A Sky of Spells

Thor rode and rode, until he and his horse—and Krohn—were all breathing hard, and finally he rounded a bend and in the distance, a small village came into view. He decided to make for it; he knew they could all use a break, and this village would be as good a place as any to begin the Selection.

As he approached, Thor dimly recognized the place from the large, crooked tree at its entrance, a farming village a half day’s ride north of his home town. It was a place he had traveled a few times growing up, joining his brothers as they traded for wool and weapons. He hadn’t set foot here in years, but he remembered it to be a provincial town, much like the place he had grown up in, and he did not remember the people as being especially friendly. If he recalled correctly, it had seemed to be populated back then with vulgar types, striking hard bargains, and seeming just as happy to not have visitors as to have them.

It had been many years, though, and Thor knew his memory might be distorted, and he wanted to give this village another chance. After all, it was a farming village, and there might be some good recruits here.

As Thor charged for the town, raising dust as he approached and could already see all the boys lining up, at attention, waiting nervously. He could see the parents behind them, even more nervous. Thor pondered how much had changed since he himself had waited for the Selection. Back then, the Silver had arrived in chariots, in a huge entourage of soldiers; now, it was just he, Thor, alone. These were lean times, and until the Legion and the Silver were rebuilt, it would take time to rebuild everything. Thor had been offered an entourage of soldiers to accompany him—but he had denied it. He felt he did not need anyone to accompany him; he felt that if he could not defend himself, alone, on these highways, then he was not worthy of the task.

Thor pulled into the dusty town, clouds of dust settling around him on the hot summer day, and he pulled his horse to a stop in the center of town. He sat there, looking down at the potential recruits, dozens of boys, lined up, most dressed in rags, looking nervous. He marveled that he must have looked much like these boys had, when he was on the other side of it.

Thor dismounted and slowly walked down the center of the village, Krohn at his side, going from boy to boy, looking each one over carefully. Some seemed scared; some proud; others lethargic, indifferent; and others still over-eager. He could see the same look in their eyes that he once wore: most wanted out of this place desperately. They wanted a better life, to travel to King’s Court, to train with the Legion, to achieve fame and renown, to see the Ring and the lands beyond. Thor could easily tell which of these boys had been placed here by their parents, which were not fighters. He could tell by the way they held their bodies, by a certain hardness or gleam in their eye.

As Thor reached the end of the line, he saw several older boys who were a head taller than the others, with broad shoulders. One of them glared at Thor, looking him up and down reproachfully. Thor could hardly believe his insolence: he would have never done that to a member of the Silver.

“They sent you to choose us?” the boy asked Thor derisively. He was a large, farming boy, twice the size of Thor, and a few years older.

“How old are you?” the boy added, stepping out of the line and staring at Thor, hands on his hips.

“He looks younger than us all,” said the boy beside him, equally derisive. “Who are you to pick us? Maybe we should pick you.”

The other boys chimed in with laughter, and Thor reddened.

“To insult a member of the Legion is to insult the queen herself,” Thor said firmly, calmly, walking towards the boy. Thor knew he had to face this conflict head-on; he could not tolerate such a public insult.

“Then I insult the queen,” the boy sneered back. “If she is sending you out for the Selection, then the Selection must really be hurting.”

“Are you a fool?” one of the boys hissed to the insolent boy. “Do you not know to whom you speak? That is Thorgrinson. The most famed warrior of the Ring.”

The large boy squinted his eyes at Thor skeptically.

“Thorgrinson?” he repeated. “I should think not. Thorgrinson is a great warrior, twice the size of any man. The wielder of the Destiny Sword. This boy here is but a boy, another common boy sent on a Queen’s errand.”

The boy stepped forward towards Thor threateningly.

“You tell the Queen to send us a real man to choose us, or else to come here for us herself,” he said. He then stepped forward and raised his hands towards Thor’s chest, as if preparing to shove him backwards.

But this boy did not realize who he was provoking. Thor was now a hardened warrior, having been through life and death, in the Ring and in the Empire, and as a warrior, he was highly attuned to any and all potential enemy movements. As the boy came close and raised his hands, Thor was already in motion.

Thor stepped aside, grabbed the boy’s wrist, twisted it behind his back until the boy screamed out in pain, then he shoved the boy hard, and sent him stumbling to the ground, landing face-first.

The other boys watched in shock; they weren’t laughing now. They stood there, silent.

Thor turned his back and walked down to the opposite end of the line, looking over the other boys. He heard a sudden snarl, and he turned and saw Krohn, snarling at Thor’s attacker, who was rising from the ground and preparing to charge Thor from behind.

But the boy looked down, saw Krohn, and thought better of it.

Thor turned and faced them.

“You are not joining the Legion,” Thor said to the boy and to his friends. “None of you.”

The other boys looked at each other, suddenly upset.

“But you have to pick us!” one said. “Our parents will give us a beating!”

“We are twice the size of any boy here!” cried another. “You can’t turn us down. You need us!”

Thor turned, sneered, and walked right up to them.

“I don’t need any of you,” he said. “And size does not matter. Honor does. And respect. That is what builds a warrior. Both of which you lack.”

Thor turned his back on them and began to walk away and as he did, he heard a scream. The largest one broke free from them the line and charged Thor’s back, swinging his fist for the back of Thor’s head.

Thor, though, sensed it coming with his lightning-fast reflexes; he swung around, backhanded him with his gauntlet, connecting with the boy’s jaw and sending him spinning down to the ground.

Another boy rushed for Thor, but before he could come close, Krohn charged, leapt onto him and sank his fangs into the boy’s face. The boy shrieked, trying to get Krohn off, as Krohn thrashed left and right.

“I YIELD!” the boy screamed, frantic.

“Krohn!” Thor commanded.

Krohn let go, and the boy lay there, bloody, moaning.

Thor glanced at the other boys one last time, and they looked like a sorry lot. This village was, after all, exactly as he remembered, and he felt he had wasted his time to come here.

Thor turned to leave, when one boy stepped out from the line at the far end.

“SIR!” the boy called, standing proudly at attention. “Thorgrinson, please forgive me for speaking. But we have heard far and wide of your reputation. You are a great warrior. I wish to be a warrior, too. I yearn to be one. Please, allow me to join the Legion. It is all I have ever dreamed of. I promise I shall be loyal and serve the Legion with everything I have.”

Thor looked the boy over doubtfully. He was young, and skinny, and he looked somewhat frail. Yet he also had something in his eyes, a hollowed-out look, a look of desperation. Thor could see that he really wanted it, more so than any of the others. There was a hunger in his eyes that made Thor overlook his size, that made him think twice.

“You don’t seem the fighter,” Thor said. “What can you do?”

“I can throw a spear as good as any man,” the boy said.

Thor went to his horse, drew a short spear from the saddle, and handed it to the boy.

“Show me,” Thor said.

The boy looked down in awe at the weapon’s fine quality, its gold and silver shaft, feeling its weight. Thor could see that he was impressed. This was no easy spear to wield; if the boy could throw this, he was indeed as good as he claimed.

“That tree there,” Thor said, pointing to a large, crooked tree about thirty yards off. “Let’s see if you can hit it.”