Chapter Twenty-Two: The Wine

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The inside of the Gathering Hall was like nothing Imalroc had ever seen, and for a moment he and Rerdas just stood in the doorway gawking at the scene before them. 

The first thing that hit him was the air. It was wet, warm jungle air, out of place in the midst of a forest gripped by winter. The light was hazy. There were enormous spherical lamps bobbing high overhead, casting a warm glow over the vivid riot of colors splayed below them. By far the oddest decoration, if they could be called decorations, were the trees. They grew straight out of the floor, some of them short and blooming with flowers, others rising on pale trunks to stretch into the eaves of the building.

Most of the people in the room were sitting or lying on pillows, spread out around low tables that were laden with food. Imalroc drifted toward the nearest one, his gaze drawn toward the impossible amount of food. Everything was dripping with color and oversized. There were crimson tomatoes the size of oranges and platters overflowing with grapes and berries, ears of corn steaming atop piles of emerald leaves, tureens of fragrant stew, fresh bread soft as clouds, and squash swimming in brown-sugared butter. He could practically taste the rich flavor of several golden roasted pigs holding court at the center of the nearest table. It was like a scene from a fairy feast, the kind in the books his mother had read to him. The kind of food that cast spells and was meant to test the hungry hero. Imalroc felt an urge to back away. But his traitorous stomach was growling, and he felt a gentle tug when Rerdas started forward.

It was strange to hold the huntmaster's warm hand. Stranger still to sit so close beside him when they found an empty space at one of the tables and sank onto waiting cushions. Their knees kept brushing against each other, and Imalroc's skin felt like it sparked every time they did.

"Hello there! Newcomers, I'd guess?" an eager voice chimed from across the table. Imalroc looked warily at the man leaning toward them. He had a round, cheerful cheeks and feathery blond hair that fell into his eyes. It looked as though his ornate shirt was a size to small. Imalroc glanced at the open buttons halfway down the man's slick chest and thought the size issue might have been rather purposeful.

"Yes," Rerdas answered with an equally friendly smile. "It's our first night here."

"Well then, welcome to Patience! Not that it's really mine to welcome you to, but still. It's just so good to see new faces. Don't you think so, Kend?" He nudged a dour-faced man hunched over his food, who nodded without looking at them. The blonde offered them a pair of empty plates and continued babbling.

"Help yourselves, the food is wonderful here! I'm Finta, by the way. Did I say that already? Ha, I suppose you can't introduce yourself too many times. Here, take some wine first. It's even better than the food." Finta splashed generous helpings of wine into two large glasses and passed them across the table, then waited with his own glass raised. Imalroc joined in the toast half-heartedly. He was already wishing they could pick a different table.

"So," Finta said loudly through a half-mashed mouthful of potatoes, "what brings you to Draal?"

"Well...we're not exactly allowed to, er, be together in Inofar the way we'd like," Rerdas said, shooting an awkward glance at Imalroc. The battleboxer watched the expression of concern spread across Finta's sweat-shiny face.

"That's awful. Why not?"

"He's a handler, and I'm a battleboxer," Imalroc answered. Finta smiled blandly at him, but the man he had called Kend looked up sharply, blinking at Imalroc's face. What little color he had in his face drained away as the light of recognition dawned, and he let out a squeak of fear. Finta didn't hear it.

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