A Quest of Heroes by Morgan Rice Page B

feet, facing this dirty fighter.
    “Short swords!” the Kings cried out.
    Feithgold suddenly wheeled and stared at Thor, wide-eyed.
    “Hand it to me!” he yelled.
    Thor’s heart pounded in panic. He spun around, searching Erec’s weapons rack, looking desperately for the sword. There was a dizzying array of weapons before him. He reached out, grabbed it, and thrust it into Feithgold’s palm.
    “Stupid boy! That is a medium sword!” Feithgold yelled.
    Thor felt his throat go dry, felt the whole kingdom staring at him. His vision was blurry with anxiety, as he spiraled into panic, not knowing which sword to choose. He could barely focus.
    Feithgold stepped forward, shoved Thor out of the way, and grabbed the short sword himself. He then raced out into the jousting lane.
    Thor watched as he ran, feeling useless, horrible. He also tried to imagine if it were himself running out there, in front of all those people, and his knees grew weak.
    The other knight’s squire reached him first, and Erec had to jump out of the way, as the knight swung for him, unarmed, barely missing. Finally, Feithgold reached Erec and placed the short sword into his hand. As he did, the knight charged Erec. But Erec was too fast: he waited until the last moment, then jumped out of the way.
    The knight kept charging, though, and ran right into Feithgold, standing, to his bad luck, in the place where Erec had just been. The knight, filled with rage at missing Erec, kept charging and grabbed Feithgold with both hands by his hair, and head butted him hard across the face.
    There was a cracking of bone, as blood squirted from Feithgold’s nose, and he collapsed to the ground, limp.
    Thor stood there, mouth open in shock. He could not believe it. Neither could the crowd, which booed and hissed.
    Erec swung around with his sword, just missing the knight, and the two faced each other again.
    As Thor stood there, he suddenly realized: he was Erec’s only squire now. He gulped. What was he supposed to be doing? He was not prepared for this. And the whole kingdom was watching.
    The two knights attacked each other viciously, going blow for blow. Clearly the McCloud knight was much stronger than Erec—yet Erec was the better fighter, faster and more agile. They swung and slashed and parried, neither able to gain advantage.
    Finally, MacGil stood.
    “Long spears!” he yelled.
    Thor’s heart pounded. He knew this meant him: he was on duty.
    He spun and looked at the rack, and grabbed the weapon that seemed most appropriate. As he grabbed its leather shaft, he prayed he chose correctly.
    He burst onto the lane and could feel thousands of eyes on him. He ran and ran, for all he was worth, wanting to reach Erec, and finally placing it into his hand. He was proud to see he reached him first.
    Erec took his spear and spun, prepared to face the other knight. Erec, being the honorable warrior that he was, waited until the other knight was armed before attacking. Thor hurried off to the side, out of the men’s way, not wanting to repeat Feithgold’s mistake. As he did, he grabbed Feithgold’s limp body and dragged him back, out of harm’s way.
    As Thor watched, he sensed something was wrong. The knight took his spear, raised it straight up, then began to bring it down in a strange motion. As he did, suddenly, Thor felt his world go into focus in a way he never had. He intuited that something wrong. His eyes locked on the knight’s spear tip, and as he looked closely, he realized it was loose. The knight was about to use the tip of his spear as a throwing knife.
    As the knight brought down his spear, the tip became detached and went flying through the air. It tumbled through the air, end over end, and was heading right for Erec’s heart. In moments, Erec would be dead—and there was no way he could react in time.
    In that moment, Thor felt his whole body warming. He felt a tingling sensation—it was the same sensation he’d experienced back in Darkwood,