"Morning, my…" A yawn split his words.
Izzy flopped forward, her cheek pressing against his chest. "Sleep well?"
"Mmm." He blew a strand of her hair from his lips. "You?"
"Valgrin crashed my dreams." She traced a circle on his collarbone. "When's he due back?"
"Day three was yesterday. So…" Malcolm's palm found the warm curve where her spine met her hips. "Soon."
She rolled to face him, their noses inches apart. "The Drathnor, Black Dove situation. How's he handling it?"
Malcolm's eyebrows shot up. "Another man? Really? That's where we're going with this moment?"
"I've got tavern duties soon, no time for anything, anyway." She reached for a pillow and smacked him with it, leaving a feather floating between them.
Malcolm raised his hands in surrender, laughing. "Fine! Fine!" His smile faded slightly. "He's…managing. Not great. That's partly why he went north. Needed space."
The mattress shifted as Izzy slipped from beneath the covers. She reached for her clothes, scattered across the floor like autumn leaves. "Theerat duties calling you?" she asked, tugging her green shirt over her head, her voice momentarily muffled by fabric.
“I was thinking about skipping that this morning, let them do for themselves. Been there everyday since we got rid of Joroush. I’ll go downstairs and watch you work.” Malcolm grinned.
“Been doing that since you got to the EverNever.” Izzy smiled back, she tossed his pants at him, hitting him square in the chest.
“Psshh, I’d be offended if it weren’t true, mostly.” Malcolm tugged his pants on with a dramatic sigh, then retrieved his rumpled tunic from where it had landed—half on the chair, half trailing to the floor. “I’ll get something for breakfast and go to the back garden and then I’ll be free for the day. If your duties lighten up we can go do something.”
“Sounds like a nice plan. I should be free in a few hours.”
Their footsteps synchronized as they descended the creaking stairs. He watched Izzy turn the corner and head to her office behind the stairs.
“Coffee and a couple of morning rolls, please?” Malcolm shouted to Deeah as he walked to the corner of the bar.
Deeah came out of the kitchen with Malcolm’s order in hand. “Waited til you showed up to pour the coffee, hear you go.” The plate of rolls clattered on the counter.
Malcolm took the coffee from Deeah and grabbed the rolls then headed to his morning routine. “I’ll be in the back if anyone needs me.”
“Who’d need you?” Deeah called back, giggling.
“One day. I’m telling ya, one day.” He grinned as he walked through the door.
###
Malcolm pushed through the tavern door, the empty coffee mug dangling from his fingers, sunlight still clinging to his shoulders. Izzy's copper hair caught his eye immediately—she was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, mid-laugh at something Deeah had said."Looks like good timing," he called, the floorboard creaking under his step as he approached.
Izzy turned, “Wrapping up, give me fifte…”
The door banged against the wall, hinges squealing in protest as Skwilly burst through. His voice raised in pitch and volume, words spilling out. “You’ll never believe what happened we were attacked and I saved the day and snions saw it and they called me brave and wanted to see me then we went with them to the cave and these snow monsters atta…”
“Whoa there. Breathe and start over, please.” Malcolm grinned.
Valgrin's boots scuffed against the threshold. He twisted the door handle, eyebrow raised toward Izzy. "Lock it?"
Izzy paused refilling Malcolm’s mug and glanced at the window where golden afternoon light streamed in. "Few minutes till opening anyway. Leave it." She finished pouring the coffee.
Skwilly’s head bobbed as he sniffed, loudly. “Doesn’t anyone want to hear what happened?”
“If you can slow down a bit so my ears can keep pace,” Malcolm chuckled.
Snout twitching Skwilly he looked back at Valgrin. "I, um—" He shuffled his feet. "Maybe you should be the one to tell it. I’m not sure I can slow it down.”
Stepping across the floor towards his usual barstool, Valgrin nodded. He spent the next several minutes letting the others know what Skwilly and he had been up to the last few days.
“Snow lions and snow wolves?” Izzy’s eyebrows raised.
“They call themselves snions and snolves.” Skwilly jumped in to answer. “Snions are bigger than cows. Snolves are same size as wolves.”
Malcolm's coffee steamed as he raised the mug to his lips. "Quite the adventure you two had." The bitter liquid warmed his throat.
Valgrin's fingers drummed against the worn bar top, “And I saved the surprising stuff for the end. First, if I’m not able to go back home. I can see myself spending a lot of time up there, maybe even make it my new home. Be a little hard to leave this place behind though.” His hands motioned to include the tavern. “Second…well let me just start with a question. Malcolm, do you remember Sevles?”
Malcolm's forehead wrinkled, lips pursing into a tight knot. His eyes darted upward as if searching the ceiling beams for answers. “I have enough to know I should know it, but the old brain in failing me.”
