The vibrant hues of the woodland gradually surrendered to a more cultivated landscape on the second day of their trek toward Sanpra. Neatly arranged plots of farmland, or at least what Malcolm presumed to be farmland, replaced the dense thickets and towering trees. The path beneath their feet began to transform, taking on the appearance of a road, becoming more defined and structured with every step they took.

  “Doing okay, Skwilly?” Malcolm stopped walking, allowing the priggy to stop. Valgrin shot his friend a smile.

  “Legs…aren’t as long…as yours. Hard…to keep pace.” Skwilly puffed and grunted as he answered.

  “I could carry you again,” Malcolm offered.

  A sharp squeal pierced the air. “Never again.”

  “Come on, I only dropped you,” Malcolm paused for a second, "um…twice.”

  “And you won’t get a chance to drop me again.”

  Valgrin stopped laughing. “Now that we’re all settled, let’s keep walking. It may be wishful thinking but I believe I see building in the distance.”

  Everyone looked to where Valgrin pointed. Skwilly squealed with delight. Malcolm let out a whoop.

  “Double time?” Malcolm grinned.

  Skwilly did a decent job of glaring back. “I am already doing double time.”

  Laughing together, the three of them made their way toward Sanpra. Their playful conversation ceased after a few more yards. In the ensuing silence, Malcolm reflected on the journey so far. He and Valgrin had tossed around ideas about how to allocate their points. Although Malcolm was tempted by Valgrin’s approach of rounding off all stats to increments of five, he ultimately opted for more precise distribution. They both took a generalist stance at this stage, as the Structure had set them up in that manner. Each decided to focus more heavily on their primary needs—Malcolm chose to enhance his strength and wisdom. Valgrin, concerned about his low stats in survival categories, invested in intelligence, reflexes, and endurance. After some discussion, they concluded that their stats were sufficiently balanced to warrant an even distribution of points for the time being. They figured they could specialize later once they understood which roles or skills would require additional focus.

  Malcolm glanced over at his friend and the priggy, chuckling to himself, yet feeling a knot of uncertainty tugging at him. I just had a conversation with a pig-like creature. Spent an entire afternoon trying to balance my stat points, because that’s now a thing. How am I managing to stay calmer than Valgrin, and why is it easier for me to think of him as Valgrin instead of Keith? It’s strange—calmer because everything was a mess on the other side for me? But then again, Valgrin seemed to have it all together back at home—I'd be raging if I were in his place. I mean he’s missing wife and daughter, along with everything else back home. For me, this is a chance to live a fantasy, an adventure. I’m young again—and all things considered—I think this trade is good for me.

  “…Malcolm, you with us?”

  “No need to shout.”

  “It is when you didn’t answer the first two times I called your name.” Valgrin answered.

  Malcolm noticed the buildings directly in front of him, for the first time, and shook his head. “Seems I was deeper in thought than I…um…thought. Sorry, got caught up in processing the last couple of days.”

  Valgrin chuckled. “That’ll keep you busy, for sure. Anyway, do you want to get directions to Izzah Place, or do you want me to find someone to ask?”

  “I’m probably better at first contact. Still bugs me you have a higher charisma score.”

  “We talked about that yesterday. You’re better at casual conversation, I’m probably better at persuasion—laying out the argument. Emotion versus logic, plus it was only a four point difference to start with, basically a wash.”

  Malcolm grinned through his grumbling. “True, but still…uh…well, but still.”

  Valgrin laughed. Skwilly looked on with a confused expression.

  “All things being what they are, let’s go together and I’ll start the conversation. If logic is called for, you can take over.” Malcolm led the group to a man who seemed in uniform, standing next to a small, grayish, stone building.

  The encounter turned out to be brief, but informative. Sanpra didn’t require any papers, no curfew, the guard told them to keep out of trouble and all would be good. He also gave them turn by turn instructions to Izzah Place, which was only a few blocks away. Valgrin and Malcolm thanked the guard and, with Skwilly tagging along, headed to the tavern.

