ONCE EVERYONE HAD left for the day, Doom found Harther in the workshop with a section of roof from one of the spectator boxes. He looked up at the gromek, then shifted to look behind him. “Tiwaz is still sleeping?”

“She better be,” he stated in such a way, Harther chuckled. Doom forced himself to relax. “She needs the rest. I haven’t been able to convince her to stop for long since she could start walking. I am afraid for her because she keeps pushing herself so hard.”

“Wish I could say it was just because of your former master and she’ll get over it in time, but most of the great fighters are the same way.” Harther put his tools down, reaching for a mug of ale to take a long swig. “The best fighters push themselves to their limits and often past them. There is always a price to be paid for that kind of dedication, usually a short life. That’s why they need people like us taking care of them.”

Doom grunted as he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “I just wish she didn’t argue with me so much.” He considered the tall ceilings and high door arches. “What used to fight here? I’m not used to not having to duck indoors.”

Harther chuckled. “I used to wonder that myself. Looked through the old records once the place was mine.” He stretched, his back popping in several places. “Mainly ogres.”

“Ogres? What are they? I’ve never heard of them.”

The man shrugged, putting his mug aside and picking up a tool to resume his work. “Well, don’t see them around much these days, like most of the races that the damned high elves used to abuse. They rather look like humans. Except they average about your height, typically more, have a bit thicker build than you. And the ones they used to throw in the arenas were dumb as rocks.”

“Really? Huh. It would be very odd to be eye level with anyone.” When Harther tried to move the roof section to a better angle, struggling under its weight, Doom rose and effortlessly lifted it. “This is pretty heavy. How’d you get this here?” he wondered.

“Had a few of the boys help carry it down here earlier this afternoon.” Harther smiled. “Gods know, I could use a strong back like yours around here. Any way I could convince you and Tiwaz to stay?”

Doom felt a surge of gratitude and pang of regret that nearly overwhelmed him. “I wish we could. But if we stayed, we’d either be discovered, and you would be endangered, or we’d be imprisoning ourselves in your arena forever.”

“Heh.” Harther shrugged and heaved a sigh. “You’ve got a point there.” Finishing the task, he waved him to get the roof section. “Come on, may as well get that put back up a while.”

Doom hefted the structure, but worried. “If you had to have help bringing it here, won’t your people wonder how you got it back?”

Harther snorted. “They will forget any chore exists as if it would keep them from having to do it. Now, hold it up there while I nail it back in place.” He secured the roof section quickly, letting Doom step back. They admired their efforts. “That’ll do. Can’t have the delicate nobility get too much sun now, can we?” he asked contemptuously. “Useless, the lot of them. Now that that’s done, let’s go have supper. I have a grand roast that should be done about now.”

Doom held up both hands. “You are already giving us better shelter than we’ve ever known, Master Harther. I couldn’t,” he began.

“Nonsense. You saved me days of recovering from a wrenched back while getting that repaired. A good meal is the least I could offer in exchange. Besides.” He looked back. “We need to talk about Tiwaz.”

The gromek frowned. “What about her? She is getting rest like you said she must.”

“She is, yes.” He brought out a roast and several bowls with potatoes, vegetables, and bread rolls. Waving Doom to the seat across from his, he put a set of over-sized utensils by the gromek’s plate before taking his seat. “Sit. Eat your fill. Nothing will be charity. I’ll be sure you earn it and what you take back for her.” Doom hesitated a moment, then sat obediently. “There is a reason gladiators have to have owners if slaves or sponsors if freemen. They are so fixated on their art, they are completely oblivious to anything else. If Tiwaz is determined to use her skills to earn money for you both, then you need to learn the art of handling your gladiator.”

The gromek blinked. “I had told her she was my fighter. I didn’t mean I was taking Alimar’s place.”

The man waved Doom to silence. “Trust your instincts. Gladiators are a different breed, and I’m not talking about race. Doesn’t matter the race, the species, whether they’re slave or not. Nothing. If they are trained to fight, that is where their entire focus will be. On the fight, on the show, on surviving the fights. Between fights…they think about training for the next one. Not about recovery. Not about their well-being. Just the fight.”

Harther filled his plate, then sat and waited for Doom to get his portion and return before continuing. “You can argue with them until you’re blue in the face. Or, in your case, whatever color you’d turn.” Doom smirked. “They are stubborn, maddening, and can make you feel like just getting them to take a sip of water is a victory.” Grinning toothily, he asked, “Sound familiar?”

