“It had long been the haunt of Drenai officials and soldiers stationed in the Embassy Quarter of the city. Such was its reputation for food, wine, and ale that even Vagrian officers used it. Normally the antipathy between soldiers of Vagria and Drenan would have precluded any such common ground. Though none now living could recall the Vagrian-Drenai wars, the ancient enmity between the peoples continued. Occasionally there were even border skirmishes. There were, however, no fights at the Crimso...n Stag. Not one man from either camp would risk being barred by Shivas, the sour-faced owner. His cooking was as sublime as his temper was dark. Added to which his memory was known to be long indeed, and a man refused custom once would never be forgiven. Druss and Skilgannon sat at a table overlooking the moonlit harbor. Despite the coming of night, ships were still being unloaded at the quayside, and wagons were drawn up to ferry food back out into the hungry city. Skilgannon sat quietly watching the dockers.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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