《Savage Utopia [Peaceful system exploited for combat - LitRPG]》


 Side Content: World Map

    Lore tidbits


    -Octants: The Frontier has eight inhabited zones, known as octants, that correspond to the eight Shores of Awakening scattered across the land.


    -Shores of Awakening: Shores of Awakening are places along the coast of the Frontier where humans appear after being granted access to the Concord. In the Better Times, winged boonkin created by the goddess would carry people safely to the shore. Now that demons have taken over the Frontier¡¯s administration, new arrivals are allowed to drop straight into the ocean. A large percentage of them die from exposure, drowning, being dashed against cliffs or a rocky sea floor, or even impact with the water itself.


    -Name: The world was technically given the name Faerlon by Era, but many would informally call it the Frontier instead. After the goddess¡¯s death, someone began calling it the ¡®Forlorn Frontier¡¯ instead of the ¡®Faerlon Frontier¡¯, and the name stuck. These days, there are very few lifers who refer to the Frontier by its original name.


    -Timeline: Humans have been sent to the Frontier for the last 50 years, with the first 25 years known as the Better Times, marked by peace and prosperity with angels guiding humanity on behalf of the goddess, providing them with the knowledge and guidance needed to flourish.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    In the 25th year, the goddess was murdered by a lifer named Crow, and the world was thrown into chaos. This event is referred to as the Deicide. The angels disappeared, and without the rigid structure of the divine powers, humanity collapsed in on itself in a mad scramble for power. What followed was a ten-year-long war known as the Strife, human factions fighting both each other and the surging monster populations. This resulted in countless deaths and a near-collapse of civilization before a shaky stalemate was reached.


    In the fifteen years since, little progress has been made toward rebuilding what was lost. In fact, humanity is pushed back on almost every front by ever-increasing monster attacks. At least they are mostly too busy fighting the beasts to consider warring with each other.


    -Monsters: The Frontier was once a safe and verdant place, and lifers roamed freely across its open lands. However, in the years after the goddess¡¯s death, demons emerged to replace the angels that abandoned humanity, ingratiating themselves in everyday society by offering tempting contracts with mortals and getting them hooked on their various infernal services.


    At the same time, a foul corruption began to spread out from the center of the continent, which became known as the Unmaking. Inside the Unmaking was a terrible, unfathomable being, the Devil Queen, who revealed herself in Era¡¯s absence and began giving birth to monsters that spread out from her fortress, the Hellmouth, and blanketed the land. With an unquenchable hatred for all mankind, they drove the squabbling humans back to the coasts and threatened to wipe them out entirely.

 Side Content: Octant Six Map

    Lore tidbits


    -The Hinterland: The Hinterland is the area that makes up the interior of the Sixth Octant. It is considered ¡®relatively safe¡¯ by Frontier standards due to the protection provided by Stormfront, but monsters can slip past its defenses, and do so regularly, leaving a modest infestation to terrorize the coastal cities and their overland trade routes.


    The Hinterland largely consists of lush forests, rolling plains, and clear lakes. Judging only by appearance, it is an idyllic place.


    -Sheerhome: The largest city of the Sixth Octant, ruled by the widely feared and disliked Lord Brimstone. Its chief exports are iron and slaves, and the lord commands a sizable militia of Laborers, with which he is able to deter attempts at overthrowing him either from within or without.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Sheerhome consists of five major districts: Topside, Darkside, Cliffside, Seaside, and the Outside.


    -Stormfront: A fortified city at the northeast edge of the Sixth Octant. Supported by a chain of smaller fortresses, Stormfront holds the line against the monster hordes through the efforts of intrepid, high-level lifers and Lady Winter¡¯s vast armies of undead cannon fodder.


    Lady Winter is one of the older lifers on the Frontier, having served as Stormfront¡¯s ruler ever since the start of the Deicide.


    -The Lords¡¯ Council: The Lords¡¯ Council is a loose alliance consisting of the regional rulers of the Sixth Octant¡¯s major settlements. They are constantly scheming against one another, but are forced to cooperate in some fashion both to repel foreign interference from other octants, and to provide men and supplies to Stormfront, without which the Hinterland would quickly be overrun by monster hordes.


    It is generally agreed that Lady Winter of Stormfront is the most powerful of the council members, being one of a very small number of Level 30 lifers, who is also capable of raising corpses to fight in her undead armies.

 Chapter 1 - Could I Borrow Your Demon Real Quick?

    [Ah yes, the ten Professions¡­]


    [Artisan, Builder, Cook, Entertainer, Explorer, Farmer, Laborer, Physician, Scholar, and Trader. Adopting these, the poor souls that arrive at Faerlon after death¡ªcriminals and scoundrels of the worst sort¡ªare given a second chance to lead productive, peaceful lives while enjoying the many blessings of the Concord system. A ¡®do-over¡¯ for those dealt a bad hand by fate.]


    [Under the goddess¡¯s wise guidance, they will surely all live in perfect harmony.]


    [Wait¡ªwhat are they doing? They¡¯re¡­ They¡¯re not supposed to use their abilities that way.]


    [No, don¡¯t do that! Stop killing each other!]


    [Oh dear¡­]


    Will


    Three men and five chimps sat in a rough circle, smoking cigarettes and making light conversation. It had been a long walk from Sheerhome, and if Will¡¯s gut feeling was anything to go by, they still had a long day ahead of them.


    Will took a last drag off his cigarette, put out the smoldering butt against a nearby rock, and blew a sharp stream of smoke out the corner of his mouth. ¡°All right fellas, break time¡¯s done. Let¡¯s get this over with.¡±


    The chimps glowered. They huddled closer together, hunching their furry shoulders protectively over their smokes as though he might snatch them away if they weren¡¯t careful.


    Kiddo jumped up, a hand resting on the rusted shortsword hanging at his side. His wild straw hair was badly tamed by a knitted red cap, which only pushed down the blond tangle so it half-covered his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m ready, Master One-Eye!¡± he said, a little too loudly considering the nature of their mission. Will considered giving the lad another lecture on the essence of subterfuge, but settled for a weary sigh instead.


    Mongrel lounged on a rotted log, one leg steepled on top, the other outstretched in the spring-thawed undergrowth. Looking at least half a chimp himself¡ªthe fabled missing link, perhaps?¡ªthe odd little man pretended not to have heard. Mongrel was squat, with long, gangly limbs and a big, round belly and a thin, floppy neck that made him look put together all wrong. He chewed on a piece of jerky, the end sticking out between his crooked teeth and slowly being retracted inside as he worried at the aged meat.


    Will stood, strapping on his sword belt; took comfort in the familiar weight of the saber on his hip. He clapped his hands together. ¡°Come on, gentlemen. I can¡¯t afford to waste AP surveilling this place all day, and I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t want to sit around getting your asses wet. Get your boys moving, Mongrel. That¡¯s an order.¡±


    Mongrel glanced over, scratching at his belly, and gave a haughty snort. He made no show of rising. ¡°Since when do you give me orders, boy?¡±


    ¡°I seem to remember someone saying that being in charge was too much work.¡±


    ¡°Yes, well, counter argument¡ªshut up.¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯ll make you get up¡ªgladly.¡±


    Mongrel attempted to ignore him for another several moments, but quickly withered under Will¡¯s one-eyed stare. Grumbling a stream of curses, he rolled off the log and onto his feet, wiping bits of wet mulch off the back of his trousers. His own belt fit him poorly, sword hanging askew and frequently swinging between his legs to trip him up. His boots were mismatched, a brown and a black, one or both likely stolen from somewhere. Every time Will looked at the man, he was met with a fresh wave of morbid fascination at the pure chaos of his presentation. Still, there was a shrewd glint in the little man¡¯s eyes, as though he were playing the whole world a prank with his lazy oaf routine.


    At a sharp whistle from Mongrel, the chimps put out their cigarettes and rose to form up in a somewhat orderly group around him. Three wore shortbows in soft leather cases on their backs, while two hefted heavy wooden mallets. They were Mongrel¡¯s familiars, each one wearing an open-front vest with a number sewn onto the breast in yellow¡ªone through five¡ªas well as a larger matching number on the back.


    ¡®Kill bad fucker man now?¡¯ Number One signed with his hands. He was the oldest of the boys, with as much gray as black in his sparse fur, which made him the de facto leader of their little troupe.


    ¡°Yes¡ª¡± Mongrel began.


    ¡°Not if we can help it,¡± Will interjected. ¡°We¡¯re here for the demon, nothing else. We¡¯ll be ready for a fight, but I¡¯d like to avoid one if possible.¡±


    Mongrel''s frown made his puffy face look even uglier. He scratched at his teacup-sized bald spot. ¡°What about the bounty?¡± he asked. ¡°That Buck fellow¡¯s got a big price on his head.¡±


    Will nodded patiently. ¡°So he does. And for good reason.¡±


    ¡°I hear he put on a play mocking Brimstone right in his own city. No wonder the old bastard¡¯s all fired up over him.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s true, but I do know that he¡¯s proven himself to be quite the nuisance over the last few months, hitting slave convoys between Sheerhome and Timbryhall. My informants think he¡¯s at least Level 16, which means he¡¯s unlocked his semblance, which means¡­¡± He looked around at everyone in turn, even the chimps, waiting for someone to fill in the blank.


    ¡®Means be careful?¡¯ signed Number One.


    Will nodded. ¡°Yes, very good. I¡¯m glad somebody¡¯s paying attention. Now, let¡¯s take our places, people. Remember, I¡¯m going up first. I¡¯ll Pulse if things start looking dicey, and that¡¯s when the rest of you come in. Got it?¡±


    There were murmurs of assent from the men and a few bobbing nods from the chimps. Good enough, Will thought, and took the lead as they began trudging up the hilly forest.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    A bit of winter chill clung to the air, unwilling to release its grip from the land and give way for true spring. The sun shone down through green conifers swaying in the wind, dappling the frosty forest floor in a sliding patchwork of light and shadow. In the distance, a woodpecker drummed out a too-quick beat to their march. Ahead, a bushy-tailed squirrel shot up the trunk of a pine, peered suspiciously at them through the branches high above.


    They crested the incline and reached the edge of the wood, trees replaced by manmade works in the bowl-shaped stretch of land that opened up below. A loose cluster of houses huddled together, surrounded by fields that had not been tended in years. Millstone was one of many abandoned villages on the Frontier, its inhabitants having fled to the better defended cities once monster attacks began ramping up.


    A large hall with a slanted roof reminiscent of an overturned boat dominated the village, standing head and shoulders above its squat neighbors. It was also the only building with light pouring out of the cracks in its shuttered windows.


    Will crouched low so that he was halfway concealed behind shrubbery, and the others followed his lead. ¡°Detect [Life],¡± he murmured, words thrumming with power, and one of the fourteen sparkling gems on his left forearm winked out.


    The world appeared to change, trees around him taking on a soft glow, branches trailing spectral afterimages when they moved. In the village, a grouping of small lights shining through the wall of the longhouse displayed the presence of humans.


    Will looked around carefully¡ªstudying Millstone itself, then the fields, then the treeline¡ªbut there was no sign of any other people. Good. That meant they didn¡¯t have anyone on watch. Irresponsible on Buck¡¯s part, but it suited Will just fine.


    ¡°We¡¯re good,¡± he said. ¡°No lookouts.¡±


    Mongrel nodded, stuffing another bit of jerky in his mouth. He gave an order in sign, and the three chimps with bows each picked their own sturdy tree and scrambled up it. They perched themselves in the coniferous crowns at least fifty feet up, where they had perfect vantage points over the village. The two that remained, along with Mongrel and Kiddo, followed at a good distance as Will descended into Millstone.


    He kept his saber sheathed, but took one of the small throwing knives he kept strapped at the back of his belt¡ªits blade only finger-length¡ªand palmed it in a thin-gloved hand so none of it showed. Just in case, he thought. If things did turn violent, he wasn¡¯t sure he liked his odds in a fair fight.


    The moving motes of light inside the longhouse became larger and clearer the closer he got, separating from one another so he could tell them apart. There were more people inside the longhouse than he had expected. He counted eight. Buck must have recruited some of the slaves from the convoys he had hit, not just selling them on.


    Will walked along a path where weeds had begun furtively poking their heads through the thaw, passed old husks of buildings that had once been homes. More than one had its woodwork scored with claw marks or tooth prints.


    Reaching the longhouse, Will pulled low his pinned-up left sleeve so it covered his AP crystals. He could vaguely make out singing and laughing inside. Maybe even an instrument being played. He didn''t make out the demon among these men, but he hadn''t expected to, either. Demons did not appear on a Detect [Life]. He could have done a separate scan for her, but decided that he didn''t want to waste the AP.


    Forcing back a wave of apprehension, Will raised a fist and pounded on the faded double doors. The ghostly figures inside became very still, and their merriment went dead at once. One figure moved, nearing the doors. The others stayed put.


    Will backed away several steps as the doors were unlatched and swung open, revealing a handsome man standing confidently beneath the portal, arms crossed, backlit by firelight. He had perfectly styled hair worn swept back, and wore a fur-lined jacket; open at the front to show off a bare, lean-muscled torso beneath. He wore his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, making no effort to hide his sheet.


    ¡°We don¡¯t get many visitors around here,¡± the man said in a full, almost sing-song voice that seemed made for telling epic tales or reciting poetry. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯re here for tea.¡± He glanced at Will¡¯s covered left arm, and a knowing smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.


    ¡°You¡¯re Big Deal Buck, I take it?¡± Will asked.


    The man nodded. ¡°Always happy to meet a fan.¡±


    ¡°Afraid I¡¯m not here for an autograph.¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re not, are you? As it happens, your reputation precedes you, too.¡± Buck motioned to his left eye with a pinky finger. ¡°You¡¯re Brimstone¡¯s pet killer. What is it he calls you again?¡±


    ¡°I am the lord¡¯s Misfortune,¡± Will supplied dryly. He hated that title.


    ¡°Aha. You have quite the reputation, Mr. One-Eye. The ghost stories they tell about you are enough to make a big tough Laborer shiver in his boots.¡± Buck did not look particularly intimidated. He shrugged, and his smirk grew into an infuriatingly self-confident grin, showing immaculate teeth. ¡°Of course, I¡¯m not too partial to those stories myself. Bit morbid for my taste. I prefer the romantic ones.¡± He tapped the side of his nose. ¡°I was wondering when old Brimstone was going to start sending some real professionals after me.¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯re mistaken. I¡¯m here to bargain with you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah? You going to ask politely before you string me up by my own intestines?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not out to kill you.¡±


    Buck snorted out a laugh. ¡°Right. You know, people used to put a bit of effort into their lies.¡±


    ¡°I heard you have a demon. I want to borrow her. You do me that favor, and I¡¯ll let you and your people go, safe and sound. I¡¯ll tell Brimstone you¡¯d already cleared out by the time I got here, trail gone cold.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll let me go, will you? That¡¯s right charitable of you, Mr. One-Eye. Isn¡¯t it, boys?¡± Buck glanced over his shoulder as rough-looking men began streaming out of the longhouse. They formed up on either side of him, all eight of them, just as the duration of Will¡¯s Detect [Life] ran out, and the glow faded. The men wore their left arms covered, effectively concealing Profession, level, and current AP. They carried an assortment of weapons, ranging from swords to knives to clubs.


    Buck himself stripped out of his fur-lined jacket and tossed it nonchalantly aside, taking pride in showing off the seventeen sparkling AP crystals that studded his left arm. ¡°So?¡± he said, rattling a saber on his hip that was almost a twin to Will¡¯s own. ¡°May I have this dance?¡±


    I guess that means no deal, Will thought sourly. Why can¡¯t anyone be reasonable in this damn place?


    He sighed. Standing sidelong to conceal his off-hand, he made a series of quick hand signs. ¡®Amp (Two): Pulse.¡¯


    Targeting a random spot twenty feet off to his left, he cast the skill, and a sudden ripple went through the air. Not quite a gust of wind, or a shockwave, but something inside the mind. Like the tugging sense of being watched by someone standing just outside your peripheral vision, only stronger. Instinctively, the men all turned to investigate the source of the disturbance.


    Which left them perfectly exposed to the arrows that came whistling out of the golden sunset. Three fletched lengths of wood found three targets. There were cries of shock and pain. Men scrambled; fumbling for weapons, whipping around, shouting in confusion.


    Not giving fear time to set in, Will capitalized on the turmoil as he flipped the palmed throwing knife up between pointer and middle finger, then tossed it with a sharp flick of his wrist. Buck caught the danger and moved, frighteningly quick, but not fast enough to avoid the blade scraping a shallow cut across his cheek before flipping away.


    Another wave of arrows came, and Will was reinforced from behind by men and beasts pounding up toward the longhouse. Buck paid none of it any mind. Neither did Will. The two of them circled about each other like wary tomcats, drawing steel.


    ¡°Throwing knives, huh?¡± Buck said with an incredulous smile. ¡°There¡¯s more showman in you than I thought. And here I was assuming this would be a dull affair.¡± The Entertainer took an easy stance; lithe, naked chest lit double by golden sunset before and amber flame behind.


    Will took a more defensive posture, shielding his vitals. It seemed a thin comfort, then. His hands were clammy, and he found that he was gripping the saber too tight, forced himself to relax.


    This is going to hurt.

 Chapter 2 - Could I Borrow Your Demon Real Quick? [2]

    Will


    Buck made the first move. He launched into a soaring, dizzyingly fast leap. He spun in the air, a whirlwind of flashing metal. Will barely sidestepped, Buck¡¯s saber whooshing only half an inch from his ear.


    Buck had used at least two separate skills for the maneuver. Flash Step for the sudden burst of movement and Panache for the impossible number of mid-air rotations. Will chided himself for getting distracted by details, forced his mind to go blank as he deflected another cut.


    I just need to hold him off long enough. Can¡¯t let him beat me, but I also can¡¯t push him so hard that he feels cornered into using his semblance. That second one would not be a problem, he surmised.


    Will dodged and parried furiously, struggling to turn aside the serpent-quick blows Buck sent his way. The Entertainer moved in a showy, drunken swagger that well suited his Profession, making him nearly impossible to predict. When he looked off-balance, he instead pivoted on one foot and launched a daring thrust, poised like a dancer. When he looked to be preparing for a leap, he instead went low with a sweeping kick that Will only narrowly scrambled over. When he looked as though he was about to pile on the pressure, he instead hung back with that infuriating grin. Taking his time. Playing with his food.


    Will realized that he could not keep playing defense, or Buck would pressure him right off his feet. Despite the fact that only moments had passed, his back was already plastered with sweat, and he pushed sharp, hissing breaths through clenched teeth.


    Feigning a retreat from one of Buck¡¯s diagonal cuts, Will Repelled off the ground with his back foot, immediately reversing his momentum and sending himself forward. Buck laughed as he parried, dancing sideways and allowing Will to barrel past.


    ¡°Good one!¡± the Entertainer called good-naturedly. ¡°Allow me to retort.¡±


    But Will was not done. Still spinning around to face his opponent, he readied a Dash. The best movement skill available to Explorers, it was typically considered the lesser version of the Entertainers¡¯ Flash Step.


    But not to Will. He had a secret that made Dash by far the more attractive alternative.


    Will launched into stomach-lurching motion, the world seeming to warp around him with the speed of his advance. He felt himself catch on something, and came to a staggering halt just before a man wrestling with a chimp, the two of them stumbling off down the hill like drunken dance partners.


    I definitely hit something there, didn¡¯t I?


    Triumphant, Will looked back to see if his sword had found its mark, only to notice a growing blotch of red across his stomach. Separating a tear in his clothing, he found a long, nasty-looking cut.


    ¡°Motherfucker,¡± he muttered. He directed a glare at Buck, who came sauntering unharmed along the overgrown path, swinging his bloodied weapon in lazy figure-8s.


    ¡°Close one, there,¡± Buck said, his tone still light and bouncy. ¡°Try again, why don¡¯t you? Maybe you¡¯ll have better luck.¡± He hung his saber off to his left, leaving himself completely exposed. There was a glint in his eyes that was equal parts playful and lethal.


    ¡°Master One-Eye, I¡¯ve got your back!¡± cried a voice, and a young man came barreling out of the chaos to put himself between Will and the enemy, raising a shaky sword to bring down on the enemy.


    Will did not have time to cry out a warning. Buck skidded into a Flash Step, kicking up gravel as he slid past the boy. A moment later, Kiddo''s head tumbled off his shoulders. It rolled toward Will, red cap still tugged past his ears, a look of open-mouthed shock on his twitching face. It went past him and continued down the hill out of sight. The body fell in a heap like a puppet with its strings cut, severed neck watering the earth with warm blood.


    Will had no time to be annoyed at the boy¡¯s stupidity or saddened by his death. For the moment, he let it flow right past him, allowed it to fade to mental static.


    Buck had not even come to a full stop before he transitioned into another assault on Will. He soared high in the air, and when Will rolled right to keep Buck out of his blind spot, wincing at the burning pain in his midsection. Buck seemed to springboard off the air itself, finding purchase on nothing and instantly changing his momentum to stay on top of Will. Again, he scrambled out of the way, but as soon as Buck¡¯s feet hit the ground, he moved into a Flash Step that cut the distance between them lightning-quick.


    Will stumbled away from that exchange with another wound, clutching at his right shoulder with his free hand, blood trickling between his fingers. He rolled his arm to test its mobility and found that the muscle had not been cut. Still, his bag of tricks was running empty, and Buck¡¯s was seemingly endless. While he usually prided himself on his system knowledge, he didn¡¯t even know how Buck had done that thing with the air.


    Fucking Entertainers and their parlor tricks.


    They clashed swords again with a clang of steel on steel. On the follow-up, Buck threw out a fan of popping sparkles that confused the eyes with a murmured ¡°Glitter,¡± then went low and let Will¡¯s weapon pass over his head. He swept Will¡¯s legs out from under him, knocking him flat.


    Buck stood over him, taking his time with the finishing blow. Not ready to admit defeat, Will braced against the ground with his free hand and aimed another Dash, sending himself soaring high in the air past the Entertainer. He spun out of control thanks to his poor balance when casting the skill, and it was only by some miracle that he landed feet-first when he touched down on the other side of his enemy, knees nearly buckling with the impact. Being a cantrip, Dash did not cost him any AP, but all skills took a toll on the user¡¯s body. Eventually it added up, building fatigue. Will felt his vision doubling already, not sure if it was from exhaustion, skill overuse, or terror. Maybe a happy mix of all three.


    When he glanced back, expecting Buck to be coming for his neck, he instead found the man as unsteady on his legs as he was, a slightly glazed-over look in his eyes. He took a few tottering steps¡ªtrying to launch another assault¡ªthen fell to one knee, groaning, and his weapon rolled free of slackened fingers to clatter onto the stones.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Oh, thank god. It finally kicked in.


    ¡°What¡­?¡± Buck snarled. Confused, the mirth gone from his expression and replaced with a grim scowl. Slowly, he reached up and touched the only wound Will had scored on him, the small scratch on his cheek. He rubbed at the blood that came away between thumb and forefinger, chuckling to himself. ¡°Poison, huh? I should have seen that coming from someone with your reputation¡­¡±


    Will felt an enormous wash of relief, letting his heavy sword arm drop so the tip of his blade touched the ground. At Buck¡¯s accusing glare, he could only shrug apologetically.


    ¡°Fellas?¡± Buck called out, swaying on one knee as the poison strengthened its stranglehold on him. ¡°A little help would be nice.¡±


    But as he looked around him at the bloody piece of old Millstone, he found, as Will did, that none of Buck¡¯s men were left to answer him, the hillside covered in pincushioned bodies. The chimps were just finishing up, whacking dying men over the head with mallets, silencing pleading whimpers. Mongrel oversaw the effort, leaning fashionably against his unbloodied sword with his hip cocked. The Farmer had an incredible knack for getting out of work, and the killing kind was no different.


    Buck laughed tiredly, finally sagging sideways as the last strength fled his body. ¡°That¡¯s how it is, huh¡­? Never thought I¡¯d die¡­ in a shithole like this¡­¡±


    ¡°Maybe you shouldn¡¯t have talked so much shit, then,¡± Mongrel muttered, scraping with a fingernail at a piece of food caught between his teeth. ¡°But don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ll put that bounty money to good use. Might even drink a round in your name, if the mood strikes.¡±


    Buck seemed to find that unreasonably funny, and the two of them laughed about it like old friends.


    Will, however, had other plans. With a swipe of his hand, he opened his Inventory, a circular black void about a foot across that floated beside him. He reached in and pulled out the small medicine bag that he always kept in there. When he went to kneel at Buck¡¯s side, the man frowned up at him, suspicious, but Will pushed his head back into the dirt, forcing him to lie down.


    ¡°Now, you¡¯ve got two options,¡± Will said. ¡°Either use your semblance and hope it¡¯s enough to kill both of us, or¡­¡± He unbuckled and unfolded the satchel on the ground beside the man, revealing a selection of vials, bottles, bandage rolls, and clay pots.


    ¡°Or?¡± Buck asked.


    ¡°Or, you let me administer the antidote. The poison in your veins is a highly potent version of curare. Unless I stop it, you will either die of asphyxiation or heart failure in a minute or two as your muscles become unable to contract.¡±


    ¡°Hold on, what?¡± Mongrel asked, suddenly standing stick-straight in outrage. ¡°You¡¯re not talking about letting him go, are you?¡±


    ¡°I told you I didn¡¯t want to kill him. He¡¯s one of Brimstone¡¯s only meaningful enemies at the moment, which means he might prove useful in the future.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but¡­ the bounty.¡± Mongrel looked absolutely appalled, as though Will had suggested traumatic self-castration as a fun and exciting new leisure activity.


    ¡°We don¡¯t need the money.¡±


    ¡°Speak for yourself. Unlike the lord¡¯s perfect little killer, some of us are regular working stiffs without a mountain of cash to tuck ourselves into at night.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll pay you for your trouble.¡±


    Mongrel snorted. ¡°It¡¯s about the principle.¡± Number Three and Number Five, returning from their bloody business to stand beside their master, looked equally offended. It was downright eerie how well they synced up sometimes.


    ¡°I hate to break up your discussion,¡± Buck murmured, his lips gone bluish, ¡°but I¡¯m kind of¡­ dying¡­ down here. Any chance of that antidote?¡±


    Will nodded, ignoring Mongrel¡¯s further protests. He produced a small vial of clear liquid, unstoppered it with a flick of his thumb, and placed the top against Buck¡¯s lips, tilting his chin up to help the fluid go down as he began pouring.


    The Entertainer drank greedily. ¡°Thanks,¡± he sighed once it was empty, weakly smacking his lips. He tried to move his arms, and frowned when they flopped right back down at his sides again. ¡°You¡¯re sure this stuff works, right?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not an instant fix,¡± Will said, tucking the empty vial back in its place and replacing the satchel inside his Inventory. He stood up, growling at the fresh lines of pain marring his upper body. ¡°You¡¯ll be able to move normally again within half an hour. We¡¯ll be long gone by then.¡±


    Buck glanced around him. ¡°You killed all my friends, you know. Real grateful that you¡¯re sparing my life and all, but if you think it¡¯s all water under the bridge¡­¡±


    ¡°You started it. Besides, you killed one of ours, too. I reckon we¡¯re even.¡±


    Buck sighed, looking up at the darkening sky. ¡°Whatever. Let¡¯s do this again sometime. Your house, next time.¡±


    Will chuckled, standing up and dusting off his knees. ¡°Sure. If you¡¯ll excuse me, I have an appointment with a demon.¡±


    They left Buck amid the corpses and entered into the warmth of the longhouse, which consisted of a single large hall filled with old benches and tables, a few of the latter laden with food and supplies. A great fire crackled in a hearth at the far wall. Mongrel¡¯s insistent grumblings faded away once they saw the woman sprawled out before the fire on a pile of rugs, her back turned to them.


    She looked over her shoulder at their approach, and a mischievous smile played in dangerous eyes. She rolled over, lounging with the easy grace of a housecat. Will felt clumsy under her gaze; unwieldy, somehow.


    The woman¡ªhe could not help but think of her as one, even though he knew her true nature¡ªwas fully nude. She was slender and womanly, gray skin contrasting against black lips and black nipples. Startlingly yellow eyes blazed like the fire behind her, and long, dark hair fell in perfect ringlets about her, like it had been arranged just so. She was beautiful as a predator, beautiful in a way that made clear it should be appreciated only from afar if you wanted to keep all your limbs intact.


    ¡°I am Nyx,¡± the demon said in a husky half-sigh, head propped up in her hand. ¡°It seems you boys have been fighting over me. I do so enjoy when humans murder each other for my affection.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not here for your affection, sorry to say,¡± Will said, his throat suddenly dry. He scratched at his stitched-shut left eye, feeling the bumps of the heavy sutures keeping the lids together. ¡°I¡¯m here to make a bargain.¡±


    Nyx studied sharp black fingernails, almost talons, with great interest. ¡°Very well. If it intrigues, I¡¯ll consider it.¡±


    ¡°I want to bring someone here from Earth.¡±


    The demon looked up, a sweeping eyebrow cocked in surprise and amusement. ¡°From Earth? To the Frontier? You realize that people only end up here one way, yes?¡±


    ¡°By dying, I know. Even so.¡±


    ¡°Why would you want to bring someone here anyway? I hate to disparage my own home, but it¡¯s more or less the ass end of existence, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my business.¡±


    Nyx rolled her eyes. ¡°Fine. Don¡¯t tell me, then.¡± She thought about his request, taking her time; made not at all uncomfortable by her nudeness. ¡°I¡¯ve only ever heard rumors of someone making a deal like this, but I suppose it should be possible. The prospect is exciting, I¡¯ll grant you that.¡± Her yellow eyes swiveled up; fixing him, pinning him in place. A cat eyeing a particularly tasty-looking mouse. ¡°Of course, something like this is going to cost you. Not only do you have to get someone to fetch this poor victim you want ported over, you¡¯ll also need to bribe the Tower custodian to get them through processing.¡±


    Will nodded solemnly. ¡°I¡¯m willing to pay whatever it takes.¡±


    The demon regarded him for a long moment, letting one claw trail across her smooth hip. A disconcerting smile spread across her face, revealing wickedly sharp top and bottom canines. ¡°What is your name, dearest?¡±


    ¡°Will.¡±


    ¡°Very well, William. I¡¯ll take on your request. Just tell me one thing first.¡±


    Will shuffled uncomfortably. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Why all this fuss for one human? Who are they, that you would go to such lengths?¡±


    ¡°Someone very special,¡± Will said without hesitation, forcing himself to meet the demon¡¯s gaze without flinching. ¡°Someone this world could use right now.¡±


    The demon pursed her lips to hide a smirk, but did not do a very good job at it. ¡°I see. So it¡¯s a woman, then.¡±


    Will did not reply.


    Nyx sighed¡ªsomehow she did even that smugly. She stretched, slid gracefully to her feet, and padded barefoot off the furs onto the smooth stone floors, approaching the two men. ¡°Shall we start talking about your end in all this? What are you willing to trade for such a monumental service?¡±


    Will swallowed hard. I¡¯ve always hated haggling.

 Chapter 3 - Just Another Day on Boring Old Planet Earth

    Sam


    ¡°Paper or plastic, Mr. Fredrick?¡± Sam asked as she began to scan the assorted groceries.


    ¡°Paper, please,¡± said the town priest¡ªan older fellow with graying hair who still retained a solid build.


    Sam pulled out two paper bags and packed away the items. Mr. Fredrick went to pay, struggling with hands rendered shaky by age to get his card into the reader.


    ¡°Actually, you can just beep the card if you want¡ªit might be simpler that way. Yeah, just place it against the top there.¡± She motioned to the boxy machine, and Mr. Fredrick tapped his card against various parts of it, frowning, until the thing eventually let out a happy chirp. ¡°There you go!¡± Sam said with a broad smile. ¡°Convenient, huh?¡±


    Mr. Fredrick shook his head, but gave a rueful smile of his own. ¡°How¡¯s an old fellow like me meant to keep up with all this technology, huh?¡±


    ¡°Want me to help you get those to the car?¡± Sam asked as the old priest reached for his bags.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re too sweet, but I couldn¡¯t possibly¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all good! I¡¯m getting off my shift now, so I¡¯ll be heading out the door in a minute anyway. Really, it¡¯s no trouble.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate it, hon, but I¡¯m not as weak as all that, you know.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know that, sir. I¡¯ve seen your deadlifts. Pumping the lord¡¯s iron.¡±


    Mr. Fredrick chuckled, picking up his things. ¡°I think that counts as blasphemy, but I¡¯ll pretend I didn¡¯t hear it.¡± Heading for the door of the small, starkly lit bodega, he called over his shoulder: ¡°Be seeing you!¡±


    Sam waited a few minutes for her coworker to come in so she could hand off the counter, then went into the changing room to toss her name plate in a locker and slip on her running shoes. She headed for home at a brisk half-jog, meeting only a few runners and dog-walkers on the way. The town was sleepy even at its busiest, and it was getting dark, meaning most had already wrapped up their business for the day.


    Today was Friday, meaning she was due a visit to the cemetery on the way.


    But before she could make it there, she spotted something on the other side of the street. Mr. Fredrick stood there at the mouth of a side street nestled between two multi-story tenement buildings. He had let his grocery bags drop to the sidewalk, and he was speaking closely with a man Sam did not recognize.


    There wasn¡¯t anything overtly strange about it, but it just looked¡­ off. Sam checked her left and right, then swiveled to cut across the road at a quick trot, weaving between cars parked on either side to approach the two men.


    ¡°Everything all right, Mr. Fredrick?¡± Sam asked as she reached them, keeping her tone light. ¡°Is this a friend of yours?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re friends, aren¡¯t we, Mr. Fredrick?¡± the man said, something mocking in his tone. He had an arm slung over Mr. Fredrick¡¯s shoulders, glancing between Sam and the priest.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Mr. Fredrick said, sounding tired.


    The man nodded. ¡°There you have it. Now, we¡¯re just catching up, so if you wouldn¡¯t mind¡­?¡±


    Sam put her hands on her hips. ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡±


    ¡°The fuck?¡± The man let his head fall back and groaned dramatically, staring up at an overcast sky. ¡°Why¡¯ve you got to make this so hard? Run along already. You don¡¯t wanna get involved in this, I promise.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m already involved.¡±


    ¡°Whatever.¡± The man took a step back from Mr. Fredrick, revealing the knife he had been holding to the priest¡¯s ribs. He waved the flashy bit of metal in Sam¡¯s direction. ¡°In that case, you can both empty your pockets. And unlike grandpa here, I won¡¯t believe you don¡¯t have a smartphone, so don¡¯t even try that.¡±


    ¡°Do as he says, girl,¡± Mr. Fredrick muttered, eyeing a milk carton that lay overturned on the pavement. ¡°He¡¯s got a knife. This isn¡¯t a game.¡±


    The man pointed the weapon lazily at Mr. Fredrick without looking his way. ¡°See? Listen to your elders. A little generosity goes a long way toward minimizing the number of holes I put in you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not giving you a thing. But if you walk away now, I¡¯ll let you.¡± Sam took a step toward him, and he backed away warily, keeping the knife between them. ¡°Were you seriously planning to rob a sixty-year-old priest? C¡¯mon, man. Have a little self-respect.¡±


    The mugger scowled at Mr. Fredrick, looking him up and down. ¡°He¡¯s sixty?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look a day over fifty, does he? He looks after himself pretty well. We go to the same gym, you know.¡± Sam kept advancing, and the mugger kept backing away until he hit the wall with a flinch. ¡°So, what¡¯ll it be?¡±This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Fuck¡ª¡±


    Sam suckerpunched him in the mouth before he finished whatever he was going to say, snapping his head back against the wooden facade. She could tell by his tone that that wouldn¡¯t have gone anywhere. While he was still reeling in shock, she grasped his wrist and upper arm and twisted until she had his face pressed against the building, the knife coming free of his stick-straight fingers. She kicked the weapon over to Mr. Fredrick, who picked it up and blinked at the thing, dumbstruck.


    She kept the mugger like that while Mr. Fredrick used his old flip phone to call the police. It took the man a minute to realize he was actually a fair bit stronger than Sam, and he eventually managed to wriggle free and scamper off down the street. Whatever. It was a small town¡ªsomeone would catch up to him soon enough, and Mr. Fredrick had given a good description since he¡¯d been staring at the guy while giving it to the operator.


    ¡°That was reckless,¡± Mr. Fredrick said with an admonishing shake of his head when she wandered over. ¡°But¡­ thank you. Thank you very much.¡±


    ¡°Eh, it¡¯s no trouble.¡±


    ¡°You always say that.¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s never any trouble.¡±


    Mr. Fredrick folded the mugger¡¯s knife into his back pocket in case the police needed it later, then bent down to pick up his bags. Sam got there first, snatching them away. ¡°I¡¯ll have to insist on carrying these for you now. You¡¯ve been through a traumatic event, you know.¡±


    Mr. Fredrick muttered what sounded an awful lot like a curse under his breath¡ªscandalous; what would Jesus think?¡ªand said: ¡°What about you, then?¡±


    ¡°You kidding? Getting to punch some weirdo was the highlight of my day.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t lying. The adrenaline rushing through her veins was making her feel all hot and giddy. It had been risky, of course. There had been a moment when she stepped into the mugger¡¯s range where he might easily have cut her open like a Christmas ham, if he had been a little bit more on the ball. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it in her jaw.


    ¡°You¡¯re a pretty strange girl, you know that?¡± the priest said as he fell in step beside her, turning their steps toward Mr. Fredrick¡¯s home.


    ¡°Yeah, I know.¡±


    ¡°In a good way, I think. Mostly.¡±


    Sam flashed him a grin. ¡°Thanks! I think so too.¡±


    ¡°Well, if you insist on lugging this stuff all the way to my door, then I have to insist that you stay for dinner. The missus will be happy for the company.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d never turn down a free meal. Food is my religion. No offense. I''m sure your fella is nice too.¡±


    An hour later, Sam found herself sitting with Mr. and Mrs. Fredrick in their cozy little kitchen, scarfing down a big plate of spaghetti bolognese. She was almost always hungry.


    The priest¡¯s stocky, white-haired wife hardly touched her own food, staring at the spaghetti vanishing into Sam''s mouth like she was watching a magic trick. ¡°Will that be enough protein for you, dear?¡± she asked uncertainly after some time. ¡°I know you sporty types need a lot of that.¡±


    Sam mopped up pasta sauce off her plate with a heel of bread, stuffed it in her mouth, and covered her lower face with a hand while she chewed forcibly, jaws working. After swallowing, she said: ¡°This is perfect, Mrs. Fredrick, thank you. Protein is good, but you need a lot of carbs to keep your energy up, too.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good to hear. Let me know if there¡¯s anything else I can get you.¡±


    ¡°I mean...¡±


    Sam was properly full after two servings, patting her belly contentedly. Mrs. Fredrick insisted on cleaning the cut one of the mugger¡¯s teeth had left on Sam¡¯s knuckle, and after that they sat around the table chatting for a while.


    ¡°You know, I¡¯m sure they¡¯re just rumors,¡± Mrs. Fredrick said after some time, ¡°but I feel that I have to ask you about some¡­ worrying things I¡¯ve been hearing.¡±


    ¡°Shoot,¡± Sam said with a nod.


    ¡°Margaret,¡± Mr. Fredrick said warningly, but the woman shot him a withering glare in return, then went on acting as though he had never spoken.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard that you take part in these¡­ street fights, or whatever they call them. That you fight people for money. But that¡¯s not true, right?¡±


    Sam smiled. ¡°Oh, sure it is! Yeah, I have a match every other month or so. You can come watch if you want.¡±


    The old couple shared a concerned look between them. Mrs. Fredrick appeared to weigh her words before speaking, placing an aged hand on Sam¡¯s. ¡°Dear, I know money can be hard to come by, but you really shouldn¡¯t let unscrupulous people take advantage of you like that. I¡¯m sure Tom could get you a few shifts at the cemetery if you''d like. Couldn¡¯t you, dear?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Mr. Fredrick said, nodding gravely. ¡°It¡¯s not glamorous work, and the pay is what it is, but between that and your other job, I¡¯m sure you wouldn¡¯t need to turn to¡­ other places anymore.¡±


    Sam knew it was probably rude, but she couldn¡¯t help but grin at these poor people¡¯s concern. It was very cute. ¡°I don¡¯t do it for the money,¡± she said. ¡°Hell, they barely pay me anyway, since I always lose.¡±


    Mr. Fredrick blinked. ¡°Then, why¡­?¡±


    Sam¡¯s smile slipped a hair. She wished she had a satisfying answer to that herself. Finally, she said: ¡°I like the challenge. Besides, I think it¡¯s fun.¡±


    They let the topic drop. She could tell they thought she was insane. Maybe she was.


    When Mrs. Fredrick bustled off to clean the table and soak the dishes, the priest leaned close and said: ¡°Maggie doesn¡¯t like what you do.¡± He glanced up at his wife, making sure she was out of earshot, then back at Sam. ¡°I reckon I don¡¯t, either. But between you and me, I¡¯ll say a prayer that you¡¯ll win the next one.¡± He winked.


    Sam grinned. ¡°Thanks!¡±


    I¡¯m going to need it.


    By the time she took leave of the Fredricks, it was properly dark outside, but she stopped by the cemetery anyway. She went to her mother¡¯s grave first, speaking a few well-worn words. Then she went and sat cross-legged in the grass in front of Will¡¯s, turning on a little electric lantern she had left there ages ago. She also took out an old packet of cigarettes and a plastic lighter that she had stashed inside the lantern¡¯s glass paneling. Extracting one cigarette, she lit it and left it smoldering on the gravestone.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Sam said; legs drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. ¡°Sorry for being late. Stuff happened. I¡¯m here now, though. I don¡¯t know if you remember me telling you last week, but I have a fight in a couple days. Wish me luck, okay? Eleventh time¡¯s going to be the ticket, I think.¡±


    The mossy stone offered no reply. A small cylinder of ash dropped off the cigarette and dissolved as it was carried away on the breeze.


    Sam sighed into the silence. She wasn¡¯t sure how the absence of something could feel heavy, but it did. It weighed her down like a bag of bricks. ¡°I miss you,¡± she said, forcing a smile. ¡°A whole lot. Even though you could be such a little shit sometimes.¡± Then, after a while, she added: ¡°Oh! I saved someone from getting mugged today. Kind of made me feel like a hero for a minute. So that was pretty cool.¡±


    The gravestone remained unimpressed.


    Sam sat there at the grave until the cigarette burned down to the filter and fizzled out. Then she sat there a while longer.


    For some reason, she got this strange feeling of being watched, the hairs on her arms prickling. She dismissed it almost immediately. Just dreaming up ghosts in the night, probably. Only, she¡¯d never been afraid of the dark. Weird.

 Chapter 4 - Eleventh Time’s the Charm (For Sure This Time)

    Sam


    The old junkyard bustled with activity, people shoving for space around piles of assorted trash and finding seats on top of rusted cars. The horizon was broken up by a skyline of precarious junk towers and broken-down equipment and an old yellow crane looming above it all, cable arm swinging in the wind. There was a buzz of conversation, and sometimes money changed hands. A speaker system blared tacky music.


    Sam was about done stretching inside the improvised fighting ring. It was closed off by wooden poles hammered into the ground with mismatched ropes suspended from them, making about a twelve-by-twelve foot square. The packed earth underfoot was covered by a sheet of blue tarp with a liberal amount of holes and tears for some careless fighter to snag a foot on.


    Sam¡¯s opponent, a fellow named Luke, stood opposite her, checking the bandage wrapping on his fists. He was taller than average, and looked like he had good reach with those arms.


    That means I have to close the distance fast, get him on the ground. I don¡¯t have a chance in a stand-up fight.


    Sam gave her legs one last stretch and began bouncing on bare feet, trying her best to stay loose despite the nerves that were creeping in, threatened to freeze her solid. She popped her mouthguard in as the owner of the junkyard¡ªwho served as the announcer for these gatherings¡ªducked under the ropes and swaggered about the ring, delivering his usual drivel. Sam blocked out his existence, focused only on her opponent. The vaguely apologetic look in his eyes that seemed ¡®sorry that I have to do this to you¡¯ really pissed her off. She recognized it from most of the other guys she¡¯d fought.


    Of course, she couldn¡¯t blame them especially. She was a woman going up against a man¡ªthey knew they were going to go through her like a rock through wet tissue paper.


    She knew that, too. As did the spectators. Half of them were jeering all sorts of things, or laughing coarsely with their buddies.


    But this time would be different. It had to be. She¡¯d been training hard for it, after all. She''d learned from her mistakes, honed her technique. She was twice the fighter she had been just a year or two ago.


    That would be enough, wouldn''t it?


    Sam realized the fight had already started when the spectators¡¯ wild noise got louder and the junkyard owner scrambled out of the ring, snapping her out of her thoughts. Luke hesitated, looking at the retreating back of the man in charge as though he was still not quite sure about this whole thing.


    If he had any qualms about fighting a girl, Sam was about to disabuse him of that notion. She darted forward, closing the distance between them in a second flat, feet sliding on rough tarp with a grating squeak as she shot low, arms outstretched.


    Luke blinked, finally fixing his attention on her, but he moved too late to avoid the grapple. She got one of his legs, hooked the other with a foot, and tipped him over onto his back, spidering on top. He shot an arm out to tear her off, and she immediately focused all her attention on the exposed limb, wrapping himself around it and forcing him flat as she caught him in an armbar. Hands on his wrist and legs pinning his torso, she forced him wide, hyperextending his shoulder joint.


    Luke struggled, off-balance, grunting. Locked down and without proper leverage to work with, the difference in their reach and strength didn¡¯t mean as much.


    But god, was he strong. She struggled to hold the submission, but he caught a handful of her clothing and hauled himself around to slip his head clear, then his torso. When she tried to readjust her legs to get his head in a lock, he caught her with a fist in her gut, driving the air clean out of her.


    Luke slid free, climbing to his knees to stand back up. Refusing to let up, Sam kept after him and attacked his back this time. She wrapped her legs around his torso and wormed a hand in under his chin, tipping him back for a rear naked choke.


    He struggled to break it; growling, thrashing, arms flailing wildly. Sam squeezed harder, harder, until her muscles screamed.


    Just go to sleep, she thought, scarcely able to hear her own thoughts over the crescendoing roar of the crowd. Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep.


    She felt his resistance beginning to weaken, his body losing its strength as blood supply to the brain was cut. Sam gritted her teeth, straining to keep her choke tight, not wanting to let up even for a second.


    The moment she thought she had him, he came alive again with a surge of power¡ªsomehow rising up even with her clinging to his back¡ªand slammed them both back onto the tarp. His entire weight bearing down on her, Sam¡¯s grip slackened as she let out a breathless gasp, her ribcage becoming a web of shooting pain.


    Luke rolled around so they were facing each other, his face red and sweaty, eyes bloodshot. He dug his knees into her sides, pinning her beneath him, and she barely got her guard up in time before he began raining down fists and elbows.


    Before long, it was all Sam could do to keep her arms up.


    ¡°Give up,¡± she heard him shout over the din.


    She did not give up.


    She got a clean hit to his ribs at one point, but it was like he didn¡¯t even feel it. The match was already over once he got the mount on her, but she held out another minute or two before a stray hit caught her in the head.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    She woke up flat on her back, staring up at the junkyard owner¡¯s unshaven face and smelling the alcohol on his breath, missing any memory of the last thirty seconds. Needless to say, she had not stolen a surprise victory in that time.


    The junkyard owner gave her a pull from an electrolyte drink, and offered a consolatory clap on the shoulder when she was able to stagger to her feet.


    Sam felt like one big bruise. She blew bloody snot to clear her stuffy sinuses, felt like her eyeballs would pop right out in the process with the pressure swelling behind them. Her arms were mostly numb from the elbows down, and her step was unsteady as a drunkard''s.


    Luke soon came over, holding her up when she nearly fell flat into a pile of awfully sharp-looking¡ªand probably tetanus-loaded¡ªmetal refuse. ¡°Good fight,¡± he said, his voice sounding muffled and distorted like he was speaking underwater.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Sam grunted, not really in the best shape to be making conversation, physically or otherwise.


    ¡°You almost had me there a few times.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, maybe.¡±


    Luke guided her over to an old spongy car seat and pushed her down into it, ignoring her weak protests that she could stand perfectly fine. He sat on the ground next to her, and they watched the spectators gather around again as the junkyard owner began hyping up the next fight on the docket.


    ¡°You know they do fights with women too, right?¡± Luke said after a while.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d probably do really well there.¡±


    ¡°Probably.¡±


    ¡°I bet if you ask Toby about it, he¡¯ll set something up for you.¡±


    ¡°I bet he would.¡±


    Luke glanced at her side-long, leaned back and propped up on his hands, shoulders raised. ¡°But you¡¯re not going to do that, are you?¡±


    Despite the fact that it lit her face up with pain, Sam managed a bloody smile. ¡°Nope.¡±


    Luke laughed. ¡°Stubborn little bastard, aren¡¯t you? I can respect that. You¡¯ve got guts, that¡¯s for sure.¡±


    Sam didn¡¯t have a compliment to pay him in return, so she remained silent, watching people mill about. Truthfully, she hated him. Or maybe she just hated losing. It being the eleventh time in a row did not lessen the sting of it at all. If anything, she felt the full weight of the previous ten come down on her at once.


    ¡°So¡­¡± Luke said after a while, clearing his throat. ¡°Think you need to get checked out down at the clinic? I don¡¯t mind coming with you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± Sam grunted, feeling at a tender welt on her jaw, grimacing at the pain. ¡°I reckon they¡¯re sick of me over there by now.¡±


    ¡°Then, how about a pick-me-up burger? My treat.¡±


    Sam forced a tired smile, sparing the man a brief look. ¡°As a date?¡±


    Luke shrugged. ¡°Call it whatever you like.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she said, sighing. ¡°I¡¯ve already got a boyfriend.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t true, of course. In fact, Sam wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d ever had a boyfriend. Strangely, though, the well-worn lie had never felt like one, even when the man it brought to mind was five years in the dirt. Even though there hadn¡¯t been anything more than friendship between them before he died. At least, not on his end.


    Luke accepted the rejection gracefully, which she appreciated, and he helped her up again so she could begin hobbling home.


    * * *


    Getting to the apartment, Sam peeled out of her clothes as she shuffled toward the bathroom, letting each article lie where it fell. She dug her loser¡¯s winnings out of a pocket¡ªa sticky-red wad of crushed bills she didn¡¯t remember picking up¡ªand threw it in the general direction of the cash bowl on her kitchen counter, not bothering to check if she hit her target or not.


    She took a hot shower, curled up on the floor for most of it, then gingerly toweled herself off to avoid upsetting her injuries. She ended up getting blood on it anyway¡ªluckily she was using her old rag towel, the one that had definitely not been gray when she bought it.


    After that she spent fifteen minutes cleaning cuts and gluing shut the ones that looked like they might open up again. Slipping into some loose clothing that wouldn¡¯t rub on her abused skin, she went into the kitchen and chugged milk out of the carton and ate plain bread slices out of the bag.


    She lasted all of thirty minutes in front of the TV before the oppressive weight of her thoughts became too much to bear, and she headed to the gym to blow off some steam. Strangely enough, despite her punch-drunk daze, she got that same feeling of being watched again. Was the woman on that bench looking at Sam over her newspaper? No, surely not.


    Sam lost herself in the weights, lapsing into a trance where the pain in her muscles helped deaden her mind, and the simple, repetitive motions lulled her into blissful non-cognition.


    Sam came crashing back to reality when she found herself throwing up in one of the gym bathrooms after what she gathered was a pretty brutal workout, though she recalled very little of it. Her nose had sprung a leak, blood mixing freely with the yellowish bile and wet bread chunks in the toilet bowl, and the pounding in her right eye suggested that she had burst a vessel or something. Her already calloused hands were rubbed raw, and at this point she was hard-pressed to think of a body part that didn¡¯t hurt.


    I guess I should remember to take it a bit easier next time, huh?


    Sam told herself to cheer up. There was no use dwelling on her loss now. All she could do was rest so she could start training for fight number twelve.


    Yeah, just gotta keep trying. All this work will pay off eventually.


    Pay off¡­ with what? Why am I even doing this?


    At one point, she¡¯d been fighting for herself, to meet Dad¡¯s expectations. Then she¡¯d fought for Will, to keep people from messing with him. But why was she still doing it? Why was she still clinging to it? Why did she keep taking fights she could never win?


    Sam could still not come up with a good answer. She was slowly coming to realize that there was no answer.


    She curled up in bed as soon as she got home despite the fact that it was only mid-afternoon, not bothering to take off her clothes. Before long, the cuts on her cheeks were stinging with salty tears.


    Why did you have to go away, Will?


    You always knew what way to go. What am I supposed to do without you?


    That, at least, she knew the answer to. The only thing she knew how to do. Fight and train. Train and fight. Mechanically. Purposelessly. Until she went to pieces.

 Chapter 5 - Real and Legitimate Employment Opportunity

    Sam


    She was interrupted in her breakfast by a knock on the door. Since she had zero interest in speaking with a salesman or, worse yet, her landlord, Sam simply ignored it and kept on eating. She took another bite of her turkey sandwich and slurped down a few spoonfuls of cereal.


    But the knocking didn¡¯t stop.


    Sam kept ignoring it, and whoever was on the other side accepted the challenge, giving another series of sharp taps every few seconds that became increasingly urgent until the person was pounding on the poor thing.


    Sam gritted her teeth and pretended not to hear it, turned up the TV extra loud in an attempt to drown out the noise. At this point, not answering the door was a matter of personal pride.


    When the knocking finally stopped after two or three minutes following loud complaints from the neighbors living on the other side of the hall¡ªthank god for Gus the alcoholic¡ªSam wiggled deeper into her couch with a smug little grin. She''d won.


    Then the first note was slid under the door.


    Grinding her teeth, Sam leapt up and stormed over there. ¡®OPEN THE DOOR¡¯, the paper read in a shaky, awkward hand, as though penned by a child.


    By the third note, Sam finally broke and ripped the door open. ¡°What?¡± she half-shouted, properly fuming now.


    A woman was standing at the other end of the hall, already writing on another piece of paper pressed against the wall. She let it drop, forgotten, along with her pen as she turned to face Sam with an unpleasant smile. ¡°Ah,¡± she said in a sultry, saccharine voice that reminded Sam of a sleazy pornstar. ¡°Samantha Darling, I take it?¡±


    Sam gave the woman a quick up-and-down look. She was strangely pale, with an almost gray complexion that really didn¡¯t look healthy, although she had to admit that the woman was somehow quite beautiful despite that. And¡­ what was she wearing? The woman had on a garish red blazer with huge puffy shoulders that looked straight out of the 80s, a plaid skirt, along with a pair of thick spectacles that might have looked appropriate on a 70-year-old accountant.


    ¡°Uh¡­?¡± was all Sam could work out, not quite remembering what she had been asked.


    ¡°My name is Nyx,¡± the woman said, and offered out her hand. Her left hand, Sam noted numbly as she shook it. ¡°Might I come inside for a moment, Miss Darling?¡±


    Nyx? What kind of name is that?


    ¡°Sam is fine. I think I¡¯m good, though. Thanks anyway.¡±


    The woman did not move an inch, staring straight at Sam like she was trying to bore holes through her skull. ¡°I am hoping to perform an interview about a possible employment opportunity. It will only take a minute. Might I come inside?¡± She spoke with an odd, lilting accent that Sam could not place.


    Sam frowned, blocking the door like a soldier committed to her last stand, determined to hold the enemy back at any cost. ¡°What kind of employer conducts home interviews? And what job is this about, anyway?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m just your average gumshoe,¡± Nyx said. She pushed up her spectacles with a dramatic flourish where she stuck out her chest and sent her shiny black hair whirling all at once, like something out of a kitschy shampoo commercial. ¡°My employer has tasked me with conducting background checks and preliminary interviews of select candidates for a special position.¡±


    Gumshoe? Like a private investigator? Who calls it that anymore?


    ¡°Wait, have you been following me?¡± Sam said to the walking fashion disaster as soon as the idea appeared in her mind. Now that she thought about it, with the woman standing right in front of her as reference, she had definitely seen her before. On the bench reading a paper, in the crowd during the fight, maybe even at the bodega once. Had that been her she had sensed back at the graveyard, too?


    ¡°Collecting first-hand field data,¡± Nyx corrected.


    Sam rolled her eyes. ¡°Call it whatever you want¡ªthat doesn¡¯t make it any less weird.¡±


    ¡°Might I come inside?¡± the woman repeated, more insistent this time. ¡°I will not take up too much of your time.¡±


    Was she wearing colored contacts? When her eyes hit the light just so, they almost looked¡­ yellow. That couldn¡¯t be natural, could it?


    ¡°Are you going to keep bothering me if I don¡¯t do this interview thing?¡±


    Nyx¡¯s silent smirk was answer enough.


    Sam backed away from the door with a sigh. ¡°Whatever. You can do your thing while I eat. Just make it quick. Whatever you¡¯re trying to sell me on, I¡¯m really not interested.¡±


    Nyx took a sharp, triumphant intake of breath through her nostrils as she crossed the threshold into the apartment.


    What is it they say about inviting vampires into your house again? Sam thought as she plopped back down on the couch, wincing at a dozen fresh hurts along with the bitter shame they reminded her of. She chuckled to herself. Wouldn¡¯t it be funny if she actually was a vampire?


    ¡°Uh, help yourself to some coffee if you want, I guess,¡± Sam said, waving her sandwich in the general direction of the kitchen before taking a bite. She turned off the TV, figuring this whole thing would be over faster if she pretended to pay attention. ¡°Now, what''s this about exactly?¡±


    Nyx nodded her thanks and wandered into the kitchen, beginning to make herself a cup. ¡°Well, like I said, you are being considered for a very special position.¡±


    ¡°Oookay. And what does ¡®special position¡¯ mean?¡± Having finished off all the cereal flakes, she lifted the bowl to her mouth and gulped down the rest of the sugary sweet milk dregs, letting out a sigh of contentment as she set it back down on the coffee table.


    ¡°Special as in ¡®extraordinary¡¯, ¡®exciting¡¯, ¡®awe-inspiring¡¯.¡±


    ¡°I get that part. I would like a bit more detail than that, if possible.¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°It is not.¡±


    Sam blinked, staring flatly ahead at her own reflection on the dead TV screen. Man, she looked like shit. ¡°You¡­ can¡¯t tell me any details about the job you¡¯re interviewing me for?¡±


    Nyx nodded, still banging about in the kitchen. ¡°Correct. I can¡¯t tell you any specifics unless you pass the pre-screening and agree to begin the onboarding process.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t some kind of really elaborate prank, is it?¡±


    ¡°I assure you, Miss Darling, it is not.¡± The clattering of kitchen supplies was becoming more urgent, and Nyx kept throwing strangely concerned glances toward Sam.


    ¡°I told you to call me Sam. It¡¯s¡­¡± Pausing, Sam stood, peering more closely at what the ¡®gumshoe¡¯ was doing, exactly. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn¡¯t coffee, considering that she was holding a glass of regular tap water in one hand and a tub of cocoa powder in the other. ¡°Do you even know how to make instant coffee?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Nyx glared at the mismatched items in her hands, as though her failure was somehow their fault. ¡°No,¡± she finally admitted.


    Sam relegated Nyx to the kitchen table while she cleaned up the mess the madwoman had somehow managed to make, turning on the electric kettle and pouring instant coffee powder into two cups. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to be rude,¡± she said over her shoulder while waiting for the water to boil, ¡°but are you, like, all right? Do you have some kind of problem with your brain?¡±


    ¡°I assure you, Miss...¡± Nyx cleared her throat, fussing with the oversized lapels of her blazer. ¡°Sam. I assure you that my mental faculties are quite acute.¡±


    ¡°Are you sick, then? Again, no offense, but you don¡¯t look so good. Maybe you should get checked out by a doctor or something.¡± Sam was becoming increasingly confident that this woman had broken out of a mental ward and somehow stumbled through a thrift store for the criminally unfashionable.


    ¡°Nothing like that. I am¡­ not from around here.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh.¡± Deciding that questioning things was not going to get her anywhere, she resolved to hurry this woman through whatever ¡®interview¡¯ she had planned as quickly as possible so she could boot her out the door. When the kettle chirped, she put the two cups down on the table and filled them up. She did not ask if Nyx wanted milk or sugar, and seated herself in the chair opposite the strange, deathly pale woman. ¡°Okay. Since this is an interview, I¡¯m guessing you have questions? Go ahead, then.¡±


    Nyx took a gulp of her coffee, seemingly not bothered by the fact that it was still scalding hot. ¡°Yes. Please answer the following questions truthfully. Feel free to elaborate if you like.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°Question one,¡± Nyx said, reciting from memory. ¡°Would you be interested in working abroad?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ I guess? Maybe? I¡¯m not opposed to it, at least.¡±


    Nyx nodded. ¡°Question two. Would you be open to working around people who might be considered ¡®a danger to society¡¯?¡± she asked, doing air quotes.


    Sam frowned, rubbing at her forehead. ¡°What are we talking about? Like, convicts and stuff?¡±


    ¡°Something like that.¡±


    ¡°Um¡­ I guess it wouldn¡¯t bother me, no.¡± Sam¡¯s gaze followed Nyx¡¯s hands as she raised her cup and took another big swallow. ¡°Do you need to write these answers down or anything?¡± She¡¯d already decided not to question anything, but she just couldn¡¯t help it.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s all right,¡± Nyx replied airily. ¡°Would you be open to working with improving conditions in a third-world country or a near analogue?¡±


    ¡®Near analogue¡¯? What is this crazy bitch going on about? ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± she replied with a shrug. ¡°Why not.¡±


    Nyx nodded, pleased. ¡°Question four. Would you be open to working long-term in a place where you might not be able to contact friends or family?¡±


    ¡°I mean, the only family I have is my dad, and I haven¡¯t seen him in almost a decade, so¡­ Sure?¡±


    ¡°Excellent. Question five. Would you be open to working in hazardous and potentially dangerous environments?¡±


    Sam sighed. Her patience had been trampled to death a long time ago, and her sense of propriety was quickly going with it. ¡°Look, lady. I¡¯m not interested in whatever organ harvesting ring you¡¯re running, so can we skip to the part where you wrap this up and I say ¡®thanks, but no thanks¡¯ so we can both go on with our day?¡±


    Nyx pursed her lips, taking a last thoughtful sip of her coffee and setting down the cup with a final-sounding thunk. ¡°All right, Sam. If that¡¯s how you feel, there is nothing I can do to stop you. Can I just ask you one more question?¡±


    ¡°Will it get you out of my face?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Then go ahead.¡±


    ¡°Are you happy with your life?¡±


    Sam flinched, feeling like she¡¯d been punched in the face. No, she¡¯d had punches in the face softer than that. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Are. You. Happy. With. Your. Life?¡±


    Sam was not sure what to say. She began to stammer out something about this woman minding her own business, but trailed off, and eventually fell silent. She stared into the shiny black surface of her untouched coffee, feeling hot steam waft into her face. ¡°Uh¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± Nyx said. ¡°You can tell me the truth.¡±


    ¡°Why should I tell you anything?¡±


    Nyx shrugged, bringing her padded shoulders up comically high about her ears. ¡°I suppose if you really are happy, then there¡¯s not much reason for you to confide in a complete stranger. But if you feel that something is missing? If you are looking for a chance to reinvent yourself?¡± Another shrug. ¡°Maybe taking a chance is not such a bad thing, if you don¡¯t have anything left to lose to begin with.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you.¡±


    Nyx stood, straightening a blazer that did not need straightening. ¡°Very well. I can see that you¡¯re not interested, so I will be taking my leave now. My employer will be very disappointed.¡± She gave a theatrical sigh. ¡°But such is life, I suppose.¡±


    Sam let the woman get halfway to the door. Then, sighing, she called out: ¡°Wait.¡±


    Nyx spun on a stiletto heel that looked more murder weapon than footwear, a fox-like grin on her face. ¡°Could that be curiosity I detect in your voice?¡±


    ¡°I just have one question about this¡­ special opportunity, whatever it is. Maybe two.¡±


    ¡°Please, ask away.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the pay like?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I am certain you will find the compensation more than adequate, both financially and spiritually.¡±


    I guess I should¡¯ve known not to expect an actual answer.


    ¡°Let¡¯s say I agree to start this onboarding process thing. When would I start?¡±


    ¡°Today. Immediately.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s pretty fast.¡±


    ¡°My employer does not believe in wasting time.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you might be able to tell me who this mysterious employer is, exactly?¡±


    ¡°He has specifically requested to remain anonymous. Don¡¯t worry¡ªyou will meet him in person soon enough.¡±


    Sam blew out her cheeks. She gave her bare apartment a look, thinking about what she would be giving up. Nothing came to mind. ¡°Fuck it, why not?¡± she said at last, half as a joke. ¡°I¡¯ll do it. Go ahead and ship me off to whatever back-alley clinic you¡¯re going to carve me up at.¡±


    At the very least, she figured, it probably wouldn¡¯t be boring.


    Nyx buzzed with excitement. ¡°Fuck it indeed! A woman after my own heart, I see.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± Sam watched the woman edge closer to the table, fumbling with something in her jacket pocket. ¡°So, what happens now? Do you have a car outside or whatever?¡±


    ¡°I will be taking you somewhere,¡± Nyx said, speaking slowly and deliberately, like the tone one might use to soothe a skittish animal. ¡°Just relax and let me take care of everything. This will not hurt very much at all.¡±


    ¡°Okay, but¡­ What?¡±


    There was a flash of steel as Nyx stepped up beside her. Staring at the bloody knife in the woman¡¯s hand, it took Sam several moments before she even began fumbling at the line of pain she felt across her throat, fresher than all of yesterday¡¯s wounds.


    Her hands came away wet. Looking down, she found them smeared red. More tumbled down the front of her, the entire front of her shirt quickly becoming saturated with blood.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Sam said. At least, that was what she tried to say, except only a wet gurgle came out.


    She began trying to suppress the fountain of blood gushing out of her, but it squirted between her fingers, and she suddenly found herself all thumbs, unable to make herself move the way she wanted to.


    She couldn¡¯t breathe.


    Nyx firmly guided Sam¡¯s hands back down at her sides, one at a time, while whispering in her ear and stroking her hair. ¡°Shush now, Samantha. It¡¯s all right. Don¡¯t worry. Everything will be over soon.¡± Suddenly, there was an envelope in front of her face, held carefully clear of the weakening spurts of blood. ¡°This letter is written by my employer,¡± Nyx explained. ¡°It will tell you everything you need to know.¡± She stuffed it into Sam¡¯s right pants pocket and gave it a satisfied pat. ¡°Please read it as soon as you get the chance.¡±


    Sam wanted to laugh, but found that she could not. She was drowning. Fading. Everything was going all funny and blurry. As her head tipped down onto the tabletop, she could only produce a single coherent thought.


    The woman had told the truth.


    It really did not hurt very much at all.

 Chapter 6 - Absolutely, Verifiably, Most Definitely Not in Kansas Anymore

    Sam


    Sam found herself standing at a crossroads. It was surrounded on all sides by impenetrable pine forest. A bruising purple twilight reigned overhead; moonless and starless. Feeling at her neck, she found no gaping wound there, and there was not a speck of blood on her clothing. In fact, even her wounds from the fight with Luke were nowhere in evidence, her skin unblemished and pain-free.


    The air was neither warm nor cold, completely still and windless as though the place were holding its breath. An oppressive silence hung thick over everything, with not so much as the creak of a tree settling to break it. Aside from herself and the uniform conifers standing in perfect, wall-like formation, there were no signs of life.


    Sam felt that she should be scared, or worried, or angry, or something. But the level of absurdity had risen to such a degree that her brain had abandoned any effort to keep up, leaving her completely numb except for, of all things, a vague feeling of amusement.


    This was just a really weird fever dream, after all. That was all it was. Luke must have hit her harder than she thought. Maybe she ought to take that trip to the clinic after all, once she woke up.


    Remembering the letter she had been given, Sam searched her pockets and produced the slightly crushed envelope. There was no writing on the front, so she simply tore it open and extracted its contents, which turned out to be two small pieces of paper covered in neat writing.


    The first one read:


    Sam,


    If you¡¯re reading this, that means you¡¯re dead. Sorry, I had to say it. I bet you¡¯re feeling pretty confused right now, but don¡¯t worry, everything will be explained soon enough. Right now, whatever happens, just go along with it.


    If you can, try to find Nyx. She¡¯ll take you where you need to go.


    When you get to the Tower (you¡¯ll know it when you see it), sign the contract you¡¯re given, then read the second note. After you¡¯ve read the second note, eat it.


    When prompted, choose Laborer. Allocate your abilities and attributes however you want (hopefully you don¡¯t pick anything too stupid), except you must only pick passive abilities when given the option. I repeat, ONLY pick PASSIVE abilities.


    Whatever the Tower custodian tells you, don¡¯t listen. He¡¯s full of shit.


    That¡¯s it. See you soon.


    -A Friend.


    PS: You will need to take a leap of faith. Enjoy the way down.


    Sam read the note once, then more carefully a second time, still not quite able to absorb all the strange instructions detailed there. Looking at the second note only added to her confusion, as all the text was written in some strange language she neither understood nor recognized.


    Wait, she thought, returning to the first note with a deepening frown. It wants me to eat the second note when I¡¯m done with it? How the fuck would that ever make sense? And how am I supposed to read it in the first place when I don¡¯t know the language it¡¯s written in?


    Trying to parse everything was making her head hurt. But the letter had told her to go with the flow, and with nothing else to guide her, she figured it was best to do what it said¡ªat least what small part of it she could make sense of.


    Sam tucked the letters back in the envelope. She looked around, saw nothing except trees and dirt paths, three of them branching off from the spot where she stood. Picking one at random, she began to walk.


    From what the letter said, it sounds like I¡¯ll get somewhere sooner or later. I guess I¡¯m looking for a tower?


    Dreams usually did not involve this much legwork.


    After a few minutes of walking, she hit another crossroads much like the first, except this one had four branches, including the one she came from. There were several wooden road signs scattered about, but one of them pointed straight up into the air, a second into the woods, and a third had only gibberish on it like what she had seen in the second letter.


    Sighing, Sam picked the middle path and kept going.


    One crossroads was replaced by another, and another, and another. The sky retained that exact shade of unattractive purple-brown, giving her nothing to track the passing of time with. It had to be hours since she started out.


    The only sign that she was making any progress at all was the pines gradually being replaced by oak trees, and the path widening, becoming paved with square-cut gray stone. More road signs appeared here and there, but after she found that they were all written in one of several nonsense languages like the first one she¡¯d seen, she began to ignore them entirely.


    Upon seeing a figure in the distance at the next fork in the road, she quickened her pace until she was half-running. As she got closer, she was both relieved and annoyed to find Nyx standing there; hands on hips, wearing a self-satisfied grin. Still wearing that god-awful blazer, though she had changed out her stilettos for some more travel-sensible boots somewhere. Not that they did anything to complement her disastrous outfit.


    ¡°I found youuu,¡± Nyx said in a singsong voice. ¡°I was starting to think I¡¯d lost you for good. That would have been slightly embarrassing.¡±


    ¡°You murdered me,¡± Sam replied flatly, keeping a healthy distance between herself and the strange woman.


    ¡°And it was truly an honor.¡± Nyx gave a mocking curtsy and an even more mocking smile. In a more serious tone, she added: ¡°It¡¯s the only way to get where you¡¯re going.¡±


    ¡°And where is that, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Did you read the letter?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. The first half mentioned some kind of tower. The second half was just gibberish.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about not being able to read the second part for now. It¡¯ll all make sense eventually.¡±


    ¡°The note said that too. I¡¯m not so sure I believe it.¡±


    Nyx shrugged, pursing her lips in a way that seemed to say she thought Sam was being unreasonable. ¡°Anyway, as for the tower you mentioned, it¡¯s known as the Tower at the End of Time. It lies at the end of one of these paths.¡± She motioned around her at all the different directions available to them. ¡°It¡¯s a good thing I found you, because it would be almost impossible for you to find the right way on your own.¡±


    ¡°What would happen if I picked the wrong one?¡±


    ¡°Oh, nothing all that bad, for you at least. Well, probably. All these paths lead to what humans would consider ¡®afterlives¡¯. Some of them are quite pleasant, or so I hear.¡± Nyx¡¯s smile dropped away, her face going unnervingly slack. ¡°Some aren¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°And this¡­ Tower? It¡¯s one of those afterlives?¡±


    ¡°Oh, dear me, no. The Tower is the entrance. The actual place is known as the Frontier.¡± Nyx spent a moment deliberating, then picked a path on the left and started moving, waving Sam along. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s walk and talk. We¡¯ve got a ways ahead of us. We¡¯ll have to do some backtracking since you started along the wrong path.¡±


    ¡°Okay. So shouldn¡¯t we go back the way I came, then? Trace it to where I started?¡±


    Nyx snorted derisively and hit Sam with a sidelong glance. ¡°Just leave this to the professionals, dear.¡± As they walked on, oaks replaced by poplars and birches, she added: ¡°Point being, if you ended up anyplace other than the Frontier, there would be no going back, and you would never get to meet with my employer, which is sort of the whole point of this, so.¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    ¡°You¡¯re not human, are you?¡± Sam asked abruptly.


    Nyx chuckled. ¡°Oh? And what do you think I am?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­ A vampire or something? Or an evil spirit?¡±


    ¡°Your second guess is not too far off. I¡¯m a demon. At least, that is the name your kind has given mine.¡±


    Sam stopped in the road. ¡°Wait, seriously?¡±


    Nyx went on for a few moments before following suit, turning back with her arms folded beneath her breasts. ¡°I¡¯m perfectly serious. Is that really the part of this you¡¯re having the most trouble with?¡±


    Sam reluctantly started moving again. ¡°I guess it doesn¡¯t matter at this point.¡± That doesn¡¯t mean I have to like trusting a literal demon to be my guide.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, my employer is quite human, and he has your best interests at heart, bless the poor dear.¡±


    ¡°The letter said he was a friend.¡±


    ¡°I suppose it would, at that.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a lot of those.¡±


    ¡°Aw, that¡¯s too bad.¡±


    ¡°Shut up. Are you going to tell me who organized this whole thing already?¡±


    Nyx wagged an admonishing finger. ¡°Nope. My lips are sealed.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Will, isn¡¯t it?¡± Sam blurted out. If she was already dreaming, why not dream big? Besides, out of everyone she had ever known, Will was the only one who would ever come up with anything half this convoluted, let alone actually do it.


    The demon¡¯s face fell a bit. ¡°Way to ruin the surprise.¡±


    ¡°So it is him?¡±


    ¡°Mmhmm. No point denying it now. Of course, you¡¯ll still have to act suitably dazzled and amazed when you actually meet him.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Sam said numbly. Despite the fact that she had arrived at that conclusion herself, she couldn¡¯t quite believe that Will was somewhere out there, waiting for her. As she thought about it, though, she found herself frowning, feeling a twinge of annoyance. ¡°Hold on. If Will is behind all this, why didn¡¯t he just say so? I would have come running straight away.¡±


    ¡°Something boring about not wanting to influence your decisions and bla bla bla. I wasn¡¯t really listening. He certainly knows how to drone on, that boy.¡±


    Sam¡¯s negativity was drowned in a sea of fondness at the memory of him. ¡°Yeah, he really does. And once he gets going, anything you say goes right past him.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Quite tiring.¡±


    ¡°Infuriating.¡±


    ¡°Men.¡±


    ¡°Men,¡± Sam agreed, though it came out sounding a bit more dreamy than she had intended.


    They kept walking. More crossroads. The path changed again, becoming a smooth mail of what looked to be huge green fish scales. She had to be careful when she walked on them, lest she trip herself up on the edges. Every so often, Nyx would stop to read one or several road signs before picking a direction. Evidently, she had no trouble reading the nonsense words. Maybe it was a demon language.


    ¡°This Frontier place,¡± Sam said as they continued on, ¡°I assume it¡¯s a nice afterlife, then?¡±


    Nyx quirked an eyebrow. ¡°What makes you say that?¡±


    ¡°I mean, if Will¡¯s there, then¡­¡±


    The demon laughed. ¡°You have a lot of faith in your little friend, it seems. Actually, you might describe the Frontier as more hell than heaven at this point. Unless you¡¯re someone like me, in which case it¡¯s the perfect playground.¡±


    Sam frowned. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound right. Will is a good person. He wouldn¡¯t get sent to a place like that.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you don¡¯t know him well enough, then. The Forlorn Frontier is a world created by the goddess Era to serve as a place of redemption and rehabilitation for humans who have led particularly criminal or immoral lives. A second chance, you could say.


    ¡°As a nice way of helping these people adjust to living proper, peaceful lives, the goddess introduced something known as the Concord¡ªan autonomous system that presides over the whole Frontier, bestowing certain supernatural abilities upon every mortal who comes there. These gifts are exclusively designed for peace. To promote productivity and happiness. All perfectly harmless.¡± Nyx grinned. ¡°What do you think happened next?¡±


    Sam gave a half-shrug, jumping over a green road tile that jutted dangerously straight up. ¡°Dunno. What happened?¡±


    ¡°Well, you humans are deliciously shrewd things. Busy little bees, too. Give a world full of convicts each a soft pillow made with love and kisses under a perfect rainbow, and it doesn¡¯t take them very long to figure out how to smother each other with them.


    ¡°Which is exactly what happened. One human¡ªdon¡¯t ask me how, because I have no idea¡ªmurdered the goddess. Crow, they called that one. The Frontier fell into chaos, every man killing his neighbor in a brutal bid for power and resources, twisting the Concord against its intended purpose to forge themselves into deadly tools of war. Well, that happened some years ago, and things have mostly stabilized since. The goddess¡¯s angels all fled into exile, or killed themselves out of grief, or retreated to plot their revenge against humanity, or met with one of a dozen other fates depending on who you ask. Unambiguous, however, is the fact that my kind are the ones who stepped in to take their place. The angel who used to man the Tower was replaced by a demon named Unger who is only concerned with his own personal amusement, often at the expense of the poor mortals who must pass through his domain to reach the Frontier.¡±


    Nyx threw her arms wide. She spun in lazy pirouettes while somehow nimbly stepping along the scaled roadway without snagging on anything. ¡°Sounds wonderful, doesn¡¯t it? So much violence. So much depravity. So much opportunity.¡± The demon let out an almost orgasmic sigh.


    Sam licked her lips. ¡°Uh, sure.¡± It sounded terrifying. ¡°And¡­ that¡¯s where Will is?¡±


    ¡°Mmhmm. Oh, don¡¯t look so put out. The Frontier might not be the endless field of daisies that every human girl dreams they¡¯ll go to when they die, but your William has paid dearly to get you there. He seems to be on some sort of one-man crusade to turn the place into something better¡ªpointless if you ask me, since it¡¯s already perfect, but to each their own¡ªand he thinks you¡¯re absolutely imperative to that endeavor. So how about you try on some gratitude for size? It might suit you.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh,¡± Sam grunted, suppressing the hysterical urge to laugh. She didn¡¯t have a clue what to think about any of this. It was probably best not to give it too much thought.


    Just a dream, remember. It¡¯s aaall a dream.


    But man, I never knew my imagination was this good.


    ¡°Well, here we are.¡±


    Sam looked up, and started as she found a giant vertical bar of white blocking most of her sightline. Taking a few steps back and craning her neck, she found a pearly tower rising as far as the eye could see, disappearing into the churning purple clouds high above. Lacking any seams or windows, it was a perfect, unbroken pillar whose very existence seemed to defy its dreary surroundings, a slash of utter purity brightening the land''s dark and muddy palette.


    Letting her gaze trail back down again, she found that the tower had only a single break in its perfection; a wooden door of rough-grain boards with a rounded top, adorned by a brass door knob that shone as though fresh-made.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see it on the horizon,¡± Sam said breathlessly.


    ¡°Yes, it does sort of creep up on you, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Nyx chuckled. She made no move to approach the tower. ¡°This is where you and I part ways for now, Samantha. I cannot enter the Tower¡ªat least, I can¡¯t return to the Frontier that way. I have my own back entrance.¡±


    ¡°All right.¡± Sam found herself suddenly apprehensive to leave her guide behind, however badly she despised her company. She went all the way up to the door and put her hand on the knob before looking back. ¡°Thanks for everything, I guess. It seems like you¡¯re on Will¡¯s side, so I can¡¯t hate you or anything. Still don¡¯t appreciate getting murdered so much, though.¡±


    ¡°Your affection warms my heart,¡± Nyx said, a hand to her chest and sticking her lower lip out in a simpering pout. ¡°Now go, before I start tearing up!¡±


    Sam snorted and turned back to her task. She pulled open the door on well-oiled hinges, revealing a field of brilliant light through which nothing could be seen. Before doubt could root her to the ground, she stepped through.


    The light passed over her like a warm membrane; blinding, yet somehow comforting. She poked through the other side, and found herself¡­


    At the top of the tower?


    She was clearly very, very high up, with no walls or roof to obscure the dizzying bird¡¯s eye view. A sea of billowing clouds spread out around her and went on forever. They were cottony white, tinged golden by a kindly sun. She stood on a round floor of white marble shot through with rose-colored veins, low crenellations marking its edges some twenty feet off in every direction to prevent an unwary stepper from tumbling right off into the clouds. When she glanced back, she found that there was no door behind her, nor any indication of a way to get down.


    Though it had been twilight while she was on the ground, now the sun shone almost directly down on her, leaving her shadow a formless black blob at her feet.


    The far end of the floor was taken up by a lone apple tree sprouting from a handful of displaced tiles, standing somewhat to her left. The tree leaned over a large desk of dark wood, its sheltering branches offering shade.


    The desk was so large and imposing that Sam did not realize it had an occupant until he spoke.


