Doom and the Warrior

by Lexy Wolfe

  “'Our’ apologies? Who are you?” Doom asked, suspicious. The gromek eyed the pouch, unable to clearly discern the insignia inscribed with faded dyes on aged, worn leather. He did not recognize it as Alimar’s or any of his allies. “I wish you were awake, Ti,” he whispered to the woman. “You know more about Alimar’s business than anyone else alive.”

  Juran shrugged as he gave Doom a gentle but firm shove to follow the impatient sailor waiting for them. “You will find out soon enough. We cannot be spoken of here. Not yet.” He looked at Tiwaz, then towards the waiting ship. “Get going, Son. And good luck to you both.”

  Doom frowned, hesitating a moment longer. “Why do you keep calling me ‘son,’ Juran?”

  Juran bared jagged, broken teeth in a smile, cackling loudly. “Why? ‘Cause I likes ye, Son. Now, get yourself going.” Brow furrowed, Doom hastened to catch up to the sailor who waited by the gangplank on the dock. He navigated the narrow, treacherous wooden path, then disappeared into the cargo hold. The sailors, preparing to leave, completed the work once they had boarded. Dock hands used long poles to push the ship away from the dock. Once clear of the obstacles, the sails unfurled and caught a strong wind, pushing it out towards the dark horizon.

  Juran watched until the ship was securely away, too far for anyone to stop it. The decrepit, disfigured old man turned away from the now horseless wagon, a sparkle in the depths of his ice blue eyes. He faded into the darkness as the crates suddenly burst into flames, drawing shouts of alarm from the dockside workers who rushed to extinguish the fire.

  THE MORNING SUN shone brightly on the small ship, the vessel sailing along smoothly. Industrious sailors worked hard as usual, pulling ropes, tying sails and booms off under the direction of the first mate. They held contests to see who could climb the ropes the fastest, or who the best knife thrower was. Occasional bawdy songs would come up, bringing a burst of raucous laughter from the men as they went about their duties.

  The captain stood next to the helmsman, smiling as he watched his crew. “I’d’a never thought a demon could be anything but evil bastards,” the helmsman commented idly as he made slight corrections to their course. “Amazing how he takes care of that poor woman.”

  The captain shook his head with a tolerant smile, holding up a single finger. “I told you the Trade Winds would be safe. The gromek’s no demon,” he corrected his helmsman. “His kind are just unfortunate enough to look like them. Remember that. Gromeks don’t attack what doesn’t threaten them. No honor in battle if there is no challenge made to them.”

  “Of course, Cap’n,” the helmsman replied somewhat doubtfully, but Doom’s actions had thus far borne out the captain’s beliefs. After a moment, he asked, “What about the woman? Men say she’s pretty bad off. Might die. Death’s a bad omen.”

  The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Might. But she’s alive now. I could not leave her behind knowing she was still holding onto life, no matter how barely.” His lips twisted into a quirky smile. “And I doubt her friend would have let us either. He could have abandoned her long before reaching us. Trying to argue the point would only have garnered the attention of patrols.” The helmsman grunted in agreement with his captain’s observation.

  BELOW DECK, IN a secondary storage hold, a very pale cabin boy shut the door quietly. He looked back with some pity and a lot of fear. He scampered off with the empty water bucket when the ship’s cook’s rough voice bellowed up from the galley.

  Inside the room, Doom finished replacing Tiwaz’s bandages then sat back, gazing out the small porthole at the bright morning sun. The Trade Winds was not much, as the captain had said. Unable to give them a proper cabin, the captain bunked the pair in a secondary store room, giving them a modicum of privacy if not comfort. It was only the second time either had any true privacy in their lives, though only Doom was aware of either time to appreciate it.

  Sunlight poured into the small room, the dust in the air glittering with flecks of gold. The dusty stacks of sail canvas and coils of ropes looked beautiful to the newly freed slave. With a sigh, he glanced at the form lying next to him, worry filling his yellow eyes.

  Tiwaz lay unmoving. The ebony-haired woman was deathly pale beneath the dark tan she had acquired fighting in next to nothing under the bright sun day after day. For a short time, Doom entertained hope that his friend might yet live. However, despite how long she survived since Alimar’s brutal beating, he began to doubt she would recover.

