Legends of Lasniniar Quicksilver coverLegends of Lasniniar: Quicksilver

Series: The World of Lasniniar

Hero of Lasniniar. Dwarvenhome’s Chief of Clans. Barlo can claim both these titles, and more. (But never ‘Master Chef.’)

Brave, stubborn, and loyal to a fault, he takes pride in his judgment of character. And he holds no qualms about sharing his opinions. (Much to his elf friend Iarion’s chagrin.)

…Even when it means he must tell an unwelcome truth.

A stand-alone story of the infamous Barlo and Iarion from the World of Lasniniar epic fantasy series by Jacquelyn Smith.

→ Read an Excerpt

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This title is also available as part of the Void Walker Lasniniar Collection.

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Quicksilver Excerpt

Barlo softly hummed a dwarven tune as he checked on the contents of his compact, iron stove for the umpteenth time. Hot air warmed his face and made the whiskers of his long, brown beard seem to sizzle. His bushy brows knit together in a scowl.

The cake hadn’t risen yet.

The edges were browning, sure enough. But the middle was still a sunken, sodden mess.

He slammed the metal door closed with a curse. How? How had he managed to mess it up this time?

He had followed the instructions of Narilga’s recipe exactly. He went to the sanded, wooden table and ran a finger along his deceased wife’s elegant scrawl in the hand-bound recipe book to check again.

Wait. Did I use one third of a cup of toadstools, or two thirds?

He threw his callused hands in the air and turned away with a grumble of annoyance.

Bah! Why am I even bothering with this nonsense anyway?

Barlo was no chef, and he had no real desire to become one. He was happy enough being the former Chief of Clans of Dwarvenhome, a hero of Lasniniar, and the only dwarf to ever be reborn.

No, the cake was meant to prove a point.

For years, Iarion had mocked Barlo about the cake he had attempted to make for Narilga’s birthday. Both Barlo and his elf friend had consumed the initial test-run version, and it had ended badly for both of them. Barlo’s lips twitched. The only silver lining of the event was the memory of Iarion heaving from both ends, so to speak.

Still, Barlo tired of Iarion’s continual references to the failed cake, to the point where he was actually trying to redeem himself.

Not that it was going very well.

Maybe Narilga didn’t make the recipe exactly as it’s written.

For centuries, Barlo had been a metalsmith by trade, which was hardly an exact science. No, you had to make adjustments as you went along, depending on how things went. He pursed his lips. Perhaps baking was the same…

An abrupt knock at the door of his burrow scattered his thoughts. He left the kitchen and walked past the sitting room to answer.

He found Lodariel waiting on the other side, her knuckles still raised.

“He’s seeing her again, isn’t he?” the elf woman said as she ducked through the low door and shouldered her way inside.

“Hello, Lodariel,” Barlo said in a dry voice as he closed the sturdy, wooden door behind her. “Nice to see you too.”

[Copyright © Jacquelyn Smith, 2021]

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