by Lexy Wolfe
Doom and the Warrior
Copyright © 2018 Lexy Wolfe
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Indigo
an imprint of BHC Press
Library of Congress Control Number:
2017945119
Print edition ISBN number:
978-1-947727-67-0
Visit the author at:
www.bhcpress.com
also available in trade softcover
To my Charlie,
Thank you for believing in me, for loving my art, for being my strength when I falter, my cheerleader when I need encouragement, and the boot on my tush when I need to get moving again.
You are the light and the love of my life, and the inspiration for so many facets of my imaginary worlds. Thank you for helping to breathe life into Doom and the Warrior. I could not have gotten here without you.
I love you.
The Sundered Lands Saga
The Raging One
The Knowing One
The Timeless One
The Fallen One
The Unforeseen One
A PAIR OF men dragged a girl not more than seven years of age from a burning hut. She kept slipping from their grasps as she struggled to escape them. She bared her teeth and bit one man, making him howl in pain.
A sorcerer dressed in deep black robes approached and scowled at the two. “Can none of you handle a mere child?” he asked coldly. His backhand ripped her from her captors’ hands and flung her against a sharp rock protruding from the ground. He grabbed her ebony hair, dragging her to her feet. “Incompetents,” he muttered as he stalked towards the wagons bearing numerous cages with other humanoid creatures. “Get the wagons ready or I will have your skin flayed and ensure you live to see your pulsing insides spill out.”
“Yes, Master Alimar!” The two scrambled towards the wagons. They and the other men began securing wooden walls to the iron bars, concealing the cages.
As Alimar passed one of the wagons, a clawed hand lashed out at him as a young, demonic-looking boy attacked, his youthful wings fanned wide and horns gleaming in the sunlight. “I will kill you!” he shrieked defiantly.
Alimar sneered. “You are nothing, gromek, but what I allow you to be.” When the green-skinned boy lashed out in defiance and tore his robe sleeve, Alimar spoke sharp words of magic, making a tearing gesture from the gromek to a hound standing nearby. The boy screamed in pain as his wings and horns vanished from his body, sprouting from the head and back of the dog. His despairing, shame-filled howl echoed through the jungle.
Forgotten in the sorcerer’s grasp, the green-eyed girl suddenly twisted and pulled free. But instead of trying to flee, she turned around and bit the sorcerer’s hand, her teeth sinking in deep. He swore, yanked the gromek’s cage opened and flung her against the far wall. He stalked to the elegant coach awaiting him, the now-winged hound following. The workers dared not look at him nor make a sound. Even the noise of the wooden walls covering the cage’s iron bars was muted.
The noise of heavy wagons disrupted the abnormal stillness of the shadowy jungle as men wielding machetes hacked with fervent desperation. Workers flinched when the man standing atop the elegant coach heading the train of cages cracked his whip. “Faster! Master Alimar wanted to make the coast before nightfall!” The light glinted off the workers and foreman’s wrist and neck shackles.
Alimar’s long-fingered, slender hand moved aside the curtain concealing the coach’s occupants. The pale sorcerer’s dark eyes glinted menacingly as he looked up towards the foreman. “Overseer Belim, what is the delay? I expected to be on our way home by now.”
Belim swallowed as he looked over the side but avoided meeting his eyes. “Forgive me, Master Alimar. It is these infernal Southern Wildlands. All their terrains have been treacherous. These trees and vines begin growing back the moment they are cut. We have lost five men to this damned jungle alone!”
Alimar’s eyes glinted threateningly. “If conserving slave lives concerned me, I would have instructed you thus. I ordered you to get us to the coast. I wish to get my new pets home to Griffin Isle. You know well death will not absolve you nor protect you from my wrath if you fail.” His voice darkened with increasing threat. “Are my wishes clear now, Belim?”
The overseer nodded, pale with terror. “Very clear, Master. Forgive me.” He turned back to the men who hacked at the forest with even greater desperation. He cracked the whip again, calling orders unnecessarily.
Inside the coach, a young man glanced nervously at the sorcerer abruptly possessed of an unnatural serenity. Alimar stroked the head of the dog bearing the immature gromek’s horns and wings. “Master, I understand that removing the attributes that are a source of pride to the gromek’s kind punishes him for daring to attack you. But, the girl had suffered considerable damage during her acquisition. I do not understand why you risked losing her by putting her in the same cage as that animal after you—”
“Are you questioning me, Gilhadnar?” Alimar’s voice possessed more ice than the highest, glacier-bound peaks. He pinned a mirthless glare on the other man. “Perhaps I am going dull so you think a mere apprentice such as you has the will and strength to overcome me?”
Gilhadnar held up both hands in submission, shaking his head wildly. “No, no, no, Master! I want nothing but to learn from your brilliance. But is it not risky putting her in the pen with that gromek? They are as close to demons as anything gets without in fact coming from one of the hells. A mindless animal. If it kills her, you will not be able to find a replacement since you eliminated the rest of her kind to increase her rarity for your collection.”
“Then you had better hope she does not die, hadn’t you?” Alimar asked coldly.
