Copyright 2025

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.”

North rushed to the kitchen where he leaned against the wall, trying to calm his breathing. He forced his hands to unclench as he slowly pulled air into the depths of his lungs. When he opened his eyes, all the staff of the Cat’s Whiskers were staring at him.

“Who is she?”

North looked at all of them. “The reigning monarch of the Court of the Crimson King, the Slayer of the Butcher, and my former Commander in Chief.”

Derron told everyone else to get back to work before he came to stand in front of North. “Did her Majesty state why she was here? Why is she unescorted? Where are her retainers and her escorts?”

“She has an appointment with our other two exalted guests,” North said, as if his words answered all the questions. He looked over at the cook. “I need a crock of the porridge and make sure it’s from the fresh part of the pot.” He looked back at his boss, “She is the most powerful wielder of power I know and probably has a direct route from her domain to your front door. Who can say how any of your customers make it to the front door? I don’t ask and few have volunteered to share.”

“All three of them make me nervous,” Derron said. He poked North’s chest with his finger. “Your job is to keep the premises safe and congenial. Get back out there and make sure the beer continues to flow, and coins drop in the till.”

 

North took the proffered crock and snatched a clean mug from the sideboard before stepping out behind the bar. He poured a lager with a small head of foam first and then chose a whiskey that tasted a tad less rough than fully drenched peat moss. With a complete order, he headed over to the queen, only to find her having moved to sit with the gods. Without a word, he placed the order before her and withdrew.

He counted another eighteen patrons on the various benches and chairs around the room. All of them were minding their own business and none needed his attention. North retrieved his mop and began cleaning under the messiest long tables. Casting a sidelong glance at the table of three, he returned the mop and the bucket to the back room. When he emerged, a new lot of patrons were coming in the door. He stuck his head in the kitchen door and called for Fassie to join him.

The pace kept him busy and his mind focused on anything but the three off to the side. After a time, the two gods rose from their seats and departed, silently and almost instantaneously. Fassie nudged him in the ribs. With a sigh, North marched over to the table to retrieve the dirty dishes. “Is there anything else I can get for you, your Majesty?”

“I have much to think on,” she said. She was about to speak when a tall spare being with green hair began to garble loudly and float in his seat while his arms flopped spastically at one of the long tables.

“Bloody Hell,” North cursed. He pulled out a mage’s glove from his back pocket and pulled it onto his left hand. He reached with his right hand and pulled his shortened mage’s sword from its cloaked sheath. Rushing over to the babbling man, he grabbed the top of the man’s hair with his left hand and began to pull. A thick ghostly worm with a gasping mouth began to emerge as he pulled. North jumped up on the bench and pulled higher as the worm grew longer. When the worm was sufficient length, he stabbed it with the sword, making sure not to sever the creature. North put both hands on the sword and pulled the squiggly worm until it was free from the possessed man. North stepped down from the bench, holding the long worm out in front of him, not letting it touch the floor.

“Stand still,” the queen demanded. She pointed her finger, and a spark flew. When the spark hit, the worm seized up, turned to smoke, and dropped as ashes that never reached the floor. The other patrons stared for a moment. A heartbeat later, they went back to their previous business as if no further comment was needed.

“Doesn’t that mage sword belong in my arsenal,” the queen said to North as he approached.

“When the paymaster decides to pay in full my final pay, the sword will be returned. Until then, the sword remains with me.”

“He didn’t?”

“Another story,” North replied, conscious that many other ears were listening. “Thank you for your help. May I be of further service to you this evening?”

“This evening, no. However, I will return tomorrow evening and if not, then the next. Since you are still in the service of the Court of the Crimson King,” she said, “as the sword in your hand testifies, you will attend me when I return. If it is a problem with the tavern keep, I will make it right with him. Do you understand my orders, officer?”

“I understand clearly, your Majesty,” North said. “Sergeant North at your service tomorrow or the day after.” He bowed. When he looked up, she was already walking out the door as she buttoned her coat.

He looked back at the man with the green hair. He was slumped over the table, but he was still breathing. North sheathed his sword and tucked away his glove before he stomped over. He glared at the man’s companions. “We charge double for dis-possessions. Finish up your fare and leave. You’ve caused enough unwanted commotion for one night on an already difficult service. Fassie will be over to settle up your bill, and if I hear one complaint, the glove comes back out. Good night, gentlemen.”

North stomped over to the bar, giving a hand signal to his co-worker that she should hustle over to the table and get the bill squared away. Derron met him behind the bar, surveying the clientele. “Another dis-possession?”

“Yes, and the wards at the door didn’t catch it,” North replied. “I wonder if those two gods disarmed the wards because their presence would have triggered them. Not good for business.”

“Those gods made our month, even three months,” Derron said. “Is your queen returning?”

North grimaced, “Yes. She has ordered me to attend her tomorrow or the next day when she returns. I swore I was done with nobles and wars when I left the Court of the Crimson King. I leave and again, they pull me back. Do you have any idea how far I traveled to reach this place? How the fates must enjoy my discomfort.”

“She’s younger than I expected,” Derron said. “Does she have heirs?”

“No, the king was slain in battle before they had an opportunity to conceive,” North said. “In some convoluted manner that peasants such as I could not grasp, both had some claim to the throne. You think that was why she was consulting with those two gods?”

“I couldn’t pierce their glamours even though they were minor gods,” Derron said with a shrug. “Unless I know who, I can’t tell what a supplicant is aiming to request. I usually can see through facades, but not these two. The business at hand must be serious, indeed.”

“They’re not the first gods to come to the tavern?”

“No, quite a few have been to visit over the years,” Derron said, stroking his chin. “Where do you think I got that bottle they requested? Instead of payment, one thoughtful deity left me that bottle for such occasions as tonight. I wonder. No matter, their presence keeps certain external forces at bay, protecting my little business. We’ll replace the wards tomorrow.”

North scratched a small scar on his right cheek. “Her Majesty and the Court of the Crimson King?”

“She’s your problem, I’m afraid,” Derron said, taking the bar towel off his shoulder. “Make sure she remains your problem and doesn’t become our problem. I would not be happy with such a development, North.”

“Aye, boss.”

 

Chapter 2

“I don’t think we should continue to see each other.”

North sat down heavily in his wooden chair by the window. She had been waiting inside for him when he left work after a long night. He never knew when she was going to show up as she seemed to have her own sense of priorities that she never shared. “You said that last week; yet, here you are, Agit.”

“You’re always agitated and tense,” she said, crossing her arms under her bosom. She was leaning against the wall next to the alcove. “You still have the nightmares, and you refuse to consult the wise woman about them. I cannot keep doing this.”

“Then you had best leave, Agit,” North said. “I had a most unusual visitor tonight at the Cat’s Whisker, and she is coming back to speak further with me. No good can come of this.”

Agit stood up. “Who?”

North had suspected before that she was selling his words after he reviewed his day at her prompting these past months. The moment crystallized his hunch. He had no idea to whom she was passing on the information, but his tales must have been lucrative enough for her to return again and again. Their sex was bland, more functional than performative, transactional mostly. Even more, no matter how much spite he threw at her, she always came back around. He weighed his options for the moment.

“Sorry, Agit, you’re no longer worth the tumble in bed,” he said. “You’ve become too greedy with what I have to say. Do you sell it to the highest bidder or do you have a dedicated buyer.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said, throwing up her hands. “How dare you accuse me of such a dirty deed!” She shook out her hair for an added emphasis that North thought was ridiculous.

“You’re not that good at lying or recovering from indictments when they hit the mark either,” North said. “I’ve decided that you’ve become a danger to me and mine.” He unsheathed his mage sword but failed to rise from his chair.

Her eyes went wide before she leapt for the door, fleeing into the night. North gave out an evil chuckle before rising and re-sheathing his sword. He caught the open door with the first digit of his index finger and slammed it shut with a slight push of Power. He carefully folded his clothes and put away his weapons in their assigned spots.

He stroked the side of his cotton briefs that he had purchased at the local market last week. They were a remarkable invention and much better than anything invented thus far on his home world. The elastic, as the merchant called it, was a wonder, and the lack of itching was an ever-revealing delight. Power fueling this pocket world may have made the weekly market possible, but mortal skill illuminated his briefs, not power. He scratched his butt, reveling in the softness of the fabric.

A knock at the door had North reaching for a knife. “I know you’re still awake,” a creaky old voice shouted through the door. “Open the door, you stale fart.”

