The book goes through a lot of fiction, magic, swords men, druids, love and the likes.. ENJOY

Chapter one
The boy stood on the highest knoll of the
low country in the Western Kingdom of
the Ring, looking north, watching the
first of the rising suns. As far as he could
see stretched rolling green hills, dipping
and rising like camel humps in a series of
valleys and peaks. The burnt-orange rays
of the first sun lingered in the morning
mist, making them sparkle, lending the
light a magic that matched the boy’s
mood. He rarely woke this early or
ventured this far from home—and never
ascended this high—knowing it would
incur his father’s wrath. But on this day,
he didn’t care. On this day, he
disregarded the million rules and chores
that had oppressed him for his fourteen
years. For this day was different. It was
the day his destiny had arrived.
The boy, Thorgrin of the Western
Kingdom of the Southern Province of the
clan McLeod—known to all he liked
simply as Thor—the youngest of four
boys, the least favorite of his father, had
stayed awake all night in anticipation of
this day. He had tossed and turned,
bleary-eyed, waiting, willing the first sun
to rise. For a day like this arrived only
once every several years, and if he
missed it, he would be stuck in this
village, doomed to tend his father’s flock
the rest of his days. That was a thought
he could not bear.
Conscription Day. It was the one day the
King’s Army canvassed the provinces
and hand-picked volunteers for the
King’s Legion. As long as he had lived,
Thor had dreamt of nothing else. For
him, life meant one thing: joining the
Silver, the King’s elite force of knights,
bedecked in the finest armor and the
choicest arms anywhere in the two
kingdoms. And one could not enter the
Silver without first joining the Legion,
the company of squires ranging from
fourteen to nineteen years of age. And if
one was not the son of a noble, or of a
famed warrior, there was no other way to
join the Legion.
Conscription Day was the only
exception, that rare event every few years
when the Legion ran low and the King’s
men scoured the land in search of new
recruits. Everyone knew that few
commoners were chosen—and that even
fewer would actually make the Legion.
Thor studied the horizon intently, looking
for any sign of motion. The Silver, he
knew, would have to take this, the only
road into his village, and he wanted to be
the first to spot them. His flock of sheep
protested all around him, rising up in a
chorus of annoying grunts and urging
him to bring them back down the
mountain, where the grazing was choicer.
He tried to block out the noise, and the
stench. He had to concentrate.
What had made all of this bearable, all
these years of tending flocks, of being his
father’s lackey, his older brothers’
lackey, the one cared for least and
burdened most, was the idea that one day
he would leave this place. One day, when
the Silver came, he would surprise all
those who had underestimated him and
be selected. In one swift motion, he
would ascend their carriage and say
goodbye to all of this.
Thor’s father, of course, had never
considered him seriously as a candidate
for the Legion—in fact, he had never
considered him as a candidate for
anything. Instead, his father devoted his
love and attention to Thor’s three older
brothers. The oldest was nineteen and the
others but a year behind each other,
leaving Thor a good three years younger
than any of them. Perhaps because they
were closer in age, or perhaps because
they looked alike and looked nothing like
Thor, the three of them stuck together,
barely acknowledging Thor’s existence.
Worse, they were taller and broader and
stronger than he, and Thor, who knew he
was not short, nonetheless felt small
beside them, felt his muscular legs frail
compared to their barrels of oak. His
father made no move to rectify any of
this—and in fact seemed to relish it—
leaving Thor to attend the sheep and
sharpen weapons while his brothers were
left to train. It was never spoken, but
always understood, that Thor would
spend his life in the wings, be forced to
watch his brothers achieve great things.
His destiny, if his father and brothers had
their way, would be to stay here,
swallowed by this village, and give his
family the support they demanded.
Worse still was that Thor sensed his
brothers, paradoxically, were threatened
by him, maybe even hated him. Thor
could see it in their every glance, their
every gesture. He didn’t understand how,
but he aroused something, like fear, or
jealousy, in them. Perhaps it was because
he was different from them, didn’t look
like them or speak with their
mannerisms; he didn’t even dress like
them, his father reserving the best—the
purple and scarlet robes, the gilded
weapons—for his brothers, while Thor
was left wearing the coarsest of rags.
Nonetheless, Thor made the best of what
he had, finding a way to make his clothes
fit, tying the frock with a sash around his
waist, and, now that summer was here,
cutting off the sleeves to allow his toned
arms to be caressed by the breezes. His
shirt was matched by coarse linen pants
—his only pair—and boots made of the
poorest leather, laced up his shins. They
were hardly the leather of his brothers’
shoes, but he made them work. His was
the typical uniform of a herder.
But he hardly had the typical demeanor.
Thor stood tall and lean, with a proud
jaw, noble chin, high cheekbones, and
gray eyes, looking like a displaced
warrior. His straight, brown hair fell back
in waves on his head, just past his ears,
and behind the locks, his eyes glistened
like minnows in the light.

