Free Clash of Heroes: Nath Dragon meets The Darkslayer by Craig Halloran

dry. It was time to dive into something. The underling food that Oran served was tasteless and unfulfilling. Walking the dirt-packed streets again, Nath searched for a tavern where it would be easy to be inconspicuous.
    It wasn’t long before he came across a loud and bawdy place. On the porch, a sign dangling on chains swung in the brisk winds. Nath couldn’t read it. Beneath the sign, an old woman in a rocker beckoned for him with a crooked finger and a lusty glimmer in her bright eyes. She sipped from a clay jug on her lap and wiped her mouth with her bony hand.
    Nath averted his eyes and headed up the stairs and onto the porch that wrapped around the disheveled building with uneven planks.
    Men with tankards milled about. They smoked from pipes and on sticks made from wrapped-up tobacco leaves. He fanned his face and started for the front door then stopped, turned, and laid his hands on the nearest rail. Facing the bustling city, something became more apparent to Nath. Many faces were concealed. Footsteps soft. Some were in groups and pairs, but there were many loners. Then it became abundantly clear why so many places weren’t locked up for the night and the people worked all the time.
    It wasn’t safe to ever leave your store untended.
    When do these people rest?
    He glanced up at the yellow moons in the sky. An unsettling and eerie feeling came over him.
    One thing is for certain: this is not my home.
    Shoulders slumped, he pushed through the swinging doors and went inside.

 
    CHAPTER 18
     
     
    The tavern was smoky and filled with the rank odors of sweat and bad wine. Fires burned in metal cauldrons throughout the torchlit room, and a bar stretched from one side of the misshapen tavern to the other. People of all shapes and sizes—soldiers, merchants, cutthroats, and drifters—huddled, chatted, and argued together. Several more were all alone, heads down and destitute. Everyone was oily with sweat.
    A buxom woman in cheap and skimpy clothes sat on Venir’s lap and poured him another tumbler full of grog. It brought a broad smile to his lips, revealing his strong white teeth. He tickled her ribs, bringing forth a giggle. She kissed his neck. “Tell me more about your adventures.”
    “I’d be glad to.” Clasping the clay tumbler between his thumb and fingers, he drank it down. “Ah!” He clomped the tumbler on the table, rattling the nest of empty jugs and glasses. One bottle teetered off the table and smashed on the floor. “Oops.”
    “Do you mind?” said an irritated, rail-thin man who also sat at the table. He was pale, with more pepper than salt in his hair. Even though he wore long sleeves and a vest that was very contrary to the weather, he was the only one who didn’t show a drop of sweat from the humid room. He eyed the busted jug on the floor. “There was still plenty of lousy wine in there.”
    Venir plunked a silver coin on the table. “This is for your wine.” He plopped down another coin. “And this is for your whining, Melegal.”
    The coins disappeared in the thief’s slender hands. “So you’re going to pay me for my whining? Excellent! I’ll be a wealthy man before the night is through.” He started counting on his fingers and folding them down one by one. “Let’s see. This place stinks. The people stink. The women are a far cry from comely—”
    “That’s not what I meant,” Venir said.
    The woman sitting on his lap asked of him, “What does comely , mean?”
    “Er,” Venir said, eyeing Melegal’s curious eyes, “unpleasant. Yes, you are far from unpleasant.”
    She smiled at him, pinched his chin, and said with a purring voice in his ear, “Well, I can’t wait to show you how pleasant I can be.”
    Venir patted her on the rump. “You could start by grabbing us another round of drinks.”
    She popped up out of his lap. “I’ll be right back.”
    Venir watched the sway of her hips all the way to the bar, eyed Melegal, and said, “You thought you had me