Tossing a shirt over his head, North walked over and opened the door. “You must have been watching and waiting for the fireworks. She just left.”

“Good riddance and a soured blood curse to boot,” the old woman said. “Where’re your pants? Have you no respect for your elders.” She sat down in his chair, cupping a small, lidded jar in her hands.

“My apologies,” North said with anything but remorse in his words. “I had no idea I would have further visitors this early in the morning. Surely, most people of good sense are deep in their pillows in this still dark.”

The old woman looked around the room, cataloging every item that was out and sitting on a surface. “Who the hell can go to sleep when gods disturb the ebb and flow of Power with their presence,” she said. “They’re like a cat taking a dump in the middle of the feasting table. You can’t miss it, and the smell is inescapable.” She stared at him, daring him to protest.

“I’m sure said gods might be a bit perturbed by your description of their presence as cat shit, but that’s a quibbling detail. How did you know the gods were here tonight while Agit was cluelessly fishing for names and deeds?” North shoved his knife in his pocket after he buttoned his pants.

The old lady burbled her lips with sarcasm. “She has no gift and no skills except for opening her legs. Big ole’ titties don’t stay up forever, North, and if that’s all you got on offer, life is going to get awful mean and cruel soon enough. I suppose that lesson is crashing down upon her head about now.”

North shook his head. “Is this the bard’s lament about old whores and broken soldiers?”

“Nothing so dramatic,” she said. “Small truths and disturbing dreams, mostly buried, rising to the top when the gods disturb the peace. Did they come for you?”

“Me?” North’s head swiveled sharply to face her. “Of all the people who live in this little crossroads of the worlds, why would the gods take notice of me?”

She pursed her lips and held up the jar in her lap, “My latest concoction. You must try it.”

“What does it do?” North said, eyeing the jar warily.

“This cream removes scar tissue caused by magic damage,” she said with a smirk. “Ain’t nothing like this salve in any of the worlds.”

“Ah, yeah, just like the last cream you swore would cure cancer, and Nater still died . . . of cancer, no less. Thank you, but no,” North said, rubbing the long scar under his right ribs. “I’ll stick with what I’ve got.”

“Nater died of being a sickly old bastard,” she snapped. “Between the diabetes, the heart disease, and the lung cancer, the question was not when, but which condition would have the honor of pushing his last leg into the grave. The gods know he was never one to take care of himself. Besides, he was my experimental creature for my cure; he was too far gone to ever recover.”

“Nater’s at peace; let him stay there,” North said.

The old woman clucked her tongue. “You brought him up.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Why?” North crossed his arms. “What’re you hiding, Gartin?”

“Answer my question first: Did Derron say who the gods were?”

North shook his head. “No, he said their glamours were too difficult to penetrate. They weren’t there to see me, though.”

“You know this, how?” Gartin turned her head slightly to view him from a different perspective.

“They had another confirmed guest.”

“Ah, the story becomes more intriguing,” Gartin responded, rubbing her hands together, her jar resting in her lap forgotten. “The grand reveal is upon us – who was this mysterious guest?”

North rubbed the small scar on his face while pinching his lips. “Nothing good can come of this for me. I’m of a mind to pack up my bag and move on down the Celestial Way.”

“Whatever you’re contemplating won’t work, North. These are gods after all, who see farther and delve deeper into the spheres than we do, whose very existence is bound within the Power. Wherever you step, from whatever vessel of air you breathe, they will know your presence with an exactitude you cannot escape.” She patted his knee. “Speak.”

“The Court of the Crimson King.”

“Ah, the Queen Adrianna Victorious finally stirs,” Gartin said and then paused. “Your former employer, I believe.”

“She recognized my face and then demanded I attend her tomorrow evening or the next,” North said, rubbing his chin, feeling his unshaved whiskers. “I fought her war against the Butcher and when the last battle was done, I was done as well. I left the Court and her territories; I left my birth world without a bother of looking back, not even once. She met her gods, why is she troubling me?”

“Your face doesn’t curdle milk, if that is what you are worried about,” she said. “You have the gift of Power though. Power attracts Power for many, many reasons. Do you doubt she senses your gifts?”

“I served in the Fifth Regiment; of course I have the gift. They brought it forth, trained me and I honed it daily on the battlefield, Gartin. All I know of the gift is the battlefield, a place to which I never want to return. The tavern is where I feel comfortable now.”

“Horseshit,” Gartin said. “The Cat’s Whisker is a harbor from the storm, nothing more. You’re far too young and too well trained to waste more time here. Your wounds have healed, and your spirit is mostly reseated. You’re a mage warrior, North, and you always were.”

“There were no jobs and prospects in our village or even the nearby town,” North whined. “Forced by the lack, I went to the first recruiting point I could find because I needed to feed myself.”

“A center that happened to be recruiting mages instead of only cannon fodder,” Gartin pointed out. “You can claim it was a happy accident to your heart’s content, but there were other recruiting efforts all around you and you were drawn to a unique, specific one.”

“How do you know this?” North asked, suddenly suspicious.

“I have the Power as you well know, North, and my strength is reading the past,” Gartin said. “I may be old, but my wits are still sharp, and my skills still have much flex. Now, stop trying my patience and put the kettle on. I know you keep those sweetened barley biscuits I like in a tin in that lower left cabinet.”

“You know of my cracker stash because of your Power?”

She dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand. “Who the hell do you think cleans this place once a week according to your lease agreement? I know all your hidey-holes, Mage, and you’re sorely lacking in imagination.”

“I’ll keep that observation in mind,” North grumbled as made his way over to the shelf where he kept a heating stone and a kettle. He sparked the stone before he pulled some tea from a tin and measured it out onto a fine mesh sieve. When the water was ready, he poured both of them a cup.

Gartin quietly nibbled on a cracker. She worked her way around the edges, stopping every so often to take a sip of tea. When only a tiny remnant of the cracker remained pinned between her thumb and finger, she would pop the crumb in her mouth and chase it with another sip.

North finally broke the silence. “What would a royal of the Court of the Crimson King want from the gods? We defeated the Butcher.”

“The Court of the Crimson King is quite different from palaces of other monarchs that stretch from here to the boundaries of mortal settlement, North. The gods set an anchor there that binds the stability of the Celestial Way. The Butcher wanted the anchor and the power it held, not the lands or the people. He had no issue creating mass slaughter and leaving swaths of desolation along his path. He wanted the structure that the gods had wrought.”

“To what end?”

Gartin shrugged, indicating that she did not have an answer. “What do such beings usually want but to become gods? We can only speculate.”

North moved about the room, putting aside his empty cup, pushing the heating stone back into its resting place on the shelf. When there were no more small tasks to do, he turned back to the old woman still seated in his chair. “Why do you make more sense than any of these reputed Wise Women? Agit always wants me to make an appointment with one of them.”

“The term ‘wise woman’ is a loose and vague title, don’t you think?” Gartin said. “I’ve no doubt her recommendations serve herself first and you possibly second, but no guarantees. She wants to become a fount of information, and these women are one of her tools. If your sense was not to trust them, then your intuition is functioning well.” She picked her teeth with a fingernail. “You’re avoiding the subject, North – the Court of the Crimson King.”

“You mean your assertion the kings and the queens of the Court of the Crimson King pledge their kingdom and their lives to defend this anchor? I thought I was defending my hearth and home.”

Gartin chewed on another biscuit. When she finished, she answered, “You were. Only you were also fighting for something much greater, something so horrific if you lost, that strategic heads thought to keep that reason suppressed. You would have fought out of panic instead of using your battle wits and training.”

“You think?”

“It’s possible, North. Would you have wanted to have known the truth of the Court of the Crimson King as you marched toward the final battle? Would this knowledge have made a difference?”

“I lost so many friends and comrades, Gartin. I guess not then, but this new fact makes a difference now. Their deaths, their sacrifices mean something more than simply repelling the single-minded deranged invaders.”

“Do you still see yourself as a simple soldier, home from the war?” Gartin asked.

“I guess not,” North answered, his words reverberating in his skull. “The day in, day out, warfare and regrouping for the next onslaught put a damper on deep thinking and speculation, I suppose. My days were battle, review and train, tactics, and strategy and train more. Execute once a day and repeat, and repeat.”

“Unconventional, I’ll grant you that,” Gartin said. “You learned and you grew into your role. You survived to tell the tale.”