Thor’s brothers would be allowed to
sleep in this morning, given a hearty
meal, and sent off for the Selection with
the finest weapons and his father’s
blessing—while he would not even be
allowed to attend. He had tried to raise
the issue with his father once. It had not
gone well. His father had summarily
ended the conversation, and he had not
tried again. It just wasn’t fair.
Thor was determined to reject the fate
his father had planned for him. At the
first sign of the royal caravan, he would
race back to the house, confront his
father, and, like it or not, make himself
known to the King’s men. He would
stand for selection with the others. His
father could not stop him. He felt a knot
in his stomach at the thought of it.
The first sun rose higher, and when the
second sun, mint green, began to rise,
adding a layer of light to the purple sky,
Thor spotted them.
He stood upright, hairs on end,
electrified. There, on the horizon, came
the faintest outline of a horse-drawn
carriage, its wheels kicking dust into the
sky. His heart beat faster as another came
into view; then another. Even from here
the golden carriages gleamed in the suns,
like silver-backed fish leaping from the
water.
By the time he counted twelve of them,
he could wait no longer. Heart pounding
in his chest, forgetting his flock for the
first time in his life, Thor turned and
stumbled down the hill, determined to
stop at nothing until he made himself
known.
*
Thor barely paused to catch his breath as
he sped down the hills, through the trees,
scratched by branches and not caring. He
reached a clearing and saw his village
spread out below: a sleepy country town
packed with one-story, white clay homes
with thatched roofs. There were but
several dozen families amongst them.
Smoke rose from chimneys as most were
up early preparing their morning meal. It
was an idyllic place, just far enough—a
full day’s ride—from King’s Court to
deter passersby. Just another farming
village on the edge of the Ring, another
cog in the wheel of the Western
Kingdom.
Thor burst down the final stretch, into the
village square, kicking up dirt as he
went. Chickens and dogs ran out of his
way, and an old woman, squatting
outside her home before a cauldron of
bubbling water, hissed at him.
“Slow down, boy!” she screeched as he
raced past, stirring dust into her fire.
But Thor would not slow—not for her,
not for anybody. He turned down one
side street, then another, twisting and
turning the way he knew by heart, until
he reached home.
It was a small, nondescript dwelling like
all the others, with its white clay walls
and angular, thatched roof. Like most, its
single room was divided, his father
sleeping on one side and his three
brothers on the other; unlike most, it had
a small chicken coop in the back, and it
was here that Thor was exiled to sleep.
At first he’d bunked with his brothers;
but over time they had grown bigger and
meaner and more exclusive, and made a
show of not leaving him room. Thor had
been hurt, but now he relished his own
space, preferring to be away from their
presence. It just confirmed for him that
he was the exile in his family that he
already knew he was.
Thor ran to his front door and burst
through it without stopping.
“Father!” he yelled, gasping for breath.
“The Silver! They’re coming!”
His father and three brothers sat hunched
over the breakfast table, already dressed
in their finest. At his words they jumped
up and darted past him, bumping his
shoulders as they ran out of the house
and into the road.
Thor followed them out, and they all
stood watching the horizon.
“I see no one,” Drake, the oldest,
answered in his deep voice. With the
broadest shoulders, hair cropped short
like his brothers’, brown eyes, and thin,
disapproving lips, he scowled down at
Thor, as usual.
“Nor do I,” echoed Dross, just a year
below Drake, always taking his side.
“They’re coming!” Thor shot back. “I
swear!”
His father turned to him and grabbed his
shoulders sternly.
“And how would you know?” he
demanded.
“I saw them.”
“How? From where?”
Thor hesitated; his father had him. He of
course knew the only place Thor could
have spotted them was from the top of
that knoll. Now Thor was unsure how to
respond.
“I…climbed the knoll—”
“With the flock? You know they are not
to go that far.”
“But today was different. I had to see.”
His father glowered down.
“Go inside at once and fetch your
brothers’ swords and polish their
scabbards, so they look their best before
the King’s men arrive.”
His father, done with him, turned back to
his brothers, who all stood in the road
looking out.
“Do you think they’ll choose us?” asked
Durs, the youngest of the three, a full
three years ahead of Thor.
“They’d be foolish not to,” his father
said. “They are short on men this year. It
has been a slim cropping—or else they
wouldn’t bother coming. Just stand
straight, the three of you, keep your chins
up and chests out. Do not look them
directly in the eye, but do not look away,
either. Be strong and confident. Show no
weakness. If you want to be in the King’s
Legion, you must act as if you’re already
in it.”
“Yes, Father,” his three boys answered at
once, getting into position.
He turned and glared back at Thor.
“What are you still doing there?” he
asked. “Get inside!”
Thor stood there, torn. He didn’t want to
disobey his father, but he had to speak
with him. His heart pounded as he
debated. He decided it would be best to
obey, to bring the swords, and then
confront his father. Disobeying outright
wouldn’t help.
Thor raced into the house, out through
the back and to the weapons shed. He
found his brothers’ three swords, objects
of beauty all of them, crowned with the
finest silver hilts, precious gifts for which
his father had toiled years. He grabbed
all three, surprised as always at their
weight, and ran back through the house
with them.

