Rao reached for the glass of brown liquid, picked it up, and delicately smelled the contents. Swirled the liquid and took a sip. Swishing it in his mouth, he swallowed. “It tastes like I’m drinking old leather.” He took another sip. “No, wait. It’s like I’m drinking burnt, maybe smoky cork.”
General Pol said, “It’s my own brew. It’s good, isn’t it?”
“It’s an acquired taste, but I might be able to get used to it,” Rao replied.
“Little boy has good taste like Gromp,” the Shew said, snorting in an unnerving chuckle as he rose to leave, “Gromp glad he didn’t eat ya.”
My‑re, rising with Pol, returned to attending to customers as Gromp returned to his table with his two Shew companions.
Turning in his chair, Rao surveyed the patrons in the tavern. Some soldiers paid and left, while a couple of Lord Protectors entered along with some construction workers. My‑re served drinks at a nearby table. He looked her up and down and at her bare leg peeking through the side opening of her long skirt, but she caught his glance. He smiled. She rolled her eyes and turned away.
Rao then spotted Anusha watching him from a table behind a support beam. She must have followed him in or heard the commotion. Taking his drink, he walked over and sat. “I could have used your help back there.”
“Why? You were doing fine. After all, the Shew didn’t turn you into poop,” Anusha replied as her hand clasped a mug of beer. A bowl of half-eaten peanuts sat in the middle, with broken peanut shells littered around it.
Rao reached for one.
“You can get your own,” Anusha snapped, pulling the bowl out of reach.
“And this is why you are always sitting alone,” Rao responded.
Anusha snorted with a grin, “I like sitting alone.” She crushed a peanut shell and popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly.
My‑re then walked past the table.
“A mushroom mead for my friend,” Rao said, pointing his glass toward Anusha. He slowly churned the remaining liquid in his glass and watched his companion’s distorted form through it. She returned to crushing peanuts and eating the contents. The silence between the two continued.
My‑re returned with the mushroom mead. “One silver.” She sat it in front of Anusha.
Rao held up his hand for her to stop and produced a silver.
“I’ll pay for my drink,” Anusha said, placing a silver on the table.
“Thank you for the tip.” My‑re retrieved both coins and left them.
They sat at the table in silence for several heartbeats. Rao opened his mouth to speak.
“I’m thinking. I don’t want to talk,” Anusha grumbled.
“Then, what are you thinking about?”
“I was thinking about my Dark Arena match. I wasn’t able to fight in it to prove my ability,” Anusha said, blinking and focusing on Rao as they sat in the Broken Sword tavern on the Isle of the Eye.
Rao replied, “Me either, but it’s nothing to worry about.”
Anusha snapped, “I’m not asking for pity.”
“Not pity, but misery does love company.”
Shrugging her shoulders, Anusha took a large gulp of the mushroom mead. Her eyes went wide, and she started coughing. Recovering from the fit after a moment, she stammered, “What in the nine hells? This tastes like I just drank peat moss from a moldy oak wood.”
“Ah, yes. Mushroom mead does require a refined palate.”