    ¡°Did you know,¡± the unseen man¡ªthe demon Unger, presumably?¡ªsaid in a soft, droning voice, ¡°that this tree has fifty-two apples and thirteen-thousand-two-hundred-forty-three leaves? I¡¯ve counted, you know.¡±


    As Sam walked closer, she could hear the telltale hiss and whir of hydraulics, and the demon soon rose into view over the desk on what Sam could only categorize as a regal-looking office chair, upholstered in rich velvet. His legs were thrown lazily over one armrest while he gazed wistfully up at the apple tree, whose green leaves shivered on a light breeze. One leaf detached from its branch and floated away. Unger¡¯s eyes tracked its movements as it passed overhead, then spiraled abruptly over the edge of the tower, snatched off into eternity. ¡°Thirteen-thousand-two-hundred-forty-two leaves.¡±


    Unger had the same pallid complexion as Nyx, except his skin had more of a greenish undertone. He was bald as a marble, but made up for it with extremely long eyebrows that arched away from his head and ended in wickedly sharp black points. He wore a black suit with the jacket hanging over the backrest of his chair and a blood-red tie that he¡¯d loosened and let drape limply down over one shoulder.


    ¡°Well?¡± Unger asked without looking in her direction. ¡°What do you think about that?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°It must have taken a long time to count them all, I guess.¡±


    Unger let out a long, deep sigh, like a balloon deflating. ¡°Quite the conversationalist, aren¡¯t you? Well, whatever. Come over here and sign the damn contract so we can both get on with our respective days. Before you ask¡ªyes, you have to sign the contract. No, you cannot bring any pets or possessions with you. No, I will not sit and explain every little thing to you. Sign the contract, pick your shit, and move along. I''ve got quotas to meet.¡±


    Sam rubbed the back of her neck as she approached the desk. Well, this guy sure lives up to his reputation. And he thinks I¡¯m bad company.

 Chapter 7 - Laboring Under the Pleasant Delusion of Free Will

    Sam


    Unger rooted through the endless number of drawers in his huge desk. He grumbled as he pitched his mechanized chair up and down to reach one drawer or another, before finally producing a large clipboard with a triumphant hum. He slid it across the desktop to her side so it teetered on the edge, threatening to fall. Sam reached up to take it, dislodging a thick ballpoint pen affixed to the top of the wooden board.


    ¡°Sign,¡± Unger said curtly, his attention already drifting elsewhere. ¡°Your full legal name, please¡ªit will be saved as a matter of record.¡±


    Sam looked down at the thick stack of papers pinned to the clipboard, skimming the first page and glancing at a few of the others. At least it was in English. It looked like a contract all right. Written in dense legalese, it was filled with strange and seemingly nonsensical clauses she did not even bother to try and make sense of. The first page had a dotted line to sign her name on.


    ¡°Once you¡¯ve signed the contract, you will have forged an accord with the goddess Era, and be granted access to the Concord system,¡± Unger droned on in a bored voice.


    Sam hesitated. Will¡¯s letter had told her to sign the contract, but she couldn¡¯t help feeling a bit apprehensive. Despite the fact that most of the text made no sense to her, there were a few worrying clauses in there, such as one stating: ¡®All the signee¡¯s spiritual worship/devotion/expression, regardless of whether it is targeted at another deity/entity/religious figure, will be redirected to the goddess Era in perpetuity.¡¯ Sam had never been particularly religious, but something about that sounded sinister.


    Sam opened her mouth to speak, but Unger beat her to the punch. ¡°No questions,¡± he said firmly, playing with one of his spiky eyebrows. ¡°Shit or get off the pot. If you don¡¯t want to sign, I can send you back the way you came.¡±


    Sam¡¯s mouth went into a tight line, but she held her peace. Reminding herself that Will thought it was okay, she scribbled ¡®Samantha Darling¡¯ on the dotted line. Flipping through the countless sheets below, she found nothing else that needed her signature. ¡°All right, what¡ª¡±


    A harsh light flared in front of her eyes, leaving her vision white and throbbing. When she was finally able to blink away the blurry smears, she found that she was on her hands and knees, the clipboard lying discarded a few feet off to her right.


    What¡­ was that? she thought, dazed.


    ¡°Congratulations on gaining access to the Concord system, yadda yadda yadda,¡± Unger¡¯s voice drifted down from above her. ¡°Feel free to get up any day now, so we can continue with the second part of the orientation process.¡±


    Sam retrieved the clipboard as she staggered to her feet. Her vision had mostly returned to normal, with only a thin field of distorted color at the edges, but the text still looked¡­ odd, somehow. The letters didn¡¯t look right to her, almost illegible, even though she had been reading it fine just seconds ago. She had to focus intently to be able to make out more than a word or two.


    ¡°A certain level of disorientation is a normal side-effect of Concord integration,¡± Unger informed, sighing. ¡°Give me that back, please, so we can move on.¡±


    Sam threw the clipboard back up onto the high desktop with a sharp smack, but took a few steps back when the demon tried to hand her something else. ¡°Hold on,¡± she said as she began digging through her pocket, remembering what she had been instructed regarding the second note.


    This time, when she looked at the first note, it appeared much as the text on the clipboard did; a block of jumbled, barely recognizable symbols. Meanwhile, the second note was perfectly legible, as though she had been reading it her whole life, even though she knew deep down that it wasn¡¯t English, nor any other language she was familiar with.


    This text, much shorter than the first, read:


    I, Samantha Darling, hereby vow that I shall never make use of a Concord-granted ¡®skill¡¯ ability for as long as I live.


    In return, I ask to receive twice the number of Concord-granted ¡®attribute points¡¯ whenever they are given to me for any reason.


    And so our accord is made.


    Sam frowned at the note, compulsively checking the blank backside of the paper slip several times to make sure there was nothing else on there.


    She wasn¡¯t sure what she¡¯d been expecting, but if she was hoping for answers, she was sorely disappointed.


    Unger, however, seemed to recognize the thing she was holding, pistoning his chair as high as it would go in fits and starts until he towered high above the desk. He craned his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of the text. ¡°What is that?¡± he demanded. ¡°What is that thing you¡¯re holding? Tell me immediately.¡±


    Sam took another few steps back¡ªglancing over her shoulder to make sure she didn¡¯t accidentally walk off the edge of the tower into thin air¡ªand held the note tight to her chest. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s private.¡± I think.


    ¡°What does it say?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s any of your business. Now if you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯m going to eat this piece of paper.¡± Without waiting another moment, Sam balled up the second note and popped it in her mouth.


    ¡°You!¡± the demon cried, the languor gone from his expression and replaced by wild-eyed excitement. ¡°You¡¯re the one I¡¯ve been waiting for! The special case!¡±


    Sam could not reply with her mouth was full of mulchy, wet cellulose. She chewed until her jaws hurt, then swallowed the sodden mouthful piecemeal, a taste of old broadsheet left on her tongue.


    She was hit with a second flash, smaller than the first. It sent her stumbling, but she managed to stay on her feet by catching herself against the desk. Something formed in her mind, a thought that was not her own. It coalesced into a string of words, or a series of images, or a whispered voice, or maybe all three at once, coming together to form a single unit of meaning.


    [Divine vow accepted.]


    ¡°Samantha Darling, yes, I remember now,¡± Unger prattled on, nodding to himself. He was sitting upright now, leaning forward with his hands on the desk. For the first time, his full attention was on Sam. ¡°I mean, I knew it couldn¡¯t just have been idle talk considering that Nyx made those deferred contracts with me, but I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d actually show up.¡± Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Sam managed a shaky smile. ¡°I guess you can think of me as a happy surprise.¡±


    ¡°You must allow me to help you with your build selection.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll consider it,¡± she lied. ¡°What do I do now?¡±


    Unger slid another clipboard in her direction, not taking his burning amber eyes off her for a moment. ¡°What vow did you make, exactly? What did you get in return?¡±


    Ignoring him, Sam looked over the new clipboard. The sheet pinned to it was written in the same strange language that was somehow perfectly familiar now.


    Please select one of the following Professions to serve as your role on Faerlon. The Concord representative responsible for your orientation will be happy to elaborate on the Profession features and answer any questions you may have.


    Artisan


    Builder


    Cook


    Entertainer


    Explorer


    Farmer


    Laborer


    Physician


    Scholar


    Trader


    NOTE: Any selections made through the Concord are permanent, and cannot be altered.


    Sam scanned over the list a few times. The only actually exciting one was Explorer, but the letter had told her to choose Laborer, even though that looked like maybe the most boring option. The thought of spending her afterlife as a menial worker did not appeal.


    But then, Nyx had said that this system, the Concord or whatever, was no longer used for its intended purpose. Maybe the name of the Profession didn¡¯t mean all that much in reality.


    Sam glanced up at the demon, who met her look with an enraptured stare of his own. She resisted the urge to ask him about any of this. If Will said he was full of shit, he was full of shit.


    With a shrug, Sam circled ¡®Laborer¡¯ on the sheet with the pen provided. Again, her mind formed foreign impressions.


    [Profession selected: Laborer.]


    The letters on the sheet began to shimmer and shift, rearranging themselves. In moments, a whole new text presented itself.


    Please allocate your 1st level attribute points as you wish among any of your available attribute scores.


    Available points: (10)


    Strength: (_)


    Toughness: (_)


    Dexterity: (_)


    Senses: (_)


    With a brief glow, the ¡®10¡¯ next to ¡®Available points¡¯ became a ¡®20¡¯. Presumably as a result of this vow she had apparently made, since it had mentioned something about doubling her attribute points. She wasn¡¯t sure if twenty was a lot or a little, but she liked the look of her options a bit better this time around. Humming to herself, she spent a minute spreading out her points based on what sounded good off the top of her head. Whenever she put a number down in one of the empty fields, the scribbled symbol would straighten out and darken in color until it looked machine-typed. The ¡®Available points¡¯ number automatically went down, until at last it was at ¡®0¡¯. Sam held the clipboard at arm¡¯s length, examining her work.


    Please allocate your 1st level attribute points as you wish among any of your available attribute scores.


    Available points: (0)


    Strength: (8)


    Toughness: (6)


    Dexterity: (6)


    Senses: (_)


    [Attribute changes accepted.]


    Unger finally got a glimpse over the edge of the clipboard just before the text began to change again, and he launched into a fit of neurotic giggling. ¡°Oh, so that¡¯s what your vow is! Clever¡ªvery clever.¡± He sounded impressed, looking at Sam as though she had risen in his estimation from insignificant ant to something approaching a fellow sentient being.


    Not like I thought up any of this stuff myself, though.


    This time, the sheet had taken on the appearance of an ¡®Abilities¡¯ section, showing her a list of potential options.


    Please spend (2) upgrade points on any of the following abilities that are available to you.


    NOTE: You can spend more than 1 upgrade point on a single ability. Ask your Concord representative for more information.


    ¡°Please allow me to give you some salient advice on choosing your abilities,¡± Unger said, dry-washing his hands. ¡°After guiding countless millions of mortals, I am somewhat of an expert on the subject.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good, thanks,¡± Sam replied, in as neutral a tone as her rising annoyance would allow.


    The list of abilities was rather long, taking up several sheets. Some were listed as ¡®skills¡¯, while others were listed as ¡®passives¡¯. They were separated across three tiers, with all but the Tier 3 abilities grayed out and unavailable to her. The letter had told her only to choose passives, which finally made some sort of sense given her vow not to use any skills granted by the Concord. With that in mind, Sam picked out two passive abilities that sounded appealing, even though their short descriptions did not give her much to go off of.


    Stoneskin (_)


    Tier: 3.


    Requirements: Laborer.


    Type: Hybrid (Constant/Polymorphic).


    Description: Your skin becomes harder, making it more difficult to pierce or penetrate. Ideal for working in adverse conditions to mitigate risk of injury.


    Tenacious (_)


    Tier: 3.


    Requirements: Laborer.


    Type: Constant.


    Description: It is much more difficult for you to be rendered unconscious against your will. Ideal for working in adverse conditions where access to aid is sporadic or unavailable, allowing the user to see themselves to safety in case of injury.


    It also appeared that she got another passive for free by selecting Laborer¡ªsomething called Healing Factor.


    Healing Factor (1)


    Tier: 3.


    Requirements: Laborer.


    Type: Constant.


    Description: Your body¡¯s natural self-healing mechanism is accelerated, allowing you to recover more quickly from various injuries. Ideal for all types of heavy labor where the injury risk is high.


    That did look quite appealing.


    Sam put one upgrade point each into Stoneskin and Tenacious, leaving her with zero unallocated points remaining.


    [Ability selection accepted.]


    The text on the clipboard changed once more, seemingly for the final time.


    The following is a summary of your selection.


    Name: Samantha Darling.


    Level: 1.


    Profession: Laborer.


    Attributes: Strength (8), Toughness (6), Dexterity (6), Senses (0).


    Abilities: Healing Factor, Stoneskin, Tenacious.


    Please enjoy your new life on Faerlon, [Samantha Darling]!

 Chapter 8 - Laboring Under the Pleasant Illusion of Free Will [2]

    Sam


    ¡°Finished already?¡± Unger pouted. ¡°You¡¯re really not a very good sport.¡±


    ¡°I thought you couldn¡¯t wait for me to get out of here,¡± Sam said.


    The demon waved away her retort. ¡°That was before I learned you were someone interesting. Now, since you insisted on butchering your build without my input, at least allow me to give you some general advice that will undoubtedly serve you well in the Forlorn Frontier. You¡ª¡±


    ¡°Actually, I¡¯d like to get on with my day, if possible,¡± Sam cut in, flashing her nastiest grin. ¡°Lots to do¡ªyou know how it is.¡±


    Unger¡¯s gray-green face tightened with fury. ¡°Fine,¡± he said in a curt, clipped tone. ¡°Step right over here, and we will get you on your way.¡±


    Rolling his towering contraption of a chair to the side, he motioned to the far end of the circular floorspace. As Sam rounded the desk, she saw that there was something like a short springboard of polished stone jutting out from a gap in the toothy crenellations.


    ¡°You''re expecting me to jump?¡± Sam asked, cautiously approaching the suspended stone slab and eyeing the sea of clouds laid out below it.


    It was Unger¡¯s turn to give a nasty smile. ¡°That is the way, yes.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s not a second door I could go through or anything?¡±


    ¡°Afraid not.¡±


    Sam¡¯s steps grew shorter and more hesitant as she approached the springboard, until she was inching along, shuffling on the marble. She had never been particularly afraid of heights, but when she thought about the thousands of feet that no doubt separated her from the ground, it made her stomach lurch. ¡°And what if I can¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure we will figure something out,¡± Unger hummed soothingly.


    Sam glanced back, finding that the demon had jumped out of his lowered chair and was standing disconcertingly close behind her, as if angling for an opportunity to punt her over the edge.


    Rather than face that alternative, Sam quickly scampered out onto the springboard, the hairs on her arms spiking with every step. There was no sign of land through the cottony clouds that now took up her entire field of vision, but she still felt a surge of vertigo knotting her guts, everything seeming to sway even though she stood frozen stiff. The tips of her toes nudged just over the end, gripping for purchase.


    The note did tell me to take a leap of faith, I suppose.


    Before the rational part of Sam¡¯s brain could begin to convince her of the absurdity of this plan, she plunged a foot over the edge of the tower. The moment she began falling she wished she could take it back, but it was too late now. The wind roared in her ears, ripped at her clothing, dried out her eyes.


    She was tumbling, everything spinning, her stomach rebelling. She belly-flopped straight into a cloud bank, and the world became a field of uniform gray, moisture beading on her cheeks and sticking to her clothing.


    Her scream was torn away on the howling wind.


    * * *


    Sam must have passed out at some point, because when she came to she was face down with a mouth full of sand. Spitting and coughing, shivering with wet and cold, she dragged herself onto her hands and knees, requiring several tries to manage it, and immediately found that she was buck naked.


    She sat hunched over on a rocky beach beneath an overcast sky, waves smacking her butt every few moments none-too-politely. Cursing under her breath, Sam dragged herself higher onto the beach, out of the reach of the choppy ocean that lay behind her. Overhead, there were disappointed cries from a pack of seagulls that had hoped for a nice fat carcass to pick apart, occasionally drowned by the crashing swell of waves on the jagged black cliffs that jutted out of the earth to her left. Maybe a hundred feet ahead, the beach was broken by a dense treeline that stretched on as far as she could see to her right.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Frozen so deep she felt she would shatter into little icy shards if someone took a mallet to her, Sam wanted nothing more than to find a safe nook somewhere, out of the wind and the wet, where she could catch her breath. Unfortunately, she wasn¡¯t even sure she could stand up, let alone find herself a suitable resting spot. If she allowed herself to collapse where she was, she was pretty sure she would die of exposure. Even though she knew that, a piece of her hypothermia-addled mind thought it seemed like an excellent idea to simply sprawl out and close her eyes. Just for a few minutes. Just to get some strength back.


    Don¡¯t worry, Sam thought, trying and failing to stop her teeth from chattering. This is part of the plan, right? Will has a plan, doesn¡¯t he? And I mean, this is a dream, so what does it matter anyway?


    Except¡­ If it¡¯s all a dream, why am I so afraid to fall asleep?


    Because when you fall asleep in a dream, you wake up.


    I don¡¯t want to wake up yet. Not before I see him.


    I just want to see him.


    Finding a surge of strength somewhere deep inside, Sam tipped herself back onto her haunches, hissing breaths through gritted teeth, then got a foot beneath her. She stood on wobbly legs, took a step, and fell as her knees buckled. She spent the next minute recreating her first miraculous success, tried a few tottering steps, and when her legs held she began a laborious trudge along the beach.


    Nestled beneath the shoulder of the nearby cliffs, she noticed a manmade structure¡ªa tall wooden watchtower that overlooked the beach¡ªand some little black dots moving beneath it. Were those people? They were moving away from her, going toward a gap between two sharp dagger-points of rock that presumably led to a path along the left side of the coast, separated from Sam¡¯s view by the cliffs. If they went much further, they would not be able to see her anymore.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Sam cried, nearly falling when she raised her arms over her head to wave them down, teetering until she caught her balance again. She coughed at the bits of sand that had somehow made their way down her throat, and spat out a grainy gob of saliva. ¡°Hey! Over here!¡±


    Sam was worried that they would not hear her with the sound of the ocean, but they seemed to be turning around, and she let herself fall back on her butt with relief when she saw the little dots growing steadily larger, becoming recognizable as definitely human.


    Sam held herself tight, shivering, and waited for them to reach her. They were four men, dressed in padded coats, each with a cudgel on one hip and a round buckler on the other.


    ¡°I¡¯m r-r-really glad to see you,¡± Sam worked out through numb, uncooperative lips. ¡°Could you¡­ Could you g-get me someplace warm? Clothes? Anything?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a Laborer, Tinny,¡± one of the men whispered to another, sounding pleased. ¡°We¡¯ll be getting paid big for this one.¡±


    Sam¡¯s relief quickly evaporated as she glanced between four hardened faces, and finally noticed the heavy shackles that the man at the back was working on untangling.


    ¡°If you want clothes and chow, stand up and come with us,¡± a flat-nosed man¡ªTinny, his friend had called him¡ªsaid. ¡°You make it easy for us, you get to walk on your own. You decide to be difficult, you get the chains. You make trouble after that, well¡­¡± He patted the weapon at his belt. ¡°We got ways of teaching a girl some manners.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Sam sighed, the last of her hope escaping with a flaccid outrushing of air. ¡°You¡­ You guys aren¡¯t here to help, are you?¡±


    Tinny¡¯s friend shrugged. ¡°Sorry, darling. Life sucks¡ªyou can whine about it on your own time.¡±


    He bent down to grab Sam by the shoulder. Instinctively, she caught his forearm in an effort to divert him, fingers clamping down with strength fueled by desperation.


    Sam blinked as she both heard and felt several sharp pops. Tinny¡¯s friend cried out in agony and recoiled as though from a venomous snake, his awkwardly bent right arm clutched protectively with his left. ¡°Fuck!¡± he shrieked, backing off behind the other men. ¡°She just broke my arm!¡±


    Tinny frowned at his friend, then back at Sam. ¡°Crazy bitch must¡¯ve put all her points in Strength,¡± he muttered. ¡°Right¡ªDalton, Spuds, take care of her.¡± He motioned to each of the remaining two other men in turn.


    A lumpy-faced man¡ªSpuds¡ªstepped forward with a sigh. Holding up a hand, he said: ¡°Peace.¡±


    For some reason, that word held power, reverberated unnaturally in the air between them.


    When Dalton moved in to clamp manacles down on Sam¡¯s wrists and a collar around her neck, she found that she was unable to lift a hand to resist. Whenever she tried to punch or kick or shove, the idea seemed to slide away like rain off a tarp.


    By the time this strange lapse wore off a few seconds later, she had been dragged to her feet by her chains, and was forced to stagger along behind as the men trudged off toward their watchtower.


    Will¡­ Sam thought numbly. Where are you? This can¡¯t be part of the plan, can it?

 Chapter 9 - Artie the Friendly Slave Trader

    Will


    Will carefully monitored the steam rising from the evaporating dish, tweaking a small gas burner below to avoid the liquid coming to a boil. In a few minutes, it would be reduced enough to Prepare the final product of curare oil he used to coat blades and arrowheads.


    Seeing that the process was running smoothly, he turned his attention to another project on the cluttered workbench; a stone mortar filled partway with dried, brownish flower petals. Goatweed; able to be both mixed into potions and poultices to speed up the healing of wounds. He took up the heavy pestle and began grinding the petals into a fine powder. He would mix this batch with a water base and smaller amounts of a few other herbs to make healing potions, enough for about a half-dozen.


    Absorbed in thought, idly humming to himself, Will eventually realized that he had forgotten about the curare, the burner setup standing in the blind spot of his missing left eye. Luckily he had not left it too long, and he turned off the flame just as the clear oil reached the correct consistency. He was transferring the viscous liquid into a vial using a small ceramic scraper when the door to the workshop came open with the telltale rough-handed banging of one of the chimps.


    Will cut a cork for the vial and stoppered it, stuck an adhesive label to the front of it that explained its contents, and set it up on a high shelf along with many other of his finished poisons. He set aside the labware he had used for later cleanup, and turned to face the vest-wearing chimp standing in the doorway.


    ¡°What is it, Number One?¡± he asked, arms crossed. ¡°Tell Mongrel that if he wants something from me, he can come ask me himself like a grown adult. Also¡­¡± He pointed an admonishing finger at the cigarette hanging from the corner of the old ape¡¯s mouth. ¡°I told you, no smoking in my workshop. If you can¡¯t follow some simple rules, I¡¯ll stop making more of those things.¡±


    Number One did not look intimidated, but made a show of grinding out his cigarette against the gravel outside, stuffing the unsmoked half in a vest pocket for later consumption. ¡®Scary lady back,¡¯ he signed, then motioned with one long arm toward the farmhouse a ways up the shallow incline.


    Will did not wait for details, shouting his thanks in passing as he snatched his coat off the hook by the door and pushed past the chimp. He labored up to the main house, where three of the other boys sat on the porch telling rude jokes to each other in sign¡ªand, of course, smoking¡ªand headed inside. Mongrel met him in the hall and started telling him something, but Will ignored him. He stopped only when he caught the naked profile of the demon lying on the floor in front of the hearth, having just lit a crackling fire¡ªdespite the fact that it was the middle of the day, and nearly summer to boot.


    ¡°Talk,¡± Will snapped, holding a hand up in front of Mongrel¡¯s face to keep him from cutting in.


    ¡°Everything went perfectly, more or less,¡± Nyx said without looking back. Yawning, she stretched out her legs and settled into a more comfortable position. ¡°Pretending to be a human was fun. Earth is a strange place.¡±


    ¡°Riveting. You can tell us the play-by-play about your tourist experience later. What about Sam? She went along with it?¡±


    ¡°Yes, she died quite beautifully.¡±


    Will closed his one eye and took a deep, calming breath. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°I guided her through the Crossroads without issue and left her at the Tower. Assuming Unger holds up his end of the bargain, which he will, she should appear at the Shore of Awakening any minute now, if she hasn¡¯t already.¡±


    Will turned to leave the room without another word, having heard what he needed to know. Mongrel hurried after him in his awkward, shambling run. ¡°You going to get her?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yup,¡± Will replied. Retrieving his sword belt and strapping on the weapon, he exited the house and hopped off the front porch. He strode across the grazing field that made up a good chunk of the property, grass clipped short by greedy animal mouths.


    ¡°Want a couple of the boys along for company? The Shore can get dicey, you know.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯m faster on my own.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but¡­¡±


    Will stopped, looking back at the ugly little man who had fallen behind and was standing a ways off. ¡°Thanks for worrying,¡± Will said. ¡°But I¡¯ll be fine. Me and Sam both.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not worried,¡± Mongrel grumbled, crossing his arms tightly like a pouty child. His round cheeks developed a rosy flush. ¡°But do you think you¡¯ll be back by tonight? It¡¯s not good to spend the night out there, either in the woods or on the beach.¡±


    Will sighed, throwing his arms up. ¡°I have no idea when I¡¯ll be back. Hopefully within a few hours, but I¡¯ll stay out there until I¡¯ve got her.¡±


    ¡°Just don¡¯t kill yourself over it. The Shore of Awakening goes on for a long stretch.¡±


    Will did not answer. Turning away from Mongrel, he crossed the last bit of the property and entered the dense leafy forest beyond. He stepped over roots and around rocks, sticking to game trails he knew as he headed south.


    Normally, Will would have exercised a certain level of caution when entering any Frontier forest, but there was no time for that now. He picked up speed as he went, occasionally launching himself into a Dash that sent him zipping through the air, kicking off tree trunks, bouncing between them, vaulting over difficult terrain that would have taken minutes to cut through or navigate around.


    Faster, faster, faster he soared, only his points in Senses and Processing allowing him to react to the obstacles coming at him at bone-crushing speeds, swinging off branches and springboarding off boles, once Repelling himself away from a boulder appearing out of nowhere behind a small rise to avoid a collision.


    Will skidded onto the drab, grainy sand of the Shore of Awakening before the sun had reached its noonday peak overhead, a hazy blotch of light visible through the cloud cover. He was breathing heavily, hair plastered to his skull with sweat, chest heaving as he rested hands on knees.


    He still had 11 out of 14 AP remaining for the search ahead, but his extensive use of cantrips to cut the travel time was hitting him hard. He sucked air in raspy wheezes, missing ribs making his respiratory system work all the harder to function properly.


    But Will had no time to stop and rest. As soon as he¡¯d caught his breath, he forced himself straight and said: ¡°Detect [Samantha Darling].¡± Another AP crystal on his arm went dark, and he scanned the terrain around him for the influx of visual data confirming that he had found his mark. No luck.


    Moving back into the treeline to avoid discovery, Will continued east, prowling along the coastline while occasionally casting another Detect to cast a wider net for any sign of Sam, especially around the slaver watchtowers. If he didn¡¯t get her right as she came out of the water, there was a good chance she would end up at one of those. While unpleasant, especially if he was unable to find her before she was processed and sent into the city, the alternative where she managed to evade capture and make it into the woods frightened him nearly as much. There were worse things than slavers in the Forlorn Frontier, and at least slavers would usually take some pains to keep their product alive.


    I¡¯ll find her, Will thought, trying to feign confidence for his own benefit. I will find her.


    The search continued.


    * * *


    Sam


    Once she¡¯d been transported to the watchtower, Sam was released from all but her neck collar, which was fastened to the wall by a chain inside the single large room to keep her from escaping. She was given a shirt and trousers of the same gray roughspun fabric, and unhooked from her chain while she dressed, though she was placed back on her black-iron tether straight after. She had never worn anything so scratchy in her life, and both parts of her two-piece outfit were far too big, with only a frayed length of string to use for a belt. Tucking the shirt into her trousers and tying the ¡®belt¡¯ as tight as she managed, it at least kept everything more or less where it ought to be.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    After dressing, she was allowed to sit by the firepit at the center of the room, and given a bowl of hot oatmeal filled with savory bits of what she hoped was corned beef to warm her up. The four slavers that had caught her left again to get medical attention for the fellow with the broken arm, leaving only a fifth¡ªthe tower watchman who had been there when they arrived¡ªto oversee Sam and another young man they had caught that day.


    The lone slaver shuffled around for a while, going about mundane everyday activities like sweeping and doing his rounds and mending an old sock, before eventually taking a seat by the fire. The male slave stretched his chain taut to huddle in a corner as far away from another human as he could get, a faraway look in his eyes. A large welt covered almost the entire left side of his face. Evidently, he had not accepted his enslavement with the utmost grace.


    ¡°Hello,¡± the slaver said to Sam, his voice sounding strangely furtive given the circumstances. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about all this.¡± He glanced at the collar around her neck, then looked away with a wince, clearing his throat. ¡°Ahem. I know me being sorry probably doesn¡¯t make a difference, but still.¡±


    Sam threw the man a sidelong look¡ªtoo brawny to suit his soft voice¡ªthen swiveled her eyes back to stare at the fire instead. ¡°Just business, right?¡± she chuckled.


    ¡°I guess so.¡± The man felt at a gap in his bottom teeth with his tongue. ¡°I¡¯m Artie. What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Sam.¡±


    Artie pointed toward a strange circular marking¡ªalmost like a tattoo¡ªat the top of Sam¡¯s left forearm, matching one on his own. She''d had enough on her mind that she hadn¡¯t even noticed it until now. ¡°You¡¯re a Laborer,¡± he said, motioning to the diagonal hammer at the center of the circle. ¡°Good for you.¡± He sounded sincere.


    ¡°Why¡¯s that good?¡±


    ¡°Laborers are valuable. Rare, too. You¡¯ll probably get recruited into the lord¡¯s militia, so you won¡¯t stay a slave for long. Just sit tight until then.¡±


    Sam shook her head, slowly but determinedly. She had no plans to remain a slave for any length of time. This dream is taking a really weird turn.


    ¡°Do you know someone named Will?¡± she asked when the slaver let the conversation lapse into silence. ¡°William Greene?¡±


    Artie frowned. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so. Why?¡±


    ¡°He should be around here somewhere. I have to find him.¡±


    The big man¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°I don¡¯t understand. Didn¡¯t you just wash up?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Then you shouldn¡¯t know anyone on the Frontier. Are you talking about someone back on Earth? I¡¯m sorry, but you¡¯re better off forgetting the ones you knew in that life as soon as you can. Clinging to those memories will only lead to sleepless nights. Trust me¡ªit¡¯s better to let it fade.¡±


    Sam pressed her lips shut, uncertain. She wasn¡¯t sure how much it was wise to reveal about the circumstances that had brought her here. From what people had been telling her, it sounded like her situation was not typical. ¡°Yeah, I guess you¡¯re right,¡± she said after some time.


    It wasn¡¯t too long before Sam¡¯s frozen bones began to thaw. Having worked up an appetite, she asked for a second bowl of oatmeal, noticing that there was still a good bit left in the pot standing on a wooden board beside the fire.


    ¡°I¡¯m not supposed to give you anything else,¡± Artie said uncomfortably. ¡°Tinny says there¡¯s no point wasting food on slaves, since you get fed at the auction house in the city. But, well¡­¡± He glanced at the fellow in the corner. ¡°He didn¡¯t eat much, so I suppose giving you a bit extra wouldn¡¯t hurt.¡± He stood up and went to refill Sam¡¯s bowl with two extra ladlefuls of steaming slop. ¡°If anyone asks, I ate it, not you.¡±


    He gave her the bowl, and she thanked him with a smile before digging in. ¡°Could I make an observation?¡± she asked midway through her second portion.


    ¡°Sure,¡± Artie said, stirring the fire with a poker. It was starting to dwindle, but he wasn¡¯t putting any more wood on¡ªshe gathered it had mostly been for her benefit in the first place.


    ¡°You don¡¯t really seem much like the slaver type.¡±


    Artie shot her a quick, rueful smile, then his gaze darted away again. ¡°What¡¯s the ¡®slaver type¡¯ like?¡±


    ¡°You know, sleazy. A bit rapey, maybe. Your friends have pretty much got it down pat.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t do this because we like it, you know.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°I don¡¯t, anyway.¡±


    ¡°Then why do it?¡±


    A shrug. Artie began poking more aggressively at the fire. Streams of sparks somersaulted into the air, rising toward slitted vents in the ceiling. ¡°It was either that or the mines. I¡¯m a Trader, so it wasn¡¯t much of a choice. I wouldn¡¯t last a month digging for iron. I¡¯ve heard the stories that come out of that place.¡±


    ¡°Trader is your¡­ Profession, right?¡± The symbol on his arm had a set of balance scales, unlike her own hammer. ¡°Why don¡¯t you trade something a bit more normal than other humans?¡±


    ¡°Gee, why didn¡¯t I think of that?¡± Artie muttered. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple. Nothing¡¯s simple here. You¡¯ll learn that soon enough. Or maybe you won¡¯t.¡± He glanced at her again, and there was a strange note of something¡ªcould it be jealousy?¡ªin his voice.


    ¡°What makes you say that?¡±


    ¡°Like I said, you¡¯ll end up in the militia, and you''ll probably get placed in the guardsman branch. They have it easy, as long as they stay on Brimstone¡¯s good side. Give it a few months, and you¡¯ll probably be shaking down people like me for ¡®protection money¡¯ or some such. If you¡¯re one of the good ones, you might leave us the clothes on our backs.¡±


    ¡°Is it really that bad?¡±


    Artie did not reply. Changing the topic, he motioned to the male slave with his smoking poker, the man snarling silently in return. ¡°Now that fellow, he¡¯s an Explorer. Poor guy. Headed straight for the mines.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s just too many of ¡®em to be useful for anything else, and they¡¯re convenient to use for menial labor. Ironically, Laborers almost never have to do work like that. They¡¯re too valuable.¡±


    Sam threw a sympathetic look in her fellow prisoner¡¯s direction. She was ashamed at the relief she felt over not choosing Explorer, like she¡¯d wanted. ¡°This place is fucking insane.¡±


    Artie laughed hysterically at that, like it was the funniest joke he¡¯d ever heard. It sounded like he wanted to cry instead. At the creak of footsteps coming up the stairs to the raised guard room, he suddenly went quiet, then yanked the half-empty bowl out of Sam¡¯s hands.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he said quickly. ¡°Just be quiet and do as they say, and they won¡¯t hurt you.¡± Raising his voice, he called: ¡°How''d it go, Tin¡ª¡±


    He was cut off by a cacophony of wood tearing and metal groaning as the door flew inward off its hinges, flipping as it shot over the fire. Artie barely had time to widen his eyes in surprise before the door hurtled into him and carried him clean off his feet, slamming them both against the other wall. Sam stared as the door fell flat with a heavy thump, and the big man sagged limply on top of it.


    Turning her attention back to the now-open doorway, she saw a man standing there, backlit by the dirty sunlight that filtered through the clouds. He was tall, wearing clothing that, despite being in neutral colors, was of obviously finer cut than anything she¡¯d seen in the slavers¡¯ possession. He carried a lightly curved sword in one white-knuckled fist, and his expression was grim. As he stepped into the firelight, she saw that one of his eyes had been stitched shut¡ªjust looking at it made Sam want to wince.


    The stranger¡¯s one eye rested on her, and he threw his coat back to sheathe his sword. ¡°Sam,¡± he said, features softening as he deflated with relief.


    Only when he spoke did Sam recognize him. ¡°Will,¡± she whispered. She tried to stand, and was yanked off her feet when her chain reached the end of its slack¡ªforgotten until it forcefully reminded her of its presence.


    Will was halfway over to her when the slaver stirred, resting one shoulder against the wall to support himself while he felt at a freely bleeding gash on his forehead with fumbling fingers. ¡°Wuh¡­?¡± he groaned.


    Will had a weapon in his hand less than a second later, a long-bladed knife this time. He strode across the room to the slaver, pulling his head back by his hair to expose his throat.


    ¡°W¡­ Wait!¡± Artie cried.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Sam echoed.


    Only the second utterance caused Will to pause. ¡°What?¡± he asked without looking back.


    ¡°Don¡¯t kill him.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. Do you usually need a reason not to kill someone?¡±


    ¡°In this place, you do.¡±


    ¡°He was nice to me.¡±


    With a growl, Will kicked Artie onto his back and whirled around to face Sam, spinning the knife between his fingers like it was some sort of nervous tic. ¡°Sam, you don¡¯t know everything that¡¯s going on yet, but trust me, this man has to die. If¡ªwhen¡ªhe tells someone about this, it will be very bad for both of us.¡±


    Holding onto her chain to make sure she wasn¡¯t running out of slack, Sam rose to her feet. ¡°You¡¯re not killing him,¡± she said, sounding more confident than she felt.


    She could hardly believe that this man she was looking at was the same shy, slightly nerdy kid she¡¯d known since she was little. It was like all the joy had been sucked out of him, and the cold figure that remained, staring her down with its one dark eye, scared the shit out of her.


    ¡°I-I won¡¯t tell anyone,¡± Artie blurted quickly. ¡°I¡¯ll say I don¡¯t remember, that the door hit me, and I¡­ I passed out! I don¡¯t remember a thing. Not a thing. You weren¡¯t here, Master One-Eye.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for your input, friend,¡± Will said, his voice gone eerily calm. ¡°Now, if you¡¯d shut the fuck up for a moment, I¡¯d appreciate that very much.¡±


    ¡°Will,¡± Sam said, trying to bring his attention back around. ¡°You¡¯re right. I don¡¯t have a clue what¡¯s going on. But I know this man was kind to me when he didn¡¯t have to be, and if he says he won¡¯t tell anyone whatever you don¡¯t want people to know, I believe him.¡±


    Will regarded her for one long moment, whirling that knife around and around. ¡°Fine,¡± he growled at last. ¡°God, I forgot how stubborn you can be.¡±


    Sam''s reply was a sunny smile. It was the first thing he¡¯d said that sounded anything like his old self. She rattled the chain that connected her to a heavy bracket on the wall. ¡°Now, maybe you could do something about this? It doesn¡¯t quite go with my outfit.¡±


    Will reluctantly stowed his weapon.

 Chapter 10 - The Pros and Cons of Aggravated Murder

    Will


    Even wearing what Will would most charitably describe as a pair of empty potato sacks with holes cut into them, her boy-short hair sticking out in crazy directions, Sam still looked more beautiful than anything even his idyllic memories of her could compare to.


    She was taller than he remembered. Wider, too. More solid. Never the traditionally girly type, it was clear that she¡¯d kept up her psychotic dedication to exercise based on what he could make out of her long limbs, which were etched with lean muscle definition. Flat-chested and devoid of any excess fat, she didn¡¯t exactly fill out her potato sacks in any particular way, but he still found his eyes utterly glued to her.


    The steely determination in her eyes was the same as it always had been¡ªnot cruel or cynical, but simply an unshakable self-confidence. Despite being unable to look away, Will found that he wasn¡¯t quite able to meet her gaze, either. He had done so many things in this place to let her down; and even before, on Earth. If she knew how much blood stained his hands, maybe¡­


    Not now. Later.


    Sam gave the chain another firm tug. ¡°Well?¡±


    Will shrugged. ¡°Give it a try yourself. You might be surprised.¡± If he knew her right, she would have put a healthy number of points in Strength. Getting down on one knee, he opened his Inventory and caught his medicine bag as it was spat out of the small black void. He took out a small flask of brandy, then replaced the bag.


    As he stood, he raised the flask in Sam¡¯s direction. ¡°Something to soothe your nerves?¡± he asked, knowing she would refuse.


    ¡°You know I don¡¯t¡­ drink,¡± Sam grunted, looping the chain around her left arm as she reeled in the slack, pulling hard with little result except an unholy rattling and a dusting of brown rust flakes displaced from the metal links. ¡°Not that much has changed in five years, you know.¡±


    ¡°I thought my death might have driven you to the bottle,¡± Will joked.


    ¡°Har-dee-har. You wish, dude.¡± Reeling herself in all the way to the base of the chain, she hopped up to put her feet on either side of the metal bracket on the wall, pulling with her legs.


    After taking a sip of liquor himself, Will offered the bottle up to the two remaining people in the room, gauging interest. Seeing them both licking their lips for some liquid courage, he contemplated murder.


    If he Repelled weakly against the bottom of the bottle, it would break the seal placed there, allowing a small amount of poison to mix with the liquor. Certainly enough to kill two grown men, but it would be several minutes before it began to take effect, giving him and Sam more than enough time to be on their way before she noticed anything was amiss. He would have to shatter her innocence eventually, but that time wasn''t now.


    These men needed to die. He couldn¡¯t allow news of his involvement here to travel back to Brimstone. If the lord of Sheerhome found out about Sam and took an interest, or found reason to suspect Will¡¯s loyalties¡­ Needless to say, their charred corpses would be adorning his walls before long.


    With his left arm covered by his coat sleeve, they would not be able to see the AP he spent on the Repel. The poison was practically tasteless, especially when mixed with strong alcohol. The death it induced was painless, just drowsiness followed by eternal sleep. A more merciful fate than most in the Frontier got.


    But for some reason, when the slaver reached for the flask, Will hesitated. When he allowed the man to take it from his hand, he still had not cracked the poison seal, and he found himself blinking in confusion as he watched the man take a long pull of brandy, a trickle of reddish liquid escaping the corner of his mouth, then handing it to the bruised slave huddled in the corner, who glared suspiciously at Will before sipping at it himself.


    Stupid, Will admonished himself. How do I get rid of them quietly now? I could try to smear some contact poison on a glove and find a reason to touch them under the pretense of helping them get on their way, but the setup needed would almost certainly look suspicious. They saw me drink from the brandy, so they didn¡¯t suspect it, but I don¡¯t know if they would accept any ¡®medicine¡¯ I gave them. I suppose I could find an excuse to double back later and kill them when Sam isn¡¯t here to wag her finger at me, but they might have had time to be debriefed by then. Maybe even enough time for a runner to be sent to the city.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Of course, there¡¯s no way I could actually let them live. It¡¯s a shame. The slave hasn¡¯t done anything wrong, but he¡¯s seen just as much as his captor. I don¡¯t trust a promise of selective amnesia from these bastards past me turning my back to them, and the slave hasn¡¯t even given that much.


    It can¡¯t be helped. Fuck, why¡¯d I have to hesitate with the flask?


    Will was broken out of his deliberation by a groan of metal, the repeated plinking of bolts snapping, and a loud squawk as Sam flew clear of the wall, dragging chain, bracket, and a shower of splintered wood with her. She landed on her back, mouth wide in mute shock, staring at the loose chain wrapped around her arm.


    ¡°I¡¯m so strong!¡± Sam exclaimed. She looked up at Will. ¡°Did you see that?¡±


    ¡°I saw it,¡± Will replied indulgently, a smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth. ¡°How many points did you put in Strength?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ I don¡¯t remember.¡±


    ¡°Of course you don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I think it was six. No, eight! It was definitely eight.¡±


    ¡°No wonder you tore through that thing, then. Your noodle arm days are officially over¡ªenjoy.¡±


    Sam jumped easily to her feet. ¡°I never had noodle arms! Take that back!¡± The heavy metal bracket trailed on the floor, still attached to her. She frowned at it, then began tugging on her slave collar.


    ¡°Sir?¡± an uncertain voice called out, drawing Will¡¯s eye back onto the large, ponderous slaver, who was wringing his hands and keeping his gaze firmly directed at his own boot-tips. ¡°Master One-Eye, I mean. My name is Artie.¡±


    ¡°Great to meet you, Artie,¡± Will said with no small amount of sarcasm. ¡°What can I do for you?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡­¡± The man swallowed. ¡°What happens now? Are you letting me live?¡±


    ¡°He is,¡± Sam replied confidently.


    Will sighed. Despite the general exhaustion weighing him down until he felt like a couple hundred pounds of spoiled bread dough, he was also developing a fun little migraine.


    Despite there being a hundred valid reasons why they could not be allowed to live, he just didn''t have the energy to grapple with the guilt of murdering someone at the moment.


    ¡°Whatever,¡± he said. "You can keep your neck. Now, needless to say, the rest of your squad are unlikely to be in a particularly forgiving mood when they find out that you''ve let a Laborer slip through your fingers. So for your own sake, I suggest you get out of here. Find another place to live. Never so much as think about Sheerhome again.¡±


    ¡°Sheerhome? Why, I¡¯ve never even been to Sheerhome!¡± Artie chuckled nervously.


    ¡°Attaboy.¡± Will gave the man a few good-natured claps on the shoulder, making him flinch with each one. ¡°Keep up that attitude. Because if I see you again, or discover that you''ve been making trouble for me, I will fucking cut you in half.¡±


    Sam laughed at the funny joke Will had made.


    Artie laughed hysterically in fear of his life.


    Will laughed without feeling any trace of amusement at all.


    After working at breaking her collar for a while without success, unable to find good purchase, Sam elbowed Will to get his attention. ¡°Get this open for me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll sort it out once we get someplace safer. You¡¯re stuck with it for now.¡±


    ¡°Seriously?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°Ugh.¡±


    ¡°Stop whining.¡±


    ¡°Master One-Eye?¡± Artie cut in. He pointed to the slave sitting on the floor, who had barely moved a muscle throughout the entire exchange. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to interrupt, sir, but¡­ What about him?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s your responsibility now,¡± Will said with a shrug.


    ¡°But he hates me.¡±


    ¡°Can you blame him?¡±


    ¡°No, but¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you will overcome your difficulties and find yourselves the best of friends in no time.¡±


    ¡°O-Of course.¡± Artie cleared his throat. ¡°Master One-Eye¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Okay. What do I call you?¡±


    ¡°Anything but that and ¡®Misfortune¡¯ is fine.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­ sir?¡±


    Will rolled his single eye, and directed Sam to help break the other slave out of his confinement. ¡°Yeees, Artie?¡±


    ¡°Forgive me for saying so, but¡­ You¡¯re not doing this on behalf of the lord, are you?¡±


    ¡°Whatever made you think that? The fact that I¡¯ve damaged one of his watchtowers? The fact that I¡¯m freeing two of his slaves? Great detective work Artie, a truly inspired deduction.¡±


    ¡°You know¡­¡± Sam grunted, arms flexed and quivering with strain as she pulled on the second bracket, having already burst two out of four bolts. ¡°You¡¯d make more friends if you weren¡¯t so sarcastic with people all the time. It¡¯s not charming.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t mind,¡± Will replied dryly.


    ¡°I really don¡¯t,¡± Artie agreed, a little too quickly to sound sincere.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to worry about him, Artie. He¡¯s a big softie once you get to know him.¡±


    The slaver eyed Will doubtfully, prodding his fresh wound. ¡°I¡­ see.¡± Then, after a moment¡¯s hesitation, he added: ¡°Miss.¡± He seemed unable to properly classify Sam''s position, given that she was interacting on seemingly equal ground with Will.


    ¡°I prefer Sam.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what he calls you,¡± Will said, ¡°because the two of them were just leaving. As are we.¡± He turned to Sam as she got the second bracket clear of the wall, stripped bolts bent at awkward angles coming off the square piece of metal. ¡°Right?¡±


    Sam gathered up the chain and bracket and awkwardly handed them over for to the slave to carry in his arms. ¡°I guess so,¡± she said. ¡°But why can¡¯t they come with us?¡±


    Will was done letting Sam talk him into nonsense. Without another word, he dragged her out of the room by the ragged collar of her sack shirt, soon had her stumbling down the steps of the rickety staircase that led down to the beachfront.


    ¡°Oh, uh, bye Artie!¡± she called up, getting a muffled, indistinguishable reply from above.


    Confirming that there were no other people within eyeshot with a quick pulse of Detect [Life], Will adjusted his hold on Sam so that he had a firm grip on her wrist instead. He took her north across the sands, then the grassy turf beyond, then under tree cover. The afternoon was starting to drag on, sun dropping. He hoped they would reach the farm before nightfall.

 Chapter 11 - A Romantic Walk Through the Evil Forest of Doom

    Sam


    Sam let herself be pulled along until they were walking among old, twisted trees, the waning sunlight further softened under a cover of twisted branches. She was still surprised by her new strength¡ªsomehow, she felt that if she wanted to, she could easily have resisted Will¡¯s efforts to move her. It was an intoxicating feeling. Despite the fact that Will had never been particularly athletic, he had always been stronger than her ever since they entered puberty. That was just the difference between boys and girls. She had long ago been forced to accept that no amount of training could change that simple biological fact.


    But now¡­


    Could the number ¡®8¡¯ on a silly sheet of paper really have changed so much?


    Despite all this, Sam pretended that she was helpless to resist, because she didn¡¯t mind Will showing his assertive side. If anything, it was making her stomach tingle with butterflies.


    Now that they were alone, an awkward silence descended between them that was only broken by the rustle of leaves above and the crunching of dead branches underfoot.


    After some time, she realized that Will¡¯s hand wasn¡¯t just clammy because he was nervous¡ªhe was breathing heavy, too, and his face had an unhealthy sheen of sweat. His step began to grow unsteady, and soon she was holding him up as much as he was leading her along.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Sam asked. ¡°Are you ill?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Will panted breathlessly, giving her a tired smile that might have been meant to look reassuring. ¡°Just a little tired, that¡¯s all. I was kind of in a rush to find you.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem ¡®just a little tired¡¯ to me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Sam. Really.¡± Reluctantly, he motioned for her to set him down against a nearly cube-shaped rock protruding from the ground. ¡°I just need a breather.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what people say in movies before they die, Will.¡± Her bunched-up chain clinked as she seated herself cross-legged in the undergrowth opposite him, letting the pile of heavy links pool in her lap.


    ¡°You are such a brat,¡± Will muttered.


    She stuck her tongue out at him.


    There was another silence. Sam fumbled for something to say, cleared her throat, made random percussive noises with her mouth. ¡°So¡­ What¡¯s up with your weird monster eye?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a long story.¡± Will scratched at his stitched-up eye somewhat sheepishly.


    ¡°And your finger!¡± She only noticed now that he was missing his left pinky.


    He let his hand drop, covering it with the other. ¡°Also a long story. Same one, really. I¡¯ll tell you about it later.¡±


    ¡°Does it hurt?¡±


    ¡°Later, Sam.¡±


    She scoffed. ¡°Fine, geez.¡± She reached for something else to say, chuckled. ¡°You know it was really goofy when you told that guy you¡¯d cut him in half, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Goofy?¡± Will asked, frowning. ¡°I wasn¡¯t joking.¡±


    ¡°No one cuts anyone in half, Will. That¡¯s stupid.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t been in the Frontier long enough if that¡¯s what you think.¡±


    ¡°Right, right. Of course.¡± She drummed her hands on her knees. ¡°How were you going to cut him in half, anyway? Logistically, I mean. Lengthwise? Across? Diagonal, even?¡±


    ¡°Use your imagination.¡±


    Sam rolled her eyes. What an edgy little nerd. Definitely not sexy, she reminded herself.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Just to be safe, she kept her eyes off his stubbled jawline. That was new. He hadn¡¯t been able to grow any facial hair more than a few pubey chin hairs last time she¡¯d seen him.


    Will leaned back against the rock, breathing heavy, a grating rasp in his throat when he inhaled. It made her shiver, reminding her of those last few months, the hospital bed, the tube shoved down his trachea to keep his lungs inflating when he got too weak to do it himself. Watching him slowly waste away. Sam squeezed her eyes shut to dispel the memory, but that only made it stand out stark against the backs of her eyelids.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for letting you go through that,¡± he said, looking up into the green canopy, his tired voice bringing her back to the present. ¡°I should have been faster.¡±


    Sam grinned. ¡°At least I¡¯ll be able to tick ¡®slavery¡¯ off the bucket list.¡±


    ¡°I just hope your new friends know how to keep their mouths shut. You don¡¯t know how precarious the situation is right now.¡±


    ¡°Why couldn¡¯t we take them with us?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust them not to gut us in our sleep. Besides, if you start picking up strays in this place, that¡¯s all you¡¯ll be doing for the rest of your life. I¡¯ve got enough as it is.¡±


    ¡°Does that mean I¡¯m not the first girl you¡¯ve fished out of the ocean?¡± Sam asked, the hardness in her voice only half-joking.


    Will chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯t worry¡ªI reserved that honor just for you.¡±


    Sam watched Will attempt to get his breath back for some time, and began inching closer to him. Their knees were almost touching before she realized what she was doing, but by then it would have been too awkward to shuffle away again, so she endured the close proximity despite the fact that it made her cheeks flush. He smelled like sweat. It wasn¡¯t sexy at all.


    When he looked like he was about to slump over, she pushed him back against the rock again. ¡°Seriously, Will, what¡¯s wrong with you? This isn¡¯t just tired. You haven¡¯t¡­?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t gotten sick again,¡± Will replied, completing her thought. ¡°I pushed myself a bit too hard, that''s all.¡± He held out his left arm, and hiked up the sleeve to reveal a circular mark similar to her own, depicting a cauldron instead of a hammer. However, where Sam only had one crystal studding her arm, Will had¡­ she counted fourteen. A full line of ten going down almost to his wrist, and another that stopped short. A few of them shone with a soft blue glow, like Sam¡¯s did, but more than half of them were dark¡ªnearly black. He tapped one of the dull ones with a fingernail. ¡°These things are called AP crystals. You gain one with every level, so by counting how many another person has, you can tell what level they are.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re Level 14?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m Level 1?¡±


    ¡°Mmhmm.¡±


    ¡°Is fourteen a lot?¡±


    Will gave a half-shrug. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t want to brag¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, shut up.¡± She repressed the urge to punch him in the tit, fearing she might collapse his rib cage with her new strength.


    He smiled wanly. ¡°But yeah, fourteen is considered a lot. Most people plateau around, hmm¡­ Between five and seven, I¡¯d say. Anything over ten will start to get you some looks.¡±


    ¡°Right, right, I¡¯m very impressed. But we were talking about the reason you look like death caught the flu.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m getting there. These AP crystals aren¡¯t just decoration. They store energy¡ªenergy you can use to cast skills given to you by the Concord.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°When you use a lot of them, it puts a toll on your body. It¡¯s called skill fatigue. If you overdo it, it can build up enough to put you out of commission for a while. Even kill you, in very extreme cases.¡±


    ¡°And you overdid it?¡±


    ¡°Like I said, I was in a hurry.¡± He shrugged. ¡°And there was a lot of running involved.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯ll be fine, right? You won¡¯t be coughing up a lung or anything?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I just need a minute before I can keep going. It¡¯s not much further to where we¡¯re headed.¡±


    Sam nodded. Despite the derisive smile she affected, she was relieved. ¡°So¡­ What¡¯s this place we¡¯re headed to?¡±


    ¡°I have a house.¡±


    ¡°Brag about it, why don¡¯t you.¡±


    Will¡¯s one eye fixed her with a hard look, but he eventually broke into a smile. ¡°You¡¯ll be meeting a few¡­ acquaintances of mine when we get there. They can be a little colorful, but they¡¯re fine, for the most part.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me you have friends? Now I know you¡¯re lying.¡±


    ¡°Such a brat,¡± Will muttered, but didn¡¯t challenge her further. Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out a paper packet, extracting a cigarette from it and pinching it between his lips.


    ¡°Oh yeah, that¡¯ll really help you catch your breath.¡±


    Ignoring her, Will struck a match and lit up his cigarette, giving it a few hard puffs before exhaling twin plumes through his nostrils with a grateful sigh. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know,¡± he said, ¡°these are a herbal product of my own design. And no, it won¡¯t give me cancer¡ªthey¡¯re actually healthy for you.¡± He coughed and cleared his throat.  ¡°In moderation, anyway. Care to try?¡±


    Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m good, thanks.¡±


    ¡°Boring.¡±


    ¡°Dude, you¡¯re not going to peer-pressure me into smoking¡ªI¡¯m not thirteen years old.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I forgot how much you hate fun.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you.¡±


    They chuckled.


    Surprisingly, Will did seem perkier after a little influx of tar in his lungs. Standing up, he waved aside Sam¡¯s efforts to steady him. ¡°Let¡¯s get moving,¡± he said. ¡°Best not to get caught out here at night.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Sam asked.


    He offered her a lop-sided smile. ¡°There are worse things than slave traders in these parts.¡±


    That¡¯s not ominous.


    When Will started moving, Sam trotted along after. ¡°You know what way we¡¯re going, right?¡± It all looked the same to her.


    He didn¡¯t answer. Not cute at all.

 Chapter 12 - Meet the Cohabitating Acquaintances

    Sam


    ¡°Artie made it sound like Laborers are pretty sought after,¡± Sam said as she followed in Will¡¯s footsteps, keeping her eyes on the ground so she wouldn''t cut her bare feet on any sharp rocks or thorny underbrush.


    ¡°They are,¡± Will replied over his shoulder. And what shoulders they were. ¡°Laborer is the rarest Profession by a good margin. As you might imagine, there aren¡¯t exactly any decent census records in a place like this, but it¡¯s estimated that less than half a percent of lifers¡ªpeople reborn into the Frontier¡ªpick Laborer.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s rare¡ªwhy does that matter, though?¡±


    ¡°There are a few reasons. You level up based on your participation and personal achievement in the activity associated with your Profession. Laborer is the only Profession that can level up from pure physical exertion¡ªsuch as fighting, for instance. That makes them by far the best option for soldiers, guards, mercenaries, you name it.


    ¡°They also have several powerful abilities that help boost their performance in this role. Like the skill called Strike, which is technically the only pure offensive ability provided by the Concord, originally made for fighting off aggressive wildlife and such. High demand for Laborers combined with low supply means that local warlords are always jumping at the chance to recruit more of them.¡±


    ¡°Right. And what are you supposed to be, exactly?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a Cook-Explorer synergist.¡± Looking over his shoulder, he grinned at the querying look on her face. ¡°That means I started out as a Cook, then branched into Explorer when I got the chance to specialize at Level 10, giving me access to abilities from both Professions.¡±


    ¡°Sounds complicated.¡±


    Will jumped over a root that stuck out of the earth like a bent knee. ¡°Only until you get the hang of it. Don¡¯t worry, this stuff will become second nature eventually.¡±


    Sure. I don¡¯t think this dream is going to last that long, but whatever.


    ¡°Artie said Explorers were bad,¡± Sam pointed out. ¡°Why¡¯d you pick that as your second option?¡±


    ¡°Well, our dear Artie was half right. Explorers actually get some really nice features, especially for traversal and navigation, but it¡¯s held back by the fact that you need to, well, explore to get anywhere with it. Traveling outside the walled cities isn¡¯t exactly conducive to a long life. It doesn¡¯t help that about a third of all lifers are Explorers. That¡¯s on account of the fact that most people don¡¯t have any idea what they¡¯re getting into when they have to pick their Profession, and ¡®Explorer¡¯ sounds a lot cooler than ¡®Physician¡¯ for example, meaning it¡¯s the opposite situation from Laborer¡ªhigh supply, low demand. Explorers are often consigned to drudgery in mines and sawmills and such, on account of the fact that as long as you keep them penned up in one place, you don¡¯t have to worry about them ever outleveling their captors and overthrowing them, meaning you have a constant supply of menial labor without much fuss.


    ¡°That being said, Explorer can be a nice branch-out pick for lifers who have already got enough levels under their belt that they can reasonably travel around a bit, given the fact that synergists can level up from the activity of the Profession they branch into, as well as the one they started with.¡±


    ¡°I guess that makes sense.¡± It sort of did. A little bit.


    The sky was beginning to purple when they abruptly stepped out of the woods and into a field of short grass with colorful bunches of wildflowers in blue and red and yellow.


    At the head of a shallow hill maybe a hundred feet in the distance, there stood a cluster of buildings with warm light shining out of several. Shifting silhouettes suggested people moving about within.


    Sam tensed up, fearing another run-in with some friendly neighborhood flesh dealers.


    ¡°Here we are,¡± Will said, sounding tiredly triumphant. ¡°The farm. If there¡¯s anyplace in the Frontier where you can let your guard down, it¡¯s here.¡±


    Sam felt her muscles slowly unbunch as she followed Will up the gently sloping ground. They walked past stumps of trees cut down to clear more arable land, and several crop fields extending out to their right.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    A dark figure came pounding toward them from the buildings, moving with an odd, shambling, hunch-backed gait, and Sam¡¯s hackles immediately rose again. Whatever that was, it certainly did not look human.


    It took her brain several moments to process that it was, in fact, a chimp in human clothing¡ªan open-front vest adorned with wooden toggles and embroidered with the number ¡®1¡¯ at the breast.


    For some reason, Will did not appear alarmed, stopping and directing several unfamiliar hand signs at the chimp, who replied in kind with thick but surprisingly nimble fingers before knuckling on past the man, headed straight for Sam.


    She found herself unable to speak as the chimp stopped before her, its wide lips peeling back in a gummy grimace, showing yellow canines that would easily rend flesh.


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Sam stammered, holding her pile of chains protectively in front of her chest. ¡°Hello? Nice to meet you?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s Number One,¡± Will said, looking inordinately amused by her discomfort. The withering glare she shot his way did not seem to have any effect. The chimp made another round of signs with both hands, and Will added: ¡°He says it¡¯s nice to meet you, too. He wants you to bend down a little.¡±


    Reluctantly, Sam did as she was asked. The chimp¡ªNumber One¡ªreached up with one over-long arm and touched the collar around her neck with two fingers, signing with the other hand.


    At the chimp¡¯s touch, the solid metal confining Sam¡¯s neck suddenly came apart with a series of snapping sounds, little bits of iron tumbling over her shoulders and disappearing into the grass.


    Sam gaped. Letting the chain¡ªwhich was no longer attached to anything¡ªdrop to the ground with a hissing rattle, she felt at her neck with both hands, finding nothing except a bit of chafed skin to remind her that there had in fact been a collar there a moment prior.


    ¡°That skill is called ¡®Demolish¡¯,¡± Will explained. ¡°It destroys non-living matter. Convenient, right?¡±


    ¡°Convenient,¡± Sam agreed numbly.


    Number One gave her another frightening grimace. Smiling, she realized, feeling a little foolish. He was probably trying to put her at ease. ¡°Good monkey,¡± she said, and patted him on his graying, wispy-haired head.


    Smile widening, Number One offered out his hand, and Sam took it. The skin was rough and hard, feeling almost like grainy wood, but his grip was surprisingly gentle.


    ¡°He¡¯s a kind soul,¡± Will said as the chimp began leading them up the slope.


    ¡°I¡¯m noticing that.¡±


    ¡°The others can be a little rowdier.¡±


    ¡°The others? There¡¯s more than one chimp?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll let that be a surprise.¡±


    Five. Not a minute later she had five clothed chimps gathered around her, chattering and hooting and making insistent hand signs both at her and each other, wrestling for space. Two of them were nursing cigarettes, and a third used the ember from one of his compatriots¡¯ rolls to light up one of his own.


    ¡°What are they saying?¡± Sam asked over the wave of simian commotion.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to know,¡± Will replied, coughing into his fist.


    She frowned. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­¡±


    ¡°Will.¡±


    ¡°Look, there are no sexual harassment laws on the Frontier.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. They¡¯ll keep their hands to themselves, I''m sure.¡±


    Suddenly, the chimps¡¯ grinning faces looked a lot sketchier than they had a few moments ago, especially with the cigarettes pinched between their lips. She could almost imagine them sitting outside a cafe somewhere, rudely catcalling at passing women. Dear god, where have I ended up?


    Muffled bleating from a stables to her left suggested that there were even more animals she hadn¡¯t seen. She just hoped the goats weren¡¯t wearing pants.


    ¡°Hey! Leave the poor thing alone, you brutes!¡± came a hoarse voice. Looking up, Sam saw a man standing on the raised wooden porch of the main farmhouse, leaning against a rough-hewn support pillar with his arms crossed over his chest. He was terribly ugly in a ¡®weird uncle¡¯ sort of way¡ªhalf bald, with the rest of his hair sticking out in a chaotic, greasy shock.


    At his command, the chimps reluctantly backed away, giving Sam some space. With a few more verbal prods, he eventually got them to disperse, three of them piling into a smaller building while the remaining two fetched shortbows and bristling quivers and ventured off into the woods.


    ¡°That¡¯s Matt,¡± Will explained, nodding toward the ugly fellow. ¡°He goes by Mongrel. Don¡¯t ever play cards with him. Or dice. Actually, just don¡¯t gamble with him at all. He¡¯s the worst sort of bastard in just about every way you could imagine.¡±


    Pushing himself off the pillar, Mongrel sketched out an exaggerated bow. His arms were seemingly too long for his body, hanging awkwardly down the sides of his body. ¡°Guilty as charged. And you must be the Samantha I¡¯ve heard so many wistful fireside tales about.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s meee,¡± Sam said with a smile and an awkward shuffle that she immediately regretted.


    ¡°You¡¯re prettier than I thought you¡¯d be.¡±


    ¡°Mongrel,¡± Will said in a warning tone.


    ¡°I just mean that I expected any woman desperate enough to get with this loser,¡± he pointed at Will with a scuffed boot, ¡°to be on the frumpier end of the bell curve. No offense, kid. And frankly, from what he told me about your wrestling days, I was expecting something more like a bear in a dress.¡±


    Will groaned softly.


    ¡°O-Oh,¡± Sam said, her face going hot. ¡°Um, we weren¡¯t actually, uh, together. We were just friends.¡±


    ¡°Good friends,¡± Will agreed.


    ¡°Right, of course,¡± Mongrel said, looking between the two of them with a smirk that was altogether too knowing. ¡°Well, now that I¡¯ve said my hellos, I think maybe I should give you good friends some privacy, eh?¡± With that, he spun dramatically on his heel and sauntered inside the house, his coarse laughter echoing out into the yard until the door swung shut behind him.


    And then it was just the two of them again, and it got quiet except for the scream of an unseen goat.


    Me too, goat, Sam thought, swallowing a lump of nerves. Me too.

 Chapter 13 - Meet the Cohabitating Acquaintances [2]

    Sam


    Will went inside the house and returned bearing a stack of folded clothes. Showing her out back, he stood on the patio and motioned to an unassuming metal pipe, about four inches in diameter, that rose straight up before swinging back a short distance around chest-height in a reverse U-shape. Beside it stood a rusted hand crank.


    ¡°Very impressive,¡± Sam said, only a little sarcastically. ¡°What am I looking at?¡±


    ¡°The shower.¡±


    Will chuckled at the doubtful glance she threw his way. ¡°No hot water, I¡¯m afraid, but it¡¯s clean, and that¡¯s more than most people have, so you should consider yourself lucky. I do recommend you make it a quick wash¡ªit will be freezing cold.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s lovely, Will, but I¡¯m exhausted and overwhelmed and hungry. Can¡¯t this wait until tomorrow?¡±


    Tomorrow? Will there be a tomorrow?


    ¡°I insist,¡± Will persisted. ¡°You might have been in the water for a while before you washed up, so you will want to clean any excess salt off your skin to avoid irritation. Also, you stink of the ocean.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying I smell bad?¡±


    ¡°Yes, you stink.¡±


    ¡°Wow.¡± Sam snatched the clothes out of his hands. ¡°If you peek, I¡¯ll rip all your teeth out.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a very specific threat.¡±


    ¡°I was feeling inspired.¡±


    ¡°Well, don¡¯t worry¡ªsince no one inside apparently had the idea, I¡¯ll be starting on dinner.¡± Will placed a block of grayish soap on top of the clothes. ¡°Take this as well. I made it myself.¡±


    Sam felt irrationally annoyed as she watched him walk away, disappearing into the house through a creaky back door. Sure, she had said she was hungry, and she had threatened to render him dentally challenged, but couldn¡¯t he have tried just a little harder to stick around? This was her dream, after all. So what if she maybe wanted him to see her naked? Or, at least, to know that he wanted to.


    Sam shook free of her thoughts, a dangerous flush creeping up her neck despite the onsetting evening chill. Before she could talk herself out of it, she stripped free of her sack-cloth attire and ran out into the yard to begin pumping the crank.


    She stood there cranking away like an idiot for what felt like minutes before water finally came out of the cut-off U-bend. A dribble at first¡ªeach droplet stabbing at her like an icicle as it fell on her chest¡ªthen a sputtering jet that had her howling like a wolf.


    Freezing was an understatement. The sea had felt warmer, somehow.


    Sam stayed under the water only long enough to lather herself up in lightly lavender-scented soap and rinse it all off again, awkwardly transitioning between rubbing herself down and working the crank whenever the flow began to lessen.


    Afterward, she tiptoed to the patio with her arms wrapped around herself; teeth chattering, skin stiff with gooseflesh. She could not get into her new clothes fast enough. They were drab but blissfully warm woolens¡ªa little tight on her, but otherwise all right, and infinitely less scratchy than the last set. The double set of knitted socks she had been given was very much appreciated.


    It took Sam a moment to realize why the clothes fit her so oddly in the first place.


    These are Will¡¯s clothes, aren¡¯t they? She found herself clutching the hem of the tunic and forced herself to release it.


    Wearing his clothes. Smelling like his soap. Maybe she had died and gone to heaven. She¡¯d never heard of a heaven with slave traders in it, but how could it be anything different, if it came with such grand gifts as this?


    Clean and clothed, Sam had to admit that her skin didn¡¯t feel quite so raw, and when she bundled the old clothes into her arms she thought they smelled fishy. Knocking on the door to be let in, she suddenly felt a low-grade worry buzzing in her stomach¡ªas though, despite everything, someone would open the door and tell her to go away.


    Then she felt stupid for knocking in the first place. Should I have just walked in? Am I being weird?


    It was Mongrel who opened the door. He squinted into the dark at her, scratching at the uneven stubble on his leathery jowls. ¡°Oh dear, did I miss my chance to catch a peek? A man takes one innocent little nap¡­¡± He sighed wistfully, then began frowning. ¡°Well? What are you doing standing there like a field mouse? And why¡¯d you knock in the first place? This isn¡¯t some fancy-schmancy hotel or anything.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Sam struggled to process the juxtaposition of lechery and friendliness delivered with equal casualness. ¡°I don¡¯t know?¡±


    Mongrel scoffed. ¡°You¡¯re a little strange, eh? I can see why Will likes you.¡± Leaning in conspiratorially, he whispered: ¡°He likes the crazy ones, you know.¡± When a beckoning motion didn¡¯t get her moving¡ªshe was still a bit stunned¡ªhe hauled her inside by the collar of her tunic, then hooked the door with a toe and pulled it shut. ¡°You were letting the bugs in,¡± he explained.


    Sam didn¡¯t care about that. Matching his surreptitious tone, she asked: ¡°Did he say that?¡±


    ¡°Say what?¡±


    ¡°That he likes me.¡±


    A crooked ear-to-ear grin split the older man¡¯s face in a display of bent, cracked, and yellowed teeth. ¡°Oh, he looo¡ª¡±


    Something whizzed past the tip of Mongrel¡¯s nose and he jerked back, pressing himself against the wall. Looking to her right, Sam found a slender knife embedded in the doorframe.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Enough of that,¡± Will said as he wandered into the room, his voice eerily calm. ¡°Mongrel, go back to sleep. Food won¡¯t be ready for another half-hour.¡±


    Recovering his grin in an instant, Mongrel scampered past Sam and made his way through the soft-furnitured room¡ªa living room, maybe?¡ªslipping through a doorway into the one Will had come out of.


    Sam wished he had been allowed to finish that sentence. With no one else to direct her frustration toward, she glared at Will. It was difficult to be angry with him, though, because he was wearing a pink cooking apron, and had a smudge of flour on his chin. The downturn of his stitched-shut eye, which gave him a permanently dour expression, made the whole thing appear more than a little comical.


    ¡°You like stew, don¡¯t you?¡± Will asked, leveling a used ladle toward her like a weapon.


    ¡°I-I do,¡± Sam admitted, immediately kicking herself for stuttering. Why couldn¡¯t she play this cool to save her life?


    Will nodded, lowering his culinary club. ¡°Good, because we¡¯re having beef stew. We only have meat on special nights, but I reckon tonight qualifies.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Fuck you, Sam! Say something smart! ¡°Uh¡­ Nice apron.¡±


    Will did not look down. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got something on your chin.¡± Before she realized what she was doing, she had crossed half the room to wipe it away for him. Except he had already gotten it with the back of his hand, and she was now just staring awkwardly at his one dark eye, her half-raised hands not quite wanting to come back down.


    ¡°How was the shower?¡± Will asked. Somehow, his closed eye seemed to be leering at her.


    ¡°Cold,¡± Sam replied.


    ¡°And now?¡±


    ¡°Better.¡± Shit. Would he have hugged me if I told him I was cold?


    She found that she had dropped her old clothes on the floor only when Will looked down at them, poking at the rough pile with his foot. ¡°Would you toss those outside for me? We¡¯ll burn them tomorrow. After that, please come through to the kitchen.¡±


    Will went away, and Sam was left gasping for no reason. Slowly, numbly, she moved to do as she had been instructed. But she paused in a halfway crouch, arms outstretched to pick up the old clothing¡ªnow that she had been left alone, she had a moment to take in the living room. It was dimly lit by a pair of lanterns hanging from opposite walls. There was a cold fireplace off to her left, surrounded by two padded armchairs and a circular coffee table. Three bookshelves lined the walls, quite well-stuffed, with less fortunate volumes lying scattered across the floor in several disordered piles. A grandfather clock of polished walnut, as tall as she was, ticked away in a corner. The time read 9:33.


    Despite a number of threadbare rugs, the room had precious little in the way of ornamentation, even the mantle standing empty. Those curtains were a dreadful puke-yellow, too. There could be no doubt that this was a man¡¯s den.


    This place could use a woman¡¯s touch, Sam thought dreamily. Interior decoration was never my strong suit, but I suppose if I have no choice¡­


    She bowled the bundle of sack-cloth through the back door and hurried down the hall Will had disappeared into. She would have been able to find her way to the kitchen even without directions, a mouth-watering scent of savory meats growing stronger as she neared it. Taking a left through the hallway, she entered a warm and brightly lit room where the food smell culminated in an explosion of scents she could almost taste on her tongue. Suddenly, her stomach was fist-fighting the inside of her ribs in its insistence to be filled.


    The kitchen was large. Its walls were white-washed and hung with dried herbs and black iron cookware and chains of hard-skinned sausages. A large square dining table of solid wood dominated the center of the room. Chairs surrounded it on three sides, with the quarter facing the back wall taken up by a white kitchen couch painted with floral patterns. Mongrel snoozed atop it, eyes hidden in the crook of his uplifted arm.


    Two fires burned on opposite ends of the room. A cooking fire on her right where Will labored over a large cauldron, taking a spoon to his fragrant creation for a tasting. Then, there was another fire on her left, a hearth that burned brightly for warmth. A figure lying in front of the fire blocked some of the light pooling from it, sending a dark shadow dancing over the floor in time with its shifting flames.


    Sam almost let her gaze slide past, then quickly found her attention firmly fixed on the figure by the hearth. Was that a woman? Yes, it was. Was she naked? Yes, she was. And was her skin¡­ oddly gray?


    ¡°Nyx?¡± Sam asked doubtfully.


    ¡°Oh, hello darling,¡± greeted the demon in her unmistakable sing-song drawl. She did not bother to look up from the fire, but did raise her hand in a lazy little wave, before letting it slap back down on her thigh. ¡°We¡¯ve all been waiting with bated breath for your arrival. I, for one, did not wager on you dashing your skull open against the rocks before reaching shore. Matthew owes me money.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s joking,¡± William said¡ªthough he didn¡¯t sound all that sure¡ªand Sam found him standing protectively by her side, again hefting that ladle like he intended to use it on somebody. ¡°Sam, Nyx¡ª¡± he shrugged, ¡°well, no need for introductions between the two of you. I take it you already know she¡¯s a demon?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Sam replied carefully, not taking her eyes off the well-curved taper of Nyx¡¯s back. ¡°Does she¡­ live here?¡±


    ¡°More like squatting,¡± Will replied with a sigh, sounding embarrassed. ¡°She¡¯s refusing to leave, and I¡¯m afraid there¡¯s nothing I can do to make her.¡±


    Sam glanced over, and was pleased to find that he was looking at her, not the demon¡¯s bare ass. ¡°Really? But you can make doors explode off hinges and stuff. Couldn¡¯t you at least, I dunno, make her wear some clothes?¡± Unless you prefer her naked, that is.


    She could not help a slight narrowing of her eyes, despite knowing that she really ought to hear him out before making any judgements. It¡¯s not like it concerns me anyway. We¡¯re just friends, after all. I¡¯m sure he¡¯s found plenty of girls¡ªor demons or whatever¡ªto smooch in the past five years. And good for him! There¡¯s no reason he shouldn¡¯t.


    But¡­


    But it¡¯s my dream, and I don¡¯t want my boyf¡ª my good friend making eyes at some trashy succubus who doesn¡¯t even have the common decency to wear some potato sacks to the dinner table.


    ¡°If only demons were so easily evicted,¡± Will sighed in response. Then, with a flourish of his wrist, he hurled the ladle across the room, sent spinning right at the back of the demon¡¯s head.


    Sam almost cried a warning out on pure reflex, despite her less-than-stellar opinion of the demon, but never got the chance as the cooking implement phased straight through her skull, as though she were suddenly made of smoke. It bounced first off the floor, then the wall, and Nyx caught it in her fist as it came flying back toward her.


    ¡°Optional corporeality,¡± Nyx said, placing her chin on her shoulder and looking back at Sam with mischief in her yellow eyes. ¡°Isn¡¯t it convenient?¡±


    ¡°Very,¡± Sam muttered through clenched teeth. ¡°So you just live here?¡±


    ¡°Mmhmm,¡± Nyx purred. She turned back to studying the fire, wiggling slightly to find a more comfortable position.


    ¡°And you have something against clothes, I take it?¡±


    ¡°Whatever makes you say that? I love dressing up in cute little human outfits. It¡¯s all so quaint. I do prefer to be comfortable when I¡¯m at home, of course.¡± As if to illustrate, Nyx steepled one leg, and Sam was forced to quickly look away lest she expose herself to a potential cognitohazard.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ I¡¯m sorry,¡± Will said with a dejected shrug. ¡°If there was anything I could do, she¡¯d be out on her ass, believe me.¡±


    ¡°I can hear you!¡± Nyx called.


    ¡°Good. Can I have my spoon back?¡±


    ¡°Only if you ask nicely, dear.¡±


    Will did not do that. Instead, he simply stomped over and yanked it out of her hand. She did not resist, but wore a look of unrestrained hunger as she watched him go, like a cat gearing up to pounce on a scurrying morsel. Except in Nyx¡¯s case, her hand hovered lazily, poised to smack his rump, before he passed out of range and she let it drop instead, releasing her disappointment with a disdainful yawn.


    ¡°And to think I was almost starting to like her,¡± Sam muttered under her breath. ¡°I see how it is now¡­¡±


    I won¡¯t lose to anyone, she urged herself; admonishing. Not in my own dream.


    It would be some time yet until dinner. Seating herself at the table to wait, she was caught between staring wistfully at Will¡¯s well-shaped back and glaring daggers into Nyx¡¯s nude one.

 Chapter 14 - Meet the Cohabitating Acquaintances [3]

    Will


    He had really hoped that Nyx would get bored and find someone else to exploit once she had fulfilled her bargain, but it seemed as though she was extracting great pleasure from tormenting him specifically, and not about to let up anytime soon.


    He did not even want to begin considering what Sam thought about the arrangement. Nothing good, surely. And who could blame her? To her, it must look like¡­ Except, of course he wasn¡¯t, only¡­ Then again, it wasn¡¯t like he and Sam were¡­ She was his friend, and he needed her, but that was it. Still, he didn¡¯t want her to come to the wrong conclusions about him.


    Feeling Sam staring holes in his back, Will focused on stirring the stew¡ªmore than was strictly necessary, really¡ªand resisted the urge to check over his shoulder. He was sweating profusely, and not just on account of the cooking fire, either.


    Sam had cleaned up a little too nicely for comfort, especially now that she was out of those terrible rags. Frighteningly enough, his hand-me-downs looked snug on her, despite the fact that he was neither short nor thin. She must have been eating about a cow a day since he¡¯d last seen her, considering how strong she looked. She¡¯d always wanted to be a superhero when they were kids, and now she certainly looked the part. Muscled and bright-faced, hair like burnished copper, a dusting of freckles across her nose. The very picture of innocence and strength crammed into one very solid package.


    She¡¯s exactly what the Frontier needs, Will mused, exceedingly pleased. I just need to get her to a decent level so I can start making use of her.


    He felt a sting of shame at thinking of her that way, like a pawn to be shuffled around on a board. But then, would it have been any better if he had murdered her and bundled her off to another world for his personal satisfaction? At least this way, he had an excuse. It was the world that needed her, not him.


    He did not sound convincing, even to himself.


    Will¡¯s stomach knotted harder, and he only barely stifled an anguished groan. He was not looking forward to the conversation he would need to have with her before the end of the night.


    At last the food was done, and Sam helped Will set the table, the two of them moving about each other in furtive silence as they placed down bowls and spoons and mugs and bottles. He hoped his face didn¡¯t look as flushed as it felt.


    Miraculously, Mongrel went from completely catatonic to sitting upright the moment the cauldron hit the table, like a saint rising out of his grave. He reached for the ladle, and Will slapped his hand away with a low hiss.


    ¡°I¡¯m not done yet,¡± he admonished, and held his hands out over the cauldron, palms down. Sam watched him curiously. ¡°Prepare,¡± he said, and the cauldron rattled as a ring of steam shot out the top and its contents simmered momentarily, then returned to placidity.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Will muttered, mentally kicking himself. ¡°I should¡¯ve had you taste it beforehand, so you could tell the difference. Oh, whatever.¡± He took Sam¡¯s bowl and began ladling stew into it, ignoring the reproachful look he got from Mongrel at the terrible injustice of not having been served first. ¡°Prepare is one of the Cook¡¯s signature skills. Very useful.¡± He put down her bowl in front of her, embarrassed that he had filled it nearly to the rim¡ªthough she did like her food, he remembered, and she would need to eat a lot while her body was integrating the influx of attribute points she had put into it. He did not know of another person who had allocated twenty at once before¡ªhe wondered if there were any dangers associated with that kind of leap.


    Sam cut herself a thick slice of bread and dolloped on a glob of salted butter, then took a bite of it along with a big, heaping spoonful of stew. She chewed forcefully, taking quick inhalations to cool it down some, swallowed, and had the spoon halfway to her mouth again before halting mid-motion.


    ¡°Woah,¡± she said. ¡°This is¡­ so good.¡± She smacked her lips thoughtfully, went for that second bite, and nodded with vigor. ¡°Fuck, what did you put in this? Nothing illegal, I hope.¡± She began elaborating further, but her speech soon became indiscernibly muffled by another mouthful of food.


