{"id":1571,"date":"2009-06-06T19:20:02","date_gmt":"2009-06-07T00:20:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/\/?p=1571"},"modified":"2009-06-06T19:24:05","modified_gmt":"2009-06-07T00:24:05","slug":"by-darkness-hid-by-jill-williamson","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=1571","title":{"rendered":"By Darkness Hid by Jill Williamson"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>\"\"<\/a>It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour<\/a><\/strong><\/span><\/strong> book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Today’s Wild Card author is: <\/strong><\/div>\n
Jill Williamson<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

and the book:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

By Darkness Hid, The Blood of Kings, book one<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Marcher Lord Press (April 1, 2009)<\/p>\n

MY REVIEW:<\/strong><\/p>\n

I have long been a fan of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings and Stephen Lawhead’s books, especially The Song of Albion series. To my surprise, I would have to add Jill Williamson’s By Darkness Hid<\/a> to my list of preferred fantasies. This engrossing tale follows two primary characters who are not aware of their connection until they meet near the end of the book. Each character in the story has a purpose, yet all is not revealed immediately. There are a multitude of surprises in store as the tale progresses.<\/p>\n

Williamson does a superb job of setting the proper atmosphere as well as excellent characterizations. The contrast between good and evil was evident and in my interpretation, one particular character symbolized having one foot in the darkness and one in the light. Get a copy of\u00a0 By Darkness Hid<\/a> for yourself and see if you can find who he\/she is.<\/p>\n

I wholeheartedly recommend By Darkness Hid<\/a> and encourage you to drop everything and pick up a copy.<\/p>\n

<\/object><\/p>\n
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

\"\"<\/a>Jill Williamson is a novelist, dreamer, and believer. She writes stories that combine danger, suspense, and adventure for people of all ages. An avid reader, she started Novel Teen Book Reviews<\/a> to help teens find great books to read. She lives in Oregon with her husband and two book-loving children. By Darkness Hid is her first novel.<\/p>\n

Visit the author’s website<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Product Details:<\/p>\n

List Price: $14.99
\nPaperback: 508 pages
\nPublisher: Marcher Lord Press (April 1, 2009)
\nLanguage: English
\nISBN-10: 0982104952
\nISBN-13: 978-0982104958<\/p>\n

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:<\/span> <\/strong>
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Achan stumbled through the darkness toward the barn. The morning cold sent shivers through his threadbare orange tunic. He clutched a wooden milking pail at his side and held a flickering torch out in front to light his way.<\/p>\n

He wove between dark cottages in the outer bailey of the castle, mindful to keep his torch clear of the thatched roofs. Most of the residents of Sitna still slept. Only a few of the twenty-some peasants, slaves, and strays serving Lord Nathak and Prince Gidon stirred at this hour.<\/p>\n

Sitna Manor sat on the north side of the Sideros River. A brownstone curtain wall, four levels high, enclosed the stronghold. A second wall sectioned off the outer bailey from the inner bailey, temple, and keep. Achan wasn\u2019t allowed to enter the inner bailey but occasionally snuck inside when he felt compelled to leave an offering at Cetheria\u2019s temple.<\/p>\n

The barn loomed ahead of him in the darkness. It was one of the largest structures in Sitna Manor. It was long and narrow, with a high, thatched gable roof. Achan shifted the pail to his torch hand and tugged the heavy door open. It scraped over the frosty dirt. He darted inside and pulled it closed.<\/p>\n

The scent of hay and manure drifted on the chilled air. He walked to the center and slid the torch into an iron ring on a load-bearing post. The timber walls stymied the bitter wind, and Achan\u2019s shivering lessened.<\/p>\n

The torch cast a golden glow over the hay pile, posts, and rafters and made Achan\u2019s orange tunic look brown. A long path stretched the length of the barn with stalls on each side penning chickens, geese, pigs, and goats. Two empty stalls in the center housed hay and feed. He approached the goat stall.<\/p>\n

\u201cMorning, Dilly, Peg. How are my girls? Got lots of milk for me?\u201d<\/p>\n

The goats bleated their greetings. Achan rubbed his hands together until they were warm enough to avoid getting him kicked. He perched on the icy stool to milk Dilly and begin his tedious routine. He could have worse jobs, though, and he liked the goats.<\/p>\n

