Guardian by P B Hughes

Author:P B Hughes [Hughes, P B]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-29T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

The wooden chair hurt Gregory’s back. He stood, glared at the rickety thing, and kicked it aside. He folded his arms and flopped down on the floor.

It was raining harder now; he could see the drops crash against the narrow windowpane with a fury.

Rain, rain, rain. Forever rain, he thought. What a miserable place! He tapped his foot and stared about the room, feeling claustrophobic. It reminded him of his father’s smithy—rusty tools scattered across a rotting floor, the red glow of the fat stove baking the air stuffy.

After this is over, I’m moving south and building a home on a sunny beach.

Desire tugged at his heart. His crown called to him from inside his pack, telling him to put it on, to wear it proudly and banish his misery. It was so shiny, so sleek. How kingly he would look with it glistening on his brow.

I will wear it at least once before I sell it and pocket the profits, he thought.

But I can’t wear it; not with Martha around. Imagine the questions she’d ask, the judgement in her eyes. Surely, she’d tell Jelani. That superstitious lug would make me get rid of it.

That can never happen, Gregory decided resolutely. He needed that crown if he ever wanted to be more than a pauper. Of course, Martha would tell him that he was a Guardian now, and that he would never be destitute; that he was established and would have a good, successful life. But he knew it wouldn’t last. If Caden returned to take back his place, it would all be over.

Gold was power, he knew. It made men do great things; it made men do evil things. His title of Guardian meant nothing, really. It was the gold he’d eventually earn from the job that would give him power. And it could all be ripped away; he had to protect himself. His crown was a security measure. The others wouldn’t understand.

Gregory stared into the red mouth of the potbellied stove. He recalled the night he discovered his powers, the night the thieves came and stole the weapons they had worked so hard to make. Fire belched from that stove, spread about the floor of the smithy and consumed it. For a moment, in the flicker of flames, he thought he saw the face of the man who had ordered the theft, the face of the man who had killed his mother. Roderick, his name was—a thin-faced scoundrel with a pointed goatee. To Gregory, it was the face of a fiend, the face of evil incarnate.

He clenched his fists. His blood turned to steam inside his veins.

He wanted revenge.

As a child, he promised to find the man and make him pay. But later he wondered how he could enact vengeance when he was a helpless nobody. No more did he wonder. Now that he had his golden crown, he had the power he needed.

A crack of thunder brought him back to the basement. He wondered how Sir Weston could stand being out in the storm.

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