Malikus: (2) Liberation


The city watch rattled into the tavern just as Malkius limped out the back door, her jaw slack from Izobella’s unexpected thrashing. She supposed Raavana would pull through, but to be absolutely truthful, she had no idea. It was all she could do to pick herself up off the floor and find the backdoor before the watch found her.

For a time Malikus allowed her lizard mount, a cold one, to slog along the road toward the deep woods unmanaged. It was all she could do to hold her jaw in place with one hand and hold the lizard’s reins with another.


It took a month of holing up in Saphery before the healer would let her rise from her cot inside a breezy, druchii war tent. “How you made it here, girl, only the Witch King himself can say.”  Vototh, the region’s best healer, smiled at Malikus. “I suspect it was a large dose of spite that saw you through, that and a peck of vengeance.”

“You see through matters even when you are not invited, white hair,” Malikus said with her usual ounce of spite. “Yet I am thankful my cold one slithered up to you. Malekith only knows what would have happened if I rode directly into a Witch Hunter. ”

“Certain demise, girl,” Vototh nodded. “Some lucky hunter would be wearing your supple skin against the winter wind. Best stay near your kind.”

Malikus sneered, but smiled slightly. “What needs the hands of a sorcerer in these regions,” she said, peering out the tent’s entrance flap.”

“Killing the bastard elves of the cowardly Phoenix King of course, did you imagine it elsewise?”

“No, I did not in fact.”

“What are you waiting for, an invitation to the fight?” Vototh laughed. “I did not put you back together again only to stare are your ample hindquarters all day. Shoo, collect your things and get you gone. There are high elves to be slaughtered.”

“Where is my mount?” Malikus asked, distracted by clash of battle.

“See the porter, for I do not feed those things. Malekith knows I have enough to do already, setting bones, stitching wounds. That’s the last thing I would want to do. I don’t see how you ride around on those filthy vermin—”

“–until I fall again,” Malikus said, leaving the healer to fuss and argue.

For the first time in a great while, Malikus would walk outside the shadow of Izobella’s high-minded ideals and god slaying philosophy. Instead of killing for Izboella, Malikus would kill for the druchii gods. She would now turn her attention to slaying elves. High elves. The kind that drove Malekith to his dark endeavors, the kind that stank of high treason.


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