He sprinted to his brothers, handed each
a sword, then turned to his father.
“What, no polish?” Drake said.
His father turned to him disapprovingly,
but before he could say anything, Thor
spoke up.
“Father, please. I need to speak with
you!”
“I told you to polish—”
“Please, Father!”
His father glared back, debating. He must
have seen the seriousness on Thor’s face,
because finally, he said, “Well?”
“I want to be considered. With the
others. For the Legion.”
His brothers’ laughter rose up behind
him, making his face burn red.
But his father did not laugh; on the
contrary, his scowl deepened.
“Do you?” he asked.
Thor nodded back vigorously.
“I’m fourteen. I’m eligible.”
“The cutoff is fourteen,” Drake said
disparagingly, over his shoulder. “If they
took you, you’d be the youngest. Do you
think they’d choose you over someone
like me, five years your elder?”
“You are insolent,” Durs said. “You
always have been.”
Thor turned to them. “I’m not asking
you,” he said.
He turned back to his father, who still
frowned.
“Father, please,” he said. “Allow me a
chance. That’s all I ask. I know I’m
young, but I will prove myself, over
time.”
His father shook his head.
“You’re not a soldier, boy. You’re not
like your brothers. You’re a herder. Your
life is here. With me. You will do your
duties and do them well. One should not
dream too high. Embrace your life, and
learn to love it.”
Thor felt his heart breaking as he saw his
life collapsing before his eyes.
No, he thought. This can’t be.
“But Father—”
“Silence!” he shrieked, so shrill it cut the
air. “Enough with you. Here they come.
Get out of the way, and best mind your
manners while they’re here.”
His father stepped up and with one hand
pushed Thor to the side, as if he were an
object he’d rather not see. His beefy
palm stung Thor’s chest.
A great rumbling arose, and townsfolk
poured out from their homes, lining the
streets. A growing cloud of dust heralded
the caravan, and moments later they
arrived, a dozen horse-drawn carriages,
with a noise like great thunder.
They came into town like a sudden army,
halting close to Thor’s home. Their
horses , pranced in place, snorting. It
took a long time for the cloud of dust to
settle, and Thor anxiously tried to steal a
peek at their armor, their weaponry. He
had never been this close to the Silver
before, and his heart thumped.
The soldier on the lead stallion
dismounted. Here he was, a real, actual
member of the Silver, covered in shiny
ring mail, a long sword on his belt. He
looked to be in his thirties, a real man,
stubble on his face, scars on his cheek,
and a nose crooked from battle. He was
the most substantial man Thor had ever
seen, twice as wide as the others, with a
countenance that said he was in charge.
The soldier jumped down onto the dirt
road, his spurs jingling as he approached
the lineup of boys.
Up and down the village dozens of boys
stood at attention, hoping. Joining the