Swallowing tightly, the apprentice nodded. “Yes, Master Alimar.”
BEAMS OF SUNLIGHT shone through the cracks between the boards and illuminated the straw-lined cage dimly. Yellow, demonic hate-filled eyes flashed in the light. The young gromek growled and tensed to attack whenever he thought someone might be opening the door. Once the wagon began moving, he realized no one would be coming anytime soon. Spines along his back lowered as he turned his attention to the girl that shared the pen with him.
He inched close enough to poke her unmoving body, jumping back when she flinched and uttered a small, pained whimper. He edged close and looked over her; the way she lay from where she had landed looked uncomfortable. “Soft, pink thing,” he grumbled under his breath in a low but youthful voice. “You cannot feel good laying this way.” Unsure, he rolled her onto her back, awkwardly trying to arrange her limbs into a less painful tangle.
The girl awoke without warning, her green eyes wide. She smacked at his hands in a panic. “I am not trying to hurt you,” he told her in a caustic voice. Without a sound she curled onto her side, holding her head. His defensive anger lifted in concern. “I know nothing about your kind. But I am sure you bleed too much. Bleeding is bad.”
“Don’t care,” she said in a muffled voice after several heartbeats.
“If you bleed too much, you will die,” he pointed out. Keeping to a low crouch, he sidled to the door where a bucket of water sloshed as the wagon swayed. He snatched a piece of tattered cloth from the corner, shaking most of the dirt and straw from it, then ret
urned to the girl’s side with both.
His visage turned even more demonic when he scowled at her slurred voice. “I will die? Good. Better death than cages.”
The young gromek grabbed her shoulder and rolled her onto her back, leaning so close his breath blew in her face. The spines along his neck and backbone rose, his lower fangs exposed because of his undershot jaw. His snarl bared his vicious teeth. “Not good! You cannot die yet.”
“Why not?” she challenged, undaunted by the ferocity twisting his face.
“Because he lives,” the gromek snarled. “My people say live until you get revenge on your enemy.” He sat back into a squatting position, taking the rag and dipping it into the water, wiping blood away with unsure movements. He spoke with disdain. “Don’t your people take revenge on their enemies?”
She closed her eyes, turning her face away. “I do not know,” she whispered.
“They did not teach you to take revenge on your enemies?” He snorted with contempt. “Mother always said pink skins were soft.”
“It has nothing to do with the color of my skin!” the girl retorted, eyes unfocusing with growing lethargy. “I cannot remember. I have…no memories.” Her voice drifted off as her eyes rolled back. The gromek reached around to turn her head, then pulled his hand back in shock to stare at his palm. It was dark and wet with blood.
“No!” He sat on the floor, pulling her into his lap. Fear replaced anger as he begged, “No, you cannot die. Please.” Not knowing what else to do, he wadded up the cloth and held it to the back of her head. “You cannot die, tiwaz. Not like this. I was supposed to be tiwaz. When he stole my horns, my wings, he shamed me. I am weak. You cannot die because of trying to protect something as worthless as me.”
“Not…weak…” she whispered. “Not…worthless.”
“I am,” he countered. “You, a pink skin, were more tiwaz than me. You fought back even after he hurt you. You kept me alive. I am honor bound to keep you alive so you can finish what I could not even start.” He moved the rag with care, dipped it in the water, and put it back against her head. She hissed in pain, then relaxed. “I will know vengeance on the monster that put us here through you. You have to live.”
The girl was silent for a time. “What is…tiwaz?”
“It is an old word for warrior for gromeks,” he answered. “Not any warrior. Tiwaz is a warrior with great honor. He guards and protects and brings vengeance on his enemies without fear or hesitation. Like you.” He sighed, looking away. “Not me.” He startled when he felt her hand along his jaw, turning his face back towards her. “You do not fear me,” he stated more than asked. “I thought all pink skins were afraid of gromeks.”
“Why fear?” she asked. “You help me. Not hurt like him.” She swallowed, her expression reflecting the pain she suffered and the effort she forced herself to speak. “Tiwaz. Warriors like that…would not protect weak. Not protect worthless.” She managed a weak smile. “If you are not Tiwaz, then you are the doom of your enemy instead.”
He considered, then nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes. Yes! I will be his doom. We will both live to see him dead and know freedom again.” He looked at her. “What is your name, Tiwaz?”
She sighed, closing her eyes. “I have no name. It is gone, like my memories.”
He remained silent for several moments before speaking. “I don’t have a name, either. I will be known as Doom. And you, my friend, are Tiwaz. The warrior.” He shifted, settling her more against himself. “Only when you have found your name, will I have a name. Now rest. Heal. We must endure whatever pain our enemy gives, become stronger until he cannot stand against us.” With a weak smile on her sickly pale features, she closed her eyes.
IN THE CROWDED hold of the ship, Alimar smirked as he regarded the pen that held Doom and Tiwaz. The girl was unconscious and deathly pale, held in Doom’s protective arms while the green-skinned boy growled in warning. “Your concerns she might be eaten or savaged were pointless, my apprentice,” he commented in droll tones to Gilhadnar. “It appears the gromek is protective of his pen companion. How quaint.”