By the time Achan had finished with Dilly, the stool under his backside had thawed, though his breath still clouded in the torch\u2019s dull glow. He lifted the pail to get a better look. Dilly had filled it a third. Achan set it between his feet, slapped Dilly on the rear, and called Peg. When he had finished milking her he moved his stool outside and set the milk on top of it. He grabbed a pitchfork off the wall.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnyone hungry?\u201d<\/p>\n

Dilly and Peg danced around as Achan dumped fresh hay into the trough. The goats\u2019 excitement faded to munching. The other animals stirred, but they were not his responsibility. Mox, the scrawny barn boy, had arrived a few minutes ago and now shuffled from stall to stall at the other end of the barn.<\/p>\n

As Achan leaned the pitchfork against the wall, he had to pause. A chill ran through him that had nothing to do with the temperature. He felt the familiar pressure in his head. It wasn\u2019t painful but it brought a sense of a looming, sinister shadow. Someone was coming.<\/p>\n

\u201cLo, Mox!\u201d a familiar voice called from near the barn\u2019s entrance.<\/p>\n

\u201cMoxy poxy hoggy face, we know you\u2019re in here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan sucked in an icy breath and slid back into the goat stall. The voices belonged to Riga Hoff and Harnu Poe, Sitna Manor\u2019s resident browbeaters.<\/p>\n

Mox\u2019s young voice cried out. \u201cStop it! Don\u2019t do that! Ah!\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan set his jaw and thunked his head against the wall of the stall, earning a reprimanding look from Dilly. Poril would flay him if he returned late. And there was no guarantee he could beat both boys. He should mind his own business. Regular beatings had made him tough\u2014they could do likewise for Mox.<\/p>\n

Or they could cripple him for life. An image flooded his mind: a young slave being dragged through the linen field by Riga and Harnu. They\u2019d crushed his hands so badly that all the boy could do now was pull a cart like a mule. Achan sighed.<\/p>\n

He edged to the other end of the barn, stepping softly over the scattered hay. Two piglets scurried past his feet. He clenched his jaw. If the animals got out, Mox would be punished by his master too. Riga and Harnu knew that, of course.<\/p>\n

Achan spotted them in a pig stall at the end of the barn. Harnu was holding Mox\u2019s face in a trough of slop. The mere thought of the smell turned Achan\u2019s empty stomach. Riga leaned over Harnu\u2019s shoulder laughing, his ample rear blocking the stall\u2019s entrance. Fine linen stretched over Riga\u2019s girth and rode up his back in wrinkles, baring more skin than Achan cared to see.<\/p>\n

He sent a quick prayer up to the gods and cleared his throat. \u201cCan I help you boys with something?\u201d<\/p>\n

Riga spun around, his mess of short, golden curls sticking out in all directions. His face was so pudgy Achan could never tell if his eyes were open or closed. \u201cStay out of this, dog!\u201d<\/p>\n

Harnu released Mox and pushed past Riga out of the stall. The torch\u2019s beam illuminated his pockmarked face, a hazard from working too close to the forge. \u201cMoxy poxy piglet got out of his pen. He needs to learn his place.\u201d Harnu stood a foot taller than Riga and was the real threat in the barn. He stepped toward Achan. \u201cLooks like you need to learn yours too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan held his ground. \u201cLet him go.\u201d<\/p>\n

Harnu\u2019s gaze flitted to a pitchfork propped against the wall. He grabbed it and swung. Achan jumped back, but the tines snagged his tunic, ripping a hole in the front and scratching his stomach. Achan squeezed his fists and blew out a long breath.<\/p>\n

Harnu jabbed the pitchfork forward. Achan lunged to the side and grabbed the shaft. He wrenched the weapon away and spun it around, prongs facing Harnu. He waved it slightly back and forth, hoping to scare the brute into flight.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe barn is off limits to your instruction. Anything else I can do for you boys? A little hay? Some oats, perhaps? Drag you to the moat, tie a millstone to your ankles, see how well you swim?\u201d<\/p>\n