Silver meant a life of honor, of battle, of
renown, of glory—along with land, title,
and riches. It meant the best bride, the
choicest land, a life of glory. It meant
honor for your family, and entering the
Legion was the first step.
Thor studied the large, golden carriages,
and knew they could only hold so many
recruits. It was a large kingdom, and they
had many towns to visit. He gulped,
realizing his chances were even more
remote than he thought. He would have
to beat out all these other boys—many of
them substantial fighters—along with his
own three brothers. He had a sinking
feeling.
Thor could hardly breathe as the soldier
paced in silence, surveying the rows of
hopefuls. He began on the far side of the
street, then slowly circled. Thor knew all
the other boys, of course. He also knew
some of them secretly did not want to be
picked, even though their families
wanted to send them off. They were
afraid; they would make poor soldiers.
Thor burned with indignity. He felt he
deserved to be picked as much as any of
them. Just because his brothers were
older and bigger and stronger didn’t
mean he shouldn’t have a right to stand
and be chosen. He burned with hatred for
his father, and nearly burst out of his skin
as the soldier approached.
The soldier stopped, for the first time,
before his brothers. He looked them up
and down, and seemed impressed. He
reached out, grabbed one of their
scabbards, and yanked it, as if to test
how firm it was.
He broke into a smile.
“You haven’t yet used your sword in
battle, have you?” he asked Drake.
Thor saw Drake nervous for the first time
in his life. Drake swallowed.
“No, my liege. But I’ve used it many
times in practice, and I hope to—”
“In practice!”
The soldier roared with laughter and
turned to the other soldiers, who joined
in, laughing in Drake’s face.
Drake turned bright red. It was the first
time Thor had ever seen Drake
embarrassed—usually, it was Drake
embarrassing others.
“Well then I shall certainly tell our
enemies to fear you—you who wields
your sword in practice!”
The crowd of soldiers laughed again.
The soldier then turned to Thor’s other
brothers.
“Three boys from the same stock,” he
said, rubbing the stubble on his chin.
“That can be useful. You’re all a good
size. Untested, though. You’ll need much
training if you are to make the cut.”
He paused.
“I suppose we can find room.”
He nodded toward the rear wagon.
“Get in, and be quick of it. Before I
change my mind.”
Thor’s three brothers sprinted for the
carriage, beaming. Thor noticed his
father beaming, too.
But he was crestfallen as he watched
them go.
The soldier turned and moved on to the
next home. Thor could stand it no longer.
“Sire!” Thor yelled out.
His father turned and glared at him, but
Thor no longer cared.
The soldier stopped, his back to him, and
slowly turned.
Thor took two steps forward, his heart
beating, and stuck out his chest as far as
he could.
“You haven’t considered me, sire,” he
said.

