SUNLIGHT FILTERED THROUGH the cracks of the roof above, dust motes floating with a golden glow. Birds fluttered through the rafters, chirping to one another and adding to the dust in the air. Tiwaz roused abruptly to the lowing of a cow and chime of its bell. With a groan, she fell back onto her bed of straw covered by an unfamiliar blanket. Struggling to regain her bearings, she fought to get to her feet.

“Doom?” she called. Her worry began waxing to fear when there was no answer. “Doom?!”

“Ah, young lass,” a cheery voice said from below her. She drew back as an elderly man appeared over the edge of the loft. He smiled warmly at her. “We were beginnin’ t’ wonder if ye would be wakin’ at all. Yer friend was considerable worried, but I knew Marren’s tea and good rest would help wi’ that fever ye had.”

“Who are you? Where is Doom?” she asked suspiciously.

The man did not meet her intent gaze, but laughed good-naturedly. “M’ name’s Sevren. Yer friend is out huntin’ up a meal fer us in exchange fer shelter an’ medicine fer ye.” He waved for her to come over to the ladder. “We barely has enough in our winter stores fer ourselves an’ huntin’ is a bit beyond me, but we are happy to share with ye. Come, come. Marren will have dinner ready soon.” He climbed down, peering up near-sightedly at her. “Yer friend’ll be ver’ happy yer awake.”

“I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic.” She paused, putting her hand to her head as moving set off a wave of dizziness. “Sevren, I am not feeling very good,” she began.

“To be expected, recovering from a dreadful fever like ye had. Ye need some food in ye, that’s what will set ye right. Jus’ take th’ steps slow an’ steady. That’s it,” he encouraged. “Go ahead an’ lean on me if ye need. Th’ house ain’t far from th’ barn.”

As they stepped out of the barn into the sunlight, Tiwaz paused, blinking to adjust to the brighter light. She saw it was a small farm not far from a well-traveled road. There was a small orchard and a mostly overgrown field. “Used to be a fine farm,” the old man said wistfully. “My wife and I can’t keep up anymore.” He shook his head. “Yer friend gave us most of the food ye had in exchange for shelter. Said not to worry, he could hunt up more, which is what he’s doing now. Can’t say how grateful we are for yer generosity.”

Tiwaz jumped when a dog as ancient as the man appeared from the side of the house, barking warningly. He approached and sniffed her briefly before wagging his heavy tail, tongue lolling in welcome.

Sevren chuckled. “Well, seems ol’ Spark there likes ye. He don’t take to many, ye know. Go on ahead an’ give ‘im a scratch. Right behind the ears. Yeah, jus’ like that,” he approved as Tiwaz did as directed with uncertainty. The dog licked her hand, then ambled over to a bare patch near the door and flopped. “There, see? He likes ye.”

“How long have we been here?” she wondered, doing her best to keep her voice neutral and unthreatening, struggling with her reflexive, hostile mistrust of strangers.

“Ye been here fer nearly two days. Couldn’t tell ye how long ye been sick afore that.” He squinted up at her with obviously failing eyesight. “Ye arrived in th’ middle o’ th’ night during a storm. Yer friend asked if ye could stay in th’ barn. Offered t’let ye in th’ house. Lots drier in here than th’ barn. All our children done grown and gone, ye understand. Tryin’ t’ convince our daughter t’ come home wi’ her husband, take over th’ land.”

“The barn is fine,” she assured as she followed the old man into the darker interior of the house.

“Ah, you are awake!” the old woman said happily, coming over to usher Tiwaz in. “Now, you sit down right here. I’ve some bread and broth that will help you feel more yourself. And tea, of course. Papa, go on and take care of the chores. I will watch over our guest.” The old man cheerfully waved, obediently heading outside.

Marren watched Tiwaz as she ate with paced dignity. “Do you feel better now?” the woman asked gently.

“Yes. Thank you very much,” the younger woman replied with deference.

