sight of it. He wanted to get in there, to use the weapons, to train.
But as Thor made his way towards the training area, suddenly he was elbowed in the ribs from behind, and a small group of six boys, most of them younger, like Thor, were herded off the main line. He found himself being split from Reece, being led to the other side of the field.
“Think you’re going to train?” Kolk asked mockingly as they forked from the others, away from the targets. “It’s horses for you today.”
Thor looked up, and saw where they were headed: on the far side of the field, several horses pranced about. Kolk smiled down with an evil smile.
“While the others hurl spears and wield swords, today you will tend horses and clean their waste. We all have to start somewhere. Welcome to the Legion.”
Thor’s heart fell. This was not how he had seen it going at all.
“You think you’re special, boy?” Kolk asked, walking beside him, getting close to his face. Thor sensed he was trying to break him. “Just because the king and his son have taken a liking to you, doesn’t mean crap to me. You’re in my command now. You understand me? I don’t care about whatever fancy tricks you pulled on the jousting ground. You’re just another little boy. Do you understand me?”
Thor swallowed. He was in for a long, hard training.
Making matters worse, as soon as Kolk drifted away to torture someone else, the boy in front of Thor, a short stocky kid with a flat nose, turned and sneered at him.
“You don’t belong here,” he said. “You cheated your way in. You weren’t selected. You’re not one of us. Not really. None of us like you.”
The boy beside him also turned and sneered at Thor.
“We’re going to do everything we can to make sure you drop out,” he said. “Getting in is easy next to staying in.”
Thor recoiled at their hatred. He couldn’t believe he already had enemies, and didn’t understand what he’d done to deserve it. All he’d ever wanted was to join the Legion.
“Why don’t you mind yourself,” came a voice.
Thor looked over and saw a tall, skinny redhead boy, with freckles across his face and small green eyes, sticking up for him. “You two are stuck here shoveling with the rest of us,” he added. “You’re not so special, either. Go pick on someone else.”
“You mind your business, lackey,” one of the boys shot back, “or we’ll be after you, too.”
“Try it,” the redhead snapped.
“You’ll talk when I tell you to,” Kolk yelled at one of the boys, smacking him hard upside the head. The two boys in front of Thor, thankfully, turned back around.
Thor hardly knew what to say; he fell in beside the redhead, grateful to him.
“Thank you,” Thor said.
The redhead turned and smiled at him.
“Name is O’Connor. I’d shake your hand, but they’d smack me if I did. So take this as an invisible handshake.”
He smiled wider, and Thor instantly liked him.
“Don’t mind them,” he added. “They’re just scared. Like the rest of us. None of us quite knew what we were signing up for.”
Soon their group reached the end of the field, and Thor saw six horses, prancing about.
“Take up the reins!” Kolk commanded. “Hold them steady, and walk them around the arena until they break. Do it now!”
Thor stepped forward to take the reins from one of the horses, and as he did, the horse stepped back and pranced, nearly kicking him. Thor, startled, stumbled back, and the others in the group laughed at him. Kolk smacked him hard in the back of the head, and he felt like turning and hitting back.
“You are a member of the Legion now. You never retreat. From anybody. No man, no beast. Now take those reins!”
Thor steeled himself, stepped forward, and grabbed the reins from the prancing horse. He managed to hang on, while the horse yanked and pulled, and began to lead him around the wide dirt field, getting in line with the others. His horse tugged at him, resisting, but Thor tugged back, not giving up so easily.
“It gets better, I hear.”
Thor turned to see O’Connor coming up beside him, smiling. “They want to break us, you know?”
Suddenly, Thor’s horse stopped. No matter how much he pulled on the reins, it would not budge. Then Thor smelled something awful; there was more waste coming from the horse than he ever imagined possible. It did not seem to end.
Thor felt a small shovel pressed into his palm, and looked over to see Kolk beside him, smiling down.
“Clean it up!” he snapped.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Gareth stood in the crowded marketplace, wearing a cloak despite the midday sun, sweating beneath it, and trying to remain anonymous. He always tried to avoid this part of King’s Court, these crowded alleyways, which stank of humanity and common man. All around him were people haggling, trading, trying to get one up on each other. Gareth stood at a corner stall, feigning interest in a vendor’s fruit, keeping his head low. Standing just a few feet away was Firth, at the end of the dark alleyway, doing what they had come here to do.
Gareth stood within earshot of the conversation, keeping his back to it so as not to be seen. Firth had told him of a man, a mercenary, who would sell him a poison vial. Gareth wanted something strong, something certain to do the trick. No chances could be taken. After all, his own life was on the line.
It was hardly the sort of thing he could ask the local apothecary for. He had set Firth to the task, who had reported back to him after testing out the black market. After much pointing of the way, Firth had led them to this slovenly character, whom he now furtively spoke with at the end of the alleyway. Gareth had insisted on coming along for their final transaction, to make sure everything went smoothly, to make sure he was not being swindled and given a false potion. Plus, he was still not completely assured of Firth’s competence. Some matters, he just had to take care of himself.
They had been waiting for this man for half an hour now, Gareth getting jostled in the busy market, praying he was not recognized. Even if he was, he figured, as long as he kept his back to the alley, if someone should know who he was, he could merely walk away, and no one would make the connection.
“Where is the vial?” Firth, just a few feet away, asked the cretin.
Gareth turned just a bit, so as not to be noticed, and peeked from the corner of his cloak. Standing there, opposite Firth, was an evil-looking man, slovenly, too thin, with sunken cheeks and huge black eyes. He looked something like a rat. He stared down at Firth, unblinking.
“Where’s the money?” he responded.
Gareth hoped Firth would handle this well: he usually managed to screw things up somehow.
“I