  The rocking of the ship soothed Doom and he found himself relaxing, despite his fears and worries, resting a hand gently on the woman’s shoulder. His eyelids drooped as the rhythmic motion began to lull him to sleep. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes to sleep.

  “NO!”

  Tiwaz’s shout startled Doom awake. He looked sharply at her. Almost falling over in his haste, he knelt beside her, hopeful. “Ti? Tiwaz, can you hear me?” he called several times before the woman’s unreasoning panic eased enough for her to be aware of him.

  Intense green eyes were wide open, but unseeing. “Doom?” she whispered in a harsh voice. She reached out blindly, and relaxed when he took her hand up in his huge, strong one. “Are you all right?” she asked, worry in her ragged voice, coughing weakly.

  Doom blinked. “Am I all right?!” He laughed in relief and exasperation. “Gods, Ti, you had me worried. Everyone was certain he had killed you.” His yellow eyes studied her intently.

  He shifted the sacks she was laying on to elevate her partway when she struggled to sit up. Her eyes closed for a moment as he made her more comfortable. “I know,” she said wearily. He held a battered metal cup with water, her hands so bruised she could not manage holding even that much. As her eyes focused, there was a glint of cold steel in them. “Where are we?” she asked, eyeing the place distrustfully, her eyes vividly green in the sunlight. “I do not know this place.”

  “On a ship called the Trade Winds heading for the main continent of the Western Empire, then to the Southern Wildlands. The captain said he will let us off on the coast there, then we can go home.”

  She looked up at him sharply. “We can’t go back home,” she said with just a hint of fear.

  “Of course we can.” Startled, he could not help but worry, never having heard fear in her voice since shortly after they had met years and years ago. “We’re free.”

  “And how long will that last?” she asked, her voice thick with bitterness. “Master will be expecting us to go back there.”

  “He thinks we’re dead,” he told her pointedly. “We’re safe, Ti.”

  “It doesn’t matter what Master believes now. It’s what he believes in the future.” She was hysterical, at least what passed for hysteria for the warrior. “He will find out if we go back to our homelands. He will find us and take us back and punish us. He will hurt you and I am not strong enough to stop him.” She tried to clasp his hand in both of hers, pleading in her eyes. “I’m not strong enough to protect you. We can’t go back!

  Doom sat, dumbfounded. He could never remember a time when Tiwaz showed so much fear, or any emotions, openly. Even when they were alone together, she had been extremely reserved. “Okay! Okay. We won’t go to the south lands. Relax, Ti. Please.” She did so, reluctantly. “Not the Southern Wildlands, then. But we cannot stay in the Western Empire. Too many people would recognize you from the arenas. He would find out for sure.” He thought for a minute, studying her. “We’ll go north, instead. To the Northern Territories. Would that be all right?”

  She relaxed minutely, even smiling ever so slightly in satisfaction. “Good. Yes. I must rest,” she announced as she lay back and was still again. Unnerved by how rapidly she had fallen asleep, he checked her, and breathed a sigh of relief that she was only sleeping. It shocked him that she fell asleep so completely so quickly.

  “You’ve always been cool to the touch to me, Ti,” he murmured to her. He caressed her hair in a gesture that soothed him as much as he intended to soothe her, then wrapped his cloak
around her. “But I can’t help but worry. You’re as cold as death.”

  Doom sat again and pulled out the pouch he had been given, wondering about the mysterious people that helped him get Tiwaz off Griffin Isle. “I should have asked you about this while you were awake, Ti.” The worn leather bore an insignia similar to the image on the coin he had found in the forgotten temple: a dragon within a simple circle. However, instead of three circles around the head, there were four and the dragon’s eye was shut. The circles around the dragon’s head still bore faint colors: bluish white, green, red, and black.

  Uncertainly, he opened the pouch, and dumped its contents into his huge hand. Among the coins of silver and copper was a golden one. This coin resembled the first dragon coin he’d found. Just as with the first, tiny gems haloed the dragon’s head. Except the dragon’s eye was inset with a blue diamond and the emerald was among the three others.