    Will could not help but swell a little with smug pride. ¡°Prepare is a skill that heightens any edible it¡¯s used on to its extremes. Use it on something tasty, and it becomes tastier. Use it on something gross, though, and you¡¯ll only make it more gross. So only a Cook that can, well, actually cook can put Prepare to good use.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± Mongrel muttered, having served himself a portion and begun slurping it down, ¡°but no one likes a braggart.¡±This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°Of course, our local Farmer-Builder Mongrel makes all the produce¡ªthe high-quality ingredients he provides are equally important for elevating the home cooking around here.¡±


    ¡°Really damn good, as I said,¡± Mongrel corrected himself, puffed up like a rooster.


    ¡°Although,¡± Will amended, ¡°maybe I should give the credit to the boys, since they do all the work. Mongrel mostly sits on his ass all day.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s called ¡®delegating¡¯, son,¡± Mongrel said with an indignant sniff. ¡°If anything, I have the toughest job around here, since I have to wrangle the whoresons. It¡¯s not an easy job, I tell you.¡± He wagged a knobbly finger. ¡°But, well, someone¡¯s gotta make sure this place keeps running.¡± He gave a weary, put-upon sigh, then comforted himself with another few mouthfuls of stew.


    ¡°Where are the little devils, anyway?¡± Sam asked. ¡°Won¡¯t they be hungry, too?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯ve got their own hut to themselves. They¡¯ve been given their supper already, so I reckon they¡¯re enjoying their mid-evening smoke session. Ah, but Number One and Number Two are keeping watch over the farm, making sure nothing goes bump in the night. They all take turns.¡±


    ¡°Does that kind of thing happen a lot? Bad things, I mean.¡±


    Will cleared his throat. ¡°Let¡¯s just say most people choose to live inside city walls for a reason.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°Does that frighten you?¡±


    Sam grinned at that, and her eyes shone like feverish blue flames. ¡°What a silly thing to say!¡±


    ¡°Well, I understand your incredible talent for diving headfirst into trouble hasn¡¯t lessened any, but it might be healthy for you to cultivate some sort of self-preservation skills.¡±


    ¡°So I don¡¯t go and get myself murdered or something like that, you mean?¡± she asked, still smiling.


    Will nearly swallowed his food the wrong way, cleared his throat noisily. ¡°Ah¡­ yes. Something like that, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Will. I can take care of myself.¡±


    It seemed an insane statement to deliver with such utter confidence in a place like the Forlorn Frontier, but Will found that he believed her. Sam¡¯s talent for tangling herself up in every mess she came across was no joke, but she was equally adept at smashing her way out of them again.


    The way he saw it, the only reason she could charge through problems like she did was because she was too bull-headed to realize that she should be the one getting knocked down. Those kinds of thoughts just didn¡¯t enter her head. He wasn¡¯t sure what actually did go on in there, aside from¡­ thinking about her next workout, or something. He had never quite shared her enthusiasm for picking things up only to put them back down again.


    Nyx eventually came and joined them at the table, curling up cross-legged beside Mongrel on the kitchen couch. Will had made a point of not setting out a bowl for her, but she had taken the liberty of fetching one from the cupboard anyway. She took a helping of stew and two slices of bread besides, and drained two mugs of beer before pouring herself a third, burping against the back of her hand. Will ground his teeth, nurturing a cold resentment in the pit of his stomach. Demons did not need human sustenance to survive, but Nyx insisted on eating more than her share anyway. One day, he was going to find out how to hurt her kind, and when he did, he would wring her neck into knots.


    Mongrel made no attempt to hide the fact that he was staring at her breasts, the bowl-to-mouth back-and-forth of his spoon slowing to a crawl while he studied her naked form, humming appreciatively like an art critic admiring a sublime piece of art.


    Nyx soon took notice of it, and tucked her arms back and thrust out her chest to give him a better look. ¡°See something you like, Matthew?¡± she cooed.


    Mongrel opened his mouth to reply, but Will cut him off. ¡°Mongrel,¡± he growled warningly.


    ¡°Looking is nice, but touching is even nicer,¡± Nyx continued, undeterred, without looking in Will¡¯s direction. She moved an inch closer to the ugly man. ¡°Go on, Matthew. I won¡¯t charge much for the privilege.¡±


    Mongrel looked down at his hands like a man at war with himself, the¡ªvery small, no doubt¡ªrational part of him trying hard to wrestle back his pathetically overdeveloped libido.


    ¡°Mongrel, you know what we agreed,¡± Will said sternly, trying to nudge his friend¡ªbecause that was, sadly, what he was¡ªback to sanity. However much of that Mongrel had ever been in possession of. ¡°No one makes any more deals with the demon. None.¡±


    Mongrel bristled, tucking his chin down against his chest. ¡°I know that,¡± he grumbled. ¡°I wasn¡¯t considering it or anything.¡±


    ¡°Of course not, Matthew,¡± Nyx agreed, sounding entirely too amused. ¡°I was just teasing.¡± She scratched him behind the ear with one long fingernail, and Mongrel swallowed hard while he tried¡ªand failed¡ªnot to appear affected.


    For some reason, Sam looked rather pleased about all this, nodding to herself with a secret little smirk before digging into her food with renewed vigor, heaping herself another portion that was barely any smaller than the first one he had given her. She really was hungry.


    She had forced down three full portions by the time she finally called it quits so he could begin cleaning up, and if he didn¡¯t know any better he would have thought she was looking around for dessert, the greedy guts. She patted her belly contentedly, and Nyx echoed the gesture. Sam shared a reluctant laugh with the demoness, and Will shook his head as he worked on scrubbing the cauldron clean. Despite her better judgment, she seemed to make friends with everyone she met sooner or later.


    Then the cleaning was done, and the bowls were dried and put away, the mugs left out so people could nurse a drink throughout the night. And suddenly there was nothing else for Will to busy himself with, and he knew that he couldn¡¯t keep putting off what he wanted to put off more than anything in the world.


    ¡°Sam,¡± he said, almost scaring himself with how serious he sounded. His breath hitched when she smiled up at him from her seat, and he had to take a moment to still himself. ¡°Would you mind if we speak in private for a minute? There¡¯s something important I need to tell you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, of course,¡± she replied quickly, running a hand through her short hair. ¡°What do you wanna talk about?¡±


    ¡°Would you go and wait on the front porch for me?¡± he asked, blowing past her question. ¡°I¡¯m just going to fetch some things¡ªI¡¯ll be with you in a minute.¡±


    ¡°All right.¡± She sounded a little more hesitant now, but she was already standing up, chair scraping on the floor. ¡°Just don¡¯t keep me waiting, tough guy.¡±

 Chapter 15 - That Awkward Moment When...

    Sam


    Will hurried off into another part of the house, and Sam was left frowning after him. What thing was he getting? Was it something romantic?


    Why would it be something romantic, stupid?


    Well, why not? It¡¯s my dream, so I get to make unreasonable requests.


    Sam went and sat on the front porch like she was asked. The cool breeze on her face helped still her nerves a little.  She leaned back on her arms as she gazed up at a night sky filled with an explosion of stars tinged pink and blue. The clouds had cleared away during the evening, leaving what felt like the whole universe on show just for her


    Sam was not used to seeing so many stars back home, with the light pollution and all. Getting to look up at them now, listening to the background hum of insects in the night air, a strange serenity descended over her like a warm blanket. She could have sat for hours taking it in.


    Her calm was shattered when something heavy landed next to her with a thump, making her start. A leather backpack, she realized, stuffed to the brim so that it bulged out, almost round. Will plopped down on the other side of it, rubbing at his always-sleeping eye.


    ¡°Say what you want about the Frontier, but it sure is pretty sometimes,¡± he murmured. Sam did not need to follow his upturned gaze to know what he was talking about.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she agreed, though she wasn¡¯t really paying so much attention to the stars anymore. ¡°What¡¯s with the bag?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s for you, depending on how this conversation goes.¡±


    Sam felt a cold lump in her stomach. ¡°It¡¯s one of those talks, huh?¡± She supposed she had expected it, but she still wished they could just enjoy a perfect night together. She deserved that, didn¡¯t she?


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how much you know,¡± Will said, speaking slowly as though choosing each word carefully. ¡°But you should know that I¡¯m responsible for¡ª¡±


    ¡°For talking Nyx into killing me?¡± Sam completed. ¡°Yeah, I know.¡±


    He shot her a rueful smile; his face shadowed, lit only by ambient starlight and the narrow bands of gold slipping through the shutters behind them. ¡°She spilled the beans, then?¡±


    Sam shrugged. ¡°Not really. It wasn¡¯t that hard a mystery to solve.¡±


    Will nodded. ¡°I suppose not. Well, I won¡¯t make any excuses. I set this whole thing in motion, sent Nyx to kill you and bring you here, and now there¡¯s no going back. Whatever my reasons were, you have every right to hate me. If you decide you don¡¯t want to see me again, there''s enough money in that pack, along with other supplies, for you to live comfortably for a while.


    ¡°If you want to stay, there¡¯s a place for you here on the farm. Since no one else seems willing to take on the responsibility, I have decided I will save the Frontier, maybe even make it a decent place to live if I can.¡± He paused, looking pointedly away from her. ¡°And I don¡¯t think I can do it without you.¡±


    Sam studied Will for a moment, then opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. ¡°Before you give me your answer, I want to say one more thing.¡± He sighed, putting his head in his hands, voice coming out a little muffled as he went on. ¡°This isn¡¯t how this was supposed to go. I had it all planned out, you know.¡±


    ¡°You always did like your plans.¡±


    ¡°I love ¡®em.¡±


    ¡°Yes, except things never seem to pan out according to the perfect little schemes you cook up in your head.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Will asked, askance. He was looking at her now, the white of his one eye standing out brighter than the rest of his shadowed form. ¡°No, you misheard me. I said I love you.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I love you, Sam.¡±


    She somehow felt hot and cold all at once, elemental forces rushing through her body to leave her a jittery mess. ¡°What?¡± she repeated. It seemed to be the only word her mouth remembered how to make.


    Will frowned. ¡°Are you fucking with me, or just deaf? I love you. I¡¯ve loved you since forever. Whatever happens next, I want you to know that.¡±


    Sam¡¯s mouth opened and closed like a fish on land, trying to make sound come out. ¡°Uh¡­¡± she stammered intelligently.


    ¡°I would have told you sooner, but I was too much of a coward at first, and it didn¡¯t seem right to put that on you after I got sick.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± Sam had wished for romantic. Now that she¡¯d actually gotten it, it still managed to take her by complete surprise.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯m not expecting an answer from you or anything¡ªI just wanted to get it off my chest. If you tell me what you want to do moving forward, whether it involves staying or leaving, I¡¯ll help you make it work.¡±


    Sam stood abruptly, not quite knowing what she was doing even as her body moved. With a firm kick, she punted the backpack off the porch.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Will called, watching as the overstuffed thing rolled off into the darkness. ¡°There¡¯s delicates¡ª¡±


    With nothing separating them now, Sam jumped on top of him, and he let out a soft yelp as his back hit the wood. Pressing her face tight to his chest, she wrapped all her limbs around him to squeeze him in the biggest hug she could physically make.


    ¡°Ow¡­¡± Will groaned.


    ¡°I love you too,¡± Sam whispered.


    ¡°Seriously, ow.¡±


    Sam squeezed him harder until his next complaint came out as an indecipherable, breathy gasp. ¡°You¡¯re so dumb.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°I hate you.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°I love you.¡±


    ¡°Sam¡­¡± Will finally choked out, tapping her shoulder.


    She let up a little, and he sucked in a hard, shuddering breath. ¡°Fuck me,¡± he groaned. ¡°You never figured out how to give normal hugs, did you?¡±


    Sam peeled herself off his chest to grin down at him. ¡°I like the sound of that first part.¡±


    She could not see him blushing in the dark, but the extended pause implied it. ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s too much for you? Oh, boo-hoo. Five years is more than enough foreplay for me, thank you very much.¡±


    ¡°No, I just¡­ didn¡¯t think you felt that way.¡±


    ¡°Well, I do. I love you so much I wanna crush you into a little meatball and carry you around in my pocket.¡± She leaned in close so she could whisper in his ear: ¡°You made the mistake of bringing me here, and now you¡¯re never getting rid of me.¡± I wish.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    She felt his chest shift as he swallowed.


    ¡°I forgive you for murdering me, by the way.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s very gracious of you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sort of wondering about something, though.¡± She released him, hoisting herself onto her haunches so he could sit up. He worked his shoulders dramatically, huffing and puffing as though he had been the victim of some terrible act. ¡°Nyx was talking about payment¡ªthat you had to give up a lot to get me here. What did she mean, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­¡±


    ¡°Your eye has something to do with it, right?¡±


    At the mention of it, Will began to scratch at his bad eye. ¡°Yes,¡± he admitted. ¡°It¡¯s not as bad as it sounds, though.¡±


    ¡°What about your finger?¡± She took his left hand, prying the fingers apart so she could get a look at the pale nub where his pinky should have been. ¡°Is that related, too?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°The demon took them as payment.¡±


    A nod.


    ¡°Did she take anything else from you?¡± Sam hardly recognized her own voice, with how eerily calm she sounded.


    ¡°Look, Sam¡ª¡±


    ¡°What did she take?¡±


    Will sighed. ¡°You have to understand, there¡¯s a reason why shuttling someone from Earth to the Frontier the way I did is almost unheard of. It¡¯s a multi-step operation, and it requires bribing not just one, but at least two demons, since the Tower custodian must also be convinced to look the other way for a non-sanctioned arrival, not to mention ensuring that you would appear at the right location in the Frontier for me to pick you up.¡±


    ¡°I got dropped in the ocean right next to a band of slavers.¡±


    ¡°Trust me, that was the best possible alternative.¡±


    She clutched his hand tightly in both of hers. ¡°What did they take from you, Will?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°An eye, like you guessed. The finger,¡± he wiggled his nub against her palm. ¡°A kidney. Three ribs. And¡­¡±


    Sam¡¯s lips pressed together tighter and tighter with every word he spoke. ¡°And?¡± she asked.


    ¡°And a testicle,¡± he concluded, somewhat sheepishly.


    ¡°Let me see if I¡¯ve got this right. The demons yanked an eye, a finger, a kidney, three ribs, and one of your balls right out of your body?¡±


    ¡°More or less. Nyx was the one doing all the yanking, though. I suppose she handed Unger his cut after. There¡¯s no way for a human to re-enter the Tower once they have passed through it, just as there is no way for the custodian to leave his post.¡±


    ¡°Will, I don¡¯t give a shit about the logistics,¡± Sam growled. Standing up, she made for the front door. ¡°Oh, I am so going to snap that whore¡¯s neck.¡±


    ¡°Sam! Sam! Sam!¡± Will caught her by the wrist, trying to hold her back.


    She frowned at his grip, still not used to the sensation that she could easily pull free if she wanted. But she stayed put. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re angry on my account¡ªreally, I am. All things considered, though, Nyx let me off a lot easier than she could have. With what I was asking for, she could have demanded a limb or two, maybe more than that, but she made do with parts that wouldn¡¯t reduce my function too much. Most demons would have refused the deal outright¡ªin this whole plan, Nyx is probably the one who was facing the most risk.


    ¡°From what I¡¯ve gathered, humans can¡¯t travel back up the Crossroads at all, and demons do so only with great difficulty. Even then, they¡¯re not supposed to. There are¡­ things, apparently, that patrol the Crossroads, punishing anyone who tries to interfere with the natural order of death and rebirth.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re taking her side in this?¡±


    ¡°I know how it sounds. I don¡¯t like having her bumming around the house either, but, well, all things considered¡­ she¡¯s done right by us. Truly. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s all part of some bigger ploy or whatever, but for the time being I¡¯m happy to let her scheme however she likes, rather than giving myself a headache by figuring out the thoughts and motives of a demon. And, again, it¡¯s not like we can do anything about her anyway, other than piss her off. In case I have to spell it out, we really don¡¯t need an infernal blood feud.¡±


    Will¡¯s one eye shone with such earnestness that Sam could not stay angry. She heaved a great sigh, and gently peeled Will¡¯s hand away before sitting back down next to him. This time, without a backpack to act as a barrier, she slid up against him until their shoulders touched. ¡°Oh, all right,¡± she said, cracking a reluctant smile. ¡°Whatever you say, Master One-Eye.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± Will muttered darkly.


    Sam snickered. ¡°Why? I think it¡¯s cute.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s really too bad then, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    They sat there a while longer, enjoying the stars. Sam put her head on Will¡¯s shoulder, felt the slow rhythm of his breathing. However strange this dream had been, she wished it would never end.


    ¡°What did she do with all your junk, anyway?¡± she eventually asked.


    ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t care about the logistics,¡± Will murmured. Slowly, almost furtively, he reached up behind her back to begin stroking her hair. She couldn¡¯t remember him ever doing that before¡ªit wasn¡¯t the sort of thing that friends, even good ones, usually did to each other. It was wonderful.


    Sam stifled a yawn against the back of her hand. ¡°I don¡¯t. But, well, I might be a little curious.¡±


    ¡°She ate them.¡±


    Her eyes, which had been slowly drifting closed, suddenly came open again. ¡°Wait, she ate your ballsack?¡±


    ¡°Only one testicle,¡± Will corrected with a significant air. ¡°And the pouch was not included, thank you very much.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah¡ªhalf your ballsack, whatever. That¡¯s still obscene.¡±


    ¡°Jealous?¡±


    ¡°Maybe a little. Not that I want to eat your balls, but I certainly don¡¯t want someone else to be eating them, either.¡±


    ¡°If it makes you feel any better, it was about as sexual as a rectal exam.¡±


    Sam snorted a laugh, and snuggled more firmly up against him. ¡°Any other¡­ testicular encounters you¡¯d like to reveal?¡±


    ¡°All the pretty Frontier girls I¡¯ve kissed, you mean?¡±


    ¡°So more than one?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes.¡±


    ¡°Are you making fun of me?¡±


    Will chuckled. ¡°Honestly, there¡¯s never been anyone. I guess I never really got over you. Well, there¡¯s no doubt that¡¯s the case, considering that you¡¯re sitting here now.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the cutest fucking thing I¡¯ve ever heard. You saved your virginity for me!¡±


    ¡°When you say it like that, it just sounds sad.¡±


    ¡°I guess we can be sad together, then.¡± She smiled brightly at him.


    ¡°No testicular encounters for you, either?¡±


    ¡°Nope. I¡¯m as pure as they come, baby.¡±


    ¡°Lucky me.¡±


    Not long after, Will announced that he was tired, and said that they could both use some rest since they had an early start tomorrow. Sam wanted to protest¡ªsleeping was the one thing she didn¡¯t want to do¡ªbut she couldn¡¯t think up a good enough excuse, and then it was too late, and they were back inside the house, and he was showing her the sleeping arrangements.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a guest room all made up for you,¡± he explained, ushering her through a door on the far right side of a short hallway. The room was fairly spacious, with all the basic furniture you¡¯d need and clean sheets and the same ugly puke-colored curtains that hung elsewhere in the house. ¡°Although, I suppose it¡¯s not really a guest room anymore since you¡¯re going to be living here. There are extra clothes in the wardrobe, but we¡¯ll have to buy you some proper ones soon.¡±


    Sam frowned at it all while listening to him ramble. ¡°So where are you going to sleep?¡±


    ¡°In my room. Why?¡±


    ¡°Show it to me.¡±


    Will¡¯s room was across the hall; identically sized, although it looked smaller because of all the clutter. The bed had not been made, blankets thrown in a pile off to one end, and the mattress was dimpled in the middle from wear. Additionally, there was only one pillow.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Sam said, nodding to herself. ¡°This will do.¡±


    ¡°You want to stay in the same room?¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s not too much trouble.¡±


    ¡°I mean, the bed¡¯s pretty narrow, and you¡¯re¡­¡± He made an airy gesture in her direction. ¡°Uh, not exactly dainty.¡±


    She raised a questioning eyebrow, arms crossed over her chest. ¡°Are you saying I¡¯m fat?¡±


    ¡°No. You are a somewhat terrifying hugger, though.¡±


    ¡°Enthusiastic.¡±


    He sighed. ¡°Regardless, it¡¯s a tight squeeze. Are you sure you wouldn¡¯t prefer¡­?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure, and I insist.¡±


    Will looked like he was reevaluating some of his life choices, but eventually shrugged. ¡°All right, have it your way. But if you start hogging the blankets in your sleep, I¡¯ll Repel you through the nearest wall.¡±


    ¡°Threats only work when the one you¡¯re threatening understands what you¡¯re talking about, you know.¡±


    Will brought an extra blanket and pillow into the room, and Sam said goodnight to Mongrel¡ªpointedly ignoring Nyx¡ªbefore she and Will began preparing for bed. There were no toothbrushes, apparently, but he gave her a pot of charcoal paste that he instructed her to rub over her teeth. It tasted like¡­ well, charcoal.


    Then, suddenly, they were stripping out of their clothes. Will, the poor thing, insisted that they have their backs turned to each other, even though they had already seen each other naked¡ªor near enough¡ªso many times that there was really nothing dramatic about it at this point.


    Once she overcame the initial shock, Sam found that she seemed to be handling their newfound intimacy with a bit more aplomb than he did. It was only a dream, of course, which meant that there were no consequences, which meant that there was no reason for her to feel embarrassed.


    Down to their underclothes, she caught a glimpse of Will¡¯s bare torso before he turned out the last of the candles. So many scars¡­


    Sam found that they suited him wonderfully.


    Then they were under the blankets together in the dark, facing each other, wrestling for space on the narrow bed, and it somehow felt like one of the thousand sleepovers they¡¯d had growing up.


    ¡°Will?¡± Sam whispered, searching out his face in the blackness, feeling his stubbled jaw.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± Will asked, voice thick as he completed a yawn.


    She quickly leaned forward to kiss him on the lips, hard and stiff and not particularly romantic, then jerked back again. Until that very second, she¡¯d had some half-formed plan of jumping his bones, but even a simple kiss was enough to make her all hot and light-headed.


    ¡°I love you,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Go to sleep,¡± Will admonished.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡±


    Will was soon unresponsive, but Sam lay awake, nestled close to him, putting her ear up to his chest so she could listen to the slow rhythm of his breathing.


    I don¡¯t want to fall asleep, she thought. Not yet. Just a little longer.


    But his warmth was already lulling her to sleep, and despite her best efforts, her eyes began to drift shut.

 Chapter 16 - Waking Up Dead

    Will


    Waking up sometime after dawn, Will found that most of the skill fatigue he had accrued yesterday was gone, leaving him only a little sore. With Sam having thrown a beefy arm over his neck and a thick leg around his waist, Will had to wrestle his way out of bed, swearing under his breath. Sam did not stir through this, merely flopping over on her back when she lost her hold on Will and rubbing her abs in her sleep. His ear hurt from enduring her snoring into it all night.


    They had a lot to do that day, but he was not about to wake her. He guessed that she could use all the rest she could get. Although, he couldn¡¯t help but stand there and watch her for a while, tied up as she was in a complex tangle of her own blankets like a badly wrapped present. She had somehow slipped her undershirt off in her sleep and discarded it next to the bed, leaving her quite naked from the waist up. Keeping his eyes clear of her flat chest¡ªaside from a few innocent glances¡ªhe yanked a corner of bedclothes out of her balled fist to restore her dignity with.


    She was so very beautiful. And she was smiling, even in her sleep. He had always loved her smile.


    Will could still not quite believe that his plan really had worked, and she was really here, right in front of him. Given the way things always went in this fucked-up place, something should have gone wrong. Oh, a few little things had, he supposed, but all in all, it had gone as well as he could ever have hoped. And she didn¡¯t hate him, which was a plus. And she¡¯d kissed him last night, at the end there. She had kissed him, hadn¡¯t she? He hadn¡¯t imagined that part, right?


    Now I just have to figure out a way to tell her about her dad.


    Tearing himself away so he didn¡¯t end up staring all day, Will got dressed and left his room, crossing over into the kitchen. Number Five was just coming in the front door bearing a wicker basket of freshly gathered produce¡ªeggs from the chicken coop, tomatoes and lettuce from the vegetable garden, and various herbs from Will¡¯s own little plot.


    He took the basket off the chimp¡¯s hands. Number Five smiled broadly and held out a leathery hand, expectant. ¡®Been good?¡¯ he signed with his free hand. ¡®Now reward?¡¯


    Will sighed, digging through his pockets until he found a half-full packet of happy puffs, tapped two of them out into the chimp¡¯s upturned palm. When Number Five began to scamper off, Will called after him: ¡°Hey! Is your dad still asleep?¡±


    ¡®Washing,¡¯ Number Five replied over his shoulder.


    ¡°Ah. He¡¯s bound for the city today, then.¡± Mongrel only cleaned up when he planned on going whoring. Why he was only able to summon any propriety for ladies of the night, Will had no idea, but anything that got the odd little man acting¡ªand smelling¡ªlike a somewhat normal human being for a while had his full support. If anything, Will wished he¡¯d go more often.


    Assuming that Sam would be hungry when she woke up, he tied on his apron and busied himself with making breakfast. He cooked an omelet with a dozen eggs that would hopefully be enough for everyone, then chopped a salad with lettuce, chopped tomatoes, herbs, a bit of oil, and goat cheese. Lastly, he fried up a pan of sausages.


    Perhaps drawn by the smell of cooking, Sam soon shuffled into the kitchen, struggling to get her head through an unlaced tunic. Not one of the ones he had given her, Will noticed, but the one he had worn yesterday.


    Sam took a seat at the table, sleepy-eyed and yawning until her jaws creaked. ¡°I¡¯m all achy,¡± she complained, rubbing at one shoulder. ¡°It feels like someone beat me with a rolling pin.¡±


    ¡°Might be growing pains,¡± Will guessed. ¡°You just slotted in a lot of attribute points¡ªit¡¯s going to take a while for it to integrate fully with your body.¡±


    ¡°Riiight,¡± Sam grumbled absently.


    ¡°Hungry?¡±


    ¡°Extremely.¡±


    Will cast Prepare in triplicate to complete his work, plated up a big portion for Sam, then a more modest one for himself, and finally poured two glasses of cranberry juice before taking a seat opposite her.


    Sam began eating mechanically the moment ceramic hit the table, one hand wielding a fork while she rubbed the back of her head with the other. For some reason she looked concerned, and she frowned more deeply with every bite.


    ¡°No good?¡± Will asked. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say, I uh¡­ don¡¯t remember all your favorite foods anymore. That¡¯s not my fault, though. It¡¯s a long story.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s really delicious,¡± Sam mumbled through a bite of salad, pausing to force some sausage into her mouth so that her cheeks bulged. After swallowing, she added: ¡°I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d still be here.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Okay, let me ask you a hypothetical¡ªwhat happens when you fall asleep in a dream?¡±


    It was Will¡¯s turn to frown. ¡°I don¡¯t know that I¡¯ve ever been asleep in a dream.¡±


    ¡°Right! When you fall asleep in a dream, you¡¯re supposed to wake up!¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Maybe? I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a universal thing, though.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Sam chewed thoughtfully. ¡°Then you think I¡¯m still asleep?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You know¡­¡±


    ¡°I really don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Like how this is all a dream and stuff. I mean, it¡¯s got to be, right?¡±


    Will let his head fall into his hands. ¡°That¡¯s what you¡¯ve been thinking this whole time?¡±


    ¡°I mean, kind of?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not dreaming, Sam. You really did die, and you really did end up in this hellhole.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what the dream version of you would say.¡±


    ¡°Sam¡­ Seriously.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m being serious!¡± Sam whined, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.


    ¡°Wait right there,¡± Will said with a sigh, ignoring Sam¡¯s questioning look as he got up and left the room.


    By the time Will had been to his bedroom and back, she had cleaned off her plate and had stolen half of his sausage, chewing idly on the end of it. He placed a hand mirror down on the table between them and pointed at it. ¡°There,¡± he said. ¡°Look at that.¡±


    Sam wiped greasy hands on her clothes¡ªhis clothes, damn her!¡ªand picked up the mirror, looking into it. ¡°Yes?¡± she said. ¡°What am I supposed to be seeing?¡±


    ¡°Can you see yourself?¡± Will asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And do you look normal?¡±


    ¡°Well, yes.¡±


    ¡°There you go, then. I¡¯m no expert on dreams, but I know you can¡¯t see your own reflection in a dream, or at least it won¡¯t show up right. There are other tests we can do if you¡¯re still feeling stubborn, but in short, you are not dreaming.¡± Then, after a moment, he added: ¡°Stupid,¡± before finally digging into his own food. What was left of it.


    ¡°Seriously?¡± Sam asked, moving her face closer to the sheet of silvered glass until she was almost bumping noses with her mirror self. ¡°I¡¯m not dreaming?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been saying.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Sam, do you really think your brain is creative enough to come up with a scenario half this ridiculous?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s so mean! But no, I guess.¡±


    Will took a sip of juice. ¡°Not dreaming,¡± he said firmly.


    ¡°Not dreaming,¡± Sam repeated, trancelike.


    ¡°Jesus, finally. Are we over this now? You¡¯re really here, and this is really happening. Does that change anything you said yesterday? If it does, I understand.¡±


    Sam¡¯s face began to turn an alarming shade of red. Then, after struggling soundlessly for several moments, she shrieked: ¡°Of course it changes things! I said all that embarrassing stuff last night!¡±


    Will shrugged. ¡°I suppose.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe I said that!¡±


    He didn¡¯t see what the big deal was, since he had said things that were just as embarrassing. He opened his mouth to mention that when Sam ducked her head under the table. A moment later, Will felt his feet get yanked out from under him. Before he knew what was happening she¡¯d rolled him clear onto the floor and had him in some sort of lock with her limbs wrapped all around him and an arm over his throat, his joints all screaming with pain.


    ¡°Now I¡¯ll have to kill you, then myself, and then no one will know my shame!¡± Sam squealed.


    Will fought a surge of claustrophobia, feeling like he was being constricted in the arms of a giant octopus. Knowing that he had no reasonable way to escape someone with her Strength, he forced himself to relax, shutting his eyes. Luckily, she wasn¡¯t bearing down on his windpipe very hard, so he managed to hiss: ¡°Sam, let me go. You¡¯re being a brat about this.¡±


    ¡°I kissed you!¡±


    ¡°You did.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe I did that!¡±


    ¡°I did enjoy it, actually, if you were wondering.¡±


    Sam¡¯s hold loosened a bit, her feet unhooking from the insides of his thighs. ¡°Oh,¡± she said in his ear. ¡°You did?¡±


    ¡°I might even return the gesture sometime, if you would be so kind as to let me go this century.¡±


    Sam slowly unfurled, and Will affected indifference as he staggered to his feet, rolling his aching joints. ¡°Are we done with our tantrum now?¡±


    Looking up at him from her spot on the floor, Sam¡¯s face split in a sunny grin. ¡°Oh, my tantrum hasn¡¯t even started.¡±


    ¡°Wh¡ª¡±


    Sam rolled to her feet, grasped either side of Will¡¯s face to kiss him firmly on the mouth¡ªsloppily, all wet lips and scraping teeth¡ªbefore bumbling past him out of the kitchen. She bumped into Mongrel in the hall, who was running a hand through his thinning hair to get some water out of it, and she enfolded him in a big, crushing hug that lifted him off the floor and had him squealing like a little girl. Then she put him down, and Will padded into the hall so that both he and Mongrel watched her tumble off the front porch and roll across the green yard between the buildings.


    ¡°What¡¯s her damage?¡± Mongrel wondered.


    ¡°She thought she was in a dream this whole time,¡± Will explained wearily. ¡°I just cured her of that notion.¡±


    ¡°Ah, the ol¡¯ denial gimmick. Happens pretty often, you know.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°I did think she was taking everything in suspiciously good stride.¡±


    ¡°Could have mentioned that before,¡± Will grumbled.


    Mongrel shrugged with a crooked grin. ¡°That one¡¯s your problem, kid. This is why I like my women by-the-hour. No drama.¡±


    ¡°Classy, Matt. Really classy.¡±


    Will felt the need to step in when Sam began hugging one of the goats¡ªEsmerelda, he thought¡ªwho had slipped her pen. The she-goat was not impressed by the human¡¯s affection, idly chewing her cud while Sam clung to her neck, still prone on the ground.


    Will went and stood over her, hands on hips. ¡°Miss Darling? It¡¯s about time for Esmerelda here to get back to her friends, and it¡¯s about time for you to get up and stop acting like a nutcase.¡±


    Sam shot to her feet, and the goat let out a baleful bleat before tottering off somewhere with less humans to interrupt her meal. Sam¡¯s reddish hair stood out wild, and her cheeks were flushed, and she had a blade of grass caught at the corner of her mouth. Will pulled that out for her and flicked it away.


    She took him in another embrace¡ªmore softly this time, thank god¡ªand kissed him on the cheek. ¡°I love you,¡± she murmured. ¡°I never thought I¡¯d see you again.¡±


    Will stroked her soft hair, trying vainly to smooth it down. ¡°All right, I love you too,¡± he said.


    She laughed, and he felt her chest reverberate with the sound. Then her voice quivered, and she began to cry instead.


    Will had never been too good with crying people. ¡°Hush now,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re okay. Everything¡¯s all right.¡±


    Sam bawled and gibbered incomprehensibly into his tunic, growing steadily louder. Will kept trying to soothe her, but he didn¡¯t know if he was making things better or worse, and he felt like a bad person over the fact that her nearness was making him excited in all sorts of inappropriate ways. He had to shift a little to avoid poking her with something potentially embarrassing.


    She held him tight, clinging to him desperately, and wailed like a child. Feeling an urge to do the same, he cleared his throat and pushed it away.


    Then, as abruptly as she had started, Sam fell silent. She wiped her snotty nose on his shoulder before taking a step back. She was back to beaming again, grinning more brightly than anyone he had ever seen, which made it impossible to stay mad over the trail of mucus she had left on his clothes.


    ¡°I¡¯m okay now,¡± Sam declared, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. ¡°I¡¯m just happy.¡±


    ¡°Happy enough to start working?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir!¡± she said with a mock salute.


    ¡°Good. Then we begin immediately.¡±

 Chapter 17 - Cue the Training Montage

    Mongrel


    ¡°Aren¡¯t they just the most adorable thing you¡¯ve ever seen?¡±


    Mongrel took his eyes off the young couple cavorting in the grass and glanced over his shoulder at the demoness as she sauntered out onto the porch.


    ¡°I won¡¯t argue with that,¡± he muttered, and bit into the greasy sausage he had filched from an unattended pan in the kitchen. ¡°So sweet I think I¡¯m getting cavities. And I¡¯ve got enough of those already.¡±


    ¡°Poor thing.¡± Nyx patted his cheek, her skin unnervingly warm. He felt her claws scrape on his tender, freshly shaven chin as she pulled her hand away. ¡°Might I have a bite?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Mongrel found that his attention had drifted back to the children¡ªthe she-bear one was squeezing the poor boy to pieces again. Then, looking down, he said, ¡°Oh,¡± and offered up the sausage in her direction. ¡°Knock yourself out.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t sure why he couldn¡¯t look away. Seeing the two of them made an old, half-forgotten scar pulse in him, something he¡¯d really rather forget. It was quite aggravating.


    ¡°I''m unable to tell if Samantha is harmless or dangerous,¡± Nyx mused while looking out over the yard, chewing daintily with a hand to her mouth. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°Um, not sure.¡±


    ¡°Matthew.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± He glanced briefly in her direction, blinking away a haze of memories.


    ¡°Why, you¡¯re barely leering at me at all! Are you sure you¡¯re all right, dearest?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re too funny,¡± Mongrel grumbled flatly. But now that she mentioned it, he couldn¡¯t help but let his gaze drift down to her breasts, just for a moment. Her fault, really, for bringing it up.


    She looped a slender arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder. The heat she gave off, along with her heady, cinnamony scent, was making his old heart beat much too fast. ¡°Seeing the two of them is making me feel broody,¡± Nyx complained. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you like to spend a little quality time with me tonight, Matthew?¡±


    Mongrel made it a point to not glance in the direction of those big, gorgeous eyes. ¡°I¡¯d love to, sweetness, but I¡¯m not sure I can afford your rates.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense.¡± She opened her mouth expectantly, flashing white, knife-sharp canines, and waited until Mongrel caught on and held up the sausage so she could chomp off another piece. ¡°Why don¡¯t we make a bet of it?¡± she added after swallowing. ¡°Whatever game you like. If you win, I¡¯ll let you have a night for free. I promise it would curl your toes into your heels and blow your brain out the top of your skull.¡±


    Mongrel laughed. ¡°How tempting. And if you win?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll donate your soul to me, of course.¡± She sounded offended that he even needed to ask. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, dearest¡ªI won¡¯t work you too hard.¡±


    ¡°I would love to, but I¡¯ve got business in the city. Probably won¡¯t be back until tomorrow.¡±


    Nyx pouted, fiery eyes smoldering as she stepped away and removed her arm from his. ¡°Boring.¡±


    Mongrel gave her his most winsome smile, bowed, and popped the last bit of the sausage into his mouth. ¡°Until the morrow, then, my lady.¡±


    The demoness turned her well-sculpted chin up at him, somehow managing to appear imperious despite being completely naked. ¡°If I don¡¯t get any appreciation, maybe I won¡¯t be here tomorrow. Maybe I¡¯ll have found myself a nice, handsome mortal who doesn¡¯t mind living a trifle dangerously.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I wish you would.¡±


    Nyx hissed, and Mongrel took that as his cue to leave, scampering off the porch while his hide was still in one piece.


    * * *


    Sam


    ¡°Where¡¯s he going?¡± Sam asked, letting her finger track Mongrel as he stalked across the yard toward the tall, red-painted stables standing on the right-hand side of the farmhouse. He gave a pair of sharp whistles, one pitched higher than the other, and before long two chimps came running to assist their master in whatever he was doing.


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s headed into town,¡± Will said absently. ¡°He sells some of the produce he makes to earn money for his drinking, gambling, and whoring fund.¡±


    Charming.


    ¡°What town?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Sheerhome. It¡¯s more of a city, really¡ªthe biggest one in this part of the Frontier.¡±


    ¡°Ooh, can we go there?¡±


    Will grimaced. ¡°It¡¯s really not much of a tourist destination. I wouldn¡¯t recommend it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be a good idea right now,¡± Will said, a little sharply. ¡°You need to be here right now, to focus on your training.¡± Seeing her indignation, his face softened. ¡°Sorry. It¡¯s not you I don¡¯t trust, it¡¯s the animals that populate this place. We need to get your level up a bit before I¡¯ll feel comfortable letting you off the farm.¡±


    Sam nodded, biting her lip. ¡°I understand.¡± Then she allowed herself a little smile. ¡°Did I happen to hear you say ¡®training¡¯ just now?¡±


    Will chuckled. ¡°I thought that would get your attention.¡±


    ¡°What kind of training?¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t think I¡¯d let you stay at Level 1 forever, did you? We¡¯ve got to go through the basics of your Profession, and get you started on leveling. There¡¯s a lot to cover, and not a lot of time, I''m afraid.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we have a lot of time?¡±


    ¡°I''ll get there. Like I said, there¡¯s a lot for you to learn, so it¡¯s easier if we take it piecemeal.¡±


    ¡°Okay!¡±


    ¡°Good. Let me show you around the farm so you know what¡¯s where, then we can get started properly.¡±


    Will got Sam some hand-me-down footwear, and she followed eagerly at his heels as he wandered across the yard, pointing at buildings and explaining their purpose. They poked their heads into the stables, where Number Two and Number Four were strapping a harness on a long-eared donkey. Mongrel lounged nearby, leaning against a chest-high stall while watching his underlings work.


    ¡°This here¡¯s Zero,¡± Mongrel said, nodding toward the donkey. ¡°She¡¯s kind of like an honorary familiar at this point. You can pet her if you like.¡±


    ¡°Oh, can I?¡± Sam cooed, and immediately stepped up to the brown-colored animal with its huge black eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve never been this close to a donkey before.¡± Somehow, it felt almost equally as exotic as a chimp.


    ¡°She¡¯s a mule, not a donkey,¡± Mongrel corrected.


    Sam apologized to the mule and extended a hesitant hand to the beast. Zero sniffed at her palm, then began lipping at them. Sam giggled at the ticklish sensation, and stroked the mule up the side of her head. She seemed to enjoy it.


    Once the furry fellows with their task, Number Four led Zero outside by her bridle so she could be hitched up to a wagon filled with all sorts of things¡ªmostly edible ones. Number Two broke off from his brother and approached Sam, making nimble signs with both hands and wearing a querying expression.


    ¡°He¡¯s asking if you want anything from the city,¡± Will explained. ¡°Clearly, he¡¯s a lot more polite than his owner.¡±


    ¡°Hey! I heard that!¡± Mongrel whined, but did not care enough to look up from inspecting his nails.


    ¡°You were meant to,¡± Will replied.


    ¡°Thank you, Number Two,¡± Sam said and gave the furry creature a pat on the head, ¡°but I wouldn¡¯t even know what to ask for.¡± She could use a proper pair of boots, since the ones Will had given her fit a little snug, but that wasn¡¯t the kind of thing you could ask someone to eyeball the measurements on.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Will, however, had a list of things he wanted purchased, and offered a pack of cigarettes for Number Two and his brother to split between them if they carried out the task. The chimps accepted gladly.


    Then Mongrel set off with his mule and wagon, whistling as he walked alongside Zero with a hand on her neck. The chimps rode on the wagon, and were already passing a cigarette back and forth. Mongrel took into a wide, bumpy trail that led in among the trees, and he soon disappeared among their staggered lines.


    Will continued on, showing Sam the big crop fields downslope where wheat and oats made a carpet of shining gold beneath the morning sun. Number One wandered sedately among their rows, occasionally bending down to touch one of the plants with a greenish glow pulsing from his hand. Using a Farmer skill called Nurture to promote growth, Will explained. Because the chimps regularly treating the crops this way greatly accelerated production, they were apparently about to reap their second harvest of the year.


    Then there was the chimps¡¯ hut, which consisted of a single large room with bunks and hammocks for the boys to sleep in, but quite frankly the place stank even the from outside, and it looked a mess, so Sam was content with looking in through a window.


    Will showed off a chicken coop, with a gaggle of hens clucking and their red-maned rooster screaming angrily for the intruders to go away. Sam obliged, offering apologies, and Will instead took her out back of the farmhouse, where they passed a well ringed with stones and came to a vegetable garden, as well as a smaller one nearby which Will explained was a place where he grew herbs used in his work. It was filled with all sorts of beautiful flowers, a profusion of color.


    Will picked one for her, a little yellow one with slender petals. ¡°Celandine,¡± he explained, holding it between two fingers. ¡°It has several good medicinal properties. I use it often.¡±


    Sam grinned as she took it, and could not resist pinning it behind her ear. ¡°You were never a flowers kinda guy, were you?¡±


    Will shrugged, looking over his herb garden. ¡°I guess not. I picked it up for work, and somewhere along the way I began to enjoy collecting different herbs. Though, to be honest, Number One does most of the maintenance. I just plant them.¡±


    ¡°What do you do for work, anyway?¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± The sour look that fell over his face told her that he was going to give her another evasive answer. ¡°I might be a Cook by Profession, but I¡¯d call myself more of an alchemist. I brew potions and medicines and things¡ªsome that I let Mongrel sell for a shared profit, and sometimes made to order items for specific clients. Like the local lord, for instance.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Sam said. ¡°But that¡¯s not why they call you ¡®Misfortune¡¯, is it?¡±


    Will¡¯s face darkened further. ¡°No, it¡¯s not.¡±


    ¡°Well, why do they?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a fun topic. Mind if we save that one for later?¡±


    ¡°Okay. But you will tell me?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Will said firmly. ¡°I¡¯m going to tell you everything, in time. I¡¯m just trying to do it in order, to sort of ease you into things.¡±


    There was also an outhouse at the back of the property, and some thirty feet off another small building made of cut stone, with a chimney sticking out of the tiled roof. That was Will¡¯s workshop, he explained, where he worked on his concoctions.


    ¡°Can I see?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Probably not a good idea. Some of the compounds I work with are toxic, and you¡¯re pretty clumsy, no offense. I¡¯d hate for you to accidentally ingest something lethal.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not that clumsy, Will.¡±


    He just shrugged, smiling.


    ¡°All right. Keep your secrets then, dick.¡±


    After that he had them stroll past a woodshed on the left-hand side of the property that Mongrel used when he decided to actually do some carpentry, which apparently did not happen very often.


    ¡°That¡¯s about it,¡± Will said. ¡°It¡¯s only us out here¡ªno neighbors to worry about or anything, other than the occasional beast or bandit. Sheerhome¡¯s about an hour¡¯s walk to the west.¡± He pointed in the direction Mongrel had gone. ¡°Questions?¡±


    Sam held up her hand.


    ¡°Yes, the pretty one in the stolen tunic.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. How did you get to know Mongrel, anyway? Or is that a secret too?¡±


    Will shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not a secret at all, it¡¯s just not particularly interesting. Mongrel fished me out of the water and took me in, mostly so he had someone to do the busywork that the chimps wouldn¡¯t or couldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°So he was like your boss?¡±


    ¡°I guess so.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s not anymore?¡±


    ¡°No, not really. Mongrel is clever enough when he wants to be, but he usually can¡¯t be bothered, so he¡¯s happy enough letting me manage the day-to-day around here.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s not because you¡¯re a higher level than him?¡±


    Will chuckled. ¡°Not really. A person¡¯s level is important here, don¡¯t get me wrong, but it¡¯s not an absolute measure of someone¡¯s worth or anything.¡±


    ¡°Why are you a higher level than him in the first place, if he¡¯s been here longer?¡±


    ¡°Leveling doesn¡¯t necessarily follow a linear progression. Like I''ve mentioned before, it¡¯s based on your progress and achievements within the activity associated with your Profession, both on a personal level and objectively from the Concord¡¯s point of view, so most people gain levels quickly at first, then plateau somewhere when they stop finding new things to learn or achieve.¡±


    ¡°Right. And as a Laborer that means, what? Lifting bigger and heavier things?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re being slightly reductive, but yeah, more or less.¡± He motioned her off to the southwestern edge of the property, where the edge of the crop field transitioned into a patch of bumpy earth covered only in short-cropped grass. Tree stumps and broken rocks littered the area, some small as heads poking out of the ground, others almost the size of her entire torso. ¡°For your first bit of training today, you¡¯re going to help me clear the rocks out of this field so we can till the earth and expand our farmland.¡±


    Sam crinkled her nose. ¡°Look, I appreciate the vote of confidence and all, but some of these look like they weigh a literal ton. Do you really think I could lift those?¡±


    Will did not appear concerned. ¡°We won¡¯t know until you try. How many points did you put in Strength again?¡±


    ¡°Eight.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°Artie said that was a lot.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Artie, that slaver you nearly scared to death.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right. Yeah, it¡¯s quite a lot. Depending on your Profession, people start with either eight or ten points to allocate total, so having eight in just one attribute is a nice start. Where did you put your other points?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Sam searched her memory for the exact numbers. It was all kind of a blur at this point. ¡°Eight in Strength, six in Toughness, and six in Dexterity, I think.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Will looked slightly relieved. ¡°If you had twenty points to spend, that means you did the vow properly. What abilities did you pick?¡±


    ¡°Those passive things? There was one called ¡®Tenacious¡¯, and one called ¡®Stoneskin¡¯. Then I got one for free called ¡®Healing Factor¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, all Laborers get Healing Factor. It¡¯ll make you recover faster from injury or fatigue. Stoneskin is a good one, but Tenacious¡­¡± He shook his head. ¡°I dunno. I guess that¡¯s on me for not giving you clearer instructions.¡±


    Sam stuck her tongue out at him. ¡°Well, I thought it looked good. So, I¡¯m assuming that whole vow business is one of those things you¡¯ll tell me about later?¡±


    ¡°That would probably be best.¡±


    ¡°Okay, but was it really necessary for me to eat a piece of paper in the middle of all that?¡±


    ¡°It was really necessary.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t tell if he was messing with her or not, but decided to let it go with a snort. ¡°If you say so. Well, I guess I might as well get started¡ªbut you can¡¯t laugh at me if this goes wrong.¡± Rolling up the sleeves of her tunic, she began to approach the nearest rock, a mossy lump of granite that was about pumpkin-sized, and began to stretch in preparation of attempting to move it.


    ¡°Hold on just a second,¡± Will said, lifting a hand. ¡°Let me try something. Try not to think about anything for a minute, okay?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Just do it.¡± He gestured vaguely. ¡°Like, clear your mind or whatever. Count trees. That sort of thing.¡±


    Sam huffed, but did her best to follow the instructions, trying to think of nothing but an empty black void. Results were mixed¡ªshe kept thinking about Will, instead. It was impossible not to, with him standing right in front of her with that stupidly handsome face of his.


    ¡°Identify [aggregated attribute scores],¡± Will said after a few moments.


    Sam felt a little tickle skitter across the inside of her skull, making her shiver. She worked her jaw to try and get rid of it, but it disappeared after a second or two. ¡°What was that? Another one of your magic tricks?¡±


    ¡°Yep. It¡¯s a little technical, so don¡¯t worry if it doesn¡¯t make sense to you, but basically your attributes aren¡¯t the only thing that determine how well you embody those traits in reality. All sorts of other factors are baked into it, too. Let¡¯s take Strength as an example. There¡¯s your natural strength, as in what you had before you came to the Frontier. Then there¡¯s the Strength attribute points you put in, which modify that strength, like a multiplier. But there are other factors as well. I don¡¯t know them all, since digging into the guts of the Concord can be tough, and not best done by someone of my Profession, but the biggest one I know of aside from attribute score is something called an effort multiplier, which acts directly on your attribute score to determine how much you get out of your points.


    ¡°What it boils down to is that someone who works with their attribute frequently to improve themselves by their own merit will get more out of that attribute than someone who only relies on the Concord for easy power boosts.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t get it,¡± Sam said flatly. ¡°Can I lift this rock now?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to say that some of your aggregated scores are even higher than I expected, meaning your effort modifiers must be very good. You¡¯ve been working hard for the past five years, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    Sam blushed a little. ¡°I¡­ I really tried. I didn¡¯t know why at the time, I just felt like I had to train.¡±


    Will grinned. He looked a little less tired when he smiled. ¡°Well, you must have done a great job to get numbers like this. I think I can say with confidence that between your effort multipliers and the extra attribute points from your divine vow, there¡¯s not many Level 1s in the Frontier who can top the raw power you¡¯re packing.¡±


    ¡°Aww, you really think so?¡±


    ¡°Uh, yeah, I do.¡±


    ¡°Heh. Nice.¡± After pushing herself for so long without any clear goal or hope of progress, finally getting some praise felt pretty damn sweet.


    With no further interruptions forthcoming, Sam was eager to test out her new strength after the way Will had hyped it up. Squatting low, she gripped the edges of the large stone and heaved, lifting with her legs. Her muscles quivered with strain, and she let out a sharp breath. The rock shifted, and she got a better grip underneath it, and soon it lifted off the ground, her arms trembling as she hoisted it between her legs.


    ¡°It¡¯s heavy,¡± she grunted. ¡°But¡­ not that heavy.¡± She couldn¡¯t keep the amazement out of her voice. She felt like a little girl. ¡°Where do you want it?¡±


    ¡°Good job.¡± Will clapped his hands with only a hint of sarcasm, then motioned in the direction of the treeline. ¡°Just somewhere over there, out of the way.¡±


    ¡°You got it, man.¡± Mostly to see if she could, Sam shifted her grip again, hauled the rock higher until it was resting against her shoulder and one side of her head, rough edges digging into her skin.


    ¡°Sam,¡± Will said warningly. ¡°Maybe you ought to start out slow.¡±


    Twisting her body, half-spinning, Sam hurled the heavy stone in a steep arc, shooting for the treeline. It landed about two thirds of the way there, twelve or thirteen feet off, with a heavy thump.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± she muttered, flexing rubbed-raw hands.


    ¡°Not bad,¡± Will observed.


    Sam flashed a devilish grin as she went off to roll her first victim off into the trees. ¡°Hold on. I¡¯ll get the next one all the way there¡ªwatch.¡±


    Will sighed, arms crossed. ¡°Well, I guess I can¡¯t complain about your enthusiasm.¡±

 Chapter 18 - Cue the Training Montage [2]

    Will


    Sam slowly picked through the field, rolling the bigger boulders and tossing the smaller ones. Will supervised. I guess this is what Mongrel must feel like, watching other people do his work all day.


    Sam was too absorbed in her task to say much of anything for a while, but eventually she stopped rolling a large rock halfway to the now stone-littered treeline and took a seat on top of her mossy charge. ¡°How come you¡¯re not helping out?¡± she asked. She wiped sweat from her forehead, only managing to smear it with dirt and plant matter instead.


    ¡°This is for your benefit, not mine,¡± Will said. ¡°Besides, I don¡¯t have a bunch of points in Strength like you do.¡±


    ¡°You know, I was kind of getting that feeling when we were tussling, but why? I thought you were some kind of high-level so-and-so.¡±


    ¡°Actually, I couldn¡¯t put points in Strength even if I wanted to. There are eight different basic attributes in total, but each Profession only gets access to a combination of four. I started out as a Cook, which means I have Senses, Awareness, Empathy, and Dexterity. When you reach Level 10, you get access to one of four so-called ¡®derived attributes¡¯, mine being Haste. I also got to choose one of the Explorer¡¯s attributes for branching into that, so I picked Processing. I¡¯ve got my points pretty evenly spread among all of those except Empathy.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re pretty lacking in the empathy department, not gonna lie.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re very clever,¡± Will said flatly.


    ¡°No offense dude, but your attributes sound kind of dorky. There¡¯s a thing called Awareness, and you put points in that?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Her brows shot up, incredulous. ¡°All right, man. To each their own, I guess.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like I just picked them at random, you know.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure you had some kind of master plan behind it all. But all I¡¯m hearing is¡­¡± She hopped up off her rock, crossing her dirt-smeared arms over her chest, ¡°...that I¡¯m finally stronger than you.¡±


    Will rolled his eyes so hard he almost saw his own gray matter. ¡°Sure, Sam. You¡¯re stronger than me. Does that make you feel good about yourself?¡±


    She grinned wide. ¡°Actually, yes!¡±


    ¡°Glad to hear it. Now, about those rocks¡­¡±


    ¡°Hold on there, mister! I wanna settle this right now.¡± Her smile began to take on an evil edge as she approached him. ¡°How about we have a good ol¡¯ fashioned wrestling match, like we used to?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not a good idea, Sam.¡±


    ¡°Afraid you can¡¯t beat a lowly little Level 1?¡± With a mock pout, she tapped the single AP crystal on her left arm.


    ¡°No, not really. Let¡¯s get back on track.¡± He nodded toward the rock she¡¯d left behind.


    ¡°You¡¯re scareddd,¡± Sam cooed. She stepped uncomfortably close to him, periodically flexing and unflexing her crossed forearms.


    ¡°I¡¯m not so much scared of you as for you,¡± Will corrected. ¡°Us fighting wouldn¡¯t be a good idea¡ªyou could get hurt.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m quaking with fear.¡±


    ¡°Seriously, Sam. Give it up.¡±


    She let out a mischievous snicker. ¡°Or you¡¯ll do what, Master One-Eye?¡±


    And just like that, she had worn out the last of his patience. Fine. If she wants to know where she stands on the ladder, I¡¯ll show her.


    Launching into a Dash, Will slammed his curled shoulder into Sam¡¯s midsection. The force knocked her clean off her feet and sent her tumbling ass-over-head, coming to a stop with her back against the rock she had abandoned.


    ¡°Guh¡­?¡± Sam wheezed, gagging breathlessly as she curled up around her stomach.


    ¡°Enough to paint a picture?¡± Will asked. As he straightened out, he made sure not to indicate how much his shoulder throbbed from throwing himself against her body. Enhanced by both points in Toughness and the Stoneskin passive, she was nearly as hard as the latter implied.


    He knew even before Sam staggered to her feet that she wasn¡¯t done. She had that annoyingly stubborn streak to her that no amount of broken bones or skinned knees had ever been able to beat out of her as a kid.


    Recovering more quickly than he¡¯d expected, Sam came pounding right back up the same way she¡¯d just tumbled down. She jumped high, and he crouched low, holding up one hand and bracing his wrist with the other.


    ¡°Amp (Four): Repel,¡± he hissed.


    There was a sharp whooshing of displaced air, and Sam¡¯s eyes went wide as she was launched ten feet straight up; waving her arms and screaming, tumbling end-over-end. Will hit another Dash the moment it came off skill lag, shooting up as she came down, and his knee collided with her face, reversing her spin. She belly-flopped to the ground with a heavy thud, while he landed next to her in a crouch.


    Sam whimpered softly, but otherwise lay completely still, her face pressed against the grass.


    ¡°Understand now?¡± Will asked, patting her on the back. ¡°Strength isn''t the only thing that will decide the outcome of a fight.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you¡­¡± Sam groaned.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we take a break for now?¡± He stood, putting hands on hips while he waited for Sam to get up. ¡°With how hard-headed you are, I doubt that was enough to give you a concussion. Stop being dramatic.¡±


    Now both his shoulder and his knee were hurting.


    * * *


    Sam


    Sam had never known that it was possible to be both angry and horny at the same time.


    Sitting on the rock that she had become intimately familiar with at this point, holding a rag to her still-bleeding nose, there was no way for her to deny that Will had completely destroyed her. The difference between them was even bigger than the one between her and the men she¡¯d spent her time losing to on Earth.


    Maybe I shouldn¡¯t have riled him up so much, she thought glumly, working her battered jaw.


    But as much as Sam hated losing, she had to admit that there was something unreasonably sexy about a man who could fold her up like laundry if he had a mind to.


    ¡°Feeling any better?¡± Will asked. He stood over her, his expression a mix of concern and annoyance.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Sam said sheepishly.


    Kneeling, a little black void opened up by Will¡¯s left elbow, and he pulled a small bag out of it. After extracting a small clay flask from the bag, he stuffed it back inside the void and allowed it to disappear. He held the flask out to her. ¡°Here. This¡¯ll help your headache.¡±


    Sam took the bottle, studying it. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°A healing potion.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s in it?¡±


    ¡°Herbs and things.¡±


    ¡°¡®And things¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Just drink the potion, Sam. I do this for a living, you know.¡±


    With a shrug, Sam uncorked the flask and emptied its contents into her mouth. Whatever she was drinking had an earthy, mildly bitter taste, but didn¡¯t go down any worse than regular cough syrup. Smacking her lips once it was all done, she handed the empty container back to Will to dispose of.


    Only minutes later, she did notice that her head was throbbing a bit less. Once she was good to go, she set to work again, working to clear the second half of the rock-strewn field.


    ¡°Some of these are all broken,¡± Sam said, inspecting a large boulder that looked as though it had been shattered into pieces by something very heavy. There were others that looked similar, and something told her it wasn¡¯t a natural phenomenon.


    ¡°One of the chimps went and hit those rocks with Demolish a few days ago to make them easier to move, but we never got around to actually getting rid of the things.¡±


    ¡°Huh, that¡¯s neat. They really are good boys, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t let them hear you say that. It¡¯ll go straight to those big heads of theirs.¡±


    After she finished with the rocks, Will took her back to the farmhouse and cooked her up a stir fry as a late lunch. Apparently it was time for a theoretical lesson. He talked while she ate.


    ¡°Let me tell you a bit about divine vows,¡± he said after an exhausting run-down on recognizing all the Profession symbols. ¡°You might have inferred as much already, but it¡¯s an oath a person can make with the Concord, forgoing something in order to get a special benefit. It can give a very useful advantage, especially since not too many people know about them, but each person can only make one vow, which means you have to make it count.¡±


    Sam nodded dutifully, though she was mostly focused on stabbing some fried peppers onto her fork. She¡¯d always been a big eater, but she¡¯d never not been hungry since arriving at the Frontier.


    ¡°You make a vow by pitching it to the Concord. You set the terms of a vow and a benefit, and the system lets you know if it accepts or not. Finding a vow with the optimal terms can involve some trial and error. I spent a fair bit of time working on yours.¡±


    ¡°Fhanks,¡± Sam mumbled around her food, already putting another forkful in.


    ¡°You¡¯re very welcome. Vows can be made verbally, in writing, by sign, or even mentally, but I thought giving you yours in writing was the easiest way to ensure you actually got it right. Unfortunately for you, that meant you had to eat the paper with the vow written on it to formally activate it.¡±


    Sam swallowed hard. ¡°It tasted like ass.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll imagine. I tried to specify the terms so you¡¯d get the double attribute points applied retroactively, but the Concord wouldn¡¯t go for that, so I had you make the vow before you picked your Profession instead, meaning you could still get your ten starting points doubled. You might honestly be the first person in Frontier history to start with twenty points. You can''t appreciate how good that is yet, but you will.¡±


    Sam shrugged.


    ¡°For reference, at Level 14, I only have 24 points total.¡±


    ¡°You still beat my ass, though.¡±


    Will gave her a slightly apologetic smile. ¡°Yeah. You did start it, to be fair.¡±


    ¡°You beat on women, William.¡±


    ¡°When they act like little shits, I do.¡±


    Sam flicked a pepper off her fork at his face; he caught it and ate it.


    ¡°Either way, our builds are quite different,¡± he continued. ¡°You can¡¯t take any skills because of your divine vow, meaning you¡¯re limited to only passives. That¡¯s not too much of a drawback, though, as Laborers have some of the best passives. It means your build will be heavily slanted toward being a powerful bruiser with a lot of sustain.¡±


    ¡°And you?¡± Sam asked. She scraped up the last bit of stir fry, chewed, and stared mournfully at the empty crockery.


    Sighing, Will swapped their plates around so she got what was left of his portion. She grinned winsomely at him, then dug in.


    ¡°My build is a bit more¡­ sprawling, you could say,¡± Will continued. ¡°I can make potions, medicines, and nourishing meals with my Cook skills, while also gaining a lot of speed and burst movement from Explorer, which allows me to be useful in a fight. Lastly, I''ve got pretty good intel-gathering skills, so overall you could consider me a well-rounded support type.¡±


    ¡°Have you made one of those vow thingies yourself?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Will replied, grinning. ¡°I¡¯m pretty proud of it, actually.¡±


    Sam rolled her eyes. ¡°Because?¡±


    He ran a finger over the line of thick stitches holding shut his droopy eye. ¡°I vowed to never open my left eye. In exchange, the range of all my skills is doubled. The Concord likes it when you make vows that are symbolically symmetrical. The extra range helps a bunch of my observational skills out, so it works out well that way.¡±


    ¡°Double range? Doesn¡¯t sound that special.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s better than it sounds.¡±


    ¡°Sure. it is¡±


    ¡°I beat you, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    Snorting, Sam took an angry bite of food. ¡°Whatever.¡± She paused, chewing thoughtfully. ¡°I thought you already gave your eye to the demon bitch, though?¡±


    Will¡¯s grin widened. ¡°That was after I¡¯d already made the vow.¡±


    ¡°So you gave up an eye you¡¯d already¡­ given up?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s anything to look that smug about. You still only have one eye. And half a dick.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t give up half my dick.¡±


    Sam shrugged. It was useless to argue with him when he was in one of his pedantic moods.


    ¡°Anyway, my build is good, shut up.¡± He was pouting now. ¡°I spent a lot of time coming up with it.¡±


    ¡°Aw, dude, I didn¡¯t mean to hurt your feelings,¡± Sam said sympathetically, reaching across the table to pat the back of his hand. ¡°I¡¯m sure your build is great. It¡¯s not that edgy.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°What, what?¡±


    ¡°My build isn¡¯t ¡®edgy¡¯, what are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I said¡ªnot that edgy! I¡¯m agreeing with you!¡±


    Will looked like he wanted to throw something at her. Sam snickered into her food.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± he said, sighing heavily into his hands, ¡°skills can be a hassle to untangle, and I figured you¡¯d rather not bother with all that, so I thought this type of passive-only build would suit you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Sam admitted. ¡°I¡¯m not that into all the magic words people keep using. They give me a headache.¡±


    ¡°I made the right choice, then?¡±


    ¡°I reckon so.¡± Sam threw him a crooked half-grin, the other cheek stuffed with food. ¡°Thanks, man. I mean it.¡± It really did make her feel a bit tingly inside, to hear that he had spent a lot of time thinking about how to help her along. He¡¯d always been sweet like that.


    ¡°Well, that might be enough of a system theory lesson for now,¡± Will said, scooting his chair back to stand up. ¡°If I know you right, your brain should be hurting by now.¡±


    ¡°Moderately,¡± Sam admitted, and went to lick her second plate clean.


    ¡°All right. I¡¯ve got some reagents in my workshop that¡¯ll spoil soon if I don¡¯t make something out of them, so why don¡¯t you take an hour or two to rest up? The way I rung your dome, it might be for the best.¡±


    Sam snorted. ¡°You think that hurt? Ha!¡± She had been worried that her jaw might be dislocated, but it was probably fine. It did do this weird clicking thing when she chewed, though¡­


    Will tried to look stern, but he was unable to hide a little smile through the stony mask of his face. ¡°Well? Think you could amuse yourself until I get back?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir!¡±


    ¡°You might find one of the boys to play with if you look. Just keep in mind, they learned everything they know from their father, so they¡¯re pretty lethal behind a clutch of cards.¡±


    ¡°Got it. Shoo, now.¡± She waved vaguely in Will¡¯s direction as she threw her feet up on the kitchen couch, flopping prone. ¡°I haven¡¯t got time for you right now.¡±


    Sam settled in for a nap, but cracked an eye when she heard Will retreating so she could watch his ass on the way out. Not bad.


    Not baaad at aaall.


    * * *


    Sam


    Sam was pulled from a lovely dream¡ªinvolving a bakery filled with warm fluffy buns¡ªby the voice of her archnemesis.


    ¡°Hello, Samantha.¡±


    Groaning, Sam shook herself awake and worked herself into a sitting position. She blinked blearily at the demoness, who was sitting cross-legged on the tabletop¡ªthankfully, most of her unmentionables were covered up by a baggy red tunic.


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Oh, just to chat,¡± Nyx purred, yellow eyes flashing. ¡°I want us to be friends, you know.¡±


    Sam laughed derisively.


    ¡°I even wore a shirt for you, see?¡± Nyx tugged at the linen fabric with the sharp nails of her thumb and forefinger.


    Rubbing her eyes until she could see somewhat clearly, Sam grumbled: ¡°Is that one of Will¡¯s?¡±


    The demoness clutched her neck in mock offense. ¡°Absolutely not! Just what do you think of me, Samantha!¡±


    ¡°Only terrible things, I assure you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, good.¡± Nyx breathed a relieved sigh. ¡°I was beginning to worry.¡±


    With no wind-up or warning, Sam threw a right jab at the demon¡¯s face. Her fist met no resistance, sinking through a cloud of dark smoke that collapsed back into a grinning, aggravatingly beautiful face the moment she drew it away.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Sam grumbled. ¡°I had to make sure.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no offense taken, dear. I find that mortals are simply unable to keep their hands off me. It¡¯s flattering, really.¡±


    ¡°Do you get off on annoying every single person around you?¡±


    Nyx gave a lazy half-shrug, leaning back on her hands. ¡°It passes the time, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Have you ever tried being nice? It might just agree with you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t make me gag, Samantha. I prefer to have other people doing that.¡±


    ¡°I hate you.¡±


    ¡°And I find you absolutely fascinating, dear. Can I touch your hair?¡± She was already reaching her grubby little demon hand out.


    Sam abruptly leapt up off the couch, weaving away from Nyx¡¯s grasp, and stalked toward the front door. ¡°I¡¯m going out!¡± she barked over her shoulder.


    The demon¡¯s mocking laugh followed her until she slammed the door shut.


    Vile, vile woman! And Will thinks she¡¯s one of the reasonable ones? I don¡¯t believe that.

 Chapter 19 - A Nice Bit of Unsanctioned Sightseeing

    Sam


    Since she didn¡¯t see anyone when she got into the yard, Sam figured she would have to make her own fun. Her head was feeling a lot better already, and she was raring to put her new body to a proper test.


    Deadlifting boulders is one thing, but what else is there?


    Looking over the property and considering her options, she had the idea to go for a run. It would be the perfect way to work off some energy and help take her mind off a certain despicable someone.


    With no other real paths in evidence, Sam picked the one she had seen Mongrel use to head west into town and started off along it. The trail was bumpy and circuitous, and looked like it might have been made by animal feet originally before human traffic had broadened it. But the crookedness of the path did not bother her, because it gave her a chance to see how deftly she could move. Beginning at a slow jog, Sam gradually quickened her steps until she was eating up ground at a frightening pace, leaping over roots and dancing around rocks with the rush of air howling in her ears.


    Faster, she thought, and faster she went.


    The trees became a corridor of smeared green and brown, passing by so fast that she could not observe the rise and fall of the landscape if she¡¯d had a care to.


    Sam laughed, and the sound was swallowed by the roaring wind. Her body had never felt anywhere near this responsive, this powerful. Before, no matter how hard she¡¯d trained, she had always been slower than she expected, than she needed to be. Now, it seemed to do what she wanted even before she had a chance to think it, moving around obstacles that she had barely observed by the time they slid past out of her view.


    It was pure bliss.


    A shuddering scream of anguish broke Sam out of her breakneck trance, had her skidding and stumbling as she tried to come to a stop. She ended up panting and bent-double with a hand on the trunk of a broad pine to steady her. Whipping her head around, sweaty hair throwing off droplets of sweat, she tried to figure out what she had just heard, and where it had come from.


    It hadn¡¯t sounded human, but¡­ it wasn¡¯t like any animal she had ever heard, either.


    The forest was too dense for her to make anything out more than twenty-or-so feet off the trail. Suddenly paranoid, Sam reached down and picked up a sturdy-looking branch to wield as a club, whipping it against the nearby pine to make sure it held.


    She listened for what felt like minutes, but the cry didn¡¯t come again. Straining her ears, there was only the rustle of pine needles and occasionally the scratching of a rodent or the trilling of a bird. Nothing untoward, certainly.


    Or¡­? Did that sound like¡­ footsteps? Was she imagining it? Maybe it was just¡­ trees settling, or something.


    There was a blur of movement, something falling out of a treetop right at her, and Sam let out an undignified squeak as she raised her improvised weapon to bat away whatever thing was trying to murder her.


    Her pounding heart did not slow when she realized that it was only a vested chimp, having landed on top of a rock beside her.


    ¡®1¡¯, read the patch on his breast.


    Sam began to lower her club, deflating with a long breath. ¡°Holy shit,¡± she said. ¡°You scared me!¡±


    The old chimp slowly put a finger over his lips, raised his eyebrows pointedly. Feeling another rush of alarm, Sam stifled whatever she had been about to say, teeth clacking as she snapped her mouth shut.


    Number One nodded, then motioned with an open hand for her to keep low. Sam immediately dropped into a crouch, and the chimp came to pull her over so they both stood behind the tree she had been leaning against. He peered around its edge into the distance, and she did the same, though she had no idea what she was looking out for. She wished that he could let her know, but she had no idea how to interpret those hand signs the chimps used.


    The chimp unslung a shortbow from a case on his back, pulled out a fletched arrow from a quiver attached to the same case, and nocked it.


    The ¡®footsteps¡¯ Sam had been hearing seemed to be growing louder until she felt confident she wasn¡¯t imagining them. The way the sound echoed through the forest made it difficult to pinpoint a direction, but she had to imagine it had its source where Number One was staring.


    There was a brief snatch of movement between the trees, then another. The chimp did not move at all, except to chew on the end of an unlit cigarette held between his lips.


    There was nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Time stretched on. Sam¡¯s vigilance was beginning to fray when, all of a sudden, something emerged out of the backdrop. Something that walked on two legs, its shoulders brushing tree trunks when it moved, upsetting pine crowns and sending needles rustling to the forest floor. Something enormous.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    The creature was almost shaped like a person, but Sam would never have believed that it was human. Standing nine or ten feet tall, it was thick with blubbery fat and corded muscle, surely weighing at least as much as a large car. Its skin was a brownish-green that made it blend frighteningly well into the background given its size. Its head was lumpy and misshapen, with only a few stripy strands of black hair slicked to its tumorous pate. Thin lips were drawn back in a snarl of rage¡ªor maybe pain, she thought¡ªand fists like some of the medium-sized boulders she had just been lifting were balled tight at its sides. The creature wore only a putrid hide to cover its crotch, which swung and flapped when it walked.


    Worst of all, however, were the huge, gaping sores that covered the creature¡¯s body, especially about the torso and arms. They wept off-yellow pus that congealed like candle wax in countless little trails down its doughy body. Insects crawled in and out of these open wounds, having seemingly made their homes there. Wasps the size of fists¡ªa whole swarm of them¡ªbuzzed in a loose cloud around the lumbering behemoth. Occasionally raising an oar-blade of a hand to swat at them, the creature only managed to disperse them for a moment or two before they gathered back into formation.


    Holy fuck¡­ Sam thought, forcing back a wave of bile with a hard swallow. She had never seen anything half so disgusting in all her life. Both her lives.


    Number One remained stiff as stone, even stopped fussing with his smoke. The creature moved roughly in their direction, bound to cross the trail and pass them with only a few feet to spare.


    To their good fortune, the giant¡ªor whatever it was¡ªappeared to have too much on its mind to notice them. It cried out in a rough, guttural voice that shook the ground whenever it tried to scratch at one of its many wounds. Sam could not help but pity the thing, as it was obviously in agony, but the chimp¡¯s reaction implied that it would likely not be happy at seeing some tiny strangers cross its path.


    As it staggered past, upsetting trees in its almost blind shamble through the woods, the monstrous wasps that patrolled about their living home drew frighteningly close until Sam could make out the sheen of their mad kaleidoscope eyes and the iridescence wings that thrummed like small engines.


    Sam held her breath and squeezed herself against the bole of her beloved pine tree. One of the wasps hovered toward her, the size of a small rodent. Her eyes went wide as it landed on her forehead, feeling its legs scrape about between her eyes, the occasional buzz of its wings reverberating through her skull.


    Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck¡­


    The insect¡ªif something that enormous could still be called such¡ªstilled on top of her head, and she felt its legs shift as it readjusted itself.


    Slowly, slowly, Number One took his hand off the bowstring and reached out toward the thing.


    The wasp buzzed suspiciously at the appendage drawing near it, and she thought it was preparing to do something, could already imagine the feeling of its dagger-like stinger carving into her.


    Then, suddenly, some sort of box slid into existence around the bug, like a cage of bluish glass. Number One caught it as it began to fall out of the air, pulling it into his arms. The wasp battered itself soundlessly against the walls of its containment in impotent rage, but did not put a scratch on the see-through material, whatever it was.


    The giant moved on. To her great relief, the other wasps did not appear to realize that one of their comrades had gone missing, and soon their buzzing receded into nothing along with the giant¡¯s heavy footfalls, leaving the forest in serene silence once more.


    As soon as they were gone, Number One placed his cube of glass on the ground, stood, and drew back an arrow until the fletching brushed his cheek. For several moments, nothing happened. Then the glass shattered in a shower of shards. Before the wasp could move at all, the chimp loosed, and an arrow impaled it to the ground by its bulbous abdomen, gross yellow insect guts leaking out into the undergrowth.


    ¡°Ew,¡± Sam whispered.


    Number One shrugged. Drawing a long knife from the inside of his vest, he cut the scrabbling insect clean in half, then cleaned the blade against the grass and replaced it. He withdrew his arrow, inspected the edge, and cleaned it in the same way before sticking it back in the quiver.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Sam asked, realizing immediately that Number One could not answer.


    The chimp flashed several hand signs, and when it became clear that she did not understand, he sighed and put on a patient expression, as though dealing with a child. He held up both hands with forefingers extended so they looked like horns coming off his head, cocking a questioning eyebrow as he waited for her answer.


    ¡°Demon?¡± Sam asked, and got a head shake in reply. "Evil?"


    The chimp nodded, letting his hands drop.


    ¡°Monster?¡±


    Another nod.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got those here?¡±


    A shrug.


    Number One began leading her back along the trail, and Sam trotted sheepishly behind. He looked back frequently to make sure she was following, which made her feel like she really was an unruly kid who had gotten into some irresponsible mischief.


    At least I know what Will meant when he said there are worse things than slavers in these woods, Sam thought. She did not want to begin imagining the haranguing waiting in her near future.


    They made it back to the farm without incident, and Sam waited in the yard feeling suitably ashamed while Number One went out back to fetch Will from his workshop.


    Fortunately¡ªand surprisingly¡ªWill did not look particularly angry as he came wandering across the yard side-by-side with the old chimp. He stopped in front of Sam, and a packet of cigarettes changed hands between him and Number One before the latter hobbled off.


    ¡°You hurt?¡± Will asked neutrally. ¡°Aside from the brain damage, I mean. We can chalk that up to a preexisting condition.¡±


    Sam decided to swallow her retort to that, figuring that it was best to take her dressing-down with grace. ¡°I¡¯m not hurt,¡± she said. ¡°Sorry for leaving the farm. I thought it¡¯d be fine.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it.¡± She endured Will pacing around her in a circle, occasionally tugging at her clothing or lifting one of her arms. ¡°All right, you¡¯re good.¡±


    Sam blinked at him as he stood back. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be a bit more angry with me for running off.¡±


    He cocked his head in a sort of shrugging gesture. ¡°Nah, it was my bad. I didn¡¯t explicitly tell you not to leave the farm, after all.¡±


    ¡°You did say it was dangerous, though.¡±


    ¡°I did. But I should have guessed that words like ¡®dangerous¡¯ would only activate the contrarian in you.¡±


    Sam folded her hands together, going small. ¡°Sorreee.¡±


    ¡°It''s okay. Let¡¯s consider it a learning opportunity. Now you know why it¡¯s not a good idea for you to leave this place yet, right?¡±


    ¡°Yessirrr.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±

 Chapter 20 - The Nail That Sticks Out

    Sam


    After her encounter with the monster¡ªa troll, Will had called it¡ªtraining was kept light for the rest of the day. Will had her dig some tree stumps out of the ground with an axe and an iron spit, then they called it quits.


    Sam had a much easier time falling asleep that night, despite throbbing bruises and pangs of growing pain. Now that she knew she definitely wasn¡¯t in a dream, she found that she felt too awkward to initiate anything with Will, even though she badly wanted to kiss him. She settled for running her fingers over the scars on his chest, which he did not seem to mind.


    Mongrel returned from his trip to Sheerhome in the morning, interrupting breakfast by charging into the kitchen with an expression that could curdle milk.


    ¡°You won¡¯t believe this!¡± he shrieked.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure I won¡¯t,¡± Will sighed without looking up from his food. ¡°Good morning to you too, by the way.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, now listen to this; Annie went and quit on me!¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Will cried, his one eye widening in pretend shock. Then, in a more dull voice, he said: ¡°Who¡¯s Annie?¡±


    Mongrel was outraged at this despicable lack of common knowledge, and looked around the table for support. When he received none aside for a vaguely apologetic shrug from Nyx, he huffed angrily. ¡°Only my favorite working girl at the Red House!¡±


    When it became clear that he was expecting further prompting, Will sighed, then obliged: ¡°Right, of course, your favorite prostitute. How could I forget. What about her, Matt?¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t like to be called prostitutes,¡± Mongrel corrected with a wagging finger, then pulled out a chair to drape himself bonelessly over.


    ¡°Mmhmm.¡±


    ¡°Anyway, Annie went and got married to some Trader from Octant Seven and quit the business, can you believe it?¡±


    ¡°I sure can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I had to settle for Georgina! She¡¯s a shrew!¡±


    ¡°Oh dear. Well, I¡¯m glad you survived that horrible ordeal.¡±


    Mongrel huffed, crossing skinny arms atop a round belly. ¡°You people are all heartless. I really loved that girl, you know.¡±


    ¡°Aw, poor thing,¡± Nyx murmured. She hopped up on the table, tiptoed deftly around plates and mugs, and dropped down in Mongrel¡¯s lap. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Matthew. I know how you mortals love your love.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t encourage him,¡± Will muttered into his food.


    ¡°Please encourage me,¡± Mongrel whined. ¡°I think I¡¯m going to kill myself.¡±


    ¡°There, there,¡± the demoness purred, giving his chin a scratch. She sounded so aggressively sincere that she looped around again to sounding sarcastic.


    After breakfast, Will took Sam out into the yard, explaining that she was ready to begin training in earnest now that they had at least established a baseline for her abilities and she had gotten used to the way her improved body functioned.


    He tossed something at her that had been stood against one of the porch pillars, and she caught it on reflex. It was a long wooden dowel¡ªsanded smooth and almost perfectly cylindrical¡ªthat fit well in her hand.


    ¡°Practice sword,¡± he elaborated before she could ask the question.


    ¡°You want me to train with swords?¡±


    ¡°More or less.¡± He motioned to one of the chimps, Number Three, who had lined up on the other side of the open space between the cluster of buildings. ¡°We¡¯re going to have you practice against Number Three here. Keep going until you¡¯re able to beat him.¡±


    ¡°Wait, where are you going?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got work of my own. There¡¯s not much to supervise here, so I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be fine on your own.¡±


    ¡°What if I hurt him?¡±


    Number Three grinned, and Will shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. Mongrel has made the boys into familiars, which means they don¡¯t exactly work like regular animals anymore. A familiar only dies if its master does, so even if you knock Number Three¡¯s head off he¡¯ll come back in a day or two. Probably a bit pissed off, but otherwise perfectly all right.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Sam spun her dowel, testing its weight. ¡°What if he hurts me?¡± She noticed that Number Three was hefting a heavy wooden mallet that looked like it might easily crack someone¡¯s skull open, and the chimp seemed eager to use it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that, either. Between your Stoneskin passive and your points in Toughness, he shouldn¡¯t be able to hurt you too bad. Just come fetch me if he hits you on the head hard enough that you go blind or start throwing up.¡±


    ¡°Will¡ª¡±


    ¡°Have fun!¡±


    Will strutted off around the side of the farmhouse, soon slipping out of sight, and Number Three took that as the bell being rung. He hobbled toward her, surprisingly quick despite his stiff bow legs, swinging the mallet over his head with one hand and knuckling the ground with the other.


