The Darkness Steals The Light: The Elim Chronicles by Mark Kirkbride

Author:Mark Kirkbride [Kirkbride, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elim Publishing
Published: 2024-03-14T00:00:00+00:00

Lord Varesh peers through a small open window in the inn, where, through the dense steam, a hidden kingdom resides. A dominion of plenty, with infernal fires and boiling tides. In this hidden world, savory dogma is born, and piquant philosophies reign supreme. Sleepless hands weave artistry for the nose, tongue, and teeth. Salty brine flows on consommé tides, and the world rains tears that fall bitter, sweet, and sour. Intense maillard marinates a seasonal feast. A blast of crisp air cuts through the infernal heat. Carnal words whisper of epicurean wet dreams.

“Gentle, gentle. Nice and slow.” A heavily accented Tivanian voice says, obscured by the steam. “The knife must be warmed for a clean slice. Not too thick or too thin. Yes, that's it. Perfect. Now, lay her down. Be careful now. Add a few springs of wild herbs and a light sprinkle of bay salt and Tivanian lemon. Perfect, now with a sprinkle of roasted and salted hazelnuts. Ah, yes, now the black gold. Let's shave you nice and tight. Liberal, yes. Oh my word, she is a thing of beauty! Here she is. Wild Duck Pate with Thielian Summer Truffles and Roasted Hazelnuts. Send it to the top table and serve it with warmed walnut sourdough and a new-season cherry preserve. I recommend my family wine, the first pick. The finest in Aradesh.”

The steam in the kitchen evaporates as a door opens with a blast of cooling air. A bald giant of a man stands in the heart of the kitchen. Bare-chested and tattooed from head to toe, his body shines in a fine layer of pearly sweat. He runs a massive hand over his glistening bald head and then wipes away the sweat on a dirty rag hanging from his belt. His enormous bulk stands before an immaculately polished white marble table that shines with a selection of silver knives, laid out in perfection, side by side, not more than a thumb's width apart in order of height.

The giant chef leans over a white porcelain platter of roasted turbot. His thick fingers dip into tiny pots of salts, spices, and herbs. He then sprinkles the fish with an array of salt with a flamboyant flourish.

The mountainous chef plucks tiny, bright flowers from small herb pots with delicate fingertips, and then, with a dainty flourish, he places them on the glistening roasted fish. He then adds a light squeeze of lemon and a drizzle of golden oil. The chef stands back to admire his culinary artistry, beaming a giant broken-tooth smile of golden teeth.

The eager serving hands of a serving boy whip the plate away and out to the dining room.

The enormous chef calls his commands in a surprisingly soft, sing-song voice. “Polish the new-season potatoes. Shuck the oysters. Debone the quails. Butter the sauces. Baste the fish.”

"Aye, Coilette," calls back a small army of cooks from the kitchen's steamy depths.

Coilette sings more kitchen commands as he wipes his massive hands on his filthy rag. “Trim the legs of marshland lamb.

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