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The nearby tables go silent as the huge man sits in angry shock for several horrible seconds.

He then slams his nearly empty tankard on the table and turns in his chair, looking for the responsible party. He’s a brute of a man, with wiry brown sideburns, stout features, and a ragged scar that runs along his jaw.

He doesn’t look happy.

Slowly, he stands, towering over Pranmore by several inches.

Pranmore’s eyes widen, and he scurries back. “I am truly sorry. I didn’t mean to—ahh!”

The elf ducks just in time—but I do not. The man’s meaty fist cuts through the air, smacking me right in the side of the head.

Pranmore’s admirers scream as my vision blurs. Pain spreads like an explosion, first at my temple and then radiating through the rest of my skull.

From some hazy distance, Henrik yells my name…and I go down.

10

Henrik

Bartholomew letsout a horrified yelp as he stretches out his arms to catch Clover. She falls into him, crumpling like a rag doll.

Clover’s attacker’s mouth falls open, and he stands in shock, realizing what he’s done. I roughly shove him out of the way to get to Clover.

“Are you all right?” I demand, reaching for her, my hands roving her shoulders, neck, and the side of her head where she wasn’t hit. “Clover?”

She blinks several times, and blood trails down her temple. Coming to her senses, she raises her hand to her face and dabs the wound with the tips of her fingers.

“Ow,” she complains weakly. She stares at the blood in shock, growing angrier by the second. Her eyes flash when she locates the man. “Did youpunchme?”

She’s all right.

“I didn’t mean to…” the man stammers behind me. “I mean, I wouldn’t intentionally hit a lady…”

I whip around and grasp the man by the neck of his wet tunic. My muscles quiver as I fight the urge to beat him senseless.

Anger sparks in his eyes, and he shoves me back. “If you kept your pet deer on a shorter leash, it wouldn’t have happened.”

The room falls silent.

“Excuse you,” Ayan says from behind Clover, where our group has gathered to make sure she’s all right. “How about you call him a pet again and see what happens?”

The man turns his attention to Ayan and scoffs. “You have a problem with it, elf?”

Ayan rounds the group, stepping up next to me. “I do, yes.”

The man looks away, chuckling like the idea of Ayan challenging him is ridiculous. Several of his drinking companions stand, sending their chairs scratching over the wooden floor. Sensing a fight is coming, one cracks his knuckles, looking forward to the bloodshed.

“It’s fine.” Pranmore shoulders his way between Ayan and me, eyeing the group warily. To the man, he says, “I apologize. I’ll buy you another drink to make up for the one I caused you to spill.”

Ayan roughly shoves Pranmore back. “Don’t apologize to this walking piece of pond muck.”

Pranmore scowls. “There’s no reason…”

Ayan flashes Pranmore an incredulous look, getting more worked up than I would expect a High Vale to get on a Woodmore’s behalf. “There is a reason.”

The man grins sadistically, taunting Ayan. “You’re spooking your deer. Don’t you know anything about animal care? Gotta keep ‘em calm, or they’re too skittish to be useful.”

I don’t make a conscious decision to punch the man—it just happens. One minute, I’m standing here, fully intending to drag him down to the local constable and demand he stays a few days in a cell for hitting Clover, and then the next, my fist is connecting with his face.