Simon Blackfyre and the Corridor of Shadows_Book 2 of the Simon Blackfyre sword and sorcery epic fantasy series by A. J. Callen

Author:A. J. Callen [Callen, A. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: A. J. Callen Books
Published: 2019-01-27T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Myth and Monsters

Pale frost greeted the protectors on the field after the morning temple service; it remained, sparkling on the white grass until almost noon, under an impenetrable rust-gray sky.

In the distance, cast in iron clouds, a twist of smoke like that from a cooking fire rose from Roamligor Forest.

Simon scraped the dried earth from a garden hoe. All further competitions had been suspended for the next two days and each house assigned duties alongside the Farrhaven servants under the strict supervision of the Council members.

After a light breakfast of bread, cheese, and black tea, the Evermere protectors, under the stern eye of Lord Lionsbury, labored with the groundskeepers. They tilled the earth, first raking and then removing dead branches and debris.

Lady Bellemar supervised the Strathwalds in the kitchen, helping prepare the day’s meals while the Velizars cleaned, oiled, and sharpened the weapons in the tool sheds under the watchful eyes of Joren and Kovoth.

Lords Dowrick and Fromund had taken the Tiberions into the forest to hunt small game and check the traps.

Callor was overheard boasting that he wanted to hunt wild boar with his bare hands and kill one using nothing more than sharpened saplings as spears.

Simon yawned and tilled a patch of overgrown earth. Reading from one sacred book or another on the high altar, Lady Bellemar had recited long, winding stories about the worlds of light and of darkness, of sword-wielding heroes and soul-devouring demons, of Soru Kentay and spiritual love, and finally, ancient, moth-eaten prophecies auguring the final extinguishing of humanity’s last light of hope in this world.

Simon chuckled to himself. The Choldath? Only peasants and slaves believe in that all superstitious piffle.

Simon had listened politely but the gurgling ache of his empty stomach had proved itself a stronger preacher of need. And this was a need that could only be filled if the supper table was set for another grand feast after their hard day’s work.

“What’s so funny now?” Rachel cut another thorny branch from an unkempt rose bush. “I thought Lady Bellemar was going to throw her book at you if you smirked again.”

“Sorry. I was thinking of Callor’s scared face. Maybe that’s why he excused himself so early. Soiled breeches are very unbecoming for someone hoping to sit upon the royal throne.”

Rachel brought her hand to her lips and stifled her laughter. “Stop it. We have to show respect. It’s serious.”

“Not as serious as cleaning the latrine after these high and mighty noble backsides have destroyed it.”

Rachel shoved Simon’s shoulder, her cheeks florid as the roses. “Simon, stop. I mean it.”

Simon laughed and dug the hoe into a clump of tenacious weeds refusing to give up their hold on the earth. “Do you really believe everything you’ve heard them tell us in the temple?”

“Just because someone doesn’t believe something, doesn’t mean there isn’t any truth to it. I thought you would know that.”

“Fair enough but I, for one, don’t plan on spending all my time at Farrhaven waiting for these mysterious truths to finally reveal themselves.

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