    ¡°All right, let¡¯s¡ª¡±


    Number Three let out a howling war cry and dove for Sam, swinging his weapon in a downward arc. She stepped back and felt a whoosh of air as the blocky wooden head passed just clear of her nose and hit the ground between her legs. Realizing that there was no way for her to beg off this task, she raised her own glorified stick as she retreated across the yard, catching a second blow that rattled her arms with the force of it.


    Number Three was relentless, swinging his mallet and swiping with his off-hand so that Sam was forced to cede ground until she was backed up all the way to the woodshed. Kicking off the wall, she ducked under a horizontal hammer sweep and brought her own weapon to bear, but the chimp caught the dowel in his fist to divert her attack and laughed a shrieking laugh.


    At least he wasn¡¯t able to pull it out of her grasp, grunting in annoyance when he tried. But then he abruptly let go, which had Sam stumbling. He stayed right on top of her, hooking the back of a leg with his mallet to flip her onto the ground, then bringing the heavy flat down square on her head, which had her seeing double and staggering drunkenly when she tried to stand up, forced to ask for a short break.


    After what felt like an endless series of sparring sessions, Sam came to the conclusion that Number Three was the most cruel of the boys, taking great pleasure in knocking her down and laughing mockingly whenever she was too weak to continue.


    It didn¡¯t help that his brothers had all taken off work for the day to come watch, smoking on the porch while signing to each other and snickering.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Luckily, Sam was well familiar with humiliation. It wasn¡¯t that it didn¡¯t bother her; rather the opposite¡ªeach failure stoked a fire in her, fueled her to try harder.


    So she kept going.


    By the time Will returned in the afternoon to let her off, she was battered beyond belief, feeling like she¡¯d been hit by a car that had then backed over her a few times for good measure. He offered an arm to help her inside, and placed out an array of little potion bottles on the kitchen table that she had to drink before she was allowed to start on her dinner.


    ¡°It¡¯ll take the edge off the pain and help with your recovery,¡± Will explained. Sam found that her hands were too shaky and raw to work properly and he helped her cut up her food so she could eat.


    ¡°That was awful,¡± Sam said, feeling sorry for herself. She was hardly even hungry. ¡°I barely landed a single hit.¡±


    ¡°Number One said you did well,¡± Will pointed out.


    ¡°He did?¡± Number One was her favorite of the chimps, not least because he had saved her ass during the troll incident.


    Will nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    That made her feel a little better.


    Sam decided that her arms were too weak to operate at all, which forced Will to feed her. She¡¯d earned that much, with the day she¡¯d had.


    ¡°Sorry for going so hard on you right off the bat,¡± he said, feeding her a bit of mashed potato.


    ¡°No!¡± Sam said quickly. ¡°Don¡¯t hold back for my sake. I can take it.¡±


    He smiled. ¡°I figured you¡¯d say that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do better tomorrow.¡± It was a promise to herself as much as anyone else.


    * * *


    Sam was so exhausted when she went to bed that night that she forgot to feel nervous about sleeping in the same bed as Will, passed out almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. She felt a little better when she woke up, but her body was still a wreck.


    She did fare better during the next day of practice sparring. Made familiar with Number Three¡¯s aggressive fighting style by having it literally and thoroughly beaten into her, she was able to better anticipate his attacks. Additionally, with such a wanton focus on offense, the chimp often left gaps in his defense, letting Sam get a sharp poke in with her stick every now and then.


    The wooden sword was unfamiliar to her¡ªshe had never practiced with weapons before, so she wasn¡¯t sure what stance to keep or how to leverage her sword other than the most obvious swinging and jabbing movements. When the dowel eventually broke into two splintered halves during a clash with Number Three¡¯s mallet, she decided not to ask for a replacement. Fists and feet had always been good enough for her, so why change anything now?


    Despite her decreased range, she immediately found that her performance improved without a weapon. Focusing on slipping and weaving, she had become more fearless of the wicked mallet after feeling its sting hundreds of times at this point, and she began to be able to catch or divert it with her palms. Every once in a while, she managed to give the chimp a good solid smack in the face, which was more satisfying than she cared to admit. Maybe she would have felt bad about hitting an animal if he wasn¡¯t such a sore winner.


    Only a few rounds after she had broken her stick, in the middle of rolling away from an attack, Sam felt a flash of impressions pop into her head.


    [Congratulations! You have reached Level 2!]


    The distraction of it caused her to take a mallet to the side of the head, but Will praised her at dinner, so it was more or less worth it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel any different, though,¡± Sam said, slumped into her seat like a corpse.


    ¡°You need to wait until you fall asleep,¡± Will explained, patiently holding up a spoonful of stew for her to inch her mouth toward. ¡°Then you¡¯ll meet the Concord Ghost, and he¡¯ll let you allocate your level-up rewards.¡±


    ¡°Concord Ghost?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s like some kind of system administrator. You¡¯ll see. As far as I know he doesn¡¯t actually have a name, so people call him the Ghost.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s some kind of demon, then? Like Unger?¡±


    ¡°Maybe, but I don¡¯t think so. He might just be some kind of ethereal manifestation created by the system.¡±


    ¡°Spooky.¡±


    ¡°For Level 2, you¡¯re going to get an extra upgrade point to spend on unlocking a new passive or add a rank to an existing one. For Level 3 you¡¯ll be getting more attribute points¡ªfour instead of the usual two, mind you¡ªand it¡¯ll switch back and forth like that every other level. Ten, fifteen, and twenty are special, but you don¡¯t need to worry about that right now.¡±


    ¡°All right. Any suggestions for what I should pick?¡±


    ¡°Just don¡¯t put another rank into Tenacious.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°It sucks, Sam.¡±


    ¡°What! No it doesn¡¯t! It said something about not being able to get knocked out.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, exactly. Usually something that hits you hard enough to knock you out would probably kill you outright anyway, so what¡¯s the point?¡±


    Will had no idea what he was talking about, but Sam sensed that she wasn¡¯t going to convince him of anything, so she allowed him to continue living in delusion.


    ¡°Something like Shock Absorption or Heat Resistance would probably be good options,¡± Will suggested. ¡°Shock Absorption will let you protect your internals better. Stoneskin isn¡¯t very good at mitigating concussive damage, since it''s more for diverting bladed weapons and such. Heat Resistance is good for countering Spark builds. They¡¯re quite common, so you¡¯re bound to get on the wrong end of one sooner or later. That being said, another rank in Stoneskin can¡¯t hurt either.¡±


    ¡°Got it, chief.¡±


    Sam was a little apprehensive to fall asleep that night after what Will had told her about ghosts and stuff, but she was too tired to stay awake long anyway. As soon as her eyes fell shut, they opened again, and she found herself standing in¡­ a library, of all things.


    I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve been in one of these since I was a kid, Sam thought as she took in her surroundings. I remember it used to really annoy me when Will insisted on reading all these books while I was over instead of actually hanging out. Like I was just some kind of inconvenience to him!


    She stood in the very center of a large, vaulted chamber with stone walls and thick support pillars, the intricate floor pattern running so that it converged into a circle of whirling designs right under her feet.


    Countless shelves lined the walls, filled with old volumes whose cloth-bound spines made a faded rainbow tapestry. More bookshelves covered parts of the open floor plan as well, grouped into different sections. Tall, fogged-up windows running dozens of feet from the floor almost up to the arched ceiling let in stark white light.


    Sam turned and turned, but couldn¡¯t see any doors. Wherever she was, she was stuck here.


    Directly in front of her was a help desk shaped like a crescent moon, lit by a single yellow lamp that naturally drew the eye with how washed-out everything else appeared. A tall figure stood behind the desk. Sam could not quite begin to make out its features, even as she walked closer. It was clad in dark robes tossed by a wind that did not exist, sleeves coming down past its hands, and a drawn hood plunged the face beneath into near-perfect darkness, leaving only a vague outline of a head-like silhouette visible.


    Even once she put her hands on the help desk to stare up into the person¡¯s face, she could not make out any specific features. The darkness was too complete, looking almost artificial.


    ¡°You¡¯re the Ghost, I guess,¡± Sam said.


    The figure seemed to nod almost imperceptibly.


    She held out her hand for him to shake. When he did not take it, she eventually let it drop. Sighing, she went on. ¡°All right, so what do I do here?¡±


    The Ghost waved a voluminous sleeve, and a large tome appeared in the air between them, causing Sam to jump back when it thumped onto the desk. It opened on its own with a crackling of ancient leather, revealing pages that at first appeared blank, but began to form symbols in ink that gradually darkened.


    [Choose.]


    The instruction buzzed around inside her skull as well as on the page, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Before she was able to ask what she was supposed to choose, exactly, the squiggles in the book continued to shift, forming letters she was able to read. It was a list of abilities much like the one Unger had presented her with in the Tower, and as she flipped the pages she found that it continued on for a while, before abruptly terminating in the middle of a page.


    Sam could probably have spent the whole night reading over the abilities and their descriptions, but she didn¡¯t see the point in worrying too much about it. Given how badly Number Three had been battering her for the past three days, she thought that something to alleviate that might be the best way to go, so she went ahead and picked one of the passives Will had suggested to her; Shock Absorption.


    Shock Absorption (_)


    Tier: 3.


    Requirements: Builder, Entertainer, or Laborer.


    Type: Constant.


    Description: Your body is better equipped to withstand impacts and concussive forces. Suitable for work in hazardous environments or around heavy equipment.


    She placed her finger over the entry on the page, and looked to the Ghost. He inclined his head slightly, and Sam was flashbanged with another message, arriving with the same suddenness as the others.


    [Ability selection accepted.]


    [Goodbye.]


    Right. So much for customer service, I guess.


    Before Sam could so much as wave a farewell, the library seemed to collapse in on itself, walls and ceiling drawn toward her in distorted spaghetti strings until it was all a mess of color and light. It closed in on her, enfolded her, wrapped her up like a mummy, and darkened until everything was black.

 Chapter 21 - Aint That a Kick in the Head

    Will


    Will felt a little bit bad about throwing Sam in the deep end without giving her much time to acclimate¡ªhowever, as he had expected, it didn¡¯t take her very long to rise to the challenge.


    He made sure to remove himself from the process as much as possible. He wanted her to figure things out on her own, so she wouldn¡¯t get into the habit of relying on him to solve everything for her. There would come a time when she would be expected to achieve great things, and she couldn¡¯t do that while clinging to his apron strings.


    Number One¡ªthe only one of the chimps he really trusted to give an accurate account¡ªcontinued to provide updates on Sam¡¯s progress. Mongrel also added his own commentary at times, but Will found his word a good deal less reputable than that of his servant.


    Will actually did have a fair bit of work to get done if he wanted to finish the next batch of ointment in time for Mongrel to hand it off to the city merchants by the appointed date. That specific ointment of calendula and comfrey was one of his more popular products, mostly on account of the fact that it was a good topical remedy for all sorts of STD infections. Needless to say, diseases of that nature that ran absolutely rampant in a squalid cesspit like Sheerhome. Mixing and Preparing batches of the same bland, whitish paste each day was not exactly inspired work, but at least it netted him a steady income.


    Despite his commitments, Will could not help but sit down with the little audience that gathered on the porch to watch Sam on the morning of the third day. Apparently, she had spent her Level 2 upgrade point on Shock Absorption, which was probably the best choice.


    The rest of the chimps were also gathered to watch, along with their master. Even Nyx was there, offering insincere encouragements to the challenger while wearing a mocking sneer.


    Number Four was the only one not in attendance. Will asked Mongrel about it, but the strange little man just cracked a secretive smirk and tapped the side of his nose.


    That bastard¡¯s planning something, isn¡¯t he? Will thought warily. He wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to know what it was.


    Sam¡¯s body was a patchwork of welts and bruises under her clothes at this point. One of her eyes had nearly swollen shut, while the other was completely bloodshot. The cream he had applied to take away the swelling last night had only helped a little.


    Despite the extreme punishment she had taken, she did not let it slow her at all, nor did it stop her from cracking a big grin and sketching out a stiff bow for her audience.


    Number Three was gibbering and screaming and pounding his mallet on the ground, impatient to get started with the thrashing. Will halted the proceedings, however, by calling Sam over to have a word with her.


    ¡°You¡¯re not using the training weapon I gave you,¡± he observed.


    Sam clapped her hands together, empty except for the bloody bandages she had wrapped around them, and gave a sheepish laugh. ¡°Yeah, sorry¡ªI kinda broke it.¡±


    ¡°Mongrel can make you another one, you know.¡±


    ¡°Of course I can,¡± Mongrel agreed. ¡°Number One, make her another stick.¡±


    The old chimp shot his master a sour look, but began to rise all the same. Mongrel immediately flopped onto his side to spread out across the spot Number One had occupied, letting out a contented sigh.


    ¡°Oh, thanks, but it¡¯s all right!¡± Sam replied. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m into all this sword business. My hands work just fine for me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you need more practice,¡± Will admonished. ¡°There are going to be people out there who want to make you very dead, and they¡¯re not going to be using wooden weapons. You don¡¯t want to walk into that kind of fight with just your fists and a can-do attitude, trust me.¡±


    Sam¡¯s smile took on a playful edge, and her eyes twinkled despite how messed-up they were. ¡°I guess we¡¯ll see who¡¯s right eventually, then.¡± She turned, and strutted back out into the yard without waiting for a reply.


    ¡°Stubborn,¡± Will sighed, rubbing at his bad eye.


    Mongrel, who had taken on the role of referee, whistled sharply to signal the start of the first bout. The two fighters ran at each other, clashed, and danced apart again. The difference made by Sam¡¯s new passive became evident almost immediately when she took a hard knock on the head and only stumbled slightly from the blow without breaking her stride. She retaliated with an uppercut that caught Number Three on the chin and sent him reeling.


    ¡°She¡¯s got a hard noggin, I¡¯ll give her that,¡± Mongrel hummed approvingly.


    ¡°I guess that¡¯s not too hard when there¡¯s nothing but rocks and protein powder in there,¡± Will grumbled, though his tone was no-less fond.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The chimps started oohing and aahing and signing rapidly to each other once Sam got their brother on the back foot, turning his weapon aside with a palm or an elbow whenever he tried to bring it to bear, and following up with cautious but steady retaliations of punches and kicks to keep him reeling.


    Number Three screamed in frustration. He pivoted on his back foot, refusing to retreat any further, and Sam caught him with a jab that snapped his head back. The chimp came back with a one-handed downward swing that Sam easily sidestepped, moving in for a grapple.


    But Will caught the signs Number Three was weaving with his free hand. When the mallet hit the ground, a web of cracks shot through the earth, and it shook and shattered into fine pieces. Sam slipped on the suddenly treacherous ground with a yelp, and Number Three brought his weapon back up to catch her on the chin with a triumphant roar.


    Still struggling to keep her footing, Sam toppled onto her back, and then the chimp was on top of her. The next minute consisted of fairly one-sided whaling until Mongrel declared that the bout was over and instructed the fighters to reset. Sam rolled to her feet, spat blood, and trotted over to her side of the yard, a whole new constellation of bruises already darkening to join the rest. Her face had taken on a grimly determined set, but she still clung to a stubborn smile.


    Sam had always been good at getting herself into fights, and it had always pissed people off the way she could take a hit to the face¡ªor three, or ten¡ªand still be grinning like an idiot.


    Will thought it was perhaps her most admirable trait.


    Now that Sam was aware of Number Three¡¯s Demolish trick, she fought more cautiously in the second bout. It was also a near thing, but ended in much the same as the first. It was in the third bout that Sam actually knocked the mallet out of Number Three¡¯s hand with a well-placed kick and snaked past the baffled chimp¡¯s grasp, had him on the ground before he even thought to resist. Grappling a chimp looked far more awkward than doing it to a person, given their mismatched anatomies, but she managed it regardless, latched to the chimp¡¯s back while locking down one of his arms in an outstretched position, her legs wrapped around his torso.


    Number Three screamed. He refused to give up, even as Sam pried his arm further and further back. Will expected he would hear a snap any moment. The chimp, who had clearly never practiced the fine art of grappling, had no idea how to get out of the hold she had put him in, and could only thrash uselessly.


    The bout was over at this point.


    ¡°Heads up, kid!¡± Mongrel cried out of nowhere, laughing at something no one could see.


    Until a small streak zipped through the air from behind the barn and cracked Sam in the temple, knocking her sideways. Deflected off her dome, an arrow blunted with a ball of rags spun off through the air.


    Number Three took advantage of Sam¡¯s momentary lapse by wriggling free of her grip. While she was still trying to get up, rubbing at the side of her head in confusion, Number Three had fetched his fallen mallet and put it to use on Sam¡¯s chin like a golf club.


    Number Four peeked his head out from the corner of the barn, grinning big, and ducked back into concealment.


    ¡°Mongrel¡­¡± Will sighed.


    The bastard in question smiled innocently, propped up on one elbow. ¡°It¡¯s for her own good, you know. In a real fight, she¡¯s got to keep her eyes peeled, not just on the guy she happens to be fighting.¡±


    ¡°You could have at least warned her to be on her toes.¡±


    ¡°I guess so. But that would have spoiled the surprise, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±


    Sam fared worse after that, worn down by repeated thrashings. She clung desperately to that famous grin of hers, but it began to look more and more like a pained grimace with each passing bout. Will didn¡¯t like watching it very much, and he called an end to the training sometime after midday to give her a break for the day.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t my idea, you know,¡± he murmured while checking over her wounds on the porch once everyone else had cleared out, cleaning dirt and gravel out of any scrapes he found with a wet cloth. ¡°You would have won that match if Mongrel hadn¡¯t played dirty.¡±


    ¡°Nah,¡± Sam replied in her sunny voice. ¡°He taught me something, so I¡¯m happy he did it like that.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯d you learn? Never trust the ugly ones?¡±


    She giggled, then winced when it exacerbated one of her countless hurts. ¡°That too.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Keep my eyes open.¡±


    ¡°Not bad. You know, maybe it is a good lesson to learn quickly. In the Frontier, no one ever fights fair. You fight fair, you get dead.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s pretty harsh.¡±


    Will shrugged, removing the lid from a pot of ointment to smear over her bruises, making sure to keep it clear of any open wounds. ¡°It is what it is. No point whining over reality¡ªyou just learn to deal with it.¡±


    ¡°Is everyone really like that here?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much.¡±


    ¡°Is there no one who can do anything about it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying.¡±


    Sam smiled at him, then nodded. ¡°That¡¯s good. I¡¯ll make sure to get better at this quick so I can start helping you.¡±


    ¡°I know you will.¡±


    Will pulled up the rear of Sam¡¯s tunic. She winced when the cold ointment touched her tender skin, but slowly relaxed as he proceeded to rub a thick layer of it up the defined muscles of her back, trying to softly massage some knots out at the same time.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking,¡± Will said.


    ¡°That¡¯s new,¡± Sam replied.


    ¡°Hilarious. Just listen. You did well today, and I think you could use a bit of a break. I was thinking I could take you into Sheerhome tomorrow, give you the grand tour. If you¡¯d like that, I mean. Like I said, it¡¯s not much of a tourist destination, and it probably stinks worse than anything you¡¯ve ever smelled, and there¡¯s pickpockets everywhere, but¡­¡± He shrugged. ¡°Change of pace, at least.¡±


    Sam looked back over her shoulder with big eyes and a huge grin. ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°I thought you said it wasn¡¯t a good idea?¡±


    Will sighed. ¡°It probably isn¡¯t. But it doesn¡¯t feel right to keep you cooped up here either, with no sense of what¡¯s going on outside this farm, and I thought of a way to make it work.¡±


    ¡°Yeah? How?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll just have to wear a disguise.¡± Reluctantly finishing his rub-down, Will pulled her tunic back down and washed his hands in the water basin sitting next to him.


    ¡°A disguise?¡± Sam asked doubtfully, and spun to face him. ¡°You¡¯re embarrassed to be seen with me now, is that it?¡±


    Will laughed. ¡°Can you blame me?¡± He held up a pacifying hand at her indignant expression. ¡°Joking, joking. It¡¯s nothing like that, it¡¯s just¡­ There¡¯s a lot of politics involved in this place. I¡¯m too high-profile to blend in on the street, and if anyone spots me with a freshie Laborer that the lord doesn¡¯t know about, people are going to start asking questions I can¡¯t answer.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you want the lord to find out about me?¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m going to depose him,¡± Will said with a wry grin, ¡°and you¡¯re my secret weapon.¡±

 Chapter 22 - The City of Dreams and Shit (Mostly Shit)

    Sam


    Once Will told the others about the plan to visit Sheerhome, it was soon agreed that they would all go together, chimps included. Mongrel explained that he was due a run to the city, meaning it was just as well that he came along. He said it was safer to travel in a group anyway, which Sam could well believe after her encounter with the troll.


    No one knew why Nyx decided to come along, but she was actually dressed decently for once and wasn¡¯t making a fuss of herself as she rode in the back of Mongrel¡¯s wagon while they traveled the sinuous path leading to the city, so Sam was content to simply ignore her.


    Only Number One had stayed behind to care for the animals and make sure that no bandits tried making off with any valuables. He was too old and tired to travel much anymore, he explained through Mongrel, and he had experienced more of Sheerhome than he would like anyway. Sam had been surprised to find him reading a book in the living room before they left, wearing a pair of adorable reading glasses on the bridge of his flat nose, and had to wonder just how smart those chimps were, exactly.


    She kept her head on a swivel while wandering alongside the wagon, eyeing the trees for signs of trolls. Will insisted that she was unlikely to see any more, since, as he explained: ¡°They¡¯re actually quite rare, you know. You were lucky to run into one in the first place.¡±


    ¡°Lucky?¡± Sam asked with an incredulous laugh. ¡°I thought I was going to shit myself at the time.¡±


    ¡°If we¡¯re going to see anything, it¡¯d probably be grinners,¡± Will continued in a light tone, his hand on the hilt of the sheathed saber on his hip. ¡°They¡¯ve been all over the place lately.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about, kid!¡± Mongrel shouted from up ahead. ¡°Diregulls are the most common, obviously.¡±


    ¡°Along the coast, maybe. How many diregulls have you seen in the woods?¡±


    ¡°Oh, plenty. Since Brimstone started fishing more slaves off the Shore, the damn things don¡¯t get as many easy cadavers, so they¡¯ve had to move further inland to find food.¡±


    Will didn¡¯t offer any resistance to that, settling into thoughtful silence, which Mongrel took as him winning the argument.


    Sam, for one, did not have any desire to learn about either ¡®diregulls¡¯ or ¡®grinners¡¯, whatever they were. She was worried that Will would begin a lecture on the topic, considering how he liked to explain things at length, but luckily he let the matter drop. To bookend the subject, Mongrel said: ¡°Either way, you don¡¯t need to worry about anything sneaking up on us while little Willie¡¯s around. He¡¯s got ways of making sure that kind of thing doesn¡¯t happen.¡±


    At a questioning look from Sam, Will shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve got a skill called Detect that lets me spot things from a distance. With my range doubled by divine vow, and another passive called Extension of Self that doubles it again, I can see pretty far out. I¡¯ve been pulsing it periodically, so you can be sure that we¡¯re safe for now.¡± He held up his arm, showing that several of his AP crystals were dark from being used up.


    Before they made it out of the woods, Will had Sam roll up the left sleeve of her tunic. Apparently, it was considered suspicious to go about a public space with your left sleeve down, since it implied that you wanted to hide either your Profession or your AP crystals. Seeing someone roll down their sleeve usually meant that they were about to engage in some form of illicit activity, so he warned her to look out for it.


    They left the woods without incident a little before noon, with the chimps jumping down from the trees they had been swinging among to join the others on the path.


    A wide stretch of cultivated land extended out to both north and south, a patchwork of yellow fields criss-crossed with paths and irrigation ditches and low walls of stacked-up stones that served as boundary lines between properties. The occasional farmhouse dotted the land, as did the occasional moving herd of sheep.


    Wooden watchtowers stood evenly spaced just beyond the edges of the cultivated land, manned by men in chain armor and bright-red livery. The structures looked a little too much like the ones the slavers used for Sam to feel comfortable around them, but Will assured her that they were garrisoned by the lord¡¯s militia, who were only concerned with keeping the farmlands safe from monsters and bandits.


    They were never stopped by any of the militiamen, who recognized Mongrel as a frequent visitor, and a few of them even joked with him from their posts on the tower walkways as they passed. No one seemed to pick up on Will¡¯s presence, however, since he was wearing his ingenious disguise. It consisted of a large bandage worn over the left side of his face to cover the tell-tale stitched-up eye that people knew him by, along with wearing slightly grubbier clothes than usual. If anyone noticed the number of crystals adorning his arm, they made no mention of it.


    Once beyond the watchtowers, they did not encounter many more people as they journeyed through the farmland. The few they did see out in their fields usually straightened from their labor to stare suspiciously after the travelers until they were completely gone from sight, not a word in greeting. Friendly bunch.


    It was not long before a high stone wall came into view in the distance over the rolling landscape, with toothy crenellations and edged towers that jutted out at even intervals. The path they followed began to widen as they neared the wall and eventually fell in alongside it, traveling perpendicular.


    ¡°The Sheerhome wall is probably the only major building project completed in the city after the Deicide,¡± Will explained, walking over to the monolithic stone structure and allowing his hand to trail along it. ¡°Brimstone spent a lot of money and even brought in Builders from other cities to have it completed. Keeps out the monsters that get past the watchtowers, for the most part.¡±Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    They walked for what seemed like forever before they finally reached the wall¡¯s northern edge, and swung back around west to get onto an actual paved road that would take them to Sheerhome¡¯s main gates.


    Sam¡¯s first impression of the city was not good. A huge, sprawling slum of huts and shanties grew out of the shadow of the walls like black mold, and they were forced to travel through it to reach the main gates. It was apparently known as the Outside. It was filled with undesirables of all sorts, from beggars to invalids to those afflicted with infectious diseases, the latter of whom were crammed into overfull sick homes. Small packs of emaciated dogs roved the labyrinthine streets, and there were even mean-looking wild pigs covered in coarse bristles that mucked about in the dirt and charged at anyone who got too close.


    Will saw Sam eyeing a poor fellow who had no arms and only one leg, and seemed to have lost his lower jaw as well, tongue hanging limply onto his neck as he slumped against a building that didn¡¯t look so solid itself. ¡°Stump shaker, they call those,¡± Will said, nodding toward the man. ¡°A few of the city¡¯s brothels have demons working in them. Some get hopelessly addicted to their¡­ services. Most of the demons take cash payment, but when you have no money left, they will happily accept your flesh as a substitute. And they¡¯ll keep on taking it until all that¡¯s left is a wretch like that.¡± There was no pity in his voice at all; only disgust. Apparently he did not see the demonic contracts he had made as being in the same realm.


    ¡°That¡¯s awful,¡± Sam gasped.


    ¡°A fair trade, dear,¡° Nyx said from the back of the wagon with a lazy yawn. ¡°They know the price of what they''re buying, and they pay it smiling.¡±


    ¡°Quiet, demon,¡° Will admonished, ¡°before you start giving Mongrel ideas.¡±


    The man in question muttered an insincere prayer to the dead goddess and kept his gaze fixed firmly ahead.


    ¡°See that?¡± Will continued, motioning to his own neck, then back to the unfortunate man. Sam saw what he was trying to point out; a line of AP crystals running at an awkward diagonal down the man¡¯s neck, with his Profession symbol taking up one exposed shoulder. ¡°If you lose your left arm for any reason, the Concord will replace your sheet on your right arm. If you lose your right arm, too, it will show up on a random part of your body.¡±


    Sam could not muster any enthusiasm over Will¡¯s random factoid while looking at the poor man. Looking around, she saw many more like him, and swallowed as she passed by.


    ¡°There¡¯s no point in giving them money,¡± Will said with a warning look. ¡°They¡¯ll only crawl back to the brothels with it. And if they¡¯re not let in there because of their appearance, they¡¯ll spend it on drugs instead.¡±


    Sam nodded somberly, and averted her eyes as they passed on.


    The Outside was also the place where the city dumped most of its garbage, and she watched wheelbarrows full of stinking refuse be unloaded straight into streams and ditches, where giant midden piles had formed. More than once did she see people actually digging into those piles for anything edible or useful, covered to their knees and elbows in human excrement and worse.


    Will had been right. The smell of rot and sour piss was so strong that Sam could almost taste it. She gagged more than once, and Will eyed her sympathetically as they hurried along.


    Jesus, I didn¡¯t think it would be this bad! There¡¯s got to be something that can be done for these people, somehow.


    The city¡¯s main gate was a large portal with a raised portcullis that made a row of badly rusted iron teeth along the rounded top. People streamed in and out alongside wagons and beasts, and three liveried militiamen made no attempt to halt the flow, leaning heavily on their halberds as folk passed around them.


    The crowding was even worse once they actually got inside the city. The street narrowed in, with tall buildings shouldering each other for space, built so close that she was not sure a person could squeeze through some of the alleys even if they went sidelong. Sam instinctively reached for Will to avoid losing him in the crush, and he took her hand, holding it firmly. It made her feel a little better.


    The area immediately inside the walls was crowded with inns. Signboards swung in the stale breeze, often adorned with crude names and even cruder drawings that most commonly referred to genitalia in one way or another. Based on this, it seemed to her that the people in this place shared their senses of humor with ornery sailors and ten-year-old boys.


    This part of the city was known as Topside. While extremely crowded, at least it was not nearly as squalid as the Outside had been. Once they got past the double rows of inns, they reached a large market square lined with shops and stalls, then residential streets with fine, glass-windowed townhouses for the well-to-do and shabbier tenements for the slightly less fortunate.


    At an intersection, Mongrel bid them farewell, explaining that he was going to sell off the goods he had brought, and went off down another path taking his mule and his chimps and his demon with him, looking a little like some sort of itinerant freakshow.


    ¡°And where is it we¡¯re going, exactly?¡± Sam asked, sticking to Will¡¯s shoulder like glue and refusing to release her cramping hold on his hand for one moment.


    ¡°I thought I¡¯d show you some of the sights,¡± Will replied, speaking loudly to be heard over the bustle. ¡°It¡¯s nothing impressive, so don¡¯t get too excited, but you might as well see it while we¡¯re here.¡±


    Sam nodded. She had no problem letting him take the lead.


    They traveled for maybe half an hour down a very gradual decline before catching sight of a tall building whose steeply slanted roofs might have once shone golden, but were now a tarnished brown.


    ¡°The church,¡± Will explained once they got to the small square surrounding the building, which was nearly abandoned. ¡°People used to be a little bit more pious back in the Better Times, and they would come here to worship the goddess Era. But, well, then she went and got murdered, and most people don¡¯t see any point praying to a dead god.¡±


    Piles of refuse littered the area outside the church¡¯s great iron-banded doors, and partially scrubbed-out graffiti marred the walls, but Sam did think she could hear a mournful chant echoing from inside. ¡°Are there people in there?¡±


    Will nodded. ¡°That¡¯d be the resurrectionists. They think that if they pray hard enough, for long enough, the goddess will come back to life and reward all the true believers for their faith.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°Needless to say, no one really takes them seriously. They have to travel in groups when they go out into the city, or they get robbed of everything they own. The guards usually don¡¯t bother to do anything about it, because they find the resurrectionists just as annoying as everybody else.¡±


    ¡°Everything in this city seems so¡­ sad,¡± Sam said.


    Will chuckled joylessly. ¡°Told you, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    They moved on. Only a few streets down from the old church was an even larger building, a complex of domed towers and ornamental struts and blocky annexes that looked just as, if not more rough than the previous landmark.


    ¡°This is the library,¡± Will said. ¡°It¡¯s actually a pretty useful place. I learned at least half of what I know about the Frontier from the books in there.¡±


    ¡°All that is a library?¡± Sam asked, frowning. It could cover a whole city block by itself.


    ¡°Well, it used to be an academy in the Better Times, but no one really cares so much about higher learning anymore. You probably won¡¯t get a lot of time to use it when the average life expectancy is like five years.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°Fletcher is the guy who runs the library now. I think he used to teach at the academy, but he¡¯s the only one of the faculty that¡¯s left.¡±


    So sad.


    ¡°Fletcher¡¯s cool, though. He¡¯s actually one of the highest-level people in the city.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s really interesting, Will.¡±


    Sam did not ask to go inside.

 Chapter 23 - The City of Dreams and Shit (Mostly Shit) [2]

    Sam


    After the library, Will took her southwest to a more spacious section of the city, and pointed to a large, walled-off quarter that covered the sides of a tall hill, with a weathered stone fort standing at its peak.


    ¡°That keep there is where the lord stays,¡± he said, indicating the stone structure. Moving his finger down, he pointed out another large building just below it. ¡°And that one is the militia headquarters. The rest of the men are housed in this fenced-off bit here, and only people personally approved by Lord Brimstone are allowed to go inside. He¡¯s a pretty paranoid fellow.¡±


    Large banners flapped from the keep¡¯s leaning towers, and Sam shuddered when she saw that they depicted a burning man in blood-red on a field of black.


    ¡°Yeah, he likes his fire, too,¡± Will elaborated, noticing Sam¡¯s unease. ¡°He has a habit of burning people who inconvenience him at the stake.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re going to stop him, right?¡±


    He threw her a sharp glance and spoke in a low voice. ¡°Don¡¯t talk about that here. Not anywhere except the farm. Understand?¡±


    Sam nodded. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± he said, much more warmly. He squeezed her hand, and turned them around to head away from the lord¡¯s quarter.


    Spotting a large pillar of black smoke rising over the buildings in the distance, Sam pointed it out. ¡°Is that a fire?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Probably. Most of these buildings are made of wood, and they''re squeezed pretty tight together, so fires are common. It''ll probably be all right, though. The fireman''ll get to it sooner or later.¡±


    Sam raised an eyebrow at him. ¡°The fireman?¡±


    ¡°Mmhmm.¡±


    ¡°As in just one?¡±


    ¡°Mmhmm. The guards are technically supposed to deal with fire suppression as well, but they''re usually not too keen on putting their hides on the line. Luckily, Sheerhome''s one and only volunteer firefighter has them covered for the most part. They call him Captain.¡±


    ¡°Is he a good guy, then?¡±


    Will chuckled. ¡°By Frontier standards, he''s a damn saint. I have no idea why he does what he does¡ªI don''t think anyone pays him or anything¡ªbut he keeps on doing it, and it''s not like anyone''s about to stop him. He''s probably the closest thing Sheerhome has to a real-life hero. I think he might have a couple screws loose, not unlike a certain someone I know.¡±


    He did not need to look in Sam''s direction for her to feel called out. ¡°He sounds cool. Do you think we''ll ever get to meet him?¡±


    ¡°Maybe, but not today. And before you ask, no, we are not going to stand next to a row of burning buildings just so you can get some other knucklehead''s autograph. Now let''s go.¡±


    Sam didn''t argue. She was feeling exhausted already, so she was overjoyed to learn that he was taking them to a tavern for a bite to eat. It sat on the eastern bank of the river that split the city down the middle; a squat two-story establishment. A signboard above the door read ¡®The Lucky Lady¡¯, and had a drawing of a woman with her breasts out crudely painted on it.


    I bet Nyx would love this place. Mongrel too, for that matter.


    The common room inside was fairly quiet at this time of day, with only a few regulars silently nursing mugs of ale in their own separate corners. It was dark and drab and low-ceilinged¡ªand reeked of smoke besides¡ªbut Will¡¯s tired face was creased by a genuine smile as he approached the counter on the right-hand side, manned by a fellow with a bald head and a round belly. The cauldron dominating his Profession symbol marked him as a Cook, just like Will, and seven AP crystals studded his arm.


    ¡°What can I get you, sir?¡± the man asked. Then he looked up, and he let out a sudden laugh that made his rosy cheeks quiver. ¡°Oh! If it isn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    Will shook his head, and the man cut himself off, licking his lips as he glanced about the place. ¡°Ah,¡± he said in a low, conspiratorial tone. ¡°It¡¯s like that, is it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s like that,¡± Will replied conversationally.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be wanting a private room, then?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. And food for two¡ªwith bread¡ªand some fruit juice. And¡­ whatever¡¯s for dessert, I guess.¡± He jerked his head in Sam¡¯s direction. ¡°This one¡¯s a Laborer. You know how it is.¡±


    The fat man laughed. Sam didn¡¯t understand the joke. He looked her way and seemed like he wanted to ask something else, then shook his head and ushered the two of them along instead, taking them through to a back room with a table and several chairs.


    Sam breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the door closed behind them and they finally had some privacy away from the crushing throngs of city folk.


    Will took off his head bandage and threw it on the table before taking a seat. He scratched aggressively at his bad eye as though he had worked up a debt of itchiness while keeping it covered.


    Sam took the chair opposite. ¡°Did you know that man?¡± she asked, looking back at the closed door.


    ¡°Yep. That was Joe Crag. He¡¯s one of the only people in this city who doesn¡¯t hate my guts.¡±


    ¡°So he¡¯s a friend?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡ªa good friend. We can trust him.¡±


    Sam smiled. ¡°Okay!¡±


    Someday, she really needed to find out why people hated Will so much. It didn¡¯t make any sense to her. Well, he was a bit of a know-it-all, and he could be rude sometimes, but anyone who talked to him for more than five minutes could tell that he was a sweet little guy under it all.


    The room had no windows, which gave them more privacy, but also meant that it was only lit by a fire crackling on the hearth set into one wall. With the mild weather outside, the fire made the room feel hot. ¡°Have they not made any lightbulbs here yet?¡± Sam asked, realizing she hadn¡¯t seen any thus far.


    ¡°Sadly not,¡± Will replied. ¡°Electricity works differently here than it does on Earth. It¡¯s unpredictable, and doesn¡¯t like to play nice. No one¡¯s been able to produce any electrical technology so far¡ªit¡¯s kind of the holy grail of Artisans everywhere. On the bright side, we do have guns.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, although they¡¯re pretty rare. I own a rifle myself, actually.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Mmhmm.¡±


    ¡°Sweeeeet. You¡¯ll have to show it off sometime.¡±


    The fat tavern keeper returned maybe twenty minutes later, carrying a pair of platters with puffy chicken pies and big mugs of juice and little honey-glazed cakes. Sam dug right in, eating to dispel some of the nervous tension she had built up while traversing the city.


    It was good. Not quite as special as Will¡¯s cooking, but it was clearly made by someone who knew what they were doing. Will didn¡¯t want his pastry, so Sam was happy to dispose of it for him.


    Joe Crag pulled out a chair for himself and stayed to talk with Will as they ate. Sam was too busy with her food to pay attention to most of it, but their conversation seemed to be of a light, friendly nature, so she didn''t mind having him there. Sam only perked up when the topic turned to her.


    ¡°Where¡¯d you pick this one up, then?¡± Joe asked, jerking a thumb toward Sam. ¡°Fish her out yourself?¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°You could say that,¡± Will replied, sounding a little cagey. Maybe he didn¡¯t trust this Joe Crag quite as much as he claimed.


    ¡°What are you going to do with her?¡±


    ¡°Oh, she¡¯s just an extra set of hands for the farm right now. There¡¯s always work to be done around there, and when she¡¯s got some levels on her she¡¯ll be good security for expeditions and such.¡± He tapped his Profession symbol significantly, which had a miniature version of the Explorer¡¯s compass encroaching on a corner of the Cook''s cauldron. ¡°Haven¡¯t gotten to travel much yet after branching into Explorer, so I might be able to mine a couple of levels there out of that.¡±


    Joe let out a boisterous laugh. He seemed to laugh a lot. ¡°You sure have your sights set high! What level are you going to stop, exactly?¡±


    Will shrugged. ¡°Thirty, I guess.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re mad!¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°So, how come you¡¯re here on the sly?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want Brimstone to catch wind of my new hire just yet.¡±


    Joe glanced between Will and Sam through small eyes trapped between walls of fat. ¡°It¡¯s not too healthy to keep secrets from our good leader¡ªyou know that, right?¡±


    Will leaned back in his chair, doing a fair job at looking unconcerned. ¡°It''s all in hand.¡±


    Joe shook his head. He turned his attention to Sam and said: ¡°Girl, do you know what he¡¯s getting you into here?¡±


    ¡°No idea,¡± Sam replied.


    ¡°That¡¯s not very fair of him. Doing anything that might displease Brimstone is dangerous.¡±


    ¡°He did actually mention that.¡±


    ¡°Lethally dangerous, girl. I can¡¯t overstate it. The flames cooked what was left of his brain years ago¡ªthere''s only madness inside that ugly noggin now.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about that.¡±


    Joe blinked.


    Sam met his gaze firmly, even though it was a struggle to keep her swollen left eye open. ¡°I¡¯m going to help Will however I can. I don¡¯t need details to know that.¡±


    ¡°Some loyalty,¡± the Cook said, whistling through fleshy lips. ¡°Girls go crazy for that evil eye of yours, eh?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Will replied vaguely, what sounded like the start of a sentence tapering off into nothing.


    ¡°Just don¡¯t get her killed, man.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t. Besides, she¡¯s too tough to let a little thing like dying keep her down.¡±


    Sam hid a blush behind her mug, draining the rest of her juice in one long draught.


    After finishing their late lunch, Sam felt a little more prepared to handle the city again. Will donned his disguise and took them west, over one of the arched bridges that bore traffic back and forth across the river. Pointing in the northward direction, he explained that the entertainment district known as Darkside was that way, where gaming houses and brothels and fighting pits could be found. Once he was finished with his deliveries, Mongrel would almost certainly find his way there. Sam was intrigued by the mention of fighting pits, but Will firmly maintained that they didn¡¯t want to go there.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to avoid either of us getting stabbed today, if I can,¡± he grumbled in conclusion, and would not discuss the matter further.


    Instead they turned off to the south until they hit the sharp rock face that tumbled precipitously down into the slate-gray ocean over a hundred feet below. They began to descend a set of steep switchbacks cut from the stone that led down and down, past buildings that jutted out from the slope, clinging desperately to dubious moorings like ticks on the side of a dog¡¯s belly.


    This part of the city was aptly named Cliffside, connected by stairs and walkways and rope bridges and cargo pulleys in a mess of habitation even more confusing than the Outside slum, if not quite as squalid.


    Sam did not feel too sure about stepping off the switchback¡ªshe was reasonably confident that the stone would not give out underfoot, but she did not have the same faith in the slapdash wood-and-hemp craftsmanship that held the district barely lashed together. But Will wanted her to see something, and pulled her along until she was tiptoeing carefully on creaking walkways and scurrying over swaying rope bridges, apologizing at every hard-eyed stranger she nearly bumped into.


    The buildings ended up wrapping all the way around the cliff-face and into the deep gorge that the river had dug into the rock, which split the raised earth all the way to the sea. It was dark beneath those narrow walls, with only a sliver of blue sky overhead. The web of schizophrenic habitation became a bit more orderly here, houses cut deep into the rock with doors of solid metal. Most of them were banks, Will informed her. Apparently they had those in the Frontier.


    ¡°It¡¯s a precarious business since thieving crews can use Demolish to break through most defenses a banker might throw up,¡± Will explained, ¡°but thick walls are at least better than thin ones, and those hoping for an easy mark will find that the security personnel inside are rather enthusiastic in their duties.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got some money here myself. In¡­¡± He pointed to an establishment with a sign hanging from its stone facade that read ¡®Watson, Watson, and Watson¡¯. ¡°That one. None of them are named Watson, so I don¡¯t know where they got the name from. Maybe they just tried to think of something a fancy Earth bank should be called.¡±


    Sam clung to the worryingly flimsy railing. ¡°How much money do you have?¡± she asked, trying hard to keep her knees from knocking together.


    ¡°Enough.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re rich.¡±


    ¡°Well.¡±


    ¡°You are, right?¡±


    ¡°Relatively speaking, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°In that case, I will be expecting some expensive gifts in the future.¡± The manufactured haughtiness in her voice was somewhat undercut by the shivering terror of suddenly plunging a hundred feet down, leading to a watery death by drowning or a quicker one by dashing her skull open on the rocks.


    ¡°What¡¯s up with this writing, by the way?¡± she asked, looking around at the signs advertising the various establishments around her. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like English, and somehow it doesn¡¯t feel like I¡¯m speaking English, either. Ever since I signed that contract¡­¡±


    Will nodded. ¡°Your instincts are correct. When you get access to the Concord, it scrubs away whatever languages you knew before and implants you with a new one, standard across the whole Frontier so that everyone can understand each other, wherever they came from originally. The One Tongue, it¡¯s called. You get speaking and writing for free, but if you want the hand-talk version, you¡¯ve got to learn it the hard way.¡±


    Sam groaned, rubbing at her head. ¡°That¡¯s so trippy. Why¡¯s this place always got to find new ways of weirding me out?¡±


    Blessedly, Will soon took them out of the dangling financial area, and they continued down the Cliffside district until they reached sea level, where large wooden platforms and jetties had been built into the narrow strip of land to make space for moored ships that bobbed on the water¡ªtheir furled sails a forest of vertical poles dressed in many colors¡ªas well as warehouses and cargo depots and many little stalls where vendors hawked a variety of goods in loud, grating voices. This part of the city was, of course, named Seaside.


    At the end of a sturdy walkway, a line of folk chained by hand and foot were led up the gangplank of a large vessel by a bullish man wielding a nasty-looking cudgel. Those people were slaves¡ªhad to be. Sam swallowed, knowing that she might easily have been one of them.


    Will took her off to one side toward a line of warehouses squeezed tight together, and Sam was about to ask where they were going when she suddenly found herself standing next to Mongrel, who was arguing with a merchant and making frequent stabbing gestures toward his goods, trying to convince the man of their superior quality.


    The produce he had brought was already gone from the wagon, with only the small crates of healing supplies Will had provided remaining. The chimps were off buying seafood skewers at one of the stalls, and Sam noted with some satisfaction that Nyx was missing entirely.


    The two men appeared to reach some kind of understanding, and money changed hands, but neither one looked particularly happy.


    ¡°Rotten fucking bastard son of a sow¡¯s squirting anus,¡± Mongrel muttered under his breath as he stalked away from the other man. He whistled his familiars over so they could begin unloading the supplies. He split his earnings with Will, who tucked the money in his pocket with a nod.


    ¡°What happened to Nyx?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Ah, who knows,¡± Mongrel replied, sucking on his discolored teeth. ¡°She just vanished on me all of a sudden. Damn woman. I hope she stays gone.¡±


    The Farmer-Builder was due to fill his now-empty wagon with things for the farm¡ªspecialty produce and ingredients for Will¡¯s tinkering that they couldn¡¯t make themselves¡ªso they left him to it and went on their way. Number Five waved to Sam in parting with a sweet little smile, which she returned with a broad grin of her own. Number Three gave her the finger when his master wasn¡¯t looking, which she decided to ignore.


    Will took her around the various dockside market stalls. Most of the presented offerings were tacky or of obviously shoddy craftsmanship. More interestingly, further out on the pier, a huge¡­ thing was being hauled out of the water. It might have been a whale, except its body was mailed in pale fish scales that shone iridescent, and its sides were lined with floppy tentacles that still twitched and squirmed despite the creature being quite dead. Multiple thick-hafted harpoons jutted from its streamlined back and bulbous head, and it was being yanked onto land by numerous metal hooks strung through its flesh, teams of bare-chested men heaving the rattling chains attached to them.


    ¡°What is that creature?¡± Sam asked, stopping to gawk. Several others did the same, but most townsfolk did not spare the odious creature a glance as they went about their business.


    ¡°I don¡¯t really know,¡± Will admitted, rubbing his bad eye through the bandage with the heel of his hand. ¡°I¡¯m not too current on my sea beast lore.¡±


    ¡°Why are there so many of them?¡±


    ¡°Monsters, you mean? Well, apparently the Frontier didn¡¯t always have them, although I haven¡¯t been around nearly long enough to know. The story goes that they appeared about twenty-five years ago just after Era¡¯s murder. They¡¯ve been spreading out from the center of the Mainland ever since, pushing us back to the coasts on almost all fronts.


    ¡°Some say the monsters are Era¡¯s dying curse on the land, to punish man for our sin. Others claim that the goddess and her angels were holding back the monsters all this time, and that they were allowed to wreak havoc once she was no longer around to protect us. There are as many theories as there are drunken fools in Sheerhome taverns to peddle them.¡±


    ¡°What do you think?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It doesn¡¯t really matter. In the end, the goddess is dead and the monsters are strangling the life out of the Frontier. Those are the facts. They breed like rats, and they all harbor a mad hatred for humans, so they¡¯ll wipe us out eventually if we don¡¯t find a way to do the same to them.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to stop them?¡±


    Will smiled tiredly. He looked uncertain for a moment, then slowly nodded. ¡°Yes. Even if no one else thinks it can be done, I¡¯m going to find a way. I¡¯ll make the Frontier a place worth living in.¡±


    Sam grinned. ¡°Good. I¡¯ll be right there with you.¡± She patted him on the back¡ªa little harder than she¡¯d intended¡ªand sent him stumbling. He rubbed indignantly at his shoulder blades once he found his footing on planks slick with fish guts, but the one-eyed look he gave her held nothing but fondness, and made Sam¡¯s heart beat a little quicker.

 Chapter 24 - The City of Dreams and Shit (Mostly Shit) [3]

    Sam


    The dock workers got the strange creature out of the water and into a giant suspended harness so they could begin cutting away its parts. Purple viscera sprayed from pale tissues until it coated the men and their tools and everything surface in a good radius around them, even staining the water below the pier dark with drippings that trickled between the planks. A few parts were saved for some indeterminate use, the less valuable ones thrown wholesale into large tubs while delicate components were secured individually in fluid-filled glass jars.


    Sam eventually managed to pull herself away from the morbid sight when prodded by Will, and they continued their aimless amble through the Seaside market. She stopped in front of a stall that sold weapons, a number of display pieces laid out on a velvet-draped table. The sharp-eyed vendor nudged his goods with a pair of tongs to bring them back into perfect order after some careless shopper had upset their alignment.


    While Sam was not particularly interested in actually using them, she had to admit that some of the swords and maces and axes and daggers looked pretty sweet, the steel all buffed to a shine.


    ¡°You have a good eye, miss,¡± the vendor said conspiratorially, a man bearing the balance scales symbol of a Trader. His gaze slid from the two crystals on her arm to the fourteen on Will¡¯s without ever touching their faces. ¡°These are Enchanted goods¡ªimbued with powerful skills. I¡¯m sure we could find one that would be perfect for a Laborer like you, if the gentleman would like to make a present of it¡­?¡± He had correctly surmised that Will was the one holding the purse strings, but clearly assumed that a low-level target would be more susceptible to his sales pitch.


    ¡°Sam,¡± Will said warningly.


    Sam, not listening, bent to pick up an axe with a crescent-moon head laid out on the velvet. Will had talked about cutting a man in half at one point¡ªthis thing looked heavy enough to actually do the job.


    Will caught her by the wrist in a white-knuckled grip, and she stopped short, her fingers inches from the axe handle. Looking up, she found him staring at her with a wide-eyed intensity.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch that,¡± he said firmly.


    ¡°Why, sir¡ª¡± the vendor cut in, dry-washing spidery hands.


    Will shot him a hard glance. ¡°Stop talking.¡±


    Sam allowed herself to be pulled back from the display table, not sure what was wrong but understanding that Will thought it important.


    ¡°Those weapons are cursed,¡± he explained. The vendor opened his mouth to protest, and was silenced with a dismissive wave in parting. ¡°Picking one up, even for a short while, would probably not be good for your health.¡±


    ¡°Cursed?¡± They didn¡¯t look particularly cursed.


    They continued along the line of stalls. ¡°Yes,¡± he said once they''d put some distance between them and the object of his displeasure. ¡°Artisans are able to enchant items, imbuing them with skill effects, but it¡¯s a very tricky art. Even high-level Artisans struggle to create stable enchantments.¡±


    ¡°Okay?¡± She assumed he was going somewhere with this.


    ¡°Well, there is a passive called Soulbind, a rough equivalent of the Create Familiar ability that Mongrel used to bind his chimps, except for inanimate objects. With Soulbind, a person can bind a piece of themselves to an item. Aside from becoming naturally more powerful, that item gains a free enchantment slot, meaning that any skill can be inserted into it without fear of the effect being rejected, and allowing particularly talented Artisans to slot one additional skill effect into the object aside from the one granted by Soulbind.


    ¡°Slaves in the more dismal pits of the world¡ªSheerhome¡¯s own iron mine, for instance¡ªare sometimes forced by their taskmasters to take Soulbind as they level up. Their Soulbound items are then Enchanted, and when they die, those items keep their power. They can then be sold on for a mark-up, like what our good Trader friend over there was doing.


    ¡°Except a sliver of the deceased owner¡¯s soul will remain within the item. And given the invariably cruel nature of their deaths, they will do everything in their power to cause pain and misfortune for anyone unlucky enough to pick up one of these cursed items.¡± He spread his hands. ¡°Frontier capitalism at its finest.¡±


    ¡°Jesus,¡± Sam breathed. It seemed that every new thing she learned about this place was more horrifying than the last.


    With that mood dampener, they called it quits at the docks and headed back along the switchbacks. Will was badly winded before they had climbed all the way up, forced to stop and rest almost every time they came out onto a platform as the stone-cut stair turned back on itself. He complained of his lost ribs, explaining that the lack of them made it harder to breathe sometimes.


    Sam offered a hand to steady him, but he insisted on walking by himself. She worried about his health¡ªhe looked so tired all the time, and she wasn¡¯t quite sure yet how all the sacrifices he had made to the demoness were affecting him. But he didn¡¯t want to talk about it, so she let him have his way, not wanting to get him even more worked up by arguing.


    She had now seen all five districts of Sheerhome¡ªOutside, Topside, Darkside, Cliffside, and Seaside, and was in truth already sick of the place. She was eager to get back to the farm and air the rotten stench out of her clothes, but Will had another suggestion.


    ¡°We could take into an inn for the night if you want,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I know a nice one. I wanted to get you a proper wardrobe, but if we stay at an inn you can rest for tonight and we¡¯ll hit up a Tailor in the morning. You look a little peaky.¡±


    You¡¯re one to talk.


    It did sound sort of nice, though. And the prospect of being alone with Will for a whole night, without any chimps or demonesses or perverted old men to bother them, was exciting. She agreed to the plan, and Will led them east, back over one of the bridges to the other side of the river. He took them to a place called The Rosy Drake in a slightly less rowdy part of town, a three-story establishment with a main building enclosed by a walled courtyard on three sides. In keeping with the name, the building was painted a pale pink. A weathervane depicting a winged beast in flight spun around and around at the top of the tall roof.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    The wide gates stood open, and a porter met them as soon as they entered the courtyard. He accepted Will¡¯s money before ushering them through into the main building, which had a spacious and well-lit common room where a few patrons diced or drank or read books. There was an Entertainer sitting on a bench near the center of the room, strumming at a guitar and accepting tips in his open instrument case. A bar at one end of the room had a well-stocked liquor shelf and a stack of ale kegs.


    ¡°This is pretty cozy,¡± Sam hummed approvingly as she looked around. ¡°Not bad at all!¡±


    They spent some time lounging in the common room to recharge after the rather strenuous city tour. Will picked out a book from one of the well-stocked bookshelves, and Sam settled onto a couch by the fireplace to nap. The whisper of pages being turned soon lulled her to sleep, and she awoke feeling good and rested when it was time for dinner, which consisted of salmon and potatoes and some kind of chunky sweetish sauce. It was not as tasty as the stuff Will made, but her nap had brought back a fearsome appetite. She consumed the big portion in minutes, then scraped the plate clean with a piece of bread.


    After dinner they lazed around a bit more. Once evening set in and the inn closed its gates for the nightly curfew they went outside into the courtyard, where a theater performance was being put on for the patrons. A crowd of perhaps two dozen gathered to watch, seated in chairs or propped against walls or leaning out of balconies from courtyard-facing rooms.


    ¡°Don¡¯t expect a masterpiece or anything,¡± Will whispered to her with a wry grin, ¡°but it might be good for a laugh anyway.¡±


    The all-Entertainer troupe, which consisted of four men and one woman, put on a performance called ¡®The War of the Stars¡¯, seemingly with full sincerity. They flipped around and shot lights from their hands and wielded painted sticks dressed up as magic swords against each other¡ªwith slightly mistimed sound effects and too-loud fake thunder sounding at the climactic bits, probably produced by some skill Sam did not know about. At the end, the protagonist murdered the black-clad villain by cutting all of his limbs off, then married his sister and lived happily ever after, explained by one of the sweaty performers during a post-climax narration.


    ¡°Um,¡± Sam said as they were leaving, headed for their room to retire for the night, ¡°did that seem a little derivative to you?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Will asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, I feel like I¡¯ve¡­ seen a story just like that before.¡±


    ¡°Which one?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t remember. It really feels like I should, but¡­ I can¡¯t think of it.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s not surprising. For whatever reason, people start losing their memories of Earth the moment they arrive here in the Frontier. Only the most important stuff sticks with you, while everything else fades away into a sort of blur. People around here aren¡¯t all that creative, so the plays they put on are usually just badly misremembered stories from Earth.¡±


    ¡°That sounds kinda scary¡ªlosing all your memories like that¡­¡± She had no idea what to do with that knowledge.


    Will shrugged. ¡°You get used to it.¡±


    They entered their room, a big loft with a charmingly slanted ceiling on the top floor. A large, round window set into the middle of the back wall overlooked the river. The room had some chairs, a dresser, a wash basin, a mirror, and even a wall clock that ticked contentedly to itself. Sam noted with satisfaction that the bed taking up the back center of the room was a good bit wider than the one they shared at the farm.


    ¡°So,¡± Sam said innocently, letting the word hang. She sat down on the springy mattress and began pulling off her boots, which were hot with trapped sweat, her feet swollen and throbbing on account of her footwear being slightly too small. ¡°I guess I was one of your important memories, huh?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Sam,¡± Will said in a dull voice. ¡°That goes without saying, doesn¡¯t it?¡± He removed his bandage, then unlaced his tunic and threw it off, and Sam made sure to look away respectfully every few moments so it wouldn¡¯t seem like she was staring at his toned physique. Well, she was staring, but she didn¡¯t want it to look like she was.


    ¡°Maybe. Still nice to hear it, though. Makes a girl feel special.¡±


    ¡°All right. The only part of my past life that I remember with any clarity at all is the time I spent with you. Not everything, mind you. There are¡­ gaps. Hazy parts. But the big stuff is still there. How¡¯s that for you?¡±


    Sam flopped onto her back and let her legs dangle over the edge of the bed. ¡°Feels niiice,¡± she sang, grinning big.


    Sam quickly realized that it was still a little bit too early to sleep, only about 8:30 according to the clock, and neither of them could find anything else to talk about to fill the time as Will sat down on the other end of the bed, both turned slightly away from each other. Sam was way too aware of his presence just beside her, could almost feel the warmth of his skin even though they were sitting a foot or two apart.


    Sure, they''d been sleeping in the same bed for days now, but for most of them she had been too exhausted to feel much about it one way or another. She was exhausted now, too, but somehow this felt completely different. Something about being in this room together, just the two of them. In the same room. Alone. With no one to bother them.


    And, besides¡­ a lot of people would get a hotel room to hook up with someone¡ªthat was a thing people did, right?


    Is it weird that this is the first thing on my mind? I wonder if he¡¯s thinking about it, too. She glanced his way, and found that he was glancing back, and they both looked away at the same time. Sam felt her cheeks go hot. Is that why he brought me here? Part of her hoped that was the case. An equal part of her was terrified.


    The clock on the wall was painfully loud, its ticking having taken on a distinctly mocking edge.


    After some time, Will cleared his throat. ¡°Um¡­¡± he said, managing to stutter over a two-letter word. ¡°Do you think that we should officially¡ª¡±


    ¡°Doyouwanttohavesex?¡± Sam blurted, everything tumbling out at once.


    Will produced an odd, strangled croak, then fell silent.


    Sam stared at the wall ahead of her, studying the imperfections of the white plaster with intense determination. She felt like her face was going to self-combust. Slowly, she forced herself to look over, and found that Will had his one dark eye fixed intently on her face.


    ¡°Do you want to have sex?¡± Sam repeated, more hesitantly. ¡°With me, I mean. I¡¯ve never had it before, so I thought maybe you¡­ and me¡­ we could¡­ fuuuck?¡± The last bit trailed off into a squeak.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Will replied, sounding almost comically serious. ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡±


    ¡°Wait, shit,¡± Sam hissed.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Fucking condoms, dude. Have you got some in your¡­ medieval wallet, or whatever?¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not letting you raw-dog me. And I don¡¯t trust you to pull out, either.¡±


    ¡°Shut up and listen, stupid. It¡¯s not a problem, because everyone in the Frontier is one hundred percent sterile.¡±


    ¡°What.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s in the contract you signed to gain access to the Concord. I guess Era didn¡¯t trust a bunch of barely reformed convicts to run around getting each other pregnant. And no one under eighteen gets sent to the Frontier, so that¡¯s why you haven¡¯t seen any kids around, in case you picked up on that.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°It also means you won¡¯t get your period, so I reckon that¡¯s a plus.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s neat, I guess.¡± Sam shook her head firmly. ¡°This place is so weird.¡±


    Will pressed his lips flat in a noncommittal expression. ¡°You won¡¯t hear me arguing. But the bottom line is, protection is not an issue.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Then¡­ should we¡­?¡±


    Will leaned over and kissed her, holding the back of her neck to keep her in place, catching a handful of her hair. His breath on her skin was electric, making her whole body prickle with gooseflesh.


    The rest of their clothes were awkwardly discarded one article at a time as they tried to undress without letting their lips come apart from each other. Blankets were thrown aside, pillows hastily rearranged¡­


    [And then, a girl and a boy engage in the passion of youth. But you don¡¯t need to read about that.]


    Afterward, Sam and Will lay side by side, panting and sweaty, hands intertwined, as they both stared up at the slanted ceiling.


    ¡°That was¡­¡± Will murmured, trailing off.


    ¡°Terrible,¡± Sam finished.


    ¡°Right? What the fuck happened?¡±


    ¡°I think maybe we¡¯re bad at this, Will.¡±


    ¡°Damn.¡±

 Chapter 25 - An Appointment With the Barbecued Man

    Sam


    In a strange way, the disastrous lovemaking session helped cut some of the tension between her and Will. They slept in late, and then Will spent a good half-hour massaging ointment into her tender muscles, releasing some of yesterday¡¯s pains that had been trapped in knots and welts all over.


    They left the inn after having a quick breakfast around ten, and Will took her to an Artisan boutique where she got to pick out some clothes. She was worried it might all be a little fancy for her taste, but despite having the intimidating label of ¡®boutique¡¯, the Artisan thankfully also carried items to suit more modest tastes.


    Never one for feminine fashion, Sam picked out some simple, utilitarian outfits. Trousers, short-sleeved linen shirts, thicker tunics, and a jacket. The underclothes and socks she already had suited her fine, so she didn¡¯t need any more of that. Will insisted that she get a good hooded cloak of thick wool, and she ended up settling on a deep green one with minimal bits of golden embroidery around the hood and the clasp.


    To her extreme horror, Sam was forced to try on every single item and stand like a mannequin while the Artisan scuttled around her to take measurements and make alterations, mostly with the use of a skill called Tailor that seemed to marginally alter the fit of the fabric wherever the Artisan touched, tightening this or loosening that as needed until it all hugged her perfectly.


    At the end of the ordeal, Will paid the man what appeared to be a rather large wad of cash, after which they went to another boutique just down the street that specialized in shoes and leather. They got her a pair of good, sturdy boots that would be good for both field work and trekking through rough terrain, as well as a pair of low shoes that were easy to slip in and out of. Those would be useful if she ever planned on getting into any fights, as going barefoot gave better traction and allowed better control when grappling with her legs, making it much easier to put her hooks in. Will did not understand this distinction, of course, but he paid without complaint. She also bought two belts to top it all off.


    Once Will was satisfied that they had everything she needed, they took the heavy, wrapped-up clothing packets and lugged them north to the entertainment district, Darkside, to see if Mongrel was still around. Will found Zero tied up at one of the stables in the area with the chimps playing cards in the next booth over. After a little bit of rooting around in the man¡¯s favorite establishment¡ªthe Red House¡ªwhile Sam waited outside, Will soon produced a glitter-covered and hungover Mongrel, who was hurling an endless string of expletives at them both for pulling him out of bed. Will forced the Farmer to drink a hangover cure retrieved from his magic medicine bag, soundly ignoring the man¡¯s spitting curses. The clothing packets were tossed in the wagon so they wouldn¡¯t have to carry them the whole way, then they began the journey back to the farm.


    Nyx was nowhere in evidence by the time they passed beyond the city gates. Both Sam and Will breathed a collective sigh of relief at that. Hopefully she did not plan on returning to torment them any further.


    Number One greeted them when they reached the farm, and confirmed that aside from having to chase a fox away from the chicken pen, no incidents had occurred while they were gone.


    Sam unpacked her new things in Will¡¯s¡ªtheir¡ªroom, then returned straight away to her mock combat with Number Three, at least somewhat rested after her day off. The evil little ape was as raring to go as she was.


    Sam liked her chances today, now that she knew to watch out for any one of Number Three¡¯s brothers coming in to assist.


    She won the very first bout, catching Number Three¡¯s back and choking him out, while also managing to block an arrow shot from the barn rooftop by moving the chimp¡¯s face between her and the projectile.


    Surprisingly, Number Three actually congratulated her once he woke up from the sleeper hold, giving her a reluctant yet approving clap on the arm, along with a small nod. Number One waddled off to inform Will, who soon came out of the house wearing his pink apron with a smile on his face.


    ¡°Good work, Sam!¡± he shouted from the porch. ¡°Now see if you can beat three at once!¡±


    After the initial hit of shock wore off, Sam felt a determined set come over her face, her teeth baring in a grim smile. ¡°You got it,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll have it done by the end of the day.¡±


    Will began to say something, but his attention was caught by a white bird fluttering overhead. No, not a bird, Sam realized as she frowned closer at the thing. A¡­ letter?Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    The white envelope spun about haphazardly, tumbling in the wind, then began to move downward in lazy spirals until Will reached his hand up and snatched it out of the air. He broke a red wax seal and extracted the note inside.


    ¡°Was that letter¡­ alive?¡± Sam asked as she crossed the yard.


    Will quickly scanned over the letter, heaved a deflating sigh, and stuffed the paper slip back in the envelope before Sam made it to his side. ¡°Not alive,¡± he explained. ¡°It¡¯s a skill called Message. It allows you to send letters back and forth through the air with someone else who also has the skill after you''ve made a link with them.¡±


    ¡°Who was it from?¡±


    ¡°Lord Brimstone.¡±


    ¡°The evil guy.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately.¡±


    ¡°What did he want? You¡¯re not in trouble, are you?¡±


    Will smiled wanly and ruffled her hair so it fell over her eyes. She blew it out of the way with an annoyed huff.


    ¡°Not in trouble,¡± he said in a soft voice. ¡°It¡¯s just work. He wants me in Sheerhome right away.¡±


    ¡°But we just got back!¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. The lord is not a very patient man. It¡¯s inconvenient, but there¡¯s not really much I can do about it.¡±


    When he turned away, Sam gripped a handful of his sleeve and held onto it, as though that would keep him from leaving. ¡°How long will you be gone?¡± she asked.


    ¡°If I¡¯m lucky, I¡¯ll be able to talk him out of the contract and get back by tonight. Most likely, though, it¡¯ll be a few days.¡±


    ¡°Aw, man. Seriously?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Just keep training in the meantime. I¡¯ll talk to Mongrel and make sure he keeps an eye on you.¡±


    Will did not waste much time in leaving. He fished a large, leather-bound case out of the back of his wardrobe, slung it over his shoulder by a strap, and buckled on the sword belt he had only just taken off. After giving her a brief farewell and a tender kiss on the forehead, she was suddenly watching him walk away along the forest trail. She kept on watching until the trees swallowed him up, then waited a little longer, before reluctantly turning away.


    ¡°You better come back soon, idiot,¡± she murmured under her breath, unable to put any kind of edge to her words.


    * * *


    Will


    Will was recognized on sight by the militiamen guarding the inner wall gate to Brimstone¡¯s military complex. They let him through without issue, though they did not show any of the deference reserved for an officer or a member of Brimstone¡¯s ruling cabinet. None of the armor-clad Laborers were too subtle about the disdainful looks they directed at his back as he passed by.


    Will wandered up the hill with the rifle case on his back. He passed militia barracks on either side, identical blocks of featureless stone, many bearing Brimstone¡¯s burning-man heraldry. He ignored the pointed stares he got and trudged on. When he encountered a four-man guard patrol coming down the muddy path, he continued straight toward them, refusing to make way, until they were forced to divert around him. Their overfed sergeant looked like he wanted to bite Will¡¯s head off, but wisely stalked away instead.


    Will approached the giant pile of glorified rubble that made up the lord¡¯s keep, a patchwork of slapdash repairs with black-and-red banners whipping overhead. He had the dubious honor of being greeted by the Sheerhome guard captain himself, a Level 12 Laborer named Griff, who pushed in front of him and blocked access to the large double doors. He was surprisingly lean for one of his Profession, long-limbed and with a lethal swagger to him, his face a mess of pink scars. His upper lip bulged with tobacco, brown spittle crusted at the corners of his mouth.


    ¡°One-Eye,¡± he spat, making the title sound like a curse. He had his hands hooked through his belt¡ªnot exactly touching the sword and dagger hanging on his hips, but not far from it either.


    ¡°Good day to you too, Griff,¡± Will replied cheerily, and gave the dark-hearted fellow a friendly punch on the shoulder.


    Griff¡¯s eye twitched, as did his fingers. He was a man who took himself quite seriously, used to being yes-sirred and no-sirred and right-away-sirred. Subordinate only to the militia commander and the lord himself, he did not appreciate a jumped-up cutthroat acting like his equal.


    Will continued before Griff could get all twisted up about it. ¡°Lord Brimstone sent me a summons a little while ago asking to see me as soon as possible¡ªmind telling me where I might find him?¡±


    Griff stared at Will; nostrils flared, mouth working. His hand actually did creep onto the pommel of his sword. Will could not help but grin at the sight of it. Getting to shave him a head shorter in front all his perfect little idiots would be immensely satisfying.


    Unfortunately, Griff took a breath, came to his senses, and grunted: ¡°Inside somewhere. Go look for yourself.¡±


    Will grinned wider to make up for the militia captain¡¯s unbecoming negativity. ¡°I¡¯ll do just that, friend. Thanks for the help.¡±


    Griff took half a step to the left. ¡°A word of warning,¡± he said in a low, dangerous voice as Will began to sidle past him, ¡°sooner or later, you¡¯re going to slip your leash. And when you do, I¡¯ll put you down like the rabid mutt you are.¡±


    ¡°Might want to be careful,¡± Will replied without stopping. ¡°Rabies is contagious, you know.¡± And he snapped his jaws playfully in the guard captain¡¯s direction, making him jerk back, and laughed as he entered the keep, leaving Griff fuming behind him while the doors swung shut.

 Chapter 26 - An Appointment With the Barbecued Man [2]

    Will


    There was no one in the great hall other than a few collared slaves sweeping up, but what could almost be classified as a bonfire still raged in a firepit at the center of the room, adding to the summer warmth so that it became unbearably hot. Will hurried through before his sweat could start soaking through his clothes, headed for the private wing where he assumed he would run into Brimstone sooner or later.


    Though he had obviously not been privy to it himself, he knew that the keep had served as the seat of some angel-appointed governor who had overseen Sheerhome in the Better Times. The cataclysmic world war following Era¡¯s death had seen the keep reduced to a ruin, but Brimstone had still seen fit to take up in it. Personally, Will would probably have picked the old academy¡ªlarger, in much better shape, and with access to the city¡¯s only decent library¡ªbut he supposed that a paranoid bastard like Brimstone liked the keep¡¯s defensible hilltop position too much to let it go.


    After wandering the keep¡¯s winding hallways for a while with nothing but his own echoing footsteps for company, he entered out onto a large, sun-soaked patio. There was a shallow set of stairs at the other end that led into a walled-off garden of flowers and hedges and climbing vines.


    Will found a woman kneeling by a long flower bed, inspecting the purple and pink hyacinths growing there. Lady-Consort Dawn, he knew by her goldspun hair and fine dress.


    ¡°They¡¯re feeling sad today,¡± Dawn said, touching one of the flowers. It drooped under its own weight, and she tried to stand it back up, but it flopped over limp again as soon as she let it go. She only looked up when Will was standing a few steps to her left.


    To her credit, she did not flinch.


    ¡°Oh!¡± she said, standing up and brushing dark soil from the front of her dress. Her laundress would not be pleased with those stains. ¡°Master¡­ Will, is it?¡±


    ¡°Quite right, lady-consort,¡± Will said with a small bow, hands folded before him. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you remember.¡±


    ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Most people seem to struggle. You wouldn¡¯t think it would be that much of a hassle, it being four letters and all, but¡­¡± He spread his hands in a helpless gesture, then clasped them again. Directing his attention onto the flowers, he asked: ¡°Are they giving you trouble, lady-consort?¡±


    ¡°You can call me Dawn. It¡¯s all right.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think your husband would appreciate that.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s not so scary once you get to know him. He doesn¡¯t like all the formality any more than I do.¡±


    ¡°If you say so.¡±


    Dawn was a Level 7 Farmer. Attractive in a bland sort of way, she was so slim and delicate that she gave the impression of a fragile porcelain doll, something to be placed behind glass and never touched. Will suspected that Brimstone had married her in large part because she was low-leveled and harmless, meaning he did not need to worry quite so much about her putting something sharp in his back.


    He felt bad for her, being essentially confined to this haunted old keep. She probably had not had all that much choice when it came to her marriage vows. He had met her a few times since she had moved in some six months ago, and to her credit it seemed as though she was shouldering her fate admirably.


    Surely she did not actually love Brimstone. He did not see how anyone could fall in love with a man like that, and it had little to do with his looks.


    ¡°Those might be over-Nurtured, you know,¡± Will commented idly.


    Dawn turned back to her flowers. ¡°Oh, that didn¡¯t cross my mind at all! You think so?¡±


    ¡°That''s my guess. It looks to me like some parts have grown faster than the rest can keep up with. Try not Nurturing them for a few days and see if they perk up.¡±


    ¡°Thanks! I¡¯ll do that. Do you know a lot about flowers?¡±


    ¡°Mostly the killing kind.¡±


    The smile Dawn directed his way was apologetic. ¡°Well, that¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°My good Misfortune!¡± thundered a voice across the garden.


    Resisting the urge to flinch took some effort, and he forced himself to turn slowly to face the man coming down the low steps.


    Brimstone, a Level 23 Cook, chuckled at his own pun as he approached. He was clad in drab grays and browns that hung loosely on his tall frame, threadbare enough that, divorced from context, Will would sooner have believed the man was a pauper than a lord.


    He might have been handsome once, but it was almost impossible to tell at this point, because every bit of exposed skin on him looked like melted candle wax, so badly matted with slick burn scars that Will could hardly make out any of the features beneath. His face was terrible to look upon; lips burned away to bare a permanent snarl, a sharp scrap of bone all that remained of his nose. He had only more scars where hair and eyebrows should have been, and his eyes were weepy and bloodshot.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°My lord,¡± Will said in a firm voice, refusing to divert his gaze.


    ¡°Thank you for coming on such short notice, Master One-Eye. I am in dire need of your talents.¡± His voice had a wet, thick quality, words bleeding together due to a lack of lips to enunciate with.


    ¡°Whatever you ask, it will be done.¡±


    ¡°And thank you for entertaining my wife, as well. I fear she gets lonely, caught up in my politicking as I am.¡±


    Dawn stood to meet his embrace and kissed his disfigured cheek without any visible unease. Brimstone eventually broke the hug, but remained close enough to run red, livid fingers through her golden hair. ¡°I would try to find her some friends, but there are so few people I can trust.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a difficult thing,¡± Will hedged.


    Another man had followed Brimstone into the garden, nearly invisible in the shadow of his master. He was called Handsome, and the name suited him¡ªat least in a room with only the lord and himself. He had a face like a withered winter apple, a pair of tiny eyes set into its wrinkles. His thinning hair was combed neatly, and his clothes were somehow finer than Brimstone¡¯s, shining silk trousers and a bright-green vest with puffy shoulders, an embroidered collar, and buttons made of pearl.


    A Level 16 Trader, he ostensibly served as Brimstone¡¯s advisor and treasurer. Will guessed that there was something more hidden behind those tiny shrewd eyes¡ªindeed, his level alone made him someone to be watchful of. An SP crystal swirling with amber light sat on his arm, just as it did on the lord¡¯s.


    ¡°Would you run along now, dear?¡± Brimstone asked, disentangling his fingers from her hair to pat her softly on the head. ¡°I would like to speak with my man alone.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Dawn replied lightly, and touched his arm. ¡°Don¡¯t take too long. Tonight, remember? You promised.¡±


    Brimstone gave a rasping chuckle. ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll be there. Handsome, will you accompany my wife to her rooms?¡±


    The advisor inclined his head in a small bow. ¡°Of course, lord.¡±


    If Lady-Consort Dawn had any reservations at being shooed off like a dog, she did not show it.


    Left alone in the garden with his liege lord, Will was starkly reminded of the impermanence and fragility of all the living things around him. How greedily the flames would swallow all this greenery if Brimstone decided he was having a bad day.


    But Brimstone looked unusually serene, his intense gaze wandering and perhaps even taking in some of the beauty on display. Getting married might have been good for him, after all.


    Will shifted the rifle case uncomfortably, its strap digging into his shoulder. ¡°Might I ask what you would like of me, my lord?¡± he prodded when it became clear that the man¡¯s attention would not return anytime soon.


    Brimstone¡¯s gaze swiveled onto Will, irises like cold ice nestled in fine webs of agitated blood vessels, and he almost wished he hadn¡¯t spoken.


    ¡°There¡¯s a man I¡¯d like you to kill,¡± Brimstone said. ¡°He goes by the name Philly Upnorth. Do you know of him?¡±


    Will shook his head.


    ¡°No, I suppose you wouldn¡¯t. He is a Trader from the northeast¡ªa merchant, ostensibly¡ªsent as an envoy from Lady Winter to treat with me and establish a permanent trade embassy here. He arrived from Stormfront just a few days ago.¡±


    It was not surprising that Lady Winter had sent someone. If the rumors could be believed, Brimstone was planning to cut off his support to Stormfront. Without regular supply shipments from the coastal cities, the inland fortress would surely wither and die.


    Though he knew it was not healthy to pry too much, Will could not resist asking: ¡°What has this man done to displease you, my lord?¡±


    ¡°He plots my murder, Master One-Eye,¡± Brimstone hissed, and his eyes that had been placid a moment ago were suddenly alive with an unwholesome intensity, rheumy and wide as cups. ¡°Lady Winter has sent him here to kill me. Once she has dispensed with those of the Lords¡¯ Council who will not kneel to her, she would make herself queen of the Sixth Octant. I know it.¡±


    Will had enough self-preservation instinct to swallow the obvious follow-up question¡ªhow had he learned this information, exactly? Brimstone had a famously tenuous relationship with reality. Maybe he had seen his fellow regent¡¯s murderous intent in a dream, or the flames had whispered it to him, or he had simply made it up. Then again, it could just as easily be true. None of the lords of Octant Six were known to be particularly fast friends.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my lord, but won¡¯t killing her envoy cause open hostilities with Stormfront?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡ªI fear that it will.¡± The lord seemed to shrink in on himself, becoming smaller. He did not wear a crown, but his head certainly looked as though it suffered the wearying weight of one. ¡°There is no other choice. She has forced the matter now. I can¡¯t continue to ignore the witch.¡±


    Again, Will feared to state the obvious. Sheerhome could not afford open conflict with Stormfront any more than the reverse¡ªLord Brimstone, the most powerful man in his domain, was Level 23.


    Winter was Level 30¡ªthe highest possible under the Concord system¡ªwhich made her one of the most powerful people not just in the Sixth Octant, but the entire Frontier. Brimstone had a militia of maybe a thousand Laborers. Winter commanded an army at least ten times that size, and had the power to raise the dead; if the stories were to be believed, anyway.


    Her fortress was the only thing standing between burgeoning monster hordes and the¡ªrelatively speaking¡ªdefenseless coastal cities of the Sixth Octant.


    One way or another, Brimstone was signing away the lives of everyone under his rule by courting war with Stormfront.


    The lord watched him expectantly.


    Will bit back his protests. He had no choice.


    ¡°Of course, my lord,¡± he said. ¡°I will kill this Upnorth for you.¡±


    Brimstone nodded his approval. ¡°Good man. I want you to make it messy¡ªno poisons this time, understand?¡±


    Will ground his teeth in silence, any thoughts he¡¯d had of setting up a killing that looked like an accident instantly evaporating. ¡°Yes, my lord. I will need a day or two to plan my approach.¡±


    ¡°Very well, but don¡¯t dawdle. I don¡¯t want to give the killer time to organize the agents that the witch has embedded in my city.¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡±


    Will felt a strange numbness coupled with a sense of impending doom as he dragged himself out of the lord¡¯s keep, ignoring Captain Griff¡¯s jeering on the way out.


    There was no way to get out of this. The pieces he needed to kill Brimstone were still not in place. He had no reliable way of actually killing the man, and he had no one to put in the lord''s chair once the ass of its current occupant was no longer warming it.


    His timeline had just been accelerated. If he couldn¡¯t avert a conflict with Stormfront, he at least had to rid Sheerhome of Lord Brimstone before he caused even more irreparable damage.


    This is bad. Really, really bad.


    Will turned his steps toward Joe Crag¡¯s tavern; to get information, to plan a murder, and to have a fucking drink.

 Chapter 27 - Five Ghosts, a Blacksmith, and An Assassin Walk Into a Bar

    Will


    Almost as soon as Will Left the military quarter, he was approached by a young man in dirty worker garb who appeared to be in a hurry. His stats and clothing suggested someone near the bottom of the social ladder.


