But Zastrad was like stepping on a new planet. Did that mean Caelan would be safer here? The country was so far removed from the regular political fighting and governmental nonsense that seemed to plague Erya, Caspagir, Ilon, and New Rosanthe.
“I wonder what Zastrad beer tastes like,” Eno muttered as he led the way toward the yurt, his enormous sword hanging on his back once again.
Caelan had a new sword on his hip. He refused to talk about it, but Drayce suspected that it might have belonged to his mother or maybe even grandfather. The guard and pommel shone with gold while the grip was a pearlescent white woven through with more gold. He’d practiced with it each night they’d camped, and there was no missing that Caelan moved flawlessly with it, as if it were an extension of his own body. The weapon had been made for his family.
Only Rayne didn’t have a visible weapon, but there was no question that he was freakishly deadly. No one threw a knife like he did.
Pushing aside the cloth that served as a door, they stepped inside and Drayce paused, rapidly blinking his eyes against the darker interior. He was instantly hit with the rich sent of roasted meat and something fermented, which had to be the alcohol. The floral scent he’d caught in the wind was completely gone.
Inside the yurt, the floor was packed dirt with bits of straw. That had to help with the cleanup. An assortment of small wooden tables that were heavily stained and scarred were scattered around the fire pit in the center of the room. A simple bar was set up to the right with a couple of bottles of alcohol and a giant barrel.
Most of the men and women were gathered at the bar, but a few sat at the tables. There couldn’t have been twenty people in the place, but it felt like they all turned to look at them when they entered. Oh yeah, even with their new clothes, they stood out.
“Go grab a table. I’ll get some drinks,” Rayne ordered in a low voice.
Eno continued in the lead, moving them to a small table off to the side that still gave them direct access to the door. They could slice through the thick material of the yurt and go through the wall, but that seemed like a dick move. Definitely a last resort.
The bodyguard grunted as he grabbed Caelan’s shoulder and shoved him down on the chair that placed his back to the wall. Eno sat beside him, facing the door, while Drayce dropped onto the…well, kind of a stool. It was mostly just a flattened log with three uneven legs nailed to the bottom.
Drayce scanned the room while Eno kept one eye on Rayne as he spoke to the barkeep.
“Do you get the feeling that we’ve fallen into one of those old RPGs?” Caelan asked in a low voice.
A snort escaped Drayce and one corner of his mouth kicked up. “Like we’re just four travelers who’ve wandered into a bar, waiting for a character to pop in with a new quest?”
“Pretty much.”
“Dude, if we end up in some cave or dungeon, I’m freaking tapping out.”
Eno crossed his arms over his wide chest and smirked. “And what? You gonna cross Zastrad on your own to Caspagir?”
“Hell, yeah. Prince Shey definitely looks like a guy who could use a best friend.”
Caelan made a noise and shoved him hard enough in the shoulder that he had to catch himself from falling off the stool. “Not a chance. You’re not leaving me.”
“Awww…” Drayce drew out as he leaned toward Caelan to bump against his arm. “You really do like having me around.”
“Yeah, you make a good human shield.”
Rayne returned with four mugs filled with something frothy, destroying Drayce’s chance for a witty retort, not that he knew what it was going to be.
“Well, I’ve learned the hard way that my Zastari is worse than I’d thought,” Rayne muttered under his breath.
“Trouble ordering?” Eno inquired as he placed one of the mugs in front of Caelan before grabbing one for himself. Drayce drew one over and sniffed the contents. It smelled strong.
“No, but I couldn’t understand the reply. I think I was being insulted but couldn’t be sure.” Rayne dropped into the remaining seat opposite Caelan, frowning at the mug in front of him.
Eno took a sip of his, eyebrows lifted as he seemed to contemplate it. At least he wasn’t spewing it across the yurt and dropping dead. That was a good start. Drayce took a drink of his own and instantly regretted it, but he managed to somehow swallow it. His tastebuds were never going to forgive him. It tasted like rotten leather and sour apples. How the hell did they even get this flavor?