Like a dog being teased with a bone, Harnu lunged.<\/p>\n

Achan stepped back and raised the pitchfork above his head the way he\u2019d seen knights do in the longsword tournaments. With nothing to stop his hurtling bulk, Harnu stumbled. Achan swung the tines flat against Harnu\u2019s backside, and the bully knocked head first into the chicken pen. The birds squawked and fluttered, sending a cloud of dust over Harnu.<\/p>\n

Riga slipped past the stall and made toward the milk pail. Achan darted forward and stuck the pitchfork in the clay earth to snag Riga\u2019s foot. The big louse tripped and sprawled into the dirt and hay.<\/p>\n

Footsteps behind Achan sent him wheeling around just in time to lift the pitchfork to Harnu\u2019s chest. Over Harnu\u2019s shoulder, Achan could see Mox climbing out of the geese pen with a squirming piglet under one arm.<\/p>\n

Harnu raised his hands and stepped back, a thin scratch swelling across his reddened cheek. \u201cLord Nathak will hear \u2019bout this, stray. You\u2019ll hang.\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan knew he wouldn\u2019t hang for a tussle like this, but he might be whipped. And Lord Nathak\u2019s guards were merciless. Besides, Achan doubted Lord Nathak\u2019s servants would bother their master with such a trivial matter. He shrugged. \u201cNot much to tell. You fell into the chicken pen.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou attacked me with a pitchfork when I caught you trying to steal a horse.\u201d<\/p>\n

A tremor snaked down Achan\u2019s arms. Stealing a horse was cause for a hanging. And no one\u2014especially Lord Nathak\u2014would take the word of a stray over a peasant, even one like Harnu. Achan jabbed the pitchfork out. \u201cIf Lord Nathak hears a breath of that tripe, I know where you lay your head.\u201d<\/p>\n

Harnu snorted and beat his chest with a clenched fist. \u201cYou dare threaten me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan glanced around for Riga, but the swine had vanished. He backed toward the hay pile, feeling cornered. Achan took another step back, keeping the pitchfork aimed at Harnu. His boot knocked against something.<\/p>\n

Harnu cackled and pointed at the ground behind Achan\u2019s feet. Achan looked down. The stool and pail lay on their sides, milk seeping into the clay soil.<\/p>\n

Pig snout!<\/p>\n

Riga charged out of the hay stall with a roar. Achan turned but Riga jerked the pitchfork away. Harnu rushed forward and battered Achan to the ground.<\/p>\n

The pitchfork dug into Achan\u2019s back. He gritted his teeth, not wanting to give the brutes the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He was more upset over the spilled milk than the pain.<\/p>\n

Pain, he was used to.<\/p>\n

Mox pointed at Achan from the end of the barn, his face gooey with slop. \u201cHa ha!\u201d<\/p>\n

The ungrateful scab was on his own next time.<\/p>\n

Dilly and Peg kicked against the wall of their stall, agitated by Achan\u2019s distress.<\/p>\n

Harnu crouched in front of him, grabbed the back of his head, and pushed his face toward the puddle seeping into the dirt floor. \u201cLick it up, dog!\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan thrashed in the hay but lost his battle with Harnu\u2019s hand. He turned his head just as his cheek splashed into the milky muck. The liquid steamed around his face. Harnu released Achan\u2019s head and sat back on his haunches, his wide lips twisting in a triumphant sneer.<\/p>\n

Riga chortled, a dopey sound. \u201cI\u2019d like a new rug, Harnu. What say we skin the stray?\u201d He dragged the pitchfork down Achan\u2019s back.<\/p>\n

They never learned.<\/p>\n

Achan pushed up with his arms. The prongs dug deeper but he was able to slide his right arm and leg underneath his body and twist free. He grabbed the handle of the pail and swung it at Harnu\u2019s face. Harnu fell onto his backside, clutching his nose.<\/p>\n

Achan scrambled to his feet. He grabbed another pitchfork off the wall and squared off with Riga.<\/p>\n

The fat boy waddled nearer and lifted his weapon. Achan faked an upswing.<\/p>\n

When Riga heaved the pitchfork up to block, Achan swung the shaft of his weapon into Riga\u2019s leg.<\/p>\n

