Read Online The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) by Michael Foster - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Foster
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in the streets and, at times, they would let him take part. His uncle and aunt always made comments on how slow and lazy Samuel was, but their comments, so often said, had little meaning for him. If they had set an example, he would not mind, but they did little to help with the chores themselves. He soon realised that he hated them and any time he heard that some guest had crept away without paying, or some other bad thing had happened inside, he felt jubilant and laughed aloud at their misfortune.
The guests of the inn were usually rude to Samuel, too. It seemed to be the accepted way of treating stable boys and Samuel heard his uncle telling one customer to take to him with a stick if he was too slow. The patrons were often full of precise instructions regarding their horses and Samuel quickly learned when to follow them with exactness and when to ignore them altogether. He could tell that some people were fastidious and would check his work with strict scrutiny. Others were either trusting or lazy and would never know if their horses were properly fed or not.
His uncle taught him how to check the horses’ feet, shoes, teeth and general health, but the lessons were never enjoyable with the ill-tempered man and most of the jobs ranged from difficult to impossible for Samuel as he was just too small. Some of the horses were pleasant, quiet animals, while others matched the disposition of their owners—malicious, stubborn and prone to kicking.
One afternoon, long after he had lost any hope of salvation from his new existence, Samuel returned to the inn, having fetched a sizeable leg of salted ham from the butchers as he had been instructed. He had spent probably five times longer than necessary on this errand and had only returned home when he had exhausted all other possible distractions for the day.
‘Uncle,’ Samuel called out innocently from beside the kitchen door. Within moments, the door burst open and his uncle’s great hairy fist plucked up the ham, flinging it behind him onto one of the kitchen benches. Samuel immediately recognised an evil temper and turned to be off.
‘Stay right there, you little son of a bastard!’ his uncle roared and Samuel froze in his steps.
The rotund man struggled out through the kitchen door and stood over Samuel. He was sweating and stank, even to Samuel, who was criticised for his stench by strangers and locals alike on a daily basis. His uncle’s hairy arm shot out with surprising speed for such a monstrous man, and threw Samuel hard against the wall. Samuel gasped as his legs buckled underneath him.
‘You filthy little thief!’ his uncle yelled. ‘Is this the thanks I get for helping my own flesh and blood?’ Spittle was flying thick and free. Samuel stayed on all fours, not willing to get up and be struck again, hoping for the fire to burn down in his uncle’s temper. ‘I’ve been worried sick that thieves had made off with my valuables and then I find one of my best lamps hidden in your room!’
A booted foot took Samuel by surprise as it came crashing into his ribs. It made him yell and his eyes began watering, but Samuel refused to cry in front of his uncle.
‘If I catch you stealing again, the gods help me so I won’t kill you myself!’ He turned to move inside. ‘Damned brat!’ he yelled and slammed the door shut.
Samuel slowly pulled himself up and limped back to the stable. Every moment, every breath, brought a knifelike stabbing into his chest. He sat on his cot, clutching his side and wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. He would have his revenge on both of them, he promised himself. He vowed they would regret the way they treated him and he began to imagine all the terrible things he could do to them.
‘Samuel?’ came a soft voice from the doorway, but Samuel turned away from her.
Jessicah came in and sat beside him. She put her arms around him and said nothing. Samuel’s stubbornness quickly dissipated at her touch and he began
The guests of the inn were usually rude to Samuel, too. It seemed to be the accepted way of treating stable boys and Samuel heard his uncle telling one customer to take to him with a stick if he was too slow. The patrons were often full of precise instructions regarding their horses and Samuel quickly learned when to follow them with exactness and when to ignore them altogether. He could tell that some people were fastidious and would check his work with strict scrutiny. Others were either trusting or lazy and would never know if their horses were properly fed or not.
His uncle taught him how to check the horses’ feet, shoes, teeth and general health, but the lessons were never enjoyable with the ill-tempered man and most of the jobs ranged from difficult to impossible for Samuel as he was just too small. Some of the horses were pleasant, quiet animals, while others matched the disposition of their owners—malicious, stubborn and prone to kicking.
One afternoon, long after he had lost any hope of salvation from his new existence, Samuel returned to the inn, having fetched a sizeable leg of salted ham from the butchers as he had been instructed. He had spent probably five times longer than necessary on this errand and had only returned home when he had exhausted all other possible distractions for the day.
‘Uncle,’ Samuel called out innocently from beside the kitchen door. Within moments, the door burst open and his uncle’s great hairy fist plucked up the ham, flinging it behind him onto one of the kitchen benches. Samuel immediately recognised an evil temper and turned to be off.
‘Stay right there, you little son of a bastard!’ his uncle roared and Samuel froze in his steps.
The rotund man struggled out through the kitchen door and stood over Samuel. He was sweating and stank, even to Samuel, who was criticised for his stench by strangers and locals alike on a daily basis. His uncle’s hairy arm shot out with surprising speed for such a monstrous man, and threw Samuel hard against the wall. Samuel gasped as his legs buckled underneath him.
‘You filthy little thief!’ his uncle yelled. ‘Is this the thanks I get for helping my own flesh and blood?’ Spittle was flying thick and free. Samuel stayed on all fours, not willing to get up and be struck again, hoping for the fire to burn down in his uncle’s temper. ‘I’ve been worried sick that thieves had made off with my valuables and then I find one of my best lamps hidden in your room!’
A booted foot took Samuel by surprise as it came crashing into his ribs. It made him yell and his eyes began watering, but Samuel refused to cry in front of his uncle.
‘If I catch you stealing again, the gods help me so I won’t kill you myself!’ He turned to move inside. ‘Damned brat!’ he yelled and slammed the door shut.
Samuel slowly pulled himself up and limped back to the stable. Every moment, every breath, brought a knifelike stabbing into his chest. He sat on his cot, clutching his side and wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. He would have his revenge on both of them, he promised himself. He vowed they would regret the way they treated him and he began to imagine all the terrible things he could do to them.
‘Samuel?’ came a soft voice from the doorway, but Samuel turned away from her.
Jessicah came in and sat beside him. She put her arms around him and said nothing. Samuel’s stubbornness quickly dissipated at her touch and he began
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