Doom and the Warrior

by Lexy Wolfe

  Doom spoke to Tiwaz as though she were conscious to hear him. “I don’t want to leave you, Ti, but I need to get stuff to tend your injuries. I’ll be right back.” He searched through the stacks of crates and took out a couple of thin blankets, several jars of mundane medicinal ointments and a large stack of bandages before he returned to her side.

  His yellow eyes reflected his worry for the woman, though he forced himself to project a matter-of-fact confidence. “I have to move you to get this blanket under you. You need to keep warm and the bare rock will steal all your body heat. I’ll try not to hurt you,” he apologized.

  Once he had her settled, he turned his attention to her injuries. He folded one of the bandages and dipped it into the water, washing the blood from her. Without any visible signs of life, his periodic checks for her pulse was the only reassurance he had she continued to live.

  Once he had tended to the injuries he could find, he caressed her hair tenderly before covering her with another blanket. “My warrior,” he murmured. “My Tiwaz. I know it is cool here for you. I’ll keep you warm, like always.” He lay beside her to share his greater body heat. “Everything will work out, Ti. I promise.” He forced himself to relax and closed his eyes to sleep.

  “Why do you fret so much over this one?” a lofty, feminine voice asked, startling Doom awake. The gromek sat upright, reflexively reaching for the staff he normally wore across his back and grabbing air. He looked around in alarm. His sharp eyes immediately noticed the subtle changes in the room. Brighter, cleaner, his eyes were drawn to an emerald-eyed woman who, at first glance, looked like a very tall, willowy human. It soon became obvious she was anything but human. Her gown, flowing around her form like mercury, had ribbons of color that shifted like a film of lamp oils atop water, reflecting timid rainbows. A pair of shell-like combs held hair the color and texture of gunmetal away from her face.

  Crouching protectively over Tiwaz, Doom demanded, “Who are you?”

  “I asked you a question, Youth,” the woman stated. She stepped away from the mirror with sinuous movements, walking around the altar with a languid air. Reptilian green eyes regarded Tiwaz. “You bring this dying, pink skin girl hovering on the verge of death into this sacred place. You dare touch holy water with your bare, dirty hands, and use it to bathe her. I know you can see she is near death. It is a waste of effort and resources to—” She held up a hand, deflecting the jar he threw at her. It crashed to the floor with a strange sound. Her face registered surprise at his audacity.

  “She is my friend. My sister!” He looked at Tiwaz. “She is everything to me. I promised her we would be free.” He glared defiantly at the woman. “I will keep that promise no matter what.”

  “You risk a great deal for a promise that is nearly impossible to keep,” the woman observed. “Her balance on the precipice between life and death is very precarious.” Her sinuous stroll around the room forced Doom to keep shifting to keep her in his sight. “Most pray to the gods for help in such an impossible task.” She paused, fixing her inhuman eyes on his. “Why do you not pray to the gods, gromek?”

  Doom remained crouched with one hand resting protectively on Tiwaz’s chest. He balanced on his toes in readiness to attack, his other hand clenched into a fist. “Pray to the gods? What gods? I have prayed to them all and none have ever answered! What god allows this?” He held up his fist, brandishing the shackle on his wrist. “Where were the gods when Mas— when Alimar invaded our homelands, killed our peoples, and stole us away? Where were they when he was beating her today? Nowhere! Because they do not exist.” The woman arched a single eyebrow. He added sourly, “And if they do exist? They do not care about the likes of us.”

  “Do not be so sure of that,” the woman stated with maddening serenity. “You are too immature to understand the nature of gods, but you could outgrow that in time. All most mortals know of gods is their strength and power, perhaps their domains of greatest influence, but they do not understand their limitations.”

  Her hand trailed along the dragon skull with emerald eyes. “You must have faith in the gods to be able to count on them. When faith is shaken, when belief yields to doubt, that is when one cannot rely upon the gods, which only shakes faith more, doubts grow more. Soon, the garden of faith becomes a weed-choked bramble pit and the gods are even further weakened as a result.” She turned her eyes from the tiny skull under her hand to the gromek. “You should have more faith in the gods. They are there. They are listening. Especially now.”