The soldier, startled, looked Thor up and
down as if he were a joke.
“Haven’t I?” he asked, and burst into
laughter.
His men burst into laughter, too. But
Thor didn’t care. This was his moment. It
was now or never.
“I want to join the Legion!” Thor said.
The soldier stepped toward Thor.
“Do you now?”
He looked amused.
“And have you even reached your
fourteenth year?”
“I did, sire. Two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks ago!”
The soldier shrieked with laughter, as did
the men behind them.
“In that case, our enemies shall surely
quiver at the sight of you.”
Thor felt himself burning with indignity.
He had to do something. He couldn’t let
it end like this. The soldier turned to
walk away—but Thor could not allow it.
Thor stepped forward and yelled: “Sire!
You are making a mistake!”
A horrified gasp spread through the
crowd, as the soldier stopped and once
again slowly turned.
Now he was scowling.
“Stupid boy,” his father said, grabbing
Thor by his shoulder, “go back inside!”
“I shall not!” Thor yelled, shaking off his
father’s grip.
The soldier stepped toward Thor, and his
father backed away.
“Do you know the punishment for
insulting the Silver?” the soldier snapped.
Thor’s heart pounded, but he knew he
could not back down.
“Please forgive him, sire,” his father
said. “He’s a young child and—”
“I’m not speaking to you,” the soldier
said. With a withering look, he forced
Thor’s father to turn away.
The soldier turned back to Thor.
“Answer me!” he said.
Thor swallowed, unable to speak. This
was not how he saw it going in his head.
“To insult the Silver is to insult the King
himself,” Thor said meekly, reciting what
he’d learned from memory.
“Yes,” the soldier said. “Which means I
can give you forty lashes if I choose.”
“I mean no insult, sire,” Thor said. “I
just want to be picked. Please. I’ve
dreamt of this my entire life. Please. Let
me join you.”
The soldier looked at him, and slowly,
his expression softened. After a long
while, he shook his head.
“You’re young, boy. You have a proud
heart. But you’re not ready. Come back
to us when you are weaned.”
With that, he turned and stormed off,
barely glancing at the other boys. He
quickly mounted his horse.
Thor, crestfallen, watched as the caravan
broke into action; as quickly as they’d
arrived, they were gone.
The last thing Thor saw was his brothers,
sitting in the back of the last carriage,
looking out at him, disapproving,
mocking. They were being carted away
before his eyes, away from here, into a
better life.
Inside, Thor felt like dying.
As the excitement around him faded,
villagers slinked back into their homes.
“Do you realize how stupid you were,
foolish boy?” Thor’s father snapped,
grabbing his shoulders. “Do you realize
you could have ruined your brothers’
chances?”
Thor brushed his father’s hands off of
him roughly, and his father reached back
and backhanded him across the face.
Thor felt the sting of it and glared back at
his father. A part of him, for the first
time, wanted to hit his father back. But
he held himself.
“Go get my sheep and bring them back.
Now! And when you return, don’t expect
a meal from me. You will miss your
meal tonight, and think about what
you’ve done.”
“Maybe I shall not come back at all!”
Thor yelled as he turned and stormed off,
away from his home, toward the hills.
“Thor!” his father yelled. A few of the
villagers who remained on the road
stopped and watched.
Thor broke into a trot, then a run,
wanting to get as far away from this
place as possible. He barely noticed he
was crying, tears flooding his face, as
every dream he’d ever had was crushed.
To be continued.....................

OluwabuqqyYOLO:
[size=21pt]PLAGIARISED![/size]

http://www.freevampires.net/young/yd5266.html

http://www.smashwords.com/extreader/read/260852/8/a-quest-of-heroes-book-1-in-the-sorcerers-ring

CC: Obinnau, Lalasticlala.

Did I say I wrote the book, did you see me rite author hallexander

Hallexander:

Did I say I wrote the book, did you see me rite author hallexander

Oh, so you were posting on his behalf? I never knew!

Obinnau!

Plagiarism in any way is not tolerated here. If you must post somebody's work of art, be sure to get the person's explicit approval.