“O’gúleesh drinks, huh?” Ember followed her friend through the crowd toward the tavern. “You sound like you fit right in down here.”
“I’m trying.” They stopped at the two steps leading up to the huge, thick wooden door beneath the rotting wooden sign with the tavern’s name painted sloppily across the boards. “You want some help up these?”
Ember frowned at the stairs and cocked her head. “Just open the door, maybe?”
“You sure?”
“Hey, if you can run around the state testing your magic on every idiot who pisses you off, I’m allowed a little trial and error too, don’t you think?”
“I’ll open the door, then.” Trying not to laugh, Cheyenne quickly climbed the stairs and pulled on the massive iron handle. Raucous laughter and a few angry shouts spilled out of the Empty Barrel, but she was focused on her friend.
Ember rolled backward three inches, then grabbed the wheels and gave them a fierce tug to launch the chair forward. The small front wheels hit the side of the first step with a thud and almost threw the fae forward, but her hands and all four wheels lit up with strobing purple light, and the chair soared over the steps and right through the door. It landed on the sticky wood of the tavern floor with a squeak, knocking into the closest table. Frothy grog sloshed over the sides of the tankards on the table while their owners leaped away from the sudden interruption.
“Hey, watch it!”
“Sorry. Sorry.” Ember backed the chair up and aimed it at the center aisle running the length of the tavern. She looked over her shoulder and grinned at the orc shaking spilled grog off his hands. “Still learning how to drive this thing.”
“Well, drive it somewhere else, huh?”
“Yep.” She glanced at the orange-skinned, rat-faced skaxen woman sitting on the other side of the table and nodded. The skaxen slammed her palms on the table and hissed. Ember’s grin disappeared, and she hissed back before quickly wheeling herself down the wide aisle between the dented, sticky bar and the rows of tables.
Watching with a mix of amusement and caution, Cheyenne stepped into the tavern and let the door swing shut behind her. The orc and skaxen at the closest table glared at her too, but they quickly looked away and leaned over their dripping tankards when she jerked her chin at them.
Either I look scarier than normal today, or the magical gossip train has made its way around Peridosh. I wonder who they think I am?
“All right! That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” At the end of the bar toward the back of the tavern, Bhandi pounded both fists on the dented wood as Ogsa set two frothing pitchers of grog down in front of her.
“I’m assuming this is going on your beefy friend’s tab too,” the tavern owner grumbled. The intricate gold designs encircling her tusks glinted in the low light as she stuck her hands on her hips.
“Nothing changes that much in a few days, Ogsa.” Bhandi grabbed the pitchers and raised them in a double-fisted salute. “It’s always on Yurik’s tab.”
Yurik had been leaning against the bar, watching Ember’s entrance with a crooked smile. When he heard Bhandi say his name, he blinked, straightened, and turned to face her. “Wait a minute.”
The troll woman had already whirled away from the bar and was headed toward their regular table in the back corner, where Tate waited with three empty tankards.
With a grunt, Yurik turned back toward Ogsa and shrugged. “Yeah. I guess it’s on my tab.”
“And when, exactly, are you going to pay that tab, huh?” The orc woman leaned away from the bar and folded her arms. “It’s been open for at least two months.”
“Yeah, I know.” He scratched his head. “I’ll bring you your money next time. How’s that?”
“Hardly convincing is what it is.” Ogsa’s yellow eyes darted toward Ember and Cheyenne making their way toward the bar. When she recognized the halfling, a low, deep chuckle burst out of her. “Back for more, huh?”
“Hey, Ogsa.” Cheyenne stopped at the bar beside Yurik and gave the tavern owner a fleeting, tight-lipped smile. “I’d promise not to redecorate your tavern this time, but it’s not up to me if some idiot decides they want to fight me again.”
“Ha!” Ogsa slapped her side of the bar. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna mess with you after last time, drow. You made a name for yourself when you splattered that ogre’s hand all over my walls.”
Cheyenne glanced down at Ember, who pressed her lips together and pointed at the table in the corner. “I’m just gonna go to the table.”
“Sure.”
“Would you look at that!” Ogsa leaned over the bar to peer down at Ember. Her green-gray lips parted in a wide grin around her tusks. “I haven’t had a fae in here since the year I opened this place. You don’t want that grog swill I serve the rest of these brain-addled misfits, do ya?”
Ember chuckled. “Not if it’s as bad as you say it is.”
The orc woman barked a laugh. Sitting three stools down at the bar, the shriveled old troll and the white-skinned magical with glowing red eyes beside him jumped and shot her disapproving glances. “It’s worse than that, fae. I’ll whip you up a little something better suited for your people. Haven’t pulled this out of the back in decades, but the stuff sure as shit never goes bad. You’ll like it, I promise. You can drink in that chair, can’t you?”
The fae’s large, violet-glowing eyes narrowed at the tavern owner, and she smiled in an unspoken challenge. “I can do a lot more than drink in this chair.”
“Ha! I bet you can. Never met a fae who couldn’t do everything they wanted.”
Ember glanced up at Cheyenne again, raising her eyebrows. “I’ll be at the table.”
“Sure.”
“Wait, what are you making her?” Yurik asked, scanning the shelves of magical booze behind Ogsa.
“That’s for me to know and her to drink, goblin.”
“How much is it