The boy went down like a slaughtered pig.<\/p>\n

Harnu approached, pinching his nose with one hand and wiping a fistful of hay across his upper lip with the other.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis does grow old,\u201d Achan said. \u201cHow many times do I have to trounce you both?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m telling Lord Nathak,\u201d Harnu said, sounding like he had a cold.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve no right to attack us,\u201d Riga mumbled from the dirt floor.<\/p>\n

Achan wanted to argue, And what of Mox? but he\u2019d sacrificed enough for that thankless whelp. He grabbed both pitchforks and fled from the barn.<\/p>\n

Pale dawn light blanketed Sitna Manor. He ran toward the drawbridge, glancing at the sentry walk of the outer gatehouse. The squared parapet was black against the gray sky. A lone guard stood on the wall above like a shadow.<\/p>\n

Achan ran through the gate and over the drawbridge. As usual, the guards ignored him. Few people in the manor acknowledged anyone wearing an orange tunic. One small advantage of being a stray. He sank to his knees at the edge of the moat to wash the blood off the pitchforks.<\/p>\n

Riga and Harnu wouldn\u2019t let this go easily.<\/p>\n

Achan sighed. His fingers stiffened in the rank, icy water. One of these days he\u2019d accept pretty Gren Fenny\u2019s offer to weave him a brown tunic, and run away. He was almost of age\u2014maybe no one would question his heritage. He could tell people his mother was a mistress and his father was on Ice Island. Sired by a criminal and almost sixteen, people wouldn\u2019t ask too many questions.<\/p>\n

When the pitchforks were clean, Achan returned to the barn. His attackers had left and, thankfully, had not done any damage they could blame him for. He shuddered to think of what their feeble minds hadn\u2019t. The torch still burned in the ring by the door. They could have burned the barn to ashes. They were truly the thickest heads in Sitna, maybe even in all Er\u2019Rets.<\/p>\n

Not that Achan was much brighter, sacrificing himself for an ingrate who was probably out chasing piglets.<\/p>\n

Achan hung one pitchfork on the wall and used the other to clean up the hay. When the ground was tidy, he picked up the empty pail and sat on the stool to catch his breath.<\/p>\n

The consequences of his heroism were suddenly laid before him. The scratches on his back throbbed. The goat\u2019s milk had completely soaked into the ground, the front of his tunic, and his face. Only the latter had dried, making the skin tight on his left cheek. His nose tingled from the cold. He shivered violently, now that he\u2019d stopped moving. He scowled and pitched the pail across the barn. It smacked the goat stall, and the girls scurried around inside, frightened by the sound.<\/p>\n

But Achan didn\u2019t want a beating. So he picked the pail up againa, dragged the stool into the stall, and managed to squeeze another two inches of milk from the goats. It was all they had. Poril would be furious.<\/p>\n

Achan jogged out of the barn, around the cottages, and across the inner bailey. By now, more people were stirring\u2014it was almost breakfasttime. He wove around a peddler pushing a cart full of linens and a squire leading a horse from the stables. A piglet scurried past, just avoiding the wheels of a trader\u2019s wagon. Achan ignored it. Mox could hang for all he cared.<\/p>\n

Pressure filled his head again.<\/p>\n

This time the insight that followed was not dread but kinship and hope. Achan paused at the entrance to the kitchens and turned, seeking out the source of the sensation. His gaze was drawn to the armory.<\/p>\n

There, Harnu slouched on a stool clutching a bloody rag to his nose. His father stood over him, hands on hips. The warm glow of the forge behind their menacing forms brought to mind the Lowerworld song that Achan had heard Minstrel Harp sing in the Corner last night:<\/p>\n

When Arman turns away, Shamayim denied<\/p>\n

To Lowerword your soul will flee.<\/p>\n

At the fiery gates meet your new lord, G\u00e2zar<\/p>\n

And forever in Darkness you\u2019ll be.<\/p>\n

Achan shuddered. The sensation of kinship was definitely not coming from them.<\/p>\n

He spotted someone else. A knight stood leaning against the crude structure of the armory watching Achan with a pensive stare. He wore the uniform of the Old Kingsguard\u2014a red, hooded cloak that draped over both arms and hung to a triangular point in the center front and back. The crest of the city of Armonguard, embroidered in gold thread, glimmered over his chest. The knight pulled his hood back to reveal white hair, tied back on top and hanging past his shoulders. A white beard dangled in a single braid that extended to his chest.<\/p>\n