    ¡°Master One-Eye!¡± the youth said, trying to catch his breath. He had clearly been running.


    Will stopped for him, scratching his eye in puzzlement. ¡°Will is fine. Who are you, and what¡¯s the matter?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master Will. I¡¯m Leland¡ªI ¡®prentice for Bogleg. We met when you came around the shop last.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Do you have good news for me, Leland?¡±


    The youth nodded. ¡°I think so, Master Will. Bogleg sent me to tell you that he¡¯s ready to carry out that special order you put in.¡±


    Will smiled, a buzz of equal parts anticipation and nerves shooting through him. ¡°Fantastic.¡±


    ¡°He still thinks it¡¯s a bad idea, though.¡±


    ¡°Noted.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been keeping him up at night. I hear him grumbling sometimes from my pallet downstairs.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to know he¡¯s taking his work seriously.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Been making him ornery, too. He beat me yesterday ¡®cause I spilled some mineral oil on the floor. I would¡¯ve cleaned it up and all, but he got so mad. He isn¡¯t like that usually. He¡¯s been very kind to me.¡±


    ¡°Mmhmm.¡± Will judged the lad a nervous talker. ¡°Leland, go back to your master and tell him I¡¯ll be there shortly. I just have an errand to run first.¡±


    Leland nodded, and Will watched him run off down the street, weaving between pedestrians. He disappeared around a corner, and Will took a deep breath to steel his determination. Once he had convinced himself that he wasn¡¯t making a mistake, he turned his steps to the southwest, heading for Cliffside. It seemed he needed to pay a quick visit to Watson, Watson, and Watson.


    * * *


    Boggy


    Boggy had closed the smithy to customers for the day, had closed the shop in general after accepting a shipment of materials in the morning, and was busying himself with a bit of idle sweeping and organizing to occupy his mind. He was doing his very best to ignore the five items laid out on the center workbench.


    Normally his three apprentices handled all the busywork around the smithy, and he was grateful for it with his bad back creeping up on him in his later years, but he had sent Price and Yips home for the day after realizing that he would only keep snapping at them otherwise, which wasn¡¯t fair on them. They were good boys, putting up with an old man like him. They did what they were told¡ªfor the most part, anyway.


    Boggy jumped when the back door opened, and steeled himself to meet his terrifying young client, but it was just Leland. He had come back by himself with a message from the Misfortune, saying that the man would be coming after a short errand. Boggy thanked his apprentice, then sent him home as well. Leland protested admirably, but relief was writ large on his face.


    Bogleg kept sweeping, and when he was done sweeping he mopped up. He didn¡¯t even know the last time these floors had seen a mop. Then he organized his tools up on the wall, and fixed one of the hooks when it broke by hammering a new one into shape from some scrap metal. With nothing else to busy himself with, he began sorting out his overflowing boxes of miscellaneous leftover materials, attempting to reduce their volume by throwing out things he had held onto because it felt like a waste to throw them away, even though he knew deep down he was never actually going to use any of it.


    Boggy straightened up from one of the boxes, a hand to his lower back, groaning at the way his spine creaked and caught like a badly oiled hinge.


    ¡°Hello,¡± came a soft voice at his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.


    Spinning, he found the Misfortune standing only feet away, having somehow glided into the shop without making a noise. Tall and shaggy-haired, he fixed Boggy with the intensity of his one-eyed glare, the other stitched shut and drooping like something on a morbid stuffed toy.


    ¡°Your apprentice said you have something for me,¡± the man prodded.


    ¡°Ah, eh, yes,¡± Boggy stammered. Even though he was technically a higher level than the man he was facing down, fifteen to the Misfortune¡¯s fourteen, he felt himself break out in a cold sweat. ¡°Right over here, Master One-Eye.¡±


    I should have refused this job, Bogleg admonished himself as he guided his client over to the workbench. It doesn¡¯t matter how much the bastard is paying¡ªI should have refused.


    Of course, there was no way he could have. He wasn¡¯t actually sure who he feared more¡ªthe infamous killer, or the man holding the killer¡¯s leash.


    Noticing the tall case jutting up over the Misfortune¡¯s shoulder, Boggy licked his lips and said: ¡°How¡¯s the rifle been treating you? Would you like me to take a look at it, work out any kinks?¡± Desperate to buy himself some time before the inevitable, hated task ahead.


    ¡°No need,¡± the Misfortune replied curtly, unslinging the case and setting it down on the floor to lean against the workbench. Looking over the spread of items, he added: ¡°Let¡¯s go over what you''ve found, shall we?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± He went down the odd assortment one by one, from left to right. ¡°The slave collar here, as you might guess, is enchanted with Cancel and Reinforce. The surgical knife has Refine and Reinforce, the shortsword has Refine and Accelerate, the sabatons have Accelerate times two, and this thing here¡­¡± He motioned to the last item, a little rectangular piece of steel with no obvious purpose at a glance. ¡°...is a tattoo stamp, if you¡¯ll believe it. It was quite difficult to find a Soulbound item enchanted with Absorb and Inject, you know. I had never heard of this sort of thing before I found the seller for it¡ªessentially, the artist inks the design onto the stamp, then places it onto the client¡¯s skin. The ink is Injected all at once, creating a fully formed tattoo in an instant without any pain.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± the Misfortune replied neutrally.


    Boggy snapped his mouth shut. I¡¯m rambling¡ªstop rambling!


    ¡°And once I Soulbind the finished piece, you can add another instance of Absorb onto that?¡± the man continued.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Boggy said, nodding. ¡°That is not a problem.¡±Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°Good. Can you begin right away?¡±


    Boggy blinked hard. ¡°Yes, I suppose, but¡­ Master One-Eye, I feel obliged to tell you that I think this is a very, very bad idea. If you would like to call it off, I¡¯m willing to waive all payment.¡±


    ¡°Surely not. You¡¯ve already gone out of pocket to acquire these items.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s no problem. I could easily find other buyers to sell them on.¡± That was unlikely, at least for some of the more specialized items. More likely, he would just bury them all in a deep hole somewhere and not even bother trying to recoup his losses.


    ¡°I see. Regardless, I want to proceed.¡±


    ¡°Master One-Eye¡­ To my knowledge, this kind of process has never been attempted before, and for good reason.¡±


    ¡°Then we will be making history, won¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Bogleg,¡± the Misfortune boomed, his voice cutting like a blade, and his black eye flashed. ¡°We made a deal, didn¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°We did,¡± Boggy admitted.


    ¡°Are you going back on that deal?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Good. In that case, here is full payment for your services.¡± The Misfortune produced a bulging paper envelope and handed it over.


    Reluctantly opening it, Boggy riffled through the eyecatching stack of colored bills inside. ¡°This is more than we agreed.¡± He could tell even at a glance.


    ¡°Consider it a bonus,¡± the Misfortune replied smoothly. ¡°For your discretion, and that of your apprentices.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Thank you.¡±


    So that was the carrot. Boggy tried not to speculate on what the stick would be, if the Misfortune got the notion that Boggy hadn¡¯t kept his mouth shut.


    ¡°Now, if you wouldn¡¯t mind¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Boggy said reluctantly. ¡°Of course. Now, I will need to do the actual forging outdoors, on account of the semblance.¡±


    ¡°By all means. Would it be possible for me to supervise the process?¡±


    Boggy shook his head. ¡°You will need to remain at a safe distance, I¡¯m afraid. I can¡¯t guarantee your safety inside the semblance field.¡±


    ¡°All right¡ªit can¡¯t be helped, I suppose.¡±


    Boggy sighed with relief that his client would concede that much, at least.


    Using a pair of tongs, he slipped the cursed items into some large pockets on a roll-up tool belt, furled it up, and reluctantly carried it out the back in his outstretched hands, the Misfortune shadowing him closely. He walked into the yard behind the smithy, where a large patch of earth had been left free of habitation, blackened and bare from use. Price and Yips had already lugged an anvil into the center of the black circle before he¡¯d dismissed them, so he unrolled the leather belt again and placed the cursed items on the anvil one by one with a soft clink, clink, clink of metal on metal.


    Seeing that the Misfortune had remained at a safe distance near the door maybe thirty feet off, Boggy took the heavy gloves looped through his belt and pulled them on, then removed the heavy hammer from its belt loop and bounced its head against the pitted iron of the anvil to test it, allowing the warm ringing that vibrated up his arm to induce calm.


    Everything was ready. There was no way to stall this any longer.


    Boggy took a deep breath.


    ¡°Semblance Art: Crucible of the Sun.¡±


    The orange SP crystal on his sheet winked out with a crackle of electricity that arced up his arm. Almost immediately, the air around him grew brighter, glowing, billowing, until he was surrounded only by light and fire. The city, the smithy, the Misfortune, even the ground was swallowed by it, leaving only him and the anvil and the items laid out across it.


    Boggy¡¯s hammer flared with energy as he raised it, a surge of power extending out from its glowing head. The cursed items, too, only took seconds before they went red-hot, then pale yellow, then seething white, impurities hissing as they sparked away from the metal surfaces.


    The horn handle of the shortsword burned away, leaving only the steel tang, and the same for the wooden handle of the surgical knife. The sabatons lost their leather straps, and he was left only with pure metal to work with.


    Without needing to put any muscle behind it, Boggy let his hammer fall, striking the anvil with the deep resonance of a gong. The air around him crackled and reverberated with the sound, flames dancing to its rhythm. The items should have gone flying when hit with such power, but his semblance pressed in around them, pinned them to the spot.


    In this place, Boggy was greater than a king¡ªhe was a creator god, a blazing figure standing at the center of a collapsing star, wielding a hammer of power.


    He struck, struck, struck, and the semblance sang with every blow. The materials resisted in a way he had never experienced. They did not want to change shape. They wanted to stay the same. They refused the heat of creation.


    Boggy hammered, and his implement roared with a mouth like a dragon. Despite the raging fire all around, Boggy was cool rather than hot. A thin coating of cold, almost icy air rushed around him, a skin-tight bubble that prevented him from being burned out by his own semblance.


    The cursed items proved quite a conundrum. No matter how he beat at them, no matter how high the temperature rose, they remained mute and dead on his anvil, spiting him as they swallowed the energy provided by each blow without releasing an iota in return.


    Maybe there was no way to create the abomination One-Eye wanted, after all. Maybe he could call it quits now, safe in the confidence that he had tried, at least.


    But then, with the rhythmic beat of his hammer, inspiration struck.


    The cursed items had nothing in common. They did not want to become one thing¡ªthey wanted to remain separate. Contrasted against the pure light of his Crucible, the dark tendrils they extended toward him¡ªnormally invisible¡ªwere thrown into stark relief. The hateful remains of five souls that had known only pain and spite and indifference from the world around them in their final moments.


    But¡­ There was one thing that united them. The little pieces of metal, while disparate, all hated him equally. They wanted him to hurt, and to weep, and to die, just as they had.


    Boggy could use that unification of purpose.


    He did not stop to think whether it was a good idea, or morally correct. Spurred by the power of his semblance, he needed to release the energy that coursed through him, to guide his brilliance into something external lest it tear him to pieces from the inside.


    His hammer fell once more.


    With a hiss of dark potential, the five pieces began to melt together.


    * * *


    All at once, quick as a bubble bursting, the light vanished from Boggy¡¯s eyes. In the same instant, all the strength left his limbs, and the hammer flew from suddenly inoperable fingers as he toppled forward onto his knees, only barely catching himself with his hands before his forehead tipped onto the still red-hot anvil. Without the Crucible to protect him, it would burn him the same as any other mortal.


    The earth around him smoked and cracked, air billowing with heat and suffused with a stench like burnt hair. Boggy shivered, both with the unnatural cold that soaked into his bones, and exhaustion following the completion of his monumental task. Not only his SP crystals, but all his AP crystals had gone dead.


    Atop the anvil, a sword beckoned, contained by a silvery, filigreed scabbard. Though they were of two separate pieces, sword and scabbard, they shared the same spirit, and neither one could exist in full without the other.


    He had been forced to make the sword long due to the large amount of material going into it, only able to cut small scraps of steel without wasting the power that had clung to the original objects.


    Though its shape might be considered unusual when placed against a typical blade of its kind, overlong by at least five or six inches, Boggy could not see it as anything other than perfect. It was exactly what it needed to be, should be. Though he could no longer sense it intrinsically, the memory of the power that exuded from the weapon nearly made him gasp.


    It was his magnum opus. Sublime in its beauty, and flawless in its simplicity.


    And yet, Boggy did not dare look upon it. For as much as it awed him, and as much as the achievement filled him with pride, he feared the thing more.


    It was a beautiful aberration. A terrible transcendence.


    ¡°Did it work?¡±


    Boggy¡¯s head jerked up, and he found the Misfortune looming over him like a watchful crow perched atop a church steeple.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Boggy croaked. ¡°No. I don¡¯t know. We should throw it away. We should destroy it.¡±


    But the words meant nothing. He already knew that this was not a thing that could be destroyed. He had created a permanent black stain upon the world¡ªa boiling fury that no amount of blood could quench.


    Goddess, what have I done?


    ¡°Did it keep the enchantments?¡± One-Eye asked. His hand hovered a hair''s breadth above the weapon, but he did not quite touch it. Even he feared it.


    ¡°They integrated perfectly.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a masterwork item.¡± Boggy had only created two enchanted items of that grade before. ¡°I already slotted it with Absorb. If you Soulbind it, that means you will have two slots left.¡±


    ¡°Marvelous work. You have my compliments¡ªand my thanks¡ªMaster Bogleg.¡±


    ¡°Please¡­¡± Boggy whispered, letting his gaze fall to the blackened earth powdering under his fingers. ¡°If you have to keep it, at least promise me you will not use it.¡±


    ¡°Your part in this is over,¡± One-Eye said in a cold, cold voice. ¡°Spend your money gladly, and forget this day ever happened. It will be better for you that way.¡±


    Boggy wished that was possible¡ªbut he did not think it was. How could a smith forget his own masterpiece, no matter the depth of his loathing for it?

 Chapter 28 - Five Ghosts, a Blacksmith, and an Assassin Walk Into a Bar [2]

    Will


    Even though it was stowed safely in his rifle case, Will could sense a¡­ wrongness radiating against his back, like a film of corrosive, unclean waste soaking through his clothes and clinging to his skin.


    A small part of him wished that he had never asked Bogleg to make the thing. That he had not persisted.


    At the same time, his heartbeat thundered in his ears, racing with hungry ambition. Yes, the risk involved was real, but if he could make it work¡­ eleven enchantments on a single weapon, with free slots to bring it up to thirteen. The potential uses of such an item were dizzying. And if his theory about cursed items turned out to be correct, even that might prove less of a drawback than expected.


    He was grateful to himself for having the foresight to pick up Soulbind at Level 13.


    Bogleg had looked supremely relieved that Will did not intend to stay and Soulbind the weapon in his shop, nor ask for the last enchantments to be slotted in immediately.


    In truth, it had not been an act of consideration on Will¡¯s part. He preferred complete privacy for what he needed to do next. As he could not think of any such places inside the city itself, and he obviously could not return to the farm to carry out his task, he had simply wandered out of Sheerhome at random in search of a suitable location, eventually leaving the tended paths as he passed the guard tower perimeter to trudge through untended meadows and head-high thickets.


    His Orienteering passive, augmented by periodic pulses of Detect [Terrain], eventually allowed him to find a dilapidated farmstead that did not appear to have been inhabited in at least a decade, blocked in on all sides by small trees and dense shrubbery so that it was nearly impossible to spot if you were more than twenty feet away.


    The door had been torn off its hinges and lay discarded on the dusty, moss-covered floor inside. Will had his old saber at the ready as he entered, but a Detect [Life] revealed nothing, and he did not see anything out of the ordinary inside the darkened single-room building, so he sheathed it again and let his guard drop a hair.


    Most of the furniture had been smashed by some careless burglar or beast, broken glassware and crockery strewn everywhere. Will did not bother searching the place to see whether there was anything worth taking¡ªhe had nothing on his mind except the task at hand.


    He got down on one knee and unslung the rifle case, placing it down with a hollow thump against the old floorboards. Undoing the clasps, he flipped the lid open to reveal its contents.


    There it lay, nestled against the semi-automatic rifle he had considered his most valuable possession until just a few hours ago.


    If the beautifully ornate scabbard was anything to go by, the blade was long and slender, with a slight curve that roughly matched the saber he already carried. It had a short, one-handed grip of all-metal¡ªan impossibly fine web of hollow steel¡ªwith sinuous quillons that reminded him of two serpents entwined at their tails.


    Though he could not make out anything visibly odd, not one blemish that detracted from the sword¡¯s sublime beauty, the aura that emanated from it was so oppressive that Will had to keep reminding himself to breathe. He removed the blade from the case with a thick cloth and placed it off to the side, handle toward him.


    There was nothing to do but pick it up so that he could begin the Soulbinding process, but something in him hesitated. Some animal instinct in the deep recesses of his brain screamed at him not to touch this thing, to leave it and run.


    If I am going to save this world, there is no room for weakness.


    Will hesitated.


    Pick it up, coward.


    Unless you want to see Sam¡¯s head on a pike because you were too weak to clear a path for her, pick it up.


    Suddenly, Will found the fingers of his right hand curling around the cold steel grip, while he slowly removed the long scabbard with the other.


    With a hiss like a pit of snakes, the sword was bared, and Will let the scabbard drop to clatter at his feet. The sword was well-balanced and mirror-bright, the metal bearing an intricate wave pattern of black and white and gray where different types of steel had been mixed together in the forging process.


    It¡¯s¡ªThis story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Agonizing pain shot up Will¡¯s right arm. He instinctively tried to let go of the sword, but found his hand frozen to the hilt as though cramping from electrocution. Something dark and urgent slid up his forearm, tiny biting mouths and clawing hands that he could not see, but producing streaks of ripping agony as real as anything he had ever felt.


    <Die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die!> something snarled in one ear.


    <We hate you! We hate you! We hate you!> something howled in the other.


    The cramps were migrating up Will¡¯s forearm, brought freezing pain tinged with fuzzy numbness. His muscles spasmed and flexed without his consent, arm hyperextending, his elbow wanting to rip out of its socket.


    Will screamed. He grasped his right wrist with his other hand in an attempt to hold it still, but the blade¡¯s wickedly sharp point jittered wild in his cramping grip all the same.


    <Die! We hate you!>


    <Why are you doing this to us?>


    <It hurts¡­>


    <Why is everything so dark?>


    ¡°O Era,¡± Will spat through trembling lips. ¡°Bind me to the world, that I may flourish.¡±


    <What are you doing?>


    [Soulbind failed. Invalid target.]


    ¡°Fuck!¡±


    A chorus of discordant laughter echoed in his skull.


    His hand began to roll erratically at the wrist despite his best efforts to stabilize it, the sword swiping with a mind of its own down at his legs and feet.


    ¡°O Era, bind me to the world, that I may flourish.¡±


    [Soulbind failed. Invalid target.]


    <How dare you, thief!>


    <Die!>


    <Go away!>


    <We hate you! We hate! We hate! We haaate!>


    The sword jerked sharply down to impale his foot. Rather than resist, Will leaned into the movement as he shifted his stance, driving the point of the blade firmly through one of the floorboards. It quivered furiously in the wood, the bones in Will¡¯s arm creaking with the force of the convulsions.


    I¡¯m missing something, Will thought, trying to hang onto some shred of rational calm. There has to be a way to make the binding stick.


    He could only think of one thing that might work.


    Every good weapon needs a name, doesn¡¯t it?


    Holding both hands over the grip of the downturned sword, his mind a chaotic churn of foreign voices screaming and crying and laughing, Will called: ¡°O Era, bind me to the world, this Anathema, that I may flourish!¡±


    [Soulbind failed.]


    [Soulbind f¡ª]


    [Invalid target.]


    [Target ???]


    [Soul¡ª]


    [...]


    [Soulbind accepted.]


    At once, the voices quieted to discordant whispers and Will¡¯s arm fell slack, stopped trying to fold itself the wrong way. With a cry of exertion, he dislodged the blade from the floor, scrambled for the fallen scabbard, and clutched it between his knees as he rammed the sword home. Once safely sheathed, he pried open his fingers and hurled the sword with all his strength, which bounced over the edge of the rifle case before tumbling inside. He slammed the lid shut, secured the clasps with fumbling fingers, and staggered back once it was firmly closed. The voices had vanished the moment he let go. The dark presence slid¡ªmuch more slowly¡ªfrom his arm, like the unspooling tentacles of a dying octopus, until at last he knew that he was free of it.


    Will was left panting and sweat-soaked. He clutched his trembling right hand to his chest, feeling as though his forearm had been gnawed to the bone even though not a mark showed on it.


    Dipping back on his haunches, he took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to still himself.


    Then he wept.


    Whether from joy, or fear, or pain, he could not tell. Maybe he was just overwhelmed. Maybe the pain he wept for wasn¡¯t his own, but for the eternal agony he had sensed from those poor wretches trapped in that sword.


    Anathema.


    It had been a spur of the moment choice, but the name felt intensely appropriate.


    After maybe a minute, Will was interrupted in his sobbing by an influx of sensory input.


    [Congratulations! You have reached Level 15!]


    He flinched, at first thinking it was another attack from the ghosts in the sword, then gasped in amazement once his mind actually processed what it was being fed.


    Level 15?


    That doesn¡¯t make any sense. How could I be leveling up now? I wasn¡¯t doing anything related to the activities of either a Cook or an Explorer.


    Unless¡­


    Unless doing something that has never been done counts as ¡®exploring¡¯.


    It was an unexpected development on top of everything else. Will let himself fall back onto the dusty floor, staring up at the sprawling ribcage of rotting roof beams. He lay there and simply breathed, tried to process everything that had just happened. It took almost as long for him to accept that he was now Level 15 as it did to compartmentalize what he had been through with the sword. At least with the latter, he had expected it, had time to steel himself.


    Will had thought he would have more time to think of a semblance. He had expected to be trying for some time yet to reach that threshold.


    I do have some ideas already, I suppose.


    I¡¯ll do some brainstorming tonight.


    Slowly, Will collected himself, got up, and retrieved his rifle case, handling it as though it contained a deadly animal.


    Then he headed back for the city, tottering hurriedly on exhausted, jelly-weak legs to make it back before dark, swearing at every tangle of vegetation he tripped over.

 Chapter 29 - Lights! Excitement! Action! Death!

    Sam


    Two chimps stepped carefully around Sam, fingering the grips of their mallets. A third crouched off to her left, a blunted arrow nocked on his bowstring.


    She heard rapid footsteps as Number Three charged from behind, leading the attack. Instead of retreating, she moved into¡ªand ducked under¡ªthe wildly swinging mallet without turning, coming up as the chimp stumbled past her and got in the way of his brother. Turning to Number Four, she was just in time to dart a hand out and catch an arrow out of the air by its ball tip. Absorbing the momentum left her palm throbbing but not badly hurt.


    Making it to the bow wielder while he was still trying to nock another arrow, he let out a shriek and tried to scramble back, but she stayed on top of him, first knocking the weapon from his hands with a side kick that sent its wooden limbs flying in two broken pieces. Following up, Sam hit a spinning back kick that caught Number Four in the face and knocked him flat. She knew even before he hit the ground that he wouldn¡¯t be getting up for a minute, and turned away to focus on the other two.


    Just in time to jerk back from a swing made by Number Three, then a slap from his long off-hand. Seeing Number Two trying to circle around in the corner of her eye, she moved opposite, keeping his brother as a shield between them.


    Number Three suddenly let out a fearsome howl and pitched forward onto one knee. With a running start, Number Two bounced off his shoulder and leapt high in the air, coming down on Sam. By now she was wary of their tricks, and she caught the signs he was making with his free hand just in time to avoid the upheaval of broken earth that followed Number Two¡¯s hammer striking soil.


    Only, by moving she ended up right where Number Three wanted her, and she did not even see the blur of his mallet before it was already too late to dodge. Instead of trying to catch it, however, she just let the heavy wooden head slam right into her forehead, sending her skull rattling and her teeth chattering and her thoughts all going to mush for a moment.


    By the time her vision cleared, she found that her body had moved exactly the way she¡¯d wanted it to even in the absence of all conscious thought, her hand clamped down on Number Three¡¯s main hand and twisting his arm so that the chimp was screaming in furious pain, contorting his body to try and follow the movement of his arm lest his shoulder pop free of its socket.


    Number Two came charging in to save his brother, a determined set over his simian features. Sam responded by sliding her hand back over Number Three¡¯s hand, catching the head of his mallet, and jerking the weapon free with a single sharp tug. Flipping it around and catching the handle, she hurled it straight at the advancing chimp.


    Number Two took it hard. His head snapped back, and he tumbled gracelessly across the ground as he was carried on by his momentum, rolling nearly to her feet. Stepping over him, Sam stayed on top of the one remaining opponent, Number Three, who was trying to retreat and recoup. She weaved his desperate swipes, waiting for a good opportunity, and found a moment to latch onto an arm and toss him to the ground. She wrapped herself around him, limbs locking tight, holding his arm outflung and immobile.


    After a few moments, Number Three reluctantly tapped his one free hand against Sam¡¯s thigh, letting her know that he had surrendered.


    Sam let the chimp go and helped him to his feet, grinning broadly. His brothers were still trying to pick themselves off the ground, Number Four with a bloody nose and Number Two sporting a long cut on his brow where the edge of the mallet had caught him.


    ¡°Nice one, guys!¡± Sam called, bouncing with joy. None of the others seemed to share her excitement. She would have felt bad for them, if not for the fact that they had been pounding her into mincemeat for the past three days and change. They could do with a little comeuppance, frankly, and she hadn¡¯t gone that hard on them.


    [Congratulations! You have reached Level 4!]


    Aw, sweet! Sam thought, doing a little dance as she made her way toward the farmhouse. Better and better! Will is going to be so proud of me when he gets back.


    When she got to Level 3 while trying to work her way through just a pair of chimps yesterday, she had split her four attribute points evenly between Toughness and Strength. That seemed to have made just enough difference for her to break through two chimps, then three, back to back.


    For Level 4, she thought she might put an extra rank in Shock Absorption. Having a few ranks in both that and Stoneskin seemed like it couldn¡¯t be a bad idea, and Shock Absorption specifically had been a life-saver in her training ever since she picked it up.


    ¡°Good job, kid!¡± Mongrel called from the porch with a lazy wave. He had pulled out a folding chair each for himself and Number One and was wearing a battered straw hat, passing a smoke back and forth with the old chimp.


    ¡°Are we doing four at once now?¡± Sam asked. She shaded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him. ¡°I just leveled up again.¡±


    ¡°No need. Let¡¯s give these poor boys a rest¡ªI think you¡¯ve squeezed about all you¡¯re going to get out of fighting them.¡±


    ¡°How am I supposed to continue my training, then?¡±


    The pot-bellied man grinned mischievously. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry, sweetheart. I¡¯ve got a plan.¡±


    That sounded slightly ominous, but Sam was willing to hear him out, going vertical on the porch while Number One went to fetch her some water.


    ¡°They arrange these fights in the city,¡± Mongrel explained. ¡°Folk pay good money to come watch other folk rough each other up. Pretty casual, you know.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll sign you up for one. It¡¯d be a good way for you to get some proper fighting experience in a, uh, controlled environment, and they put on specific matches for fighters Level 5 and under, so it¡¯ll all be perfectly fair.¡±


    Sam stared up at the drifting clouds. When Number One appeared with a dipper of water, she stayed on her back and let him put it to her lips. She drank greedily. It was fresh from the well, cold and delicious.


    ¡°I dunno,¡± she said with a contented sigh after swallowing the last of it. ¡°You¡¯re talking about those fighting pits, right?¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°When we went to the city, Will seemed to be pretty against me going near them at all. Are you sure he¡¯d be all right with this?¡±


    ¡°All right with it? He¡¯s the one who suggested it!¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Mmhmm. When he put me in charge, he said to take you down to the pits when you were ready for some advanced training. He was right in keeping you away from that place to start out, but I don¡¯t think he expected you to be improving this quickly.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s okay?¡± Sam asked, looking doubtfully at the upside-down man.


    ¡°Perfectly. Wanna give it a shot?¡±


    Sam grinned.


    [She says yes.]


    * * *


    Mongrel


    It took all of Mongrel¡¯s self-restraint to keep from rubbing his hands together and laughing maniacally at the thought of all the money he was about to make.


    The girl was a natural. Better than a natural. A prodigy! Was there anything above a prodigy? If there was, she was that.


    He had seen fellows in the Level 5 to 7 range get torn to pieces by just one of his boys. The good Miss Darling, just days after washing up in the Frontier, had taken on three at once.  And aside from that, she was already Level 4.


    Oh, yes. This should work out very, very nicely for me.


    He only noticed that a self-satisfied chuckle had slipped out when he saw the girl shooting him a sidelong frown as they walked down a Darkside thoroughfare. He began to make an excuse, realized that he didn¡¯t care enough to actually think of one, and just shrugged vaguely instead.


    The entertainment district was, without any exaggeration, the only sliver of Sheerhome worth a rotten shit. Instead of ugly militiamen, there were pretty working girls patrolling the street corners, extolling their virtues both verbally and through more¡­ visual communication. Invariably enhanced with at least a few points in Appeal, and sometimes the Ideal Self passive, the girls often had considerable assets spilling out of deliciously sleazy clothing. He winked at a few of them, getting smiles and titters in return, until Sam¡ªrudely, unfairly, and mercilessly¡ªhit him over the back of the head.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Sam said flatly. ¡°My hand slipped.¡±


    Mongrel spun on her with a witty retort ready on his tongue, but decided eventually to be the bigger man. The way her knuckles cracked as she worked her raised fist was a trifle dramatic, and did not frighten him at all.


    The only bad thing about Darkside was that he risked running into Nyx here. He had last seen her in this area, after all, and he didn¡¯t see why she would ever leave, considering the abundance of desperate, drunk, and/or sexually frustrated mortals.


    Luckily, he did not catch a whiff of the bitch, which was a good thing. He was glad to be rid of her. One less headache to worry about.


    At its northern end, the Darkside opened up into a giant fairground filled with a sea of tents, pavilions, and paper lantern displays. Smoke pillars from a hundred cook fires rose into the air, and a roar of noise accompanied the roil of townsfolk milling about makeshift streets of tramped mud between the uneven lines of canvas pop-ups.


    The fairground had all sorts of attractions¡ªplays, carnival games, food stalls, dog racing tracks¡ªbut most people came for the pits. They were dotted liberally about the place, and it was easy to make out their locations at a glance from the enormous poles thrust high above the tents that marked them out, each pole painted with a number to designate which pit was which.


    ¡°Don¡¯t wander off,¡± Mongrel cautioned with a sharp gesture in Sam¡¯s direction before slipping into a large, octagonal tent with colorful streamers whipping at its corners. He¡¯d left the boys behind at a stables, since this was an important business dealing, and, bless the lot of them, they didn¡¯t exactly give off a professional vibe. The inside of the tent was somehow even louder than the rest of the fairground, with bookies shouting at each other while they moved about their desks and blackboards, their voices set to a backdrop of papers rustling and stamps clicking and shalk scuffing.


    Mongrel did not need to look around long before his eyes settled on the man he was looking for. Golden Boy was, as his name suggested, golden. He shone like a sparkling treasure at the back of the room, his skin an impossibly lustrous metallic hue that almost hurt to look upon, buffed to a distracting mirror shine that reflected every movement around him.


    Golden Boy, a Level 16 Entertainer, was short and round and bald as a cueball. Not only was his skin gold, but so were his teeth and nails. Indeed, everything but the whites of his eyes was golden. Aside from a gold-sequined speedo and a pair of puffy yellow slippers, Golden Boy had his body entirely on display¡ªa disturbing marvel that was nearly impossible to tear one¡¯s eyes away from.


    Spinning a scepter of polished brass with a ruby-studded sphere for a head, the city¡¯s biggest fight organizer was dictating instructions to a gaggle of his employees, snapping his fingers at one, then another, then yet another. As the men and women were given instructions and dismissed, more arrived to take their place.


    Mongrel was halted by a security woman before he made it two steps inside the tent, a burly Builder whose scarred hand fell heavily on his shoulder, thumb digging into the dip of his neck.


    For some inexplicable reason, she did not believe that he had business with the organizer, and directed him to go outside and get in some line to speak with some secretary to make some appointment. That sounded like a dreadful lot of work, and an unacceptable amount of standing about. Mongrel did not like to stand if he could avoid it. It drained him.


    ¡°I need to speak with Mr. Boy about a fighter,¡± Mongrel explained patiently, sighing and patting the back of the woman¡¯s hand. ¡°Now be a good brute and let me through.¡±


    The woman¡¯s already broad nostrils flared almost comically, like she was planning to suck all tha air out of the tent, and her grip migrated from his shoulder to hook through his collar.


    ¡°Last chance,¡± she growled. ¡°I suggest you walk out of here now, shitface¡ªor you won¡¯t be doing much walking at all anymore.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    The woman scowled, and her nose flared even wider somehow. ¡°I¡¯ll snap your spine, man¡ªthat¡¯s what that means.¡±


    Mongrel offered his most winning smile. ¡°That would put a terrible dampener on the lively air around here, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡±


    ¡°Not for me.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Boy!¡± Mongrel called, tilting his head back to lob his voice over this rude woman¡¯s frizzy head. ¡°I have an important matter for your perusal!¡±


    Several things happened at once. The mannish brute cocked back her fist to punch him.  Someone caught her wrist. There was a bit of scuffling. Two women ended up on the floor. There was a loud snap of bone splintering.


    At the end of it, Mongrel¡¯s face was thankfully still intact, and Sam had been wrestled to the floor between four other toughs, each one pinning down one limb, while the one he had dickered with was wailing and clutching her grotesquely twisted arm, slumped against a desk with money and papers strewn swept onto the canvas flooring.


    The roar of activity had gone completely dead, everyone still and silent, gawking round-eyed like owls.


    ¡°Sorry, Mongrel,¡± Sam grunted, spread eagle. She had ceased struggling. ¡°I know you told me to wait outside, but it looked like you were in trouble.¡±


    A fifth tough approached, drawing a long knife. He knelt by Sam and yanked her head back by a fistful of reddish hair, pressed the blade to her exposed throat. Sheerhome¡¯s rather short legal charter did prohibit murder, but what constituted ¡®self defense¡¯ was rather vague, and legal definitions seemed to miraculously change to suit whatever the right honorable Lord Brimstone wanted at that particular moment.


    Brimstone was quite fond of the money generated by the pits. The fight organizers suckled happily at his withered teat, meaning they enjoyed many legal liberties. If they decided to put Sam in the ground over a little thing like this, most likely there would be no penalty against them.


    ¡°Up-up-up-up!¡± Golden Boy cried from across the room. He came over at a brisk trot, round belly proudly outthrust, and rapped his man on the head with the scepter. ¡°None of that, now! What did I tell you about blood inside the tent?¡±


    The tough stood up, mumbled a sheepish apology, and stowed his knife.


    Golden Boy poked Sam between the eyes with the end of his scepter. ¡°Who is this?¡± he asked, eyes fixed on Mongrel. ¡°Is she a fighter?¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± Mongrel confirmed.


    ¡°She¡¯s good.¡±


    ¡°Of course she is.¡±


    ¡°I must have her.¡±


    ¡°Of course you do.¡±


    Golden Boy snapped his fingers insistently until his security people got the message and removed themselves from Sam, allowing her to quickly spring to her feet. She approached the woman with the mangled arm, grimacing as she reached out to touch it, then thought better of it and slowly withdrew her hand. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about that,¡± she said. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it.¡±


    Golden Boy giggled with delight.


    The woman with the backward arm looked somewhat less amused.

 Chapter 30 - Lights! Excitement! Action! Death! [2]

    Mongrel


    An open robe of rich red silk draped over his shoulders, Golden Boy poured liberal helpings of brandy into two tumblers. ¡°I¡¯d say,¡± he hummed, turning with the rims of both glasses pinched between two golden fingers, ¡°that that delightful little performance bought you about five minutes of my time, Master¡­¡±


    ¡°Matthew Caldwell, esquire,¡± Mongrel said. ¡°Gentleman and friend. At your service.¡± Accepting the drink he was offered, he pounded it and handed back the empty glass. Somewhat less formally, he extended his hand and continued: ¡°Put ¡®er there.¡±


    Smiling, Golden Boy set aside Mongrel¡¯s empty glass, and they shook hands while the organizer nursed his own drink. ¡°Charmed.¡±


    Mongrel had been brought to the organizer¡¯s personal tent, which was somehow even larger than the main bookmakers¡¯ office despite only needing to house a single occupant. Well, that and the four mostly naked women¡ªand two unfashionably pretty men¡ªsprawled in a half-daze on the enormous bed.


    While a fervent and dedicated patron of the oldest profession, even Mongrel found such a profusion of rented flesh a little distasteful. He was a one-woman kinda guy. One at a time, anyway.


    Golden Boy hopped up on his solid desk of dark, expensive-looking wood, his short legs dangling off the end, and looked expectantly down at Mongrel. ¡°You strike me as a keen businessman, Master Caldwell. And, well, there is only one business you might possibly wish to discuss with me. So let¡¯s talk terms, shall we?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s,¡± Mongrel agreed, grinning with his eyes.


    ¡°Your fighter is talented.¡±


    ¡°A lucky find, you might say.¡± Sam was waiting in what was functionally an antechamber tent adjoining this one, left with another gaggle of working girls. Fighters did not need to be privy to business discussions¡ªthat was what managers were for, after all.


    ¡°She¡¯s only Level 4.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s very new.¡±


    ¡°How new?¡±


    ¡°Washed up a bit under a week ago.¡±


    Golden Boy giggled, making bubbles in his brandy as he went for a sip. ¡°Of course.¡± He clearly didn¡¯t believe that one whit. ¡°I assume you want her to take part in the five-under division?¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s not too much trouble.¡±


    ¡°No. Decidedly no trouble at all, Master Caldwell. It would be my pleasure to assist, and in fact¡­¡± The cherub-like fellow put down his glass, smiling a shiny, plated smile. ¡°I have just the thing for her.¡±


    Mongrel clapped his hands together. ¡°Brilliant!¡± Resisting the urge to pick his nose, he instead rubbed the bridge of it, looking sophisticated. ¡°What opponent did you have in mind?¡±


    Golden Boy¡¯s smile widened, and he wagged a finger in the air. ¡°Nonono, it¡¯s not like that. It isn¡¯t a fight I have in mind¡ªit¡¯s a tournament.¡±


    ¡°A tournament? That¡¯s¡­¡± It wasn¡¯t exactly what he¡¯d bargained for. Sam was still very fresh, after all, and well¡­ he could already imagine Will''s lecture about ¡®being responsible¡¯ and other such moralistic tripe.


    ¡°Yes! You are very much in luck, Master Caldwell. It just so happens that I and a few of the other organizers have pooled all our fresh talent together for a five-under tournament¡ªfrankly, I¡¯m surprised you haven¡¯t heard of it. I suppose I will need to have a word with my marketing team about that.¡±


    ¡°I live a little off the grid,¡± Mongrel replied. Besides, his vice of choice had never been fight betting. Whenever he was in Darkside, he usually found that his disposable income had run out before he got quite so far north as the fairground.


    Golden Boy lifted a hairless brow at Mongrel¡¯s comment, not understanding, but didn¡¯t inquire.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°When is this tournament being held?¡± Mongrel asked hesitantly. I suppose I should at least hear him out. I¡¯m representing my fighter¡¯s best interests, after all¡ªit would be irresponsible of me not to explore all the options.


    ¡°Tomorrow,¡± Golden Boy replied swiftly. ¡°As I said, you¡¯re in luck.¡±


    Mongrel blinked. ¡°That¡¯s very short notice.¡±


    ¡°You think your Laborer needs more training? She clearly has the basics down already.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s more than can be said for most of these scum. The majority are just wannabes looking for their big break. I¡¯d say your girl has a more than fair chance.¡±


    Slowly shaking his head, Mongrel said: ¡°I don¡¯t know about this, Mr. Boy. Don¡¯t you have any regular matches on the books that we could talk about?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Golden Boy held up a finger. ¡°Just let me tell you about one more thing first. The champion¡¯s purse.¡±


    * * *


    Mongrel emerged from the organizer¡¯s private room with a grin on his face and a swagger in his step.


    ¡°Girl!¡± he called as he strode through the antechamber tent. ¡°Come on! We¡¯re outta here!¡±


    Sam was sitting in front of a large beauty mirror, surrounded by a troop of women who were threatening her with a frankly impressive arsenal of brushes and powders and sprays and pencils and pins and creams and clippers and curlers and accessories, all talking over each other so that hardly a single word of it could be made out.


    The girl looked infinitely more terrified now than when she''d had a knife to her throat. He could not hear what she called out to him, but the pleading look in her eyes spoke volumes.


    ¡°All right, ladies!¡± Mongrel shouted, shoving his way through the chattering geese. ¡°That¡¯s enough, now! I¡¯ll be needing this one back, thank you very much.¡±


    In the end, he had to physically drag her away, and he hurried her out of the tent as several of the working girls came jeering after, looking like they might start biting and clawing if given the chance.


    They had made it off the fairground by the time Sam¡¯s breathing had returned to normal, and she started looking a little less traumatized.


    ¡°Do you think he would like it?¡± she asked.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Will.¡±


    ¡°Will, what?¡±


    ¡°He probably wouldn¡¯t like this kind of thing, would he?¡± Sam abruptly stopped, forcing Mongrel to hang back as well. ¡°He¡¯d find it silly. And it doesn¡¯t look right on me.¡±


    She was talking about the makeup, he realized. Silly girl. ¡°Who cares?¡± he said, a little impatiently. Hearing the outrage in the strangled noise she made, he added: ¡°I mean, I¡¯m sure he would love it. Boys like it when girls dress up and get fancy for them.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t even look!¡±


    Good lord, why are we still talking about this? There were far more important things going on than a little face paint.


    Hoping she¡¯d let the matter drop if he indulged her, he stooped forward to inspect her face up close, stroking his chin and giving a sophisticated hum. ¡°Hmm¡­ Yes, the colors really go with your¡­ eyebrows. You look very¡­ feminine.¡±


    She looked fine, all things considered. It certainly wasn¡¯t a downgrade. But she really wasn¡¯t his type, so it was difficult to say. He didn¡¯t see the appeal of the boyish types, personally, though he wished all luck upon the men that did¡ªit meant less competition over the real ladies, after all.


    But Mongrel had lived long enough to know that when a woman asked leading questions like these, he needed to give exactly the answer she wanted to hear, or he would never know the end of it. ¡°If Will were here, he would be making excuses to visit the little boys¡¯ room about now.¡±


    Sam frowned. ¡°Why?¡± She softly touched her hair, which had been styled to perfect neatness.


    ¡°So he could rub one out, obviously.¡± Women really did not understand anything at all, sometimes.


    ¡°Oh.¡± Even through the powders that had been liberally applied to her cheeks, Mongrel could make out a bit of a blush. ¡°You think so?¡±


    ¡°I know so, sweetheart. You¡¯re a gorgeous girl, and our Will clearly agrees.¡±


    Sam grinned, and went to touch her face reverently before quickly yanking her hand away, not wanting to ruin the makeup job.


    Mongrel swallowed a sigh. So she didn¡¯t only have muscles for brains, after all. There seemed to be an actual girl in there somewhere. Way in there.


    He motioned for her to keep things moving, and she trotted along after him, still grinning like an idiot.


    Finally, he could move onto more important matters.


    ¡°I signed you up for a tournament,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ll be fighting tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Sam asked, her smile slipping. ¡°A tournament?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°Is that a good idea? Can I do that?¡±


    ¡°¡®Course you can, girl. Look at you! You¡¯re a monster!¡±


    That had been the wrong thing to say, based on the vaguely offended expression on her face. But it quickly melted away, replaced by a look of confusion. ¡°Would Will really be okay with that?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°Because I know that kid,¡± Mongrel spoke, slowly and patiently, ¡°and I know he believes in you more than he believes the sun¡¯s gonna come up tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Seriously?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡± Mongrel had been hearing about it for the past five fucking years of his life with all of Will¡¯s whining and sighing and pining, so by now he considered himself the preeminent expert on the subject.


    ¡°Okay!¡± Sam quickened her pace until they were side by side, moving with determination. ¡°In that case, I¡¯ll have to make sure I win, don¡¯t I? I can¡¯t disappoint him.¡±


    ¡°Theeere¡¯s the spirit,¡± Mongrel cooed, already counting his predicted earnings.

 Chapter 31 - Putting the Blood in Bloodsport

    Sam


    When Mongrel said that he had fixed her some sleeping arrangements for the night, Sam hadn¡¯t pictured that she would find herself standing in the dingy studio apartment of an off-duty hooker.


    Serene was one of the girls she had met in the fight organizer¡¯s tent. Dark-haired, full-breasted, and gorgeous, she had a dull, haunted look in her eyes that Sam did not find surprising for one of her profession.


    Kicking off her shoes, Serene padded across the single room and plopped down on the floor by a low table, immediately beginning to tamper with a delicate, long-stemmed pipe. ¡°You want some?¡± she called over her shoulder.


    ¡°No thanks, I¡¯m good,¡± Sam said, cautiously approaching the table. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s just opium. Have you never had it?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­ no.¡±


    ¡°You come to the Frontier recently?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Right. Might as well hold off as long as you can, then.¡± Serene laughed hoarsely. ¡°Don¡¯t worry¡ªyou¡¯ll take a liking to it eventually.¡±


    I wonder if it¡¯s too late to go sleep with the chimps in the stables, Sam mused, but took a seat regardless.


    Her stomach turned as she watched the woman drip a small glob of thick opium residue onto her pipe and set to smoking it, then began nursing some dark liquor straight from the bottle as well.


    ¡°You drink, though, right?¡± Serene asked, and slid the stubby bottle across the tabletop.


    Sam gently nudged it back. ¡°Not so much, actually.¡±


    The escort snorted out a laugh that never reached her eyes. ¡°Aren¡¯t you precious! What¡¯s your name, babe?¡±


    ¡°Sam.¡±


    ¡°Sam.¡± Serene blew out a cloud of thin smoke, tasting the name. ¡°All right, Sam. Why¡¯s someone like you join that tournament, anyway?¡±


    ¡°Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°Well, Laborers don¡¯t usually fight in the pits, that¡¯s all. Most of them end up joining the militia, and Brimstone doesn¡¯t let his boys fight in the pits. Hardly lets them visit Darkside at all, the prude.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Is that right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll give you a bit of friendly advice, since you seem really fresh to this. Your ¡®manager¡¯¡ªor whatever he calls himself¡ªditch him as fast as you can and go see the captain about joining the militia. The pay¡¯s better than what you could ever hope to make as a fighter, and you¡¯re not as likely to die on the job, either.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. I¡¯m happy where I am, though¡ªI didn¡¯t join the tournament to make money.¡±


    Serene frowned deeply, pausing with the pipe halfway to her mouth. ¡°You didn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m just doing it to level up a bit¡ªI¡¯ve got someone I¡¯m looking to impress.¡±


    ¡°Not that geezer, surely?¡±


    ¡°God, no! There¡¯s¡­ a boy I like, I guess.¡±


    Serene inhaled another breath of smoke until her cheeks were all puffed out, then exhaled two thin streams through her nostrils, her raised eyebrows making plain what she thought about what Sam had said. ¡°All right, babe. You do you.¡±


    Sam¡¯s cheeks flushed. She didn¡¯t appreciate a heroin addict prostitute judging her life choices, but bit back a snide reply in the interest of keeping the peace. She had to spend a whole night here, after all.


    Serene slumped further and further as she continued to drink and smoke, eventually lying with her head propped up against the tabletop. ¡°You ever¡­ killed anybody before?¡± she asked after a while; she slurred her words, eyes half-lidded.


    ¡°No,¡± Sam replied warily. ¡°Why would you ask me that?¡±


    Serene laughed an incredulous, delirious laugh. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re hysterical. You¡¯re going to join this tournament even though you¡¯ve never killed a single person?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I said, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°No offense, babe, but you are fucked. Jesus, I thought my future looked grim¡­¡± She puffed lazily at her pipe, then slowly tipped the stem toward Sam. ¡°You sure you couldn¡¯t use some of this?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± Sam said, a little more sharply than she had intended. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re making fun of me.¡±


    ¡°Making fun¡­? That¡¯s not it. I feel genuinely bad for you.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You clearly got tricked into this. How are you supposed to kill someone for the first time in a tournament like this?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not, though. It¡¯s not like these matches are to the death or anything.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you think?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I mean¡­ that¡¯s what Mongrel said.¡±


    ¡°In that case, your manager is either lying to you, or he¡¯s a massive idiot. Sure, most matches use a non-lethal rule set¡ªif the fighters were killing each other every match, the organizers would run through their experienced fighters way too fast.


    ¡°That¡¯s why they save up their loads for big events like this. The tournament tomorrow? Those matches are to the death.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°You get it now?¡±


    Sam slowly nodded. ¡°I think so.¡±


    ¡°You should drop out. It¡¯ll probably get you in trouble with Golden Boy and his people, but it¡¯s better than getting your guts torn out in the pits.¡±


    ¡°Do I have to kill people? Is that in the rules?¡±


    Serene frowned. ¡°Well¡­ no. I don¡¯t think so. But everyone is going to be trying to kill you, and the crowd will be expecting it. Like I said, death matches don¡¯t happen every day, so folk build up an appetite for it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, okay! If I don¡¯t have to, then I¡¯ll just not kill anybody.¡±


    ¡°Babe, no offense, but I think you might be the craziest bitch I¡¯ve ever talked to, and I know some real weirdos.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a compliment.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t.¡±


    Sam shrugged, grinning. ¡°Meh.¡±


    They talked on, and Sam found out that Serene actually knew a fair bit about the fighting pits¡ªnot because she frequented them herself, but because many of her regulars were fighters looking to blow off steam, and apparently her pimp had deals with some of the organizers so that she would sometimes be lent out to winners as an extra reward for good performance.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°I hope they don¡¯t treat you badly,¡± Sam said after hearing that. Despite her initial dislike of the woman, she somehow felt anxious about her situation.


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re all sweethearts,¡± Serene said with a sarcastic snort. ¡°There¡¯s one who always brings me flowers and chocolate, and another who massages my feet after he¡¯s done fucking me up the wall.¡±


    ¡°But your¡­ pimp,¡± Serene insisted on using that term, ¡°he doesn¡¯t let them get physical with you, right?¡±


    Serene snapped her fingers, and a shimmer alighted in the air around the woman. What looked almost like a shell of light rapidly unraveled and dissipated like peeling skin. Once it was gone, the woman she saw had welts and bruises all over her face, and the white of one eye was bright-red with blood pooled from a burst vessel.


    ¡°Jesus,¡± Sam murmured. ¡°Is that real?¡±


    ¡°I usually keep an Illusion up to hide the worst of it,¡± Serene explained. ¡°Most guys don¡¯t find it very attractive. Then again, some of them go crazy for it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s awful! Is there anything I can do?¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about it. I asked for this.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you tell yourself that because you¡¯ve been treated this way for so long, but it¡¯s never right for someone to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t being poetic,¡± Serene clarified, picking at a snapped fingernail. ¡°I mean, I literally asked for this.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ ask men to beat you?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes. I try to read the room. Like I said, most aren¡¯t too into that kind of thing.¡±


    ¡°But why?¡±


    ¡°Why do people do anything? It feels good¡ªthat¡¯s all there is to it.¡± Serene rolled her bloodshot eyes. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t look so offended. It¡¯s not like you¡¯re any less banged-up than I am.¡±


    ¡°Except I¡¯ve been practicing to become a fighter, not a punching bag.¡±


    Serene laughed melodically. ¡°That was almost funny! You¡¯re not quite as boring as I thought.¡±


    Serene was surprisingly all right, once you got used to her. She made Sam some food at one point during the evening during a brief lull in her inebriation, and when it became abundantly clear that Sam wasn¡¯t interested in drinking alcohol, she scrounged up some elderflower juice from the recesses of a cabinet as a substitute.


    Sam decided to tuck in early so that she could get a good night¡¯s sleep for the tournament tomorrow.


    ¡°I¡¯d offer you the bed,¡± Serene said around her pipe, ¡°but I¡¯m assuming you¡¯d be a bit afraid of the cooties on it.¡±


    ¡°Is there¡­?¡±


    ¡°Semen? I¡¯d imagine so, babe. Probably only a gallon of dried-in sweat, though. I run pretty cold.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I think I¡¯ll pass. Thank you, though.¡±


    The escort shrugged. ¡°Suit yourself. It¡¯s the couch for you, then. Sweet dreams.¡±


    Sam settled in on the ratty, threadbare bit of furniture, while Serene appeared to have no plans of calling it quits even as the evening progressed. She smoked and drank, and drank and smoked, and when her candles went out she continued in the dark.


    Sam was in the fuzzy halfway state between dreaming and wakefulness when she began to hear muffled sobs from the center of the room. It sounded pitiful¡ªif Sam did not already know the source of the sound, she would have assumed it was coming from a small child.


    Sam was not able to endure it for long before she had to stand up and go over to the woman.


    Serene was still suckling uselessly at an empty bottle in the dark.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she whispered, almost inaudibly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m so sorry.¡±


    ¡°All right,¡± Sam said, and made to take the bottle away. ¡°Let¡¯s get you to bed.¡± When Serene clung to the thing, she yanked it away with a firmer tug and discarded it with a heavy clinking of glass somewhere behind her.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it.¡± The woman clung to the front of Sam¡¯s undershirt, pulling on it so hard she feared the fabric might tear. ¡°Mom, I¡¯m so sorry. Please don¡¯t be mad at me. Mom, please wake up. I didn¡¯t mean it¡­¡±


    Serene fought weakly when Sam went to pick her up, but her strength, even more than the baby bird squeals she was making, reminded her of a feeble infant. She princess-carried the escort half-blindly through the darkened apartment, the other woman¡¯s head lolling. By the time Sam got her under the musty and cloyingly perfumed sheets, Serene was nearly unconscious, mumbling feverishly under her breath.


    ¡°Do you want some water?¡± Sam asked, crouched by the woman¡¯s bedside.


    She could not make out the incoherent response, but felt the bed shifting with what Sam took as Serene firmly shaking her head. She filled a scoop anyway from the kitchen basin anyway, and forced the other woman to drink it all.


    ¡°Are you mad at me?¡± Serene asked, smacking her lips noisily.


    ¡°No,¡± Sam said, and stroked the woman¡¯s clammy forehead. ¡°I¡¯m not mad at all. Now, you should try to get some sleep.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t leave!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll stay for a little while if you promise to try and sleep.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    Not twenty seconds later, the escort let her head droop over the side of the bed and vomited onto the floor. Sam fetched a bedpan as she was sick over and over again, retching until only little drops of empty bile pattered into the slopping mass of chunky semi-fluid in the open ceramic container.


    ¡°Better?¡± Sam asked, and wiped the woman¡¯s mouth with the bottom hem of her shirt.


    Serene did not reply.


    Sam began to think that she had finally fallen asleep when suddenly, the other woman murmured: ¡°Are you still there?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still here,¡± Sam confirmed, and shoved the bedpan back under the bed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel well.¡±


    ¡°I can tell.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be sorry. You¡¯re all right.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to hurt you.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t hurt me.¡±


    ¡°I did, and I¡¯m so sorry. Now there¡¯s blood everywhere.¡±


    Sam wasn¡¯t sure what Serene was remembering, but she kept stroking her chin and her hair regardless. ¡°Shush now,¡± she said, putting on a soft, patient voice. ¡°Do you want me to tell you a story? Will that help you sleep?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Serene said after a little while. ¡°Please do that.¡±


    Sam searched her mind for something to talk about. When she thought back on her memories, she found many of them foggy and indistinct. She could no longer remember how many wrestling competitions she had won at school. Had it been three? Four? She barely remembered her father¡¯s face¡ªin the few memories she retained of him, he always looked angry or disappointed.


    ¡°I used to be a bit of a troublemaker back in the day,¡± Sam began, settling on a memory without really thinking about it. ¡°A long time ago, in my old life. I guess you could say I was a bully.


    ¡°I used to worry that I was worse than everybody else, so I acted like I was better than everybody instead. Well, there was still one really weird kid who never talked to anyone, and we got paired up once for this geography paper. No, wait, it was a science paper.


    ¡°Somehow, he knew I wasn¡¯t any good at science, even though I¡¯d never spoken to the guy before, and I¡¯d made sure not even my friends knew about that in the first place. Anyway, he offered to do all the work on the paper for both of us, and that made me really mad, so I broke his nose off the side of a desk.


    ¡°I never really got in trouble with the school for that kind of thing, because my dad would always get me out of it. He had this way of getting people to do what he told them to, and for whatever reason he thought fighting other people was good for me. The only time I ever saw him proud of me was when I won a fight, so I kept doing it.


    ¡°The kids I beat up used to be afraid of me¡ªI guess most of the students probably were. But for whatever reason, this one nerdy kid wasn¡¯t. He stared up at me from the floor with his bloody nose and his scuffed elbows, completely dead behind the eyes.


    ¡°I hated that. I felt like he was making fun of me or something. Or like he thought he was better than me. So I kept picking on that kid, trying to get a rise out of him, get him to cry, maybe. Something. But it was like he didn¡¯t care at all. I¡¯d beat him up, or do something nasty to him, and it was like he forgot I existed the moment he turned around.


    ¡°I hated that boy so much. I hated how superior he acted. I hated how it seemed like he could see right through me, to the insecure little girl who just wanted to impress her dad. I wanted to hurt him. Hell, I wanted to kill him¡ªor that was what I thought at the time, anyway.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know when that changed, exactly. From wanting him to recognize I was better than him, to wanting him to recognize me at all. I started craving his attention until it felt like it was the only thing I thought about.


    ¡°Of course, I didn¡¯t want him to know that, and I was terrified of what he would do if he found out¡ªif he knew how weak I was. So, for a while I kept on being mean to him even when I didn¡¯t want to at all, just because I was scared to do anything differently.


    ¡°In the end, he saw right through me¡ªI know he did. But he didn¡¯t say anything¡ªhe waited for me to get there on my own. Which I did, I guess, eventually. Kind of hilariously, it was only when I saw other people picking on him that I decided it was unacceptable. Like I said, he was kind of a weirdo, and since he never stood up for himself, people started picking on him over all kinds of stuff. I probably had a big hand in that, giving people ideas by doing what I did.


    ¡°I decided to do what I did best, and started kicking the shit out of anyone who threw that boy so much as a bad look. Which, in hindsight, probably wasn¡¯t much better than what I¡¯d been doing up to that point anyway, but I guess overcompensating is better than not changing at all.


    ¡°At least it started me down some kind of positive path. I think I¡¯ve become a better person since those days, and it took finding someone I really wanted to protect to make that happen.


    ¡°Eventually the two of us started hanging out. We were kind of an odd fit, him being the book worm that he was, and me being like, a jock squared. But it worked out somehow, I guess, and soon enough we did everything together. He¡¯d come to all my matches, and I¡¯d play his stupid video games with him.


    ¡°I love him a lot. His name is Will, by the way. Did I tell you that?¡±


    It was only when she stopped talking that Sam could make out Serene¡¯s soft snoring. With a sheepish chuckle, she rounded the bed and laid down on the unoccupied side, trying not to think about why parts of the bedsheet felt a bit stiff. She didn¡¯t want to go back to the couch in case the other woman started vomiting in her sleep.


    Even though she had survived five years without him, now two days¡ªone and a half, really¡ªwas enough to make her feel like she was about to explode with pent-up feelings.


    I miss you, man.


    She wished she could go see him. He was somewhere out there in the city, after all¡ªit couldn¡¯t be that far away from where she was now¡ªbut Mongrel had said that it was probably best not to bother him while he was working, and no matter how empty her arms felt without having him there to squeeze like a giant stress ball, she intended to stick to that. She didn¡¯t want to ruin things for him with that lord fellow, after all.


    Sam didn¡¯t get much sleep that night.

 Chapter 32 - Putting the Blood in Bloodsport [2]

    Sam


    To Sam¡¯s surprise, Serene wanted to come with her when she left for the fairground early the next afternoon. She even stayed somewhat sober for the occasion, which Sam gathered was a rare occurrence for the escort.


    ¡°If your manager is as clueless as he seems, you¡¯re going to need help,¡± Serene explained. ¡°Not that it¡¯s really any of my business, but seeing you throw yourself headfirst into the dragon¡¯s den is making my fingers itch.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m happy to have you along,¡± Sam replied, finding that she meant it. ¡°And I¡¯m sorry about yesterday. I think I made some unfair assumptions about you when we first met.¡±


    Serene threw her a sidelong smirk. ¡°Like what?¡± Having once more set the Illusion over her face, the sharp angles of her face were smooth and flawless.


    ¡°Um¡­¡±


    ¡°Like that I¡¯m a disgusting junkie masochist whore?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, relax! It¡¯s not like I¡¯m ashamed of it.¡±


    They met Mongrel near the entrance to the fairground, away from the worst of the writhing human ant colony flocking to see some blood spilled.


    ¡°Hoy,¡± the pot-bellied man greeted. His leathery neck sported several purple love bites, and there were messy smears of lipstick around his mouth. His hair was even more of a mess than usual, sticking out in every direction. ¡°Sleep well?¡±


    ¡°More or less,¡± Sam replied. She had planned on giving the man a piece of her mind for making her bunk up with a prostitute, but seeing how things had turned out all right anyway, she saw no need.


    Mongrel¡¯s gaze wandered onto Serene, going up and down, before returning to Sam. ¡°Isn¡¯t this the girl I set you up with? Why¡¯s she here?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I made a friend!¡± Sam said with a broad grin, hands on hips. ¡°She¡¯s just here to give me moral support. Well, it¡¯s not like she can¡¯t enjoy herself at the same time if she wants.¡±


    ¡°Friend¡­?¡± Serene repeated doubtfully.


    ¡°Yeah! Aren¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°No, just¡­ You could probably do better than¡­¡± She sighed, shaking her head. ¡°Nevermind.¡± Turning to Mongrel, she added: ¡°This one isn¡¯t quite all there, is she?¡±


    ¡°Her and common sense are vaguely acquainted at best.¡±


    Sam eyed both of them quizzically. She opened her mouth to reply, but before she got a word out, Serene said: ¡°That wasn¡¯t a compliment, babe.¡±


    Sam scoffed. ¡°Agree to disagree.¡±


    With the chimps helping them clear space through the jostling crowds, Sam and the others made it to the edge of the pit where the qualifiers would take place; the largest of them all, located in the center of the fairground. It was called Hell-1.


    The circle was maybe a hundred feet across, depressed about ten feet into the ground, with vertical logs supporting the walls the whole way around and a thick layer of gritty sand covering the floor. A whole heap of fighters had already gone down there, some stretching while others glared balefully at those around them.


    ¡°Remember,¡± Serene said, ¡°for this round, you don¡¯t actually need to beat anyone. As long as you¡¯re one of the last sixteen fighters still standing, you¡¯re good.¡±


    Sam nodded. ¡°Anyone I should be looking out for?¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­ a couple, yeah. More than a couple, actually, but there¡¯s no time to go over them all. Most of the fighters that focus on this bracket make sure they never pass Level 5, and focus their builds around maximizing power at low levels. Since almost all the normal matches are non-lethal, that means you¡¯ll be going up against some pretty experienced guys.¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    ¡°Sounds like fun.¡± Sam tried to keep the nerves out of her voice, rolling her shoulders as the memories of every fight she¡¯d ever lost flashed through her mind.


    Serene pointed to one of the fighters, a shirtless man with scars across his thin torso and a cloth tied over his eyes. ¡°See that one?¡±


    Sam nodded.


    ¡°That¡¯s Jax. He¡¯s blind, but he uses some kind of ability to sense what¡¯s going on around him. He¡¯s good with his hands, but his stamina might not be that great, because he¡¯s kind of a quickshot in bed.¡±


    Sam blinked at that last factoid, but Serene just blazed right past it, pointing to an unassuming man standing off by himself in a corner of the ring. ¡°That one¡¯s Henke. Henke the Hero, they call him. Undefeated, supposedly, and he''s got the longest winning streak in the whole Sheerhome promotion behind Buck, the former unlimited-division champion. Henke¡¯s been doing this a long time, and he won the last five-under tournament they ran. He¡¯s got a pretty high opinion of himself, but he¡¯s generous with his money, so I guess it¡¯s all good.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°Also, he¡¯s got a really big dick.¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­?¡±


    ¡°Like, in a bad way, you know? Do you know how hard it is to pretend you¡¯re having a good time when you¡¯re actively being split like a log? Pretty damn hard, I¡¯ll tell you. And that¡¯s coming from a girl who likes getting her face stepped on for fun. It''s kinda like when you''re at the dentist and they''re really getting in there, just prying your mouth open and shoving all kinds of shit in there and you feel like you''re gonna choke and die. You know what I''m talking about?¡±


    Sam shifted uncomfortably. ¡°Serene, I really appreciate the help, but could we keep it to the relevant bits, please?¡±


    ¡°What part of that was not relevant?¡±


    ¡°The part about his dick, probably.¡±


    ¡°How is it? That thing¡¯s a big weak spot¡ªyou could twist it off or something.¡±


    Sam looked to Mongrel for support, but he just spread his hands with an amused smirk.


    Serene spent another minute scanning the crop of fighters, then snapped her fingers and pointed again, this time at a short, thin man with a bald head and an overly serious, Type-A middle-manager look about him. ¡°There!¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s one you¡¯ve definitely gotta watch out for.¡±


    ¡°Who is it?¡± Sam asked, bracing herself for the inevitable penis-based commentary.


    ¡°That¡¯s Raider. He¡¯s never bought my services, so I don¡¯t know all that much about him, but what I¡¯ve heard is slightly terrifying.


    ¡°Obviously most people don¡¯t really like to talk about whatever fucked-up shit they did to land themselves here. Well, Raider¡¯s not like that. He¡¯s pretty proud of the hobby he used to keep in his past life. He, uh¡­ was a serial killer. Carved up like twenty women before he finally got put to death. Supposedly he''d even eat pieces of them. So¡­ watch your back. That¡¯s all I¡¯ve got to say.¡±


    ¡°Noted.¡± Sam found that her mouth had gone dry, and she was unable to tear her eyes away from the little man down there. He looked so¡­ ordinary. Could that fellow really be a bloodthirsty serial killer? It didn¡¯t seem plausible.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Serene went on, ¡°and that¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE TIME IS HEEERE!!!¡±


    Sam almost clapped her hands over her ears at the screech of the amplified voice.  Looking around, she could not find its source¡ªbut she did recognize it.


    ¡°TODAY IS THE DAY WE¡¯VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR,¡± Golden Boy spun on. ¡°SIXTY-THREE BRAVE MEN AND WOMEN WILL ENTER THE ARENA AND TEAR EACH OTHER TO BLOODY RIBBONS!!! ONLY ONE WILL BE DECLARED VICTOR AND GIVEN THE CHAMPION¡¯S PURSE OF FIFTY THOUSAND GLORIES. NOW, MY DEAR FRIENDS, IS THE LAST CHANCE FOR YOU TO PLACE YOUR BETS BEFORE THE QUALIFIER, AND WE WILL BEGIN THE CARNAGE SHORTLY!¡±


    The round, chromed-up man floated into view above the pit, soaring as gracefully as a dandelion seed on the wind. He wore a pair of tiny white wings on his back that Sam was fairly certain were only decorative, and not the cause of his miraculous flight, and he held his gem-tipped scepter to his mouth as a microphone.


    ¡°Guess that¡¯s all we have time for,¡± Serene said. ¡°Remember, these are just the preliminaries, so be careful and try to take as little damage as possible. Since all the fights will take place tonight, it¡¯s going to be an endurance race.¡± She got up on her tiptoes and kissed Sam¡¯s cheek. ¡°Knock ¡®em dead, tiger.¡±


    ¡°Go out there and win,¡± Mongrel said in a somber tone. ¡°I¡¯ve bet a lot of money on you. And, uh, it¡¯s important to Will or something.¡±


    Sam grinned and winked. ¡°I¡¯ll get your money back, don¡¯t worry.¡±


    Number Five, the youngest of the chimps, made a series of signs. Mongrel translated. ¡°He says they all wish you good luck.¡± Number Three signed something. ¡°Three says he hopes you die.¡±


    Sam gave the first a soft pat on the head and gave the other one the finger. She slipped out of her shoes and tunic¡ªstripping down to the light undershirt beneath, which she tucked into her roomy trousers¡ªand gave them to Serene to keep an eye on.


    ¡°And remember,¡± Mongrel said, ¡°if you win, we split the champion''s purse.¡±


    ¡°I mean, honestly, you''ve been kind of a so-so manager thus far, so you could have like... ten percent, if you want.¡±


    ¡°Ten!?" Mongrel spluttered. ¡°Fifty-fifty is industry standard.¡±


    ¡°How do you know what''s industry standard? You don''t even know the rules.¡±


    ¡°Gentleman''s rules, kid. I know all those by heart.¡±


    ¡°Right, of course. Well, it''s ten or nothing.¡±


    ¡°Sixty-forty, your way! Last offer!¡±


    With an admonishing finger wag at the old bastard, she hopped over the flimsy wooden railing that bordered the pit. Laughing, she took a short step backward over the edge of the ring, dropping inside. ¡°Cheer for me, guys!¡± she called as she fell.


    The last thing she heard from above was Mongrel cursing at her.

 Chapter 33 - Just Throw Them All in a Hole and Watch Them Go

    Sam


    Sam wrapped her wrists and hands in bandages, humming to herself, and once finished repeated the process with her feet, wrapping ankles and foot arches.


    On her left was a man with a dog¡ªwere dogs really allowed in here?¡ªand on her right was a huge man with a bull neck who was staring holes into the side of her face with a look of unrestrained tomfuckery.


    A small group of Golden Boy¡¯s people cut through the bustle in the pit, checking over the fighters to make sure they cleared ¡®regulations¡¯, such as they were.


    Golden Boy himself soared overhead¡ªa tiny, graceful, and extremely noisy angel. ¡°LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,¡± he cried. ¡°ALLOW ME, YOUR HUMBLE HOST, TO DESCRIBE THE RULES OF THIS SPECTACLE.


    ¡°FIGHTERS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO USE ARMS OR ARMOR OF ANY KIND, WHETHER SOULBOUND OR OTHERWISE. THEY ARE NOT ALLOWED TO WEAR CLOTHING OR ACCESSORIES THAT COVER ANY PART OF THEIR SHEET. THEY ARE NOT ALLOWED TO LEAVE THE RING FOR ANY REASON WHILE A MATCH IS ONGOING. FIGHTERS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO INTERFERE WITH EACH OTHER BETWEEN MATCHES. FAMILIARS ARE ALLOWED AT A MAXIMUM OF ONE PER FIGHTER. VIOLATION OF THESE RULES WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE DISQUALIFICATION AND DISMISSAL FROM THE SHEERHOME PIT FIGHTING LEAGUE.


    ¡°ASIDE FROM THAT, EVERYTHING IS LEGAL. THEY CAN SMASH, THEY CAN CLAW, THEY CAN BITE, THEY CAN DEMOLISH; ANYTHING THEIR PRECIOUS LITTLE HEARTS CONCEIEVE OF. UNLESS THE HORN SOUNDS, A FIGHTER HAS NO OBLIGATION TO STOP IF THEIR OPPONENT FORFEITS.


    ¡°THESE PRELIMINARIES WILL RUN UNTIL SIXTEEN FIGHTERS ARE LEFT STANDING, WITH ALL OTHERS DEAD OR INCAPACITATED.


    ¡°NOW THAT ALL THE BORING STUFF IS OUT OF THE WAY, WITHOUT FURTHER ADOOO¡­¡± Golden Boy threw up his hands, and a huge glassy cube appeared in the air high above the ring, about ten feet to a side, each face displaying a remote image of Hell-1 for anyone not standing directly ringside or occupying one of the rickety bleachers. It appeared to be cast from the spherical tip of his scepter, which had dislodged itself from the base and was zipping around the arena to capture various angles.


    ¡°LET US BEGIN!!!¡±


    Distantly, a horn honked out a long, tremulous cry.


    There was an immediate scramble of activity as sixty-three men flew upon each other.


    Sam was not surprised when a brick of a fist came at her from the right, attached to the bull-necked man. She caught the offender by the wrist and launched herself up in a flying armbar as she kicked off the big man¡¯s upper thigh. Coming down inverted, her limbs all wrapped around the man¡¯s beefy limb, she pried with all her strength.


    The man roared and batted at her shoulders, but she clung on. His blows hurt, but he had poor leverage with her so close up. It wasn''t any worse than what the chimps had been hitting her with. She kept pulling, and only let up when she heard a satisfying pop. She fell free and allowed the man to stagger away, his arm dangling uselessly from its dislocated shoulder socket.


    She rolled deftly to her feet in a low crouch. The big man was still flailing around on one knee, trying to get back up. Before she could firmly disabuse him of that notion, a shaggy dog¡ªthe one she had seen earlier¡ªcame leaping over her head, thudding into the man and knocking them both to the sand. A moment later, Sam saw a spurt of blood as sharp teeth found a man¡¯s throat. A brief cry pierced the din, then the man did not make another sound.


    Sliding upright, Sam took two steps back to keep both the dog and its owner in her view at once. But the man¡ªan Explorer, going by the spyglass symbol on his arm¡ªtook one look at Sam, then whistled sharply to his dog, the bloody-mouthed familiar trotting faithfully after its master into the crush of fighters.


    She had no real desire to chase after him.


    Sam only got a few heartbeats of calm, however, before the next opponent presented himself, charging at her like a madman. His movements were sloppy, amateurish, so she forewent caution and met his approach with a firm straight kick that caught him center mass and folded him in half with a wide-eyed gasp. The man crumpled in a heap, and she stepped over him to advance toward the next.


    There was no use bringing strategy into this kind of chaos¡ªshe just blocked or dodged when she perceived an attack coming at her and struck when she saw an unprotected body part.


    Then, suddenly, Sam felt a flare of pain in her side and leapt clear, touching a long, bleeding gash running along her obliques. How¡­?


    An unassuming, smiling man faced her down, hands clasped before him as though he were waiting in line at the bank.


    It was Raider, that serial killer Serene had warned her about.


    The coiling serpent on his Profession symbol marked him as a Physician. Had he used a skill on her, somehow? Was that how he had wounded her like that? All five of his AP crystals were still glowing, though.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°I will not take any pleasure in this,¡± Raider said with entirely too much glee in his voice. ¡°If you would only stay still, I promise I can make it quick and painless. The more you struggle, the worse it will be for you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re kind of a sick puppy, aren¡¯t you?¡± Sam grunted, taking her hand off her side; palm stained red. She closed her fists in a long guard. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say, friend, but I¡¯m not just going to sit nice while you murder me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s such a shame. You are too beautiful to die with a look of pain on your face.¡±


    ¡°Agreed. I think I¡¯d prefer the look of satisfaction I¡¯ll have after I kick your ass.¡±


    The little man¡¯s face fell, becoming tight with displeasure. ¡°Such an ill-mannered¡ª¡±


    He only barely managed to jerk back before her leaping punch would have caught him between the eyes, and she laughed as he went tumbling over the back of someone lying face-first in the sand.


    Raider came up red-faced and furious. When a man came at him from the side, his hand quickly darted out with a flash of something metal, and the other man staggered past him, vainly trying to stop the blood pumping from his slit throat with fumbling fingers.


    He''s using a weapon, Sam realized. Raider came toward her again, a cold fury in his narrowed eyes. But try as she might, she could not see anything in his unclenched hands now, and his sleeves ended just below the shoulders, meaning he could not be hiding anything there.


    ¡°You¡¯re cheating, aren¡¯t you?¡± Sam called to him. ¡°You¡¯re using a weapon.¡±


    ¡°Prove it,¡± Raider replied with an insufferable smirk.


    Not wanting to end up on the back foot, Sam launched into another, more conservative attack. He was ready for her this time, and slipped easily out of range of her punches. Abruptly stopping dead on his heel, he retaliated with a swipe of his own. She jerked back, but still felt a hot streak bloom across her chest, and looked down to see that he had scored her just below the collarbone. Whatever weapon he was using, it had to be deadly sharp to pierce her Stoneskin thingy.


    ¡°You¡¯re really pushing me here,¡± Raider mused mournfully. ¡°It¡¯s not very nice.¡±


    Sam grinned, ignoring the pain. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for being an inconvenience.¡±


    Raider shrugged, letting his arm drop. ¡°Well, no matter. That just means I don¡¯t have to feel guilty over what I¡¯m going to do to you.¡±


    He went on the offensive, and Sam weaved around a quick flurry of strikes and swipes. Since he could seemingly bring out his concealed weapon instantly as soon as he connected, that meant she had to treat each one of his attacks as though it were made with deadly force. She had to devote most of her energy toward defense, with no opportunity to safely retaliate.


    They came together, and she tried to hook his leg, but he stepped over her foot and followed up with a quick jab that she was just barely able to duck under. She wasn¡¯t able to close the distance into her favored ground-game either, since that was just giving him a clear opportunity to stick her with something sharp. She had to stick to striking, an area she was weaker in.


    Sam weaved around a trio of men fighting furiously in her peripheral, and kicked a spray of sand in the killer¡¯s face when he tried to close the distance. It succeeded in momentarily distracting him, and she should have had him then, but a stray elbow from a fighter not even looking her way caught the side of her head and sent her staggering, fireworks exploding across her vision.


    Still trying to regain her balance, Sam caught a glint of metal and instinctively threw up her arms in an X. A knife buried itself in her left forearm, slicing through muscle fibers, and she growled through gritted teeth.


    Did he just throw his knife? But he couldn¡¯t have! If he had, there¡¯s no way it would have had enough power to go in that deep.


    Before she could extract it herself, the knife vanished into thin air, leaving only the trickling stab wound behind. She looked up and found Raider already bearing down on top of her, kept her scrambling.


    ¡°Why won¡¯t you die already?¡± the killer snarled between heavy breaths, barely audible over Golden Boy¡¯s screeching commentary.


    Can¡¯t let this fight drag on. I have to finish it quickly before he can damage me even more.


    Deciding that she wasn¡¯t going to play defense anymore, Sam waited for an opening and extended her arms to catch the killer¡¯s arm as he went for a punch. But the man did not try for the knife at all. As soon as she lowered her guard, the little man hurled himself on top of her, crazed, his jaws split wide in a serpentine gape.


    Only an instinctive sideways jerk stopped the man¡¯s teeth from sinking into her neck. Instead, they found her right trapezius, and she cried out as she felt a meal being made of her flesh.


    No man should have been able to bite that hard. She especially would not have expected it of a man like Raider, who had an obvious lack of any points in Strength. And yet, there he was, grinding his teeth into her shoulder and noisily slurping up her blood.


    Once the momentary shock wore off, Sam dropped forward to send both of them to the ground, Raider on the bottom. He grunted when his back hit the sand, her entire weight bearing down on him. His bite grip loosened momentarily, which was all Sam needed to tear free.


    ¡°You¡ª¡± Raider hissed, the entire lower half of his face and collar of his shirt stained with her blood.


    Sam¡¯s full-strength punch caught him on the jaw. It should have had more than enough power for a knockout, but it was her hand that came away hurting. Not wanting to waste a moment wondering why this man had such an iron chin and give him an opportunity to recover, she immediately hoisted herself off him with her hips and free hand, then put her full weight into a vertical elbow. It struck him square in the face, driving his head back into the ground, and crushed his nose flat. The man¡¯s eyes crossed over, and she left him to his incoherent, drunken mumbling as she staggered back to her feet, a hand to the hot, thumping bite wound on her shoulder.


    ¡°Motherfucker,¡± Sam muttered. So much for avoiding damage in the preliminaries.


    She had not really collected herself for another fight when, a few moments later, a woman paired off against her. Sam raised her guard, one fist thumping after her encounter with the killer''s unnaturally durable jaw.


    Before either one could take a step toward the other, the left side of the woman¡¯s abdomen was blown out her front, and a spray of blood and gore and bits of broken rib fanned out on the sand. The woman fell unconscious from shock before she¡¯d even processed what happened, and fell flat on her face in a splattering of her own guts.


    A man stood where she had been, lead hand smoking. Bouncing lightly, his handsome face wore a confident smile. His name was Henke, she remembered. The winner of the previous tournament.


    ¡°I like the way you move,¡± the man said. ¡°Wanna team up?¡±

 Chapter 34 - Just Throw Them All in a Hole and Watch Them Go [2]

    Mongrel


    Mongrel felt his dream of obscene wealth slowly die as he watched Sam take one wound after another. The guy doing it to her¡ªthat serial killer the working girl had gone on about¡ªwas quick and all, but he didn¡¯t look all that strong. What was that in his hand?


    ¡°Is he using a knife?¡± Mongrel asked.


    Serene pursed her lips. ¡°I can¡¯t tell from here, but I wouldn¡¯t put it past anyone to cheat in order to get a leg up.¡±


    ¡°Should we be reporting it to someone? What he¡¯s doing should be grounds for disqualification, right?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s no use. They¡¯d only enforce a rule like that if it was blatantly obvious to most of the audience that he was doing it, and they started making a fuss.¡±


    ¡°Shit.¡±


    ¡°It is what it is. Seems like he¡¯s doing a good job concealing the weapon, too¡ªlook, his hands are empty right now.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a Physician, which means he¡¯s not using Illusion to hide it¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like it really matters how he¡¯s doing it right now. What matters is whether our girl knows how to deal with it.¡±


    Things were still looking inconclusive as the fight progressed. She took another wound when the killer hurled his knife, embedding it in the flesh of her right forearm before making it vanish. He then soon leapt on top of her, and sank his teeth deeply into her shoulder, the two of them staggering around as one.