“Tell me about your demon-looking friend, girl.” Tiwaz looked up in alarm. The old woman held up a hand. “Easy, there is no need to worry. I was born and raised in Crossroads. I’ve seen all sorts of races in my day. If I would have thought he was evil, I’d not have allowed him to stay. But he was concerned about you. I could tell it wasn’t an act. Nothing evil could fake it that well. None of his requests were for himself, but for you.”

“I…” Tiwaz was at a loss. “He is…my friend. I have known him all my life.”

“Yes, yes, but what is he? I have seen many, many races, but nothing like him.” She got up, topping Tiwaz’s tea and then her own. “Sevren’s near blind as a cave fish, but I love him. And being in the middle of the night and you looking so sick, we sure weren’t going turn you out into the wilds. Not during that storm.”

“He is a gromek. They are from the deserts in the Southern Wildlands.”

“Gromek, eh? Don’t think I ever heard of them coming to Crossroads. Definitely never saw one myself. How did you two meet?”

“It is…a long story,” Tiwaz said evasively, hoping the woman would not press for more details. Awkwardly, she added, “The food…it was very good. Thank you.” Marren smiled, patting Tiwaz’s hand.

Both Marren and Tiwaz reacted to hostile shouting of threats by men outside, Spark barking, and Sevren’s pleas. The old woman fretted, looking at Tiwaz in alarm when the younger woman started towards the door. She grabbed Tiwaz by the arm. “No, child! You can’t go out there! Durakkar and his men are terrible cruel. If they see you, they will do…horrible things to you. They—” Her voice caught, unable to voice the horrors.

Tiwaz inferred well enough, her smile wintry. “I can take care of myself, Marren. But thank you for your concern.” She scowled towards the door when Spark yelped in pain. “Has your husband a sword?”

Marren gasped. “You can’t possibly think you can—” She met Tiwaz’s green eyes for a long moment. Biting her lip, she changed her direction of thought. “I suppose I should have faith in the gods…” She lifted the lid to a worn chest, taking out a long sword, sheathed and with a belt. The old woman looked conflicted. Finally, she handed it to Tiwaz.

“Whose sword was this?” Tiwaz asked in a quiet voice, echoing the reverence the old woman displayed for it.

Marren managed a sad smile. “It belonged to our fourth boy. He died a soldier serving the ruler of Crossroads. Riot in the lower city when two rival gangs started a street war that got out of control.”

Tiwaz nodded as she put the belt on with deft expertise. “I will honor your son’s memory and return this to you unharmed.” She pulled the sword out partway, considering it, nodding once, then walked outside. Marren followed nervously, peeking around the door to watch, curious despite the danger and her fear.

Five men surrounded Sevren, all larger by a foot at least and huge, but not entirely because of muscles. Four were, as Tiwaz judged them, fat. Sevren cringed at the leader’s upraised fist, but he did not yield to them. “I tell ye, we’ve got nothin’ t’ give ye! Ye took everythin’ we had th’ last time.” Tiwaz’s eyes narrowed in sudden understanding.

“I don’t think so, old man,” the leader growled malevolently. He grabbed Sevren by the shirt, lifting him off the ground. “Heard ye took in guests. Even feedin’ ‘em. So I think yer hidin’ more. An’ yer goin’ t’give it t’me, or I’m goin’ t’make ye wish ye did.”

“Oh, how impressive,” Tiwaz stated in derision, drawing the thugs’ attentions. She stood by the porch, hands on hips. “You are so brave to be threatening an old man. I’m sure if you tried real hard, you might even be able to beat him in a fight.” Her sarcasm was thick and mocking.

The leader snarled, raising his empty fist threateningly, “Do ye know who ye’re speakin’ ta, girl?”

Crossing her arms, Tiwaz looked briefly thoughtful, one finger to her cheek. “Hmm. I would say mud, but I have had more interesting conversations with the bits that get stuck between my toes.”

Shoving Sevren away, he advanced on Tiwaz, his cronies falling in behind him. The old man pulled himself away to hide behind the rain barrel by the house. Tiwaz backed away, drawing the men away from the house and the old couple. Marren hurried out to help her husband to his feet and get him inside.

