Parasite Soul by Chris Jags Read Free Book Online Page A

recalled
every detail of her lithe and nubile form with a clarity he’d never before
experienced, he wasn’t entirely sure it was his mind he was thinking with.
    The guards accompanied him into the inn for a word with the
innkeeper. They slipped the proprietor a small bag of coins. The man made a
show about being leery of the continuing presence of king’s men hovering around
his establishment, scaring away his ‘honest’ customers, but a few extra serrins
quietened him soon enough. The guards then warned Simon not to leave the
building or to discuss anything said in court with anyone in the establishment,
advising him that both they and the innkeeper would be keeping an eye on his
movements. Simon understood; he was under house arrest until the king
could reach a decision as to how many more dawns he would see.
    Much as he wanted to launch into reckless flight from the myriad
curious eyes, he took the stairs to his room carefully. The world around
him seemed to have been engulfed in a dreamlike haze which had slowed his mind
and movements. A long day of ominous introspection awaited him.
He’d gone from peasant to Dragonslayer to pariah in less than twenty-four
hours.
    Simon sighed deeply as he reached the third landing, located his
chambers, and wilted onto the straw-stuffed bed without removing his
boots. He stared at the ill-fitted beams above his head and thought it
might be a mercy if they caved in, as they threatened to, and ended it
all. He’d been an imaginative, restless lad, as long as he could
remember; head in the clouds, mind racing off on the kind of adventures most
folk just didn’t seem to have anymore. Never before in his life had he
stopped to consider that his father’s farm just might have been the place for
him after all.
     

III
    The House of Minus kept Simon waiting. Morning became midday,
midday reddening into evening at a snail’s tortuous speed. Simon spent a
good deal of time pacing, at least until his downstairs neighbor began
vigorously thumping the ceiling of his own chamber. He tried to take
meals, but only picked at them. At intervals he visited the common room,
longing for company and advice, but striking up conversation with the inn’s
patrons proved worthless because he was expressly forbidden to discuss the only
thing that was on his mind.
    Give me the noose or cut me loose, he
thought, thinking of an ancient children’s ballad which glamorized the exploits
of an arrogant highwayman who had taunted the authorities from behind the bars
of his cell. The possibility still existed that his boon would be granted
– if the foreign handmaiden acquiesced – but the longer he was made to sweat
and stew, he felt, the fainter that chance became. He prayed to Vanyon
Afterlord to keep him from his domain; to close the gates to the Realm Beyond
and refuse him access. Upsettingly, he discovered that he’d lost his
prayer stone, likely during his fight with the dragon, so he wasn’t sure if
Vanyon would even hear his prayers. Still, talking to his god leant him
the courage to tolerate the terrifying wait.
    Having returned his partially uneaten platter to the kitchens by way
of a grudging maid, Simon threw himself onto the bed and stared at the shutters
as the sky beyond them darkened. Unable to shake the sensation that the
whole city was scrutinizing him – people, animals, buildings, everyone and
everything - he’d kept them closed all day. Somewhere beyond the tangle
of threadbare streets, across the lake and over the mountains, his father
waited anxiously for news of his son. Knowing that made Simon homesick.
His life as a farmer’s son hadn’t been so terrible, after all; not the destiny
of a young man’s dreams, of course, but at least he hadn’t had to worry about
offending the chickens and getting his head cut off.
    If only I hadn’t found that stupid sword.
    A sudden sharp rap rattled the shutters, startling him out his
reverie. He sat bolt upright, astonished.
    “Who…