    ¡°How¡¯d he do that?¡± Mongrel asked. ¡°Sam has Stoneskin and points in Toughness¡ªhe should have busted up his teeth before ever getting through.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no system expert, but I think it¡¯s a passive,¡± Serene mused. ¡°There¡¯s one called Dental Enhancement that might make his teeth strong enough to pierce her skin.¡±


    ¡°Dental Enhancement¡­? The Concord sure has some specific abilities¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s pretty obscure. I only know about it because some of the girls I work with have been forced to take it when a client has busted their teeth up so bad they stop getting business. Apparently it regrows your teeth as well as strengthening them.¡±


    Luckily, Sam ended up winning her bout as she beat the serial killer into the ground. Serene gave a pleased hum and clapped her hands, while Mongrel nodded with grim satisfaction. It was far from a perfect start, but at least she was still in the race.


    * * *


    Sam


    ¡°WE HAVE JUST ABOUT REACHED THE HALFWAY POINT, PEOPLE! THIRTY-TWO FIGHTERS REMAIN¡ªANOTHER SIXTEEN, AND WE¡¯LL HAVE OUR OFFICIAL TOURNAMENT LINEUP!¡±


    With the number of competitors dropping and people coalescing into larger teams, they were increasingly pulling into their own corners of the pit to regroup and strategize. There were only a few stray fights still ongoing amid the field of twisted corpses and weakly flailing wounded.


    ¡°We should find someone else to team up with,¡± Henke noted calmly, twisting a silver ring inset with a blood-red rubiy round and round on the forefinger of his right hand. ¡°It might get dicey with just the two of us.¡±


    Though she was glad for the backup, she was still more than a little unnerved by the way Henke had blown a hole through that woman without even giving her a chance to defend herself. She¡¯d have to keep a close eye on him to make sure he didn¡¯t find an opportunity to do the same to her.


    He did make a good point, though. Looking around the arena, she saw several groups that looked to have four or more members. When she spotted a man on his back, vainly trying to defend himself while another stomped on him repeatedly, she started off in that direction without thinking.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    The aggressor looked up when Sam got close, pivoted, but not fast enough to avoid the dropkick aimed at his side. She felt his ribs crunch under her heels as he went ragdolling off his victim, and Sam rolled to her feet as she watched her opponent scrabble around on his belly, wheezing for air. He didn¡¯t look like he was getting up anytime soon.


    ¡°You all right, man?¡± Sam asked the one who had been on the receiving end. ¡°Are you good to stand?¡±


    The battered man¡ªa Level 5 Artisan¡ªstaggered heavily to his feet, and Sam put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. ¡°Thank you,¡± he breathed. ¡°I¡¯m all right. Thought I was a goner, though.¡± His arms hung slack at his sides, mottled purple with fresh bruises.


    ¡°Wanna stick with us?¡± Sam asked, jerking her head in Henke¡¯s direction as he came trotting over.


    ¡°Hmm, let me think about it,¡± the man said with a tired smile. ¡°You know what, all right. Just ¡®cause you asked so nicely.¡± He offered a handshake, fingers trembling with pain. ¡°I¡¯m Ratcatcher.¡±


    Sam shook it, doing her best to be gentle. ¡°Weird name, but all right. I¡¯m Sam Darling. That one over there is Henke.¡±


    ¡°I know who he is.¡±


    If Henke noticed that they were talking about him, he did not care to acknowledge it. Walking over to the man Sam had just incapacitated, he finished him off with a booming jab that left the man¡¯s head sagging and concave. He turned away from the dead opponent, still wearing a smile. ¡°Okay, three might be good enough for now. Nice work, Darling.¡±


    Sam couldn¡¯t think of anything in reply, unable to tear her eyes away from the human ruin Henke had left behind him.


    ¡°Glad he¡¯s on our team,¡± Ratcatcher muttered under his breath.


    ¡°WELL, WELL, WELL, LOOKS LIKE THINGS HAVE DEVOLVED INTO A BIT OF A STALEMATE!¡± Golden Boy cried, his ball-like form hovering lazily overhead. ¡°WE DON¡¯T LIKE THAT, DO WE, FOLKS?¡±


    A wave of booing at that.


    ¡°I UNDERSTAND, I UNDERSTAND, SO HERE¡¯S WHAT WE¡¯LL DO; IN FIVE MINUTES, I WILL BEGIN DISQUALIFYING A FIGHTER AT RANDOM, ONCE A MINUTE. SO UNLESS YOU WANT TO LOSE YOUR CHANCE AT THAT PRIZE MONEY, I SUGGEST YOU FINE GLADIATORS GET A MOVE ON!¡±


    Henke sighed, spinning the ring on his finger. ¡°Well, you heard the man. Let¡¯s go eliminate some losers, shall we?¡± Without waiting for a reply, he began making his way toward a nearby five-man group.


    Still grappling with all the death she had been witness to in the last few minutes, and trying to reckon how much of the blame fell on her, Sam numbly followed.


    Henke took the lead, flawlessly weaving attacks thrown by the opposing fighters when he stepped into range. An uppercut caught a man on the chin with a burst of explosive flame, shattered teeth flying everywhere. The second was tripped up by a shin kick, then took a right hook to the side of the head that burst his skull like an overripe melon.


    Sam entangled a third man trying to circle around Henke and got him on the ground in a mount. She pried open his sloppy guard, then choked the man out with his own folded arm by pressing her entire weight down on him. By the time she stood up, only one of the enemy group remained, a thin fellow trying to clamber up the side of the ring to escape. He had almost reached the top when a disgruntled spectator planted a foot in his face and kicked him right back down, then spat after him.


    The poor man screamed as he fell, landing on his back just in front of Henke. The Explorer sketched out a grinning bow to the audience member who had presented the offering, and proceeded to efficiently and emotionlessly stomp the man¡¯s windpipe in, leaving him sucking in mute desperation for a breath that would never come.


    Thirty seconds later, Golden Boy announced that the preliminaries were closed, and that the sixteen fighters left standing would advance to the real tournament. Sam found herself staring in cold disbelief as attendants came out to cart away the dead, finish off the ones that looked like they were headed that way, and tend to the ones not too badly wounded.


    Henke jogged over with his charming, dimpled smile, waving occasionally at the cheering crowds who were evidently quite fond of him. More than one article of women¡¯s undergarment was thrown his way. At least he didn¡¯t pick any of them up.


    ¡°Impressive, Darling,¡± he said with an appreciative nod. ¡°It¡¯s not every day you see a Laborer in the pits. I¡¯m interested to see how you¡¯ll fare in the brackets.¡±


    ¡°Did you really need to kill those people?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Who?¡± Henke frowned about him, looking genuinely confused.


    ¡°Everyone. All the people you¡­ blew up, or whatever.¡±


    His frown deepened as his gaze returned to her, seemingly taking her in anew. ¡°I¡¯m not quite sure you understand the game we¡¯re playing.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I do.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°All right, Darling¡ªif you say so. But don¡¯t expect to be meeting me in the finals with ideas like that.¡±


    Confident, aren¡¯t we? As though his ending up in the finals was already a foregone conclusion. Well, then again, Sam had already decided that she was going to win this whole thing. Maybe all fighters thought like that.


    Sam turned away from Henke to make it clear that the conversation was over, and let him jog off to do some more preening for his fans. She regretted teaming up with him in the first place. If she¡¯d known what kind of person he was¡­


    ¡°Psycho, right?¡± Ratcatcher said, watching the other man leave.


    ¡°That¡¯s putting it mildly,¡± Sam replied.


    ¡°You should ignore what he said. People like that, they don¡¯t understand what it¡¯s like to have a conviction.¡±


    Sam threw the Artisan a sidelong smile. He had a somewhat meek, unathletic look about him. ¡°What about you?¡± she asked. ¡°You got one of those?¡±


    Ratcatcher returned her smile. ¡°I do. This time, I¡¯m going to win a fight, if it¡¯s the last thing I do.¡±

 Chapter 35 - Big Girls Dont Need Pep Talks

    Sam


    Sitting in a care tent inside the fairground, Sam endured as Serene poked and prodded at her and Mongrel plied her with a slew of foul-tasting potions he had pilfered from Will¡¯s workshop before they left. The chimps stood guard outside to make sure they weren¡¯t bothered.


    ¡°You were reckless,¡± Mongrel admonished, jabbing a finger at her nose. ¡°Do you have any idea how much money I¡¯ll lose if you die?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, thanks for asking,¡± Sam said with an amused smile. It quickly faded, however, replaced by a frown. ¡°There was so much¡­ death, out there. Maybe I should have expected it, but I didn¡¯t think it would be like that at all.¡±


    ¡°Well, you kept moving, and that¡¯s all that matters,¡± Serene murmured, her face only inches from Sam¡¯s shoulder as she worked to seal the ring of weeping puncture wounds marring it. ¡°And now that you¡¯re moving into the singles battles, you¡¯ll be able to affect the outcome more. If you win, you get to be as merciful as you want, and if you lose, well¡­ Then you¡¯ve got a lot less to worry about, at least, since you¡¯ll be dead and all.¡±


    Sam nodded.


    ¡°Your head on straight, girl?¡± Mongrel asked sharply, tapping her foot with his boot. ¡°Don¡¯t go getting all shell-shocked on me now.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t lose, Mongrel,¡± she assured him.


    Serene bandaged the shoulder, then leaned back and gave Sam''s thighs a final-sounding clap. ¡°All right, I¡¯ve done about all I can. I¡¯ve only cleaned and glued your wounds, because I think if I put in stitches you¡¯d just rip them open. You¡¯ll need to get them looked over properly once this is all over.¡±


    ¡°Got it. Thanks for the help.¡±


    The working girl shrugged off Sam¡¯s praise. Number Three came in with a sheet that had the fight brackets on it, and Mongrel read it over before passing it to Serene.


    ¡°What¡¯s it say?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re in the A-Bracket,¡± Mongrel said.


    ¡°That¡¯s good news,¡± Serene added, wiping bloody hands on an equally sullied rag. ¡°Henke¡¯s in the B-Bracket, so you won¡¯t have to go up against him until the finals. If you¡¯re lucky, he might get knocked out before then.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s his deal, anyway? He was throwing all these crazy punches that blew holes in people, but it didn¡¯t look like he was using any AP.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯ll be because those explosions don¡¯t come from him using a skill. It comes from his Soulbound item, that ring he wears. The SPFL ruled it as an ¡®accessory¡¯ rather than a weapon, so he¡¯s allowed to use it as much as he likes. It¡¯s supposed to be pretty special, procured at great cost by his sponsor, but I don¡¯t know many details. He¡¯s tight-lipped about it. Basically, it lets him throw as many of those fire punches as he wants, since the skill is imbued into the ring rather than him having to use it himself.¡±


    ¡°That sounds dangerous.¡±


    ¡°Well, he didn¡¯t win the last tournament by accident, so.¡±


    ¡°What about someone named Ratcatcher? Do you know anything about him?¡±


    Serene slowly nodded. ¡°That one guy you teamed up with? He¡¯s not a client of mine, but I know of him. To be honest, he¡¯s a bit of a local joke.¡±


    Sam frowned, rolling her shoulder to test its mobility. Serene smacked her on the arm and admonished her for moving before the glue had fully set. ¡°Why¡¯s he a joke?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s lost every fight he¡¯s ever been in,¡± Serene said, shrugging. ¡°If he knew what was good for him, he would have given up the whole pit-fighting thing ages ago. Artisans aren¡¯t equipped for this kind of game to begin with¡ªthey¡¯re just not that well-suited to fighting builds.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Hearing that, Sam couldn¡¯t help but feel some kinship with the man. She knew what it was like to beat her head against the same wall again and again, even though she knew she¡¯d never break through it¡ªeven though she didn¡¯t even know why she was doing it in the first place.


    He had said that his conviction for this tournament was to win at least a single match. She hoped he¡¯d get there.


    ¡°And who am I fighting first?¡± Sam asked.


    Having taken the paper back, Mongrel frowned down at it. ¡°Someone called Terry Terrible. She¡¯s a Cook¡ªI happened to notice her during the qualifier.¡±


    Serene chuckled. ¡°Oh, he ¡®noticed¡¯ her all right.¡±


    Mongrel sniffed haughtily. ¡°I was talking about her fighting style.¡±


    ¡°Sure you were.¡±


    ¡°I was!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not arguing with you.¡±


    Mongrel muttered something of a distinctly derogatory nature under his breath, then shook his head. ¡°Whatever. What I¡¯m trying to say, if anyone would like to listen, is that she seems to be using a Spark-Amplify strategy.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means,¡± Sam said.


    ¡°It¡¯s a fairly standard combination for Cooks,¡± Serene explained. ¡°Spark is a cantrip skill that makes a small flame¡ªonly really good for lighting a campfire or a cigarette or whatever. But if you pair it with the skill Amplify, you can make that fire even bigger, and if you use Amplify on itself first, you can even make a combustion so violent and fast it creates an explosion.


    ¡°I imagine Henke¡¯s ring is using the same principle, or at least a similar one. Your opponent will probably be a bit conservative since she¡¯ll want to avoid stacking up skill fatigue with successive matches, but I assume she¡¯s got some other nasty tricks she¡¯s probably planning to spring on you, so stay on your toes. Your best shot is to wait her out, get her to waste her load, then go in and finish her.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Sam spent the next hour-and-change resting, before it was time to go out to her first match. It was being held in Hell-5, one of the smaller pits. Golden Boy was there to announce the fight, even though she could also hear his muffled screech from where B-Bracket was holding its own matches. Either the man had a twin identical to him in every way, down to the outfit and gaudy scepter, or he was using some kind of skill to be in two places at once.


    The woman lined up on the opposite end of the ring was robust and clad in light attire, staring Sam down without any crack in her confidence. She wore her hair cropped to a dark fuzz, and a pair of tough leather gloves on her hands.


    The announcer did his opening remarks for a somewhat diminished crowd, since half of them were over at Hell-3 to watch the B-Bracket.


    A floating television cube like the one in the qualifier shimmered into existence in the air high above the fighters¡¯ heads, Golden Boy¡¯s sphere darting about them to capture audio and video, but Sam only had eyes for her opponent.


    The nerves were getting to her. She wanted to be sick.


    A horn sounded, shrill and urgent.


    Sam ran forward and all the unwanted emotions evaporated at once like morning dew, leaving her completely calm.


    I¡¯m going to win. she told herself. This time will be different.


    * * *


    Mongrel


    Watching the girl enter the ring through the image on the airborne Illusion cube, Mongrel rubbed his lucky marble between thumb and forefinger and held it up to his lips as he beseeched the thing to part with its power.


    ¡°Why are you so nervous?¡± asked the pretty working girl beside him, arms crossed in contempt. ¡°You saw how she did in the preliminaries. She¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°Just covering all my bases,¡± Mongrel muttered. Women didn¡¯t understand the importance of lucky rituals. ¡°Can¡¯t hurt to be safe.¡± He let his arm fall, though, and pocketed the marble. He¡¯d already squeezed all the luck out of it anyway.


    ¡°Hello, Matthew,¡± a smoldering voice suddenly whispered in his ear, straightening his spine and curling his toes. ¡°Did you miss me?¡±


    Mongrel whirled around, struggling with the sword on his hip, but the damn thing was stuck¡ªrusted to its scabbard, he realized. He¡¯d always considered the most successful kind of fighter one who never had to draw his weapon in the first place, but what use was there in lugging the damn thing around if he couldn¡¯t use it when he needed it?


    Mongrel was still glaring at his sword and tugging at the hilt when the ashen-skinned demon placed a soft hand over his, her blazing-hot touch somehow intensely, unnervingly comforting.


    ¡°No need for that, dearest,¡± she cooed, patting his hand. ¡°Well? What do we think?¡±


    Mongrel looked up and found Nyx standing with arms outstretched for his perusal. She was clad in a very tight skinsuit that hugged seemingly every curve and contour of her body, and somehow seemed even more revealing than when he had seen her in nothing but her birthday suit. Exposed sections were adorned with thick swirls of paint, and her black hair was wound about her head in a complex braid, leaving her looking a pornographer¡¯s vision of a warrior princess. Yellow eyes flashed, and sharp fangs glinted.


    Gods? If any of you are listening, please save me. I promise I¡¯ve been good sometimes. At least once, probably.


    ¡°You suit the summer fashion perfectly,¡± Mongrel intoned in a suave drawl, deciding to play things cool. He took the demon¡¯s slim hand and brought it to his mouth. ¡°I haven¡¯t had the pleasure of your company in some time.¡±


    Nyx shrugged at the unspoken question, and her impish grin widened as she watched him kiss the back of her hand. ¡°I wanted to enjoy the debauchery of the city for a bit.¡± She sighed dramatically. ¡°Alas, I quickly grew bored of such trivial pursuits. What luck, then, that the moment I began shopping around for something else to occupy my attention, I should find my favorite mortal in all the Frontier. Lucky indeed.¡±


    Damn you, marble! That wasn¡¯t what I meant!


    ¡°I see,¡± Mongrel replied. ¡°Well, to be honest, I¡¯ve been very busy lately. I¡¯m not sure I have the time for a social call.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you like to hear the good news first?¡±


    ¡°What good news?¡±


    ¡°Your beloved Annie has returned to work.¡±


    Mongrel blinked. ¡°What? How? Why?¡±


    ¡°Apparently, married life did not agree with her. Something about infidelity¡ªridiculous human custom, by the way.¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡±


    Mongrel was so distracted by this information that he entirely forgot that he was supposed to be maintaining a healthy wariness. Without a second¡¯s hesitation, Nyx smoothly stepped in beside him and slipped an arm through his. Before he had a mind to protest, he found their fingers inescapably interlaced.


    ¡°Who are we rooting for, then?¡± Nyx sighed contentedly, gazing up at the cuboid screen. ¡°Matthew, is that who I think it is? Oh, it is.¡± She directed a shrewd little smile in his general direction. ¡°I should have known you¡¯d enter her into something like this, you dog-faced scoundrel.¡± Something in the way she purred the insult made it sound like a compliment instead, which in turn made it difficult to bristle at.


    Mongrel glanced up at the screen, an excuse waiting, but found it dying in his throat with a strangled sound when he saw the fuzzy image of Sam Darling standing over her opponent, who was ragdolled gracelessly in the sand.


    Only then did he notice that the crowd had gone up in an uncertain cheer.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Mongrel demanded of Serene, stopping just short of shaking the woman.


    ¡°Greetings, most calamitous,¡± Serene said with a respectful bow toward Nyx before turning to answer the question. ¡°She knocked her out with one kick. It was over before it started, really.¡±


    Oh, thank you, marble! I never doubted you!


    Mongrel barely had time to enjoy his victory, however, before he became aware of the crowd¡¯s mood turning. Their cheers petered out into angry mutterings, then became outright jeering.


    ¡°Guh¡­¡± Mongrel groaned. ¡°What did she do now?¡±


    * * *


    Sam


    Sam knelt before her opponent¡ªwhat was her name, again?¡ªand flipped the woman onto her side so she wouldn¡¯t choke on her own tongue while she softly prodded at the skull and jawline for damage. There didn¡¯t seem to be anything too catastrophic that she could tell from a cursory check. Hopefully she would wake up with nothing but a concussion and a bump on the head.


    Out of the corner of her eye, Sam was vaguely aware of the announcer drifting down toward her, as though lowered on wires.


    ¡°You are the winner,¡± Golden Boy said with a hint of displeasure in his voice, the amplification turned off so only the two of them were privy to the conversation. ¡°It¡¯s distasteful to play with your food. Finish her off so we can move this along.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill her,¡± Sam said with a smile, wiping sand off her knees as she stood. ¡°There¡¯s nothing in the rules saying I have to, right?¡±


    ¡°The customers want blood. Expect it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just too bad for them, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°I strongly advise against this.¡±


    ¡°And I appreciate your advice, but I don¡¯t remember asking for it.¡±


    The Entertainer looked like he wanted to say something else, but was silenced by a sharp look. Before ever touching the ground, he jetted up high again, catching the top of the floating cube and hanging off its side.


    ¡°GOOD PEOPLE!¡± he announced in a high-pitched, amplified whine. ¡°YOUR WINNER IS SAM DARLING! IN HER MAGNAMINTY, SHE HAS ELECTED TO SPARE HER ENEMY, TERRY TERRIBLE.¡±


    Cheering turned to a confused murmur, then nothing. Somewhere, a horn honked awkwardly to mark an official end to the fight, almost comedic as it rang over the extended silence.


    Then they began booing.


    Angry faces surrounded the rim of the pit on all sides, mouths working as they hurled insults that quickly turned into an indistinguishable mess of voices.


    Slowly turning to take them all in, Sam felt a grin creeping onto her face.


    ¡°Thank you!¡± she cried, throwing her arms wide. ¡°Thank you, everyone! I couldn¡¯t have done it without your support!¡±


    She folded double in a deep bow, and the jeering got louder. She began to laugh. When she had to begin sidestepping half-empty bottles and miscellaneous food items thrown her way, her laughter rose to an uncontrollable fever pitch.

 Chapter 36 - The Pride of a Professional Loser

    Mongrel


    Mongrel bulled his way to the edge of the pit so that he and his boys were there to keep the angry rabble at bay when the girl came jogging out of a tunnel that led to the fighting area. She was in strangely high spirits considering the extreme vitriol being hurled her way from all sides, not all in the form of words. Despite all that, she wore a huge, stupid grin that almost made her look a bit touched in the head.


    It was only because of his boys acting as shrieking, chest-pounding bouncers that they made it to Sam''s assigned tent without incident. Serene sat her down to check her for injuries, but soon found that there were none, and neither had any of the old ones reopened.


    ¡°They really hate me, huh!¡± Sam said to no one in particular, eyes sparkling.


    ¡°Don¡¯t need to look so damn excited about it,¡± Mongrel grumbled, and wrestled his way out of Nyx¡¯s overbearing hold on his arm. ¡°You¡¯re making this a lot more complicated than it has to be, you know.¡±


    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± Sam replied with a shrug, and winced at the pain it no doubt caused her injured shoulder. ¡°This is actually great, though!¡±


    Mongrel decided to humor her. ¡°What¡¯s so great? You¡¯ve successfully turned every viewer against you over the course of a single match. It¡¯s actually impressive how stupid that is.¡±


    ¡°For once, he¡¯s right,¡± Serene said, standing up from her foldout stool. She frowned down at Sam over crossed arms. ¡°Fighters are forbidden from interfering with each other between matches, but nothing¡¯s stopping an unhappy spectator from putting a knife between your ribs.¡±


    The meat-headed young woman clicked her tongue with displeasure, though it did not seem to lessen her good-natured giddiness. ¡°You¡¯re all being so negative,¡± she argued. ¡°Look at the upside¡ªnow I know what my role is in this tournament.¡±


    ¡°Role?¡± Mongrel asked.


    ¡°Yeah!¡± Sam made an airy gesture with her hands. ¡°I¡¯m the heel!¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh¡­?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a wrestling term for the person you¡¯re supposed to hate. Like¡­ the villain, I guess. Which is a bit ironic, considering I¡¯m the one doing the least amount of evil shit out there, but it is what it is. And if I¡¯m the heel, I¡¯m gonna play my role to perfection.¡±


    Her grin took on a worryingly mischievous edge that made Mongrel''s back sweat. What was this crazy bitch planning, exactly?


    Before he could interrogate her about it, though, she leapt to her feet from the empty chest she had been sitting on and made for the open tent flap with long, hurried strides. ¡°Sorry, gotta run! Ratcatcher¡¯s on soon, and I want to be there to cheer him on.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    Sam was already gone by the time Mongrel had gotten anything meaningful out. Wanting to cry, but settling for a weary sigh, he went and plopped down on the seat his witless fighter had just vacated.


    ¡°Why?¡± Mongrel muttered into his hands. ¡°Who behaves like this? Doesn¡¯t she understand that she¡¯s making more work for me?¡± Mongrel sighed again for effect¡ªmore loudly this time¡ªso that the others would understand how badly this had upset his day.


    ¡°There there, Matthew,¡± Nyx murmured, and fussed at his hair in an annoyingly maternal fashion. He could not muster the energy to shake her off. ¡°You have a lot on your shoulders, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t mock me,¡± Mongrel growled, though there was not much of an edge to his voice.


    ¡°You know¡­ if all the spectators want our dear Samantha to lose, they will be inclined to bet accordingly in future rounds, don¡¯t you think? And more people betting against her means¡­¡±


    Mongrel slowly let his hands fall from his face. ¡°Bigger payout on betting for her.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right, Matthew. Clever boy.¡±


    Miraculously, Mongrel felt the fatigue beginning to lift from his shoulders. ¡°You know what,¡± he said with a surge of moral outrage, ¡°on second thought, I think it¡¯s about time that the fighting pits went and picked up some damn principles. So much senseless bloodshed¡­¡± He shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s our duty to help our girl show people the way, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Of course it is,¡± Nyx agreed.


    All that stress had given him an appetite. Mongrel was about to send one of the boys to fetch him something hot and greasy, but Nyx offered to do it instead. He was suspicious, of course, but it wasn¡¯t as though he could really stop her in any case, so he gave her leave to go. If she wanted to go running errands for him, who was he to complain? It wasn¡¯t going to earn her any points with him, after all. He knew her game¡ªto charm the pants off him so she could suck his soul out through his cock. Or something of that nature, anyway.


    Well, it just so happened that ol¡¯ Matt Caldwell (esquire) was entirely immune to feminine trickery. He¡¯d let her bash her head against the steel trap of his mind until he died happily in his bed of old age, as he suspected a demoness¡¯s pride would never allow her to admit defeat.


    She¡¯d never get one over on him¡ªno, sir.


    * * *


    Serene


    When the demon known as Nyx left the tent to fetch the pot-bellied idiot food, Serene felt compelled to go with her. That couldn¡¯t really be what she was doing, was it? It had to be a cover for something, or some evil joke Serene could not understand the significance of¡ªthe Fallen Ones did like their pranks¡ªbut for the life of her, she could not figure it out.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    When they were eventually standing in the back of a disordered pile of people trying to get to a food stand, Serene could not contain her morbid curiosity any longer. ¡°Most calamitous,¡± she said meekly, ¡°if I may ask, what is your interest in that¡­ man? He¡¯s an idiot.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Nyx replied curtly; gaze fixed firmly ahead, hands folded over her trim stomach.


    ¡°Then¡­¡±


    Serene felt herself go stiff as two sharp, yellow eyes fell on her, just for a moment, before sliding past. ¡°That¡¯s not for you to know, sweetness. All you need to know is your place.¡±


    Unable to physically flee, Serene made herself small, stared at her feet. ¡°Yes, most calamitous. Of course. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Good girl. You serve the True Blood, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Serene replied, barely able to force her voice above a whisper. She had worked under Darkside¡¯s infernal whoremasters long enough to understand the consequences of defying one of the Fallen Ones.


    ¡°Excellent. Then listen carefully, sweetness.¡±


    ¡°Yes, most calamitous.¡±


    ¡°You will not sleep with Matthew.¡±


    Despite her utmost efforts, Serene could not help a confused frown knitting her brow. ¡°I¡­ wasn¡¯t planning to?¡±


    ¡°If he offers you money, you will refuse it.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ see. Yes.¡±


    ¡°It took a great deal of effort to get that Red House trollop to see the error of her ways. It simply would not do to have him fall in love with somebody else. That would be a terrible waste of my time.¡±


    Fortunately, the demoness was quite obviously not looking for Serene¡¯s input, because she did not believe she could have offered any kind of coherent response to that statement.


    What, exactly, did the Fallen One expect to get out of that repugnant man? Was he actually more than he seemed? Someone of great influence, perhaps? He did not seem particularly rich, at least judging by his shabby clothing¡­


    Serene decided it was a riddle she would never know the answer to, and resolved to put it from her mind before her curiosity landed her in even more trouble.


    * * *


    Sam


    B-Bracket was holding its matches in Hell-3, a pit of identical dimensions to Hell-5. When Ratcatcher was not to be found in the tent allotted to him, she went trawling the fairground for him. At one point, Serene¡¯s prophecy nearly came true when some belligerent, red-faced fellow tried to stab Sam in the gut. She handed the gaping man his knife back twisted into an avante-garde bracelet, then continued on.


    Eventually, she found the guy she was looking for sitting at the top of some tall wooden bleachers that overlooked the Hell-3 pit. It was pretty full, but she managed to convince the person sitting next to Ratcatcher to scoot over enough that she could just about squeeze her butt onto the bench.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she said.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Ratcatcher replied, looking a little green in the face. ¡°I heard you won your first match.¡±


    ¡°I did!¡±


    ¡°Congrats.¡±


    ¡°Thanks!¡± After a few moments of silence, she bumped the unassuming man¡¯s shoulder with her own. ¡°So, how are you feeling?¡±


    Ratcatcher glanced her way with a nervous smile, then returned to staring at the fighters lining up in the pit below. ¡°Honestly? Like I might puke and shit myself at the same time.¡±


    Sam chuckled. ¡°You¡¯ll be all right, man. Besides, I¡¯ll be here cheering you on.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Of course! You¡¯ve got that fighting spirit¡ªI can tell.¡± She patted her bicep for emphasis.


    ¡°Thanks.¡± Hearing that, he did actually seem to relax a little.


    Sam noticed that Henke was one of the fighters down there when she saw his face reflected in the cube screen that floated above the pit.  After his performance in the qualifiers, she wondered how he would fare in a one-on-one setting. She found herself hoping he would lose¡ªit wasn¡¯t as though his bloodthirsty ways were anything unusual in this place, but there was something about his cavalier attitude to death and unrestrained showboating that she found insufferable.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been wondering,¡± Sam mused, ¡°what¡¯s with that name? Ratcatcher. It¡¯s kind of random, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Ratcatcher scratched the tip of his nose. ¡°Oh, uh, not really that random, actually. You see, I only moonlight as a pit fighter¡ªmost days, I work as a¡­ well, a rat catcher.¡±


    ¡°Oh. That¡¯s a real job?¡±


    ¡°¡®Course it is. There are probably more rats in this city than there are humans. I do this,¡± he motioned to the pit before them, ¡°because I want to believe there¡¯s something more to this life than hopeless drudgery¡ªI had more than my fill of that in my previous one, thank you very much. Of course, the abilities of a so-so rat catcher don¡¯t necessarily translate to being a great pit fighter, so I haven¡¯t had much luck.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t won any yet, right? I asked a friend about you, and that¡¯s what she said.¡±


    Ratcatcher gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°Yeah, pretty much. I reckon the only reason the organizers throw me a fight every now and again is ¡®cos people think it¡¯s funny to watch me lose. Like watching a guy slip on the same banana peel over and over again.¡±


    Sam nodded soberly. ¡°I know what that feels like.¡±


    ¡°You do? But you seem so strong¡­¡±


    ¡°Eh, from my other life. I was a fighter back then, too. I wasn¡¯t bad or anything, but I guess you could say my ambition went a lot farther than my body could keep up with. You get used to losing after a while, but it never stings any less.¡± She gave Ratcatcher a slightly pained smile. ¡°Right?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡± He paused, then licked his lips and spoke again. ¡°That¡¯s why I decided to go all-in. I knew I wasn¡¯t going to get anywhere as long as I had some wiggle room to back down or fall short, so I signed up for the tournament. I want to know what it feels like to win, even if it¡¯s just once. And if I die trying, well, that¡¯s all right too. At least, that¡¯s what I told myself, but¡­¡± He hugged himself tighter. ¡°It seems my sphincter doesn¡¯t quite agree.¡±


    Henke¡¯s fight was a blink-and-you-miss-it thing. The horn sounded, Henke threw a punch, his opponent¡¯s gray matter fanned out across the sand, and the horn went off a second time just as the headless corpse went sideways.


    Ratcatcher shivered. She was starting to worry that he would actually be sick. ¡°Even if I win my first match by some miracle, that¡¯s what I¡¯m up against in the second.¡±


    She hadn¡¯t thought about that. ¡°I¡¯m sure you can take him. Is he really as strong as everyone seems to think?¡± She frowned at the distant figure that was Henke. He was basking in the overwhelming adulation as he pranced about the pit, waving and pointing and doing the occasional victory backflip.


    ¡°He is that good,¡± Ratcatcher said miserably. ¡°Apparently no one''s even landed a strike on him in years. He''s untouchable.¡±


    ¡°Damn. That¡¯s, uh¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± The smile he gave looked more like a nervous tic than an expression of actual mirth. Slowly, reluctantly, the unassuming man peeled himself off the bench. ¡°Well, I guess I¡¯d better start getting ready for my fight¡­¡±


    ¡°Any idea who you¡¯re fighting?¡±


    ¡°A Laborer like you, actually. Some amateur talent named Skullcrusher.¡±


    ¡°And he¡¯s called that because¡­¡±


    ¡°Because he crushes people''s skulls?¡± Ratcatcher sighed, shoulders hunching. ¡°That¡¯s what people say.¡± He began making his way down the bleachers, but paused and turned in the aisle before he got more than two steps. His eyes were big and pleading. ¡°I¡¯m fucked, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll do all right, man,¡± Sam said, and leaned forward far enough to punch him on the shoulder. ¡°You said he¡¯s an amateur, right? That means you¡¯ve got experience on him.¡±


    ¡°I guess so.¡±


    ¡°Then let that be your weapon.¡±


    Ratcatcher nodded, looking a tiny bit more confident. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Sam watched him go, and was proud of herself that she¡¯d managed to sound so sure.


    Whatever the odds said, she wanted to believe that he could win.

 Chapter 37 - The Pride of a Professional Loser [2]

    Sam


    ¡°You going to eat that?¡± Sam asked, pointing to a half-eaten veggie wrap on the bench between herself and her left-hand neighbor, a man so drunk he looked about ready to keel over on the guy in front.


    He blinked slowly at her, then looked questioningly down at his wrap as though seeing it for the first time.


    ¡°Mind if I take it?¡±


    He shook his head.


    Sam grabbed the greasy packet and tucked in.


    She ate more to still her nerves than anything, watching the small shape that was Ratcatcher walk out into the Hell-3 pit, his larger mirror image on the airborne viewing cube following a fraction of a second later. His opponent¡ªa brutish, bull-necked Laborer¡ªstepped up to stare him down, standing at least a head and a half taller than the Artisan.


    To chase away the darkness of the onsetting night, limelights on scaffolds illuminated the arena with stark, pale light that made Sam¡¯s eyes itch. She didn¡¯t want to think about how it had to feel for Ratcatcher down there, all those lights burning down on him.


    I guess I¡¯ll know soon enough.


    ¡°LADIESSS AND GENTLEMENNN,¡± Golden Boy screeched as he twirled through the air in an enthusiastic one-man waltz. ¡°TO CLOSE OUT THE FIRST ROUND OF THE B-BRACKET, BOY DO WE HAVE AN INTERESTING SHOW FOR YOU!¡± Coming to a sudden stop, sweat-slicked and breathing heavy, the gold-plated man had his scepter out to point at the bigger fighter. ¡°IN ONE CORNER, WE HAVE SKULLCRUSHER, A NEWCOMER TO THE PROMOTION! THEY SAY HE WORKED AS A CLAY SCULPTOR BACK ON EARTH, ONLY WHEN HE CAME TO THE FRONTIER HE DISCOVERED THAT HE PREFERRED WORKING WITH A LIVING MEDIUM. WELL, FIVE OR SIX FLESH SCULPTURES AND A DISHONORABLE DISCHARGE FROM THE MILITIA LATER, HERE HE STANDS. THIS IS A MONSTER WITH A CAPITAL ¡®M¡¯, PEOPLE¡ªAN ARTIST OF AGONY¡ªAND WE¡¯RE ABOUT TO SEE HIM PRACTICE HIS CRAFT!¡±


    Skullcrusher offered his opponent a nasty, shit-eating grin, eyes wide with an unholy fervor. To his credit, Ratcatcher met the man¡¯s gaze almost without flinching. Almost, but not quite.


    I should¡¯ve known this place would attract every psycho in the Frontier. Sam crammed the heel end of the wrap into her mouth; chewed, swallowed, burped against the back of her hand, and instinctively looked around for more. She had to settle for nibbling on a few stray bits of boiled vegetable that had fallen on her shirt.


    ¡°AND IN THE OTHER CORNER,¡± Golden Boy carried on, floating down to Ratcatcher and draping a sympathetic arm over his shoulder, ¡°WE HAVE RATCATCHERRR. HE¡¯S A REGULAR OF OUR LITTLE SHOW, FOLKS, AND WE ALWAYS LOVE TO SEE HIM TRY HIS HARDEST. HE HASN¡¯T HAD MUCH LUCK TO DATE, BUT WHO KNOWS? MAYBE TODAY WILL BE THE DAY FOR OUR HUMBLE FRIEND?¡±


    The laughter from the crowd suggested that they did not find this very likely.


    ¡°Woo!¡± Sam shouted into cupped hands. ¡°Ratcatcher! Let¡¯s go! Kick his ass, man!¡±


    She got a few strange backward glances from other spectators on the benches, and replied with a smile and a shrug, tongue between her teeth.


    The fighters were directed back to their respective corners. Ratcatcher rocked nervously on his heels, doing shoulder stretches, while Skullcrusher stood eerily still, hunched like a predator, always wearing that hungry grin.


    The horn cried a single, mournful peal.


    Skullcrusher shot forward, feet like bricks kicking up sprays of sand.


    Ratcatcher planted himself firmly and stood his ground. Through the screen, Sam could see that his face was a mask of focus, tongue tenting one cheek. When his opponent had crossed more than half the distance between them, he held out a hand, palm down, and called: ¡°Tidy Up [Sand]!¡±


    The surface beneath Skullcrusher¡¯s feet shifted, upsetting his balance, as the sand crept away like something alive, a knot of snakes slithering to unveil the stone foundation that rested beneath a foot of sand.  Coalescing beneath Ratcatcher¡¯s hand, the gathered material made a waist-high barrier that Skullcrusher bulled right into, upending him as he tumbled to the other side.


    Another use of Tidy Up piled Skullcrusher¡¯s entire lower half under a deluge of rushing sand. Ratcatcher got in two solid stomps to the back of the head before scrambling away. If the Laborer was affected by either the sand or the kicks, he displayed little sign of it as he rose growling to his feet, scattering grainy substrate as he laid about him with wild haymakers. He was frothing to beat the Artisan down, but his strikes found only air as his opponent continued to maintain a wary distance.


    ¡°Tidy Up is one of my favorite skills,¡± Ratcatcher explained to no one in particular as he kept up a steady shuffle of feet, his amplified voice echoing across a large section of the fairground. ¡°People don¡¯t give it a chance, and that¡¯s a shame. It¡¯s a lot more versatile than you¡¯d think. Of course, I mostly picked it up because trawling for rats in some infested Outside shithole becomes a lot more tolerable if you can clean up first without needing to get your hands dirty.¡±


    ¡°Shut your fucking mouth, worm!¡± Skullcrusher barked as he kept after the Artisan, clumsy with his great bulk.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Ratcatcher replied, ¡°I get chatty when I¡¯m nervous.¡±


    A misplaced foot caused him to stumble, and that was all Skullcrusher needed to close the distance. Cocking back his fist, he howled: ¡°Strike!¡±


    Arm a blur, he slammed Ratcatcher¡¯s midsection with the loud boom of a cannon firing, sent the recipient sliding on one knee.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Sam grimaced with second-hand pain. That hit had looked positively spine-crunching.


    Skidding to a stop, Ratcatcher coughed trails of saliva, red-faced and breathless. Sand tumbled from the front of his shirt in sheets and double handfuls as he uncurled fists held in a defensive cross over his center.


    He made a shield of sand with that skill to mitigate the damage! Sam realized. It had to take good reflexes to enact that defense in a split second.


    Having slipped back onto the roughly six-foot circle of bare flooring he had exposed earlier, Ratcatcher slammed his hands onto the stone and wheezed: ¡°Imbue: Bind!¡±


    Skullcrusher, who had been advancing rapidly, stopped in his tracks.


    Shuffling back two steps, Ratcatcher touched the ground again and repeated: ¡°Imbue: Bind.¡± Then one more step, and: ¡°Imbue, Amp (Two): Tidy Up [Oxygen].¡±


    Sam had no idea what any of that meant, but there was no visible effect that she could tell. Whatever he had done, all five of his AP crystals winked out within seconds of each other, and he winced with the strain of it. The Tidy Up skill he had used earlier seemed to be one of those cantrips that didn¡¯t cost anything to use, but he had gone all-in on this move¡­ whatever it was.


    Skullcrusher chuckled and began circling the patch of bare earth. ¡°Do you really think I¡¯d walk into such an obvious trap?¡±


    Ratcatcher staggered to his feet and shrugged with a sideways tilt of his head. ¡°Worth a try, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re out of juice. What are you going to do now, worm?¡± Skullcrusher flexed the corded muscle of his left forearm, showing off the four out of his five crystals that still glowed blue.


    ¡°Good thing I¡¯ve got ol¡¯ reliable,¡± Ratcatcher replied with a shaky grin, though he looked like he wanted to be sick.


    Their cat-and-mouse game resumed, with the Laborer chasing the Artisan around the ring as the latter occasionally used Tidy Up to shuffle sand around and buy himself a second of breathing room here or there whenever his opponent got too close.


    It was clear where the fight was headed, though. The difference in their physical power was too great for Ratcatcher to make up, made obvious by the fact that even those perfectly placed head kicks had done zero damage. Skullcrusher had to have at least a few points in Toughness, and Ratcatcher evidently had none in Strength.


    It didn¡¯t seem like he had any tricks left up his sleeve, either. He was all out of AP, and the best that Tidy Up cantrip could do was delay the inevitable. Even that was taking its toll¡ªSam remembered Will talking about something called skill fatigue, and Ratcatcher certainly seemed to be suffering from it, staggering about and shaking his head repeatedly as if to clear it.


    ¡°Come on, Ratcatcher!¡± Sam called, hoping vainly there was still some way for the Artisan to turn it around. ¡°Kick his butt, come on!¡± He probably couldn¡¯t even hear her over all the racket going on around Hell-3, but she couldn¡¯t think of any way to help beyond cheering him on.


    The sinking feeling in Sam¡¯s gut reached a queasy boil when Ratcatcher tripped over his own leaden feet and fell heavily near the center of the pit. He scrabbled back with heels and elbows to keep out of his opponent¡¯s grasp, but Skullcrusher did not waste a moment capitalizing on the Artisan¡¯s misfortune, storming over with murder in his eyes.


    ¡°Tidy Up [Sand],¡± Ratcatcher panted, raising both hands.


    Sand rushed up around his legs and arms, pulled out from the patch of ground Skullcrusher was standing on like a yanked rug. At this point, however, the Laborer was well-accustomed to that particular trick, and stepped onto the bare stone without missing a beat.


    ¡°Pathetic!¡± Skullcrusher roared as he advanced, furious at being denied his prey for so long.


    ¡°You said it, friend,¡± Ratcatcher shot back with a tired laugh. ¡°Interact (Three).¡±


    Skullcrusher¡¯s brows knitted in confusion, then shot up in surprise as he went to take another step and found his foot stuck to the ground. Pulled along by his own momentum, he fell face-first, only barely catching himself with his hands. His angry snarl soon dissipated as he attempted to lever himself back up, only to find that his hands, his chest, and even his cheek were fused to the ground. He thrashed and raged, but with no leverage to push off with, he was caught like a¡­


    Sam could only think of a rodent caught in a glue trap.


    Skullcrusher tried to roar something, but only a hoarse croak came out, and he seemed to be struggling to find his breath, mouth working uselessly.


    Pushing himself to his feet, Ratcatcher waded free of the sand that surrounded him, approaching the big man on unsteady legs. ¡°Holy shit,¡± he gasped. ¡°So tired¡­ I think I need to rest for a minute.¡±


    Without any fanfare, he plopped down on the Laborer¡¯s back, ignoring the feeble movements beneath him.


    ¡°I knew I could hit you all day and accomplish nothing but breaking my own hands,¡± Ratcatcher said, waving hello at some confused-looking spectators. ¡°But even a big fucker like you¡¯s gotta take a breath every once in a while.¡± Looking down at his opponent, he thumped the man¡¯s back apologetically. ¡°What you¡¯re feeling right now is the Tidy Up I set earlier sucking the oxygen from the air around your head. I expect you¡¯ll lose consciousness in a minute or so.¡±


    Ratcatcher sat in silence for a while¡ªchin resting in his hand, elbow propped on his knee. The roar of the crowd had quieted into a speculative murmur as folk tried to figure out what was going on. Then Ratcatcher chuckled to himself and said: ¡°You wanna know something funny?¡±


    Skullcrusher gave only a panicked gasp in reply.


    It was taken as assent. ¡°Rats are actually pretty clever. They¡¯re wary of anything new introduced into their environment, and if they identify something as a trap, they¡¯ll avoid it for weeks afterwards. Makes my job a good bit harder, but you have to admire their resourcefulness. I guess that whole object permanence bit was a little too advanced for you, though. Which, of course, means that you¡¯re actually dumber than the average rat. How¡¯s that feel?¡±


    Skullcrusher¡¯s desperate attempts at getting air were growing weaker, and his eyelids were beginning to flutter shut.


    Soon after, he was completely still.


    [Ratcatcher wins.]


    As she went over the entire chain of events that had just transpired, Sam realized that Ratcatcher had set up that whole thing. He¡¯d planned it all, perfectly predicting how his opponent would act.


    ¡°WOOOOO!¡± Sam shouted at the top of her lungs, the echo of her voice cutting across the fairground. ¡°GREAT MATCH! YOU DID IT! WAY TO FUCKING GOOOO!¡±


    There were scattered cheers and a round of lukewarm applause from those who decided they agreed with her assessment. Most still looked confused, and a little miffed at not getting the result they¡¯d expected.


    Sam descended the bleachers in leaping bounds, taking four steps at a time, to congratulate her new friend in person.

 Chapter 38 - Schemes on Schemes on Schemes

    Sam


    Sam made her way through the crowds and caught Ratcatcher a short way outside the pit. She hit him with a brotherly handshake, but she must have been a little too enthusiastic, because he winced and yanked his hand away until she eventually let go.


    ¡°You did it!¡± she said, catching him under the armpit and propping him up when it looked like he was about to tip over from exhaustion. ¡°How¡¯s it feel?¡±


    ¡°Good, I think,¡± Ratcatcher replied in a thick voice, eyes half-lidded. ¡°I still might puke and/or shit myself, but at least it¡¯s for different reasons.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you don¡¯t look so good. Let¡¯s get you back to your tent, yeah?¡±


    Ratcatcher did not object, so she got him moving in that direction.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t kill that guy, did you?¡±


    The Artisan threw her a lop-sided grin. ¡°It¡¯s funny how people¡¯s minds work. Everyone else who came up to me assumed I did kill him.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t judge you if you did. I understand that things work differently here. It sounded like he was a bad guy, too.¡±


    ¡°No, you were right¡ªI guess you inspired me.¡±


    Sam nodded with a grin of her own. ¡°Nice!¡±


    She had to let him stop and rest several times on the way, and he actually did throw up once before they made it to the tent and she could get him vertical. There was no bed in there, but at least the floor was covered in thick tarpaulin to keep him off the dirt, and there was a pail of clean water so he could wash the bile out of his mouth.


    ¡°All right, where¡¯s it hurt?¡± Sam asked, squatting beside him with a small towel slung over one shoulder.


    ¡°Stomach,¡± Ratcatcher groaned. ¡°And sort of¡­ all over. My head feels like an elephant¡¯s been using it for ballet practice.¡±


    ¡°Is it all from skill fatigue?¡±


    Ratcatcher nodded weakly. ¡°That and the Strike I got hit with. I¡¯ve never used so many skills all at once before.¡±


    ¡°Will you be all right?¡±


    ¡°I think so. Just need¡­ a bit of a breather.¡±


    Sam hiked up his tunic and found his entire midsection gone a dark, angry red. ¡°Oof,¡± she murmured. That was going to make one epic bruise.


    ¡°How¡¯s it look?¡± Ratcatcher asked, trying to crane his neck, but promptly let his head fall back down when it proved too much effort.


    ¡°Looks like the elephant did a couple spins on your belly, too.¡±


    ¡°Nice.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll get you right, don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ve got healing gear back at my tent.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. You don¡¯t need to waste it on me, though¡ªI¡¯ve already accomplished what I came here for. With the shape I¡¯m in, I was thinking about dropping out.¡± He avoided her gaze like he was ashamed of saying it, looking up into the tent¡¯s slanted top.


    ¡°That¡¯s your choice to make,¡± Sam said in a tone she hoped was reassuring, letting his tunic drop. ¡°You have to decide what¡¯s right for you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d never drop out of something like this, though, would you?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Probably not. But that¡¯s me¡ªI wouldn¡¯t put much stock in that if I were you. Some people I know would call my approach to life suicidally stupid.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t. I think it¡¯s brave.¡±


    Sam flashed a smile. ¡°Thanks¡ªI do too.¡±


    Catcher¡¯s voice got small. ¡°But¡­ I don¡¯t want to die. Even if I were at my best, I doubt I could ever beat someone like Henke. And the way I am now¡­¡±


    ¡°Like I said, that¡¯s your choice to make. There¡¯s no shame in knowing when to bow out, live to fight another day.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, maybe.¡±


    The tent flap came open to admit another person. Looking back, Sam smiled and waved when she saw that it was Serene, a small canvas medicine bag tucked under one arm.


    ¡°Great timing,¡± Sam said. ¡°Saved me a trip over to Hell-5.¡±


    ¡°I sincerely hope you weren¡¯t planning on tending to him yourself,¡± Serene replied, crossing the small space so that she stood looking down on the supine Artisan. ¡°No offense babe, but I don¡¯t think you¡¯ve got the delicate touch needed for that kind of work.¡±


    Sam snorted with mock derision. ¡°Good thing Dr. Serene came along, then.¡± She turned to Ratcatcher. ¡°Oh, uh, this is Serene. She¡¯s a buddy of mine.¡± Then, with a look back at the woman in question: ¡°And I guess you already know who Ratcatcher is.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± Serene got on her knees beside Ratcatcher and shooed Sam away with an insistent gesture. ¡°You should go take a walk or something. Your friend here needs space to rest¡ªthe less people gawking at him, the better.¡±


    Sam complied, standing away from the man with a shrug. ¡°Whatever you say, doc.¡± Making her way to the tent flap, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. ¡°Thanks for this. You¡¯re a good friend.¡±This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Serene rolled her eyes. ¡°Just go already.¡± But before Sam had made it a step, she said: ¡°Wait! Almost forgot¡ªyour opponent for the next round has been decided.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that Trader I told you about¡ªJax. I¡¯ll meet up with you once I¡¯m done here to talk strategy, so don¡¯t go anywhere I can¡¯t find you. You¡¯re on soon.¡±


    ¡°You got it.¡±


    * * *


    Serene


    As soon as Sam left, Serene turned her attention to Ratcatcher and gave him one of the practiced smiles that she knew looked perfectly charming and natural, even though she was dead on the inside.


    ¡°I caught some of your fight,¡± she lied. Nyx had received a report from someone else, and she, in turn, had informed Serene of the major points. ¡°You were very impressive out there.¡±


    The meek little man blushed deeply. ¡°Oh, thank you. I mostly just got lucky, though¡ªit was a pretty risky strategy.¡±


    ¡°It didn¡¯t seem like luck to me.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s good. In that case, maybe I didn¡¯t look scared shitless, either.¡±


    ¡°You looked like you knew what you were doing.¡±


    ¡°Do winners always get this many compliments? I think you¡¯d better stop, before it goes to my¡ª¡± He cut off with a startled squeak when Serene hiked up his tunic, letting her fingers trail very lightly across his stomach as she went. When he failed to stammer out a coherent excuse for his unmanly display, he went even redder.


    ¡°Sorry, did that hurt?¡± Serene asked, putting on a servile, slightly vapid inflection.


    Ratcatcher squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a sharp breath through his nostrils. ¡°No, no, I just¡­ wasn¡¯t expecting it, that¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°I see. I¡¯m going to put some ointment on that bruising now, is that all right?¡±


    The man¡¯s eyes shot open again, swiveling onto her before sliding meekly aside. ¡°Maybe I¡¯d better do it myself.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense. Just lie there and rest.¡±


    Reluctantly, Ratcatcher let his head drop. ¡°Right. Sorry.¡±


    Serene took a small jar of ointment out of the bag and scooped a whitish glob onto the ends of two fingers. It really was all high-quality stuff, and meticulously labeled too¡ªshe wondered idly how an odious fellow like Mongrel could have such a good eye for medicine. Maybe Nyx had procured it for him.


    Ratcatcher flinched when she touched him, but to his credit he didn¡¯t make any undignified noises this time¡ªmaybe because he had been bracing for it, jaw clenched and lips pressed white.


    ¡°I happened to hear you mention forfeiting the tournament when I came in,¡± Serene said casually as she rubbed the ointment into his battered skin, soft but assertive.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m thinking that might be for the best. I¡¯ve already had more than my share of luck just to win the first match¡ªprobably shouldn¡¯t push it further than that.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you should drop out.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re too self-critical. You wouldn¡¯t have made it this far without real talent, and I can tell you¡¯re the type who thinks things through. You probably already have a plan figured out for how to beat the Hero, am I right?¡±


    Ratcatcher hesitated. ¡°Well¡­ I guess so. But it would never work.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re only saying that because losing repeatedly has taught you to dream small. But you¡¯ll never achieve greatness if you can¡¯t even make yourself believe it might actually happen.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±


    Serene rubbed a little harder, letting her thumbs trace the contours of the man¡¯s abdominals, and he let out a small gasp that killed whatever he was about to say. She smiled reassuringly at him, and hated the lie of it.


    Tell him, some small, altruistic part of her urged. Tell him to drop out. Crush his dreams. This man doesn¡¯t need to die. He seemed nice. Too nice for a place like Darkside, anyway.


    But she had her orders.


    I should have kept my fucking mouth shut back there. Maybe I wouldn¡¯t have gotten dragged into this mess.


    But something told her that she had been caught in Nyx¡¯s web since the moment the demon laid eyes on her. Regardless, all she could do now was obey and hope to be released eventually.


    ¡°Do you really think I could win against Henke?¡± Ratcatcher asked, incredulous.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Serene lied, and was surprised that a serpent¡¯s hiss did not escape her forked tongue.


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°Can I tell you a secret?¡± Serene pulled her hands away and began wiping them on the edge of a towel, her skin hot and tingly from the potent ointment.


    ¡°Sure, I guess?¡±


    She leaned close to the man, tucking back a stray strand of hair that fell over her face, and let her breath touch his ear as she whispered: ¡°I¡¯ve been with a lot of men. Weak, strong¡ªeverything in between. I only need to see a man once to know his measure.¡± She placed a finger against his chest when he tried to wriggle away, pinning him in place as though she had skewered him on a fork despite barely touching him. ¡°I see a winner in you. And every girl likes a winner.¡±


    She would have pushed a little more, but was interrupted when a pit attendant came into the tent, and she was forced to drop back to rest on her heels.


    ¡°I¡¯m here to Donate AP for your next match, sir,¡± said the young attendant, bending slightly as he held out his left hand.


    Ratcatcher hesitated, and Serene could see the conflict going on behind his eyes. If he was going to drop out, now would be the best time for it. Then, slowly, his gaze firmed, and he took the man¡¯s hand. After a few seconds, seven of the attendant¡¯s eight AP crystals had gone dark, and five alighted on Ratcatcher¡¯s arm. After that, the attendant swiftly glided out of the room with only a few formal words in parting.


    Ratcatcher looked down at his arm, as though in disbelief of what he had just done, clenching and unclenching his fist. Then he smiled. ¡°Thank you, Serene,¡± he said, and looked her properly in the eye for the first time since she had walked in. ¡°You¡¯re a really kind person.¡±


    Serene caught the compliment like a blade through the ribs. She had the fighter drink an analgesic, gave him another dose to take just before his fight, then all but fled from the tent.


    Why am I like this? Why do I do these things?


    Because of her, the young man in that tent was going to die. And for what? She didn¡¯t really know herself. She had been told to do it, so she had simply carried out her orders like a good dog.


    ¡°Hello, dear,¡± came a smooth voice before she¡¯d gotten a dozen steps outside, making her flinch. Nyx fell into step beside her, yellow eyes blazing.


    ¡°Most calamitous,¡± Serene murmured. ¡°I did as you asked. Ratcatcher¡¯s condition is not good, but he will fight.¡±


    ¡°I know these things already,¡± Nyx replied dismissively. She¡¯d been listening in. Of course she had. ¡°You did well, Catherine.¡±


    Serene stopped in the muddy path, and a man swore at her as he shouldered roughly past her. She barely noticed.


    No one called her Catherine. She definitely hadn¡¯t told the demon her name, and she always kept her mental guard tight against being Identified, so how¡­?


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± Nyx asked, turning. She carried herself like an empress¡ªback straight, chest forward, and chin high¡ªdespite wearing an outfit that would have been better suited for Serene¡¯s line of work. ¡°Oh, I see. Yes, you can run along now.¡± She shooed at Serene with a little waggle of her fingers. ¡°I¡¯ll find you when I have need of you.¡±


    Rather than voice any of the boiling outrage she felt, Serene slunk away, the shame over what she had done drowned under the relief of being let off the hook.

 Chapter 39 - Real Wrestlers Never Break Kayfabe

    Sam


    Returning to Hell-5, Sam caught the tail end of the final first-round match in the A-Bracket, where a Farmer went up against an Explorer¡ªthe latter of whom she recognized as the man with the dog she had seen in the preliminaries. The Explorer, who was called Holden, came out on top by letting his familiar maul the other guy while Holden immobilized him with webs shot out of his hands. Once the Farmer lost his footing, the dog ripped out his throat to finish the job.


    Number Three eventually found Sam and dragged her back to the tent, where Mongrel had some choice words about her running off.


    ¡°Let her do as she likes, Matthew,¡± Nyx said sharply, fussing over a nonplussed Number Five with a comb. ¡°Keeping her cooped up in here leaves her nothing to do but work up nerves, and that will hardly improve her performance, will it?¡±


    ¡°Suppose so,¡± Mongrel grumbled. ¡°Still, she should have cleared it with us first.¡±


    ¡°I promise I¡¯ll submit a detailed proposal next time I need to blow my nose or take a shit,¡± Sam said, and laughed at Mongrel''s resulting scowl. She had Number Two make some space on the empty chest so she could take a seat next to him.


    Serene soon returned from her tending to Ratcatcher, looking weary.


    ¡°How¡¯s he holding up?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Not great,¡± Serene replied, ¡°but he should be on his feet before the second round, at least. He¡¯s decided to keep fighting.¡±


    Sam nodded. She couldn¡¯t help but worry about her new friend, but she¡¯d seen what he could do. She needed to have faith in him, the same way everyone else had faith in her. At least, she hoped they did.


    Serene then held a small lecture on Sam¡¯s next opponent, the Trader named Jax. ¡°Do you know what resurrectionism is?¡± she began by asking.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that the religion of people who think the goddess is going to come back if they pray a bunch?¡± Sam replied.


    ¡°Pretty much. Jax used to be one of them, but he left because his methods took a bit of an¡­ extreme turn. He thinks that the only way Era will return is if humans cull all the sinners and infidels from our population, and thereby prove to the goddess that we have repented our ways.¡±


    ¡°He sounds like he¡¯d be a lot of fun at parties.¡±


    Serene blew out her cheeks in a long sigh. ¡°You don¡¯t know the half of it, babe. He¡¯s also one of those guys who talks way too much in the afterglow.¡±


    ¡°Duly noted.¡±


    ¡°In terms of fighting, since he¡¯s a Trader, he doesn¡¯t have access to Toughness, Strength, or Dexterity, meaning you outmatch him big-time when it comes to physical stats.


    ¡°Based on his performance in the first round, I¡¯m guessing he¡¯s going to try and wear you down by using skills that stall you and force you to waste energy. Traders have access to a lot of mental attacks, so that¡¯s mainly what you need to watch out for.¡±


    Sam frowned. ¡°That¡¯s good and all, but how do you even defend against a mental attack?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s really not that difficult. Keep your attention sharp and focus on rejecting anything external. Some people find it useful to create images to aid in that. For example, I imagine myself stepping into a small, cozy cottage and locking the door so no one can disturb me inside.¡±


    Sam must have looked confused, because Serene smiled sadly and said: ¡°There¡¯s a surprising amount of politics involved in doing what I do. If you don¡¯t learn to keep your secrets close to your chest, you¡¯ll get dead or taken advantage of, probably sooner rather than later.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Cherry.¡±


    Serene raised a shimmering eyebrow. ¡°Cherry?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, like, as a nickname. Do you like it?¡±


    The dark-haired woman gave a small, inscrutable smile. ¡°You can call me whatever you like, babe. I¡¯m not picky. And in any case, you shouldn¡¯t feel sorry for me. I¡¯ve made my bed, and I¡¯m going to lie in it, whatever bedfellows I end up with.¡±


    ¡°That might be one of the most depressing things I¡¯ve ever heard.¡±


    Serene laughed melodically, the bright notes soured by bitterness. ¡°Then you haven¡¯t spent enough time on the Frontier. There¡¯s no happy here, just shades of miserable¡ªyou notwithstanding, apparently.¡±


    Sam shrugged, smiling. ¡°I can¡¯t help being my sweet little self.¡±


    Nyx cleared her throat. Arms crossed, the sharp nails of her left hand tapped impatiently against her slim right upper arm. ¡°Serene, darling? Maybe we ought to finish strategizing before we dispense with small talk.¡± She put a strange inflection on the name¡ªsharp, somehow, like a knife being drawn.


    Serene¡¯s eyes quickly flitted to the ground, and her head sank in an almost-bow. ¡°Yes, most calamitous. Of course.¡±Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Sam looked between the woman and the not-person, rolling her tongue around a bad taste in her mouth. ¡°Nyx, why are you giving my friend orders? Do you know each other?¡±


    ¡°Do relax, Samantha¡ªit was only a friendly suggestion,¡± the demoness said in an airy, lightly patronizing tone, making her breasts bounce as she went up on her tiptoes and dropped back down on her heels, as though to mark an end to the discussion.


    Sam¡¯s eyes narrowed in a suspicious squint. ¡°No, it wasn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re being dramatic.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s afraid of you. What did you say to her?¡±


    ¡°Why, nothing at all, dear. She is familiar with me by professional reputation, and so has graciously placed herself at my disposal. That¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°In that case, as of this second she¡¯s not at your disposal anymore.¡±


    ¡°Please let it go,¡± Serene cut in, gaze still downturned. ¡°This doesn¡¯t have anything to do with you.¡±


    ¡°No can do. Sorry to say, but I¡¯m not just stubborn¡ªI¡¯m meddlesome, too.¡±


    ¡°Can we just¡ª¡± Mongrel began.


    ¡°Shush now, Matthew,¡± Nyx interrupted, tossing a withering glare his way, ¡°the adults are talking.¡±


    Mongrel looked like he was about to say something else, mouth hanging open, then clicked his teeth shut and shook his head, muttering something under his breath that might have been ¡®Women¡¯.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be happy to continue my conversation with Cherry,¡± Sam went on, and pointed at Nyx, ¡°once you¡¯ve left.¡±


    The demoness scoffed, twirling a strand of perfectly voluminous hair around her finger. ¡°Stubborn, meddlesome, and forgetful, are we? We¡¯ve been over this already¡ªyou can¡¯t make me do anything I don¡¯t want to do.¡±


    ¡°In that case, I¡¯ll drop out of the tournament.¡±


    Nyx laughed, a little too loud to sound natural. ¡°And why should I care one whit about that?¡±


    Sam shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Why don¡¯t we try it and find out?¡±


    ¡°As threats go, that really is pathetic. It¡¯s a non-starter to begin with. You¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m what? Too stubborn to drop out? Try ¡®too stubborn to lose an argument¡¯.¡±


    Nyx¡¯s jaw worked silently, her bared canines scraping off each other. ¡°I refuse to leave,¡± she spat.


    Sam crossed her arms. ¡°Then you¡¯ll apologize to my friend, and promise not to bother her in the future.¡±


    ¡°You have no right to treat me like some human child.¡±


    ¡°Why not? You don¡¯t seem to have any trouble acting like one.¡±


    The demoness lunged forward, her features contorting into a terrible snarl of rage, fingers curling into claws. She fell short only inches from Sam¡¯s face, teeth bared, a glow of fire smoldering at the back of her throat. Sam did not blink.


    ¡°Yes, you¡¯re very scary,¡± Sam said dully, ¡°but you¡¯re the one wasting time right now. Whatever you¡¯re going to do, be about it quick. I¡¯m losing my patience with you, demon.¡±


    Nyx held her predatory posture a few moments longer, then slunk back, seeming to wither under the confused stare Mongrel directed at her.


    It took her five tries to get out a decent apology. Serene looked more horrified at that than when the demon had been threatening bloody murder.


    Sam, for one, was well pleased that she had read Nyx¡¯s motives correctly. Will would have been proud.


    Once everyone knew where everyone else stood, Sam turned her attention back to Serene. ¡°Cherry,¡± she said, ¡°would you help me do some makeup for the next match? I have an idea I want to try out.¡±


    Serene looked apprehensive. ¡°Uh¡­ what kind of idea are we talking about, exactly?¡±


    Sam grinned. ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not even going to tell me?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be a nice surprise when we get started. So, will you help?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ guess so, yeah.¡±


    ¡°Great! Thanks! Oh, and I think we¡¯ll need to arrange a bit of a wardrobe change, too.¡±


    The other woman looked like she was regretting her decision already.


    * * *


    Sam stepped into the Hell-5 pit to a tide of riotous booing. Arms extended, she laughed and greeted her adoring fans, then put a cupped hand to her ear to indicate that she wanted to hear more.


    A blindfolded man stepped out of the subterranean tunnel on the opposite end of the ring, heavy timber doors creaking shut behind him. He was rangy and sharp-featured, but looked more awkward than athletic, which matched what Serene had said about his not having access to the more physical attributes.


    Sam, wearing a sequined pink vest and shiny green trousers, arms and neck and face painted with rainbow swirls, danced out to the center of the pit while Golden Boy did his usual introductions. She struck a double bicep pose to show off the peace symbols Serene had drawn on them, which drew another wave of derision.


    The organizer was wrapping up and looked about ready to begin the match, but Sam waved him down with eager gestures until, slowly and reluctantly, he dipped down on his invisible strings to hover just above Sam. She motioned that she wanted his voice-amplifying scepter to speak into, and after some deliberation he handed over his gem-encrusted implement.


    ¡°Great to see so many of you here!¡± Sam shouted into the sphere at the top, and her voice boomed across the pit and beyond, cutting through the chaos of voices. ¡°I¡¯m here for one reason, and one reason only¡ªto beat some love and friendship into that fucker over there!¡± She jabbed the scepter in her opponent¡¯s direction, then put it back to her mouth. ¡°No one dies as long as I¡¯m the one left standing! Why?¡± She let an artful pause drag out. ¡°Because I¡­¡± She struck a side chest pose, struggling only slightly to keep the amplifier up to her mouth. ¡°Am¡­¡± She transitioned into a most muscular pose. ¡°The Peaceful Fist!¡± And finally, a grinning lat spread. ¡°Fuck you all, and have a good night!¡±


    Her speech was met with an unparalleled level of vitriol from the crowd, booing and hissing and insults of every shade¡ªsome of which got very personal and impressively creative.


    Once finished, she hurled the scepter, sent it spinning in a high arc, and Golden Boy scrambled to snatch it out of the air. ¡°WELL, WELL, THAT WAS QUITE AN ENTRANCE FROM OUR COLORFUL FRIEND! LET¡¯S SEE IF HER COMPETITION HAS ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT THAT, SHALL WE?¡± He flew across the ring, little white wings fluttering uselessly in the wind, and glided to a halt before the Trader, holding the scepter out to the blindfolded man. ¡°THERE¡¯S AN AMPLIFIER IN FRONT OF YOU NOW. TELL ME, FRIEND¡ªWHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THE SELF-PROCLAIMED ¡®PEACEFUL FIST¡¯, EH?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a blasphemer, attempting to appropriate the goddess¡¯s grace,¡± Jax intoned in a low voice. Even amplified, it was difficult to make out his words. ¡°I will enjoy making a holy sacrifice of her body.¡±


    That, it seemed, was all he had to say on the matter. The cheers he got were a little confused at first, but made up for it in volume as more and more people joined in. Despite what Sam had heard about resurrectionists and their reputation in the city, it seemed that folk were happy enough to cheer one on, as long as he was standing against her.


    She grinned, and struck an easy, shoulder-first fighting stance on light feet.


    They will have booed themselves hoarse by the time I¡¯m done tonight, she thought to herself.


    The horn sounded its banshee screech, and Sam began moving toward her opponent.

 Chapter 40 - They Never Tell You How Boring the Job Is

    Will


    His ass ached from sitting on hard tiles. His bad eye itched the way it always did. His good eye was sore from squinting so long in the dark. His breath was sticky from the humid air. He had bug bites in a hundred different places. That was how Will kept his vigil.


    At least it wasn¡¯t cold. Stakeouts in winter were always the worst. Little mercies, he told himself. Silver linings.


    A stubborn drizzle started up. He pretended it didn''t exist.


    From the roof of the four-story tenement building, he could easily see over the ivy-covered walls that surrounded the rented townhouse of Philly Upnorth, the Stormfront merchant that Will had been contracted to kill.


    He seemed a decent enough fellow, all things considered. Staking out a target was a strangely intimate thing, and Will had spent the last two days making himself familiar with every part of Philly¡¯s routine. Both of those days, he had visited the markets bright and early to buy flowers for his wife, whom he had brought with him from Stormfront.


    As he appeared to have a fondness for visiting upscale Topside taverns, Will was certain that he could have found an opportunity to slip something into Upnorth¡¯s drink or applied a bit of contact poison to a surface the man was sure to touch.


    But the lord had insisted on making it messy, so he would give Brimstone exactly that.


    The three-story townhouse was mostly turned down at this time of night, windows dark and still. The building currently had eleven inhabitants: six guards¡ªtwo Laborers to show off, and four somewhat more inexpensive Builders¡ªthree servants that doubled on both cooking and cleaning duties, Upnorth himself, and his wife Irina.


    Philly himself was a Level 11 Trader, but after a thorough Identify scan while the man was asleep, he had concluded that he was unlikely to be a problem, given that his build was not at all geared toward combat. His guard sergeant was one of the Builders, a Level 10. He was the only one Will had to really keep a close eye on. The rest were non-issues.


    A Detect [Life] showed him that most of the household were quietly tucked in their beds, vertical smears of light showing through the walls on various floors. The guards shared two rooms on the first floor, the servants occupied a third, and the merchant and his woman had a master bedroom on the third, though he gathered that Mr. Upnorth had landed himself in the doghouse over something, because they were sleeping in separate rooms tonight.


    Two of the Builders were on duty. One sat in a lantern-lit guard booth just outside the wrought-iron gates, there to turn away anyone who might wish to disturb his master at this ungodly hour. The other patrolled the grounds, scanning for those with more unsavory intentions.


    If only they knew.


    One of the servants was still awake¡ªmaking herself a late-night snack in the kitchen, it seemed to him based on the miming of her ghostly silhouette. He could wait for her to fall asleep, but he figured it was best to take his chances now, as the other servants would soon be up and about anyway to begin preparing food for the household. He did not envy cooks¡ªby profession, not Profession¡ªthe ungodly hours they had to keep. Then again, they were not sitting on a roof in the middle of the night with a numb ass and a swarm of mosquitoes for company, but that was another matter.


    Groaning, Will slowly began to work some feeling back into his stiff body, slate tiles shifting beneath him. He slid down the east side of the roof, out of sight of the townhouse, and caught himself at the edge by slotting his heels into the metal rain gutter. He lit a cigarette off a match and sat there for a bit, letting the smoke in his lungs settle his nerves a bit.


    Silver linings.


    It was a nice couple of minutes, but like all good things, it ended too quickly. Flicking the damp butt into the exposed drainpipe a few feet over, Will clambered back to the top of the roof where his rifle case lay propped against the chimney. He opened it, removed the long-barreled firearm¡ªpointedly ignoring the sword that also called to him from within the padded box¡ªand attached scope, then silencer, then magazine. He draped himself on his belly with arms and rifle propped on the peak of the slanted roof.


    He put his good eye to the scope and took his time lining up the aim, sliding across oceans of black before finding the irregular pool of lantern light that marked the guard booth.


    With a sustained cast of Detect [Life] active, lining up a clean shot through the guard booth¡¯s thin wall was not difficult. Humming softly to himself, he cycled a bullet into the chamber, then squeezed the trigger. The shot that rang out¡ªmuffled by both silencer and his Light Touch passive¡ªwas still loud, but sounded more like someone clapping their hands together hard and less like the tell-tale whipcrack of a high-caliber firearm.


    The Builder inside the booth slumped forward as indicated by his shadow double, struck clean on the dome. Will didn¡¯t usually try for headshots, as they were less consistent than aiming for center mass, but he did not like the idea of a wounded man screaming for help and waking up the whole house. He was certain that he could go through all those guards even if they were awake, alert, and armed, especially with his brand new semblance to tip the scales, but it was an unnecessary risk regardless.


    Though the shot itself was muffled, the sound of wood splintering and a body falling over attracted the attention of the other guard, whose bright afterimage began making its way toward the front, soon rounding the corner of the building.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Will cycled the bolt with a smooth, practiced motion, lined up another shot, fired. Guard number two fell like a string-cut puppet, silent in the dark.


    Sighing, Will pulled himself up, gathered spent bullet casings, and packed them away with everything else as he unloaded the rifle and disassembled its attachable components. He hesitated only a moment before taking out the cursed saber, strapping it on as he stood. It seemed to tug unnaturally at his side, seeking his attention like an insistent, psychopathic child pulling on his shirt hem.


    ¡°Just a minute,¡± Will grumbled, flipping the rifle case shut with his foot. ¡°You¡¯ll get to eat soon.¡±


    Leaving the case on the roof to pick up later, he leapt down to the street, wind rushing and setting his clothes fluttering. Before he could break his legs off the cobbles, he used Repel to kill his momentum, landing in a smooth crouch instead.


    Brimstone was about to get the mess he had ordered.


    * * *


    Sam


    Sam pursued the Trader across the ring, quickly closing on him. Serene had said that Jax would want to stall her out, so she would make sure not to give him that opportunity.


    It had started to rain, just enough to dampen the sand and give her feet a little extra traction.


    Despite being blind, the man seemed to have no trouble keeping track of her as he backed away¡ªnot that it would help him very much, as he was not nearly quick enough to evade her.


    Closing the last bit of distance, her opponent more or less pinned back against the pit¡¯s rounded log wall, Sam led with a flying knee.


    ¡°Peace!¡± Jax called, and Sam suddenly found her legs seizing up, unwilling to do what she asked. Instead, she landed awkwardly and staggered headfirst into the wall as the Trader spun away. She regained her balance quickly and spun around only to feel a hot streak across her cheek, and realized a moment later that he had slapped her.


    It barely hurt. Clearly, the attack had been meant to annoy, not harm. But boy, was it annoying.


    She was already familiar with the Peace skill¡ªthe slavers had used it on her to keep her from fighting back while they captured her, what felt like years ago even though it had only been days. From there, inferring its effect was not difficult. As soon as she felt the pacifying effect wear off after a few seconds, she went after Jax again, this time leading with a safer jab.


    ¡°Peace!¡± he said again¡ªand again, Sam locked up, her fist stopping short of its target.


    While she was still unable to fight back, Jax pressed a hand flat to her face and said: ¡°Illuminate.¡±


    White light filled Sam¡¯s vision before she had time to blink, followed by hot, searing pain, as though boiling water had been poured over her eyes. Snarling as she backed away, she did not see the slaps coming, a quick one-two.


    Sam blinked and wiped furiously at teary eyes, but the white in her vision was slow to fade, eventually darkening into an angry red. Her sight returned in blurry, erratic patches that served to disorient her more than anything.


    ¡°Power Word [Confusion].¡±


    Sam¡¯s stomach lurched, her vision spun and pulsed with color. As soon as she tried to take a step, the ground seemed to shift impossibly beneath her, like she was on an unsteady sea, and she fell to her knees.


    Serene had warned her about this one¡ªPower Word. It could inflict whatever mental effect the user wanted onto a person, but it only worked as long as the recipient was already attuned to the effect being inflicted on them.


    Shaky and still unable to see more than general movements, Sam slowly fought her way back to her feet, tears streaking her cheeks and a trail of queasy drool extending from her bottom lip. She tried to follow Serene''s advice on repelling mental attacks, imagined herself inside a house with the door locked and the windows shuttered.


    ¡°You little shit,¡± she spat, turning blindly around and around to try and catch some vague glimpse of her opponent. She couldn¡¯t even hear him over the din of the crowd. ¡°C¡¯mere man, I just wanna talk to you¡ªmy fist has something it really wants to say to your face.¡±


    Another slap streaked across her cheek, then she heard: ¡°Power Word [Rage].¡±


    Whatever focus or composure she had been able to scrabble together was instantly shattered, drowned in a sea of burning, thumping red. Her heart raced until she felt it beating like a jackhammer on the inside of her ribcage, and she tasted blood as she bit through her own gums with grinding molars.


    Whatever she had been thinking about a second ago was no longer important, and the only thing that mattered was finding the miserable rat fuck named Jax and smashing him to a bloody pulp.


    Flinging herself blindly in the direction of the last slap, she went tumbling when she struck nothing, was back on her feet in less than a second. She swung, got slapped again, aimed a kick in that direction, hit nothing. Then, as soon as her vision began to return, another ¡°Illuminate!¡± plunged her back into bright oblivion. She punched and kicked and tackled the air, drool foaming at the corners of her mouth, cheeks aching with how tightly her facial muscles were pulled.


    Every missed attack only stoked her anger, and the occasional slap that came her way wasn¡¯t doing a bad job of it either.


    Then, suddenly, she felt a lucky spinning back fist connect with something that was simultaneously hard and flabby. A face. Bones crunched satisfyingly. With a howl of sadistic glee, Sam leapt in the direction she had sent her opponent, found clothing under her fingers, and dragged herself into a mount. She did not need to see to pummel the person beneath her with elbows and hammer fists until resistance ceased, and the weakly flailing arms that opposed her fell away.


    Then, fist raised over her head, poised to continue until she powdered the man¡¯s skull, Sam halted. The fog slowly began to clear. Her vision was returning, too, and she began to make out the bloodied, swollen face of the Trader, his blindfold torn off and discarded off to one side.


    He breathed raggedly, blowing tiny droplets of bloody spittle with each exhale, and his eyes wheeled about beneath stitched-shut lids as he straddled the line between waking and unconsciousness. She had knocked at least a few of his teeth in, and his nose was folded nearly flush with his cheekbone.


    ¡°Ooh,¡± Sam panted, working her fist, fighting the urge to let it find its mark one more time, ¡°that was a close one.¡±


    ¡°Illu¡ª¡±


    Sam yanked the man up by his shoulders and knocked skulls with him. ¡°Don¡¯t do that,¡± she said lightly, and let the now unconscious man fall back to the sand. ¡°Give it a rest for a minute, will you?¡±


    The horn soon sounded to mark her victory. Once attendants came to tend to Jax and confirmed that he would live, Sam stood to greet the deluge of presents flying in from the audience members ringing the edge of the pit. This time, they had prepared better material, trying to hit her with actual rotten fruit and sackcloth bundles filled with what appeared to be cow manure, if the smell was anything to go by.


    She laughed, arms outstretched, face up to the rain. "Doesn''t look like such a big tough murderer anymore, does he?" she shouted. "Almost looks cute when he''s sleeping like that!"


    She would have liked to keep her taunting going a while longer, but she knew it was probably time to bow out when a fist-sized rock whizzed past her ear. Through a bit of nimble dodging she managed to stay unsullied, and hit a quick victory pose before capering through the open doors of the tunnel she had entered from.

 Chapter 41 - Sinister Services So Surprisingly Economical

    Irina


    Irina tossed under too-hot, clinging sheets, rolling round and round and feeling about as graceful as a manatee while she tried in vain to find a comfortable position.


    Sleep would not come. Finally forced to admit it, she kicked the covers away with a stream of muttered oaths as she sat stick-straight, mussed hair bunched uncomfortably warm about her neck.


    It was all Phil¡¯s fault. Once a sweet, sensitive man, he had gained an altogether too inflated opinion of himself after being made first of merchants in Stormfront. Indeed, he¡¯d had no qualms dragging his wife across the whole Sixth Octant with nothing but half-hearted lies to string her along.


    She was furious with him. Fuming. Incensed. She had that right, didn¡¯t she? He deserved that much, didn¡¯t he? Forcing them to come to this terrible cesspit of a city¡ªnot for a quick visit, as she had been told, but to live. She had no idea how a man¡¯s head could be so oversized and so empty at once, but Phil proved that biological anomaly possible with ease.


    She was angry. Really angry.


    But¡­


    Also lonely. And scared. And even more scared because she was lonely, and even more lonely because she was scared.


    Irina could not forgive him. He couldn¡¯t lie to her face and upend her life, and expect a few bouquets of flowers to patch everything up. She was not some pet for him to pull about wherever he liked, or some accessory to hang over his arm.


    She couldn¡¯t forgive him.


    But she wished she could. She wanted to hear him out. He wasn¡¯t a bad man, was he? If only his excuses were a little better, so she could convince herself to believe them.


    Irina listened to the patter of the summer drizzle against the window on her left, flopped back down on her back to give sleeping another try. The heat didn¡¯t help. Neither did the bustle from downstairs. Something like scuffing of furniture, and what was certainly a woman¡¯s eager squeal.


    I swear to god, Jonna better not be letting one of those brutes into her bed again.


    The Builders were polite enough¡ªit was the new ones, those two Laborers, who were the problem. They thought they could get away with anything, since they were too valuable to be gotten rid of.


    The most infuriating part was that they were right. If Phil was going to have them living in a hellhole like Sheerhome, they would need the kind of protection only a Laborer could provide.


    Ever since they had been hired shortly before leaving Stormfront, Troy and Scalps had grown increasingly more bold in their violations, and were now close to incorrigible.


    She would have to speak to Phil about that. Laborers made better guards than Builders as a rule, but what good was a guard who didn¡¯t follow orders¡ªwho treated his master¡¯s home as a playground for his own enjoyment? They would need to be punished, somehow.