  Along with the coin was a folded piece of parchment he carefully unfolded. He muttered under his breath how lucky humans were to have such small hands with blunt nails. Even so, he managed not to shred the paper with his claw-like nails, opening it to examine.

  Doom blinked in surprise. It was a map, the words written in the only tongue Urbin had dared to teach him to read. He did not know how their benefactors knew what language Urbin had taught him, but it made him more hopeful that he and Tiwaz would now be able to stay free in a place far from the hated man. So long as she lived.

  DOOM EMERGED FROM the cargo hold, carrying Tiwaz in his arms. The sullen woman looked at no one, her arms crossed so tightly she appeared to be hugging herself. He settled her on the raised hatch with the rest of their gear that consisted of what they had from Shurakh Arln as well as donations from the ship’s captain and crew. He sat beside her as they dropped anchor, careful to stay away from the crew’s industry. The gromek watched with a keen yearning to help them, having been an eager student to their work.

  He glanced at his friend and sighed softly. “Ti, stop glaring holes in the deck. These people are our allies. They’re helping us.” Wordlessly, she only turned her head slightly to glare up at him. He shook his head. “Do you really think anyone is going to think you are weak? You stood up against Alimar the Black! You’re a hero to them. A legend.” Looking annoyed, she turned away to resume staring at a knothole in the wood.

  Doom rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment before standing. He approached the captain, glancing towards the idyllic, uninhabited cove before them. He watched as the crew took down the sails and new ones with a different emblem were hoisted onto the mast’s frame. “Why are you changing sails?” he wondered.

  The man followed his gaze and chuckled. “Ah, my ugly friend, we are changing the sails to make our origins more appealing to the next port we will be docking in. You see, some folks are reluctant to or forbidden from trading with those from certain regions. Political quibbling and all. We don’t interfere in their politics or their wars. Most port authorities know very well what merchant ships are doing. But since they don’t want to see their own business hit, they turn a blind eye to it.” He gestured towards the slack sail cloth. “Sometimes no one cares what is underneath. They just judge things by what they see on the outside.”

  “You did not,” Doom observed. “I am grateful to that.”

  “Bah,” the captain said, his weathered face turning red with embarrassment. “I’d learned long ago not to judge what is seen by what really is. Used to trek in the Southern Wildlands when I was more boy than man. Not with your master,” he qualified. “But I’d seen what he’d done many times. Don’t blame a single being for their distrust of outsiders. But they’d shown me kindness despite him. Alive because of it. This is my way of returning the favor.”

  Doom smiled, a frightening thing on his features. “Whatever your reasons, I thank you.” He glanced at Tiwaz, his smile fading into worry. “Tiwaz would thank you, too, but she is…not the most sociable—”

  “She is a fighter. Prideful things, fighters. Hate looking weak in anyone’s eyes. And she’s no reason to trust anyone to see her like this.” The captain patted his arm. “Treasure that gift of trust, Gromek. Most don’t realize how priceless trust is until they’ve lost it.” The man looked back at Tiwaz, then up at Doom. “If you want, you could stay on with us until we find a better port, if you understand my meaning. Even stay on as part of my crew if you wanted. Your friend, too. Could always use a couple more strong backs and sure she’d daunt any pirates who’d dare try boarding us once she’s healed up.”

  The young gromek blinked in shock at the kind offer, never having felt welcome by anyone anywhere but at his companion’s side. He started to accept, then looked at Tiwaz and sighed. “I want to accept more than I have words for, Captain, but I cannot. Tiwaz knows our former master better than anyone and she’s right. If Alimar starts to hunt us and he could discover you aided us. You and your crew would be endangered. We don’t want to be the cause of anyone’s suffering by his hand. We will be fine here.”

  The man sighed heavily. “If that’s what you want. Still wish we could do more for you.” He looked over at the sailor who waved at him. “We have the boat lowered. Once you and your gear are on it, we’ll lower Tiwaz down to you. Er…” He glanced at her. “If you think she’ll allow it. Hate to say it, but she’s not looking much better than when you first came aboard save she’s awake. Wouldn’t want her to hurt herself fighting our manhandling.”

