Simon Blackfyre and the Storms of Destiny by A. J. Callen

Author:A. J. Callen [Callen, A. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780993878411
Publisher: A. J. Callen Books
Published: 2018-12-16T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Unanswered Questions

The uncommonly chilly wind at sunrise blew through the barn window, rustling the chains on their hooks and unseating the little balls of gathered dust and cobwebs from their corners of the stone floor. Simon turned on his side hoping to warm his face but could find no soothing heat from the faint morning rays. It wasn’t a dream. He’d be a freeman come winter.

He yawned and opened his sleepy eyes, wishing he could strike out right now for Farrhaven and the promise it held, though he still had to wait a few more days.

Simon pulled Baxley’s thick blanket and quilt toward him, hugging them tighter against his chest as he squinted through the window. Sparrows chirped and flitted from branch to branch on the old elm used for tethering horses. By the end of the week, he’d be rid of Baxley Pumberton forever.

Why destiny had decided to favor such a lowly and miserable wretch, Simon couldn’t begin to fathom, nor did he wish to—just in case his questioning should offend some higher power and cause destiny to change her mind.

He stretched his arms out and yawned again, surprised he didn’t feel the normal pangs of gnawing hunger that forced him to wake early each day. In truth, he could not remember the last time he’d slept so soundly and deeply on a full stomach, untroubled by dark forebodings and by the waking screams of his old childhood nightmares.

“And I thought only my horse could snore to wake the dead.” Mr. Byrch was cutting thick slices of hard yellow cheese and cured bacon. “Get up and take care of your business. The water bucket’s outside. Be sure to wash your hands and face, and then come back in and get changed. There’s a fresh pot of black tea and plenty of time to eat before we ride to town. I want you to fetch a few more supplies while I discuss important matters with his Lordship before he departs.”

Mr. Byrch stuffed his mouth with a piece of cheese the size of Simon’s hand.

Simon looked at the folded brown tunic, breeches, black pants and hose. He picked up one of the new leather ankle boots and placed it next to his foot. It looked to be a perfect fit.

He rose to his feet and took off his ratty, old tunic. If fresh food and clean clothes were now part of his new life of service to the crown, what did he have to fear from the Rites of Succession? From hard-fought experience, he knew he could run faster, fight harder, and carry more weight than any young men his size and larger, if it came down to a test of strength. And for those times he’d been beaten by another slave’s skill or deception, it was he, Simon Blackfyre, who was still there to tell the tale.

Mr. Byrch swallowed down another mouthful. “You can ride, can’t you, lad? And I mean, ride well—so you won’t be slowing me down.”

“I was the stablehand for my last owner, Mister Krechfield.

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