    Phil should have known to do that already. She shouldn¡¯t have to tell him. Of course, she wasn¡¯t speaking to him at the moment, which was no less than he deserved. But if she didn¡¯t tell him, he might never figure it out for himself.


    Irina''s dignity lost a decisive battle against her more irrational emotions, and she decided that, yes, the middle of the night was the best time to bring this up. The guards¡¯ whoring was disturbing her sleep, after all. She could still hear them coursing like hounds downstairs, no doubt getting all sorts of fluids on the furniture that they expected her not to notice.


    Spurred on by righteous indignation, Irina went to leave the bedroom, then stopped at the door, hesitant, and went back to brush her hair a bit and switch into a nicer nightgown. Why should she suffer the embarrassment of looking disheveled in front of her husband, after all? And, well¡­ maybe if she reminded him what he was missing, he would try a little harder to win back her trust.


    She really hoped he would.


    Irina padded softly through the hall of the top floor, cursing the floorboards for creaking, then cursing herself for moving about like a furtive mouse inside her own home, while the servants and guards were downstairs living large as cats. It still felt strange, thinking of this empty place as her home.


    Carrying a lit candle, she inched the door open to Phil¡¯s room. It was their room, damn it¡ªshe had as much right to be there as he did. Why did she feel like a common thief stealing in through someone¡¯s backdoor? Pushing the door shut just as softly, she went close to the large bed, raised her flickering light to study the lumpy shape curled on its side beneath the covers.


    Silent, she noted. Not snoring. Meaning¡­


    ¡°I know you¡¯re awake,¡± Irina said.


    Phil was motionless at first, then slowly began to stir, sheepishly sitting with the covers falling to his waist, a full row of AP crystals¡ªand then some¡ªglinting on his forearm in the dark. ¡°Dove?¡± he said. It was difficult to make out his features in the dark, but he sounded unsure of himself.


    ¡°The guest bed is uncomfortable,¡± Irina explained, mustering all her dignity as she clutched her nightgown shut with her free hand. ¡°And I believe our guards are enjoying intimate relations with the hired help, against your express instructions.¡±


    ¡°Shit,¡± Phil muttered, and rubbed at his head. ¡°I¡¯ll speak with them in the morning. And if the bed¡¯s no good, we can¡­¡± He hesitated. ¡°We could swap. I don¡¯t mind. Or¡­¡±


    ¡°Or?¡±


    He returned an indistinct mumbling that trailed off into nothing. Then, clearing his throat, he said: ¡°Dove, if you would just let me explain, I¡ª¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°You¡¯ve explained a hundred times.¡±


    ¡°I know you¡¯re unhappy about the move. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Of course I¡¯m unhappy!¡± Irina went and set down the candleholder on a small sitting table, a little harder than intended, and threw herself into a padded armchair beside it, arms crossed petulantly. Wasn¡¯t she entitled to be a little petulant? ¡°Who would ever want to live in a place like this? It¡¯s dangerous. They keep slaves here. They¡¯re barbarians.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a coastal city. They¡¯re all like that.¡±


    ¡°How does that make it any better?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. Look, I couldn¡¯t refuse, all right?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the first of merchants! You¡¯re a powerful man! Don¡¯t pretend like you don¡¯t have any kind of say in your life.¡±


    ¡°Irina, when the grandmaster of the merchant¡¯s guild and Lady Winter ask you to do a thing, you do it.¡±


    ¡°Then you should have told me about it. We should have discussed it together. You tricked me, Phil.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± He sounded so sad. She repressed the sudden urge to embrace him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I should have told you. It was wrong of me.¡±


    ¡°Then why did you do it?¡±


    ¡°Because¡­ Because I worried that if you knew I had to come here to stay, you¡¯d never come with me.¡±


    Irina uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again, idly kicking one slippered foot in the air. ¡°You never told me that part.¡±


    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I can see why you wouldn¡¯t. I¡¯m your wife, Phil! Do you really think so little of me?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡­ Of course not, but I¡­ I¡­¡±


    ¡°You, you, you what?¡±


    ¡°I was scared. It¡¯s not like I wanted to come here either¡ªI couldn¡¯t handle the idea of losing you, too. So I lied. I acted selfishly, and immaturely, and I¡¯m sorry. There¡¯s nothing more I can say beyond that. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you, and I''ll do it.¡±


    ¡°Phil,¡± Irina said, trying to keep her voice from breaking. ¡°Don¡¯t ever worry about a silly thing like that ever again. I might have the maids put chili powder in your morning tea for a few weeks next time you pull something like this, but I¡¯m not going anywhere. Because I¡ª¡±


    The door to the bedroom came open. Irina turned her head, ready to yell at whatever idiot member of the household staff had decided to disturb them at this ungodly hour. The anger died in her throat when she saw the silhouette of an altogether unfamiliar man standing in the doorway. The sleeves of his coat ran down to his gloved hands, sheet concealed.


    ¡°Sorry for intruding,¡± the man said in a cold, almost emotionless voice. ¡°Mistress Irina, you might want to leave the room for a minute. I have some business with your husband.¡±


    Irina was unable to reply. Frozen from eyebrows to toe tips, she gaped as the stranger entered the room, invading the space meant only for her and her husband. He carried a sword¡ªa long, curved blade that glinted like fire-veined silver in the candlelight. Dark splotches covered his clothing¡ªblood, she realized numbly.


    ¡°Suit yourself,¡± the man muttered, and strode past her. Rounding the bed, the curved sword went high, threatening to fall like the long fang of a serpent.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Phil spoke, more confused than afraid.


    Then the sword plunged into his guts, and he looked even more confused as he stared at the length of bright steel.


    Irina screamed.


    But Phil screamed louder. A moment after the blade entered him, it was like something took him over¡ªsomething unnatural. His body twisted as though he were a sodden towel being wrung out by a pair of giant hands. The muscles of his naked torso spasmed violently, squirming and quivering beneath skin. His cry was abruptly cut off as his mouth slammed shut, jaws clenched tighter, tighter, tighter until she could hear his teeth begin to crack.


    His eyes were terrible to look at, full of panic and agony.


    Irina rose up. She had to help him, to do something, to¡ª


    She had not made it three steps when the stranger, without looking, held out his free hand toward her and said: ¡°Repel.¡± She was promptly sent flying right back into the armchair, the thing tipping onto its back legs from the force of it before thumping back down again.


    ¡°Stay there,¡± the man instructed tersely. ¡°You don¡¯t want to touch him right now. What he¡¯s got is contagious.¡±


    For some mad reason, Irina did as she was told. Maybe she loved Phil less than she thought she did¡ªmaybe she would have done anything at that moment, to keep the terrible torture that was happening to him from being visited upon her, too.


    She watched in mute horror as her husband was unmade. The spasms became so violent that his bones threatened to jump out of their sockets, joints bending the wrong way around, and his muscles began to tear away from their fastenings with terrible, sickening sounds.


    When he finally went still after what felt like an eternity, he was almost unrecognizable; body contorted, wearing such a terrible visage of horror as she had not known a human could make.


    The stranger extracted his blade in a calm, businesslike fashion, wiped its bloody end on the bedsheets, and turned to face Irina. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about that,¡± he said.


    Irina felt like she was floating in a humid fog, hardly able to breathe. ¡°You¡­ murdered him,¡± she worked out, hardly believing it to be true even though she was staring at his corpse, the pungent stench of his perforated bowels thick in the air.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the stranger replied, sounding mildly apologetic.


    ¡°Are you going to kill me, too?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather not. Are you going to make me?¡±


    ¡°You killed my husband.¡±


    ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°I should¡­ I should¡­¡±


    ¡°Avenge him? Kill me?¡± One second, the man stood ten feet away, sword at his side. Then she blinked, and suddenly he loomed over her, the point of his weapon hanging a fraction of an inch from her throat. ¡°Let me save you from that deliberation. I don¡¯t want to kill you, but if you insist on joining your husband, I will oblige you. Do you want to die, Irina?¡±


    Irina stayed very still, unable to look away from the blade threatening to give her life a very abrupt, very painful end. ¡°No,¡± she croaked.


    The stranger nodded, taking a step back and sheathing his long blade with a serpentine metal hiss. ¡°Good.¡± He flashed a strangely friendly smile in the dark. He studied her for a moment, then said: ¡°You¡¯re a Scholar. Do you happen to have the Message skill?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± She had done most of Phil¡¯s correspondences for him.


    ¡°Excellent. Just excellent. You have contacts in Stormfront, I trust?¡±


    ¡°Y-Yes.¡±


    ¡°How high?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Who is the most powerful person you can reach?¡±


    Irina grappled with the question for a moment. ¡°Probably¡­ the grandmaster of the merchant¡¯s guild.¡±


    ¡°That will do fine. In that case, I will write out a letter for you to send the grandmaster, and he, in turn, will pass that letter on to Lady Winter.¡±


    She did everything he asked, waiting for him to scribble a quick note on a scrap of paper retrieved from the office down the hall. Folded into a waterproofed envelope and sealed, she opened a window and sent it out into the late night to zip off northeast, seeking its destination in faraway Stormfront.


    She had no idea what the letter said. She didn¡¯t want to know.


    Irina was sure that the stranger would kill her once she had served her use, but he didn¡¯t. He just¡­ walked out, as inauspiciously as he had entered. It was as though he vanished from existence the moment she lost sight of him, with no footsteps to mark his exit down the hall.


    Irina did not stay in her armchair long. She couldn¡¯t stand to look at the twisted thing Phil had been turned into. Shuffling out of the master bedroom, she began aimlessly wandering the house without any conscious thought in mind. Maybe she was looking for help. Maybe she was just following some primal instinct to get as far away from this terrible place as possible.


    She began finding corpses when she made it to the first floor. Men butchered, cold faces frozen in horrific screams, most still in their underclothes. Body parts scattered like lost toys. The Laborers had died as quick as the rest, she noted with a bout of hysterical laughter. What had been the point of putting up with them all this time?


    She found the servant girls huddled in their room. The door was not locked, but none of them had attempted to leave¡ªevidently, the murderer had instructed them to stay put, and they had not dared risk his wrath.


    Irina knelt down with them, and together they wept.


    She''d been lonely earlier. Now she was truly alone.

 Chapter 42 - The Sweetest Curse One Can Endure

    Serene


    Mongrel¡¯s strangely human-like chimpanzee familiars held the rabble at bay while they waited for Sam to emerge from the ramp that led down into the pit. Despite being dirty and bloody and red-eyed, she was in tremendously high spirits as she met up with them.


    ¡°Congrats, babe,¡± Serene said with a hesitant smile. ¡°That was a really nice performance.¡±


    ¡°Thank youuu,¡± Sam hummed, doing a happy little dance-like shimmy as she approached the others in a way that was not entirely unlike a dog excitedly wagging its tail. ¡°That Power Word thing he did was a bit scary, though. I¡¯m lucky I didn¡¯t kill him by accident.¡±


    ¡°If you did, it would certainly have been his own fault,¡± Nyx intoned dryly, still looking a little sour after the talking-to Sam had given her. Serene tried her best not to think about it. That was a bomb just waiting to go off in her face.


    Any worries she might have had were roughly shaken from her mind as she was enfolded in a big, crushing embrace, Sam¡¯s laughter loud in her ear.


    Serene spent half her day with arms and legs wrapped around men and women of every description. It never made her feel anything. Taking another person unto herself was a purely mechanical action, like picking up a box and putting it back down again. For some reason, this was different.


    For some reason, this stranger she¡¯d known for all of a day made her feel safe in a way she only remembered from hazy memories of a childhood over a lifetime ago. For some reason, those warm, strong arms wrapped around her made her feel like crying.


    She had not meant to return the embrace at all, but suddenly she found that she was the one clinging on as the other woman began prizing her free. She jerked back, folding her hands so tight about each other that she heard several knuckles pop.


    God, what¡¯s wrong with me? she thought to herself, removing herself a few steps from the group as she watched Sam receive praise in various shades between sarcastic and sincere from human, demon, and hooting apes. She reminded herself, as she had several times that night, that she didn¡¯t know this woman, and none of this mattered to her one way or another, and that the only reason she¡¯d come along on this mad escapade was the fact that she didn¡¯t have anything better to do with her evening.


    She was even less convinced by her own arguments than she had been the other times. Serene prided herself on her ability to read people, and there was a brightness surrounding the big dopey Laborer so strong it almost hurt to look at. She found herself inescapably drawn to that intoxicating energy, a moth bouncing against the glass of a lamp, desperately wanting to bask in the light within even if it burned her to ash.


    For some reason, just standing near Sam seemed to shift her whole perception, made her feel like maybe life was more than just an endless cycle of fucking and sleeping and drunken self-loathing.


    Serene wondered how a woman like this could possibly have ended up in a place like the Frontier. What was the catch? Where was the fatal flaw? Well, she was mad, sure, and utterly reckless, but even that had a strange sort of charming innocence to it.


    ¡°Probably should have run that name by us, kid,¡± Mongrel said to Sam once the congratulating had been dispensed with.


    ¡°Why?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Why? Because it¡¯s a damn disaster!¡±


    ¡°I like it.¡±


    ¡°Peaceful Fist.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you¡¯re going to call yourself? Seriously?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with it?¡±


    ¡°Well, for a start, it¡¯s terribly corny.¡±


    ¡°I like corny.¡±


    ¡°All right, but that only leads to the next philosophical consideration¡ªnamely, how the fuck can a fist be peaceful? Isn¡¯t that an oxymoron?¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°It¡¯s ironic! Man, you wouldn¡¯t get it.¡± Sam looked to Serene with a pleading gesture for support.


    ¡°It¡¯s not good,¡± Serene said with an apologetic shrug. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s a bit funny, but more in a ¡®laughing at you¡¯ than ¡®laughing with you¡¯ sort of way.¡±


    Sam huffed indignantly. ¡°Everyone¡¯s a critic.¡±


    Mongrel chuckled and gave the back of her head a playful smack. ¡°Not to worry, kid¡ªjust keep winning, and everyone will be happy.¡±


    I should get out of here, Serene thought, uneasy. There¡¯s no way this ends well for me. Attachments never ended well¡ªit just meant leaving yourself open for someone else to hurt you. That was why Serene kept all her acquaintances shallow, ties easily severed. This violent, greedy tug she felt was beginning to terrify her. I need to get out of here.


    Minutes later, she found herself tending to Sam¡¯s wounds in the tent, not quite sure how she had talked herself into it.


    The deep bite on the Laborer¡¯s shoulder had come open, cracks in the glue seal filled with dark blood. Her eyes were raw and bloodshot, and she had mild burns on the upper portion of her face where Jax had Illuminated her. Serene wasn¡¯t too familiar with that skill, but it shouldn¡¯t have been that strong, should it? It hadn¡¯t been Amplified either, meaning there was certainly something fishy going on. Then again, it hardly mattered now. She suspected that the Trader wouldn¡¯t be eating solid food for a few months at least.


    Serene cleared away the old glue and replaced it with a new patch-job. Unfortunately, there was not really anything in the medicine bag that could be used on the eyes, so she would simply have to deal with the slightly blurred vision.


    ¡°I think Ratcatcher¡¯s fight is up soon,¡± Sam said, rubbing one eye violently with the heel of her hand.


    ¡°I guess so.¡±


    ¡°Want to watch it with me?¡±


    Serene hesitated. Her guts twisted with guilt. ¡°Yes. Yes, I do.¡±


    ¡°Are you all right?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Serene said¡ªtoo quickly, she realized. ¡°Why would you ask me that?¡±


    ¡°You just look sad. Sadder than usual.¡±


    ¡°How would you know? I met you yesterday.¡±


    Sam just shrugged, like that was no great thing. ¡°You don¡¯t want to talk about it, then?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Then let¡¯s go.¡± Smiling brightly, Sam hopped to her feet and dragged Serene outside.


    They visited Ratcatcher¡¯s tent, but found that he had already left for the pit. They went to his corner, and managed to talk their way past the attendants standing outside the tunnel to get a word with the fighter before the match.


    ¡°Do you mind if I go in alone?¡± Serene asked. ¡°There¡¯s something I need to speak with him about.¡±


    ¡°Sure, I guess,¡± Sam said with a confused shrug. ¡°Wish him good luck from me, will you?¡±


    ¡°I can do that.¡±


    Serene hurried into the tunnel, unease growing stronger with every echoing step in the unlit darkness, until she saw the delicate-looking Artisan silhouetted against the thin bars of light that squeezed through the gaps in the closed doors leading out into the ring. A single lantern burned on the wall opposite the man, but the guttering light only barely touched his features, lining his face with a thin amber contour.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need anything,¡± came the man¡¯s voice, brittle with fear. ¡°Actually, wait. Do you think there¡¯s still time to visit the privy before I go out there?¡± Then, as she drew nearer, he let out a small yelp. ¡°You? Ahem, sorry¡ªyou weren¡¯t who I was expecting.¡±


    ¡°You should drop out,¡± Serene said quickly, convincing herself she was doing the right thing. Why did doing the right thing always feel so bad?


    ¡°What?¡± asked the man, cut from deep shadow. ¡°You¡¯re the one who said I should keep going.¡±


    ¡°I know. I was wrong before. You should quit the tournament.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t think I¡¯ve got a chance?¡±


    ¡°No. Well, I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s just not worth the risk. You¡¯re still weak from that last fight, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Not too bad. The stuff you gave me worked like a charm.¡±


    ¡°Please¡ª¡±


    There were more footsteps approaching, and soon two attendants entered the little circle of lantern light. Ushering Serene and Ratcatcher aside, they set about opening the heavy doors, spilling bright white limelight and an overwhelming crush of shouting voices into the mouth of the tunnel.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Ratcatcher said as he backed away toward the doors. Now starkly backlit, she could make out his wide smile¡ªa brave effort, but she saw the strain in it. ¡°Whatever the outcome, this is what I want. I appreciate you talking me into it.¡±


    Serene took a step after the man, half reaching for him, but stopped herself short, let her arm drop. ¡°You won¡¯t reconsider?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Then you better win.¡±


    Ratcatcher made to walk out onto the sand, but flung a look back over his shoulder. Strangely, he looked more confident now¡ªas though, now that the option of running away was gone, so was his fear.  ¡°Well, I¡¯m not going out there to lose.¡±


    ¡°Sam Darling says good luck.¡±


    ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°Good luck.¡±


    Ratcatcher flashed a thin-lipped grin. ¡°Thanks.¡± Again, he made to leave. Again, he hesitated. ¡°If I win,¡± he said, looking away as he struggled with the words, ¡°will you¡­ would you want to do something, sometime?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯d like that.¡± In truth, Serene did not feel like doing much at present except spew up everything she had ever eaten. Instead, she caught him by the wrist, made him spin around, and planted a soft kiss on his lips. Like always, it was a purely mechanical act, no emotion or fondness behind it, but she reckoned he deserved something for his efforts, and it was the only thing she could give him.


    His eyes went very wide. He started stammering something out, but she silenced him with a finger to his mouth. He smiled then, gave a small nod. She pushed him away by his chest, and he tottered off, eventually turning and stepping out into the pit. The doors closed behind him with a final-sounding thud, and Serene hugged herself as the attendants began ushering her back out of the tunnel. She very much hoped that she was not about to have a man¡¯s death on her conscience.

 Chapter 43 - Red is the Color of Trust

    Will


    The work was finished.


    Will¡¯s fingers still jerked with painful spasms, a lingering reminder of Anathema¡¯s unclean power. But it was over. The sword was safely sheathed, back in its case, and all that remained for Will was to report in and receive payment.


    Then he could go back to Sam¡ªshe¡¯d surely be asleep by this time, so he¡¯d just slip into bed beside her and try to forget this night had ever happened.


    No one was allowed in or out of the military compound at night except the occasional guard patrol, but the watchers at the gates knew better than to question Will¡¯s presence, and let him through without argument.


    Brimstone would have retired to his chambers by now, unreachable if not asleep¡ªafter all, the popular rumor went that the lord never slept at all. Complete drivel, of course. It was no issue, however, as he could just deliver his report to Handsome instead. Will would sooner have believed that the lord¡¯s advisor was the one who never slept¡ªthe man kept odd hours, and always seemed to be overseeing something or another.


    Will bullied his way into the keep itself, expecting to find Handsome in his study, where he managed the massive heap of accounting and correspondence and logistics and intelligence gathering required for a large city like Sheerhome to function. Most likely, Handsome had just as much power as the lord did in the city¡¯s day-to-day operations¡ªmore, even.


    Will jolted to a sudden stop, snapped out of his idle musings, as he wandered into the main hall, finding it brightly lit and suffused with the pleasant smell of cooked ham.


    Brimstone sat in his high chair at the far end of the hall. Handsome stood at his side, one hand gripping the backrest of his master¡¯s seat, eyes fixed straight ahead. In front of them lay two people, chained to the floor and slumped in shivering, groaning heaps. They had been stripped nude, and large portions of their bodies were covered in nasty, black and red burns, wisps of smoke rising from them.


    Not ham, Will realized, feeling his gorge rise. Human flesh.


    He needed to be sick. It was only by some miracle that he held it in. It was too late to leave now, so he forced himself to slowly cross the empty hall under his liege¡¯s silent, bloodshot gaze. The smell grew stronger. Another wave of bile soured his throat. He swallowed it down. Eventually, he found himself only feet from the two prisoners in order to present himself before the high chair.


    Only now did he recognize them.


    ¡°My wife and my healer,¡± Brimstone intoned in a slow, cool drawl, ¡°have conspired to kill me.¡±


    Will felt Dawn¡¯s pleading gaze bore into the side of his head, and ignored it. Her golden hair had been burnt to a sooty fuzz, and her face was now as ruined as that of her husband¡ªfine features and smooth skin reduced to a mask of livid, burn-slick flesh.


    Will took several calming breaths to make sure his voice would come out smoothly, then said: ¡°I see, my lord,¡± with feigned neutrality. He unslung his rifle case and set it down next to him, unable to keep his fingers from trembling.


    ¡°You know, of course, that I only eat food I¡¯ve prepared with my own hands,¡± Brimstone went on.


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Well, Dawn convinced me to allow her to cook for me. I trusted her.¡±


    Will could not produce more than a shallow nod.


    ¡°The meal was poisoned. I suffered from terrible afflictions of the stomach and head, and so I trusted my healer to cure me. He told me I must be imagining the symptoms.¡±


    The healer in question¡ªWalther, a Level 12 Physician¡ªgasped and spluttered on the floor. ¡°My lord¡­¡± he croaked. ¡°I never¡­ I didn¡¯t mean¡­¡±


    Then, with a low whoosh, he was suddenly on fire, and his agonized screams filled the hall.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Brimstone continued conversationally over the crackle of skin and the sizzle of fat, as though he did not notice the burning man at all, ¡°he said this because he was the one responsible for providing the poison in the first place. He hoped I would die a swift, painful death, so that he and my wife could assume power for themselves. Unfortunately for them, they did not know that I have two ranks in Poison Resistance.¡±This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Will¡¯s eye twitched every time the healer¡¯s howls peaked, every time his thrashing grew especially fierce. ¡°Dreadful, my lord.¡± He was referring mostly to the victims of this tragedy. ¡°What is to be done with them?¡±


    ¡°What does it look like?¡± The tone did not change, but Brimstone¡¯s eyes narrowed a fraction. ¡°The flames can have them¡ªI¡¯m done with these traitors.¡±


    Will felt his heart batter against the inside of his ribcage. He knew it was coming. It had to be.


    ¡°The only other person in my vicinity with such a knowledge of unwholesome compounds and their usage would be you, Master One-Eye.¡±


    And there it was.


    ¡°Of course, you are beyond suspicion, my friend. You have carried out every task I¡¯ve set you to, even the unreasonable ones, and have never shown any tendency toward deceit. You, I believe, are a man I can trust.¡±


    Will stared into the other man¡¯s face for several moments, trying to figure out if he was being toyed with, but Brimstone¡¯s scar-stiff features revealed nothing. He did not feel any relief when that lipless mouth peeled back in a ragged, toothy smile. Regardless, he made a shallow bow and said: ¡°Thank you, my lord, but I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m no better than any other cutthroat on the Frontier. To trust is to die. The blade that serves its master so admirably can just as easily be turned against him by his enemy, if he does not keep a firm hold on it.¡±


    ¡°Too true, friend. Too true. And how are you finding the strength of my grip?¡±


    ¡°None firmer, my lord.¡±


    Brimstone shared a brief look with Handsome. The wrinkly-faced advisor nodded, and Brimstone fixed his attention on Will once again, looking satisfied. ¡°Another sovereign might hear words of that nature and think treason. I, however, find them refreshingly honest. I trust you to continue speaking your mind in the future.¡±


    Will nodded. ¡°I will.¡±


    ¡°And I ask that if any interested party approaches my Misfortune to turn him against me, you will bring it to my attention. Whatever offer you receive for my head, I will double in return for the head of the asker.¡±


    ¡°As you wish.¡± Only now did Will allow himself to relax a hair, reasonably certain that his neck was off the executioner¡¯s block, at least for the moment.


    He spared a glance at the lady-consort and the ill-fated healer; the latter having successfully put himself out, now twitching in a tight ball with wisps of smoke and a smell of burning rising from him. ¡°Could I make a suggestion, my lord?¡±


    Brimstone waved a stiff hand in his general direction. ¡°By all means.¡± His attention had drifted elsewhere, now studying the painted rafters high above.


    ¡°I think these two will soon die of their injuries. There is still much that might be learned from them, such as whether they had allies. Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s possible they might have been working together with Lady Winter¡¯s spies?¡±


    ¡°It hardly matters anymore. I¡¯ve decided to root the witch out regardless.¡±


    ¡°I would argue the opposite. If you¡¯re going to war against Stormfront, you will need every scrap of intelligence you can get. Interrogating these two might provide some clues of their future plans.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. But I can¡¯t stand to look into the face of my treacherous wife any longer¡ªI would rather be rid of her quickly.¡±


    ¡°I have some knowledge of these things. I could carry out the interrogations in your stead, my lord. You could put it out of your mind, and I will bring you any information I learn.¡±


    Brimstone considered a moment, then slowly nodded. ¡°All right. I¡¯ll have them brought to the dungeon, and you can ply your trade there. Just make sure you don¡¯t go too easy on them.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t. For now, though, I would like to give them medical attention so they don¡¯t die on the spot, if that would be agreeable.¡±


    The lord shrugged. ¡°I won¡¯t meddle. As you said, I have already put it from my mind.¡± Tearing his eyes from the ceiling, he gave Will a long once-over. ¡°I realize I¡¯ve been acting rudely¡ªI haven¡¯t even asked you about your night. Judging by your attire, I¡¯d say it was a productive one.¡±


    Will looked down at his coat, found it spattered with blood. He hadn¡¯t noticed. ¡°Yes. Philly Upnorth is dead, as is every member of his household guard. Your people can pick up the bodies in the morning without fear.¡±


    ¡°And you did as I asked?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lord. He died painfully. I spared his wife, and had her send a Message to Lady Winter to inform her that Sheerhome won¡¯t be trifled with.¡±


    ¡°Good. Very good. I like your initiative, Master One-Eye.¡±


    ¡°You honor me.¡±


    ¡°Handsome, see that our man here receives payment before he leaves. Add another twenty percent onto his usual rate to reward him for his unwavering loyalty, yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes, lord,¡± Handsome murmured.


    ¡°Very good. Now, the poison has left me feeling rather tired, so I think I will retire now.¡± Brimstone stood, a slight twitch in his cheek the only sign of any discomfort. ¡°You¡¯ll forgive me, Master One-Eye, if I don¡¯t ask you for an antidote. One can never be too safe, even among friends.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Will said.


    ¡°To trust is to die, after all, as you so tactfully put it.¡±


    Brimstone retreated from the main hall. Handsome looked as though he wanted to linger, but the lord told him to be about procuring Will¡¯s payment, and the Trader slunk off.


    After a Detect [Life] pulse confirmed that there was no one in the hall other than the two condemned, Will knelt beside the badly burned lady-consort.


    ¡°Please¡­¡± she forced out, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Help me¡­¡±


    ¡°I intend to,¡± Will said. ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡±


    ¡°Oh, bless you¡­¡±


    ¡°I have a condition, though.¡±


    ¡°What¡­ kind of condition?¡±


    Will leaned in close, and hissed forcefully in her ear: ¡°You will tell me everything you know about your husband.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    He dipped back on his heels. ¡°So that I can kill him.¡±


    Her eyes widened at that.

 Chapter 44 - Even a Rat Has Claws

    Serene


    Serene stood at the edge of the Hell-5 pit, gripping the wooden railing like the neck of a wrung chicken. Sam was on her left, cheering¡ªextremely loudly¡ªfor her new friend as Ratcatcher warmed up on the sands.


    Serene could not match her enthusiasm. This match was over before it started. Ratcatcher had said it best himself¡ªeven at his best, he¡¯d have no chance against Henke. And here he was, banged up and skill fatigued, while his opponent was in peak form, having not sustained one injury or been forced to use a single AP thus far.


    Many of the bookies were accepting bets not on who was going to win, but how many seconds Ratcatcher would survive against the undisputed low-level champion.


    If Sam took note of that particularly morbid display of Frontier opportunism, she made no show of it.


    I don¡¯t even know why I care. It wasn¡¯t as though Serene had never condemned a man to death before. More than once, she had passed along sensitive information obtained from one john or another that had led to someone getting a Sheerhome smile. She hadn¡¯t actually seen it happen, so maybe it was further removed, but it wasn¡¯t as though she needed to be here either, watching what by all accounts seemed like a decent guy be executed by public spectacle. She could have found a nice smoke lounge to while away an hour or two instead.


    But she hadn¡¯t done that.


    Something had drawn her to this spot. Something dark and inescapable. And though she wanted nothing more than to leave and drink herself stupid, her morbid fascination refused to let her look away from the fighters for a moment; to blink, even.


    Ratcatcher finished his stretches while Henke was still parading around, doing a lap along the edge of the ring and smacking the palms of the fans who extended them down past the railing for a chance to touch the champion.


    The skinny Artisan looked up, spotted Serene and Sam, and waved with an uncertain smile. The Laborer¡¯s encouraging yells rose to a fever pitch, and she threw both her fists up in the air.


    Serene forced a practiced smile of her own, and wagged her hand in a floppy wave. She tried not to imagine what he would look like with half his head missing. It was difficult.


    ¡°WELL, WELL, WELL!¡± Golden Boy cried, pirouetting in the air above the fighting area like a gold-plated disco ball as he launched into his usual spiel. ¡°THIS IS ONE FOR THE HISTORY BOOKS, FOLKS! I¡¯M SURE MANY OF YOU ARE AS SHOCKED AS I AM THAT OUR GOOD FRIEND RATCATCHER MADE IT TO THE SECOND ROUND OF THE TOURNAMENT! AND WE LOVE IT, DON¡¯T WE FOLKS?¡± Some scattered cheering at that. ¡°AND NOW, THE UNDERDOG GOES UP AGAINST THE STIFFEST CHALLENGE OUR LOW-LEVEL DIVISION HAS TO OFFER! A MAN WHOSE NAME IS ON EVERYONE¡¯S LIPS. I¡¯M SURE HE NEEDS NO INTRODUCTION HERE. HIS EXPLOITS ARE LEGENDARY, HIS POWER IS INDISPUTABLE¡ªAND NOW, WE WILL SEE WHO COMES OUT VICTORIOUS; THE MOUSE, OR THE TIGER!!!¡±


    Floating down so his toes nearly touched the ground, Golden Boy spun to face each of the fighters in turn. ¡°ANY OPENING REMARKS FROM EITHER OF YOU GENTLEMEN?¡±


    Ratcatcher gave a queasy shake of his head, but Henke held out a hand to take the scepter from the organizer, grinning broadly. His eyes were fixed intently on his opponent. ¡°I want to make a deal, friend. Let¡¯s make this a good, clean, exciting match for the people. No pulled punches, no mercy. To the death.¡± The gem on his silver ring sparkled just as brightly as the ones on the scepter. There was a hungry glow to it.


    They didn¡¯t call it the Devil¡¯s Eye for nothing.


    Golden Boy went and stuck his gaudy stick under Ratcatcher¡¯s nose for a comment.


    The Artisan considered for several moments. Then he gave a curt nod and said: ¡°To the death.¡±


    Unsurprisingly, the crowd loved to hear that.


    * * *


    Henke


    It was funny how delusional some idiots could be. And among delusional idiots, the man in front of him was king, emperor, and patron saint.


    Ratcatcher. What a name.


    It was all so very funny.


    Golden Boy dislodged the head from his scepter with a sharp flick, letting it zip around the ring in tight circles, and he conjured the hardlight cube above them as he floated into the air.


    Henke settled into a ready stance, idly spinning the Devil¡¯s Eye on his lead hand with his thumb. He¡¯d intended to finish all the fights until the finals as quickly as possible to conserve energy, but he¡¯d drag this one out a bit. The people would enjoy it, after all. And who was he to say no to them?


    The horn blew its one triumphant note, heralding Henke¡¯s imminent victory.


    He began advancing the same moment he heard it, crossing the ring at a quick pace without rushing. The delusional idiot in Ratcatcher¡¯s last bout had somehow gotten cocky enough to be taken in by that obvious trap. Henke would not make the same mistake. He was smarter.


    The frail-looking Artisan did not move from his spot near the far end of the ring. Only when Henke was within twenty feet did he begin sedately backing up. There was something infuriatingly smug about that twitchy smile on his face. He¡¯d wipe that away soon enough.


    Henke cocked back his right fist to strike.


    ¡°Look out!¡± Ratcatcher cried out. ¡°I¡¯ve left a trap for you!¡±


    Henke hesitated only a fraction of a second, not long enough for the obvious bluff to bring him out of position. Did that idiot really expect that to work on him? Ratcatcher hadn¡¯t used any skills at all since the start of the match. He let the swing follow through, a hook aimed at the Artisan¡¯s midsection. He didn¡¯t even need to put any power behind it, since the Devil¡¯s Eye provided that in spades.


    His fist connected with the soft flesh of the man¡¯s side, and the ring fired up, casting an Amplified Spark that was Compressed on one side so the energy could only escape one way¡ªstraight into his opponent¡ªlike a gunshot.


    Except¡­Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Why hadn¡¯t his flesh evaporated? Ratcatcher lurched sideways with a stupid groan, but his body was still fully intact.


    Henke looked down at his right hand, brow furrowed, and saw something very peculiar. Fire poured from the centerpiece gem, but not all at once in a confined explosion, the way it was supposed to. Little twists of flame slid off the ring¡¯s surface like rain drops whipped sideways in a harsh storm, disappearing somewhere behind him. He made to look back¡­


    But before he got the chance to, something went boom, and suddenly his back was very hot¡ªburning hot¡ªand a shove sent him staggering forward. Staggering straight into the Artisan¡¯s waiting fist, and he went sprawling on his back, nose thumping and bubbling with blood.


    What¡­ just happened?


    ¡°Watch out! I¡¯m gonna get your arm now!¡±


    Henke did not move in time. Before he could get away, the Artisan had taken a foot and pressed Henke¡¯s upflung arm firmly down against his chest. The damage was minimal, though, and Henke easily rolled away from the next one, somersaulting to his feet. He slipped into a ready stance, and¡­


    He found that he could not quite assume the guard he had intended, on account of the fact that his lead hand was glued to his chest.


    He used Bind on me! But when¡­? He never said the words or made any hand signs...


    The pieces slipped into place. He mindcast it. I had no idea he had that kind of skill. He never showed any indication of it in the last round.


    Oh.


    That was his setup play. He was holding back the entire time against the Laborer so I wouldn¡¯t see it coming.


    Ratcatcher stayed on top of him, pressing his advantage now that Henke¡¯s lead hand was disabled. ¡°Here comes a right!¡± he called, and sure enough, a right hook followed a moment later. Henke pulled his head back a few inches, and the Artisan¡¯s fist passed harmlessly in front of his nose. With his twelve points in Dexterity, he would have dodged it easily even without the warning. Why did his opponent keep doing that? He couldn¡¯t possibly expect it to fake Henke out.


    Henke took a moment to collect himself, gather his thoughts, only halfway focused on evading Ratcatcher¡¯s clumsy assault as the Artisan continued to call out his moves. The reversal had been surprising, but his position was hardly any worse than before. The hit to his nose seemed to only have inflicted superficial damage, and the Bind trapping his hand would come undone if he kept playing for time. Even without that, he still had an ace up his sleeve.


    But that little piece of shit had drawn blood, had wasted a charge of his ring. He had put Henke on his back, made him look weak; like a fool.


    That was an unforgivable offense.


    It was only now that Henke noticed the two exhausted AP crystals on his opponent¡¯s arm. He at least knows how to mindcast Bind, which probably means he can do the same with Tidy Up. Those two seem to be his signature moves. Tidy Up is probably the one he used to sabotage my ring earlier.


    Since Tidy Up can be used on sand, why not fire, too? He mindcast Tidy Up [Fire] from his foot into the ground, probably Amped, then backed away so I¡¯d step on the active skill effect. When I tried to throw a punch, the fire generated by my ring was instantly sucked into the ground, then released to inflict the damage on myself.


    That has to be it.


    He¡¯s a clever little rat, I have to admit¡­


    Then, why insist on this play-by-play nonsense? Could there really be some strategy behind it? Or is he just cracked in the head?


    Henke¡¯s arm popped free as the Bind skill effect ended, allowing him to assume his normal stance. He smiled. It doesn¡¯t matter. He¡¯ll be dead in a few seconds anyway.


    Pivoting, Henke slipped an awkward punch from the Artisan and¡­


    ¡°Amp (Three): Illuminate.¡±


    Henke caught a brief glimpse of the rat with his face buried in the crook of his arm, the other outstretched. Then there was a flash, and all he could see was smears of white and yellow and red, and his eyes burned something fierce.


    ¡°Uppercut!¡±


    All the air drained from Henke with a breathless gasp as the fist buried itself in his midsection. He staggered back, doubling over.


    ¡°Left hook!¡±


    His skull was rung like a bell, and he pitched onto his hands and knees, furiously blinking through stinging tears to force the light out of his eyes.


    ¡°Low kick!¡±


    Hearing the direction of the voice, Henke was able to roll out of the way, working his jaw at the ache in his face as he climbed heavily to his feet. He had to admit that he would have been caught by that one if not for his opponent¡¯s kind self-sabotage. That, more than anything, spurred his fury.


    Was this rat looking down on him?


    Did he honestly think he had a chance to win?


    After a few more seconds on the defensive, Henke had regained enough of his vision to see the blurry outline of the ring and his opponent. It would have to do¡ªthis farce had gone on long enough. Backed into the corner of the ring, he slipped one, two, three punches and kicked off the wall, lead hand cocked back.


    The rat was out of AP. What could he possibly do about it?


    As Henke watched his fist creep toward his opponent¡¯s exposed side¡ªimpossibly slow, as though forcing its way through molasses, in a moment that stretched on forever¡ªhe knew that the match was over.


    ¡°Watch out!¡± he realized his opponent was saying. ¡°Here comes a valor surge!¡±


    What the fuck is a valor surge? Henke thought.


    Then everything got very bright.


    * * *


    Serene


    The more Ratcatcher resisted his defeat, the worse Serene felt. She had hoped that the match might end quickly, so that she could get all her self-loathing over with all at once and move on.


    But this was getting torturous.


    Ratcatcher was actually doing well. Better than he should have, by all rights. She counted four hits he¡¯d landed on the champion¡ªnot inconsequential ones, either, since it didn¡¯t seem like Henke had any points in Toughness. It looked like that Amped-up Illuminate had done some good damage, too.


    Over and over, Ratcatcher had proven his resourcefulness. There were fighters way out of his league who had never landed a single blow on the Hero. But Ratcatcher was slowing, compounding skill fatigue wearing on him along with his injuries from previous bouts. And with that use of Illuminate, he was now out of AP.


    Surely, he was out of tricks by now.


    ¡°Hey, Serene,¡± Sam said, taking a break from her dogged cheerleading. She had already screamed herself hoarse. ¡°What¡¯s all that weird static coming off him? What¡¯s he doing?¡±


    Static? What on earth is she¡­?


    But Sam was right. White sparks popped about the unassuming Artisan like miniature fireworks as he chased his opponent across the ring. Arcs of white lightning trailed lazily up his arms, webbed between his fingers.


    What was that? There wasn¡¯t a skill like that, was there? It didn¡¯t look like Illuminate at all.


    Backed all the way against the log wall, Henke kicked off of it with one foot, instantly reversing his momentum and coming in for a leaping punch, ring glinting on his finger.


    Clearly, he was looking to put an end to this match in one sweep.


    But at the same time, Ratcatcher cried: ¡°Watch out! Here comes a valor surge!¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a¡ª¡± Sam began.


    Then, lightning lit the night.


    With a peal as of great bells ringing, Ratcatcher became the conduit for a jagged bar of pure, gold-tinged power that shot out of his outthrust arm. It cut across Serene¡¯s vision, leaving dizzying afterimages. With a thunderous crash, Henke was struck by the buzzing white beam; overwhelmed by it, overpowered by it, carried away by it. He was tossed aside like a glove in a hurricane.


    And then, in the blink of an eye, the lightning faded. Scattered arcs of static lifted a scattering of loose sand into the air, left it hovering like morning mist. Henke had been tossed roughly up against the wall of the pit, and sank down onto his ass with a look of dumbstruck confusion that summed up Serene¡¯s own feelings quite well. His clothes were badly torn, and his exposed skin was bright red all over, as though scalded with boiling water.


    Ratcatcher, meanwhile, stood tall. The viewing cube showed a close-up of his face, a big grin across it. On his sheet, five AP crystals gleamed afresh.


    It was impossible.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°I have no idea,¡± Serene replied numbly.


    The crowd murmured in equal shock. No one seemed to know what was happening.


    Except for one thing.


    Ratcatcher was winning.


    Had she misjudged him that badly? How could a man with this kind of power possibly have spent his whole life losing?


    Someone was making a fool of themselves by screaming at the top of their lungs, cutting through the stunned silence. It took Serene a moment before she realized it was coming out of her own mouth.


    ¡°COME ONNN!¡± she cried, knuckles white on the railing. ¡°WINNN, RATCATCHER!¡±


    Faith was a deadly thing on the Frontier. It only led to bad decisions¡ªand bad decisions led, invariably, to a premature and unpleasant death.


    But just for today, just this one time, Serene wanted to believe in something.


    ¡°PLEASE WIN!¡±


    Tears stung her eyes.

 Chapter 45 - Wanna See a Magic Trick?

    Henke


    Everything was scrambled. Hurting all over. Noise battered against him, distorted and jarring.


    It hurt so bad. He¡¯d never felt pain like this. Not even when he¡¯d died in a vehicular accident, squeezed nearly in half at the waist by a twisted mass of metal and plastic.


    What had happened to him? What was going on? The world around him played as a choppy slideshow of still frames. People were moving above. Gesturing. Chanting. Yelling. They didn¡¯t sound very happy.


    It was the rat¡¯s fault. Because of him, the fans weren¡¯t having a good time.


    He reconnected little snatches of memory as he sat slumped against something hard and secure behind him. The rat had done something. Something impossible. He was standing there now, looking so smug.


    He had cheated. That had to be it. Maybe a bystander had helped him somehow.


    As he worked his jaw, popping his eardrums right again, he could hear that many in the audience were arguing the same conclusion he had just arrived at with the organizer, yelling up at the ridiculous little man.


    ¡°VALOR SURGES ARE A PERMITTED TECHNIQUE,¡± Golden Boy announced after some deliberation. ¡°THE MATCH WILL PROCEED AS NORMAL.¡±


    What?


    There was a lot of vocal disagreement in response to the decision, but there was really nothing anyone could do to overwrite Golden Boy¡¯s final authority.


    The match would proceed.


    Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK!


    Henke didn¡¯t even think he could stand. His legs were two clumsy, doughy masses of pain, floppy as though there were no bones left in them.


    Meanwhile, the valor surge, whatever it was, had restored all his opponent¡¯s AP. The rat started to shuffle toward Henke, the entire right sleeve of his shirt ripped away by the power he had unleashed.


    He had to move. Supporting himself against the wall behind him, Henke tried to stand. His feet slipped in the sand, and he slid back down. His shirt was dragged up in the fall, and the raw skin of his back rubbing on the rough-barked logs made him yell out.


    The rat had made him bleed. Made him hurt.


    Unacceptable.


    Unforgivable.


    I can¡¯t lose here. Not to trash like him. This is not how my story ends.


    His opponent rolled his ankle, staggered, and fell on his knees. His eyelids fluttered, and he looked almost as though he would flop on his face right then. Henke felt a surge of hope. The strange ability might have restored Ratcatcher¡¯s AP, but at least it hadn¡¯t taken away his skill fatigue.


    And the rat had used a lot of skills up to this point. It was clearly catching up to him.


    Henke tried again to stand; failed, slid back down. Damn it all. The rat was making him look like a fool in front of the fans. Even after he''d won, what would they think of him?


    The match had devolved into a farcical battle of invalids, ten feet apart but neither one having the strength to close the distance.


    Ratcatcher rallied first. After one unsuccessful attempt, he got to his feet on the second try¡ªand stayed there, despite swaying drunkenly. That triggered a fresh wave of fury from the fans, who began to throw things into the arena.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The rat lumbered on, ignoring it all. One step. Two. Three.


    Henke tried once more to stand, and failed just as badly as before. A cold wash of fear set into his bones then, made his lips tremble.


    Am I going to lose?


    The rat was only two strides away when an empty glass bottle came spinning and struck the side of his head, bounced off him with a hollow thunk. The enemy staggered off-balance, catching himself with a hand against the ground to avoid falling.


    Henke saw his chance. With a surge of adrenaline, he bared his teeth in a fighting snarl and reached for the fallen bottle, which had landed between them. He hurled it, and Ratcatcher batted it aside, already up again, but it gave Henke enough time to get one wobbly foot beneath him, then another.


    He lunged, leading with his right. Ratcatcher, despite his accumulated fatigue, was faster, and moved his hands to deflect the strike so that Henke could not bring his Devil¡¯s Eye to bear.


    But the attack was a feint. Henke¡¯s last gambit. At the last moment, he exerted his Soul Summoning passive to demanifest the ring from his right hand, then make it appear on the forefinger of his left. Reversing his stance, he swung at his opponent, who was now focused on the wrong hand.


    It connected.


    He felt that glorious, orgasmic ripple go up his arm as a dull boom sounded, and a good third of Ratcatcher¡¯s stomach was blown clear, leaving a messy, gaping hole for perforated intestines to sag out of, glistening and bloody.


    His opponent¡¯s face, with that annoyingly determined set to it, went slack with shock. He looked down at himself, fumbled at the guts spilling from him as though to stuff them back inside, then fell away. He landed limp on his back, arms thrown wide.


    ¡°Not so fucking smug now, are you?¡± Henke snarled through clenched teeth, stray spittle flecking his bottom lip. ¡°You¡¯re not the only one with tricks.¡±


    * * *


    Sam


    The cheer died in Sam¡¯s throat, watching her friend lie sprawled out with his life leaking out of him. Henke the Hero stood over him, chest heaving, clothes gone to burned tatters, face twitching with rage.


    Next to her, Serene had gone very still. She made a strange sort of croaking noise, like a frog being stepped on, and her hands fell slack off the railing she had been holding to hang limp at her sides.


    Magnified on the screen, Sam saw Catcher¡¯s hand close into a fist, then he extended his pointer finger. Toward her and Serene, she realized.


    ¡°I¡­ softened him up a bit¡­¡± he chuckled tiredly, his voice barely loud enough to be picked up by the amplifier. ¡°The rest is up to you.¡± There was a serenity over his features, pain washed away by traumatic shock. The thin little Artisan looked up at his opponent and let out a long, slow sigh. ¡°To¡­ To the death. That¡¯s what we said, r¡ª¡±


    Henke let his fist drop, half-slipping with the lunge, and Catcher¡¯s skull splattered like an overripe melon from the detonation that followed.


    Henke didn¡¯t stop.


    On his knees, holding onto a piece of Catcher¡¯s clothing to keep himself from tipping over, he hit him again, making a hollow crater of his chest cavity with broken ribs jutting. Hit him again, blowing off an arm that went sailing end over end before landing some six feet off, finger pointing at nothing now.


    Again, again, again.


    Boom, boom, boom, went the ring.


    Meat squelched, beaten to a messy pulp. Inside a minute, the body was so mangled that it was only recognizable as human because of the relatively unscathed legs, the body to which they were attached reduced to a sickening, formless heap, like the dregs one might scrape off a butcher¡¯s cutting board.


    The horn had already blown some time ago. The match was over, and the people cheered for their hero. Especially, she imagined, those who had stood to lose money if Henke happened to lose, which was most of them.


    Oh, how they cheered.


    They¡¯d gotten the slaughter they wanted to see, after all.


    A pair of men from Henke¡¯s team hurried out of the doors in his corner. When he refused to come away from Catcher¡¯s mutilated corpse, they dragged him off by force. His entire front, knees to hairline, was soaked with blood and punctuated by star-bright shards of bone clinging to the sticky wet. His face was completely dyed red except for the whites of his eyes, making him look more a demon by half than either of the ones Sam had seen.


    He couldn¡¯t stand, so the men carried him out between them on a stretcher. Even once he was gone, the crowd continued their revelry, and there was quite a bit of impromptu dancing and drinking and cavorting about the place.


    ¡°That was unfortunate,¡± Serene said in a calm, neutral tone. ¡°I should go and collect intel for your next fight.¡±


    By the time Sam broke out of her stupor to reach out, Serene had already turned from the pit and hurried off, instantly swallowed by the press of sweaty bodies.


    A hand on the railing to steady herself, Sam looked back out over the fighting ground, at the gory mess that could hardly be called a corpse anymore.


    He¡¯d deserved to win. If that bottle hadn¡¯t hit him, would the outcome have been different?


    ¡°You did so well,¡± she whispered, her voice drowned under the incredible volume of noise around her. ¡°Be proud, my friend. You died a warrior.¡±

 Chapter 46 - Its Fine. Im Fine. Everythings Fine.

    Serene


    Serene wandered away through the fairground, buffeted by shoulders of crowding passersby without taking any real notice of it.


    She didn¡¯t have any real destination in mind. She¡¯d told Sam she was going to gather intel, but that was a lie. Maybe it was air she needed, but that was not a plentiful commodity in this packed space. Wherever she turned, she was met by a sea of countless faces¡ªhard-bitten losers, jubilant winners, drug-high revelers; all equally uncaring.


    Serene¡¯s body could not muster enough survival instinct to flinch when she heard a husky, sweet voice in her ear: ¡°Hello, Catherine.¡±


    Turning, she found Nyx standing there in her scandalous bodysuit, arms folded beneath her breasts. The Sheerhome townsfolk, who normally possessed the social propriety of sea lice, made a liberal bubble of space around her, casting their eyes down, or away, or anywhere but the demoness as they passed.


    ¡°You did very well,¡± Nyx continued. ¡°The Ratcatcher boy performed far better than I ever could have expected.¡±


    ¡°I suppose he did.¡±


    And then he lost. Serene felt an irrational surge of rage in the pit of her stomach at that. She¡¯d known he would lose all along, but he¡¯d tricked her into believing he had a chance.


    Then again, it was only right that she should suffer too. She deserved far worse, besides.


    ¡°In no small part, I suspect, because of your encouragement,¡± Nyx mused. ¡°You use your feminine powers deftly, dear.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, most calamitous.¡±


    ¡°If you continue to perform so admirably, I might give you a little treat at the end of this.¡±


    ¡°I would like that, most calamitous.¡±


    Nyx clicked her tongue. ¡°For now, I have another task for you.¡±


    ¡°I was going to collect information on Sam¡¯s next opponent,¡± Serene protested weakly, though she could not bring herself to care much either way.


    ¡°Ah. You can put him out of your mind, dear. He¡¯s inconsequential.¡±


    ¡°Then what would you like me to do?¡±


    ¡°I hear that Henke¡¯s opponent for the third round has just dropped out of the tournament. Unsurprising, considering they both work under the same promoter, and he wants his strongest fighter to proceed. Henke the Hero sustained heavy damage in his fight with our dearly departed Ratcatcher, but is currently receiving treatment from the most accomplished Physician in the city.


    ¡°With his next opponent out of the picture, he will be able to spend the entire time until the finals recuperating. Most likely, he will be back in fighting shape by then.¡±


    ¡°So, then¡­¡±


    The demoness stepped closer, and the whole world seemed to be swallowed up by her yellow eyes, staring at Serene with such an intensity she could swear her skin was burning with it. ¡°You will break out those big doe eyes of yours and cozy up to someone on Henke¡¯s team. Pump them for information¡ªand whatever else you need to pump along the way¡ªthen report back. Samantha must win this tournament.¡±


    Serene looked down, fought the urge to be sick on her shoes; only semi-successfully, as she let out a queasy, acidic burp. ¡°Yes, most calamitous,¡± she said once she had recovered from her brief lapse. ¡°It will be done.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Nyx turned to leave without a word in parting.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Serene found herself crying out.


    Nyx halted, turned one burning eye on Serene. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°What was that technique he used in the fight? He called it a valor surge, but I¡¯ve never heard of such a thing.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± The demoness let out a musical chuckle. ¡°A quaint relic from a bygone time¡ªnothing more.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    Nyx turned back to face her fully. ¡°A valor surge does not come from a skill or any other ability. It¡¯s a facet of the Concord that allows a user with honorable intent and conduct to unleash a massive burst of power coaxed from their own soul. In theory, it¡¯s quite powerful, as you no-doubt gathered from seeing it employed first-hand.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­ that¡¯s why Ratcatcher kept telling his enemy what he was going to do? Because it was ¡®honorable¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not inclined to believe he was quite a big enough idiot to do it by accident, so yes, I believe so.¡±


    He¡¯d planned it out, Serene thought, with a wave of admiration that only made her feel that much worse as it soured in her. Just like his first match, he¡¯d planned out the exact strategy he needed to beat the Hero.


    ¡°However,¡± Nyx continued, ¡°it¡¯s not like it was some stroke of genius. It was a wild gamble at best¡ªvalor surging is an inherently unreliable technique due to the fact that it cannot be harnessed at will¡ªit occurs at random, subject only to the unknowable whims of the Concord¡¯s infinite automated processes. It¡¯s not enough to just ¡®act¡¯ honorably during a single moment, or a single fight. A hundred different factors, or a thousand, or a million, must come together to produce a valor surge. I believe Era added them with the intention of incentivizing honorable conduct during physical conflicts. In that sense, it was an utter failure, being so rarely utilized that most mortals don¡¯t even know about it.¡± She gave a half-shrug. ¡°Although, I suppose it still presented his best chance of winning. I can¡¯t say he made the wrong choice, however distasteful I might find the practice personally.¡±


    ¡°Distasteful?¡± Serene asked.


    ¡°Yes. Aside from everything I¡¯ve just outlined, valor surging has one other fatal weakness. However much damage it produces, a valor surge is never lethal. You could hit an enemy with ten of them, and they would not die.¡± She sneered, showing sharp teeth. ¡°The perfect tool for those who get by on half-measures. Such as our dear Samantha, coincidentally.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ see.¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Does that answer your question?¡±


    ¡°Yes, most calamitous.¡±


    ¡°Very well, then.¡±


    The demoness left, taking her bubble of breathing room with her, and Serene was once more buffeted by the merciless throngs of sweaty bodies, her hair slicked down by the light rain.


    * * *


    Bill


    Bill hated his job.


    He always pulled the shit details. Always. He wasn¡¯t sure what he¡¯d done to make his boss hate him, but it must have been something terrible, because Lickspittle seemed to have taken it upon himself as a holy calling to FUCK Bill in the ASS at every CUNTING opportunity.


    They¡¯d drawn lots over who had to clean up the mess over on Hell-3¡ªJuarez had looked all green in the face over it, and he¡¯d once taken a bet to lick a dead guy¡¯s eyeball without batting a, well, eye, so that meant it had to be real bad. Bill had drawn the short one. OF COURSE he had. Lickspittle must have rigged it somehow.


    But, like the good little slave he was, Bill went scurrying off without question. Armed to the teeth, too¡ªa thick pair of gloves and a leather apron to keep the juices off him, a face mask filled with fragrant pine needles to keep the stink out, a large bucket to collect parts in, a tarp¡ªalready black and stiff with old blood¡ªto roll the body into, a good shovel with a steel rim, and a rake for the fine cleaning.


    He felt like he was carrying half a fucking cleaning cupboard as he made his way through the fairground. He apologized meekly to every stupid motherfucker who bumped into him, nearly upsetting his carefully balanced things, and muttered curses as soon as they were out of earshot.


    His mood did not improve when he entered the pit through one of the tunnels and found the thing he was supposed to be cleaning.


    Fuck my life.


    In his eight years on the sanitation crew, he had never seen a mess quite like this¡ªa reddish, pinkish, bluish mass of soupy flesh, like a giant, runny turd. It¡­ It just didn¡¯t look human anymore. The head was missing completely. Wait, no, he could see an eyeball here, a scrap of an ear there, something that might have been a nose. Was that a forearm? No, it was just a long chunk of a ribcage.


    The legs were the only part of the body that was relatively intact. They jutted comedically out from the heap, feet pointing up in the air.


    Bill felt his gorge rise, and ripped off his mask a moment before he started spewing everywhere. Without the mask holding it back, the oily, blood-sweet smell got ten times worse, and he was sick again. He spat chunky saliva, retched, spat again, then stood, inspecting the small off-yellow pile he had made next to the big red one. Great. ANOTHER mess to clean up. Why not?


    With a sigh, Bill let his gear clatter to the ground and scratched at the patchy, inflamed skin under his slave collar. Best set to work before someone showed up to yell at him for not getting the pit back in presentable condition quick enough.


    It was times like this that he wished he''d picked Tidy Up at Level 4. At the time, he hadn''t seen the point in getting a skill that did pretty much the same job as a shovel. Now he could see it.


    Bill heard a thud somewhere behind him and spun with a start. There was a woman coming toward him¡ªoh fuck, she was a big-old bitch, too¡ªstriding purposefully across the pit. Where the fuck had she come from?


    ¡°Where the fuck did you come from?¡± Bill asked, echoing his own thought. He scrambled for his spade and put it between them like he knew how to use it¡ªhe didn¡¯t.


    The woman¡ªa Level 4 Laborer¡ªstopped in front of him, hands on hips, unbothered by the steel spade head hovering inches from her chest. She looked pretty young, but she was at least a foot taller than him and muscled like she''d gone a bit overboard on the Strength allocation. She was a free woman going by her lack of a collar, and a fighter going by the fact that she looked like beat shit, which meant that Bill should technically be talking to her all polite-like, but FUCK THAT.


    The woman had a severe set to her brow, like she was contemplating murder. She wasn¡¯t contemplating his murder, was she? He hadn¡¯t done anything! Not lately, anyway.


    ¡°Hello, sir,¡± the woman said, and gave a smile that immediately made her look a sight less bloodthirsty. ¡°You¡¯re here to take care of that body, right?¡±


    ¡°You see any other fucking idiots standing around with a fucking shovel in this fucking place?¡± Bill grumbled, giving a little rattle of his tool beneath her chin for emphasis.


    ¡°Do you mind if I help?¡±


    ¡°Fucking what?¡±


    ¡°Do you mind if I help you clean up the body? He was a friend of mine.¡±


    ¡°Must¡¯ve been some fucking friend,¡± Bill muttered. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t catch me touching my own mother with a ten-foot pole if I found her like this. I¡¯d leave her for the goddamn crows.¡±


    ¡°Actually, I just met him tonight.¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡± What a fucking PSYCHO. ¡°Well, if you¡¯re trying to get his boots, don¡¯t bother. All property of deceased fighters is collected by the sanitation crew.¡± He jabbed a thumb at himself. ¡°That means me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think a man ought to be buried in his boots?¡±


    ¡°The fuck do I care? Only grave this idiot is gonna see is an Outside midden heap. At least the funeral will probably have a big turnout¡ªattended by a congregation of the city¡¯s finest stray dogs and tweakers, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°Wait, so you¡¯re not going to bury him?¡±


    Bill let his shovel drop and rubbed at his eyes with the backs of his gloved hands. ¡°Lady, I don¡¯t fucking know, and I don¡¯t fucking care. That¡¯s not my department¡ªI just get the mess to the corpse carts, and the waste disposal crew make it go away from there. They could fucking eat it for all I care.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± The woman picked up the fallen spade, and his bucket, and scraped herself a shovelful of human slop to dump inside with a horrible squelching and plopping, as of a particularly runny bout of diarrhea hitting toilet water. If the woman minded, she made no show of it. Putting spade to gore once again, she said: ¡°Then, you wouldn¡¯t really mind if I took him off your hands, right?¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°The body.¡±


    ¡°Oh, the mess. Do what you want with it¡ªthey don¡¯t pay me enough to care.¡± He hurried over to drag the miraculously unsullied boots off the cold legs, scrubbing away some tiny bits of blood spatter with the heel of his hand before setting them aside. ¡°Minus these, of course.¡±


    The woman glanced away from her grisly labor to size Bill up. She eyed the collar around his neck. ¡°Do they pay you at all?¡±


    ¡°Sure they do. In bread. Sometimes it¡¯s not even got weevils in it.¡± He was only halfway joking.


    ¡°Want me to take that thing off for you?¡± She motioned to her own neck.


    Bill frowned. ¡°The fuck good would that do? They¡¯d just beat me purple for it.¡±


    ¡°Not if you run away.¡±


    ¡°And get done in by some shiteating monster two miles outside the city? No fucking thank you.¡±


    The woman nodded once and returned to work.


    Bill watched her a while, leaning on his rake, and thanked his lucky stars that there were crazies like this bitch in the world, willing to clean a mess of this magnitude for free. But then he started to feel awkward just standing there, so while she scraped the last of the bloody, sandy gibbets into the bucket, he went and rolled the legs up in the tarp, folded it like a burrito. There was a specific way to do it to keep the mess from coming free. Then he raked the stray bits of bone and viscera dotted around out of the sand, and deposited them in the bucket, and then they were done.


    ¡°Here you go, sir,¡± the woman said, handing back the shovel after scrubbing blood off it with a handful of sand. She looked down at the full bucket of unspeakable slop between them. ¡°If I wanted to bury him, where would I go?¡±


    Bill had to think about it, scratching at his neck. He burst a blister. FUCK. Hurt like shit. ¡°Outside the city, I reckon,¡± he said. ¡°But you¡¯ll have to wait until the morning at least. The street curfew''s been lifted on account of the tournament, but the gates are still shut for the night, and they don¡¯t open at this hour for anyone but the lord or the guard captain, so¡­¡± He shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s assuming you survive the night, of course.¡± Which was NOT fucking likely.


    ¡°All right,¡± the woman said. Stooping, she bundled the corpse burrito under one arm and picked up the cadaver soup bucket with the other.


    Bill frowned. ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°Outside the city, like you said.¡±


    ¡°No, I said you can¡¯t fucking go outside the city, you deaf cunt.¡±


    ¡°Thanks again,¡± the woman said with a smile that was unnervingly friendly, and began trundling off with her unwieldy burdens. Over her shoulder, she called: ¡°If I win, I¡¯ll buy your freedom as thanks!¡±


    He shook his head incredulously as he watched her go. Crazy bitch. Thanks for what, exactly? She¡¯d spent the last ten minutes doing his job, hadn¡¯t she?


    I¡¯m not getting that bucket back, am I? Or the tarp¡­ FUCK.


    Lickspittle¡¯s going to have a lot of fun with that.


    Bill sighed, gathered up his tools, and left Hell-3. There¡¯d be another mess for him to clean up by now.


    There was always another mess.

 Chapter 47 - A Study in Monkeynomics

    Will


    The keep¡¯s dungeon was in reality a repurposed underground larder. Everything had been cleared from the large, open room except wall sconces with burning lanterns and four rusted cages fastened to the stone floor, placed at a fair distance from each other.


    Unfortunately, the healer expired before he could even be brought down, so he was hauled off for disposal instead. That was a shame¡ªhe would have preferred to question both of them¡ªbut he would work with what he had.


    All the cages except the one that held Lady-Consort Dawn were empty. Brimstone was not a patient man; when he decided to take prisoners, which was rarely, they tended not to last very long.


    The badly burned woman lay slumped against the bars of her cage, shivering. Will had gently wrapped her in blankets to keep her from becoming hypothermic¡ªa serious risk now that she was missing much of the thermal insulation her skin provided¡ªand plied her with potions when she was lucid enough to drink. Then she threw up, and he had to start all over again.


    He could not hear the academy bell towers chiming the hour this far below ground, but he guessed that it took at least one or two before she was finally somewhat stable, and had enough wits about her to speak more than a word or two.


    Four of Brimstone¡¯s guards had accompanied him inside the dungeons, and were clearly meant to be keeping an eye on him. They¡¯d quickly gotten bored, however, and were currently huddled around a game of cards on the floor, playing for a pile of 1G notes.


    Will knelt by the lord¡¯s wife, making sure that his back concealed her from the guards¡¯ view, and touched three fingers to her exposed forearm; a piece of hale, milk-white skin that contrasted harshly against the livid red and black and pink and blister-yellow that covered much of her.


    Her eyes flitted open. They widened in fear, and for a moment he feared she might scream, but then she seemed to recognize him, and her lids slackened again. ¡°Will,¡± she said.


    ¡°Yes, my lady,¡± Will replied.


    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know if that¡¯s still the proper title for me.¡±


    ¡°Me neither.¡±


    ¡°Am I dying? I feel so cold.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not dying.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± About eighty percent. ¡°Now, my lady, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡±


    ¡°Dawn. I need you to focus. Do you remember what you promised me?¡±


    She groaned. The bandages he¡¯d wrapped around her head were already staining an awful red-brown. ¡°There are people,¡± she murmured. ¡°They¡¯ll hear.¡±


    ¡°Not while I¡¯m touching you like this,¡± Will explained at a whisper, pressing his fingers into her arm more firmly to reinforce his point. ¡°I¡¯m using my Light Touch passive to block any sounds from going beyond a six-foot bubble around us. They won¡¯t hear as long as you speak quietly¡ªI can¡¯t completely muffle anything louder than a whisper, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be a problem,¡± Dawn said with a tiny, exhausted laugh. ¡°I barely feel like I can speak at all.¡±


    ¡°I understand. You¡¯ll need to, though.¡±


    ¡°You want to kill my husband.¡±


    Will gave a small nod. ¡°So I need you to tell me everything you know about him.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I want that.¡±


    Will frowned. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Why else?¡± The skin of her lips split and glistened with blood as they parted in a bitter smile. ¡°I love him.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I shouldn¡¯t.¡± She stared at him¡ªthrough him, he realized¡ªfor a long time. Then, as soon as he began to think that she was slipping away again, she said: ¡°But I do.¡±


    It was pure insanity, but Will did not see the point in arguing with a woman who had only barely been snatched off her deathbed. ¡°Be that as it may,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯m sure you can see that he needs to die.¡±


    She hesitated for a time, then blinked hard, tears wetting her eyes, and slowly nodded. ¡°You¡¯re probably right.¡± Her gaze held his, pleading. ¡°I didn¡¯t try to poison him.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d guessed as much.¡±


    ¡°Neither did Walther.¡±


    ¡°Then who did?¡±


    ¡°Handsome.¡± She hissed the name. Her eyes narrowed with intensity for just a moment before exhaustion took her again. ¡°It must have been.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Will asked.


    She shook her head weakly. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ have any proof. But I¡¯ve never felt at ease around him, and he wields entirely too much sway with my husband. Toward his own ends, I suspect.¡±


    ¡°Brimstone seems to trust him.¡±


    ¡°Implicitly. He¡¯s the only person my husband trusts without any reservations.¡±


    ¡°Why is that?¡±


    ¡°Because he¡¯s taken a vow¡­ to never tell a lie. He keeps this fact a secret from most, but from what I¡¯ve gathered, he¡¯s gained a large boost to his Empathy score in return. This means that he can easily read the hearts of others, so my husband also uses him to weigh the motives of those around him.


    ¡°Except¡­ I think Handsome chooses his words very carefully. Talking in such a way that he¡¯s technically not lying, but not really telling the whole truth either, or telling the truth in a misleading way.¡±


    ¡°For example?¡±


    ¡°It was his testimony that turned my husband against me and Walther. But I know I didn¡¯t do anything of the sort¡ªand I think he knows that, too. He was asked if he thought I had poisoned my husband, and he didn¡¯t really answer the question. He said that I loathe and despise Brimstone, and that one can never underestimate the treachery those closest to us are capable of.¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Do you?¡±


    ¡°Do I what?¡±


    ¡°Despise him.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Dawn cried out with sudden force, enough to break through the muffling effect of his Light Touch. Will gritted his teeth in soundless exasperation and glanced over his shoulder, but the men were still focused on their game.


    When he looked back, he found Dawn¡¯s face pulled together in anguish. ¡°No,¡± she said, less firmly this time. ¡°Or¡­ well, I don¡¯t know. Yes. Of course I do, a little. I know what my husband has done as well as anyone else. The people he¡¯s slaughtered. But that¡¯s not all I feel for him. I wanted to help him¡ªto show him a better way. I thought it was working. I would never have tried to kill him.


    ¡°If Handsome could view my heart well enough to see my hatred, he should have seen the rest of it, too. But he didn¡¯t mention that. Nor did he mention that I was clearly innocent.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Will shifted his crouch to ease the stiffness in his legs. ¡°And Walther? Is it possible that he acted alone? He might have seen his chance when he found out that Brimstone had agreed to let you cook for him, slipped something inside when you weren¡¯t looking.¡±


    Dawn shook her head with a tired sigh, licking at dry, bloody lips. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. He knew that Brimstone had Poison Resistance¡ªit affected the dosages of antidotes he would give my husband in cases just like this, where poison had been employed against him. I don¡¯t think for a second that Walther would be foolish enough to try something like this.¡±


    Will nodded. It did make some sense. ¡°Then, the assassination attempt might never have been intended to kill Brimstone. Maybe it was only done to implicate you¡ªyou are the only other person who really had the lord¡¯s ear, after all. If Handsome is the manipulator you say he is, he might not have liked having that kind of competition.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I believe.¡±


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯s working for Lady Winter?¡±


    Dawn gave a small, tired sigh, and her gaze drifted away to peer up at the dark stone ceiling, its shadows traced with the faintest touch of flickering firelight from the lanterns. ¡°I have no idea at all. My husband has so many enemies¡ªit might be any one of them, or none at all. Handsome might just as well be acting alone, for his own benefit.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s acting alone,¡± Will said.


    ¡°What makes you say that?¡±


    ¡°With what you¡¯ve told me about the man, I¡¯ve only just realized something about him. Most people address Brimstone as ¡®my lord¡¯. Handsome just calls him ¡®lord¡¯. Maybe it¡¯s a coincidence, an innocent eccentricity, but maybe¡­¡±


    ¡°Maybe he can¡¯t call Brimstone ¡®his¡¯ lord, because he serves another,¡± Dawn guessed.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Will felt queasy. In his head, he went through every interaction he¡¯d had with Brimstone; every lie, big and small, that he had told in front of the innocuous little advisor. Had Handsome simply not noticed? Will couldn¡¯t acquit himself quite that good of a liar. He had to know some part of Will¡¯s intent, at the very least.


    And he had told Brimstone nothing. If he had, Will was utterly certain that he would already be a charred corpse at the bottom of a midden heap.


    Which meant that Handsome, at the very least, had quite a selective sense of loyalty. It supported Dawn¡¯s theory.


    For now, though, Handsome was a lesser problem. A riddle he would have to solve as he went. Brimstone himself was the main concern.


    ¡°Whatever the case may be,¡± Will said, ¡°Handsome is a lesser problem for now. He¡¯s a riddle I¡¯ll solve as I go, but your husband is the main concern. I commend you on your kind heart, Dawn, but there is nothing left in him to be redeemed.¡±


    Dawn closed her eyes. ¡°I¡­¡± She swallowed hard, as though the words caught in her throat. ¡°Yes. I believe you¡¯re right.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯ll talk?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll talk.¡±


    Will nodded in grim satisfaction, and moved closer as the lady-consort began to speak.


    * * *


    Number Two


    ¡°Hurry,¡± the master had told him. ¡°Go as fast as you can.¡±


    Number Two had obeyed, rushing through the forest as quick as he dared without drawing the attention of bad monsters. He nearly collapsed as he stumbled into the big open place that surrounded his home.


    He went inside the big house, slamming the door in his haste, which the master¡¯s master would have been upset about if he had been there. But he was not, so Number Two did not need to worry.


    Big Brother One soon hobbled out of the useless room of many things when he heard Number Two come in, holding one of the square paper things the master called a ¡®book¡¯ in his hand.


    ¡®What happen?¡¯ Number One signed one-handed, much concern on his face. ¡®Why you breathe so much?¡¯


    ¡®Big important mission from the master,¡¯ Number Two explained, even though he really did not have the time. ¡®Very big, he say. Very important.¡¯


    ¡®What important?¡¯


    ¡®He bet big. All-in, he say.¡¯


    ¡®You speak truth, brother?¡¯


    ¡®I speak truth!¡¯ Number Two signed insistently, boldly, to get his emotion across. ¡®Big true!¡¯


    Big Brother left very slowly and oldly to put his book thing back with the other book things, and to put away the delicate things that the master called ¡®glasses¡¯ on a small table. When he returned, Number Two was practically hopping up and down with urgency, despite his heavy limbs.


    ¡®What the master want you do?¡¯ Big Brother asked, with much too much calmness.


    ¡®He want everything,¡¯ Number Two said. ¡®All the paper monies. The master¡¯s master¡¯s monies, too.¡±


    Big Brother went stiff at that. ¡®But the master¡¯s master will be angry.¡¯


    ¡®Master say he pay it back.¡¯


    ¡®What if lose?¡¯


    ¡®He say he win for sure.¡¯


    Big Brother peeled his lips back like he tasted something sour. ¡®Human game never work like this. Sometimes lose, sometimes win. What if lose?¡¯


    Number Two shrugged. He did not know.


    Big Brother clapped a hand to his forehead, chattering softly with much fear. ¡®Master sometimes think stupid. We must protect master from stupid.¡¯


    Number Two snarled. ¡®A good boy follow orders!¡¯ His signs were angry, now; fingers flashing, hands clapping together with much loudness. ¡®Want papers, he say! Very important, he say! He say, and we obey!¡¯


    Big Brother bared his teeth and smacked Number Two on the shoulder. Number two smacked him back, and then they were rolling on the floor, hitting and kicking and snarling in each other¡¯s faces. Number Two was younger and stronger¡ªBig Brother was old and had weak muscles.


    But Big Brother was a wise ape, and he twisted himself in very strange ways that Number Two could not follow, and eventually Number Two found himself on his back, with Big Brother standing over him, his gray chest heaving.


    Then Big Brother stopped looking angry, and he stepped back, signing: ¡®Sorry.¡¯


    Number Two stood up, trying not to show how much he hurt all over, especially at his side, where Big Brother had torn out a big clump of fur. ¡®No worry,¡¯ he said, wanting to make peace again.


    ¡®You are right,¡¯ Big Brother admitted. ¡®We obey. We must.¡¯


    Number Two nodded, scratching at the bleeding bald spot. ¡®Good,¡¯ he signed one-handed.


    ¡®But I don¡¯t like what master think.¡¯


    Number Two shrugged. He didn¡¯t care. Paper monies meant nothing to him¡ªthey were useful to get tasty treats from human food makers, but an ape did not need many papers to get all the treats he could possibly eat.


    But humans were obsessed with getting more papers all the time. Why? He did not know. They only put them in big piles to not use. It was one of many strange things humans did. Number Two accepted that he would never understand these things, and so made no attempt to, but Big Brother was different. He was more human than ape, sometimes, and he thought in ways that were not ape-like.


    Big Brother¡¯s brow was furrowed with much worry, but he did not try to argue anymore. Having reached an agreement, Number Two told him again that they needed to go fast, so they split up and began taking all the paper monies out of their secret hiding places in the big house. There was the master¡¯s secret pile, hidden under the floor of his bed, which was small. Then there were the many secret piles that the master¡¯s master kept all around the house, the ones he thought the apes did not know about. But the apes had built the house, and they knew all things in it.


    The master¡¯s master¡¯s piles were pretty big, and when they were finished there was a bulging backsack of papers for him to carry. Big Brother offered to come with to the city, but they both knew he was too slow¡ªhe would stay.


    ¡®If human ask what in sack,¡¯ Big Brother signed as he followed Number Two onto the porch, ¡®what I tell you to say?¡¯


    ¡®Potato in sack,¡¯ Number Two replied one-handed, the other holding the sack slung over his shoulder. ¡®Take potato to human food maker.¡¯


    Big Brother nodded, and patted him on the back. ¡®Good boy. Now hurry, and be quiet. Let not guard man on wall see you. He will take sack and throw you in prison, and the master¡¯s master will hurt the master.¡¯


    Number Two nodded soberly. He did not know what prison was, except that it was a bad place where bad humans went so they would suffer for a long time without food or friends or sunlight. He did not want to go there.


    Number Two left into the dark forest, and the backsack on his shoulder was very heavy, even though there were only papers inside.

 Chapter 48 - A Daring Nighttime Apescapade

    Number Two


    A human, clumsy and loud, might have had trouble getting through the forest at night. But Number Two was clever and quick, and knew how to avoid attracting the attention of bad monsters. He cleared the woods, and slipped past the torchlight of sleepy guards, and crossed big fields of wheat and barley and oats.


    When he reached the wall, he looked up and saw the creeping lights of the guard humans moving on top, and waited until he saw a gap where two guard humans were moving away from each other to scale the vertical surface, then scamper across the flat top and leap down on the other side, landing on a rooftop with a crash of tiles. That drew some attention, and he overheard shouts from up on the wall as guard humans moved to check on the disturbance, but he was long gone by the time they got near.


    There were a few humans drunkenly stumbling about in the streets, but none of them paid Number Two much attention as he made his way toward the place with lots of tents where the master waited for him.


    It was highly unlikely that there would be any pocket stealers around at this time of night, but Number Two switched to wearing the backsack on his belly anyway, just to be safe. The master would be angry if he lost the paper monies, but it was the master¡¯s master he really feared. He was very fond of his monies¡ªNumber Two did not know what he would do if he found out that the master had made them disappear.


    Number Two might have had some trouble navigating the city at night, if not for the fact that he could see a distant haze of light in the sky from the place with the tents, and muffled noise coming from there. As long as he headed in that direction, he would get to his destination eventually.


    The whore houses, which would normally have closed their doors by now, instead had them thrown wide to welcome people in, catering to the many potential customers coming from the big fighting games. Number Two stopped and gawked at a woman with very large tits who was wagging them suggestively at every other human who wandered past and coaxing them to buy some of her time with a hoarse, worn-out voice.


    Humans, as a general rule, were ugly and strange and smelly, but human women? Some of them were very wonderful, and smelled like flowers. Number Two kept his distance, though¡ªthe master said it was the pretty ones you had to watch out for.


    The woman screamed when she saw Number Two, and he scampered on quickly, hugging the sack to himself.


    Looking over his shoulder to see if someone was following, it was only a glint of moonlight off steel in his peripheral that let Number Two notice the blade sweeping toward his neck from the front. He scrambled out of the way, feeling the rush of air pull at his fur as the sword whooshed just over his head.


    The man attached to the sword was shrouded half in night shadow, the other half lit orange by a hooded lantern. There was much anger and much fear in his face.


    ¡°Boys!¡± the man called over his shoulder, voice echoing down the street. ¡°We got one over here! Come quick!¡±


    It was a guard human.


    Number Two took off running, not caring what way he went. He hurried as fast as his body would go, one hand knuckling the dirty stone ground while his other clutched the backsack protectively.


    Then, when he heard no footsteps in pursuit, he eventually glanced over his shoulder. No one was coming. Stopping, he saw the same guard human all the way at the end of the street, lantern fallen at his feet, struggling with something. Then he pitched backward, and an arm went tight around his throat, and ten seconds later he was rolled to the ground, another human standing away from him.


    The human came trotting up the street, and Number Two got ready to bolt again, but something about the length of its strides and width of its shoulders made him think it was someone he knew.


    ¡°Monkey!¡± called the human, sounding female.


    Number Two slumped with relief. It was the she-bear mate of the master¡¯s master.


    She soon reached him, and they hurried on together until they were reasonably certain the guard human and his friends would not find them. Then the she-bear stopped him, and squatted in front of him in the dark. ¡°What are you doing out here, little guy?¡± Picking up a lapel of his vest, she peered closely at it. ¡°Number Two, huh?¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Number Two wanted to know what she was doing here, and began signing something to that effect, but remembered that she was a dumb human who did not understand the hand language, and gave up with an exasperated grunt.


    ¡°What¡¯s in that bag?¡± the she-bear asked, pointing to the backsack.


    Number Two strained his throat and contorted his mouth unnaturally to try and form a human word. ¡°Pohhh¡­ tahhh¡­ tohhh.¡±


    ¡°Potato?¡±


    Number Two nodded.


    ¡°Cooked?¡±


    Another nod.


    ¡°Did you steal them?¡±


    Number Two shook his head.


    She shrugged. ¡°All right. Can I have one?¡±


    Number Two shook his head again.


    ¡°Aw, man.¡± The she-bear stood with an annoyed grunt. ¡°Well, whatever. We should probably try and get back to the pits as soon as possible, huh?¡±


    They continued through the sparsely peopled night streets toward the glow in the sky, and Number Two was grateful that the she-bear was a stupid human who did not ask too many questions. He did not think the master would want her to know about the paper borrowing.


