Prophecy of the Flame - Book One

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Prophecy of the Flame - Copyright 2011 by Lynn Hardy

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Reba, I ask one thing from this meeting: another reality check.” Allinon opens the breakfast with a dismal but courteous request. “We are marching onto our first battlefield: I think a reminder that this is now real life—and real death—will be invaluable.”

“Why don’t you start?” I give him a brief smile of approval.

“Let me begin by saying that, Reba, I’m amazed at the job you’ve done. I didn’t think you had it in you. I’m proud to be part of this group.”

False gratitude shines in my eyes. He moves on to the business at hand. “As I said before, I’m separated from my wife. After what I’ve learned here about attitude, I have hope for my marriage for the first time in years. So much makes sense now. For this reason I will be doing my best to get through this war with my skin intact.” Allinon’s humble acknowledgment leaves us all speechless.

Clearing my throat, I try to lighten the mood. “Well, it looks like you’ve outdone me this time. I don’t have another ‘Doublemint’ surprise to top that.” Surrounded by masculine chuckling, I struggle to think of something to contribute. “I thought I would conserve power by activating all my battle spells and letting my energy recoup over night. Well, I learned a valuable lesson: never activate a Conan spell the night before you need it. It is said that Arnold Schwarzenegger used to push Maria Shriver out of bed without knowing it, back in his bodybuilding days. With ten times his strength, I ripped my sheets to shreds.” When I get a quartet of disbelieving looks, I add, “Ask Crystal if you don’t believe me.”

“Laks?” Charles asks my maid in Cuthburish.

The look of exasperation she gives says more than my story did. The rest of the group laughs as Allinon glares at me. I discern fear stirring in the elf.

“I don’t think that really counts. After all, this is a reality check.” A fraction of sarcasm enters the druid’s voice. He hides it well, but he, too, is truly upset by this world.

“The only thing I can think of to contribute is something you men probably would never dream of even thinking about. I said before, I have no kids. It’s not for lack of trying. My tubes were deteriorated by endometriosis. Since the damage was done back on earth, there's a real possibility that I’ll never be able to have the children I’ve wanted all my life. I guess that’s another reason this prophecy is total crap. Me marrying the next king won’t be very helpful if I can’t produce an heir.”

“Reba, why didn’t you say something sooner?” Jamison reaches out to take my hand, “With healing magic . . .”

“No worries, J, with all that's been going on since we got here, well, none of us needed another problem to think about.” I give him a brief smile. “Besides, I got those magic pills to try when I get back.”

“Reba, that's definitely not something that would ever cross my mind.” Charles’s joke falls flat. “Let’s see. . . facts. . . I’m gonna propose to my girl. Women of this world have been great, awesome, everything I have ever dreamed and then some, but I find myself missing the little things.” The ebony engineer shakes his head. “I can’t believe I miss her even more than my computer!”

“Now that’s a shock,” Jerik’s voice grumbles into the silence. “I thought you were enjoying this bachelor’s dream of moral decadence. Me, well, my marriage has been screwed from day one. She got pregnant, we got married, and she had a miscarriage. We both have been too chicken to admit we made a mistake. By staying here, I’m helping us both out.” Straight to the point, Jerik is as direct as the hammer he wields in the smithy.