“Something doesn’t fit tooth to tooth in the cogs, Gartin, and it has come with me no matter where I’ve traveled,” North began, biting his lip as he considered his words. “Mage warriors train for years in their academies and their camps. They study the Arcane Texts and delve into the mysteries of the sources of Power. I had none of that.”

Gartin put down her empty cup and held up her jar. “I wasn’t lying when I said this cream can work healing on Power wounds. Lift up your shirt and show me that horizontal scar under your right rib cage. The skin and sinews are knit, but I sense there is still a residual pain that causes you to wince.”

“Yah, when I twist my upper body, a sharp pain like a hot needle reminds me of the unshielded strike that day,” North said. “This stuff works?”

“One application is all that is required,” she said. “If it works, then it works. If not, at least we tried.”

“What is the point of this?” North asked, as he lifted his shirt.

“The Court of the Crimson King calls, North, and they’re calling for you.”

 

Chapter 3

The first night’s watch had been for naught; the monarch had not shown. North was nearly a wreck, snapping at his fellow staff and acting curt with patrons who gave him the least bit of attitude. At one point, he was ready to toss the lot of them out the front door. Only a call to retrieve another keg from the basement saved him from making a fool of himself. Down in the coolness of the earthen floor with its stone and brick walls, North finally retook control of himself. He had not been as close to letting the beast inside loose since he began his wandering down the Celestial Way. When his hands stopped trembling, he returned upstairs with another keg. Uther’s Autumn Ale was always a favorite no matter who sat at the benches.

More resigned to his fate but less agitated, North returned to work the next evening. Derron was the one in a funk this evening because his meat purveyor had failed to show. The tavern owner was convinced that those who ordered meat ordered more to drink as well and with no meat, well, the night promised to be a disappointment. With a moment’s inspiration, he ordered the cook to add a second handful of hot chilies to the lentil stew. “Push the lentils,” Derron told his staff.

North had just served the entirety of a long table with food, they being a double handful of female warriors whose black feathers on their heads shone where humans would expect to see hair. They were in a good mood that made North smile, until he looked up and saw two men dressed in the uniform of the Court of the Crimson King step inside. He even recognized one of them and the chain around his neck that held his hidden Power jewel.

“Bordo, even the fancy uniform can’t improve your face,” North calmly noted.

Bordo gave him a long look. “As I live and breathe, the greatest example of bad taste in wine, women and song stands before me. How did this happen?” He reached out his right arm and grasped North’s forearm and North grabbed his. “It’s good to see your ugly mug, mate. You disappeared on us.”

“More like, chased off, Bordo,” North replied. “It’s good to see your face as well. What brings you to the Cat’s Whisker?”

“Well, funny you should be here because . . .,” the soldier began before trailing off. “Something tells me that I’ve been left in the dark, and I don’t appreciate that one bit.”

“You don’t appreciate what?” A commanding voice said from the doorway behind the guards. Her voice was unmistakable.

North rolled his eyes. “You might want to close the door, Bordo, you’re letting the heat and the good feelings around the room out.”

“Eh, still a smart ass,” Bordo stated, as he gestured to his fellow guard to close the door. He took the queen’s overcoat and draped it over his arm.

“I have reserved a table for you over in the far corner, your Majesty,” North said with slight bow.

“Put my two nannies at the table in front of mine and join me, Sergeant,” she ordered.

“Of course, ma’am. Bordo and I served together in the Fifth Regiment,” North said.

“Yes, the crown is aware of the Lieutenant’s actions, both on and off the field of battle, Sergeant North,” she said as she marched towards the corner table. “Nonetheless, he continues to serve with distinction and perhaps with a little more discretion these days.”

“Good to know,” North mumbled as he swallowed his anxiety.

Fassie dropped two bowls and two tankards at the table and scampered off like her dress was on fire. North sat up straight with his hands in his lap, waiting for her instructions. She stared back at him, her face unmoving.

“Do you have your mage sword on your person,” she finally asked. When he acknowledged that he did, she demanded to see it. North unsheathed the sword and laid it on the table before her. She peered closely at the handle for some time. Sitting up, she took her fingers and ran them across the length of the blade without touching the metal. Finally, she sat back.

“Tell me the story of how you came to have this particular sword,” she said softly. “Spare no detail.”

“I arrived first thing that particular morning at the recruitment camp and stood in line with twelve other men. After the company clerk took my name, age, and hometown, he sent me over for inspection. I walked over to the officer and shook while he looked me up and down. The officer told me to make my way over to the commander and to mind my manners or they would whip me within an inch of my life.

“I stood before a table that was a board thrown over a couple of sawhorses. The commander pushed a rock at me and told me to cup it with my hand. He told me to squeeze it and tell him whether the rock was warm or cool. It felt warm, but it got hot really quick. I jerked my hand back and blew on my palm, expecting it to be reddened and maybe blistered; the rock was that hot.

“The commander smiled at me and introduced himself as Aegis. He asked my name and then asked whether I had ever been tested for the Power.”

“Aegis?” she interrupted him. “You were discovered and tested by Lord Aegis?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, and that is not the strangest part. He came around the table and guided me behind his seat to a trunk that was sitting behind him. He opened the trunk, and it was full of mage swords. They appeared to be tossed in there like they were a box of apples or something. He ordered me to choose one as my weapon, but then he stopped me. He explained that mage swords are unique and there was probably one sword in the trunk that called out to me more than any of the others.

“I ran my hand across the contents of the trunk, and I did feel a tugging. I told Aegis I felt a pull. He ordered me to retrieve it. I dug through that trunk, and down towards the bottom on the left-hand side, this sword slid into my hand. I mean to say, I didn’t grab it, it grabbed me.

“One of the Royal Court officers berated Aegis for his unorthodox manner and waste of precious weapons upon me, the peasant. Aegis laughed in his face, telling the man to go lick his mother’s boots.”

“That is the Aegis I knew,” she said. “Is there more?”

North nodded. “Not really. I took my sword to my designated sergeant and spent the afternoon learning how to handle a mage sword without taking out others. The camp was attacked by the scaly Radames at dusk, and I had my first kills. I had an hour or two of instruction in the morning and back to the battles nearly every day. Most everything I learned, I learned on the front lines.”

The queen nodded to herself in silence. “You have no idea what sword you chose, and Aegis didn’t seek to inform you at any time of its origin?”

“That is correct, your Majesty,” North acknowledged. “As far as my comrades were concerned, I was a trustworthy companion in battle, protecting their position and not backing down. I never thought this mage sword was different than or better than any other in my regiment.”

“The sword is unique, North, and as mage swords are measured, there are few that are more powerful than the one before me. Your dedication is admirable but let us rip the veil before your eyes. This sword made you more formidable on the battlefield than most of your fellows. This is a named sword, one of the few: Dauntless. Aegis knew this.”

“He never said a word, ma’am.” North took a long pull from his mug. “Then he was felled at Durano’s Pass and there was no one to truly take his place.” North paused. “No one except for you and you had already taken direct command of the First and the Third.”

“You prevailed at Durano’s Pass though,” she said. “The report is the first mention of your name that I found. You finished the charge and slew the Butcher’s Third Pillar. Her army was decimated.”

“She only knew brute strength and blunt instruments,” North said. “Her understanding of strategy was simply up and down or left and right. Aegis explained to us how to defeat her.” North held up his tankard. “To Lord Aegis, his memory is a blessing.” He drank deeply.

They ate in silence for a few minutes.

“You are good at directing the subject away from yourself,” she said. “To serve me and to serve me well means to answer directly. I despise false modesty as much as I hate self-aggrandizement. The sword chose you. You slew the Third Pillar, injured the Second Pillar, forcing him to retreat, and held my right flank in the final battle. Are these facts correct?”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Stop the nonsense, North; I am your liege, and no mere words can retract the truth of your deeds under my command. I am your Queen and there is none else.” She picked up his sword and laid the flat of the blade on his left shoulder. “Thus, I lay claim to you, and you shall serve me. I declare you the Jack of Spades.”

“The Jack of Spades?” North coughed out. “What does this mean?”

“With the death of Leonide, I became the Black Queen, his widow,” she said. “I prefer to be known amongst my inner circle as the Queen of Spades. You now stand in the Court of the Crimson King as my personal sword, going where I cannot go.”

She handed him back his sword, which he put away. He chewed on her words silently as he tried to grasp what had just happened. As he stared at the wall, she motioned to the staff and ordered a bottle of whiskey. He snapped back to reality when a small glass was placed in front of him as his bowl was whisked away.

