Doom and the Warrior

by Lexy Wolfe

  “I know he is a magic user,” Tiwaz replied to Tracker, her hateful, predatory gaze fixed on Simpkins unwaveringly. “He stinks of magic.” She drew the two-handed blade from the sheath on her back. “Soon he will stink of rot.”

  Simpkins reacted with shock, looking between Tiwaz and Tracker. “You speak wolflen?” he asked in disbelief. “Who learns to speak wolflen?” He held up his hands when she shifted into a more threatening posture. The move let his cloak fall open, displaying his clothing beneath.

  “Tiwaz,” Doom rumbled, warning in his tones as he drew his massive bow back and aimed at Simpkins’ heart. “He’s dangerous.”

  “All the more reason he must die, Doom,” she snarled, lunging at Simpkins, Ghalnecha cutting the air with an eerie whistle. He hastily drew his own blade, barely blocking the strike.

  “You are the Warrior?” Simpkins asked in shock. He flicked a glance towards Doom, but was forced to dodge and block another blow. He grunted, unable to get his bearings to take the offensive against this unnaturally fast fighter. “How the hells can you be so fast with a two-hander?” he asked in exasperation.

  “I don’t care how much the bounty is,” she snarled, green eyes near black with an unsettling mix of fear and fury. “You will never take us, magic filth!”

  “Wait, what?” Her comments filtered through the blur of her determined attempts to skewer him. “Take you? What are you—?” Despite being two feet shorter than him, she was far taller than most women he crossed paths with. Her powerful swing knocked his sword out of his grip. The vibrations of metal on metal numbed his hand. Before he realized it, he was on his back, watching her start to bring her sword down to divorce his head from his body. He swore, rolling out of the way in time to avoid the downward slash. As she drew back to stab him, he shouted, “I want to hire you!”

  Tiwaz froze mid-thrust, the blade mere inches from piercing the giant’s chest. Her shocked wide eyes narrowed in suspicion as she very slowly uncoiled. “Hire us?”

  Exhaling with relief, he opened his mouth to respond when the shrill sound of Mya filled the air. Incredulous, he looked up as they did. “Oh, now you show up?” He jumped up to catch the tiny creature and held her protectively before they could focus on her. “It’s all right, Mya,” he assured the tiny creature. “It was just a misunderstanding.” He looked at the point of the sword just barely touching his wrist. “We just got off on the wrong foot, yes, Warrior?”

  Eventually, Tiwaz lowered the sword. She spat on the ground and growled, “There is no ‘right’ foot with magic filth like you.”

  “Like me?” he asked incredulously. “You have—” His words stopped at the creak of Doom’s massive bow when the gromek drew it back again. “Ah. Yes. Perhaps we could discuss this inside over drinks? I could really use a drink.” He glanced down at himself ruefully. “Once I change into something less earthy.”

  Tiwaz put Ghalnecha back in its sheath, stalking close to glare up at the tall, massive man. He howled in pain when she stomped on his foot, then grunted when she kicked the back of his other knee, collapsing him to the ground. She grabbed his well-kept beard in a tight fist, jerking his head up to meet her eyes. “Raise a hand to anyone in Bralden again, sorcerer, I will scatter pieces of you so far across the lands, none will ever be able to piece your foul soul together. Ever.”

  She turned on her heel and stalked away. Tracker and Doom, watching him warily, turned to follow her as she passed. He almost called after them to ask if they were going to return, but thought better of it. Mya flew out of his hands when he opened them, the tiny wind sprite zipping to hide behind his head, waxing translucent. “Well,” he said drolly. “It seems I finally got their attention.” Getting to his feet, weaving unsteadily as though drunk because his nerves still tingled from Tiwaz’s well-placed strikes, he staggered back inside to head upstairs. He scowled, ignoring the laughter amongst those in the tavern who had gathered at the windows to watch the spectacle.

  GARETH, TRACKER AND Doom waited in the living room, wincing at the sound of more wood breaking in Doom and Tiwaz’s room. “Cat-Sister angry,” the wolflen stated in bland tones.

  “I know several languages.” Gareth shook his head and sighed. “I cannot even find an appropriate word that suits her mood right now.” He winced at another crunching sound and looked sideways at Doom. “What are you going to sleep on?”

