The following day after her bruising first match on the Isle of the Eye, My‑re strolled down the main road into Willow Beach, a little slower than normal, reading Galen Shanmarrik's newsletter column of yesterday’s arena matches. She wanted to peruse it for warriors to challenge in two weeks. The sun shone bright, puffy, white clouds drifted by lazily, and she was in no particular hurry to go anywhere. The welcoming smell of baked goods filled the air.
Folding the newsletter and putting it in her back pocket, she purchased an oversized poppy seed muffin and quickly devoured it after taking her first bite. The pastry, with a slathering of butter within, melted in her mouth. It tasted so good! Licking her fingers to ensure she took in every last bit, she glanced around to see if anyone noticed her being overwhelmed by such a yummy opponent.
Brushing her hands clean, she continued on when she heard a snippet of conversation as a couple passed by on the road.
“…that Rirorni opened the new bar.”
“Yup, but I’d be surprised if anyone frequents it. Have you seen the inside? Besides, no one can understand what he’s saying.”
“Yeah, the Rirorni language is so harsh, I can’t tell if he’s greeting or insulting you.”
“It’ll be out of business within…”
My‑re wondered if that was what General Pol had been up to. She hadn’t seen him in two weeks, and while she didn’t miss him frequenting the stable, her curiosity was piqued. She changed direction to the newest part of Willow Beach. Swallowing, she coughed as the rich muffin caused her throat to become a little dry. She could use something to drink.
The streets were crowded, but fortunately, at six feet, My‑re saw over most of the other warriors’ heads. All the newly constructed buildings and shops were crowded with patrons except one. Its doors were flung wide, but no one entered or left. She wasn’t sure herself if it was open for business, but a sign above the door read. “The Khan’s Retreat. Open for drinks.”
Open for drinks? The wording seemed unusual.
My‑re entered the tavern, and her eyes widened at the décor. The assault of bright red, orange, and yellow colors of the interior and rounded theme became a stark contrast to the rectangular design of most Alastarian architecture. It overwhelmed her senses. Knee-high round tables littered the room with a multitude of fur pillows for patrons to sit on the floor. Woven tapestries of Rirorni warriors lined the room. A center hearth held spent embers. Smoke drifted toward an open ceiling with a pulled-back awning.
There wasn’t a traditional bar to sit at, but instead, a massive shelving system held every conceivable bottle of liquor. General Pol sat nearby on an oversized fur-covered stool with his elbows resting on his knees. He balanced a broken scimitar between his feet but perked up when he saw her enter.
In a heavily accented and broken Alastarian dialect, General Pol said, “Hello into the Khan’s Retreat. My service is to get you drinks for this day.”
My‑re snorted in amusement at what seemed to be a horrible translation. The sign ‘Open for drinks’ now made more sense.
“Oh, it’s you,” General Pol snorted, returning to the Rirorni native language of Rathiri.
“That greeting was terrible. What were you trying to say?” My‑re asked in Rathiri.
“Not that it matters, but I was trying to say, Welcome to the Khan’s Retreat. It would be my honor to serve you today,” Pol said. “How off was it?”
“Way off.”
Pol huffed in resignation. “Do you fancy a drink?”
“You’re offering me a free drink?”
“You’re the only person who made it this far into my tavern before turning around and leaving. I’ve paid for everything. Might as well not go to waste,” Pol replied and poured two drinks.
My‑re took the glass Pol offered. Light and not thick, the beverage tasted sweet with a slight aftertaste of apples. “Honey mead?”
“Yes, the honey was harvested by bees solely pollinating apple blossoms,” Pol said and took a drink.
“It’s good,” My‑re stated.
“Of course it is. It’s ambrosia from the gods' nectar, but it doesn’t make any difference if I don’t have any customers,” Pol said.
My‑re took another drink and looked around the Rirorni-themed tavern. She cringed slightly at the bright colors and fur-lined furniture. “Why did you name it the Khan’s Retreat? It still might be too soon since the Rirorni War.”
“That's the brilliant part. It was designed to be like a ‘spoil of war’ from the Rirorni invasion, where the Alastarian Lord Protectors could sit in a room that the Great Khan Ze’Frax himself would find right at home. Furthermore, the name symbolizes the Great Khan’s horde’s retreat from Alastari upon his assassination,” Pol explained.
“I see…”
“The name is perfect, but I don’t understand what’s wrong,” Pol said.
“Well, it’s like a joke. If you have to explain it, it isn’t very good. I have a feeling the title will be lost on people,” My‑re said.
“What do I do? I sold my quarters at the Skull Squadron stable to open this tavern. If it fails, I’ll be the only homeless Lord Protector on this cursed isle,” Pol said.
“Wait a minute? You sold your quarters? To whom?”
“That doesn’t matter now. I need your help. You are the only other person I know that speaks the Khan’s tongue,” Pol said.
My‑re rolled her eyes, tightened her jaw, and breathed out heavily.
“I implore you,” Pol added.
My‑re looked around, shook her head, and gestured to the furniture. “All of this needs to go.”
“All of it?”
“All.”
“Done. What then?” Pol asked.
“You need someone to review your tavern. Someone on the Isle of the Eye with influence. Someone Lord Protectors will listen to.”
“I know. Sheila Greywand,” Pol said.
“Really? I said someone who would be willing to give you a review,” My‑re explained. She flipped a few pages of the newsletter she carried and pointed. “Galen Shanmarrik, the arena’s spy reporter. I know Lord Garlor, the governor of Valamantis and patriarch of Clan Shanmarrik. I’m sure they are related, and if I dropped his name, he might mention it next turn.”
“Excellent. A full-page review in his newsletter will-”
My‑re interrupted him. “Ease up. We’re just looking for a little nod in the newsletter.”
“Right, then what?”
“You need a gimmick.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Something to draw in the customers,” My‑re said, then noted the broken scimitar on the floor at General Pol’s feet. “What’s that?”
“Nothing, it’s the weapon from my first opponent. I broke his sword during our match. It’s not repairable, so I picked it up as a souvenir of my conquest,” Pol said proudly.
“That’s it. There’s your gimmick.”
“What? A broken sword?”
“Yes, you offer a free drink to any Lord Protector that had a weapon broken in the arena last turn. You can then display them all along the interior of the tavern. The warriors can even post it in the personal ads about adding it to the wall. Maybe even mention what drink they like,” My‑re said.
“You want me to give away free drinks?”
“You gave one to me, so you’re already open to it.”
“All right, point taken. Done.”
“Then what?” Pol asked.
“If your honey mead is half as good as your others, you won’t need to worry about business. Besides, when has a warrior only ordered one drink on a night after a turn in the arena?” My‑re pointed out.
“Yes, my drinks are well crafted. I’m currently working on a mead based on mushrooms,” Pol said with pride.
My‑re cringed. She couldn’t imagine consuming a drink concocted from fungus. “Let’s just stay with what you have at the moment. Now, there is just one last change. The tavern’s name.”
“What? That’s the part I liked best,” General Pol muttered. “Fine, what should it be changed to?”
“I can’t think of a better name than the Broken Sword tavern.”