“To the brave and the fallen, Crimson!” she called out, holding up her glass. North repeated her words and slammed down the two fingers of the sharp liquor. The burn felt good.

“Are you completely healed and in full strength?” she asked.

“Yes, my friend, Gartin, supplied me with some ointment she claimed would remove the scar tissue from Power wounds two nights ago. I’ve had no pain since she applied the salve.”

The queen started. “Did you say, Gartin? The Anointed Seer Gartin?”

North gave her a quizzical look. “Gartin cleans my room once a week. She’s a cranky old lady who drinks my tea and eats all my biscuits that I manage to squirrel away. I don’t think...anointed seer?”

“Is she still here, in this world?”

North shook his head. “Gartin comes and goes as she pleases. The tavern keeper pays her when she shows and keeps his peace when she doesn’t. She’s a fixture here, and everyone seems to know her. Then again, she has the uncanny ability to visit me when I am finished for the night and not able to sleep.”

The queen poured both of them another shot. “Did this Gartin say anything about me?”

“I quote, ‘The Queen Adrianna Victorious finally stirs.’” North took his shot of whiskey and downed it. “She knows I served in your army although I don’t remember telling her the details before.”

She banged the table with her fist, causing her two guards to look over at her. “The board is reassembled, and the gods are making their first moves,” she declared before downing her own shot. “You have the sword and the seer, North. You are well joined to the game.”

North gauged the amount of whiskey left in the bottle with weary eyes. “Game?”

“Just a metaphor, Jack of Spades,” the queen said, leaning back in her chair. “The Court of the Crimson King is no game, although many within its walls behave as though it is. The Court is. . .”

North interjected, “It is an anchor of the Celestial Way. Gartin explains it thus.”

“I need to get ahold of that woman,” she muttered before pushing away from the table. “You shall take up residence in my tower immediately. Bordo knows the gateway. Since he is one of your comrades-at-arms, I’m sure he will lend you a hand to pack.”

“As you command, my Liege.”

 

Chapter 4

“Of course, immediately following the morning call, all warriors are expected to attend the practice fields. As a ranked mage, you will be training the novice ranks.”

North looked at the officious little bureaucrat up and down. The man was impeccably dressed with a handkerchief tucked in his right sleeve and another poking out of the breast pocket of his courtier’s jacket. The entire ensemble and the man himself were off putting to North’s sensibilities.

After a long draw of silence, North finally asked, “Who assigned these duties?”

“These are duties of the warrior mages of the Court,” the man spouted with indignation.

“Who?” North repeated himself with a direct challenge.

“Well, it is how things are done.”

“No,” North responded slowly as if he were talking to a child. “I do not answer to you nor to your little courtly do’s and don’ts. I answer directly to the Queen and to her alone. Between you and me, you did not serve in the war, and for that alone, I will not answer to you. Either you chose to serve or you chose not to.”

The man’s face turned bright red. “How dare you! I served where I could do the best for the Court; I served during the war.”

“You hid behind these walls, little man. You can say whatever you want and even pretend that it’s true but know this: there is not a veteran of the war who does mark you for what you did not do. Begone.”

The man rushed for the doorway, only to stop and bow from the waist, “Your Majesty.”

“You know better, Chaswelt,” she said. “Trying to assert your authority where there is none is a poor use of your office. Please see to your other duties.”

“Of course, your Majesty,” and he scampered out the door and disappeared.

“Not even a day and you’re already making enemies,” she said to North. “At least you staked out your position clearly. He won’t forget. Whether that is good or bad remains to be seen.”

“Are there many like him among your Court?” North said.

“Yes, and my court is divided in two camps because of it,” she said. “This state of affairs is one of the reasons I brought you here. At first, I thought to make peace between the two camps, but that strategy was naïve. Veterans are often too rigid in their political takes while the others pretend that nothing has changed, and their previous positions and authorities are unchanged. The cost to defeat the Butcher was higher than most realize. I think, North, that you do realize more consciously the prices we’ve paid.”

“As my commander in chief, yes, I know intimately what we’ve lost,” North said with a measure of disbelief that he was having this conversation with Queen Adrianna Victorious. “I’ve now got an inkling of the divide within the Court as well. Surely, the people of your kingdom beyond these walls are well attuned to the cost of defeating the Butcher and the aftermath. Who among us would not trade this survivor’s shadow to have one more day, one more hour with those we loved and lost?”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but we are not the walking wounded,” she retorted.

“I am no longer consumed with survivor’s guilt,” North said. “I still have nightmares though and as one Wise Woman explained to me, my nightmares are well earned. What would you have me do, my Queen?”

She pulled her sleeves down to her wrists and adjusted the heavy necklace that resembled the top brackets of the Gordian mail that she wore in battle. She frowned at his stained shirt.

“Get your ass out to the practice fields and put them in order,” she said. “Order appropriate dress for yourself this afternoon, lest everyone think a lounging drunk has been ensconced on the premises. Also, this evening is a common meal in the banquet hall. You will attend, and you will sit in your assigned seat like you were born to it. Oh, lest I forget, bring your mage sword in its sheath. Good day, my Jack of Spades.”

She spun on her heel and swept herself out of the room. In the hallway, she called for her arms women to stop eavesdropping and to step into formation. The one on the left peered into his room, giving him a brief focused stare. He returned the inspection taking in the puckered skin that was her partly shriveled ear and the scalp immediately behind it. Then his doorway was empty.

“Curse the wine and spit on the bread,” North sputtered. He finished getting dressed and made his way to the practice fields after swinging by the kitchen for bread and hard cheese. He had to ask for directions to the fields because he had never been to the palace complex before last night. When the Fifth Regiment was sent to the front lines against the Butcher after vanquishing the army of the Third Pillar, their route took them parallel to the inner lands of the kingdom instead of through them. Although the roads were better the closer one got to the capital, the march they took was more direct.

Shaking himself out of his little foray into a memory he had set aside, North marched out to the fields. His initial take of what he saw was less than impressive. There was a lack of seriousness of intent across some of the platoons who were practicing. Many of the recruits stood around, not doing much of anything.

He chose what he thought was the worst of the worst and made a beeline to them. “Tell me, sergeant, what am I to make of this collection of recruits?”

The sergeant looked him up and down. “I served in the Third, sir?”

“I served in the Fifth, sergeant to sergeant, though I now serve on the queen’s personal staff. I was on the right flank when she struck down the Butcher. You?”

“We swung around from the left flank and were pressing from behind. We caught a lot of the blow back from the final assault.”

North had not seen the back end, but he had heard a few stories. “Understood, and these men?”

“They ain’t worth the shit on the bottom of your shoe. They act deaf, dumb, and blind, and I can’t tell if it’s an act or their tragic fate.”

North turned to the soldiers who were listening with keen interest. Most of them had the fattened faces of the merchant and noble classes, and an ease about them that was nurtured by a well-provided life. Among them was one who stood out, who did not have the insight to keep a more neutral mask on his face. His two companions were only slightly more disciplined. The sneer was like a shining beacon.

North motioned him to come forward. “You look like a man of good breeding. Who is your father?”

“My father is a member of the Court, of course,” the young man said. “He is a deputy of the Exchequer in the accounts receivable, an office I’m sure you know little about.”

“You are correct, I know little and care even less about his job or his status,” North said. “Take your stance with your practice sword.” The drill sergeant handed North his own practice sword.

“Come at me,” North said, acting nonchalantly. He moved his left foot back to match the stance of the young man.

With a feral grin, the young man leapt at North with a fearsome yell and a wild swing of his sword. North stepped to the side, slid inside the man’s guard, pushing the handle of the sword up into the solar plexus. As the young man leaned forward having lost all ability to breathe, North took his elbow and smashed it into the side of gasping man’s chin. He fell to the ground unconscious.

North looked at the other gathered young recruits, pointing his practice sword at the prone man. “Do you see this man? He’s a dead man. Utterly useless, worthless to the Crown and not worth the time to train, if he is even trainable.” North pointed at the two men who had flanked the unconscious man before being called out. “You two, drag his carcass back to the barracks. All three of you pack your bags and remove yourselves from these grounds by sunset. You are expelled and there is no appeal.”

Everyone watched in silence as the two men picked up unconscious man by the armpits and dragged him off the field, his feet dragging on the ground. North handed the practice sword back to the drill sergeant. Both had a stone face.

“A question, sir, if I may?” asked one recruit.