Achan recognized him immediately. It was Sir Gavin Lukos, the knight who had come to train Prince Gidon for his presentation to the council.<\/p>\n

For what purpose did the knight stare? Achan had never met anyone above his station who hadn\u2019t wished him harm or hard work. Yet his instincts had never been wrong. Sir Gavin harbored no ill will. Achan gave the old man a half smile before entering the kitchens to face Poril\u2019s wrath.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Achan settled onto a stool by the chest-high table. The table was worn by years of knives and kneading. Poril, a burly old man with sagging posture, poured batter into stone cups and carried them to the hearth oven. Serving women scurried about filling trays with food and gossiping about Lord Nathak\u2019s latest rejection from the Duchess of Carm.<\/p>\n

Achan\u2019s stomach growled at the smell of fried bacon and ginger cake. He wouldn\u2019t be able to eat until after the nobility were served, and then he would be allowed only one bowl of porridge. Poril had a knack of knowing if Achan had eaten something he shouldn\u2019t have. Achan suspected the serving women\u2019s tongues flapped for extra slices of Poril\u2019s pies.<\/p>\n

The scratches on his back burned. He was in no mood for Poril\u2019s daily lecture, nor could he stomach the cook\u2019s nagging voice and the queer way he spoke about himself using his own name. Especially not when he was hungry and had a beating coming. He only hoped Harnu would keep his accusations of thieving to himself. Maybe it was time to talk to Gren about that brown tunic.<\/p>\n

Poril scurried back to the table with a linen sack of potatoes. His downy white hair floated over his freckled scalp. Sometimes Achan wanted to laugh when he watched Poril. The man looked more like he should be wielding a sword than a wooden spoon. Some of the serving women said Poril was part giant. Achan wasn\u2019t convinced. The cook might be tall and thick, but his sagging posture and thinning hair just made him look old.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s what comes from giving a stray responsibility, that\u2019s what. But Poril\u2019s a kind soul, he is. Mother was a stray and no kinder woman there ever was, boy, I\u2019ll tell yeh that. Worked hard so Poril could have better, she did.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poril dumped the potatoes onto the table. Several rolled onto the dirt floor, and Achan scrambled to pick them up. He spotted a crumbled wedge of ginger cake on the floor and stuffed the spicy sweetness into his mouth. It was even a bit warm still. Achan took his time setting the potatoes back on the table and pressed the lump of cake into the roof of his mouth to savor it, hoping Poril didn\u2019t see. Then he grabbed a knife and hacked at the peel of the biggest potato.<\/p>\n

Poril pointed a crooked finger in Achan\u2019s face. \u201cIt\u2019s only \u2019cause Poril\u2019s the best cook in Er\u2019Rets that Lord Nathak won\u2019t be aware of yer blunder with the milk today, boy. \u2019Tis my responsibility to beat some sense into yeh, not his. Poril\u2019s a fair man, and yeh deserve to be punished, that\u2019s certain. But turning yeh over to the likes of the master is cruel. And cruel, Poril\u2019s not.\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan set the peeled potato aside and picked up another. Poril always threatened to tell Lord Nathak of Achan\u2019s every misstep, but the man was all talk. He was more scared of Lord Nathak than Achan was of G\u00e2zar himself. True, Poril was not as cruel as some, but he was of the opinion that beatings with the belt were kinder than beatings with a fist. Achan grew tired of both.<\/p>\n

Poril clunked a mug of red tonic onto the table beside Achan\u2019s potato peelings. Achan glanced at it.<\/p>\n

The old man\u2019s gray eyes dared him to refuse. \u201cDrink up, then. Poril\u2019s waiting.\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan sucked in a long breath and guzzled the gooey, bitter liquid. He\u2019d been fed the tonic every morning his whole life, and every morning Poril insisted on watching him drink. The taste killed the lingering ginger cake flavor on his tongue.<\/p>\n

The thick mixture always churned in his gut, begging to come back up. Achan sat still a moment, breathing through his nose to calm his nerves. Then he rose to settle his stomach with a few mentha leaves from the spice baskets. Achan might not have free range of the kitchens, but Poril had learned long ago to allow Achan as much mentha as he needed.<\/p>\n