  Malcolm paused at the first turn, his eyes sweeping up and down the streets that stretched before him. Shops lined the stone-paved street, creating a peculiar tapestry of architecture. Simple medieval structures with their quaint, thatched roofs stood next to stately eighteenth-century brownstones, their weathered facades whispering tales of bygone eras. Interspersed among them were bland, gray brick buildings, stark and utilitarian, offering a sharp contrast to their more ornate neighbors. The chaotic blend of these architectural styles, and others, was jarring, like a cacophony of mismatched notes in a symphony. He blinked a few times, allowing his mind to absorb and process the visual dissonance.

  "This place is an affront to my senses," he muttered, the words carrying a hint of bewilderment.

  Valgrin swiveled his head, looking around. “How so? Looks okay to me.”

  Malcolm let out a loud sigh. “Really? The anachronistic architecture doesn’t set you off?”

  “Um—not really. It is a bit jumbled but not horrible. What does set me off is you’ve used affront and anachronistic in a short amount of time. You okay?” Valgrin chuckled.

  Malcolm raised the back of his hand to his forehead and replied with mock indignation. “I’m shocked, nay…offended, at your comment. I know some big words, maybe ten at last count. Only a few thousand short of you, but catching up.”

  “I don’t understand.” Skwilly looked up at the pair. “What are you two talking about?”

  Both men drew a few strange looks from passersby, when they burst out laughing. Skwilly’s look of frustration only prolonged the laughing fit.

  Wiping his eyes, Malcolm stooped and addressed the priggy. “Long…er…long-running joke between the two of us. Valgrin fakes being shocked at my vocabulary, and I respond. It’s silly, but something we’ve done for most of our friendship.”

  Skwilly looked from Malcolm up to Valgrin, then back to Malcolm. “Silly would be veracious.” He snorted and began walking—leaving the two men behind.

  “I think he out big worded me; what does that even mean?” Malcolm stared at the priggy.

  “Honest, truthful, or accurate; probably the latter, given the context.” Valgrin started following Skwilly. “Our new friend seems to have a few surprises left for us.”

  “A few, at least.” Malcolm hurried to catch up with Valgrin. And now the pig-like creature is one upping me. Strange times indeed. Now, how to get even?

  After a few minutes of walking and Valgrin pointed out the sign for the tavern, a few buildings away.

  They hastened their steps and walked through the door into a spacious chamber filled with wooden tables surrounded by sturdy chairs. An enormous stone fireplace, though currently unlit, dominated the center of the far wall, its carved mantel adding an air of rustic charm to the room. This scene could have been plucked straight from a classic fantasy film, with its quintessential barroom atmosphere. A couple of patrons were scattered about, seated at different tables, their numbers surprisingly sparse compared to what one might anticipate in such a setting. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread mingling with the rich scent of beer, adding a pleasant note to the room's rustic appeal.

  The group headed toward the bar, both men looking for someone who looked like she might be Izzy.

  A gravelly voice called from a room behind the bar. “I’ll be with you in a minute. Have to get a couple of things out of the oven.”

  “Hmph, thought Izzy would be a female.” Malcolm whispered.

  “How do you know she isn’t?” Valgrin asked.

  “That voice didn’t sound like it. Though I guess it didn’t have to by Izzy.”

  Valgrin nodded and made his way to the bar, Malcolm and Skwilly right behind him. The noise of a few pans clanging and dishes clattering sounded from the back room. A few seconds later, a shadowy form stepped into a small, dark alcove.

  “Looks like we…” Malcolm stopped talking as Izzy stepped into the light.

  “We what?” Valgrin turned to look at his friend and laughed. “I know that look…”

  “What can I do for you?” Izzy’s voice lost some of its gravel, but not all.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Malcolm sputtered a couple of noises, then went silent.

  “What my friend is trying to say, Fred sent us here. You’re supposed to have a couple of rooms for us?”

  “Your Malcolm and Valgrin?”

  “I’m Valgrin. The speechless one is Malcolm.”

  “Not speechless. Had a brain cramp moment.” Malcolm could feel the blush on his face.