“Go ahead,” North said, doing his best to reveal nothing.

“Could you explain their expulsion? I do not wish to make the same mistake, sir.”

North gave a slight nod. “You ask a good question that goes to the heart of the matter. We will go into battle, and I will only take men I can trust to stand at my back. Those three – I was never going to trust them. The rest of you can still prove to me that I can rely on you in the heat of the moment, when the blood sprays, the gobbets fly, and the screams of agony pierce the soul. Don’t prove me wrong.”

North rolled his neck. “I give them back to you, sergeant. Where can I find the mage warriors?”

After following the directions, getting lost again, and finally chancing upon the mages in a far adjacent field, North attempted to make a quiet entrance. He entered with slumped shoulders and a slightly bent head, deliberately not seeking to challenge, but high enough to take in the faces. His quiet entrance was for naught as the men on the field ceased their activity.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” one throaty voice called out. “One of them damn stupid butt-tards from the Fifth. We just got the field cleaned up from the last bedraggled reject.”

North looked up with unbelief across his brow. “Alomar? Who the fuck was stupid enough to sign off on your placement here? It’s a wonder the buildings are still standing, and the corpses aren’t stacked up in the corner. Where in the god’s name did you disappear to?”

Alomar spit to the side. “Where did I disappear to? Where the hell were you? I waited a week, and you didn’t show at the camp.”

“General Soreng Ard assigned me and my platoon clean up duty on the east side of the mountain. There were enough unexploded magic bits to keep us busy for a ten-day. When we returned to camp, there was barely anyone left, except for that accursed paymaster.”

“We didn’t know where you went, though some saw you, so, we knew you were alive. Paymaster?”

“He cheated me,” North said. “I took my sword and went my own way, figuring it just one ‘fuck you’ too many. You?”

“You still have your sword, do ya?” Alomar said with a little smile. “I hear the queen herself was asking after your little pokey stick.” The man looked as if he was waiting for North to figure out that the joke was on him.

“Aegis left out a few details about my pokey stick, as did you for that matter, North crossed his arms as if he had nothing in the world to care about.

“You had enough on your plate without tossing a swelled head into the middle of it,” Alomar said. “Who told you?”

“Adrianna Victorious.”

“Oh,” followed by silence across the field. “Well, I guess that answers that question. What rank did our Queen bestow upon you?”

North shook his head and released an exasperated sigh. “She gave me a title that makes no sense. She’s taken to calling me her Jack of Spades.”

Alomar raised his eyebrows, letting out a little, evil laugh. “What I think it means is that you’ll be buying all the tankards tonight as you’re the freshest one I know directly on the Queen’s personal detail. You, my friend, shall be rolling in the coin. For the record, you now have the means to track down one crooked paymaster.”

“You two, stop lollygagging,” An older gentleman with high boots and a mage’s sword in his hand stormed over to them. “And you, if you have a mage’s sword, you can stay. If not, get the hell out off my range.”

“Beg pardon, sir knight,” North said, pulling his sword from his sheath and extending it from its shortest length for storage to its full length for battle. “Sergeant North, formerly of the Fifth, reporting for practice.”

“Yeah, yeah, another know-it-all wasting my time with your been-there-done-that attitude,” the man said, pulling at his huge mustache.

North gave the man a wide grin. “On the contrary, sir, I’ve never stood on a formal practice field. I volunteered after the war had already begun. The Fifth Regiment under Lord Aegis was in battle from the day I joined.”

“Aegis!” the man yelled. “That misbegotten abortion who had the audacity to get himself killed before I had the chance to rip that fool head off his shoulders. He was a brilliant mind with utterly no impulse control. He gave everyone who knew him grey hair before their time, delighting in tormenting us all. You’re one of his prodigal sons? Oh, you poor bastard. Did he teach you the forms, at least?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then get on with it,” the old man barked. “You, too, Alomar, you lazy lout. Get these men in some sort of formation and work through those forms.”

The rest of the morning passed quickly as North went through the forms and then paired up for sparring with swords, shields, and spells. As Aegis had taught from his first day, Power in battle was just another tool one had to master and use with strategy. Was it going to be “swishy-swishy or stabby-stabby?” North went through the sparring matches with fierce focus, doing his best to stay in the present and shut down the past. Mostly, he was successful.

“What a delightful little stroll,” he remarked to Alomar, “we should do this again tomorrow, and invite a few unattached ladies to watch us. Maybe share a glass of sherry afterwards.”

“Still a smartass, I see,” his comrade said. “Let’s rustle up some food. What is your schedule for the afternoon?”

“Her Majesty has given me direct orders to obtain some appropriate clothing,” North said. “Any idea where the maids hang out the clothes to dry. I prefer five-finger shopping.”

Alomar grunted. “I think Sir Germaine was correct – you’re Aegis’s bastard son.”

 

Chapter 5

The pants were a little tight in the crotch. Someone somewhere had figured out that leaving North to his own devices was a bad idea when the issue was clothes. In truth, he came from a peasant village and the best outfit he ever owned was his army uniform. When he finally landed at the Cat’s Whisker, he learned about a workman’s better apparel. Moreover, he learned to avoid anything that smacked of monied men or nobility, especially flashy clothes. Except for underwear: he loved the underwear he found at the market local to the tavern.

He adjusted the pants, only to have the stiff collar of the jacket poke him in the throat. The queen had said the evening was a common meal, and North had thought that meant wearing common clothes such as the decent wear of a tavern man. No.

Members of the Queen’s designated entourage were expected to dress according to their station and for the event at hand. North looked down at the sleeves that came below his wrist, wondering how he would be able to use his fingers to eat without staining the cuffs. He had been warned specifically not to stain the cuffs, that such a faux pas would be harshly judged in the Court.

As he was contemplating the list of possible regrets he had for agreeing to come to the Court of the Crimson King, there was a knock at his open door. The Court Jester, dressed in his standard yellow outfit, offered his unique short bow, complete with the sliding hand gesture, and asked to enter. Never having met a jester, although the suit was clear statement that he was, North gave a similar bow with open arms, and welcomed the man to his room.

“The Yellow Jester,” the man announced.

“North.”

“No, no,” Claudio said with a serious weaving of his index finger, “you’re supposed to say, ‘the Jack of Spades, O Jester.’”

“Well, the Jack of Spades is feeling a bit out of his element at this juncture, Jester. What good will brings you here?”

The man took a seat. “An intuition that you may be drowning in the ocean that is the Court of the Crimson King. Our queen threw you in the deep end with no warning or preparation. The sun is setting, and you are preparing for your first courtly meal in borrowed clothes and no idea of what passes at these evening repasts.”

“I was warned not to embarrass the queen, if that helps,” North said.

“Ew, a fool definitely gave you the wrong advice,” the jester said. “Please ignore that generic pablum. On the contrary, someone is going to sorely test you tonight, hoping that you will embarrass yourself. There are many who don’t want you here, and don’t like what you represent.”

North grunted. “What do I represent?”

“The ascendancy of a new power structure within the Court and diminution of the old powers,” he said.

North took a moment to digest that nugget of information. “Those who acted cowardly when the Adrianna Victorious rode into battle, I presume. I met some of their worm rot children today.”

The jester twirled one of the tassels on his hat. “Yes, your demonstration and ordered expulsion made the rounds quickly, I must say. No one shall ever accuse you of hesitating before striking. I can only imagine the father will make a grand gesture tonight. I relish the excitement.”

“Any words of advice, Jester?”

“If you draw your sword tonight, Jack of Spades, then you are already committed to using it.”

North chuckled. “Your words sound ominous, which is good. Much of what I saw today disturbed me greatly. I’m told I’m a disciple of Lord Aegis of blessed memory. Surely, he felt many of the disappointments I am experiencing.”

“You are claiming the mantle of Lord Aegis? My, events will be ever more exciting here after the queen’s long mourning period. If you are in the rank of Aegis, you are more than a sword, you have access to the Power and the experience in its use. Aegis was a great teacher in many disciplines.” The man’s face turned into a frown. “Aegis taught me much before the war as I began my tenure. I would like to think I was a student of his as well, though unpowered. My name is Claudio.”

“My name is North. Well met, Yellow Jester. May I encourage you to wipe the frown from your face. Lord Aegis didn’t tolerate moaning and mordant remembrance after battle. We cried over our fallen comrades to be sure, but we also marked their strengths and deeds. ‘Remember why we fight, not consequences of it’ he would say at the graveside. You have already put me in a better mood. Tell me, when the rat pops its head up and squeaks, should I use my sword or my Power?”

