THE TWO LOOKED back as Harther shut the iron gate of the arena, the securing bar falling in place with an ominous thunk. With a glance around the empty streets, Doom tugged leather gloves concealing his green hide on more securely before looking at his smaller companion. “Let’s get going. The sooner we are well beyond Dramaden’s limits, the better I’ll feel,” the gromek rumbled. He looked her over. “Are you going to be all right with that backpack? Your injuries may heal faster than normal, but they’re still tender and too much exertion—”

“I’ll be fine,” Tiwaz stated acerbically. “I can walk for as long as we need. Just lead the way. We have wasted too much time in one place as it is.” Doom scowled but acquiesced, tugging the cowl of his cloak more forward. Keeping to the darker streets and alleys, they found the road leading to the forest to the south.

They were about to cross into the forest when a shout startled them. “Hey! Kiliana!” Doom’s grip on his staff tightened, but he refrained from attacking because of Tiwaz’s stalling gesture. Gareth emerged from the shadows, his smile not quite concealing his concern as he looked her over. “The arena master said you had departed shortly after that match, but no one ever saw anything. Glad to see you were still in the area.”

“What do you want?” she asked bluntly, her displeasure apparent.

Gareth opened his mouth to reply, then shut it when his eyes were drawn to the massive figure looming behind her. He frowned slightly, appearing confused, then shook his head and looked back at her. “Well, I wanted to make sure you really were all right.” He looked her over pointedly again. “You seem to still be favoring your side.” She just scowled at him, prompting him to explain his interest. “Few people ever win the Dramaden arena master’s favor. It made me curious about the one who accomplished it.”

“Who in the hells are you and what does Master Harther’s favor or lack of it matter?” Doom demanded, his face well concealed in darkness.

With flourish, the man put a hand to his chest and bowed. “Gareth Tavarius, renowned bard in the Western Empire, Crossroads, and Northern Territories, at your service.” The man blinked at the pair during the drawn out silence and lack of recognition. “Neither of you knows what a bard is?” He held up his hands as the pair shifted to more hostile postures. “Keth’s tail, don’t get all touchy! Harther is known to be an honorable but distant man. Those he favors are…worth knowing.”

“I don’t want to be known by you or anyone else,” Tiwaz stated. She turned her back on him. “Go away or I will kill you.”

Gareth noted the sharp glance that her massive companion turned towards her. “Look, Kiliana, you’re a beautiful and talented woman. You obviously are in some kind of trouble if you are hiding yourself away like this. I want to help.”

He jumped backwards when she grabbed the hilt of her short sword. It had not cleared the sheath before Doom grabbed her wrist. “Ti! Stop it! You are not a murderer.” She growled in her throat and shoved the weapon back and released it reluctantly.

“Do you trust him?” she demanded of Doom, waving a hand at him. “He speaks lies and deception.”

Gareth blinked, looking hurt. “I have not lied to you or deceived you.” He looked down briefly. “I am sorry I did not stop that idiot before he was able to throw his knife.” She looked away with a grimace, clenching her fists.

“I looked for you after my match was over to apologize, but Harther said you had left the arena already. I suspected he wasn’t being truthful.” He managed a wry chuckle. “He was as protective as a father is of a newly grown daughter. I cannot help but respect that.” He lowered his hands. “I’m heading to Crossroads before winter settles in. My family is there. You would be welcome to join me.”

“No,” Tiwaz stated tonelessly, arms crossed. Doom shrugged one shoulder at Gareth, uncommitted either way.

“Very well, if that is how you want it to be,” the bard replied slowly, clasping a dragon pendant in one hand. “But if you’re trying to hide from someone, you might consider going to Dragons Gate. It’s the part of the Southern Wildlands that touches the main continent that very few people want to tempt entering. The fracture border there is closer to here than any other.”

“Why do people avoid it?” Doom wondered, ignoring the glare Tiwaz shot him.

“Because dragons live there. Lots of them. They are fiercely territorial, but generally ignore anyone who doesn’t threaten their nests. You’d find it safe enough there.” Neither Tiwaz nor Doom moved. He resettled his gear and lute, squaring his shoulders. “Gods be with you both and good luck.” Turning away, he walked back towards the city, heading east.

Once they had put some distance between themselves and the city, Doom turned his attention to Tiwaz. “What is the matter? You never attack anyone without reason. And you have never drawn your weapon on someone unarmed. The bard was harmless, if irritating.”

“He called me beautiful,” she hissed. “A sure sign he is either mad or a liar. Either is a danger to our freedom.”

Doom moved his hood back a bit to regard her profile. “I’ve called you beautiful many times.”

“You’re a gromek.”

He stopped short, dropping his cowl back so she could see his face in the very dim light. “So? You have never had a problem with my race before.”

She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t have a problem with what you are. I never have. But you are a gromek. Your kind doesn’t look like mine.” She turned and started walking.

He quickly moved to join her. “Again, so?”

Tiwaz looked sideways at him. “People think their own kind is beautiful and I am not a gromek. We are friends, and physical beauty never matters between friends. It is the friendship that is beautiful.”

“That bard Gareth seems to think you are beautiful and we know you at least appear human, whether you are or not.”

She stated in hard, edged tones, “I am not beautiful. I am a gladiator. Any interest men have in me is only because I’m a novelty. A freakish curiosity.” Her tones were so matter-of-fact, Doom stopped her, turning her to face him. “It’s the truth, Doom. There is no sense in worrying about it or denying it.”

“Give yourself a little credit, Ti. The bard had no reason to be deceptive. He even tried to protect you when that idiot ruined your match.” He cupped her chin, turning her face towards his. “For me.”

“I do. As a fighter. But I’m not what males want. They want soft, gentle, timid, weak creatures.” She narrowed her eyes in defiance and demanded, “Am I any of that?”

“Hah!” He dropped his hand. “No, Ti. You are not soft, timid, or weak. But,” he added, “under that iron exterior of yours, you can be gentle. I know.” The rush of red to her cheeks was visible in the starlight. “One day, I hope others can know the part of you that I do.”

“Gentility is weakness. I don’t need anyone but you, Doom.” She turned and started walking. Doom fell in step with her, silent, thoughtful and sad.