  “Mm-hmm, anyway, he’s still Malcolm. You are, I presume, Izzy?”

  Her red hair bounced as she nodded and offered a slender hand to Valgrin. “The one and only. At least most people hope that’s the case.”

  Valgrin chuckled and shook her hand. Malcolm waited his turn and did the same.

  “Pleased to meet you, Izzy.” Malcolm’s voice stayed steady. Keep it together. She probably already thinks I’m a nutter.

  “And pleased to meet both of you. I mean, it’s an honor.” She pulled her hand from Malcolm’s. “Uh, Fred, he told me you’d call him that. Anyway, he told me who you are, and to answer your question—yes, I have rooms for you. Fred wanted separate rooms for you, but the rooms needed to be next to each other.”

  “That’ll work.” Malcolm jumped in, wanting to beat Valgrin to the answer. “Based on the aroma and the sounds when we came in, you have some food we can purchase? We’ve not had anything other than some tough strips of jerky that Fred gave us.” Malcolm struggled to focus on her answer instead of her green eyes.

  “The bread is fresh, the stew isn’t done. I can warm up some of yesterday’s loush. There were a few servings left.”

  Malcolm shrugged. “Not sure what loush is, but it already sounds better than jerky.”

  Izzy laughed. “It is better than jerky. It’s a mix of keffle meal and meat, similar to a stew, but different spices.”

  “We’ll take two,” Malcolm looked down at Skwilly. “Make that three orders, with some fresh bread. Although, I don’t think we have anything to pay you with.”

  “Fred said he’d cover your expenses as long as I didn’t let you run wild. Let me go get the food for you.” Izzy turned and headed back to her kitchen.

  “Stop staring.” Valgrin elbowed Malcolm.

  “I’m not—okay, I was staring. Do you blame me?”

  “She’s definitely on the extremely cute side.” Valgrin paused, then hastily added. “Not that I’m looking, mind you.”

  Malcolm grinned. “Minded. Never expected you to do anything but affirm that she is attractive. And before you throw warnings to behave at me—I know how to be nice and I will not risk offending the landlady.”

  “I wasn’t going to warn you—yet. I thought I had at least until we finished eating before I needed to do that.”

  “What do you need to do after eating?” Izzy asked as she made her way to the bar with three bowls and some bread balanced on her arms.

  “Oh, didn’t hear you.” Malcolm stuttered at first, but quickly recovered. “We were discussing the best time to have a few beers. I think we decided to eat, settle in our rooms, and then come back down and find a place to sit, drink, and relax for a while.”

  Izzy nodded, setting the plates down in front of the men with a practiced ease. “I’ll keep this end of the bar reserved for you,” she said, leaning down to place a bowl on the floor. Skwilly eagerly began lapping up his meal. “This spot after the corner of the main bar is perfect for your pet,” she continued, gesturing to the walk space between the counter and wall. "He or she can rest here without being in anyone's way. Occasionally, they'll need to move since we sometimes pass through this end, although we usually exit at the other side." She smiled reassuringly. "Plus, you’ll avoid having to push through the crowd. This hallway leads straight to my offices and private quarters.” She pointed toward a staircase at the corridor’s end. “Your rooms are just up there.”

  “That’s Skwilly. He’s a team member, not a pet. So, it does it get crowded?” Valgrin asked.

  “Skwilly isn’t a pet, noted. On to your question, most nights we draw fairly well. Some nights, I don’t have enough chairs for everyone.” Izzy’s hand waved toward the tables.

  “Wiff food like thiff.” Malcolm stopped talking and swallowed. “Sorry, with food like this, it’s no wonder.”

  Izzy smiled her thank you. She looked up as the door banged.

  “The rumors must be incorrect.” A young man, dressed as a fighter, said loudly. His four friends laughed with him.

  “What rumors would that be?” Izzy called out to the man.

  “We heard that some great Creators were in EverNever. The rumors are that they came here. Just see a couple of freshly onboarded that don’t look like much.”