The jester made a grand gesture with his right arm. “If you are asking a jester, we always go for the best drama, the one that has the audience jumping out of seats and grasping their bellies to encourage their merriment. Shock them. Keep them laughing, especially when what you mean to say is not a laughing matter.”

“I’m entirely too serious,” North concluded. The two men spoke of inconsequential things until both became aware that time would soon be pressing. With a quick look in both directions, the Yellow Jester slipped into the hallway, disappearing from North’s view. North leaned back with his eyes examining the ceiling, collecting his focus and centering himself in the moment. As he rose, he realized he was prepared. He had more reasons for which to thank the jester than he had recognized only moments ago. “He’s good.”

During his circumnavigation of the buildings and grounds with a tailor and his tailor minions and a docent, North received a good introduction to the grounds and what to expect in any of the twelve buildings that made up the complex. The Queen’s Tower, the palace in peasant parlance, was the most complex and the most secure. The main kitchen and the feasting hall were in a separate building that the royal residence denizens could access by a covered walkway with half-walls.

As he crossed the walkway, he saw there was a crowd waiting in the entrance room to the feasting hall. The room was only for the Queen’s personal staff and favorites; another entrance on the other side of the building was open for the rest of the people. Swallowing his momentary apprehension, he stepped into the room. He was confronted with swirls of colored fabrics and hazy clouds of perfume.

Two young women were facing off against each other while the many others formed a circle around them. They were both dressed in the same style formal gown that emphasized a small waist and hinted at a goodly endowed bosom, although North was debating whether there was much ado on their chests or merely the magic of a skillful seamstress. He almost missed the necklace with the large jewel that both were grasping.

“It’s mine, Clarise,” the light brown haired one yelled. “Father gave it to me.”

“You, stupid twit,” the dark brown haired one yelled back, “the necklace belongs to Mother, and she gave to me.”

They went back and forth several times with the personal invectives becoming more pointed as the volume rose with each taunt. North looked about the room, seeking a clue to the what and why of the cat fight. Some faces were bored, but more were smiling with delight. No one, except for the two fighting, appeared upset or at least put off by the public squalling.

North’s fingers began to curl with rising annoyance as the voices became screechy and the epitaphs absurdly childish. Pushing through the onlookers, he stepped in between the two sisters and snatched the necklace from their hands. He ignored the cries of pinched fingers.

He held up the jewel to eye level, feeling the weight of the rock at the same time. “Why are we squabbling over a jewel that holds no Power? It’s useless,” North declared, looking at both faces.

“It’s a precious stone!” the darker-haired one said.

North gave her a cool look. “Let us see.” He placed the jewel on the ground and stomped on with his heel. The jewel shattered into a splay of red shards that flew across the floor. “It’s glass.” Both young women looked horrified.

“I don’t know who set up this little public display, but both of you have been played,” North said. “Perhaps, you would be humbled enough to abandon your silly games of one-upmanship and return to your studies of how to be useful within the Court of the Crimson King. I suppose,” he took a dramatic pause, “time will tell whether either of you prove yourselves of any value.”

Silence filled the room.

Two taps on the floor from the doorway brought everyone’s attention to the sounds. As one, every person bowed as the Queen entered the room with her bodyguards. “I see you’ve met my Jack of Spades,” the Queen announced. “He does not suffer fools gladly. This incident remains within the Queen’s Tower. Under no circumstance are you to reveal that a Sword Arm of the Queen now mixes among the court. Some know but let the rest of the Court sort it out for themselves. Do you understand your role this evening?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” they said in unison.

“Paquin, see that the Jack of Spades is seated in the correct spot,” the queen ordered. “Come, everyone – we are the Queen and the Queen’s retinue in the Court of the Crimson King. Let us enter with the pride and dignity our position demands.” As was her right and her obligation, North noted, she led the procession into the Feasting Hall. A young woman wrapped her hand around his left elbow, giving him a coquettish smile. She had dimples.

“Are you also my dining companion this evening?” he whispered to her.

“Nay,” she whispered back. “I haven’t been trained in formal use of the Power. Another time, I would gladly sit at your right hand though.” Her face had morphed into a hungry smile, which made his cool hand grow warm and raised a bead of sweat at his temple. Her eyes flashed with a hint of Power.

The Feasting Hall had high stone walls with wooden rafters far above. Lights powered by Power stones gave the room a rosy warm glow. The tapestries on the wall were ancient, depicting scenes of the Crimson King himself in times of war, times of diplomacy and of course, in times of feasting with humans and fanciful creatures, some of whom resembled the guests at the Cat’s Whisker. The queen sat at the table on the raised platform at the front of the hall. The table was peculiar, not long chairs fanning out to her left and right, rather a short rectangular table jutting out into the hall. She sat at one short end and the other designates sat on the long sides, their faces in profile to the rest of the room.

After a moment on the side of the room to allow the clumsy and the eager to find their seats first, North was escorted to one of the round tables that made up the first five rows in front the platform. Behind the round tables were long tables, filled with soldiers and common workers who lived on the grounds. North glanced more than once at the back tables, knowing intuitively that he would have been much happier sitting with them. Paquin pulled insistently on his arm though, and he sat where she placed him.

To his left was Sir Germaine, the older man who was responsible for the mage warrior practice field. Next to the old soldier on his left was a woman with an intricate coiffure of silver-grey hair. The old soldier leaned over to his female companion and said in a whisper that North could easily overhear, “I’ve no idea why our beloved Queen would condescend to appointing uncouth peasant stock to her retinue. I’m not comfortable with these choices.”

North settled into his chair and looked to his right. A woman of middle age in a conservative dress of expensive fabric with modest touches of brocade was staring back at him. North gave her a slight nod and introduced himself simply as ‘North of the Queen’s retinue.’”

“Yasin,” she replied with same nod, “Diplomatic Corps. You are a new face in the crowd. Are you the reason Adrianna Victorious has fresh energy in her step?”

North had to repress a snort. “No, I am merely the first target of her new energy. There is much rebuilding to be addressed, don’t you agree?”

“Rebuilding or a complete renovation?” she countered. “There are arguments for both. What do you think of my daughter, Paquin?”

Chapter 6

The other nine people around table were generous with their gossip and passing of little tidbits of news. Most of their latest updates made no sense to North; he had no context. Being honest with himself, he had no urgency to learn the context of most of their drivel either. At the Cat’s Whisker, there was an unwritten set of rules about sharing and most guidelines concerned not boring the rest of the diners and drinkers with stuff no one cared about. Announcing that a certain gateway was not functioning - everyone listened. Your brother’s girlfriend dropped him to become an ascetic because he was that bad at sex – your business and no one else’s. North concentrated on keeping his cuffs out of his food.

He was eyeing a yellow and red apple in the center bowl when he felt a nudge in ribs from his right. He quickly peeked at Yasin and then followed the direction of her attention. From his left, he noticed a man of medium height with a full head of salt and pepper hair making his way towards North’s table. The man looked furious, and others were noticing. Conversations were dropping off. With a glance at the queen who had a slightly raised eyebrow as she surveyed the scene, North prepared himself.

“Pardon me, my new friend Yasin, but I believe that duty beckons,” North said softly as he removed the rag from his lap.

“I’ve got ten copper riding on this,” she replied, hardly moving her lips. “Don’t screw it up.”

North pushed back his chair and stood before the man reached him. Standing with his hands relaxed at his side, North spoke as the man drew near, “Can I help you?”

“Are you the pissant who humiliated my son on the practice field?” the man nearly shouted.

North stopped and began putting on his mage glove as casually as if he was picking his teeth with a splinter of wood. “You admit your son is the spineless worm who handles a sword like he’s holding his prick and thinks waving it around will impress everyone? Is this your son?”

The man’s ears turned red. “You insolent peasant! I will grind you into the dirt from which you emerged. I shall strike you down and mix your spilt blood with the shit and the piss of the pigs who are your parents. I shall smack that smile from your face . . .”

North gathered his Power and using the form of the shield, scooped up the man and threw him halfway across the hall to smash into the wall. The man had felt like the weight of a small dog or a cat instead of a full grown male, at least since the last time North had used such a maneuver. The man slid down the wall and landed on his rump.

