by Morgan Rice
*
Thor sprinted down the immaculate, shell-lined paths, twisting and turning his way through King’s Court. He tried his best to follow the directions, hoping he was not being led astray. At the far end of the courtyard, he saw all the gates, and chose the third one on the left. He ran through it and then followed the forks, turning down path after path. He ran against traffic, thousands of people pouring into the city, the crowd growing thicker by the minute. He brushed shoulders with lute players, jugglers, jesters, and all sorts of entertainers, everyone dressed in finery.
Thor could not stand the idea of the selection beginning without him, and tried his best to concentrate as he turned down path after path, looking for any sign of the training ground. He passed through an arch, turned down another road, and then, far off, spotted what could only be his destination: a mini coliseum, built of stone in a perfect circle. Soldiers guarded the huge gate in its center. Thor heard a muted cheering from behind its walls and his heart quickened. This was the place.
He sprinted, lungs bursting. As he reached the gate, two guards stepped forward and lowered their lances, barring the way. A third guard stepped forward and held up a palm.
“Stop there,” he commanded.
Thor stopped short, gasping for breath, barely able to contain his excitement.
“You…don’t…understand,” he heaved, words tumbling out between breaths, “I have to be inside. I’m late.”
“Late for what?”
“The selection.”
The guard, a short, heavy man with pockmarked skin, turned and looked at the others, who looked back cynically. He turned and surveyed Thor with a disparaging look.
“The recruits were taken in hours ago, in the royal transport. If you were not invited, you cannot enter.”
“But you don’t understand. I must—”
The guard reached out and grabbed Thor by the shirt.
“You don’t understand, you insolent little boy. How dare you come here and try to force your way in? Now go—before I shackle you.”
He shoved Thor, who stumbled back several feet.
Thor felt a sting in his chest where the guard’s hand had touched him—but more than that, he felt the sting of rejection. He was indignant. He had not come all this way to be turned away by a guard without even being seen. He was determined to make it inside.
The guard turned back to his men, and Thor slowly walked away, heading clockwise around the circular building. He had a plan. He walked until he was out of sight, then broke into a jog, creeping his way along the walls. He checked to make sure the guards weren’t watching, then picked up speed until he was sprinting. When he was halfway around the building he spotted another opening into the arena—high up were arched openings in the stone, blocked by iron bars. One of these openings was missing its bars. He heard another roar, lifted himself up onto the ledge, and looked.
His heart quickened. Spread out inside the huge, circular training ground were dozens of recruits—including his brothers. Lined up, they all faced a dozen of the Silver. The King’s men walked amidst them, summing them up.
Another group of recruits stood off to the side, under the watchful eyes of a soldier, throwing spears at a distant target. One of them missed.
Thor’s veins burned with indignation. He could have hit those marks; he was just as good as any of them. Just because he was younger, a bit smaller, it wasn’t fair that he was being left out.
Suddenly, Thor felt a hand on his back as he was yanked backwards and sent flying through the air. He landed hard on the ground below, winded.
He looked up and saw the guard from the gate, sneering down at him.
“What did I tell you, boy?”
Before he could react, the guard leaned back and kicked Thor hard. Thor felt a sharp thump in his ribs, as the guard wound up to kick him again.
This time, Thor caught the guard’s foot in midair; he yanked it, knocking him off balance and making him fall.
Thor quickly gained his feet. At the same time, the guard gained his. Thor stared at him, shocked by what he had just done. Across from him, the guard glowered.
“Not only will I shackle you,” the guard hissed, “but I will make you pay. No one touches a King’s guard! Forget about joining the Legion—now you will wallow away in the dungeon! You’ll be lucky if you’re ever seen again!”
The guard pulled out a chain with a shackle at its end. He approached Thor, vengeance on his face.
Thor’s mind raced. He could not allow himself to be shackled—yet he did not want to hurt a member of the King’s Guard. He had to think of something—and fast.
He remembered his sling. His reflexes took over as he grabbed it, placed a stone, took aim, and let it fly.
The stone soared through the air and knocked the shackles from the stunned guard’s grip; it also hit the guard’s fingers. The guard pulled back and shook his hand, yelling in pain, as the shackles clattered to the ground.
The guard, giving Thor a look of death, drew his sword. It came out with a distinctive, metallic ring.
“That was your last mistake,” he threatened darkly, and charged.
Thor had no choice; this man would just not leave him be. He placed another stone in his sling and hurled it. He aimed deliberately—he did not want to kill the guard, but he had to stop him. So instead of aiming for his heart, nose, eye, or head, Thor aimed for the one place he knew would stop him, but not kill him.
Between the guard’s legs.
He let the stone fly—not at full strength, but enough to put the man down.
It was a perfect strike.
The guard keeled over, dropping his sword, grabbing his groin as he collapsed to the ground and curled up in a ball.
“You’ll hang for this!” he groaned amidst grunts of pain. “Guards! Guards!”
Thor looked up and in the distance saw several of the King’s guards racing for him.
It was now or never.
Without wasting another moment, he sprinted for the window ledge. He would have to jump through, into the arena, and make himself known. And he would fight anyone who got in his way.
CHAPTER FIVE