Parasite Soul Read Online Free PDF

etched line of astonishment on
Brannock’s face; Tovoch’s even more so as the announcement was made to the
camp. He thought he was probably lucky that there was a strong guard
presence at the camp, or he might have found himself with a new smile a bit
lower than his chin.
    Rowland and Brannock bundled him into a carriage with much less pomp
and circumstance than was due a triumphant hero; the fleeting concern that even
the guardsmen might be inclined to truss him up and dump in the lake rather
than allow him to sully their petulant princess with his peasant hands crossed
his mind. But the die was cast: whether his night ended as fodder
for fishes, or the next day dawned on a vista of wealth and luxury, Simon would
never return to the simple life of a peasant ever again.
     

II
    The interior of the royal palace in Vingate was less impressive than
Simon might have hoped. Yes, it was large, but as Simon had recently
seen, large things just fell harder. Size alone didn’t impress him, and
the palace, though its antiquity leant it a certain solemnity, was hardly
awe-inspiring. The architecture was bluntly utilitarian and the stones
ill-fitted. Occasionally the walls bulged or leaned crazily so that he
felt uncomfortable in their shadow. Centuries of foot traffic had worn
smooth grooves in the corridors. Some of these flaws were disguised by
rugs and tapestries, in the same way that one might dress a corpse in their
finest to impress Vanyon, Lord of the Afterworld.
    Having been kept under guard at a local inn for the remaining hours of
the night, Simon had, that morning, been fed and provided a clean and
presentable tunic for his audience with King Minus and his daughter. He
hadn’t been allowed to leave. No doubt the powers of the kingdom had
assembled to discuss his fate. Assuming that neither the king nor any of
his advisors were happy with the notion of marrying the princess off to a
peasant, Simon judged himself lucky to have survived the night. On the
bright side, the crooked old woman sent to fit him with his new tunic seemed to
feel that Tiera would, if nothing else, be favorably impressed with his
appearance.
    “She fancies lads of your type,” the crone had croakily assured
him. “Eyes as clear and blue as the heavens! Hair like a griffin’s
golden mane, such a strong jawline…” She’d cupped his chin and trailed a finger
across his chest, causing him to wonder uncomfortably whether it was really the
princess she was speaking for.
    Nonetheless, he’d gotten himself an audience. If the King was
prepared to acknowledge him publicly, he probably wasn’t planning to renege on
his word. Simon was beginning to believe he might become one of the very
few men to set foot inside of a royal bedchamber after all! The thought
terrified and excited him. What would his father say when he brought his
new bride to visit?
    In his imagination he’d been honored with a triumphant parade
through the streets of Vingate. That hadn’t happened. Instead, his
escort had appeared eager to avoid attention. Simon had felt like a
common criminal as he was marched through nondescript back alleys and across
crumbling bridges which probably predated permanent human settlement in the
area.
    The city entirely disappointed him. While impressive from a
distance, at close quarters the streets were unpleasantly dingy and drab.
The majority of the residences were uninspiringly blocky, functional without
regard to form. There was little personality to distinguish them from one
other. Only one edifice stood out: the colossal church of Vanyon Afterlord
reached impressively for the heavens with a crest of spires reminiscent of the
spine fins of an angry leviathan. Otherwise, Vingate was an unremarkable,
disagreeably dull sea of brick and stone.
    Trumping its lackluster appearance was the city’s assault on the
olfactory senses. Few of the smells drifting through the alleyways were
flattering. Filth crusted the cobblestones, the alleys reeked of