Gilhadnar humphed, crossing his arms. “Perhaps protective, but inept. I can tell from here she’s on death’s threshold.”
Alimar waved off his concern. “She is stronger than you think. Much more malleable. It is why I wanted a child. The adults of her kind always died once I enslaved them. Even capturing their souls failed to entertain me. I will not allow this one to escape me in death.” He snapped his fingers, turning away. “Bring her to the apothecary.”
The apprentice leaned in and grabbed the girl by the arm to drag her out. When Tiwaz’s head dropped on the ground, Doom raked his claw-like nails from the man’s shoulder to elbow. The apprentice howled in pain, releasing her. Pulling his wand, he glared at the boy. “Why you stupid—!” He fumbled the wand he raised to cast a spell when Alimar backhanded him so hard he fell against the pen’s wall.
“Have you no wits about you that you would cause more head trauma dragging her about like a child’s doll? They are my pets and you will suffer any harm done to them by your hand thrice-fold,” Alimar stated coldly. He gestured in dismissal. “Go have the ship’s healer tend to your injuries, Gilhadnar. I will not waste potions on your stupidity.” The bleeding man fled, casting a dark look on the caged children.
Alimar narrowed his eyes on the gromek. “If you are so keen to tend to her wounds, I assure you, you will have plenty more opportunity in the future. Until then, do not interfere. I want her dead as little as you do.” Doom said nothing, did not move an inch, as Alimar entered the pen just far enough to pick up Tiwaz.
The sorcerer secured the pen door with a few words. Doom lunged against it, pressing himself against the bars as he desperately tried to keep the girl in sight. He howled in fury, shaking the bars when the apothecary door shut.
ONCE HE LAID the unconscious girl on the table that dominated the room, Alimar waved his hands; ropes snaked up like living things and wrapped themselves around her elbows and ankles. He took a small bottle from a locked cabinet, returning to the table. Putting his hand beneath her head, he poured the thick, red liquid down her throat. A moment later, she awoke, hacking and struggling wildly against her bonds.
“Be still!” he commanded. He smirked at the hateful look that flashed in the depths of her vivid green eyes. “You should be grateful I consider you valuable. I do not often bother healing my slaves. Healing elixirs such as this are uncomfortable if they enter the lungs. However, it cannot kill you even if I held your head under a barrel of it. It would keep you alive even while you are drowning in it. The experience is very traumatizing, I assure you.” He added over his shoulder as he put the bottle in a different cabinet, “Unless you wish to experience it for yourself, I suggest you behave and obey me.”
He returned to lean against the table with a facetious nonchalance, his cold eyes raking over her nearly nude body. “Yes, you will be perfect for what I need.” He laughed coldly when her eyes went wide. She desperately struggled against her bonds, contorting her body away from him. “Relax, I have no need to prove my power over you sexually, girl. Children are too easily dominated for such crude methods. Besides, I have other slaves for that purpose.” He turned to hitch his hip on the edge of the table, crossing his arms. Watching him with distrust and wariness, she stopped struggling, her eyes never leaving his.
The sorcerer reached out to caress her cheek, smirking when she tried to bite his hand, giving him a baleful glare. “Such a brazen spirit! You attacked me when I punished the gromek for his audacity in lashing out at me, and knowing what I can do to you, you attempt to attack me still.” He patted her cheek condescendingly, avoiding her teeth again. “Excellent. You will serve me well.”
“No one owns me!” she snarled.
“Ah, you can still speak. So, you are not completely addled from your injuries. Perfect. While it pleases me to have two unusual specimens as you and the gromek, I cannot allow you to remain unshackled
.” He continued speaking as he drew out several implements. “Do you know much about magic, girl?” She remained silent, watching him unwaveringly. “There are many different flavors of magic. Different resonances. Different means of implementation.
“Runic magic is cast through writing. Symbols that, done correctly, imbue the object they are a part of with what their symbols intend. Runes are most common as they behave as individual symbols or letters to be strung together. Like an alphabet…” He laughed at himself. “Of course, you are illiterate. You have no understanding of civilized things such as reading and writing.”
The girl bristled at his accusation of ignorance. “I know pictures can have power,” she stated.
Alimar seemed amused. “Yes. They can. Of all the various runic symbols discovered over the centuries, glyphs are the most potent. In a single, elegant design, they are able to channel considerable energy for their purpose. They are permanent, usually used as wards and protections when they are etched into weapons, armor, lintels of homes.” He drew a thin knife, the light glinting off its razor sharp edge. “The conclave that establishes the ethics and rules of magic says they are never to be placed on a living being. Even those who practice the darker aspects of the arts obey that rule.” He met her eyes briefly. “I never listened to those prattling idiots.”
OUT IN THE hold, Doom jumped up from the dark corner of his pen when he heard Tiwaz’s shrieks. The bars bent in his desperation to get to her, but held. Eventually, her shrieks went silent. The dark sorcerer emerged a considerable amount of time later, the girl’s body lying limp in his arms. Torn between attacking Alimar and grabbing her, Doom snatched the girl and dragged her to the back of their pen, hovering over her protectively.