  “The floor, as usual.” The gromek sighed. “Kerk was saying he had wanted to replace those beds because the wood was drying out and becoming brittle. I never did fit them. Looks like he gets his wish and the carpenter gets some work.” He rubbed the sides of his face and sighed. “I don’t remember her ever being this afraid.”

  The bard blinked. “That is afraid?” He looked down the hall. “Dear gods, I’d hate to see angry.”

  “Oh, that is angry, too.” Doom smirked. “She gets angry when she is afraid because she considers being afraid weak, which makes her angry. Magic users alone make her angry.” His amusement faded as he looked down the hall, worry in his yellow eyes as the sounds of destruction and fury fell silent. “The thought someone might be here to try to take us back to Alimar.” He clenched his fists, relaxing a fraction when Tracker put a hand on his broad shoulder. “That idiot should count his blessings that she didn’t lose control. It was close.”

  All three looked up with concerned expressions when Tiwaz emerged. Dressed in heavier, more protective leathers and hair pulled back into a severe braid, her eyes betrayed the emotions behind her stony expression. Not looking at any of them, she stalked out the door.

  Doom caught Tracker by the shoulder when he reached out to comfort her. “Even I wouldn’t dare touch her right now,” he told his pack-brother in a low voice. “I’m sorry.”

  The howls of the wolflen drifted in the air. “The tribe is unhappy. They wonder if they should have killed him when he first arrived,” the wolflen stated in his growling tongue. “They wonder if they should kill him now before it is too late.” He stopped short when Tiwaz spun back to face them, his gaze caught in hers.

  “No! They were wise to wait,” Tiwaz stated. “Magic users have no honor. They look for excuses to turn their powers on those unable to face them.” She turned on her heel, resuming her stalking stride back to the Wolf’s Den Inn. “It is for me to protect Bralden from this intruder or die trying.”

  Gareth jogged to get in front of the fuming woman, holding his hands up to stop her. Fists clenched, she held still when Doom put his hand near her arm. “Look, I know you have no love of magic users, and I’m not going to tell you to change now, Tiwaz. But it is as unfair to cast all magic users in the same mold as it is for others to do for warriors or shape-shifters.” Her eyes narrowed. “Just hear him out first. That’s all I ask.”

  She glowered at him before muttering epithets heard only in a gladiatorial arena and pushing past him. “Fine!” she spat.

  Doom arched a brow at Gareth. “Suicidal much?” he asked in droll tones.

  Gareth smirked a little. “I must be,” he replied blandly. He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, exhaling the nervous energy he’d been holding in while confronting the volatile gladiator. “Now I need a drink as much as that giant.”

  “Make giant pay for drink,” Tracker suggested, drawing a chuckle from the two males trailing after Tiwaz.

  SEATED AT A large table with benches sturdy enough to support his weight, Simpkins sat waiting with growing impatience. Mya peeked out from his vest pocket, quivering nervously. “No, I don’t know where they’re at,” he informed her in a low voice. He avoided meeting the eyes of the glowering denizens who were less interested in their drinks than him. “But I doubt they’re not going to return. Everybody in this hole wants me gone.” She looked up at him and he quirked a wan smile. “I’d more than happily leave, if I didn’t need them. Elyssia was adamant they had to be the ones to help make this quest a success.”

  All eyes moved towards the doors and a wave of whispered relief
ran through the tavern when Tiwaz and Doom returned. The relief turned to darker speculation about how the pair intended to ‘take care’ of the stranger.

  Simpkins straightened up, watching them approach his table. He eyed the bard sourly. “I thought you didn’t know who they were, bard.”

  “Shut up, magic user,” Tiwaz snapped. “Show gratitude. I promised him I’d hear what you have to say first. So, say what you want, then get out of Bralden and don’t come back.”

  Simpkins arched an eyebrow. “I haven’t even made my offer to hire you and you are denying it already?” He sounded hurt, but no one believed him, least of all Tiwaz.

  “I have no intention of working for you. Magic users are selfish, evil, sadistic bastards and the lot of you should be put to a painful death,” she stated flatly, crossing her arms.