“It’s the race Bryan created, elves backwards with th…”
“With the pointy part of the ears here.” Malcolm touched his earlobes, then watched Valgrin's chin dip in confirmation. His eyes widened, “Bryan is a Creator?”
Valgrin nodded, a half-smile forming. "The snions, snolves—all Bryan's handiwork, according to them. Ancient history, from the dawn of EverNever."
Malcolm leaned forward, nearly knocking over his mug. "Is he here? His eyes, somehow, got wider.
Valgrin's shoulders slumped. "Caelith—their leader—doesn't know. Sandy wouldn't tell me either." His eyes shifted to Izzy. "Maybe Ggyllum knows? Speaking of the Mavvon, any progress with Fred?"
Izzy's arms folded across her chest, one eyebrow arching toward Malcolm. "Someone needs to follow up on that."
Stolen story; please report.
Malcolm's hand flew to his forehead in mock salute. "Yes, dear," he drawled, lips twitching. He ducked the bar towel she threw at him.
“Well if nothing is going on here, in the next few days. I’ll probably head back up north.” Valgrin shrugged. “You all can join Skwilly and I if you want.”
Deeah hugged herself, shoulders hunching. “Lands of ice and snow are not my thing. Unless needed to help save someone, or some other adventure. I’m staying where it’s warm enough.”
Malcolm's chair scraped against the floorboards as he stood. "My pack's still half-ready." His eyes drifted to Izzy, lingering.
Izzy caught his gaze, sighed, and wiped her hands on her apron. "The things I do for you," she muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward.
“Ylnah at the library?” Valgrin asked.
“Only took one guess,” Malcolm quipped.
“I’m going to head over, let her know I’m back. And see if she wants to travel north when I go.” Valgrin started toward the door.
“Want company?” Malcolm stood up. “Izzy?”
“I’ll come along.” Izzy untied her apron, hanging it on its peg with practiced precision and made her way around the bar.
Valgrin smiled, “I didn’t say yes.”
“I’m irresistible,” Malcom grinned. “You will.”
Their laughter spilled into the street as they stepped outside, Skwilly bounding ahead.
A few steps into their trip to the Research Center, Malcolm's body jerked backward as if punched by an invisible fist. A metallic throwing star protruded from his abdomen, its jagged edges glistening with his blood. A crimson stain erupted across his cream tunic. Malcolm's face contorted in agony as he collapsed to his knees, gasping.
"Malcolm!" Izzy's scream tore through the air. She lunged forward, catching him before he hit the ground.
Valgrin was already sprinting, his boots pounding the cobblestones. "Saw the thrower!" he bellowed over his shoulder, hand already on his weapon.
<
“Be careful,” Malcolm winced as he shouted back at Valgrin. “He used poison.”
The tavern door slammed open, wood splintering against stone as Deeah burst through. "Gods above—what happened?!"
Izzy's hands trembled, slick with Malcolm's blood as she gripped at the metal star. "Healing potion! The strong ones! And one to neutralize poison." she commanded, her voice cracking. Deeah fleeing from the doorframe and back into the tavern.
“Dear,” Malcolm smiled up at Izzy, “I’m immune to poison. Remember? Need to ask Sandy about that, meant to after the theerat. And I have a decent heal spell. No need to waste a potion.” Malcolm’s hands pressed against the wound, a cool energy passed through him, the gash closing. His gaze went past Izzy and watched as Valgrin ducked down an ally across the street. “Plus it’s not that deep, despite the blood. I keep a bit of magic flowing through my clothes which gives me a decent armor rating.”
Izzy hauled him upright, her fingers digging into his arm. Deeah burst through the doorway, potions clutched against her chest, skidding to a halt as Malcolm staggered to his feet.
"Save those," Malcolm barked, already breaking into a run. "Valgrin's alone with that bastard!" He charged toward the alley, blood still soaking his shirt, Izzy and Deeah sprinting after him, weapons drawn.
As they barreled past gawkers, Izzy's voice cracked like a whip, "You! Get the damn guard Now!"
Malcolm skidded around the corner, boots nearly slipping out from under him on the cobblestones. Three strides and he came to a halt beside Valgrin. The alley reeked of copper and voided bowels. "Five bodies," he gasped, eyeing the carnage. "You've been busy."
"Six," Valgrin snarled, face contorted with rage. His hands still glowed with arcane frost. "Ledge. Bastard took a bolt shot. Missed. My ice shards didn't. The rest came at me with steel," his voice broke with anger, "but weren’t successful. One, maybe two of fucker are hiding behind those boxes. Can’t get there on my own without being to exposed.”