  Malcolm saw Izzy’s hand slide under the bar as she watched the newcomers. The shuffle of feet and Valgrin’s tensing warned him that things might be escalating. He turned to join Valgrin in facing the others. Damn, my sai are in my bag. He touched his throwing hammer to confirm it hung on his belt.

  “Why would you be looking for any Creators?” Izzy asked.

  “Wanted to talk with them.” The leader asked, his hand on the hilt of his sword. His four friends spread out in a line parallel to the main bar. Coming to a stop several feet from Malcolm and Valgrin, their hands at their weapons. The leader nodded to one of the others. “Watch the guy at the table back there.”

  “Talk? If that’s the case, take your hands off your weapons.” Izzy’s voice sounded forceful, and back to gravely.

  “Not going to happen.” The group drew their weapons and took a step forward.

  “My sister said, hands off your weapons. I suggest you do that now.” A large, well-muscled man stepped into the tavern from a door under the stairway. His readied sword held in front of him.

  “We just want some…um…words with these two.” The leader pointed to Valgrin and Malcolm.

  “Words can happen without weapons.” Izzy pointed out.

  “I’m not bad with words when there aren’t any weapons involved.” Malcolm quipped.

  The leader paused, his hand barely lifted from the hilt. “Hahdy, get the big one.” He barked as he threw a dagger at Valgrin.

  The room exploded into a whirlwind of chaos and action. Malcolm watched his friend fall to the floor and fall sideways. A wave of relief surged through him when he spotted Valgrin unsheathing the katar. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, he launched himself at the two men advancing on him, his fists slamming into their faces with brutal force before they could land a blow. He drove a punch into one man's stomach, forcing him to double over in agony. The other staggered backward but quickly steadied himself, sword poised for a deadly strike.

  Chairs clattered on the floor, feet thumped and shuffled, someone grunted in pain; he ignored all the noise behind him. He moved sideways, keeping both of his attackers in view. Wary of the sword, making small jabs in his general direction.

  The second attacker, after being punched in the stomach, pulled out daggers and tried to flank Malcolm with the swordsman.

  A shrill squeal broke through Malcolm’s concentration.

  “Cover!” Skwilly shouted.

  Malcolm shut his eyes and took a step backwards. He heard yelps of surprise, curses, and stumbling. He opened his eyes and saw that only Valgrin and himself weren’t hit by Skwilly’s attack. Malcolm lunged forward, swinging his hammer with all his might. The sickening crunch of bone echoed as the swordsman let out a blood-curdling scream, his nose shattering under the brutal impact, sending a crimson spray in all directions. Powerless, the sword slipped from the swordsman's grip, clattering uselessly to the floor.

  His hammer spun into a swing behind him, scoring a solid hit on the dagger guy’s shoulder. Another weapon clanged on the floor. He pressed forward as his attacker backed himself against the bar, his remaining dagger held in front of him, slashing at the air.

  A scorching wave of heat slammed into Malcolm, forcing him to look up in alarm. His eyes widened in horror as a ferocious jet of flame erupted from the leader, engulfing the spot where Valgrin had just stood moments before.

  No! The hammer flew from his hands, glancing off the leader’s armor. Where did that come from? The leader turned, his eyes glowed an orange color, a ball of flame formed in his hand. A series of ice shards hit him, throwing him backwards. The ball of flame dissipated. Valgrin stood up and closed on another attacker.

  A searing pain jolted Malcolm's focus back to his assailant. His eyes flicked to the thin line of blood tracing a shallow cut along his forearm, he instinctively retreated out of the dagger's reach. The attacker, despite his rapid blinking and disoriented lunges, clearly had enough vision to pose a valid threat. Malcolm charged inside the enemy's extended arm, delivering two punishing blows to the stomach. His attacker crumpled forward, gasping and doubled over in agony for the second time.

  He glanced at the other one, both of his hands trying to stop the flow of blood coming from his crushed nose. Not a threat. He closed in on the hunched over attacker and brought a knee up into his face. The attacker’s head snapped back into the bar, his body crumpling to the floor. Malcolm kicked both daggers out of reach.

