The Heir Apparent by Joel Rosenberg

Author:Joel Rosenberg [Rosenberg, Joel]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, General
ISBN: 9780451162120
Google: CNyoAAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0451162129
Publisher: Roc
Published: 1987-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

"Before dark..."

All is flux; nothing stays still.

—Heraclitus

Vator the hostler was silent that morning as he banged on the wooden ladder that led up to the loft, bringing Jason his breakfast of fresh brown bread and raw onion. While Jason ate his sketchy meal, he and Vator turned the animals out into the yard.

Then Vator left, mumbling something about some business with the smith down the street, after setting him to mucking out the stalls.

Jason was left to his own devices; the fat man was simply too busy to supervise him. His pasty-faced wife and three ragged children were no help, as they spent their day just outside of town, working the few acres that provided Vator with grain and vegetables for both animals and table.

He had always said that a bit of hard work was good for the soul; Jason couldn't see it. But a lot of what his father did didn't make much sense to Jason. While he liked horses and all, there really didn't seem to be a whole lot of value or knowledge to be gained from being up to your calves in horseshit, the smell combining with a nauseating breakfast—such as it was—to set you gagging.

Didn't make much sense at all.

A lot of things didn't make much sense.

His fists clenched around the handle of the spadelike manure fork, as an image welled up of Valeran falling away, blood fountaining around the stuck hiltdeep in his right eyesocket...

No. Make it go away.

He hadn't slept well; he had had nightmares all night. That wasn't new; he'd always had nightmares, as far back as he could remember. Too many nights brought visions of himself wading through pools of blood and gore, accompanied by friendly faces who would turn suddenly vicious, huge fangs growing from their jaws, drool falling from the corners of their mouths only to hiss and steam on the ground below.

Usually, he was gone, off raiding in Jason's early years, off governing in the later ones. So Jason's screams would wake his mother. She would come to him, shake him gently awake, and hold him tightly, a smile always on her face, as though dispelling his nightmares was a great joy.

If that failed, she would mutter a few quick words that could only be forgotten, and her fingers would quirk into awkward and powerful contortions, as she beckoned lights from the darkness, whirling blinking motes of ruby, emerald, and actinic blue through a dance of reassurance and comfort.

Sometimes, if the dreams persisted—and when she was in residence; often she was in Home while he was in Biemestren, or vice versa—Aeia would spend the night holding him, until he decided that he had grown too old for that.

Twice that he could remember, Karl Cullinane had been home during the worst of Jason's nightmares. Both times, he sat next to Jason's bed, sometimes allowing himself to nod off, but holding his hand through the night.

Lately, Valeran had been the one to be wakened by his cries.

The

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