Poril always claimed that Lord Nathak had insisted Achan drink the tonic to keep away illness\u2014that strays were full of disease. But the tonic hadn\u2019t prevented Achan from being ill several times in his life. Plus no other stray he knew had to take the drink. The one time he\u2019d refused, he\u2019d received a personal summons from Lord Nathak.<\/p>\n

Achan shuddered at the memory and chewed on the leaves. Their fresh taste dissolved the tonic\u2019s bitterness and tingled his tongue.<\/p>\n

Poril wiped his hands on his grease-stained apron and sprinkled a bit of sugar over the prince\u2019s ginger cake. Hopefully he\u2019d forget to clean the crumbs off the table when he left to deliver it.<\/p>\n

\u201cNever wanted yeh, Poril didn\u2019t. But the master brought yeh to Poril to raise and that\u2019s what Poril\u2019s done. Yeh brought none but trouble to the kitchens, the gods know. None but trouble. \u2019Tis why I named yeh so.\u201d<\/p>\n

As if an orange tunic wasn\u2019t humiliation enough, achan meant trouble in the ancient language. Achan returned to his stool and raked the knife against another potato, trying to block out Poril\u2019s braying voice. His pitchfork wounds stung but it would be at least an hour before he could tend to them.<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026and Poril will teach yeh right from wrong, too. That\u2019s Poril\u2019s duty to the gods.\u201d<\/p>\n

If that was true, Achan would like to have a little talk with the gods. Not that the all-powerful Cetheria would be burdened by the prayers of a stray\u2014despite all the pastry tarts Achan had offered up at the entrance to the temple gardens over the years.<\/p>\n

Day-old tarts didn\u2019t compare to gold cups, jewels, or coins when you\u2019re trying to win a god\u2019s favor.<\/p>\n

An hour later, Achan stood over the sink basin washing dishes while Poril delivered Lord Nathak and Prince Gidon\u2019s breakfast. There were servants to do the task, but Poril insisted on being present when the first bites were taken.<\/p>\n

Achan shifted his weight to his other leg. He hated cleaning dishes. Standing in one position for so long made his back ache, and today, with his pitchfork wounds, the pain doubled.<\/p>\n

Though strays were lower even than slaves in most parts of Er\u2019Rets, Achan had more freedom than most slaves. Poril kept him busy tending the goats, getting wood, and keeping the fireplaces hot and both kitchens clean, but at least there was variety. Some slaves worked fifteen hours a day at one task. Such tediousness would have driven Achan insane.<\/p>\n

Achan dried the last pot and hung the towel on the line outside. When he came back in, Poril had returned. The cook wiggled his crooked fingers, beckoning Achan to follow him down the skinny stone steps to the cellar. Achan sighed, dreading the bite of Poril\u2019s belt buckle.<\/p>\n

The cook lived in a cramped room off of the cellar, furnished with a straw mattress, a tiny oak table, and two chairs. Achan slept in the cellar itself, under the supports that held up the ale casks, although he barely fit anymore. He feared to be crushed in his sleep one night when he rolled against one of the supports and it finally gave way.<\/p>\n

As per routine, Achan went to Poril\u2019s table, removed his tunic, and draped it over the back of one chair. He straddled the other chair in reverse and hugged it with his arms. His teeth fit into the grooves of bite marks he\u2019d made over the years. He clenched down and waited.<\/p>\n

Poril ran a finger down one of the scratches on Achan\u2019s back. \u201cWhat\u2019s this?\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan quivered at the feel of crusty blood under Poril\u2019s touch.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell? Speak up, boy. Poril don\u2019t have all day to waste on yer silence.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI met some peasants in the barn this morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSpilled yer milk, did they?\u201d<\/p>\n

Not exactly, but Achan said, \u201cAye.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeh cause trouble?\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan didn\u2019t answer. Poril always complained when Achan defended himself or anyone else. He said a stray should know his place and take his beatings like he\u2019d deserved them.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, yer a fool, yeh are, boy. One of these days yeh\u2019ll be killed, and Poril will tell the tale of how he knew it would come to pass. The boy wouldn\u2019t listen to Poril. Had to smart off. Had to fight back. Not even Cetheria will have mercy on such idiocy.\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan doubted it mattered if he stuck up for himself or not. If a stray was invisible to man, how much more so to the gods?<\/p>\n