“Oh my, such language,” Malcolm mocked surprise. “Joroush, Valgrin doesn’t use that word unless he is really angry. Right now, I’d say he’s pissed. I’d recommend you giving yourself up, otherwise you won’t survive.”
A dark-haired figure erupted from behind the boxes, dagger flashing. Two ice shards punched through his throat before he could strike. He collapsed gurgling, fingers clawing at his neck as crimson bubbled between his lips.
"Was that him?" Valgrin snarled.
"Still hiding," Malcolm whispered, twirling his sai. "Cover me. I'll flush him out. Or butcher him. Either works."
Valgrin nodded grimly. They advanced on the crates like predators, Skwilly crouched behind them, teeth bared.
Rounding the corner, Malcolm's world exploded into white-hot pain as Joroush's shoulder rammed into his midsection with bone-shattering force. The impact drove the air from his lungs in a violent rush. As expected! Moron. Time slowed. Malcolm's sai were already in motion, his muscles operating on pure instinct. The twin blades punched through leather and flesh with a wet, sickening thud, sinking deep alongside Joroush's spine. The man's scream tore through the alley—raw, primal. Malcolm ripped the sai free in a shower of crimson, summoned his magic with a snarl, and watched the metal transform into blades. He drove them back in with savage precision, feeling ribs splinter like kindling beneath his strength. The blades pierced lung tissue with a sound like wet cloth tearing. Joroush's body convulsed violently, pink froth bubbling from his lips as his punctured lung filled with blood. The light in his eyes extinguished before they even hit the ground. Malcolm heaved the corpse off him, its dead weight already cooling against his blood-soaked clothes.
Izzy's scream ripped through the alley. "Malcolm!" She vaulted over a fallen crate, boots skidding in the blood-slicked cobblestones as she crashed to her knees beside him. Valgrin thundered behind her, eyes wild as he scanned for more threats while dropping to Malcolm's side.
“Malcolm, talk to me!" Izzy demanded, voice cracking as she gripped his shoulders.
Malcolm's chest heaved violently as he fought for air, face contorted. Blood, his and Joroush's, soaked him to the skin. "Just," he gasped, spitting crimson, "knocked the wind out of me." He grabbed onto Valgrin’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled up to his feet. Izzy’s arm went around Malcolm’s waist.
They staggered toward the alley's mouth, Malcolm's weight heavy against Valgrin's shoulder, each step leaving crimson footprints behind them. A wall of faces blocked the exit—wide eyes, hands covering mouths, necks craning for a better view. Before Malcolm could spit out a curse, Deeah's voice cut through the murmurs, followed by the metallic clank of guard armor.
"Move!" The lead guard's elbow connected with a gawker's ribs, producing a satisfying grunt. "I said get out of th…" His boots skidded slightly in the blood as he breached the final row of onlookers. His weathered face blanched beneath his helmet, gaze darting between the blood-drenched trio and the carnage beyond. His throat bobbed with a swallow. "…gods above." His hand shot up, signaling the guards behind him. "Anyone still standing here when I count to three gets a night in the cells!" The crowd scattered like roaches, revealing a path back to the street.
“Izzy, or one of you others, explain to me what happened.” The guard asked.
“Sure Varrard,” Izzy wiped some blood from her face. “I’ll start, but we’ll all need to explain a part.”
They spent a few minutes recounting what happened, Varrard stopping them to ask questions from time to time. “Okay, I think I have a good idea of what happened. Felix, what did you find?”
Felix lowered the crystal he had been holding up in the air. “Everything looks to match up to what I heard them saying. Self-defense is what it looks like. Must say you,” He nodded to Valgrin, “were most impressive taking six out in a matter of seconds. And you…uh…Malcolm?” Malcolm nodded and Felix continued. “The other guy didn’t stand a chance.”
Several minutes later, Malcolm's boots left bloody prints across the cobblestones as they crossed to the tavern. The crowd had thinned, but a dozen gawkers still trailed behind them, whispering and pointing. On the tavern steps, Izzy whirled around, her hand dropping instinctively to her dagger. The nearest onlooker stumbled back.
"You want a drink? Fine." Her voice cut like steel. "But we're not your entertainment." She gestured at Malcolm's blood-soaked shirt. "We're going upstairs and washing off someone’s insides. Anyone asks us about what happened…" She leaned forward, eyes narrowing to slits. The light caught the dried blood still spattered across her cheek. "…gets introduced to the street. Face-first."
Three spectators immediately backed away. The rest filed in silently behind them, giving the group a wide berth.
"Deeah," Izzy called, jerking her chin toward the staircase. "Block off the side booths. Chairs across the line." Without waiting for a response, she pulled Malcolm toward the stairs, Valgrin and Skwilly close behind.