The place was little more than a long room with a warped counter at the far end. A single candle guttered in a tin holder, barely lighting the faces of the men hunched over their drinks. Conversations didn't so much stop as they quieted to a low, suspicious murmur.
Behind the counter, a thick-shouldered man with pale grey skin polished a glass with the same rag over and over. His red eyes tracked Lindarion's every step.
"You're not from here," the man said flatly.
Lindarion ignored him and scanned the room. "Karvek."
The man's expression didn't change, but the hand holding the glass stilled. "Don't know him."
Lindarion stepped closer, his boots loud on the warped floorboards. "You're going to try that answer again. Slower, so you can think about it."
One of the drinkers at the nearest table stood, a hand resting on the hilt of the curved blade at his hip. "We don't give out names here, stranger."