The leader curled his lip in a mocking sneer. “I’m Durakkar, bitch! No one messes wi’ me without payin’ th’ price.” He looked her up and down leeringly. “Me an’ m’ boys are gonna enjoy ye before we kill ye.”

Conscious of each man as the four cronies began circling her in an attempt to trap her, Tiwaz judged their fitness to fight by their gait. “Not man enough to fight your own battles, Durakkar?” she asked snidely. “Just as well. It has been a while since I’ve faced more than one. I need the practice.”

When his men hesitated because they were not inspiring the fear in this single woman they expected, Durakkar grew angrier. Face flushed with rage, he growled, “Ye must be new t’ the area, girl, so I will give ye just one chance t’ wise up.” She merely arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with him, especially given his moment’s earlier threat of death. He yelled in frustrated anger at her lack of fear, “I rule this region! All who live here has to pay my taxes. The old man and his woman owe me. I expect to get my due!”

A dark smile blossomed on her lips, her stance shifting ever so slightly. “I think you are unwelcome here. You should leave and never come back to these lands. Or I promise you, you will get what you are due.”

Durakkar laughed loudly. “An’ who’s going t’stop us from doin’ as we please, eh? You, little girl? You are nothing here.” He started advancing towards her, hand extended. “Ye better give me that sword of yers, afore ye get yerself hurt.”

“Try and take it from me,” she said with a growl. She snap drew the sword, and moved so quickly, she was just a blur, returning to ready stance. Without inflection, she stated, “First blood. Your turn.”

Durakkar looked down, a shallow slice across his chest slowly oozing blood. “Get her!” he bellowed, and his men jumped to obey, attempting to gang up on the young fighter. But one man’s attack was literally cut short. He looked at the stump on his arm where a hand had been only a fraction of a second ago. Another barely managed to dodge a slash, receiving a foot in the inner thigh that collapsed his leg.

Durakkar retreated at this display of actual skill, eyes wide. “Devil woman!” Spying Marren, he grabbed her. Sevren tried to block him, but the thief leader shoved him back. He slumped against the wall of the house, moaning in agony.

Marren cried out as Durakkar grabbed her, whimpering as he dragged her out of the house completely, knife at her throat. “Girl!” he called. “Give up, or the hag dies!”

Tiwaz froze. Three men were down with fatal or soon-to-be fatal wounds, the fourth limping out of her sword’s reach. She glared, teeth bared, but did nothing that would risk Marren’s safety. Her focus shifted from Durakkar to behind the thug and she lowered her weapon, a small smile on her lips.

Believing he had her cowed, the thug grinned darkly. “Now, bitch, yer gonna do as I says!” He felt someone tap his shoulder and turned. Eye-level with a broad chest, his eyes went up and up until he met the yellow eyes of the angered gromek standing behind him. The thug’s eyes widened to nearly twice their normal size, spittle dribbling out of his open mouth.

“Wanna bet?” Doom growled. The gromek kept Marren on her feet when Durakkar shoved her away and scrambled backwards, screaming like a woman. He tripped over Spark and fell on his back. He froze when he met vivid green eyes and a sword point pricking his throat.

“H-have mercy,” he begged. “Please! Please, don’t kill me.”

“You are pitiful,” she sneered. “You grant no one else mercy. You prey on those weaker than you. A moment ago, you would have done worse than kill me. Now you wish mercy?” She poked the skin of his throat to draw a tiny drop of blood, wrinkling her nose when he soiled himself. “You are a coward. Why should I show you any mercy?”

“Because killing those unable to fight back isn’t your way, Ti,” Doom said in a low voice. “It never was. You are no murderer. Don’t lower yourself to his level.”

She growled and finally pulled the weapon away abruptly. “Get out of here, filth, and never return.”

“S-sure,” Durakkar stammered. “Wha-whatever you says.” She turned her back on him. Much like Farn had in Dramaden, he shifted, grabbing a knife from his boot. His eyes went wide in disbelief when she sliced his throat, staring at her. He fell back with barely a gurgle of sound, the knife tumbling from his hand.

“Never again,” Tiwaz stated. Doom nodded then turned to help Sevren to his feet, assisting him inside so his wife could tend to her husband’s injuries.