Not taking his eyes off his opponent, North stalked towards the stricken man who had insulted him with deliberate paced steps; North would not show himself in a rush. The man shook his head a few times to clear it and then much to North’s surprise, the fallen man stood up. His face was a mask of pure hatred. North had no sense of his own visage, concentrating on his target as he had been taught.

Sure enough, the man reached behind his back and retrieved a short sword, a gleaming blade that caught the light and shone. North did not stop, pulling his own blade from his Power-cloaked sheath and willed it to its extended length. While the people in the room collectively sucked in their breaths, the armed man lunged at him. North stepped to the side, bringing his own sword in a downward arc, slicing the man’s hand off at the wrist. The offending little sword clattered to the floor.

The man looked with horror at his arm that was spraying arterial blood, almost black, onto the nearby seated diners. North swung again, cutting the man from the right shoulder to the left hip. As his clothes fell open, those closest could see a fine line of cut skin that barely bled at the moment.

“If someone cares to bind his wound with a tourniquet, this man, whom I accuse of sedition against our most glorious Queen, will live to see another day. If not, this noble Court has chosen,” North declared. He had hardly finished speaking when a woman ran over, ripping her dress as she came, to bind up the wound. North considered whether the woman knew what she was doing, but he turned his back on the two of them and walked back towards his chair.

“My Queen,” he spoke aloud as he faced her. “The recruit in question was of such poor quality that he was dismissed immediately. A soldier serves his kingdom and his liege, and does so by standing fast with his comrades in arms. In no manner did this recruit show the slightest inkling of what it means to serve in Her Majesty’s Army, and he showed no capacity for learning. No officer would allow that young man to stand at her Majesty’s back with a drawn sword.”

“The Queen concurs,” she said, holding up her fist. “Crimson!”

Men and women of arms surged to their feet. “Crimson!”

“To the Court and the staff that serves it,” the Queen declared, “The Jack of Spades stands now before you. He was chosen by the fabled mage sword Dauntless and is my chosen Sword Arm. The Court of the Crimson King and its Kingdom are still decimated and under threat, and we are in no manner prepared. This night I put all of you on notice. Come prepared to address our enemies or you will be dismissed. No claim of Noble heritage will be given an automatic pass. New events are coming at us quickly, and I will not fail.”

“The Queen!” someone shouted.

“The Queen!” came the trained response from the gathered.

“Jester,” the queen called out. “What say you?”

The Yellow Jester stood, minced his way to the stand directly before the royal table. He made an extravagant bow that stretched from above his head to his toes. He trilled for a few moments on a penny flute before he spoke. “When her Majesty proposed that she was in need of a pokey stick, we all thought that the queen had learned the coarse language of her army and made it her own. ‘O, the pokey stick’ many said, is that not what our brave soldiers take to the brothel? We were right, but still we were wrong for no mage warrior goes anywhere, even the brothel, without his pokey stick.”

The giggles were emerging from all corners of the room.

“Imagine our relief this evening as we learned from the Jack of Spades that a prick is a prick, and every soldier of the male persuasion has one, even the worst of them, and every warrior of the female persuasion can get one.”

The giggles turned into cackles. “However, a pokey stick is not a prick, we learned, although some soldiers have them. Indeed, our Queen swings Valorous when she wants to grab a pokey stick. Never before did we know she called her favorite right hand object a pokey stick.”

The cackles became belly laughs. “Our thanks go out to The Jack of Spades, for teaching us many new lessons this night and of course, for showing us his pokey stick. For now we are sure, her Majesty appreciates his pokey stick too.”

North had retaken his seat and grabbed the apple before someone else got the idea. When the Yellow Jester finished his words and took his bow, North relaxed in his seat. He leaned over to Yasin, “Only ten coppers?”

“You were supposed to take off his head, not his hand,” she said with a hint of disgust. “You only delivered half a measure.”

“In war strategy, we speak of economy of attack,” North explained. “Enough strength to do the job, but enough left for when everything goes to pot. Yasin, every battle goes to pot.” He took another bite of his apple. “Her Majesty wanted a statement but not a thoroughgoing example of the price of insubordination. Tonight was a lesson on hubris, the poison within the Court.”

“A well-executed lesson then,” Sir Germaine piped in. “I haven’t seen your power jewel. How big is it and what stone do you use?”

“None, Sir Germaine. Lord Aegis was adamant that I learn how to execute Power without a stone. Only when I reached a certain level of expertise, would he allow me to use one. Alas, I never met his standard.”

“Hmm,” the older man said, pulling at his mustache. “Perhaps we should focus on specific Power duels tomorrow.”

“Allowing Alomar to pile drive me into the ground like the old days? I think not,” North retorted. He was still reviewing his Power shield move and its sudden strength while the mindless banter continued. Something between the expectation and the reality did not match, and he did not know why. The table rose together with Yasin promising North that they would have conversation over a cup of tea soon. North looked up. The royal table was empty, and the dishes were cleared.

He walked alone back to the Queen’s Tower. Standing at the entrance with the two guards was Bordo, in his battle fatigues. “Nice show tonight, North. You played well to the crowd and the Queen.”

“I wasn’t playing,” North growled.

“Welcome again to the Court of the Crimson King,” Bordo said with a hint of sarcasm. “By the way, you’re still executing far too often towards the right with your sword. You would have been more efficient if you had broken to your left and stayed to his outside. Do I need to come out to the practice field tomorrow and beat a bad habit out of you?”

“Possibly,” North said. “I’m a soldier; I’m not trained as a direct extension of the Queen’s will over her Court. If I had had my way, I would have simply run him through and be done with the matter. Now, I’m required to be nice to people tomorrow. I must have tea with polite people and pretend that I’m interested. The tavern was easier, even with gods, aliens, and everything in between.”

“Beats guard duty,” Bordo said. “Crimson, Jack of Spades. Crimson.”

“Crimson, Lieutenant.”

In his room, North put away his gear and tossed off the officious jacket that rubbed irritably under his chin. He looked around the room, wondering if he would ever feel comfortable in these surroundings. There was a bed instead of a billet and a chair with a secured cushion on the seat. There were two other chairs and a stool, which felt downright decadent. A larger heating stone provided a flat top for a kettle and generated heat in the cold months. A thick rug of worsted wool covered the cold, unyielding stone floor. A private bathing room was through the other doorway.

A quiet knock at the door had North shaking his head. No matter where he was, someone always knew he was in his room. Agit or Gartin at the Cat’s Whisker or the unknown timid one here. He opened the door just enough to see the face. The young woman looked familiar, but he was at a momentary loss as from where. He opened the door fully and ushered her in.

“Thank you for seeing me, sir,” she said shyly, refusing to look higher than his chest.

North was puzzled. “What’s this about? Eh, what’s your name for the record.”

“I am Cochannel, sir,” she said. She drew a deep breath. “Because of my behavior with the necklace before dinner and your need to intervene, I’ve been commanded to present myself to you as your bedwarmer for the night.”

With faux indignation, North demanded, “Why?”

“Your words, sir, that I needed to show I had some worthwhile skill to serve at the Court,” she said, almost with a sob.

North took the opportunity to examine the young woman. He made a full circuit around her, scanning her up and down from her shoes to the top of her head. He returned to face her. Lifting her chin so that their eyes met he asked, “Are you skilled as a bedwarmer?”

“I’ve . . .I’ve never had sex with a man before,” she said softly.

He smirked. “Am I preparing you to join the brothel that services the barracks? Is that what is expected of you?”

Her eyes went wide with fright. “Surely, I pray not,” she sobbed again. “I would kill myself before I dishonored my family with such a fall from grace. I was fooled by a vindictive competitor for the affections of a young noble and only that instance. Such a slip could not condemn me to a life of degradation, could it? It was one slip, only involving my sister.”

“Your outburst brought a shadow across the Queen’s brow, Cochannel,” North explained. “She is heartily disappointed with a significant portion of her Court. You may not have been the worst of the evening, but you added an exclamation point to her frustration at the least.”

“I’m doomed,” she moaned.

“No,” North said, unable to hide a smile. “You’re fucked and by morning, you shall be well fucked.” Her eyes blinked with surprise.

“First, we will get you out of these absurdly complicated clothes. Then you will have your next lesson, which is how to properly undress your man with a goal of a thoroughly fulsome bedding. Now, off with these rags.”