  “I can assure you, I am neither evil nor sadistic.” He smiled, shifting as his demeanor waxed more charismatic, “I will admit to a certain amount of selfishness, but usually for pretty women.”

  “Magic users are also self-centered, over-confident, narcissistic, and so stuck on themselves, they think the world will swoon at their feet with a few words and powdered duck feet.” Doom and Gareth both turned away, covering their laughter with coughing in their hands. Simpkins’ eyebrows rose to his hairline, openly shocked his attempt to charm her had zero effect. “You want to talk? Well, get on with it. It has been a long week and I want to go home and eat.”

  He waved to the other benches around the table in invitation. “Please, sit. I’m sure the innkeeper will be only too happy to take my coin to provide you a good meal and better drink while we speak.” Doom put a hand on Tiwaz’s shoulder and she reluctantly sat down. Doom sat beside her across from the giant man, Gareth and Tracker sitting at the benches on the ends. Even before Simpkins signaled for a server, several approached with mugs of drinks for everyone. He arched an eyebrow at their sudden show of hospitality, then shook his head with a sigh.

  “My name is Simpkins,” he introduced. “And yes, I am a user of magic, but that is not what defines me. I am more of an…entrepreneur…who specializes in acquisitions. For a price.”

  “Extortionist,” Doom observed in a low rumble.

  Simpkins looked affronted. “I am a proper businessman. I do not need to extort money from anyone.” Glancing at Tiwaz’s dark expression, he admitted, “Not that I don’t, but those that I do deserve it, as a rule. Anyway!” He nodded cordially to the servers as they brought over food, offered them several gold coins, then looked at the utensils they had left him. He sighed, and reached into a pouch on his hip, pulling out a set that fit his hands.

  “I was contracted by a reclusive practitioner of thaumaturgy with more money than sense. He hired me to locate a spell book purported to be able to be read by anyone, no matter what language they can read.”

  He explained when their expressions spoke to their confusion. “The practice of thaumaturgy is based on one’s religious faith. The practitioner channels and wields the energy of their deity. Similar to a cleric, but not an ordained priest. They are rare, as temples like to keep more control over those who channel their gods’ power.”

  “There are no such books here,” Doom stated, keeping a calming hand on Tiwaz’s shoulder. “Nor at the temple near Bralden. We will not help you steal from anyone.”

  Simpkins looked aggrieved. “I realize the book is nowhere inhabited. That is why I want to hire you.” Once he had their full attentions, he continued. “I have a vague notion about where this book is. But I need your help. You are renown for your skills. At least, that is the rumor I had heard in my travels in my search up here.” He looked at Tiwaz. “Particularly your ability to sense magic-imbued items.” Doom and Tracker traded troubled looks regarding the stranger’s knowledge of their pack-sister’s abilities.

  Seemingly oblivious to the incongruity, Tiwaz drummed her fingers. “So, you are not here to collect on a bounty?”

  Simpkins snorted. He cleared his throat at her darkening expression, censoring something he was going to say. “No. Once I took the contract, my seer sought to discover more information. She is one of the few who can peer through the fissures between the fractures. The two of you appeared to her quite distinctly; she even knew what you were called. You are quite the topic in the taverns of Bralden’s neighbors.” Doom and Tiwaz looked at Gareth as one, both clasping the pendants he had given them that was intended to conceal them, the bard shrugging with a helpless gesture, as perplexed as they were.

  Simpkins continued. “The bounty for the book is considerable, and I’m willing to pay you generously.” He glanced between Tracker and Gareth. “I could even throw in some extra for your friends, if you want them along.”

  “The bard is not my friend,” Tiwaz snapped in irritation, half distracted with mulling his words over.

  Blinking in surprise, Simpkins looked at Gareth then grinned wolfishly. “At least I’m not the only one unable to charm my way into her heart.”

  Gareth snorted. “Oh, ha ha. You are funny.” He looked at the three, then back to Simpkins. “I doubt you have enough money to draw Bralden’s most beloved inhabitants away.”

  The giant’s expression reflected his opinion to Gareth’s assertion. “There is also rumored to be a great treasure wherever the book is located. I’d be willing to split that with you as well. Fifty, fifty.”

