Son of the Hero by Rick Shelley Read Free Book Online

whole tomatoes and melons, pitchers of juice and coffee, long loaves of still-hot bread.
    “I told you they set a good table,” Parthet said.
    “Looks like.” My stomach grumbled in anticipation. I had everything but the mush. Two pages served me larger portions than I would have dreamed of taking myself, and I didn’t leave a scrap. I even had seconds on some things. Everything was greasy and highly seasoned except the bread, tomatoes, and melons. The juice was orange and tart. The coffee was bitter and strong. Parthet ate a lot more than I did. He even shoveled in two bowls of mush.
    “Where’s the king?” I asked.
    “Probably sleeping,” Parthet whispered. “The last decade he hasn’t been nearly as spry as he once was.”
    “Is he as old as you?”
    “Oh, my, no, not by a long patch. He’s—let’s see—he’s my brother’s umpty-something-great-grandson. He must be getting close to one hundred and twenty-five, though, and that’s pushing it for him, I fear.”
    “Why is one hundred and twenty-five pushing it for him if you’re six hundred and something?”
    “I’m a wizard.” He stuffed in a couple of mouthfuls of food and dealt with them before he added, “A lot more than six hundred. There are some benefits to the craft, even if you’re not very good at it. Initiation confers certain magics that you don’t have to muck about with yourself.”
    I would have continued, but Parthet busied himself loading his platter again, with just as much food as the first time. He had to serve himself, but all I had to do was glance toward a serving tray and those two kids, the pages, rushed to transfer heaping portions to my plate. I was hungry enough not to get too upset by the attention. I didn’t even have time to be surprised at how much food I was shoveling in. Finally though, I was filled ready to burst. I pushed my platter away and started to push my chair away from the table. Parthet quickly reached over and stopped me.
    “Don’t get up or everyone’ll think that the meal is over,” he said around his food.
    I nodded and settled down again. More coffee. A little more of the hot bread. The coffee was rotten enough to make anyone want to fight. I watched the people at the lower table but tried to be inconspicuous about it. I wanted a better feel for this world, wherever it was—whatever it was. Most of the people at the table had to be guards, soldiers, minor court functionaries. Maybe knights. None of them looked very fancy, not like in the movies—you know, King Arthur and Camelot, Robin Hood and Sherwood Forest, that sort of thing. Some of these jokers looked like common thugs, men that street cops would roust just on general principles. Others looked like winos at a skid-row mission. It was a while before I found out that I wasn’t far wrong.
    Parthet quit eating, sat up bolt straight, and stared toward the side of the hall. I turned to see what had captured his attention.
    “I guess that’s it for breakfast,” he said, and he sighed.
    “Why? Who is it?”
    “Baron Kardeen, Lord High Chamberlain.” The baron, came right to us. Someone had given him the word, because he wasn’t surprised to see me.
    “Your Highness,” he said with a gesture that was more nod than bow. “It’s good to finally see you back at court.” Back?”
    “Baron,” I said with a nod that was carefully just a fraction less than his. That came naturally.
    “Parthet, I see that you can still surprise us on occasion.”
    “I try. Has His Majesty risen yet?”
    “He’s up and anxious to see his grandson.”
    “That’s good,” Parthet said. “We’re anxious to see His Majesty.” That seemed to be a proper cue. I stood. So did Parthet—and everyone else.
    “Go ahead, keep eating,” I said, waving toward the people at the lower table. A few sat down quickly. Others were slower, but by the time Parthet and I left the room, most of the people had returned to their victuals.
    We went out a side door, down