Chapter 2

The last time I had been at the Buyan Palace was for an awards ceremony. My small group of heroes had averted the near-catastrophic Zibong invasion and were awarded medals by the King for our "brave actions in saving the Kingdom from near disaster." Gaku had been overawed by the whole ceremony, and he still proudly wears his medal on his new Moon Robe. Blaster, of course, accepted the praise as his due. He has always believed that Muses don't receive enough honors. If it were up to me, I would have given him half the Kingdom. But that would have meant that he would have had to marry Princess Lasahn. I don't think ANYONE is that desperate for a kingdom!

PteriDae and I politely received our medals, thanked everyone, and have never mentioned it since. We felt our reward for winning the Zibong War was that we had found each other again.

The Palace had certainly changed—every room was bustling with activity. I passed a room full of young boys and girls in their bright red page clothes. I swear I heard the words "flunky" and "old fart" drift out.

My instructions, once I had told the young page I would accept the summons, were to meet "Lord Morgan" in his office near the back of the Palace. I felt that if I was going to the back of the Palace anyway, I might as well peek in on the kitchens.

Did I mention that I was a cook?

Dressed in my casual peasant robes, I didn't attract much attention at first. Then one of the junior cooks spotted me checking the seasoning in a broth pot.

"Out!" he yelled, running toward me and brandishing a wooden spoon. "You! Get out of my kitchens!"

"This broth is in need of some salt," I calmly replied, locating a dish on the nearby table. I tossed a pinch into the pot.

"Stop that! You old peasant!" striking at me with spoon he had been waving about. It snapped in two. When you have been fighting dragons as long as I have, a wooden spoon doesn't make much of a dent.

The cook examined what was left of his spoon, then carefully prodded my rock-hard biceps. I ignored him while I checked the loose joints on a lovely roast fowl.

"Lucas!" A short man clad all in white bustled over to us, grabbed the junior cook by the ear, and dragged the young fellow over to a tub overflowing with vegetables. "Clean these!"

The short man rolled his immense girth back towards where I stood with my nose in a sauce that was bubbling merrily in front of an amused apprentice.

"Lord Gareth! Well met!" he bellowed. "It has been a long time since you and your lovely wife have been in to visit. Oh, excuse me, I guess that was before the First Zibong War. How insensitive of me? She died, no?"

I tasted the fragrant sauce. It roared through my mouth like Hellfire, and I quickly turned to the sink pump for water, but the young apprentice was already pouring me a large flagon of it. After gulping it all down, I felt I could talk again.

"What is that stuff?" I croaked, waving at the apprentice to pour more water.

"Piquant, no?" The short chef chuckled. "It is based on some curiously wrinkled orange peppers I got from a trader. That is the base sauce for my entry in this year's Cook-Off. Think it will win?"

"If you get to go first, it will at least be a draw," I croaked, wiping my sweaty brow on a towel, "You will kill the judges!"