  Tiwaz looked up sharply. “No. All of it. And a fourth of your fee for finding this book.”

  Simpkins blinked, then frowned. “What? No! That’s not how bargaining works,” he began.

  She crossed her arms. “You want this so bad? You want to hire us? Those are the terms, Ogre.” Simpkins scowled darkly, his race now obvious to the others.

  The three males traded astonished looks. “Ogre?”

  “Yes, I’m an ogre,” Simpkins growled, his face deep red, though they could not tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. “No, I do not eat people. I do not run around in rags grunting like an animal. Nor do I not rip off tree limbs to use as a weapon because that’s all the more intelligent I am. I’m—”

  Tiwaz hit the table hard enough to rattle the plates and cups. “I do not care if you were born prince to one of the seven wealthiest kingdoms in the Western Empire!” Green eyes glittered with malevolence. “I don’t care what race you are; you are still a filthy, stinking, back-stabbing, good-for-nothing magic user. If you do not agree to the terms I gave, you can get the hell out of my home and never return.” Without another word, she stalked out of the tavern, leaving her food and drink untouched.

  After she left, some of the other patrons in the tavern rose and began to drift out. Gareth coughed, hiding a grin behind his hand. “As she judges you, so do they. Since she does not seem to consider you a threat, they also dismiss your level of threat to the town.”

  “Apparently,” Doom agreed, not bothering to hide his smile, his pride in his friend not killing the ogre in cold blood shining through.

  Simpkins watched the doors, gritting his teeth as he held his own temper in check. “She is quick to judge.”

  “She has reason,” Doom stated curtly, turning his regard onto Simpkins. “Explain what it is you need us in particular for. If I think it’s worthwhile, I’ll agree to go with you.”

  THE SUN SHONE bright in the sky over the valley, the rush of the waterfall soothing. Tiwaz sat on the ground with her back against the log she and Tracker often used as a bench. She opened her hand, studying the ruby-eyed dragon coin, then heaved a sigh. “Why does everything have to get so complicated?” she grumbled, putting her arms atop drawn up knees. She hid her face in her arms, clenching the coin in her fist. Several minutes passed before the sound of massive, leathery wings rose above the sound of the waterfall, and a draconic shadow fell on her.

  She did not look up until Veridian, in his human form, rested a hand on her shoulder. With a heavy exhalation, she looked away. “I thought you could not breech the veil again. Or whatever it was you said. I
remember that dream that wasn’t really a dream. Most of it, anyway.”

  “It is complicated.” He settled on the log beside her. “While we do have limitations because we need prayers to give us more power, my siblings and I are not quite as limited as other gods. You did once point out dragons are more magic than not. Your observation is not inaccurate.”

  Putting her forehead back on her arms, her muffled voice could barely be heard over the waterfall. “Why are you here? Don’t you have important god things to do? More important people to be watching over?”

  Veridian tilted his head, sadness in his ruby red eyes. “Why do you think you are not worthy of being watched over?”

  Unfolding partway, she ticked off her reasons on her fingers as she spoke them. “I am not a dragon. I am not a cleric of the Dragonway. I do not pray to any of you. I—” She stopped when he clasped her fingers in a gentle grip.

  “Other gods are bound to members of their own race as a rule. We are different because we are dragons.” He answered her unspoken question with a faint smile. “Magic is a part of everything in this world, and we are more magic than not. So everything is a part of us, and we are a part of everything. This allows us to embrace all the races as part of us and allows us to be a part of them.”

  She squinted at him. “That makes my head hurt thinking about it.”

  He laughed softly. “Not my intention. But it is the easiest way to explain things.” His expression gentled. “I am here because you are troubled. And you are my friend. Things are…different between us.”

  “Different?” She frowned in confusion. “How? Why? Until Doom and I had gone to Dragons Gate, I did not even know you existed.”

  “Nor did I know you existed,” Veridian replied. “I am the youngest of my siblings, and the newest among the Dragonway gods.” His expression turned sardonic. “Some call me the god of war and battle, especially those who do not understand the hearts and minds of true warriors. Even my siblings do not quite understand me.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “Gods can sense everything. Living, not living, doesn’t matter.”