  “I’ll talk to her.” Crouching by Tiwaz, Doom touched her chin lightly, turning her eyes up to meet his. “Ti, I can’t carry you while climbing the ladder to the dinghy without hurting you. The sailors are going to lower you down to me, okay?” He worried about her silent glowering as she averted her eyes, a blatant admission of her awareness of her poor condition. Nevertheless, he was grateful there was no argument forthcoming.

  With the dexterity built up from years of surviving Griffin Isle’s gigantic wildlife, Doom swung himself over the side and easily climbed the swaying rope ladder the sailors used. He stood, easily balancing in the wobbly craft as the sailors lowered Tiwaz into his arms. Her eyes flashed with silent irritation and keen mistrust. Holding her close, he sat and nodded to the other man in the tiny craft. With slow, powerful strokes, the burly sailor with them got the tiny boat moving.

  “There be a storm coming ‘fore the sun’s down!” the helmsman called after them. “Make sure ye find some good shelter!” Doom signaled acknowledgment of the advice. He looked at Tiwaz’s sickly pale face and sighed quietly, but said nothing. Once near the sandy shore, the sailor held the craft still as Doom got out carrying Tiwaz then unloaded their gear, setting it well away from the rolling surf.

  Only after they were ashore and the sailor was on his way back to the Trade Winds, Tiwaz began to squirm. “Ti, stop that, or I’ll drop you.”

  “Put me down!” she hissed irritably, struggling to be free of his hold.

  “You aren’t strong enough to stand yet!”

  “I don’t care.” She pushed at his chest but could not even come close to overpowering him. “I will not look weak in strangers’ eyes any longer. Put me down!”

  “Oh, that would look wonderful.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “The world’s greatest gladiator trips and falls on a sandy beach because she doesn’t have the strength to lift her feet.” Her pride pricked, she stopped, her demeanor sullen.

  Once they reached the shoreline where the grass held the sand more firmly together, he put her on her feet and helped her sit in the embrace of an ancient tree’s over-sized roots. Her flashing green eyes watched him while he carried their gear over.

  He glanced over his shoulder as the ship weighed anchor and drifted away. As he sat the last of the gear on the ground beside her, he said, “I am going to go see about finding us shelter like the helmsman suggested. You stay here and get some rest.” He smiled inwardly at her vexed look. “Someone needs to guard the supplies. I can only do so much by myself.”

  “
Fine,” she replied dourly. Warmed by the sunlight, the woman’s eyes started to close despite her best efforts to stay awake. Doom smiled and disappeared into the thick greenery. The hilly terrain yielded a promising location not far from the beach. The softer soil had eroded from beneath an upwelling of rock, creating a shallow, cave-like depression.

  “This is perfect,” he said to himself, scanning the sky as he stood near the overhang. “Should protect us from any storms and the brush will serve adequately as camouflage and protection.” He had only just started clearing debris from inside when he heard ungodly shrieks from the beach. And a familiar, albeit weak, battlecry. “Ti!”

  He bolted back to find his companion missing and their gear scattered. Dark red stains that starkly contrasted with the white sand betrayed the earlier struggle. “Ti!! Where are you?” A groan of pain in the trees answered him. He found Tiwaz collapsed over the body of a porcine-like creature, the bag of food lying nearby. He knelt by her, carefully turning her over to rest on the incline of his thighs. His heart sank. “Oh, no.”

  Despite having no weapons, Tiwaz fought the thieving creature and broke its thick neck with her bare hands out of sheer will. For a gladiator, it was a merciful killing, quick and clean. In the arena, trainers and owners encouraged if not outright demanded fights last as long as possible for the audience’s entertainment. It was a telltale sign she knew she could not sustain a prolonged fight, doing what she needed simply to win.

  Tiwaz, however, suffered for her victory. Without looking at the gaping wound where it had gored her abdomen with its tusks, her raspy breathing belied broken ribs having punctured her lungs. No amount of healing skill would save her life as weak as she was.

  Doom wished he could cry like humans to vent his grief. The gromek had never seen Tiwaz cry since Alimar had captured them, but he knew the ability and the many reasons humans wept. He could not even do that. His voice caught in his throat. “You should have let it go, Ti. The supplies were not as important as you.”