 

Chapter 7

North had already finished his ablutions and was buttoning his shirt when the sharp rap on the door sounded. He glanced over at Cochannel who lay sprawled across his bed, her legs spread obscenely since their last coupling only a little while ago. She had protested that she was sore, but North had pressed ahead, spearing her with his erection. She eased into the mood soon enough, joining him in mutual thrusts of want and hunger for another release.

He opened the door immediately, knowing full well that someone of importance wanted his attention. First thing in the morning was always a good clue. He bowed low and offered his Queen entry without saying a word.

“A hearty morning to you, my Jack of Spades,” she announced while staring at his bed. Cochannel squeaked in fear and tumbled out of bed. She perched on her knees with her head bowed so far that her chin was almost touching her breastbone.

“How was the little morsel I sent you?” the Queen asked.

“Adequate,” North replied, trying to keep any hint of surprise off his face. “She listens to instruction but lacks drive.”

“She looks well used, I’ll give you that,” she said. “Lieutenant Bordo has asked to train with you this morning and I have granted my permission. Nonetheless, I need you to press for better results on the other practice fields. There will be a briefing this afternoon you will need to attend.” She tut-tutted. “Someone will be officially assigned to you as an administrative assistant today. Please don’t lop off their head when they introduce themselves.”

Setting her face into a regal form of scorn, the Queen stepped over to the young woman who was shaking on her knees. “You will not disappoint me again, Cochannel. If you failed to hear my message after dinner, let me confirm that your father can no longer protect you. My Jack of Spades must be able to read and write at a proficient level in three weeks. Do not ask what will happen if you fail to bring him up to speed for you already know.”

She strode to the doorway, looking back with a touch of theater. “We may only have three weeks before I send you out on expedition. You must be able to read my orders and missives, Jack of Spades, and respond. There is no room for miscommunication.” She departed, leaving silence in her place.

“Get dressed,” North harshly ordered Cochannel. “My Commander in Chief does not scare easily, and she is greatly concerned. You will begin teaching me later this afternoon. Further, you’ve embarrassed me. From now on, you will keep a soldier’s hours and you will be dressed first thing every morning you’re here. Now, move!”

He heard the sob, but he ignored it as he belted his sword and left for what promised to be a busy day.

Bordo put North through his moves. More than once, North flashed back to some unmapped field at dawn where his regiment spent a few hours “toughening up” each other. If the scouts and the sentries agreed, Aegis would continue with Power drills and forms. “Now, dung brain!” Bordo would call out, leaving North with the imperative to focus mixed with the nostalgia of those marching days. Then Alomar piled on and a bruised and battered North rose to his feet one last time and called for a ceasefire. Considering five others were also trying to dig themselves out of the ground where their thrown bodies had created furrows, the call was accepted.

Filthy from head to toe, North insisted that his fellows follow him to the novice practice fields and put in some effort with the recruits. Their appearance made an impression. By the time the sun was at midpoint in the sky, there was no soldier on the field not covered in muck and mud. To make his point absolute, North made the entire company run the long way around the complex to the barracks.

He limped into the back of the kitchen and was promptly thrown out empty-handed. Making his way to the Queen’s tower, an older teenager stopped him and introduced himself as his personal aide. He ordered the young man to get him some food and then find him some “frickin’ clothes” to appear before the queen. Every joint ached.

Three buckets of water later, North assumed he was reasonably clean. “What’s your name again,” North asked as he slipped on his last pair of clean underwear.

“Botham, sir. Eh, where did you get such an undergarment, sir; it looks interesting.”

“In a market only accessible by taking the Celestial Way, Botham. How did you know I’m eligible to wear the Queen’s Regiment garb?”

Botham bowed slightly. “For one, you live in the Queen’s Tower. However, to directly answer your query, sir, when I pulled the uniform from the quartermaster’s shelves, no one complained or told me to stop.”

North liked that response. “Good answer, you can stay. Where am I supposed to go, now?”

“At two-bells, which is in a half-bell, you are to report to the Queen’s map room for a briefing with the commander of the Second Regiment. We will need twenty minutes to make our way to the assigned room.”

North grunted. “I have reading lessons late this afternoon with Cochannel whatever-her-surname-is. Find out when and where. You need to fill out my wardrobe because I have no clue what is required. I want you to personally wash my underwear, the only valuable pieces of clothing I own. No one else is to touch them. The rest of my clothes can go to the washerwomen. If I need a pair of polished boots for these meetings and these dinners, you’re detailed the duty.’”

“I’m already on task, honored sir,” Botham said. “The staff and I will have you kitted out and on your way in no time. I will contact Cochannel Ne Bosh and set your schedule with her as well. Will she be warming your bed tonight again?”

North started. “You know? Does everybody in this puppet show know?”

“Sir, we share a mutual friend,” Botham said, taking a glance at the open door to the hallway and dropping his voice. “As he must for his obligations to the Queen, he keeps tabs on all things that happen within the Court of the Crimson King. Our friend recommended me for this job serving you. He can produce a naughty and wicked puppet show upon request as well.” When Botham saw North’s reaction he continued, “Maiden Ne Bosh was the source of many ribald jokes this morning at the Queen’s breakfast table. The ignorant girl didn’t know how to come to a man’s bed prepared. She had to take the Walk of Shame back to her dormitory after you departed for the practice fields.”

North sat heavily in his chair. “I believe that her humiliation this morning was deliberate. These circumstances are a testing of her resilience, which has been taken for granted in the past. She has three weeks to prove herself made of tempered steel. I don’t trust her, but she’s dependent upon me for the next weeks. In this matter, Botham, you will do the minimum necessary to keep her at her tasks and the utmost to keep me at a step removed from the gossip.” North sighed. “Now?”

“We should make our way to her Majesty’s offices,” Botham said. “If we’re a few minutes early, I’ll give you a quick tour of that wing of the building. The reigning monarch has always kept their inner circle of advisors near their private study.”

North stood up. “The Jian people refer to the king’s advisors as ‘The Mandarins’ and they say their tradition dates back to the origin world. Mandarins must take a huge test that lasts three days and less than one-tenth of one percent pass it.”

“It would help,” Botham said, stepping out into the doorway, “the test, that is. The word is our Queen has the patience of a saint until she doesn’t.”

“I can see that,” North said as they exited the building. “What is the word concerning me?”

“On one hand, you are not one to tolerate frivolous nattering,” Botham said, to which North snorted. “On the other hand, the members of the Court are divided over whether you are a devious and intricate plotter or an even more impulsive protégé of the late Lord Aegis.”

“Idiots,” North said. “I serve my Queen. All my words and all my deeds are in service to her orders. Their judgments tell me more about them than reflect my person back to me. I’ve watched the before-mentioned Jianian diplomats dance rings around their opponents over a warm beer and a bowl of beans, and the opponents still had no clue when they left the tavern. Like those ill-fated fools, these Courtly folk are clueless. Let’s keep the state of affairs as is.”

As they passed an unmarked building, North heard the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. He left the path and stood under the window listening. There were stringed instruments and a flute playing a sonorous tune, but they were not playing the same notes at the same time. There a main line of music and the other instruments would weave in and out of the melody. “What is this?” North asked in a soft voice.

“This is a Salon,” Botham replied. “They invite musicians to come, and they also display artwork of accomplished artists or have poets and writers come to read their works. They even host a play once in a while.”

“I want to hear more of this wonderful music. How do I get inside?”

Botham looked both ways. “Entrance to the Salon is by invitation only and if you must ask for an invitation, the answer is always ‘no.’ Please, sir, it’s embarrassing to be seen standing under the window in public listening to the goings-on in the Salon.” With a shake of his head, North followed his guide.

The wing of the Trade Building that served as royal and ranking offices along with an exhibition hall, a large diplomats dining room, and amenities for trade delegations were quiet and plush. The marble floor was partially covered with a long rug meant to dampen the sound of footsteps. Many nobles wore shoes with wooden soles. The high and wide window at the end of the hallway filled the space with light.

The last door on the right led to her Majesty’s private office and the last door on the left was the conference room they sought. All the other doors were shut, but each had a nameplate nailed to the right lintel with a name on it, not that North could read any of them. Botham spoke in a whisper as he announced the name and their title/role. All of it was lost on North, although he knew the information could be pertinent.

The door to the Conference Room was open and North was not the first to arrive. Indeed, there was a general in a field uniform pacing the room, pensive and ill at ease. North swallowed his initial reaction and walked into the room. “Good afternoon, sir,” North said, “I am the Jack of Spades.”

The general stopped pacing and gave North a thorough silent assessment. “You served under whom?”