  “Why should I have any faith in any gods?” Resigned bitterness heavily colored his tones. “I am not sure what is worse. That they were powerless to protect two children from the horrors we have seen or had the power and simply left us to suffer.” He looked at Tiwaz, touching her cheek with the backs of his fingers gently. “The only person I could ever completely count on was her. I can do no less for her than she did for me.” He looked up with fierceness in his eyes. “She will be free before death claims her.”

  “Interesting. Such loyalty as you demonstrate is rare among mortals, even with their own race. She intrigues me, this pink skin girl of yours. I might have to watch her more closely.” She smiled faintly. “I have no doubt you will both live to find freedom with such determination as you hold in your heart. Rest now. You have a long road ahead of you replete with many challenges to overcome.” As she walked closer to him, Doom discovered he was unable to move. Frozen in place, he could only close his eyes as she leaned down to kiss his brow. “Safe journey, Thrahx Vaug.”

  With a jerk, Doom opened his eyes and sat up, staring around the room in a panic, then in bewilderment. He saw the assortment of medicinal ointments remained intact; none had been thrown. The floor was still dust covered and bearing only his and Urbin’s footprints, no signs anyone else had been present. He sighed in relief, lowering himself to his elbow so he could look at his friend’s pale features. “It was only…”

  His voice drifted off. He picked up a coin by her shoulder. Small in his palm, the plain gold disk measured about two inches in diameter and bore the image of a dragon. Around the stylized dragon’s head were inset tiny chips of ruby, diamond and onyx with an emerald inset in the eye. “…a dream?” Unsure what to think, he clenched the coin in his hand. He hugged Tiwaz as tightly as he dared, as much to protect her as reassure himself.

  GILHADNAR BURST INTO the darkened study, breathing heavily from the run up the tower steps. “Master! Master, the gromek has escaped! He is nowhere to be found on the estate.”

  Feeble light illuminated the book in Alimar the Black’s hands. The sounds of tiny, misshapen creatures in cages and bowls around the study filled the silence after the apprentice’s entrance. He swallowed nervously and lowered his eyes when the sorcerer finally looked away from the book. His expression spoke volumes to his anger at his reading being interrupted. “Has he now? Escaped, you say. And how is it you know this, Gilhadnar? I had not sent you to find him.”

  The apprentice fidgeted at his master’s disapproval for his self-initiative. “I-I went to mock him for Tiwaz’s death and he-he was gone, Master,” Gilhadnar explained. As nervous as he was, he became more perplexed to the sorcerer’s uncharacteristic ambivalence. “Aren’t you…going to send the hunters after him, Master?”

  Annoyed, the sorcerer accepted this admission, knowing the antipathy Gilhadnar bore for the gromek ever since he dared injure him and returned his attention to his book, voice bored. “Why? No doubt he crawled off into the wilds to die like the animal he is. He has no reason to live without his companion.” Alimar waved a hand dismissively. “There would be little entertainment value in bringing him or his soul back now.”

  The apprentice blinked several times, more confused than ever. “But…you are allowing a slave to escape. You never allow slaves to attempt to run, even one as useless as that gromek pest!” He paled at the dark look turned up towards him. “F-forgive me, Master. I am not questioning your decision. I just think it is unlike you to-to allow
—”

  “Stop trying to think, Gilhadnar,” Alimar commanded in a bored voice, returning his gaze to his book. “It is definitely not one of your strengths.” He made a shooing gesture. “Go, before I decide to inflict on you what you expected to be visited on the gromek.” Gilhadnar hurried out, shutting the door more loudly than he intended.

  As Alimar returned his attention to his reading, the face of Kragen appeared in the mirror to the sorcerer’s right. The demon’s face contorted into an evil, knowing smirk before fading away. The sorcerer looked up sharply, frowned briefly, then shook his head, going back to his reading.

  CONCEALED BY THE shadows inside the gladiator arena’s outer doors, Doom squinted from beneath his massive cloak’s heavy cowl. Two backpacks stuffed with other gear acquired for the pair sat beside him. A wagon made its way towards his hiding place, creaking and rattling ominously. The single horse that pulled it looked as old as the hills and ready to fall over at any moment.