He heard the swoosh of Poril pulling his leather belt from the loops on his trousers. He hoped his pants fell down.<\/p>\n

When Poril was done flogging Achan, he kindly swabbed his back with soapy water, washed the blood from his tunic, and gave him an hour off to rest while it dried.<\/p>\n

Good old Poril.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

A kindly presence flooded his mind.<\/p>\n

Achan was returning from the well carrying a heavy yoke over his shoulders with two full buckets of water. He rounded the edge of a cottage and found Sir Gavin Lukos heading toward him. Achan stepped aside, pressing up against the cottage and turning the yoke so the buckets wouldn\u2019t hinder the great knight\u2019s path. The buckets swung from his sharp movement, grinding the yoke into his shoulders.<\/p>\n

Sir Gavin slowed. \u201cWhat\u2019s your name, stray?\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan jumped, wincing as the yoke sent a sliver into the back of his neck. Sir Gavin\u2019s eyes bored into his. One was icy blue and the other was dark brown. The difference startled him. \u201cUh\u2026Achan, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

The knight\u2019s weathered face wrinkled. \u201cWhat kind of a name is that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Poril\u2019s voice nagged in Achan\u2019s mind, \u2019Tis trouble, that\u2019s what. \u201cMine, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSurname?\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan lifted his chin and answered, \u201cCham,\u201d proud of the animal Poril had chosen to represent him. Chams breathed fire and had claws as long as his hand. Such virtues would tame Riga and Harnu for good.<\/p>\n

Sir Gavin sniffed. \u201cA fine choice.\u201d His braided beard bobbed as he spoke. \u201cI saw a bit of that ruthless bear in the barn with those peasants.\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan stared, shocked. He\u2019d seen the fight? Would he tell Lord Nathak? \u201cI\u2026um\u2026\u201d Had Sir Gavin asked him a question? \u201cI\u2019m sorry?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI said, what\u2019s your aim, lad?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u201cI should like to serve in Lord Nathak\u2019s kitchens\u2026perhaps someday assist the stableman with the horses.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBah! Kitchens and stables are no place for a cham. That\u2019s a fierce beast. You need a goal fit for the animal.\u201d<\/p>\n

What could the knight be skirting around? \u201cBut I\u2026I don\u2019t have a\u2026what choice have I?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAw, now there\u2019s always a choice, lad. Kingsguard is the highest honor to be had by a stray. Why not choose that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan cut off a gasping laugh, afraid of offending the knight. \u201cI cannot. Forgive me, but you\u2019re\u2026I mean\u2026a stray is not permitted to serve in the Kingsguard, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt wasn\u2019t always that way, you know. And despite any council law, there are always exceptions.\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan shifted the yoke a bit, uncomfortable with both the weight and the subject matter. He cared little for myths and legends. Council law was all that mattered anymore. Despite his fantasy of running away, he was Lord Nathak\u2019s property, nothing more. The brand on his shoulder proved that. \u201cEven so, sir, one must serve as a page first, then squire, and no knight would wish a stray for either.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcept, perhaps, a knight who\u2019s a stray himself.\u201d Sir Gavin winked his brown eye.<\/p>\n

A tingle ran up Achan\u2019s arms. He\u2019d known Sir Gavin was a stray because of his animal surname, but it had been years since strays had been permitted to serve. Surely he couldn\u2019t mean\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cCome to the stables an hour before sunrise tomorrow. Your training mustn\u2019t interfere with your duties to the manor. Tell no one of this for now. If I decide you\u2019re worthy, I\u2019ll talk to Lord Nathak about reassignment to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan\u2019s mouth hung open. \u201cYou\u2019re offering to train me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you\u2019re not interested, I\u2019m sure another would be eager to accept my offer.\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan shifted under the weight of the yoke. \u201cNo. No, sir. I\u2019ll be there tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood. I\u2019ll show you a trick or two you don\u2019t yet know.\u201d<\/p>\n

Achan grinned. \u201cYes, sir.\u201d<\/p><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1571","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1571"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1571"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1571\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1577,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1571\/revisions\/1577"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1571"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1571"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1571"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}