A Storm of Shadows (Shatterborn Book One)

Chapter VIII, Cloverdale [Sam]

A shiver crawled across Sam’s skin. His hand twitched involuntarily as he turned a page in the book he was reading. He frowned and pulled his coat in tighter around him.

            Majestic as it was, the library in Spire Castle was abominably cold when the fire wasn’t burning. Sam scowled darkly over his book at the lifeless hearth. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t do anything. He had half a heart to call a servant to put the fire on, but thought better of it. Dallus Gardarrion hated heat in the mornings if it wasn’t due to either his bed or his bath. Any change to the routine resulted in a scathing telling off.

Perhaps if it had been anyone else, Sam would have been indignant at such a scolding. Dallus, however, had a firm place of respect for Sam. When no-one else would so much as offer him a bed, Dallus had taken Sam in as his ward and student-something he hadn’t done, it turned out, in nearly twenty years.

This, naturally, didn’t really change the fact that the library, with all its high ceilings and stone walls, was perhaps the coldest part of the castle. Study, however, had to be done.

Sam sighed and turned another page in his book. It was a close critical discussion of The Last of Us, and so far all Sam had learned was that he had an intense dislike for Wyn Dravick, the author. He threw the book down on the table in front of him and leant back into his seat.

“Deliver me from this drudgery,” he muttered to himself, eyes closed.

A low chuckle echoed from behind him. Sam started. A reply followed. “And to which of the Nine do you pray, Sam?”

Sam blushed slightly. “I-sir, I apologize for my outburst.”

With a soft sigh, Dallus eased himself into the armchair beside Sam. “No need to apologize, dear boy. I take it you find the book tedious?”

He grimaced. “Er… If I didn’t know better, I’d say yes, but all scholarly studies have merit, right?”

Dallus smiled. “I’ve taught you well. Wyn Dravick is a particularly notorious example of scholarly droning. Nevertheless, his works are pertinent to any who seek to understand the finer intricacies of philosophy.” He glanced at Sam. “Which is precisely why I set it for you to read. So far, how would you respond to what Dravick has said?”

Sam frowned thoughtfully. “I… Well… His ideas have merit, but…”

“But?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s improper.”

Dallus smiled knowingly. “Ah. I see. Speak, boy. Let your thoughts be heard.”

Though his face was a look of discomfort, Sam spoke. “I’m afraid to sound ignorant, but it seems to me as though all Dravick wanted to do with his discussion of The Last of Us was discount it, discredit it.” He looked up at Dallus uncertainly. “But surely that can’t be true. He’s a scholar, not an arrogant atheist.”

To his utter surprise, Dallus burst out laughing. “Oh, Gods, boy, that’s exactly what Dravick is! You haven’t studied many other pieces of his, have you?”

Sam shook his head. “No, sir. Are you sure he is? I thought I was, well…”

“Letting your beliefs get in the way of your thoughts? A little at first, perhaps, but no more than any normal scholar would. You, at least, had the sense to give him room to breathe. Many others who hold their faith in the Nine don’t even give him that.”

Sam nodded, but his face was still uncertain. “If you say so, sir. Shall I continue reading that, then?”

Dallus shook his head. “No, I won’t require that of you. That was a simple exercise to test your perceptive skills. I think we’re done for today.”