“Huh. I thought it was just Ti,” Doom mused.

“Hardly. What’s worse, the worse off they’re feeling or they actually are, the more stubborn they become. Pulling teeth out of a rabid dog feels easier. Sometimes feels safer, too. The only way to convince them to do anything is to couch it in terms of improving their chances in a fight. Believe me, until you’ve had to deal with a dozen or so of the prideful, conceited bastards, you won’t know how lucky you are with her. It’s like herding alley cats.” Harther made a face, making Doom chuckle.

“Never would let me tend to her injuries when she fought here. She told me you were the one who tended her injuries, and she was adamant only you were allowed to touch her. So, I’ve no doubts to your skills if she’s still alive. But I can tell she’s pretty bad off now. Before I let her train, I want to examine her.”

Doom began coughing, pounding his chest to clear his throat. “She doesn’t like anyone but me touching her when it comes to—”

“I won’t need to touch her, I assure you. I can give you direction if there is something that needs attention.” The arena master considered the gromek’s uncertainty and reassured him. “If she wants to fight, she won’t have any choice. I won’t allow her into a match against a one-legged drooling idiot much less anyone else if she doesn’t. Tell me what I can expect.”

While worried Harther’s ultimatum would upset Tiwaz, Doom confided in the arena master with considerable relief. “I feel like it’s been more luck than my skill that’s kept her alive. She’d been beaten near to death by Alimar before we escaped. Don’t know how she survived, but she did. She’s not been back to her normal self since then.” He closed his eyes. “She tangled with a wild pig-thing that gored her. But she managed to survive that, too. I watched the wound close, but that is as far as it got. Everything remains tender to the touch, still. She usually hides it, but it shows after she’s pushed herself into exhaustion and it’s been taking longer every day for her to recover.”

“I see. Any other lingering concerns that you have? I can’t afford those good healing potions from the alchemists. We have no practitioners of those skill levels in this providence and to import one vial costs a small fortune.” Harther grunted. “I do have some minor ointments and salves. Not nearly as good, but they serve well enough.”

“Anything will help. But she has not been very patient. She wants to fight right away,” Doom stated with a sigh. “She wants to get to the Northern Territories as soon as possible.”

Harther waved a hand dismissively. “Let me handle that. I’ve years of experience dealing with gladiators. She can lay her blame on me. Anything else?”

With some reluctance, Doom nodded slowly. “There is a problem with her wrists.” He held up his hand, his sleeve falling back to display his scars. “Alimar had put shackles on us using magic so they had no seams and would grow as we grew. Mine broke with some effort. It…took a while for hers and…I don’t know. They are not healing right and she won’t even let me look at them. She changes the bandages herself and refuses to use any medicines to keep them from getting infected. She said it’d waste what little we have left and that I need them more.” He frowned, grumbling, “Not that she was wrong.”

“I see,” Harther said, thoughtful. The two ate in silence while the man pondered. “I had read in some of the older records that slave owners would put enchanted keepers on their fighters for a variety of reasons. Usually to make sure their fighter obeyed them while limiting how much of their ability they hindered. Do you know what hers did to her?”

Doom frowned, trying to think back and finally shook his head. “Alimar put them on shortly after he captured us. The only thing special I know they did was grow with us so they never needed to be removed and replaced. At least, I think that is all they did.” He looked at his own wrists with a thoughtful frown. “Visually, mine were matte to keep from reflecting light while hunting. He meant for hers to be seen.”

“I remember them,” Harther stated with distaste. “Still, there may have been something else. I’ll have to see what the damage is. You both should get bracers regardless. After having those for so long, your wrists have gotten used to the support they offered. And it will hide your scars.” Doom blinked at him, then held up his hands, rotating his wrists thoughtfully. “There is no shame in having been a slave once. But there are those who could try to…take advantage of what you had been. See if a bounty on your heads exists.”

“I see.” Doom scowled. “Thank you.”

“Bah, don’t thank me yet. There is a great deal that we need to do to get Tiwaz set to rights.” He brought over a tray, putting a plate and several bowls filled with food on it. “I need to get the medical supplies readied. Go feed that girl and be ready to be pulling dragon’s teeth to get her to listen.” Doom nodded quickly finishing the last of his food. He took the tray and headed back to the room he shared with the temperamental woman.