A Quest of Heroes Read Free Page 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 stood there, crestfallen, and 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 faded all around him, 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 he 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, towards the hills.
    “Thor!” his father screamed, as villagers stopped and watched.
    Thor broke into a trot, then a run, wanting to get as far away from this place as possible. As he ran, he barely noticed he was crying, tears flooding his face, as every dream he’d ever had was crushed.
     
     

 
    CHAPTER TWO
     
     
    Thor wandered for hours in the hills, seething, until finally he chose a hill and sat, arms crossed over his legs, and watched the horizon. He watched the carriages disappear, watched the cloud of dust that lingered for hours after.
    There would be no more visits. Now he was destined to remain here, in this village, for years, awaiting another chance—if they ever returned. If his father ever allowed it. Now it would be just he and his father, alone in the house, and his father would surely let out the full breadth of his wrath on him. He would continue to be his father’s lackey, years would pass, and he would end up just like him, stuck here, living a small, menial life—while his brothers gained glory and renown. His veins burned with the indignity of it all: this was not the life he was meant to live. He knew it.
    Thor racked his brain for anything he could do, any way he could change it. But he knew there was nothing. These were the cards life had dealt him.
    After hours of sitting, he rose dejectedly and began traversing his way back up the familiar hills, higher and higher. Inevitably, he drifted back towards the flock, to the high knoll. As he climbed, the first sun fell in the sky and the second reached its peak, casting a greenish tint. He took his time as he ambled, mindlessly removing his sling from his waist, its leather grip well-worn from years of use. He reached into his sack, tied to his hip, and fingered his collection of stones, each smoother than the next, hand-picked from the choicest creeks. Sometimes he fired on birds, other times, rodents. It was a habit he’d ingrained over years. At first, he missed everything; then, once, he hit a moving target. Since then, his aim was true. Now, hurling stones had become a part of him—and it helped to release some of his anger. His brothers might be able to swing a sword through a log—but they could never hit a flying bird with a stone like he could.
    Thor mindlessly placed a stone in the sling, leaned back and hurled it with all he had, pretending he was hurling it at his father. He hit a branch on a far-off tree, taking it down cleanly. Once he’d discovered he could actually kill moving animals, he’d stopped, afraid at his own power and not wanting to hurt anything; now his targets were branches. Unless of