd quieted, as they all looked to the knight: clearly this was a man who demanded respect.
Thor looked up, in awe at his presence: he was tall, with broad shoulders, a square jaw, brown, well-kept hair, in his 20s. Thor liked him immediately. His first-rate armor, a chainmail made of a polished silver, was covered with royal markings: the falcon emblem of the MacGil family. Thor’s throat went dry: he was standing before a member of the royal family. He could hardly believe it.
“Explain yourself, boy,” he said to Thor. “Why have you charged into our arena uninvited?”
Before Thor could respond, suddenly, the three members of the King’s guard broke
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