Michael Manning - The God-Stone War

My large friend grimaced, “I’d like to, but Rose and I already have a prior commitment this evening. In fact I was going to ask if you’d mind sending us to Albamarl later. We’re planning to visit her family in the city for a few days.”

Requests such as this were a daily occurrence… so much so, that I had restored the large circle at James Lancaster’s private house in Lancaster. Since he had become our monarch, James had little use for the house, so we used it and the storage buildings there for moving goods and people to and fro, between Castle Cameron and Albamarl. It had gotten to be such a frequent need, that Walter and I had set up a schedule, and nearly every day one of us would ferry people and things back and forth between the two circles, usually around noon. The possibilities created by instantaneous travel, and the increase in Washbrook’s prosperity, had been the inspiration for the giant World Road project that consumed so much of my time currently.

“I don’t mind at all,” I answered him. “We can use the circle to my house in Albamarl.”

Dorian nodded, “Sounds good, that way Rose and I can at least say hello before we traipse off to see Lord Hightower.”

I took another spoonful and felt a burning sensation spreading from mouth to stomach. In my bowl, the broth looked deceptively tame. The soup was light brown with small bits of meat and vegetables swimming in it. The flavors were delightful, but I was fearful of what consequences might result from the powerful spices it contained. I reached for the bread, hoping to calm the fires in my mouth.

“Is it good?” Marcus asked me. There was an almost hidden smirk on his lips as he spoke.

“Quite,” I managed to say. Sweat was beginning to bead on my forehead. I really did like the dish, but I was afraid to admit that its heat might be too much for me. Marissa sat across the table from me, and I didn’t want to offend her. She was such a demure woman, her eyes rarely left her plate to meet my own.

“What was it called again?” Penny asked. Her bowl was already empty. As Marissa had been ladling out the portions, Penelope had been honest enough to admit her palate could only take so much spice and our hostess had given her a very small portion. As a result, she was now enjoying the more moderate parts of dinner, while I was still struggling with a bowl full of liquid fire.

“My people call it dag’n sufir, ” Marissa responded modestly. “It is thought to give strength and passion to those who eat it, and because of that, is one of our most popular recipes.”

Penny’s curiosity was piqued, “I thought you were from Albamarl.”

“I moved here after joining the Church of Celior, but I am originally from Agraden,” answered our hostess. As usual, I felt slightly uncomfortable at the mention of Celior, since I was directly responsible for the imprisonment of her god, as well as the banishment of his priesthood from the capital. Marc had frequently reassured me that she had come to terms with the reality of the situation, but I still wondered if she might have some secret resentment.

“Isn’t that where Cyhan is from?” Penny said, nudging me from my unpleasant thoughts.

Though he almost never spoke of his origins, much less his birthplace, I did know that much about the deadly man who had become one of my most trusted knights. “Yes, at least that’s what he told me, Agraden, the jewel of the southern desert.” It was known as the ‘jewel’ of the southern desert because of the large oasis that it was built around. It was a lush, almost tropical city in the midst of an arid wasteland.

I managed another bite of the soup. If only Dorian had stayed for dinner. I would have dearly loved to see his face as he tried to eat this. While I considered myself to have an adventurous palate, our childhood friend was entirely the opposite. Dorian had been known to blanch at overly spiced potatoes, and by ‘spiced’ I meant salt and a pinch of pepper. Marc grinned at me as if he could read my thoughts. Glancing at Marissa to make sure her eyes weren’t on me, I mouthed the words ‘ you bastard’ at Marc.

“Your bowl is almost empty. Did you want some more?” he asked immediately.

“I’m afraid I might not have enough room for dessert if I eat any more,” I responded, keeping my face neutral. Marissa’s eyes were on me now.

“No need for modesty, Mort! I can tell you want more, here…,” he leaned over and spooned the last portion into my bowl.

I briefly considered doing something seriously unpleasant to my childhood friend, but before I could decide on the specifics, Marissa spoke, “I am amazed at your appetite. Even my family limit themselves to one portion normally. Not many can handle such strong flavors.”

It was a good bet that I could not handle such strong flavors either, but I wasn’t about to hurt her feelings. “I may regret it later, but right now I can hardly restrain myself,” I told her. “We have nothing like this in Washbrook.”

“I could give you the recipe if you like, Countess. Perhaps if you passed it along to your cook he…” Marissa began, addressing Penelope.

Penny interrupted her, “Penny. Call me Penny and don’t be silly, if you’re willing, you can teach me the recipe directly. I’d love to make it for Mort myself.”

“Would you like to help me with the dessert? I can show you the spices I use while we are in the kitchen,” said Marissa.

Marc and I were left sitting alone, and I gave him a hard stare. Rising quickly, I took my remaining soup to the front door and used my magic to clean the bowl out, sending the spicy stew down the nearest gutter. He said nothing as I returned to my seat, but his smile spoke volumes.

“No wonder you haven’t gained any weight,” I commented.

“I love her cooking, but that stuff will scour the very flesh from your bones, my friend. It’s a mercy she only makes it for special occasions,” he said with a laugh.

“You could have warned me!”

“That would have ruined the fun. Plus, I had hoped we would be able to draw Dorian into the trap as well. I would have dearly loved to see him attempting what you just ate. I’m impressed at how far you made it.”

I shook my head in wonder, “You really do have a cruel streak. When are you going to have some children to teach your bad habits?”

A shadow passed across Marc’s face. “I’m pretty sure I can’t have children, Mort.”

“Why?” I said, without thinking. Then I wondered if perhaps his time as Millicenth’s avatar had sterilized him.

“I have no idea, but it isn’t because of the goddess, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was taking chances long before that happened, but nothing ever came of it,” he replied.

Before he had been chosen by the goddess, my friend had been an absolute plague upon the young noblewomen of Albamarl. If he hadn’t taken any precautions then… “Are you certain?” I asked.

“As certain as I can be. Marissa and I have tried, and I wanted to give her a child, but it seems that the fates have decided otherwise. It’s probably for the best anyway,” he said, with a dark note to his voice.

I didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

He looked toward the kitchen. “They’re returning. I’ll explain later.”

Marissa led the way carrying two elegant glasses filled with a thick yellow cream. Penny was close behind her with two more glasses. “You’re going to love this,” said Penny. Her eyes were wide in an expression that told me she had just discovered something incredible.

I accepted the glass that Marissa handed me and was rewarded with a delicate lemon scent rising from it. “What is this called?”