“Cheer up, may never happen,” Lief told him, raising a mug. “Here, this is beer. You drink it.” He spoke slowly, as if to a child.

Nth searched his secondhand memories and discovered that Penthos had not had much to do with beer. Holding the mug in both hands, he sipped gingerly at the fluid, finding it thin and uninspiring, then losing himself in revulsion at the motion of his own lips.

“Stop making faces,” Lief advised him, glancing about. “I’d say, ‘People will stare,’ but hell, in a place like this, why would they? Just keep the glasses on and you’re not the third weirdest thing within these four walls.” He drained his mug and waved at the woman for a refill. “I guess this isn’t what you wanted to be when you grew up, eh?”

Nth looked at him blankly, feeling an urge to answer and yet not understanding the question. He drank more beer instead.

“Me neither,” Lief confirmed, as though he had. “Missions? Quests? The service of Armes? Not my business. It’s true, though—Darvezian’s bad for anyone’s business. There used to be more places like this—ignored by Dark and Light alike. Then he started pushing, and his soldiers were suddenly everywhere, and everyone started taking sides. And a few of my friends tried to turn his offers down, and never lived to regret it, so naturally I decided I had to do the right thing, and take a stand against him. Also I got caught stealing from Dion’s temple, and so it was either this or the mines. So I guess we’re not so different, eh? You and me?” Again that strained smile, searching for commonality in Nth’s newly inherited face. “Or not. I guess not.”

“I don’t want to be here.” The words came out barely loud enough to hear over the hubbub, and still Lief flinched.

“Damn me, I forget you can actually talk,” he said. “Maybe you shouldn’t do that, so much. You do weird things with your mouth when you do. I guess you’re still learning.”

His last three words rang out into a sudden silence that descended on the taproom like nightfall.

Lief turned around, saw something he plainly didn’t like and turned back again, eyes fixed on the wall behind the bar.

“Don’t look.”

Nth twitched, given an instruction but with no idea what not to observe. Something of his quandry must have communicated itself to Lief because the little man hissed, “It’s a Doomsayer; one of Darvezian’s elite. Bad guys, real bastards. Don’t look.”

The sound of heavy metal footsteps rang across the room like sword-blows.

“Where is she?” A hollow, steel voice to match the feet.

Nobody answered. Every human that Nth could see seemed to find their drinks, the tabletop, or the backs of their hands endlessly fascinating.