Chapter 1

After wrangling the keg of beer into place on the lower shelf behind the bar, North stood back while Derron tapped and inserted the spigot. His boss always took the fun jobs, but he had the excuse of owning the tavern. Derron drew the first draft and sucked down a lengthy pull. He shook his head causing his cheeks to flap and his beard to spray foam everywhere. “Yeah, that’ll do,” Derron muttered as he thrust the mug into North’s hand when he turned back towards the kitchen.

“Thermion’s Red,” North shouted across the room. The room went silent for a moment as the customers digested that little nugget of information. A few mugs were raised above their heads, and Fassie and North were off to fill the orders. North did not drink Thermion’s Red because shitting loose red bricks the next morning was not a circumstance he wished to repeat. He speculated that Thermion might not be fully human if human at all.

The door opened and two people stepped in quickly, closing the door and shutting out the cold. North glimpsed a continuing light snowstorm over their shoulders. The tavern was warm with a cast iron furnace in the corner, leaving North wearing a light shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The two new customers quickly removed their hooded cloaks and grabbed a table against the wall on their left. While the light was uneven throughout the room, North was confident both were wearing a glamour. The question was a matter of why, as he was the designated bouncer.

“Welcome to the Cat’s Whisker,” he said when he strode over to the table. “Today we have pea porridge or roasted squab with tufted grains. On tap we have Torc’s dark lager and Thermion’s Red. What’s your pleasure?”

The woman gave him a penetrating look that was meant to warn him that she possessed little tolerance for lesser beings. If North had been a mere servant, he would have been quaking in his boots, but as a former soldier of the Blud Butcher War back home, the threat was just another daily hassle of the job. He turned to the man, “Sir?”

“Do you have anything stronger than beer?” the man asked with a multi-harmonic accent that betrayed a non-human lineage.

“Yes, sir,” North replied. “If you would accompany me to the bar, we have a wide variety of bottles from which to choose. Some choices will require proof that you can consume the liquor without killing yourself.”

“Sounds interesting,” the man said. “Lead on.”

Fassie gave him a raised eyebrow as he escorted the guest to the bar, inviting him to sit on one of the raised stools. North went behind the bar and slid back the cabinet doors. “These on your left are human, these two shelves are Permata and underneath are Stentor, all certified. This shelf is miscellaneous.”

The man studied the shelves for a moment. “Yes, on your miscellaneous shelf is the straight cylinder with the purple liquid; do you recognize it?”

“No, sir.”

“I believe they call it Zyloter’s Inheritance,” the man said, his glamour fluxing. North decided the god was excited with the find. “Your reputation precedes you. I will take two shots.”

North did not move. “It is three gold a pour, sir. Are you certain you want to order?”

The god did not bother with the pretense of reaching into his pocket. He made a fist and opened it, spilling six gold coins on the bar. Explaining that he needed to fetch crystal glasses for the pour, North swept up the coins and rushed to the back to call upon Derron. There was no way he was going to be responsible for a pour that could potentially blow the roof off the building.

He returned with the owner and two roughhewn glasses, each with a bore hole in the top. Derron had told him that the glasses were diamonds harvested from one of the Unnatural Worlds on the Celestial Walkway, which North had previously ignored as fanciful nonsense. Now, he was inclined to believe. Derron put on thick mitts before reaching for the bottle. Carefully uncapping the bottle, he poured two shots into the glasses. A faint mist rose from the glasses for a moment.

“Please, my lord,” Derron said softly. “This drink cannot be handled by the lesser beings. May my man escort you back to your table?”

When the god was safely ensconced at his table again, North returned to his other duties, busing the empty mugs and bowls, and collecting the coin before wiping down tables and sopping up the spills. While he looked calm and focused, his heart was beating rapidly as he contemplated the fact he was serving two gods. Fassie had warned him when he first agreed to the job, but he had dismissed her as trying to scare him off. He owed her one.

Several tables cleared out over the next stretch of time. The door opened and closed as the mellowed denizens left with final farewells and pats on backs and arms. The two gods remained seated, deep in conversation as they sipped their deadly draughts. North let them be as he went for the mop and bucket to clean up some of the stickier spills.

When he returned, the door opened again as a lone figure stepped into the room. The coat was fringed with white fur around the hood. North paused with the mop in hand as he waited for the patron to take off their winter cloak and find a seat. The feminine hands threw back the hood and a mane of black and silver hair was revealed.

“By the slavering jaws of the dogs of the dead god,” North cursed, just loud enough for Fassie to hear. She stared at the new guest, trying to figure out what set off North. The woman was regal in bearing with significant Power jewels each hanging from her ears. When she undid her cloak, another Power jewel was revealed dangling just above her cleavage. The woman tucked the jewel in her bodice.

She looked up from her task and stared straight at North. Her thin lips broke out in a slight smile that favored her left side. She gave him a slight nod before she selected a chair and sat down. North looked at Fassie, about to suggest that she serve the lady when Fassie simply snorted and left for the kitchen. North set aside the mop and with a mounting sense of doom, trudged over the table she had chosen.

He repeated himself, “Welcome to the Cat’s Whisker. Today we are serving pea porridge or roasted squab with tufted grains. On tap we have Torc’s dark lager and Thermion’s Red. What is your pleasure?”

“My pleasure,” she said with hint of lament. She stared at him silently for a moment. “I recognize your face, soldier. How you came to be here is a tale I want to hear. Bring me a bowl of porridge, a shot of whiskey and a mug of Torc’s. Surely, you know my preferences.”

“Aye, your Majesty,” North answered with a slight bow of his head.

“Not ‘My Liege?’”

“A part of my story, your Majesty,” North answered. “I joined your legions about eighteen months before the Battle of Albion. Within hours of my induction, we went into our first battle. As you may be aware, the Fifth hardly experienced a day without battle; there was never time to offer up a swearing of allegiance to the crown. As I delved into the arcane warrior arts, I was consistently warned that words matter, your Majesty, and I never had the opportunity to offer my fealty, except by my deeds.”

“A sad tale,” she said, looking him in the eyes. “There are many loose ends still to be resolved, both large and small. Our victory came with many losses, with deeds unfinished, unacknowledged, or forgotten.” She paused. “To business: I am meeting two exalted persons here.”

North cocked his head to the side, towards the two gods who had leaned back in their chairs. They were striking a pose as if they were considering their words and the facts of the day. “They arrived before you did but have made themselves known. I will fetch your order immediately.”