  Doom could not hide his dismay at the sight of the rickety contraption. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, Zuneer, but are you sure about this?” He looked at the woman in his arms, wrapped in an old cloak to keep her both concealed and warm. “Tiwaz cannot take any more harm. If that thing collapses under us…”

  “Juran’s hauled twice as much as what he’s loaded down with right now,” the arena master replied in a whisper. “Besides, we don’t have much choice. He’s the only way to get you both off of the estate. No other man who runs deliveries for Alimar can be trusted. Rumor has it he’s helped other cruel owners’ ill-kept slaves escape this accursed island with the emperor’s blessing. First time trying to get one away from him.”

  Noticing Doom’s expression, he added drolly, “The Sphinx Emperor considers old families and kingdoms as sovereign and does not often interfere in how they behave on their own properties, even if they go against empire law. Slavery as Alimar practices is illegal, but proving his crimes beyond the estate has been nigh impossible, so they can do nothing. Trying to falsify evidence would risk the loyalty of all the other kingdoms within the Empire. Our suffering is a small price to pay when the risk is a civil war.”

  Juran, a stooped old man so wrinkled he appeared skeletal, hopped off the wagon with more agility than men a fraction of his age. He beckoned to Zuneer. “Hey, help me wi’ this tarp. Don’t need no bat droppin’s on this load, ye know. Been flyin’ thick on the road b’tween ‘ere an’ the docks.” Zuneer walked out to help. He and Juran lifted the tarp up high to shake it out. The old man hissed, “Hurry it up! If I stays too long, the bastard’ll get suspicious I’m tryin’ t’ keep some of his nasty stuff fer meself or somethin’ equally daft.”

  Doom realized the old man intended to use the tarp to conceal him and Tiwaz. He hurried out, putting her in the space between crates left for them, then crawling in after her, awkwardly wedging himself in the remaining space. He ended up half lying over the woman, forced to brace himself so he did not crush her. He watched the evening sky turn darker as they tossed the tarp over and secured it to the wagon. “Get th’ rest of that gear quickly, now, boy,” the ancient man scolded Zuneer. “I needs t’ get this to th’ docks, ye know.”

  Once all was secured, Juran made his way back to the driver seat. He complained mightily about his age, his joints and other rambling things that made little sense to the young woodsman. The gromek looked up at the light knocking on the side of the wagon. “Good luck, Doom.” Zuneer’s voice held a great deal of emotion in the simple words, but the wish for their success was plain and honest.

  Doom closed his eyes, swallowing nervously, and realized the magnitude of what he was attempting. A cold knot of fear settled in the pit of his stomach and he closed his eyes tightly, leaning over Tiwaz protectively as the rickety cart rolled along. He could hear the change in sounds outside when they passed under the archway leaving the estate.

  After several minutes on the rural road between Shurakh Arln and the capital city of Golden Mount, Juran spoke in a low voice. “It be a brave thing ye be doin’, Son. Takes a good, strong, an’ noble soul t’ face their fears to do what is right.”

  Unsure what to think of the man, Doom did not speak right away. Eventually, he replied in a low voice, “I am not brave. It is not noble. I am just keeping my word to my friend. She is the stronger one of us.”

  Juran snorted. “Ye are young an’ naïve. Ye have lived in fear all yer young life. Rightly so. That sorcerer is a dark-hearted, soulless bastard. An’ I ain’t saying that jus’ to say it. Ain’t no human live as long as he has without outside influence. He ain’t got the power to rival a god’s, but he be formidable enough, and gods kenna interfere in th’ world so much as mortals believes they do.”

  Doom scowled, silent for a time. A jarring bump distracted him briefly, his attention focusing completely on Tiwaz. The woman was as lifeless now as since her moment of defiance. He cupped her face with one hand, whispering her name with quiet urgency, but that brought no response. He sighed heavily. “Gods are useless.”

