Heir to Chaos by Holmes Adrian

Author:Holmes, Adrian
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2024-03-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

‘Master Deven! As I live and breathe, you look like even more of a prick than when I saw you last.’ A short round man with a flat nose and a moustache that nearly covered his bottom lip stood in the doorway of Fortem Manor. He was pulling on a rolled-up cigarette and blowing smoke into the pale-lit sky.

Deven laughed. ‘Quentin, you bald sack of shit. Your face looks as though it got in a fight with a horse’s hoof and lost something dreadful.’ He gave the stocky gent a firm slap on the arm, nearly forgetting he was not alone.

‘This is Baelor,’ Deven continued. ‘He has been my tutor for the last couple of weeks. Baelor, this sorry excuse of a human is Quentin, my father’s stable hand and carriage driver.’ Baelor nodded politely and walked past the short horse master to stand inside. Good at swinging a sword but useless at small talk.

Quentin pointed to Deven’s dirt-riddled clothes. ‘I must say, young Fortem, it is good to see you looking so fresh and vibrant and at one with nature. It warms my heart to know that while the real men are out handling important business,’ he nodded over to the carriage, ‘you’re out rolling around in the muck with a ridiculous rucksack.’ The man had the voice of a congested frog, but it always put Deven at ease to hear it.

‘The only business you’ve been a part of lately, Quentin, is when the hair on the top of your head shook hands with your arse and decided to move south.’ Deven’s smile grew wide.

Quentin looked as though he was about to toss the remnants of his cigarette to the ground and ram his pointed boot into Deven’s gut, but he barrelled over and burst into a booming, hoarse laugh. Perhaps the exhaustion had stripped Deven of his senses, but Quentin’s laugh seemed funnier than usual. You never knew whether to join in or call a doctor.

Deven smacked him on the back, his own laughter mixing with the stable master’s. ‘I missed you, you old slug.’

‘And I you, young sir,’ Quentin boomed. ‘I wasn’t expecting that one. I was worried I might see my oats again for a second there.’

Baelor glanced over at them and shook his head, like a teacher trying to gain control of two unruly students.

‘Tell me,’ Deven said. ‘How is Father? Is he in good form?’

Quentin coughed and sputtered. ‘I think it’s best you go in and talk to him yourself. His time with the king was … stressful, to say the least.’

Deven’s stomach did a somersault at the thought of his father seeing his filthy clothes and battered appearance. It did a triple somersault at the thought of him seeing it while he had a foul mood.

‘Right,’ Deven muttered. ‘I better go in then. Your stench is getting a bit much for me anyway.’ Quentin chuckled to himself and lit another cigarette. Deven gave him a pat on the shoulder before joining Baelor at the door and the two of them headed inside.

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