Son of the Hero

Parthet went back inside. Not having a light didn't seem to bother him. If he had been functioning without glasses for a month or two, it might not. I stayed outside awhile longer, watching the sky lighten.

"You ready to go, lad?" Parthet called finally.

"I guess." I went in, strapped on my pack and weapon belt, and hung my bow over my shoulder. "You don't think anyone'll say anything if I show up for breakfast armed, do you?"

"Why should they?" He shook his head when I put on my Cubs cap. "But we've really got to get you a decent hat, something properly jaunty." Jaunty? He was dressed like a contender for King of the Hobos-threadbare green work pants, red-and-black-plaid fla

"Light enough now," Parthet said, staring at the silver tracing on his bedroom door from a nose away. "Stay close, lad." He touched both sides. I saw familiar-looking gray stone. I had my rings on the tracing before Parthet let go and stepped through right behind him-cautiously, in case the floor level was different again. It wasn't. Parthet turned to make sure I was with him.

"Beats hiking through the forest," he said.

We were in a small stone room, rounded enough to let me guess that it was in a narrow tower. Beyond the door was a circular stairway-stone, not one of those tight metal things. We went down two levels. There were armed guards at the bottom, scruffy types who would have been right at home with the Wizard of Id.

"Must be breakfast time," one guard said. "Here's our wizard." The guards both wore chain mail and leather, conical helmets with nose guards. Their weapons were halberds and broadswords.

"He has someone with him this morning," the other guard said.

"A little respect!" Parthet's voice had more temper to it than I had heard before. "This is young Gil, the son of Carl and Avedell."

I don't think I can adequately describe the change that came over the guards. They stared at me and lost the look of bantering good humor. There was respect in their eyes, maybe something close to awe. They backed off and damn near bowed.

"The son of the Hero?" one of them asked. I could hear the capital letter in the tone. I noticed something peculiar too. The guard's mouth and voice were out of sync, like in a dubbed movie. I looked to Parthet, but he was watching the guards. He nodded, then started off too fast for me to ask questions. We crossed a large paved courtyard with high gray walls all around. Maybe my uncle had a magic doorway into the castle, but it sure didn't open on the dining room.

"Hold up a second," I called and Parthet waited for me. "What was that all about?"

"The churls forgot themselves. I merely upbraided them for it. More gently than they deserved."

"That's not what I mean. When you told them who I am, they did everything but kiss my feet."

"Your parents are held in high respect here. Avedell is Princess Royal and Carl is King's Champion, Hero of Varay."

"And what's wrong with their mouths? The words didn't match the way their lips were moving."

That slowed Parthet for a second. "English isn't the language of Varay, but part of the magic of the seven kingdoms lets everyone hear his own language, no matter what is spoken."

"You're in sync, though."

"I speak English as much as anything, I suppose."

"Another question. Since you've got a magical doorway into the castle, why not to a more convenient location? Like the great hall, for instance."

Parthet started walking again, more leisurely. "It wouldn't do to have such a doorway into a critical place inside all the defenses. There is a chance that an enemy might gain access to a doorway, and perhaps to the keys. And my cottage is open to anyone." We walked on, and he shook his head. "Actually, there are ways into the keep, but not from my place. It doesn't matter. I'm close enough for meals." He bashed his staff against a small door twenty feet left of a huge set of double doors, and another guard opened it.

"Good morning, Parthet," this guard said, nodding respectfully.

"Good morning, Lesh," Parthet replied cheerfully. "Is the table ready?"

"At the crack of dawn, as always, Lord Wizard." There was no mockery in Lesh's voice. I got the impression he liked Parthet.

"You might a

Lesh's face went fu

"The Lord Wizard of Varay, and His Highness Prince Gil Tyner." The words really boomed out.

"Am I hearing thing?" I asked Parthet.

"Unless your ears have quit working." He chuckled, then gri

The great hall was eighty feet long, thirty wide, and twenty high at the edges, rising to an arched ceiling supported by massive timbers about forty feet above the floor along the center ridge. There were tapestries and sconces on the walls, several immense fireplaces, bunches of weapons, both long and short. People were sitting at two rough tables that met in a T. Other people loitered about. Even a few animals. The tables were the focus of the room, with the smaller table at the head of the T raised a couple of feet above the other, on a dais. The head table was sparsely populated, but the lower had some thirty people sitting at it, waiting for the food that was just then being hauled in.

People turned to look at us. A young boy, maybe nine or ten years old, hurried toward us and bowed.

"Good morning, my lords," he said, his voice shaking as if we were the Lords High Executioner.

"Good morning, lad," Parthet said. I managed a greeting of my own-almost as shaky as the boy's.

"This way, my lords." He led us toward the head table.

"Uncle Parker?" I asked under my breath.

"Not now," he whispered. "Not now."

We were seated near the center of the high table, facing the lower. I was placed next to what had to be the king's chair-not a proper throne perhaps, but the fanciest seat around, higher and wider and decorated with fancy carvings. I sat down and Parthet leaned close.

"Tell everyone to sit," he whispered. Everyone at the lower table was standing.

"Sit down, please," I said, feeling very self-conscious. "Don't let me interrupt." They sat, but there wasn't the same murmur of conversation that I had heard from the doorway. The meal wasn't in full swing yet either. Servants were still toting in food.

Food. There was plenty: whole hams, huge bowls of steaming scrambled eggs, greasy fried potatoes, mountains of sausage and bacon, buckets of hot cereal, 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."