  He moved toward the closest one standing, who was casting some type of spell, pelting Izzy’s brother with dart after dart. He hadn’t closed in when a boom erupted, shaking the walls and causing the ceiling to shower down bits of plaster. Malcolm instinctively covered his ears. At first glance, everyone else seemed to have done the same.

  “Uh…er…sorry for the noise. I had to cast quickly and didn’t throttle it back for being inside. This guy here started casting, and I wanted to stop that.” The short man, who had previously been sitting alone in the shadows, now bounced nervously on his toes as he spoke. His finger jittered as he pointed at the leader sprawled next to a blackened scorch mark on the wooden floor. The leader, his face smeared with drying blood and eyes wide with terror, stared at the mousy man as if he were some nightmarish apparition.

  “This would be a great time for you to tell all of your men, the ones still standing, to drop their weapons.

  The two standing attackers dropped their weapons and fell to their knees. The leader didn’t react. He still stared at the small man.

  “Did he heal his nose? Wait, better yet, what did you do to him?” Malcolm asked. “And what should we call you?”

  “Oh…er…yeah…sorry, didn’t introduce myself, did I. My name is…um…Tahlur, which I wish I was.” He laughed nervously, looking around to see if anyone joined him. When no one did, he kept speaking. “Er…well…I cast a small lightning bolt.” Tahlur then rushed to add, “At his feet. I didn’t want to hurt him, just interrupt his casting.”

  Izzy walked out from behind the bar. “Wouldn’t have minded if you hurt him. Glad you were around. I’m Izzy and you’ve just earned a whole lot of credit here.”

  “I think I may have…um…spent it damaging the floor.” Tahlur pointed to the scorch mark.

  “Don’t think about paying for it.” She walked closer to the mark. “Adds some character, and the floor is fine, so may keep it.” Izzy kicked at the leader’s foot. “You, however, are going to pay me for the damages and then never be seen here again. You or your gang of friends.”

  The leader looked up and stammered. “You’re not calling the guards?”

  “Not if we can come to an agreement on your group paying for damages, and pay for the stress of you coming in here and being idiotic. What were you doing?”

  “Well, we were told that Keith and Mark, the Creators, were here. We figured if we could take them out, we’d get major points for advancement.” The leader looked over at Valgrin and Malcolm.

  Valgrin sighed. “This may become an issue. Perhaps we better find somewhere else to stay.”

  “Kubber that!” Izzy spat her words. “I don’t go back on my word and a bunch of wilgers aren’t changing that.” She turned and locked fierce green eyes with Valgrin, then Malcolm. “Got that. You’re my guests and you no longer get a choice in the matter.”

  “I wouldn’t dare argue.” Valgrin dipped his head.

  “What he said.” Malcolm continued to stare back at Izzy.

  She shook her head. “Sorry, that was more than it should’ve been. Anger spilled over.”

  “Understandable and no need to apologize.” Malcolm watched Izzy tug at her sleeves, a shade of pink brightening her cheeks and neck.

  “What he said.” Valgrin added—causing Izzy and Malcolm to laugh.

  “Steeyann, by the way everyone, this is my brother Steeyann. He’s going to get this bleeder here cleaned up. I’m going to take the lump of stupid.” She pointed at the leader. “And we’re going to sit down and negotiate what they will give me to cover all this. Tahlur, I need you along with Malcolm and Valgrin to stand watch over these guys.”

  Izzy’s hands flew about, pointing at people and tables. “All of you but the lump sit at that table. Lump sits there and waits for me to make sure my stew isn’t ruined. If it is, your settlement price will go up dramatically.”

  After seeing everyone moving to their place, she stomped off to the kitchen.

  “Isn’t she amazing?” Malcolm whispered to Valgrin as they guarded the attackers.

  Valgrin nodded.

  Malcolm grinned. “I may renege on what we talked about earlier.”

  Valgrin groaned and shook his head. “Just don’t get us kicked out of here.”