  “Why do ye say that, Son?” Juran asked. “Because they don’t see all the evils, fix every wrong, mend everythin’ broken?” The man lifted the corner of the tarp. Brilliant, extremely pale blue eyes peered at the gromek. When he spoke, there was no accent, no hint of old man eccentricity, but a grave, serious demeanor. “Gods are not all seeing, all knowing, all powerful beings. Powerful, yes. Knowledgeable…” He smiled. “Well. I would like to think that some gods are.”

  “What good are they? I prayed. I prayed for Alimar’s death. Tiwaz’s freedom.” He shook his head sharply, looking at the woman. “Once, I even prayed for both of our deaths. It went against everything I learned as a child, but it did no good.”

  “Curious that you did not pray for your benefit alone.” Doom looked up sharply, frowning darkly. Juran lowered the tarp again, focusing on navigating the more treacherous section of road approaching the city. “Gods are not what most people think, Son. Even the gods themselves forget that sometimes. They forget there are powers greater than them, that they are caretakers for those who pray to them. They forget their power depends on the faith and belief and even the love of those who pray to them possess. Because that is their true source of power.”

  Doom grunted when they hit a pothole, bracing his arm against a crate that threatened to slide into them. With a growl, he raked his claws across the symbol of Shurakh Arln in frustration, as if the crate was purposely trying to squash them. “What does it matter? We are insignificant to gods.”

  “No matter what you believe, Son, you are not insignificant. But it has been thousands of years since the world fractured during the war with the high elves. Every race is still recovering. Even the gods bear wounds and struggle to regain what they once had. Hundreds of thousands of more years before that war, this world became a crossroads through the maelstrom. Races and species not born here came to call this world home. Few remember which ones were native born.

  “There is a peculiarity surrounding the fractures. It goes beyond the visual. It is so much deeper than what the surface shows. The lands are their own worlds, like between this world of air and the world within the oceans. Separate. Yet they interact and affect one another. From the land, you can look into the water, but only for a short distance.”

  “Light can only go so deep in water,” Doom stated. “I learned that from Urbin.”

  “The borders are turbulent, especially magically. The resonances of energy are not the same. Alimar’s power is not strong enough to penetrate the curtains between the five lands.” Before Doom could ask why he told him this, Juran suddenly had his accent and mad demeanor back, cackling as he cracked the reins. The rhythmic sounds of boots marching approached, then passed by them. “Patrols ain’t lookin’ hard fer runaway slaves, but iffen they do find ‘em, they has a duty t’ return ‘em to their master.” Wisely, the gromek remained silent.

  In the quiet, Doom could hear the sound of water slapping the sides of ships,
the stonework piers, and the shore beyond the edges of the harbor. The salty smell of the ocean wafted under the tarp and the first stirrings of true hope made his heart beat faster. He looked at Tiwaz, hugging her carefully. “Soon,” he whispered. “Soon, we will be free. Just like I promised you.”

  “Hush,” Juran hissed as he moved, the wagon swaying as he jumped to the ground. The old man called out at the approaching booted footsteps, “Ye be th’ captain of th’ Trade Winds, aye?”

  “First mate,” a gruff voice answered. “Heard you have some ‘special cargo’ that needs careful handling and swift delivery. Best be quick. The patrol comes around every half hour or so and they’re due back around soon.” Doom squinted when the tarp was tugged back to reveal him and Tiwaz. He carefully got out of the wagon and stood to his full seven foot height, towering over the man by a good two feet.

  The man, obviously a sailor by his garb, took a half step back, unnerved. He chuckled apprehensively. “Big ‘un, ain’t you?” He looked towards the woman with no lack of sympathy as Doom carefully drew her out and settled her in his arms. “No mistake. You must be the ones I was sent to fetch. Let me get the rest of your gear.” He took the heavy backpacks, and assortment of Doom’s weapons, from Juran. He grunted, squinting at the old man who tossed the gear around as if it did not weigh more than fifty pounds. “Come on. The captain wants to weigh anchor. Tide’ll be going out soon. Sooner we’re away, less chance we’ll be caught.”

  “Wait.” Juran stopped Doom for a moment. “Almost forgot. Here, Son.” He pulled out a decent sized pouch and rested it on Tiwaz’s chest. “This comes from those who help you to escape.” He closed his eyes briefly before adding, “It comes with our apologies for not coming sooner to help you.”