    * * *


    Mongrel


    ¡°I think I¡¯m developing an ulcer because of this girl,¡± Mongrel grumbled, tapping his foot against the darkened tunnel¡¯s stone floor. ¡°You¡¯re sure you don¡¯t know where she went?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure, dearest,¡± Nyx replied. She was lurking again. He hated when she did that. Lingering at the edge of the wall-mounted lantern¡¯s light, her glowing eyes were about the only part of her visible through the shadow. It was downright creepy. ¡°She was present for Ratcatcher¡¯s fight against Henke the Hero¡ªafter that, none of my little friends have seen her.¡±


    ¡°Got a lot of ¡®little friends¡¯, do you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a popular girl, Matthew. Does that make you jealous?¡±


    Mongrel scoffed. ¡°Hardly. Anyone who¡¯ll take some of your attention off me is all right in my book.¡±


    ¡°Matthew, how could you say such a thing?¡± There was a mocking pout in her voice. ¡°That¡¯s very hurtful, you know.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure you¡¯re devastated.¡±


    The demon moved around the circle of firelight, staying just beyond its reach, and Mongrel spun with her to avoid leaving his side exposed. The hairs on his neck prickled, and he had the distinct feeling he was about to get pounced on.


    ¡°What about the other one?¡± Mongrel asked. ¡°The pretty one.¡±


    ¡°Pretty, is she? Don¡¯t you know it¡¯s bad manners to compliment one woman in front of another? Not to mention¡­ potentially hazardous for one¡¯s health.¡± He caught a flicker of sharp teeth in the dark, and instinctively put a hand on his sword hilt, despite the fact that it would do him no good even if he could get the bastard thing clear of its scabbard. Then came a bright, clipped laugh. ¡°I¡¯m joking, of course. Don¡¯t you worry about Serene¡ªshe¡¯s off on a small errand, that¡¯s all.¡±


    Mongrel cleared his suddenly dry throat. ¡°All right, then. Rather than tormenting me, isn¡¯t there something you could do to get our fighter into this damn pit? She¡¯s going to be disqualified soon if she doesn¡¯t show up.¡±


    ¡°I already have people searching the area for her. She can¡¯t have gone very far. Me running around would hardly be any more help¡ªnot to mention highly undignified.¡±


    Someone from the fighting association came along and told them that Sam had another minute to get her ass in the ring, or she was going to get pulled. Mongrel let out a small groan. So much money down the drain¡­ And he could have made it big, too, if she¡¯d gotten her ass to the finals.


    Almost as soon as he¡¯d concluded that thought, there was a great pounding of feet from the other end of the tunnel, and there was an approaching circle of light as an attendant came running alongside Sam and Number Two.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Sam said as she came trotting up, kicking off her shoes as she went. ¡°I¡¯m not late, am I?¡±


    ¡°Late?¡± Mongrel barked. ¡°You were about to make me sprout another hemorrhoid from how tight you¡¯ve had my ass clenched!¡±


    ¡°Sorry about that.¡±


    ¡°Sorry? I¡¯ll¡ª¡±


    ¡°Now¡¯s not the time, dearest,¡± Nyx murmured softly in his ear, and he flinched as he felt the scalding touch of her fingers on his arm. ¡°Samantha, there isn¡¯t much time, but here¡¯s what I know about your next opponent. His name is Holden, and he¡¯s an Explorer who fights with a dog familiar.¡±


    ¡°I think I know who you¡¯re talking about,¡± Sam said as she lined herself up against the door that two attendants were already in the process of unlatching, a third patting her down to make sure she wasn''t carrying any weapons.


    ¡°Good. Most likely, his strategy will be to let his familiar lock you in place while he keeps his distance. He¡¯ll debilitate you with the skill called Web¡ªits effect is rather self-explanatory¡ªfrom afar, then allow his familiar to finish you off when you''re incapacitated.¡±


    Sam nodded. ¡°Got it.¡± For once, she almost looked serious.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll have much trouble with him, as long as you stay alert. Be aggressive, take out his familiar early if you can, and the match should be yours.¡±


    ¡°Will do. Where¡¯s Cherry?¡±


    Nyx shrugged. ¡°How should I know? I believe it was you who advised me to stay away from her.¡±


    The Laborer did not look particularly convinced, a light frown creeping onto her face. ¡°We¡¯ll talk about this later,¡± she said, and flung the doors wide with a kick as soon as the latch was off, stepping out onto the sand with her arms raised in the air to meet the crowd¡¯s verbal lashing.


    Once the doors were shut tight again, Mongrel glanced down at Number Two, who wore a backpack strapped to his belly. ¡®You got what I asked for?¡¯ he signed, so that the lingering attendants would not overhear.


    ¡®Got monies,¡¯ Number Two signed back. ¡®No problem.¡¯


    Mongrel nodded. ¡®Good boy.¡¯


    Number Two beamed, and Mongrel gave one of the ape¡¯s big ears a playful tug.

 Chapter 49 - Rock, Paper, Scissors, Bomb

    Sam


    The semifinals match¡ªsingular, since Henke would not need to fight one¡ªwas being hosted in the much larger Hell-1 pit where the preliminaries had been held. Sam could still spot bits of red in the sand from one unfortunate fighter or another.


    She reckoned the change in locale did not do her any favors, considering what she had caught of her opponent¡¯s game plan from the demoness. He would want to keep his distance from her, and that was a good deal easier with an arena twice the size of the usual ones.


    As they slowly approached one another from opposite sides of the pit, Sam found that Holden was a weathered-looking man with as much gray as brown in his beard, and a lined face that suggested a hard life. The dog that trotted beside him was much the same, a shaggy mutt with a wiry, rust-brown coat and a tired gait, head bowed low.


    While the Explorer himself did not appear to have sustained much damage during the prior rounds, his familiar sported several bloody wounds around his muzzle, and there were bits of blood-matted fur along his flanks. One look into the dog¡¯s weary, sad eyes, and she knew she was in trouble.


    Fuck me. How am I going to beat on a little guy who¡¯s looking at me like that?


    Golden Boy soon came hovering down to thrust his scepter in his face, at this point fully assuming that she would want to make a statement before the fight started.


    She did.


    ¡°I want to dedicate this fight to my friend, Ratcatcher,¡± she said. ¡°He fought like a champ, and he went out too soon.¡± A round of booing at that¡ªmostly because she was the one saying it, she figured. ¡°So with that being said, there¡¯s no way I¡¯m losing this fight. The spirit of peace perseveres!¡± With that, she struck a pose that showed off her painted biceps, even though she was not in a particularly bombastic mood.


    Holden appeared to be a man of few words, declining to make a comment when prompted by the organizer. Golden Boy sullenly resumed his position in the sky, having perhaps wished for a more cinematic rivalry between the two of them.


    Sam and Holden were about twenty feet apart when the horn blew. As expected, the dog came loping straight at her while the Explorer hung back, hands outstretched in an odd, too-loose stance that did not seem to be intended for striking.


    The dog closed the distance and went for her in a snapping leap. Sam threw up a guard, and its jaws clamped down around her forearm, yanking it low as the animal fell back down to the ground. Grunting at the vice grip, she got several fingers of her free hand around its lower jaw to prise open the grip, but struggled.


    She was holding back, she knew, failing to put enough force behind her efforts to get free. She knew that a familiar would recover from any damage she wrought on it, and that there was no way around hurting the thing if she wanted to win the fight, but she still found it difficult to muster any kind of fighting spirit against an animal that was only doing as it was told.


    At the edge of her vision, she caught a small bit of movement as Holden flicked his wrist. A moment later, a big tangle of sticky web wrapped itself around her free left arm, thick as rope and tacky as though it had been coated in glue. It pinned her arm down against her side, but she found with a grunt of effort that she was able to peel it back fairly easily with her superior strength, grayish wires snapping one by one as she lifted her arm up.


    Another gob of webbing came flying her way, and would have caught her in the face if she hadn¡¯t raised her arm in time. Her left arm was now unwieldy with webbing that kept sticking to itself and clumping at the elbow, but her opponent was already down 2 AP. If she could get rid of the familiar, she was confident she¡¯d be able to avoid any other shots he threw her way.


    The dog worried at her arm, snarling, and Sam renewed her grip on its jaw to pry herself free once and for all. She felt a dull thud go through her. Suddenly, there was a fist-sized ball of Web stuck to her chest. Based on how weighty the impact had felt, though, there had to be something inside it. A rock? A ball of sand? What¡ª


    Then everything was spinning. The world flipped and lurched, and she flailed awkwardly with arms and legs as she lost all concept of where she was. She ended up on her back, staring up at the white flares of too-bright limelights, and found that she was hardly able to breathe. There was a great weight on her chest, like five people were sitting on it and preventing her lungs from inflating.


    What just happened? Sam thought numbly, head still spinning.


    All the strength had gone out of her at once, and she felt like a ragdoll with half the stuffing removed, boneless and floppy. There was a lot of shouting going on, the grating screech of Golden Boy¡¯s amplified voice, but she couldn¡¯t make out any of it. Everything was a jumbled blur.


    What was she even doing again? She¡¯d been¡­ fighting, hadn¡¯t she? Yes, that was it. She had a fight to finish. But her body wouldn¡¯t listen to her anymore, and she could only get small, hissing breaths in.


    Her brain must have skipped a beat or two, because suddenly she found she was on her knees, without any idea of how she¡¯d gotten there. She tried to cough up something caught in her throat, and vomited blood instead.


    The front of her shirt was all torn to tatters, and her chest was black with soot, a handful of fresh cuts trickling red. Her ribcage looked sickeningly squished down, sort of bent in the wrong way like a wicker basket that had been stepped on. It looked like something you¡¯d see in a photo from a fatal car crash, not the chest of a living person. Was that a bone sticking out? She thumbed at the little sliver of white protruding from her front. Yup, that was a bone all right.


    I should be hurting right now, Sam thought, unable to feel much one way or another about her present situation. She wasn¡¯t hurting, though. She didn¡¯t feel much of anything at all, except a vague annoyance at not being able to breathe right. Is it a bad sign that I¡¯m not hurting?Stolen novel; please report.


    The dog familiar lay on its side some six feet away, its body riddled with warped metal shards, one of its front legs torn clean off and thrown clear of the body. The head was badly mangled, most of the upper jaw and snout reduced to a ragged ruin of bone and flesh and fur.


    Sam reached for a metal piece sticking out of the sand in front of her, turned it over in her fingers. It was hot to the touch.


    Did that guy just¡­ throw a fucking grenade at me? She tried to laugh, but found that her chest made a series of disconcerting clicking noises when she tried to inflate her lungs more than quarter capacity, and stuffed it down.


    Her opponent, slowly coming toward her, looked pretty pleased with himself. He¡¯d just cheated, of course¡ªmassively and blatantly¡ªbut the crowd was cheering for him, and that was all that mattered. Sam wasn¡¯t going to get any help from the referee end of things, which meant that she still had a fight to win.


    Only, she had no idea how she was going to accomplish that, with an upper torso that bore more than a little resemblance to a moon crater. She could hardly breathe, let alone stand, and she felt like someone had taken her brain and shaken it up like a snowglobe, sending all the thoughts inside rattling around uncontrollably so she couldn¡¯t hold onto a single one for more than a second or two.


    Fuck¡­ She knew she needed to get up and fight, but all she wanted to do was lie down and shut her eyes.


    Then a golden figure shot down between her and her opponent, poised on his tiptoes with the grace of a dancer despite his comically round form. ¡°LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS FIGHT IS OVER!¡± Golden Boy cried, catching the recording sphere out of the air to speak directly into it. ¡°HOLDEN HAS MADE USE OF AN ILLEGAL ITEM BY MEANS OF SMUGGLING IT IN THROUGH HIS INVENTORY, AND IS HEREBY DISQUALIFIED FROM THE COMPETITION! THE WINNER IS SAM DARLING, THE PEACEFUL FIST!¡±


    Sam was as shocked as everybody else to hear that information. Holden in particular looked completely flabbergasted, stopping in his tracks with his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides, jaw slack with shock. He¡¯d fully expected his cheating to slide under the radar.


    The angry shouting from the crowd got louder and louder. They were not happy at all.


    Sam slid sideways. The last thing she felt as she began to drift from her body was several pairs of strong, leathery hands grabbing onto her to lift her up, and coarse fur rubbing on her bare skin.


    * * *


    Mongrel


    ¡°Oh god, why have you got to fuck me in the ass every time something good comes my way? Haven¡¯t I done enough to deserve just a tiny bit of happiness?¡±


    His fighter lay sprawled on the tarp inside the care tent, unresponsive. The girl, who¡¯d looked so solid and sure minutes before, now looked like a particularly well-trod piece of roadkill. Since the working girl was still nowhere in evidence, Nyx had assumed the job of checking Sam over, letting her gray fingers trail just above the young woman¡¯s ruined torso without actually touching her.


    ¡°At least the match was ruled in her favor,¡± the demoness murmured without looking away from her charge.


    ¡°Fat lot of good that¡¯ll do me!¡± Mongrel paced back and forth across the tent, arms folded behind his head. ¡°At this rate, we¡¯ll be dragging a carcass in to fight in the finals.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re exaggerating. Samantha still has some fight in her, and the organization has agreed to push the final fight back one additional hour to give both fighters time to recuperate.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but¡ª¡±


    Mongrel turned as the tent flaps came open behind him, and perked up as he saw that it was a woman in a white coat, with the coiled-serpent mark of a Physician.


    ¡°The SPFL would like to extend its sincere apologies to your fighter and her team for her opponent¡¯s conduct in the last match,¡± she said, hands folded before her. ¡°I am here to assist with her recovery in any way I can. If you would give me access to the fighter, I can begin immediately.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes, excellent!¡± Mongrel said, shaking the woman¡¯s hand. ¡°Please work your magic. Do you think she will be fit to fight in the finals?¡±


    ¡°I will do my best.¡±


    ¡°You will do no such thing!¡± Nyx hissed, and was on her feet in a moment. She was not a particularly tall woman¡ªor being, anyway¡ªbut she seemed to loom over the Physician then as she glided gracefully over. ¡°Leave immediately.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Mongrel spluttered. ¡°But we¡ª¡±


    Nyx silenced him by holding up a clawed finger over his mouth. ¡°Not now, dearest. Let me handle this.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    The smoldering look she gave him could have melted steel. ¡°How would you like to end this night, Matthew? As a rich man, or a pauper?¡±


    ¡°Oh, so I¡¯m allowed to talk now?¡±


    ¡°Yes. It was not a rhetorical question.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to end the night as a rich man, obviously.¡±


    ¡°Good. Then you will do as I say, when I say it. And right now, I¡¯m telling you to be quiet and do nothing at all.¡±


    Mongrel crossed his arms and jutted out his chin. Fine. I can dish out the silent treatment with the best of ¡®em. Let¡¯s see how she feels after five minutes without my biting wit, the needy sow.


    The Physician was summarily hounded out of the tent, and Mongrel refused to ask a single question about it when Nyx came back inside. If she wanted to be in charge of things that badly, let her. He wasn¡¯t the least bit interested in knowing how she planned to miraculously resurrect their half-dead fighter, especially without a Physician to actually work said miracle.


    The demoness resumed her place at Sam¡¯s side, hovering her delicate hands above the young woman¡¯s broad frame, as though she could glean some prescient knowledge from those airy gestures alone.


    ¡°I¡­ apologize,¡± she said after some time, looking pointedly ahead. ¡°That was undignified of me.¡±


    Mongrel blinked as he stared into the demon¡¯s tapered back, her sharp shoulder blades working with the movements of her arms. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ sorry?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Matthew. I am sorry. Did you hear me that time, or would you like me to say it again?¡±


    ¡°Actually, my hearing¡¯s a little rusty. Once more?¡±


    ¡°I am sorry, Matthew. I shouldn¡¯t have undermined you in front of that woman.¡±


    Mongrel scratched at a persistent itch in his left ass cheek, unable to make heads or tails of what he was hearing. Was that a demon¡­ apologizing? He¡¯d never heard of such a thing. Demons were prideful to a fault, after all. That was their whole thing, aside from being generally vile, spiteful beings.


    What was her game? Why was she saying this?


    ¡°Well, I¡­ I reckon I forgive you,¡± Mongrel said, deciding to be the bigger man. ¡°Just don¡¯t do it again, y¡¯hear?¡±


    ¡°I will try.¡± Mongrel thought he could detect a smile in her voice. ¡°You do make it difficult sometimes, dearest.¡±


    ¡°How are you going to get Sam back on her feet?¡± Maybe he did want to know a little. He had to know if it was worth making his all-in bet for the finals, or if it was better to lug that money home with him in defeat, replace Will¡¯s savings before he noticed.


    ¡°Any Physician sent by the league cannot be trusted,¡± Nyx replied calmly, not really answering his question. ¡°I have no doubt that Golden Boy awarded Sam that victory by disqualification because he knew the audience would hate it. Sam has played her role as the people¡¯s villain well, and now Golden Boy is leaning into it, setting up for her to lose spectacularly against Henke the Hero. Needless to say, pulling out is not an option at this point¡ªthe League would never allow it.¡±


    ¡°No doubt, a Physician sent by them would see her just well enough to get into the ring, but not to put up any more than token resistance against the favored champion.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯ve pulled some strings, and an unaffiliated Physician we can trust will come along shortly to tend Samantha¡¯s injuries.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°I believe the phrase you¡¯re looking for is ¡®thank you¡¯.¡±


    Mongrel cleared his throat. ¡°Yes. Ahem. Thank¡­ you.¡±


    Nyx looked back over her shoulder and flashed him a devilish grin, pale cheeks dimpling. ¡°Why, you¡¯re so very welcome, dearest.¡±


    Damn her, Mongrel thought, shaking his leg to unstick a burgeoning erection from the inside of his thigh. Why do the crazy ones always have to be so damn hot? When did god make up that rule?

 Chapter 50 - Twenty Questions (But With Knives)

    Will


    ¡°My husband is a very guarded man,¡± Dawn said in a hushed whisper. ¡°Even I don¡¯t actually know all that much about him,


    ¡°I¡¯d guessed as much,¡± Will replied, nodding. ¡°Just tell me what you do know. Anything at all.¡±


    The bandaged woman let her head slide sideways so that she could peek around Will¡¯s shoulder. He glanced back as well. The guards were still busy gaming at the other end of the room, but one who had been eliminated was looking their way with altogether too much interest, leaning against one of the rusted cages that decorated the room.


    I probably need to hurry this up, before they start to suspect that I¡¯m doing something other than my job.


    ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± he prompted, and prodded Dawn¡¯s arm a bit more firmly with the three fingers he kept on her to maintain the Light Touch passive. ¡°They can¡¯t hear.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± She gave a tiny shrug, then winced at the gesture. ¡°It¡¯s true what they say about Brimstone¡ªthat he never sleeps.¡±


    ¡°That can¡¯t be right.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you what I know. We don¡¯t sleep in the same room¡ªhe doesn¡¯t even own a bed. He just sits on a pillow in the middle of an empty room. His eyes are closed, but I don¡¯t think he¡¯s really sleeping since he will open his eyes almost instantly once I walk into the room. It seems more like a sort of meditation or trance. I don¡¯t know what ability might make that possible, though.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Will went over all the abilities he had memorized, but none of them struck him as applicable. There was Low Maintenace, which reduced the user''s need to eat, drink, and rest, but he didn''t think even a whole bunch of ranks in that passive would entirely dispense with the need to sleep. ¡°I¡¯ll have to think about that one for a while. What else do you know?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re already aware that his build relies on Spark to create fire.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Well, he also makes use of the lesser-known skill called Heat. It doesn¡¯t scale as easily with Amplify, but it¡¯s got a bigger range, and¡­¡± She shuddered. ¡°It can make people spontaneously combust from the heat alone, or¡­ boil them from the inside.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    He¡¯d already known that Brimstone would have access to that skill, since he was a pure Cook, and he would have gained Heat alongside Chill with his first specialization as the premier abilities. He¡¯d never really heard of anyone making use of it in combat, though. Good to know.


    ¡°I do know that Brimstone boasts incredible AP regeneration during combat,¡± Will said. ¡°Do you know how this is possible?¡±


    Dawn gave a barely perceptible shake of her head.


    ¡°That¡¯s a shame. What about his semblance, then? I know it¡¯s called Hell Visor, which suggests a regalia-type, but I don¡¯t have any information beyond that. None of the challengers who have dueled him in recent years have given him enough trouble to make him use it, so the old second-hand accounts I¡¯ve come across describing its function are suspect at best and at worst completely fantastical.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen it once, when he took me on a hunt,¡± Dawn replied. ¡°We were ambushed by monsters, terrible things with too many eyes, and¡­¡± She shook her head to clear herself of the memory. ¡°All the others in our party were killed, and Brimstone made me hide behind a log while he used his semblance.


    ¡°He took on the appearance of a demon clad in blood-red armor, and he threw fire all about him, breathed it from his mouth, even. I couldn¡¯t see him too clearly because of the steam and heat given off by his armor. The monsters that got close to him withered and died, and soon he¡¯d killed them all on his own. The smell¡­ I can¡¯t even describe it.


    ¡°Aside from that, I don¡¯t know much. My husband is vigilant at all times, expecting an attack that might come from anywhere. I think it will be hard to find an opportunity to strike at him.¡±


    ¡°Let me worry about that,¡± Will said, and tried to put on a reassuring smile despite the queasiness bubbling in his gut. ¡°You just worry about keeping it together until you can be set free. Now, when Brimstone used his semblance, how long did it¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± called a voice from behind, accompanied by approaching footsteps that echoed off the damp stone walls.


    Will took his hand off the woman¡¯s arm. He stood, forcing calm, and faced the guard coming his way. The Level 6 Laborer wore an amicable smile, and he was toying with the hilt of a dagger on his belt.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± Will asked in a neutral tone.


    ¡°Lady Dawn¡¯s been awful quiet,¡± the man replied. ¡°She isn¡¯t dead, is she? The lord said not to let you go too far with the, uh¡­¡± He sucked his teeth, looking for the right word.


    ¡°Torture,¡± Will supplied.


    The guard shrugged uncomfortably. ¡°That, yes. He wants her alive.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m aware. Rest assured, she¡¯s quite alive. See for yourself.¡± He reached down and tilted Dawn¡¯s face up by her chin, had her groaning as his fingers dug into the burned flesh around her neck. ¡°Happy?¡±


    ¡°Suppose so,¡± the man said, still thumbing at his weapon. He seemed to be having some trouble holding Will¡¯s gaze, looking down at his boots as often as not. ¡°Just¡­¡± He cleared his throat awkwardly.


    ¡°Just what?¡±


    ¡°Pedro!¡± one of the other guards called from the lantern-lit huddle of men. ¡°Quit fucking around! The next round¡¯s up, and we¡¯re all keen to take some more glories off your hands!¡±


    ¡°One second!¡± Pedro yelled back. He turned his attention back to Will, and spread his arms in a helpless gesture. ¡°Just don¡¯t hurt her worse than you have to, that¡¯s all. No disrespect to the lord or nothing, but whatever she¡¯s done, I don¡¯t reckon she deserves all this. She always treated us boys good. Remembered our names and all. Baked us cookies on Godsnight. Maybe it was the servants that did it and she only handed ¡®em out, but I appreciated it anyways.¡±Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Fascinating anecdotes,¡± Will said in a low, dull voice, ¡°but let¡¯s agree that you don¡¯t give me advice on how to take people apart, and I won¡¯t give you advice on¡­ guarding the cookie jar, or whatever it is you do. Of course, if you¡¯d like to swap first-hand demonstrations, I¡¯m sure I could spare a minute or two.¡±


    The man swallowed, and held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. ¡°Right. Of course. As you were. Uh, sir.¡± Then he scurried off to join his friends, and they laughed at his cowardly display while he kept his focus intently trained on his dice.


    Will felt a little bit bad. That Pedro fellow seemed like a good one, all things considered. It was heartening to know that there were potentially militiamen who were willing to defy Brimstone¡¯s orders¡ªbehind his back if not to his face.


    Be that as it may, Will had a character to play, and until Brimstone was dead and buried, he couldn¡¯t allow his mask to slip for a moment. If Handsome the unassuming advisor was the opponent Dawn had made him out to be, Will did not put it past him to plant people inside the keep to fish for information¡ªsuch as tripping up the court assassin to say something he shouldn¡¯t, for instance.


    With the intruder gone, Will crouched back down with a sigh and re-established the Light Touch muffling effect by touching the lady-consort¡¯s arm. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, did that hurt?¡± he asked, looking over where he¡¯d grabbed her around the jawline.


    ¡°Only a little,¡± Dawn replied through gritted teeth. There were tears quivering at the corners of her eyes¡ªwhether from pain or despair or smoke irritation, he could not tell.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll have to do worse to you. I need to make Brimstone think I¡¯ve done a good job of torturing you.¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll make it as light as I can.¡± He took out his medicine bag and had her drink a vial of a powerful analgesic. ¡°That will take away the worst of your pain,¡± he explained, ¡°but it won¡¯t render you unconscious. Hopefully this won¡¯t hurt at all, but I¡¯m gonna have to ask you to scream a little regardless.¡±


    Dawn¡¯s big eyes widened, and her nostrils flared with panic. Then she gave a tiny, barely perceptible nod.


    ¡°Good.¡±


    Will drew his sharpest knife¡ªthe one he used to cut flesh¡ªand began wiping it down with disinfectant.


    * * *


    Handsome¡¯s study was modestly sized and modestly decorated. Behind a modest desk sat its modest owner, scribbling away in a ledger by candlelight. He closed it when Will came in, set his pen aside, and looked up with a polite smile.


    ¡°Master One-Eye,¡± he said with an almost-bow that suggested he thought himself a rung below Will on the social ladder, despite the fact that it was more like the other way around. ¡°It seems you''ve had a very eventful evening. How did it go with the lady-consort?¡±


    Wiping his hands on a rag that he had begged off one of the servants, Will plopped down in a chair opposite the desk. The solution he had added to the rag was doing a passable job at removing the blood, but there was still a stubborn pinkish residue up to his forearms that wouldn¡¯t quite go away, and there was more red-brown mess under his nails. ¡°She didn¡¯t say as much as I would have liked,¡± Will replied, speaking carefully to avoid lying. ¡°She maintains her innocence. I¡¯ll try again later.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± It didn¡¯t sound like Handsome had any feelings about it one way or another. The prune-faced little man nodded toward Will¡¯s left arm. ¡°I see you¡¯ve reached Level 15. Congratulations on the achievement.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°I suppose that means you¡¯ve chosen a semblance.¡±


    ¡°I have.¡±


    Handsome removed a pair of wire-frame glasses from his nose and set them down beside the pen, fiddling with them both until they were perfectly straight and parallel with each other. ¡°I¡¯d imagine it must be something exciting, considering your line of work.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know, exactly¡ªhaven¡¯t gotten the chance to use it yet. I have high hopes, though.¡± Will finished with the rag, balled it up, and tossed it into the advisor¡¯s crackling fireplace. ¡°What about yours? Anything to write home about?¡±


    Handsome tittered behind his hand, but there was no sign of mirth in his hawkish eyes, which were unerringly fixed on Will. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing violent or spectacular. I hardly ever need to use it, sitting in an office all day.¡± He sighed wistfully. ¡°I¡¯m more interested in yours, Master One-Eye. As I said, I¡¯m no expert in such things, but as your senior in the noble ways of semblance arts, I¡¯m sure I could give you some pointers on its usage, if you provide me with details.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s very generous of you, Master Handsome.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re not interested.¡±


    Will shrugged with an apologetic tightening of his mouth. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    Handsome splayed his spidery hands. ¡°Oh, well. I can¡¯t say I¡¯m not disappointed, I understand that a man¡¯s semblance is a thing he must hold most precious. Just let me know if there¡¯s anything I can do to assist you. We¡¯re all in this together, after all.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do that.¡± Will leaned back in his chair, affecting calm he did not feel, and hoping that the advisor could not pick up on his anxiety, though that was probably a vain hope with the man¡¯s supposedly extreme Empathy score.


    Handsome gave nothing away through his expression, which was perfectly neutral and serene. It was probably a bad idea, but Will felt that he needed to push a little. ¡°You¡¯re not from Octant Six, are you? What is it that made you come here and serve Brimstone in the first place?¡±


    The smile Handsome gave then was a thin, predatory thing. For the first time, a hint of actual enjoyment shone through those sunken eyes. ¡°To make a difference, of course,¡± he said. His tone was casual, as though he had just flung out the first thing that came to mind, but just like Dawn had said, Will got the vague feeling that Handsome was choosing his words very carefully.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Will said. ¡°And toward that end, I suppose you¡¯re committed to ensuring Lord Brimstone¡¯s continued prosperity?¡±


    Handsome¡¯s smile widened. He did not say anything for several seconds, and Will could almost see the gears turning in his head, cranking out the blandest, most inoffensive, technically true answer possible. ¡°I am committed to ensuring Lord Brimstone¡¯s continued reign, yes,¡± he said at last.


    That¡¯s not exactly what I asked, Will thought, but didn¡¯t comment on it. He was now convinced that Handsome was a man to be contended with, but he did not want to make an enemy out of him if he could avoid it. Best not to push too far just yet.


    When the conversation lapsed, the advisor eventually cleared his throat and pulled out a drawer, producing a fat paper envelope. Handing it across the desk, he said: ¡°Here is your payment for the latest contract, along with the lord¡¯s compliments. He appreciates your services greatly.¡±


    Will riffled the stack of glories inside. A sizable harvest, this time. He never haggled with the lord on payments, as he valued keeping his head on his shoulders where it belonged, but he¡¯d never found any reason to complain over Brimstone¡¯s patronage. The killing work was hell on the conscience, but bliss to the wallet.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Will said, and stood to leave. ¡°You should get some sleep, Master Handsome¡ªit¡¯s quite late, you know.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d say it¡¯s early by now,¡± Handsome said, maintaining his bland smile. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me¡ªI have Low Maintenance, so sleep is not as valuable a commodity for me. I¡¯d like to throw your advice back at you, though, if I may. After a night like this, I¡¯d wager you could use a good rest.¡±


    ¡°Probably.¡±


    ¡°I could have some rooms made ready for you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s very generous, but I have places to be.¡±


    ¡°I see. In that case, I wish you safe travels, Master One-Eye.¡±


    ¡°And you, Master Handsome.¡±


    Handsome began scribbling in his ledger again. Will was turning for the door when the advisor idly said: ¡°You know, I¡¯ve always liked you a fair bit. I¡¯d like us to be friends, if possible.¡±


    Will offered no reply to that.


    He left the keep with his blood money safely tucked inside a coat pocket. He should have hurried back to the farm to see Sam, but without thinking, he found his steps steered toward The Lucky Lady.


    He could really use a drink, he decided.

 Chapter 51 - Cruisin for a Bruisin

    Serene


    It was not difficult for Serene to charm her way into Henke¡¯s camp. A look here, a giggle there, a touch-up of her mask every so often to hone in on her mark¡¯s preferences, and suddenly she found herself hanging on the arm of a man as they strolled into the tight cluster of tents that belonged to the Hero¡¯s team, easily bypassing the grim-faced security people posted around its perimeter.


    She was laughing in all the right places and replying to her partner¡¯s advances correctly¡ªequal parts encouraging and aloof to string him along as far as possible without needing to actually engage in anything messy that would cost her time¡ªdespite the fact that she was hardly paying attention to the actual words being spoken. In fact, she wasn¡¯t particularly thinking about anything at all. She felt all empty, as though there was no longer a person inside her, but a hollow thing that went only skin-deep, acting on rote reflex.


    It was not difficult to sneak away when the man she was with stopped to speak with someone more important than him.


    It was not difficult to locate the tent where Henke was being tended to.


    It was not difficult to wait until he was alone, then slip inside.


    * * *


    Henke


    Henke did not like the way his night was going.


    How could that rat have caused him so much trouble? He kept going over it in his head, but it still didn¡¯t make any sense. Even now that he had learned about the nature of valor surges, he still felt no wiser. How could a wretch like that have harnessed such a technique?


    The fans had seen him bleed, and even more humiliatingly, they had seen him be carried out of the ring like a trussed-up pig. Now he was stuck on this uncomfortable mattress while no fewer than three Physicians poked and prodded and fussed over him. Every part of him hurt, and their grubby fingers digging into his tender muscles certainly didn¡¯t help.


    People were speaking around him, but all he heard was white noise. He stared up at the tent¡¯s canvas top, and ground his teeth at the thought of that last match.


    He would need to utterly trounce Sam Darling in the finals to save at least some face. It was a shame to kill such a handsome woman, but it couldn¡¯t be helped. It was no less than she deserved, for that matter, the way she had spent the entire night making a mockery of the sport he loved.


    He shouldn¡¯t have let the rat get him so riled up. Because of that, he had wasted several charges of the Devil¡¯s Eye. There was probably still enough juice left in it to make quick work of Sam Darling, but he was working with too narrow a margin for comfort.


    Eventually he realized that someone was repeatedly calling his name, and he glanced down to see that it was his sponsor speaking to him.


    Dickie Rich, a Level 16 Scholar, was a short, thin, bespectacled man with neatly combed hair, one hand resting in the pocket of his gray dress pants as he spoke.


    ¡°Are you listening?¡± Dickie Rich asked, frown lines creasing his forehead.


    The man was insufferable. Henke hated having to pay him lip service, but he was the richest man in the city, and the one holding the purse strings to Henke¡¯s whole operation. It was he who had given Henke the Devil¡¯s Eye in the first place.


    ¡°Yes, Mr. Rich,¡± Henke replied, hoping the man would think that his clipped, terse tone was on account of the pain he was in.


    The businessman nodded. ¡°Good. Don¡¯t worry, kid¡ªthis was only a minor setback. We¡¯ll have you back at one hundred percent before your final match, and you¡¯ll win just like always.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Henke had to clench his jaws painfully tight to avoid saying something that might get him in trouble. Why did he even feel the need to mention that Henke would win? That was a matter of course. No other outcome was possible. Did this imbecile who had never spent one second inside a fighting pit really think that Henke needed some kind of pep talk to do his job? That a single less-than-stellar win had somehow gotten in his head? It was ridiculous.


    Luckily, the Scholar soon left, and Henke was able to breathe a tiny sigh of relief. Or at least he would have, if not for the fact that the Physicians were still going at him like a slaughterhouse carcass, lifting an arm here and a leg there, his skin buzzing every time they used a skill to repair his broken tissues.


    Eventually, Henke could not stand it any longer. ¡°Get out!¡± he said, and tore his arm free from a pair of grasping hands.


    ¡°We are not finished,¡± said a gray-haired woman. Venture, the supposed best healer in all of Sheerhome. She looked more like a doddering crone than anything.


    ¡°Then come back later,¡± Henke growled. ¡°I can¡¯t think with all you people breathing down my neck.¡±


    Venture looked like she was about to argue, then shrugged and directed her assistants to leave the tent, following close behind them.


    Without them there, Henke could finally breathe out. He closed his eyes and willed calm, thumbing at the ring on his finger, took comfort in the solidness of it. There was no reason for him to be nervous¡ªhe wasn¡¯t nervous. God, but his body hurt. He should have made that quack give him something for the pain before she left.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    He was soon interrupted, however, by a small squeak. He opened his eyes, ready to chew someone¡¯s head off, but found a strikingly beautiful woman peeking through the tent flap, making his planned acidic remarks fly straight out of his head.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry!¡± the woman said. ¡°I didn¡¯t know this was your tent, sir. I was looking for someone, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± Henke said, gritting his teeth as he propped up his head on a tender arm.


    ¡°Thank you, sir. Again, uh, I¡¯m sorry¡ªI¡¯ll just be leaving now.¡±


    Henke found himself smiling at how starstruck she was. ¡°Why the rush? You can come inside if you want.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I couldn¡¯t possibly¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d surely get in trouble for bothering someone so important.¡±


    ¡°Who says I¡¯m important? I¡¯m just a fighter, that¡¯s all, and I say you¡¯re not bothering me at all, so what¡¯s the harm?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡­¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a small favor you could do for me, actually, if you wouldn¡¯t mind.¡±


    ¡°Okay, sir.¡±


    The woman came inside, and almost immediately he got a waft of her scent; floral and sweet, but not overpowering. He directed her to fish through the things the healers had left behind to find him some painkillers, and he watched idly as she bent to root through the bags, tucking lustrous black hair behind a perfectly shaped ear. He had never considered the shape of a woman¡¯s ear before, but for some reason, on her, it was an inescapably significant detail.


    It seemed as though every time he blinked, she looked a little bit more beautiful. When she eventually found a small pill bottle and handed it to him, her smile dimpled her smooth cheeks so sweetly.


    He tossed back two of the pills. Afterward she just stood there, awkwardly clutching the hem of her dress.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Henke asked.


    ¡°Irene, sir.¡±


    ¡°I see. Are you in a hurry, Irene?¡±


    ¡°I suppose it could wait a little while,¡± she said with a shyly conspiratorial smile.


    ¡°In that case, why don¡¯t you keep me company a while?¡±


    She complied, and knelt primly beside him, her blue-eyed gaze on him half the time and on the floor the other half. He asked for some water, and she held the bottle patiently to his lips while he drank, then took a small swallow herself and smiled at him. She had the most immaculate teeth, he noticed.


    ¡°Does it hurt much?¡± Irene asked after some time, and looked for a moment as though she meant to touch his bare, bruised chest before jerking her hand back.


    ¡°No, not much at all,¡± Henke lied with a winning smile that made his newly mended nose thump with pain. He hoped the painkillers would kick in soon.


    ¡°You¡¯re very brave to risk your life so many times in one night.¡±


    ¡°I find that facing death is the only way to feel truly alive.¡±


    ¡°I could never do something like that.¡± She shuddered at the thought.


    ¡°Yes, well, beauty like yours shouldn¡¯t be wasted inside one of those pits anyhow.¡±


    She giggled at that, and hid a strong blush behind her hand. She sure was an innocent one. He wondered how such a lovely creature had managed to keep her purity intact.


    Irene turned out to be a fair conversationalist once he broke through her demure introversion, and up close like this her flowery scent was intoxicating. He found his head resting in her lap, her hand running through his hair, and he wasn¡¯t quite sure how he had gotten into that position, but found that he enjoyed it greatly. Something about this woman¡¯s tenderness reminded him of his mother, the way she had ruffled his hair sometimes in those farflung days of a past he hardly remembered.


    ¡°Was it frightening,¡± Irene said in a soft, soothing voice, ¡°when you nearly lost? I hear you¡¯ve never known defeat before.¡±


    Henke frowned up at the tent¡¯s ceiling. ¡°I didn¡¯t ¡®almost lose¡¯¡ªI beat that man, and that¡¯s all there is to it. I¡¯ve already forgotten about him.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Irene amended herself quickly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir.¡±


    ¡°Whatever. It¡¯s fine.¡±


    A little while longer passed in pleasant silence, and Henke let out a big yawn, the soothing feeling of fingers running across his scalp almost making him want to sleep.


    Then Irene spoke once more. ¡°Although, some people have been saying that you were very lucky to win that match against Ratcatcher. Do you think a fighter needs to have luck as well as skill?¡±


    Henke sat up straight at that, the flare of pain in his abs disguised under a sudden flush of anger. ¡°Lucky?¡± he hissed, staring into the woman¡¯s eyes, and found her looking innocently back at him. ¡°It wasn¡¯t luck. I¡¯m the best five-under pit fighter in Frontier history¡ªI don¡¯t need luck.¡±


    Irene giggled sweetly behind her hand. ¡°Of course, sir. If you say so, that must be the case.¡±


    Was there something mocking in her tone? Was she making fun of him?


    ¡°But then again,¡± she continued, ¡°people have been saying that you might have lost your hunger for winning. That you¡¯ve grown so complacent that even a nobody like Ratcatcher can rattle you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t fucking mention his name!¡± Henke barked, and jabbed a finger in her face. ¡°I put that pathetic rodent in the ground. No one will even remember him a day for now, while mine will be spoken for the next hundred years.¡±


    She laughed again, louder this time¡ªa bright, sparkling sound¡ªand the sardonic edge to it cut into him. ¡°A hundred years? I¡¯m not sure you will be remembered quite that long.¡± The look she gave him was almost¡­ pitying. ¡°After all, a man only stays champion as long as he keeps winning. Once he loses, that loss is all anyone will remember.¡±


    ¡°Shut your mouth, bitch!¡±


    Irene leaned in closer until their faces were inches apart, her plump, kissable lips twisted in a sneer of disgust. ¡°We both know you got lucky, Henke the Hero.¡± She spat out the name like it tasted sour on the tongue. ¡°And we both know Sam Darling is going to take you apart. Enjoy your next hour as the people¡¯s champion, because you won¡¯t be getting it back.¡±


    He struck her in the face, and she went sprawling on her back. A strange shimmer alighted from her face, and suddenly she was covered in ugly black welts, one eye bloodshot and swollen. She was terrible to look upon.


    Irene laughed, and he hit her again to shut her up. He called for security, and two of Dickie Rich¡¯s men came and grabbed her by the arms.


    ¡°Sam Darling is coming for you!¡± the woman howled, hysteric, her heels scraping over the canvas floor as she was hauled bodily outside. ¡°Justice is coming for you!¡±


    Her mocking laughter seemed to reverberate inside the tent even after she was long gone, almost burrowing inside Henke¡¯s skull. He paced, and growled at the tight, painful strain in his muscles, the electric weakness left behind by the valor surge.


    He was going to win.


    He had to win. Otherwise¡­


    He refused to think about what would happen to him if he lost.

 Chapter 52 - John Hacksaw, MD

    Nyx


    Nyx held a soft hand on Matthew¡¯s shoulder. As one of the True Blood, her ¡®face¡¯ was an entirely artificial construct, meaning that the agony of compressing a fragment of her being into a form that could ¡®touch¡¯ something never registered on her features.


    He was troubled, fidgeting in his seat, bouncing one foot off the ground with nervous energy. Even for Nyx, who found human emotions an irrational and needlessly complex knot of self-defeating inputs that was sometimes nearly impossible to untangle, it was not difficult to understand why.


    Samantha had one foot in the grave already, and was sliding more in that direction with every passing minute, her breaths coming as shallow whistles through pale, bloodless lips. She''d hit Level 5 during that last match, going by the new crystal that had poked through her skin some time ago, and Nyx could only hope the woman had had enough sense to put more points in Toughness. She''d need them.


    Nyx had already done all she could to set everything in order, short of making a contract to restore Samantha to health. She guessed that Matthew was not quite that desperate yet, and she wouldn¡¯t have made the offer even if he was. All he stood to gain or lose by this entire endeavor was ¡®money¡¯, after all¡ªthat, and his personal pride, she supposed. But human currency was easy to come by, and ¡®pride¡¯ was an even more abstract commodity.


    She thought it fairly adorable that Matthew was trying to make something of himself. However, if Samantha died and he lost all his funds, she would see him through it safely.


    He was, after all, the ¡®chosen one¡¯. The one she had chosen. The lowliest, laziest, most repugnant scoundrel she had ever come across, human or otherwise. Of course, she had met ones that were more powerful, more villainous, more charismatic, but they did not interest her. It was his utter absence of self-awareness that made Matthew so fascinating. He was like some sort of evolutionary joke¡ªa refutation that there was any sort of divine spirit or spark of ingenuity inherent to mankind, that they were anything more than dirty animals squabbling in the mud.


    He was the greatest joke ever told, and she would make sure he stuck around to deliver the punchline. She could not think of a better way to spit in the eye of the so-called ¡®goddess¡¯.


    Luckily, the Laborer laid out on the floor was still drawing breath when the tent flap was thrown back, and the man Nyx had sent for entered¡ªa tall, wiry Level 11 Physician with a bloody leather apron slung over one shoulder. His hair was cropped short, all snow-white except for a mustache yellowed from frequent tobacco use. He wore an eager grin that looked permanently frozen to his face, a charade for the customer¡¯s benefit that had been kept up for so long that his mouth no longer remembered another configuration. The expression was twisted with weariness and an accumulation of life¡¯s little bitternesses so that it more resembled a constipated grimace.


    ¡°All right,¡± the man said through the butt of a mangled cigarette pinched between his lips, ¡°who here needs cutting open?¡±


    ¡°Master Hacksaw, I take it?¡± Nyx asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, ma¡¯am¡ªJohn Hacksaw, MD.  My humble personage is fully and enthusiastically at your disposal.¡± He eked out a bow made awkward by stiff joints, and his grimace widened into a baring of teeth that bordered on a deranged rictus.


    Matthew stood to shake the man¡¯s hand. ¡°Matthew Caldwell, esquire,¡± he said, with a grin that nearly matched the newcomer¡¯s. ¡°Charmed.¡±


    Hacksaw laughed¡ªa stilted ¡®ha ha ha¡¯ more spoken than anything. ¡°A fellow man of civilization, I hear. That¡¯s music to my ears. And we¡¯re of a level, too, would you look at that.¡±


    He clapped Matthew¡¯s arm amiably before breaking the handshake, and sidestepped him to approach Samantha. If he was alarmed by the chimps milling about the tent, he made no outward show of it. ¡°I take it this is the patient I got dragged out of bed for?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the one,¡± Matthew replied.


    Hacksaw squatted low beside his patient with a long groan and a crackling of old joints. He regarded her for several long moments, then used Examine on her, which produced no visible effect except a brief flash lighting up his eyes. Then he slowly shook his head and clicked his tongue with displeasure. ¡°Yeah, it might be best to write this one off. She¡¯s dog food at this point.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon, man,¡± Matthew whined, sounding desperate. ¡°There¡¯s got to be something you can do.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. I could buy her if you want. The torso¡¯s no good, but she¡¯s got some solid limbs I could graft onto another lucky customer.¡± He hoisted a limp arm and turned it over at various angles, inspecting the musculature. ¡°I¡¯ll give you three hundred for the cadaver.¡±


    ¡°Three?¡± Matthew squeaked. ¡°Try a thousand, at least.¡± Then he caught himself, and cleared his throat sheepishly. ¡°Besides, uh, we¡¯re not interested.¡±Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°We need her alive,¡± Nyx cut in. ¡°She¡¯s due to fight in an hour.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t be done,¡± Hacksaw replied with a weary, put-upon sigh.


    ¡°It¡¯s the task I brought you here to do.¡±


    ¡°All right. Still can¡¯t be done.¡± The Physician took a last drag off his cigarette, looked around briefly for somewhere to put it out, then stubbed it against his apron and flicked the butt aside to litter the floor.


    ¡°You came highly recommended, Master Hacksaw.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m overjoyed to hear it, but it still can¡¯t be done.¡±


    ¡°And yet, you will do it. The messenger I sent was instructed to make plain my relationship with the holder of your considerable debts. Was he unclear in some way?¡±


    Hacksaw¡¯s grimace did not slip a hair, but his eye did twitch with unease, and she caught his throat bobbing. ¡°Um, well, yes. I believe the fellow may have mentioned something of that nature.¡±


    Nyx folded her hands before her and produced a ¡®smile¡¯ by modulating the composition of her form just so. ¡°Then get to work.¡± It was quite difficult to get the exact parameters correct to produce a natural-looking human expression. They would never appreciate how much effort her kind went through to put them at ease.


    Hacksaw threw up his hands. ¡°Shit, fine. I¡¯ll do my best, I guess.¡± Then, under his breath, he added: ¡°Waste of fucking time, but whatever.¡±


    ¡°Your best is all I¡¯m asking for.¡±


    He opened an Inventory and produced a compact medicine bag from the circular black void, of a similar kind to the one William carried with him everywhere. Matthew sent his chimps outside to give the man space to work while he strapped on his apron and cracked his gnarled fingers every which way to limber them up.


    He used Identify and flinched at what he found. ¡°What sort of freak am I working with here?¡± he asked, glancing back at her and Matthew. ¡°She¡¯s got way too many attribute points for a Level 5.¡±


    Matthew began to answer, but Nyx spoke over him. ¡°Trade secret,¡± she said blithely, and made a small shooing gesture indicating that he should get on with his work.


    Hacksaw ran his tongue over his teeth, then gave a half-shrug. ¡°Well, with that much Toughness, I might just be able to work something.¡±


    Then he squatted back down and held his hands over the young woman¡¯s flattened chest, palms down and fingers splayed. With a muttered: ¡°Life Thread,¡± thin strands of luminous green webbing extended from his fingertips. They dangled down until they met singed flesh and sank straight through, meeting zero resistance as though Samantha were one of the True Blood.


    He moved his fingers subtly, manipulating his threads like a master puppeteer putting on a performance only he could see, tongue between his teeth.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Matthew asked impatiently, peeking over the healer¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Un-fucking Sleeping Beauty¡¯s ribcage, currently.¡± He moved one finger, grunted in displeasure at the result, and cursed under his breath, then moved the digit back toward its original position by slow fractions. ¡°Almost¡­¡± Then, with a ¡°Ha!¡± of triumph, he balled up his fists and gave the threads a sharp yank.


    With a delightfully crisp crunch of shattered bone, Samantha¡¯s chest lifted an inch or more, and she immediately sucked in a deep breath, her lungs no longer squeezed by the weight of her own body.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s step one,¡± Hacksaw muttered. He raised his arms over his head to extract the green threads. Once they were clear of Samantha¡¯s flesh he shook them off his fingers, the filaments breaking apart into drifting fragments that quickly dissipated into the air. ¡°Now for the fun part. I¡ª¡±


    Samantha¡¯s eyes shot wide open, and she let out a pained gasp as she began to thrash, trying to sit up.


    ¡°Nope, nope, nope,¡± Hacksaw said. Realizing that trying to hold her down was a futile endeavor when he was nearly tossed on his behind, he instead reached into a bag and produced a bottle of clear solution that he soaked a linen rag with, pressing it firmly over the young woman¡¯s mouth and nose as she fought furiously. ¡°Go to sleep, precious,¡± he said in a strained voice, working desperately to keep clear of her flailing arms. ¡°Go to sleep now. That¡¯s it. Night night for you.¡±


    In seconds, Sam¡¯s eyes lost their manic energy, and the lids began to flutter shut. She strained against the soporific for several moments, head jerking up and down, fists clenching and unclenching, before she finally drooped down and went still again.


    ¡°Era¡¯s head on a pike,¡± Hacksaw said as he gave a long, relieved whistle. ¡°This fishie¡¯s quite the jumper, isn¡¯t she?¡±


    With the most immediate issue solved, the healer set to work on his patient. First he wielded steel, putting all his strength into making incisions in her stone-hard skin to extract pieces of rib that were threatening to poke holes in her lungs, then stitched her up again with another use of Life Thread, the glowing sutures knitting her flesh back together and leaving puckered, pink scar tissue. Then he used gentler means, casting Regenerate as he put one or two or three fingers to various parts of her torso, a soft green glow alighting from his digits as the skill worked to regrow bone and fuse fractured ends back together. Occasionally, he used Life Thread to shift a rib this way or that so it lay perfect before Regenerating it.


    When he finally sat back, he had worked through all his AP, and his nose dripped with sweat. His dubious grin looked more forced than ever, and his fingers were jerky with skill fatigue. ¡°Well, I did what I could,¡± he said. ¡°She¡¯s still in rough shape, but I reckon she¡¯ll live.¡± He struck a match off the side of his boot and lit a cigarette, puffing eagerly at it. ¡°Damn fine work, if I do say so myself.¡±


    Nyx bent down by Samantha to confirm. Her breaths came easier now, and most of the visible damage that had been done to her torso was sufficiently ameliorated. ¡°Yes,¡± she said with an approving nod at the Physician, ¡°well done, Master Hacksaw.¡±


    His grimace widened a hair. ¡°Then, my debts¡­?¡±


    ¡°Consider them erased.¡±


    ¡°Ha. Well, now I¡¯m almost happy I got out of bed.¡±


    ¡°Will she be fit to fight in an hour?¡±


    ¡°Uh, no. I wouldn¡¯t bet on that.¡±


    ¡°Will she be fit to stand in an hour?¡±


    Hacksaw considered it for a moment while puffing thoughtfully on his cigarette, keen eyes trailing up and down his patient. ¡°Maybe if you juice her up to the gills, but it wouldn¡¯t be a pretty sight.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need pretty.¡±


    Hacksaw shrugged. ¡°Then just say when, ma''am, and I¡¯ll throw everything but the kitchen sink at her.¡±

 Chapter 53 - One-Person Afterparty

    Nyx


    Now that they were reasonably certain the still-sleeping fighter would recover in time, Nyx leaned close to Matthew and murmured in his ear: ¡°I¡¯ll be stepping out for a minute to take care of some minor business. Have one of your boys find me if you need anything.¡±


    Matthew gave a noncommittal grunt, not really paying attention, and Nyx decided to take that as agreement. She slipped out of the tent, and was soon enveloped in the heady scents of sour sweat and stale alcohol as she wandered at a carefully measured pace through the muddy field. Her feet left no imprints in the mud. Of course, she did not really have ¡®feet¡¯, and she only maintained the illusion of ¡®walking¡¯ out of consideration for the mortals around her. They tended to become terrified at the sight of a Fallen One ¡®flying¡¯, and it was bad form to frighten one¡¯s pets without good reason.


    Mortals parted for her, and most kept their gazes downcast¡ªshe always enjoyed seeing how well her kind had brought the humans to heel, taught the value of paying deference to the True Blood.


    An emaciated beggar soon fell into step beside her, head jerking occasionally with withdrawal from one substance or another. He had trouble matching her pace, wanting to walk faster than she intended, and repeatedly had to slow until she caught up.


    The beggar had followed Catherine as she had requested. He brought her to a spot in the busiest part of the fairground, where a woman lay pathetically sprawled in the soupy mud between two tents, her face and arms and legs a mess of bruises and cuts, hair wet and plastered to her cheeks. A bottle of dark spirits dangled in her limp grip, the neck teetering dangerously close to spilling out its contents.


    Nyx could not decide whether to be impressed or disgusted. In the end, she decided it was simply amusing. ¡°Catherine,¡± she said, voice raised to cut through the commotion all around.


    The woman blinked, groaned slightly, but otherwise gave no indication that she had heard.


    ¡°Most calamitous?¡± the beggar murmured by her ear.


    Ah, that¡¯s right. He¡¯ll be wanting his reward. These substance-dependent humans can be so impatient.


    ¡°Leave,¡± she said with a dismissive wave, and took a step away from the repulsive mortal. His weakness did not appeal to her at all. He was nothing at all like her chosen one. ¡°You will receive your treat from the Headmistress.¡±


    The beggar instantly began backing away, nodding and bowing before turning and scurrying off. Nyx sighed as she watched him go, and felt a tiny, uncharacteristic stab of weakness in her ¡®heart¡¯. The Headmistress was much more strict with her pets than Nyx was¡ªonce they took a liking to her treats, she did not let them off her leash until she had worn them down to dust.


    Nyx could not find any satisfaction in living that way. After all, she held true fondness for humans, and to see the ones she favored meet with misfortune made her feel¡­ something. Maybe a human would describe the feeling as ¡®queasy¡¯? No, not quite. ¡®Sad¡¯? No, that wasn¡¯t quite it either. ¡®Dissatisfied¡¯. That was it. Simple dissatisfaction at seeing her efforts be undone. Or, maybe¡­ Maybe it was ¡®rage¡¯. Yes. That word resonated well within her.


    She could never live the way the Headmistress did, but then, all Fallen Ones were different. Only the filthy Bright Ones tried to enforce some unnatural sense of unity, and how had that turned out for them?


    ¡°Catherine!¡± Nyx repeated, more loudly this time.


    The woman shifted, head slumping onto one shoulder, and her half-lidded, slightly cross-eyed gaze finally fixed on Nyx. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re drunk,¡± Nyx observed.


    ¡°Am I?¡± Catherine giggled. She dribbled spit on her own chin like an infant, smacking her lips noisily.


    ¡°Did you perform the task I gave you?¡±


    ¡°Yessssssss.¡± She stretched the word out impossibly long, then trailed off once she lifted the liquor bottle to her lips and took a clumsy swig, half of it spilling out the corner of her mouth.


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s¡­¡± She burped, then smacked her lips. ¡°He¡¯s definitely a hitter.¡±


    ¡°Be serious.¡±


    ¡°Fiiiiiine.¡± She went to take another swig of alcohol, but her arm faltered halfway and she cradled the muddy bottle against her chest instead, smearing filth between her breasts. ¡°I distracted him, I Identified him, I fed him laxatives, and I made fun of him until he looked like he was about to cry.¡±


    ¡°Are you telling the truth?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m lying out my ass.¡± Catherine burped again, then she dribbled a small quantity of vomit down her front. She grimaced at the taste, and washed it down with more alcohol.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Nyx sighed, choosing to believe the whore¡¯s report.


    It was better than Nyx had expected. She hadn¡¯t thought Catherine would get close enough to the Hero to speak with him personally in the first place. Maybe the girl might become a valuable pet after all, if she could be weaned off some of her more¡­ inconvenient habits. Unlike the Headmistress, Nyx preferred her assets to be alert and effective.


    ¡°What did the Identification reveal?¡± Nyx asked.


    ¡°It was¡­ incomplete. But I know he put all his points in Dexterity. All twelve of ¡®em. And I know he has Web on top of all the Soulbindy stuff.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Is that all?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯ssssss it.¡±


    ¡°Very well. You have done well, Catherine. You may enjoy your¡­ leisure activity for the rest of the night, and we will discuss your compensation once you have regained your wits.¡±


    Catherine did not reply. She just tossed back the last bit of brown liquor, then let the empty bottle slip through her fingers. She murmured something that was seemingly directed at no one in particular, her eyes drifting up toward the rainy night sky, but Nyx could not make out a word of it over the noise.


    * * *


    Will


    He knocked at the door of The Lucky Lady, then waited. When there was no answer, he knocked again. After the third time, he felt confident that there was no one inside, but he was not deterred. He was going to get that drink one way or another.


    Surely, Joe Crag would forgive a little innocent trespassing between friends.


    Will placed his hand over the simple door lock. He used Detect [Metal] to visualize the tumblers inside, then Repelled lightly against each one with a sustained cast until they all clicked into place. He tried the handle, and clicked his tongue in satisfaction when it swung inward.


    His mirth was somewhat dampened by the pistol barrel aimed at his forehead on the other side of the threshold. He blinked, and readied another Repel to toss the weapon¡¯s owner across the room, but stopped himself when he noticed the rotund frame of the man standing in the shadows.


    ¡°Hi, Joe,¡± Will said.


    Joe hastily lowered his weapon with a yelp, uncocked the hammer. ¡°Will!¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°The hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?¡±


    ¡°Looking for a drink. What are you doing here in the middle of the night?¡±


    ¡°I happen to own the place, you know, so I get to be here whenever the fuck I want. But for your information, I couldn¡¯t sleep, so I figured I might as well start working early; do some prepping for the day, get some cleaning done.¡±


    ¡°Cool. So, are you going to let me in, or¡­?¡±


    ¡°Oh, sure. Sorry.¡±


    Joe stood aside, and Will dragged himself inside the darkened tavern. There was only a single candle burning in a brass holder on the counter¡ªno wonder he hadn¡¯t seen the light through the windows. He shrugged the rifle case off his shoulder and let it fall wherever, then slumped down on a creaky barstool, head in his hands, working over his wet scalp with his fingers.


    ¡°I guess I don¡¯t need to ask why you¡¯re up late,¡± Joe said as he took the one candle and went about the common room lighting more. ¡°You¡¯ve been working, eh?¡±


    Will looked down at his blood-spattered clothing. He tried to think of something witty to say, but in the end all that came out was: ¡°Yeah,¡± followed by a flaccid sigh.


    ¡°Rough one?¡± Joe called from the other end of the room.


    ¡°Little bit.¡±


    The tavern keeper came back around, sidling behind the counter and putting his big hands down on top of it. ¡°Wanna talk about it?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough. What are we drinking, then?¡±


    ¡°Something strong. And by god, make it a double.¡±


    ¡°You got it.¡± He bent down, searched around behind the counter, and eventually rose back up with a short, dusty bottle. It let out a satisfying pop as he uncorked it, and he poured two generous glasses of amber liquid.


    Will took one and drained half in one swallow. He gritted his teeth at the burn that spread down his throat and into his stomach, which eventually was diluted into a pleasant warmth all the way to his fingertips. ¡°Whiskey,¡± he said.


    ¡°Whiskey,¡± Joe replied with a nod. ¡°Best medicine in the world¡ªno offense to you, of course.¡±


    ¡°None taken. I was always better at the kind of medicine that makes people fall down dead, anyway.¡±


    ¡°Buddy, are you all right? You¡¯re not hurt, are you? I¡¯ve never seen you like this.¡±


    Will blinked, and saw a snapshot of a screaming woman behind his eyelid, remembered the feeling of his knife going through her skin and her flesh, and drank down the rest of his whiskey to drown the memory. ¡°I¡¯m not hurt,¡± he said after a time. ¡°You should see the other guys, though.¡±


    He¡¯d killed a lot of people that night, but the ones he felt worst about were the ones he''d let live.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you do it, man,¡± Joe said, sipping at his own drink. ¡°When I decided to give sleeping a miss, I thought I¡¯d try checking out that big tournament everyone¡¯s been talking about all week. Couldn¡¯t even make it through one fight. All that blood¡­¡± He shook his head, jowls quivering. ¡°Not for me, man. Not for me.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I should¡¯ve become a pit fighter instead,¡± Will mused, tracing a finger over the rim of his empty glass. ¡°At least there¡¯s something honest about that. I hear they don¡¯t even kill each other most of the time.¡± He sighed, and slid over the glass for a refill. ¡°Imagine that.¡±


    Joe poured in a thumbnail¡¯s depth. ¡°I¡¯m kind of surprised you¡¯re not there, though.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Well, on account of that girl.¡±


    Will frowned. ¡°What girl?¡±


    ¡°That one you brought here. The tall one. Sam Darling, isn¡¯t that her name?¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh.¡± The warmth of the alcohol left Will at once, replaced by a cold stiffness. ¡°What about Sam Darling?¡±


    ¡°Well, since she¡¯s fighting in the tournament and all. You seemed like you were sweet on her, so I thought¡ª¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s what?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s¡­ fighting in the tournament. On quite a tear, apparently.¡± Joe blinked, scratching behind one ear. ¡°You mean you didn¡¯t know?¡±


    Will stood up and made for the door, only stopping to retrieve his sword, but leaving the case where it was. That big thing would only slow him down.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Joe called. ¡°The finals will be on by now¡ªyou won¡¯t make it in time! Just sit down and¡ª¡±


    Will stepped back out into the rain and slammed the door behind him, shutting out the last of Joe¡¯s words. He glanced down at his arm. Nine AP. He was already worn out, too, with plain ol'' exhaustion as well as skill fatigue.


    I¡¯ll have to push it.


    ¡°Fucking Mongrel,¡± he muttered under his breath as he steered his steps north, toward Darkside and the haze of light spilling into the sky from it. ¡°I should¡¯ve known I couldn¡¯t trust that bastard to do one single thing right.¡±


    A pit fighting tournament. He¡¯d let Sam enter a fucking pit fighting tournament.


    People died in those. A lot of people.


    Sam won¡¯t be one of them. I¡¯ll get there before anything happens to her.


    I have to.


    A max-range Dash shot him high into the air, cresting above a rooftop, and he pushed off the next building with a Repel to keep himself afloat while Dash was skill lagged. Alternating them back and forth, he sustained a sort of awkward bounding flight over Topside, occasionally touching down and running a while to make his AP last longer.


    He headed north, toward the lights of the entertainment district, and hoped he wasn''t too late.

 Chapter 54 - Fall Gag

    Henke


    Despite her less than confidence-inspiring appearance, he had to admit that Venture did good work. Throwing combinations against the mitts of his sparring partner to limber up for the fight, he felt only a mild protest from his muscles. He was back to full range of motion, and moved with close to his usual agility. Additionally, the Physician had ensured that the substance that crazy woman had tried to poison her with was flushed out of his system without too much discomfort.


    The extra prep time had worked in Henke¡¯s favor, giving the Devil¡¯s Eye just a little bit longer to restore some of its charge. It was still on the low end, but it would be more than enough to finish off that bleeding-heart Laborer.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to destroy her,¡± said his sparring partner.


    I¡¯m going to destroy her.


    ¡°You¡¯re a winner.¡±


    I¡¯m a winner.


    ¡°You¡¯re a champion.¡±


    I¡¯m a champion.


    ¡°They love you.¡±


    They love me.


    ¡°Now go out there and make it look easy!¡±


    Henke threw a furious combination; jabs, hooks, straights, overhands, and ended with a primal scream that pulled the tendons in his neck taut and left his face hot. Taking a step back and wiping a speck of saliva from his lower lip, he felt fresh confidence surge inside him.


    He was the best. He just needed to make that abundantly, unmistakably clear to everyone else. To the fans. There couldn''t be any doubt.


    Dickie Rich in his crisp gray suit came away from a small throng of business associates and strolled over to Henke, giving him a hard clap on the back. ¡°You look lethal,¡± he said.


    ¡°I¡¯m in top form, sir,¡± Henke replied, nodding.


    ¡°Good. Now, from what I hear, they¡¯ve barely got Sam Darling upright. I¡¯d say a stiff breeze would knock her over.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to destroy her.¡±


    ¡°Obviously. What I¡¯m saying is, don¡¯t go too easy on her. Drag it out a bit¡ªgive the fans what they want. Make it bloody.¡±


    Henke grinned. ¡°I can do that.¡±


    Dickie Rich¡¯s own smile was thin and measured. ¡°Attaboy.¡±


    Henke was accompanied by a small group into the tunnel. They checked his wraps, and gave him a final rub-down of oil to keep him slippery in case Sam Darling decided to try and grapple him. No one patted him down. Dickie Rich paid the League enough for the attendants to conveniently forget that little detail. Not that it would matter either way.


    Then the doors opened, and he trotted out onto the sands of the enormous Hell-1 pit. His stage. His home.


    The ringside was packed with his fans, jostling for space with one another. The bleachers were equally full. They were screaming his name, a chorus so loud it hurt his ears.


    ¡°Heee-ro! Heee-ro! Heee-ro!¡± they chanted.


    Henke raised both hands over his head in greeting, and the roar got even louder. ¡°Heee-ro! Heee-ro! Heee-ro!¡± Then he sketched out a bow, which he turned into a nimble front flip to show the fans that the previous fight had not left any marks on him.


    He crossed a good portion of the hundred-foot diameter ring at a leisurely jog, nodding at eager attendees, giving high fives to ones that reached down to touch him, even shook a hand or two.


    They loved him.


    They were there to see him.


    Henke had been worried for nothing. The fans did not think less of him for struggling a little in his fight against the rat. If anything, they were even more enthusiastic than usual in their support.


    On the other end of his stage, a lone figure emerged from doors already closing behind her. Sam Darling. Henke¡¯s confidence shot higher as soon as he saw her. She was moving in a slow, shambling gait. If anything, ¡®barely upright¡¯ had been a hyperbolic statement. She looked like the living dead.


    Henke could not hold back a laugh. The hardest part of this match would be trying not to finish Sam Darling too quickly. Dickie Rich was right, after all. It wasn¡¯t enough to just win¡ªthe fans deserved a spectacle.


    His step was light and loose as he approached the center of the stage, wanting to meet his opponent halfway and get a closer look at her. Gone was the clown act she had been putting on for most of the night¡ªthe painted symbols of love and peace had mostly been wiped off, leaving only colorful smears here and there on her arms and face. Gone, too, was her cocky grin. Her face was gray and grim, her short boyish hair a dirty mess.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    The sequined vest she had been wearing was gone, and her upper body was only clothed in the gauze wrapping that covered most of her torso. Her feet dragged in the rain-wet sand, unsteady.


    Most importantly, her eyes were dull and downcast, all the life gone out of them. She knew she was beaten. They both knew the outcome of this fight¡ªletting it play out was just a formality.


    ¡°LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!¡± Golden Boy cried, twirling about in the air above. ¡°WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE! NOW, AT LAST, THE TIME HAS COME FOR THE FINAL PERFORMANCE OF THE NIGHT! CHAMPION VERSUS CHALLENGER, WINNER TAKES ALL. ONE FIGHTER WILL WALK AWAY WITH FIFTY THOUSAND GLORIES, WHILE THE OTHER¡­¡± He trailed off, leaving the statement unfinished. ¡°BETS ARE OPEN FOR ONE MORE MINUTE, SO MAKE SURE YOU LOCK YOURS IN NOW! YOU DON¡¯T WANNA MISS OUT ON THIS ONE, FOLKS!¡±


    Sam Darling was twenty feet away now, still trying to make her way to the center of his stage at a snail¡¯s pace.


    ¡°OUR DEFENDING CHAMPION NEEDS NO INTRODUCTION,¡± Golden Boy continued. ¡°HENKE THE HERO, THE MAN WITH THE KILLER HAND, WITH A RECORD OF THIRTY-NINE WINS AND ZERO LOSSES. HE HAS OVERCOME SOME TOUGH COMPETITION TONIGHT TO GET HERE, AND IT SURE LOOKS LIKE HE¡¯S HUNGRIER THAN EVER, DOESN¡¯T IT FOLKS?¡±


    They cheered. Oh, how they cheered.


    ¡°AND FOR OUR CHALLENGER¡­ A FRESH CONTENDER WHO APPEARED OUT OF NOWHERE TO TAKE THE B-BRACKET BY STORM. SAM ¡®PEACEFUL FIST¡¯ DARLING HAS GOT A LOT TO PROVE¡ªNOW, LET¡¯S SEE IF SHE CAN DO IT!¡±


    The fans booed, drawing a grin from Henke. They were on his side.


    The gold-plated announcer floated down beside him, throwing a chubby arm around over his shoulders and putting the scepter up to his mouth. ¡°DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY TO THE PEOPLE BEFORE THE FIGHT STARTS?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Henke said, his voice echoing out over the crowd. ¡°With the risk of plagiarizing our late Jax, I think that Sam Darling is a disgrace to this sport. I mean to make a sacrifice of her, but not in the name of some dead goddess. I will water this blessed ground with her blood, and add one more name to the list of unworthy ones who have been judged and found wanting in our glorious arena. Death or nothing. That is all.¡±


    ¡°Death or nothing! Death or nothing! Death or nothing!¡± the fans echoed back at him.


    Golden Boy drifted a short distance over to Sam Darling, who had finally almost made it to the center, and followed her at a slow glide as she continued her dogged trudging. ¡°ANY REBUTTAL TO THAT, DARLING?¡± he asked.


    The Laborer said nothing, didn¡¯t acknowledge the announcer¡¯s presence in any way. Coming to a lurching stop just beyond arm¡¯s reach from Henke, she slowly raised one hand into the air and made a fist of it.


    Henke¡¯s grin widened. What was that supposed to mean?


    Then, for the first time, she looked up and met his gaze.


    For some reason, the steely intensity in those pale blue eyes made his smile slip a hair.


    Golden Boy zipped away, leaving his floating golden orb behind to bob sedately around the two fighters. The crowd cheered.


    Henke could not pay attention to any of it. For some reason, a voice echoed in his head, refusing to go away.


    Sam Darling is going to take you apart.


    Justice is coming for you.


    The horn sounded, and Henke took several cautious steps back. Darling followed at the same sluggish, labored pace, her fist held high.


    * * *


    Mongrel


    Watching his fighter shamble into the ring from his vantage point at the railing, Mongrel wondered if he really should have made that last bet.


    He would have netted a tidy profit just from the previous predictions he had made that night, could have made off with enough spending money in his pocket to last him a year. He hadn¡¯t needed to put every penny he owned¡ªalong with the funds he had strategically borrowed from Will¡ªon Sam winning over Henke the Hero. He could have washed his hands of the whole affair and walked away.


    Then again, if Will¡¯s girlfriend ended up dead at the end of this, he would undoubtedly track Mongrel down and dice him into tiny little pieces, so he was kind of all-in anyway.


    If you¡¯re gonna make a bet, might as well bet big.


    Words to live by. But when you were reasonably certain you were going to lose everything, they felt a slim comfort indeed.


    A loud, brassy cry marked the start of the bout, and Mongrel said a hushed prayer to his lucky marble, along with a humble and heartfelt appeal to every deity he could name.


    Sam kept walking toward her opponent, a hand in the air, while Henke backed slowly away from her, wary.


    ¡°Why has she got her fist up like that?¡± Mongrel asked, leaning close to the demoness beside him to be heard over the din. Sam had hardly said a word since waking up, and there hadn¡¯t been any time to strategize, so he had no idea what her game plan would be.


    ¡°She¡¯s a fool,¡± Nyx hissed, arms crossed over her chest.


    ¡°I knew that already. But what¡¯s she doing?¡±


    ¡°I believe Samantha is taking inspiration from Ratcatcher. She is telling Henke that she will hit him with that fist¡ªtelegraphing her attack to set up a valor surge.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    Nyx shook her head. ¡°Needless to say, it won¡¯t work. Just because Ratcatcher happened to hit the one-in-a-million jackpot, that doesn¡¯t mean Samantha will have the same luck.¡±


    Mongrel groaned softly, running a hand down his face. ¡°I¡¯m so fucked.¡±


    Nyx patted his shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ll be all right, dearest.¡±


    Sam did not break stride in her excruciatingly sluggish advance toward the Hero. Henke kept a light, bouncy step, hands in a tight guard, while her free one dangled limp by her side.


    Of all the idiot things she could pull, why¡¯d it have to be this one? Did she even have a backup strategy in case she failed to call up a valor surge, or was that plan A through Z? He guessed the latter, and that made his sphincter clench even tighter than it had been.


    Then again¡­


    If you¡¯re gonna make a bet, might as well bet big.


    Sometimes, he hated how wise he sounded.


    Sam took a step and placed her foot down wrong. Her ankle rolled, and she stumbled. Henke saw his chance. Reversing his retreat in a dime, he darted past her defense and threw a right overhand, putting all his weight behind it.


    A fiery explosion washed over Sam¡¯s upper torso as his Devil¡¯s Eye ring connected. Her weight tipped back, and she teetered, then fell like a log, her bandaged chest leaving a trail of smoke that traced her path.


    Sam Darling lay there on the ground, one arm flung limp over her head. She wasn¡¯t moving.


    Mongrel grabbed twin handfuls of his hair and pulled until it hurt, a long, low groan escaping him like the final, flaccid fart of a dead man.


    The seconds stretched on, and she still wasn¡¯t moving.


    Mongrel was already visualizing the coldness of William Greene¡¯s knife pressed against his throat.


    I really fucked up, didn¡¯t I?


    The tournament had seemed like such a sure thing at the time.

 Chapter 55 - You Say Run Goes With Everything

    Sam


    Pain.


    Sam was one huge, sentient bruise¡ªa raw nerve exposed to the air.


    She was lying down. There were lights shining down on her, so bright. The rain was coming down harder, pattering on her face. Out of all the overlapping hurts that covered her from head to toe, the one pulsing in her chest was insisting upon itself the most.


    Gotta get up.


    That was an impossible task. She was done. Completely done. She¡¯d been done before she even got in the ring.


    But somehow, she found her body moving. Slowly, slowly, she began to crank herself into a sitting position using only her abdominal muscles, closed fist still raised above her head. Why had she done that, again? She couldn¡¯t quite remember.


    Sam was still blinking shadows out of her vision when she caught a silhouette move in right on top of her. A fist collided with her face, and the world became all fire, and the ground dropped away beneath her.


    She spun, spun, spun in a crazy carnival ride circuit, stomach lurching. Then she was all numb, everything black, nothing around her, and for a single moment of horror she thought she was dead. Then she blinked, and saw blurry smears of light. She was forced to breathe through her mouth, nostrils all clogged.


    Again, she willed her body to move. As soon as she stirred, all the pain dropped back onto her in a raging flood, telling her to stay the fuck down. Sam wrenched up, up, up, every fraction of an inch seeming an excruciating distance.


    Then she was sitting, hot blood pouring down over her mouth and chin. Another hit took her on the side of the head, sending her sideways, but she caught herself with her free hand, teeth gritted with the strain of supporting her own weight.


    Hand raised, Sam got one wobbly foot beneath her even as blows rained down on her, each one hitting like a battering ram. Then, suddenly, she was standing up, sick with the rolling, topsy-turvy lurch of the ground beneath her.


    Her vision was all out of focus, vague and choppy, but she would never mistake the dark shape of her enemy, contrasted against a field of dirty yellow.


    She took one step toward him, then a second. That was all her plan had boiled down to. Just take one more step, then one more after that, repeated ad nauseum.


    * * *


    Henke


    Why wasn¡¯t that bitch dead yet?


    Henke backed away as she shambled toward him, a smoking mess of blood and bruises. It looked as though each heavy step had to be her last, that she would give up and die any second, but she just¡­ didn¡¯t.


    It shouldn¡¯t have been possible. No matter how many points that dumb bitch had put into Toughness, or how many ranks she had in one stupid Laborer passive or another, his Devil¡¯s Eye was stronger. She should have been full of holes by now, her guts out on her sand. But his ring had only left scorched, bloody welts on her. And she still had those terrible, steel-hard, blood-shot eyes on him.


    His hand was stiff with hurt from punching what felt like a brick wall over and over again, and he was breathing heavy with the strain of it. The wounds he¡¯d thought the Physicians had fixed were making themselves known again, joints and muscles throbbing all over.


    He¡¯d never used the Devil¡¯s Eye so many times in one night¡ªby now it was running on fumes, output dropping.


    All right, the fans have gotten their money¡¯s worth. I need to finish this quickly while I¡¯ve still got some juice left.


    Henke took his time, dancing just out of the Laborer¡¯s range as he set up for a finishing blow. It was not difficult to find an opening when she made no attempt to block any of his attacks, and was too slow to retaliate, but he still made sure not to rush things. Precision was better than speed, after all, and if he missed this shot, he wasn¡¯t sure how many more he would get.


    She lurched forward, and he moved in to meet her, feinting with his right, then swapping the ring to his left with Soul Summoning and throwing a sharp left hook that caught her clean on the chin. The resulting explosion knocked her jaws together with a satisfying crunch of shattered teeth, and her head whipped sideways, droplets flying from her damp hair.


    [At this point, so much rotational force is put into Sam¡¯s head, with her chin as the fulcrum, that her brain bounces off the inside of her skull.]A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    [This causes an immediate shutdown of mental activity, like a light switch being flicked off. It is a purely autonomous response that no amount of willpower can resist.


    [It is for this reason professional fighters fear taking hard blows to the chin. A knockout caused by such a blow signals an immediate end to any fight.]


    [However¡­]


    [Sam refuses to acknowledge the very concept of failure.]


    [Even when her body is broken and her brain has shut off, her spirit continues to march forward, a feat of strength made possible by her Tenacious passive.]


    Sam Darling staggered several steps to the side, teetering on one leg, and Henke felt a surge of relief as she began to topple over, her raised arm wavering. But then, with speed she hadn¡¯t shown once since the start of the fight, she threw a leg out, somehow balancing herself out in a wide, wobbly stance.


    And that fucking fist was still up.


    Wrapped up in mute disbelief, it was only when she had taken two steps toward her that Henke realized he should be backing up, but he found his feet unreasonably heavy, leaden and unresponsive, and he could only shuffle half-heartedly.


    Coming right up to him, walking him down, Darling spat bloody tooth chips in his face and smiled a broken grin, eyes wide and crazy.


    For perhaps the first time in his two lives, Henke experienced true terror.


    Desperate and backed up against the wall behind him, he drew the knife he¡¯d hidden in the folds of his clothing.


    * * *


    Sam


    Sam moved through a liquid haze of half-formed shapes. The world around her was unreal, imaginary; an abstract suggestion. The only thing that existed was the man in front of her. She could not see him, but she knew he was there.


    Her enemy.


    Something came at her fast, a vague ruffle in the indecipherable quilt of colors that made up her vision. In response, a bolt of lightning went up from her feet and shot out of every orifice in her body, filling her with such power that it made her gasp.


    [In this moment, Sam brushes against something deep; something elemental.]


    [In this moment, she glimpses the archetypal essence of a true warrior. She acts on pure instinct, beyond thought or reason.]


    [And for the duration of this one moment, she becomes infinite.]


    All at once, the world snapped into place with painful clarity, so sharp that she could have counted every grain of sand inside the ring. Everything moved so very slowly, trapped in a sea of molasses. Sam looked up at the crowds lining the top of the raised walls, squinting through the limelights, saw people with shouting mouths frozen wide, others suspended in the air mid-leap, some simply staring. All the noise of a thousand people blended together into a loud, bassy rumble that rattled inside her bones.


    She turned her attention back to her opponent. Henke the Hero. He crept toward her with a mad fury twisting his features as he leveraged the glinting point of a knife toward her, no more than a foot from her chest.


    He looked so small.


    Sam knew that it was time. Somehow, she was the only one moving at normal speed as she rolled her right arm, her fist bursting with white-hot power, and buried it in the soft part of Henke¡¯s stomach. There was a long, surreal pause where nothing happened, all the noise dropping away to give way for a tranquil silence.


    [Valor surge.]


    With an explosion that scattered white lightning arcs all over, Henke went flying, ragdolling through the air.


    He hit the back wall so hard he bounced off it. Anticipating his trajectory, Sam dropped low, then hoisted herself into a one-armed handstand as he came back toward her. She planted both feet into his side, completely shifting his trajectory as she sent him sailing straight up.


    He flew so high that he smashed into the viewing cube that floated overhead, and it shattered into a thousand glassy shards that flickered with sliding images.


    There was still a tether of arcing power that connected her to Henke, a rope linking their souls together. Without ever touching it with her hands, Sam yanked on it, knowing exactly how to do it despite having no idea what exactly she was doing.


    [Surge reversal.]


    Sam was pulled out of her handstand, going up as Henke rubber-banded back toward the ground. She severed the tether as they passed each other in the air, her opponent slamming face-first into the ground while she soared, weightless, passing a gawking Golden Boy as she crested her arc some thirty feet up, tipping like a high jump athlete until she was feet-first.


    Sam hurtled toward her opponent with all the weight and certainty of a tombstone, arms crossed over her chest, feet blazing.


    She collided with Henke¡¯s back, bending his body like a twig.


    The world exploded; brilliant white.


    It was over. Henke lay motionless beneath her.


    [Surge end.]


    [Result:]


    [Eight broken ribs, five fractured vertebrae, shattered collarbone, dislocated left shoulder, fractured left orbital, broken nose, torn right bicep, severe electrical burns, severe concussion, and involuntary bowel evacuation.]


    [Status:]


    [Alive. Technically.]


    ¡°You don¡¯t deserve your title,¡± Sam said as she stepped off her opponent, white static still tickling her skin. ¡°I¡¯ll be taking it off your hands.¡±


    She simply stood, thoughtful, waiting for something but not quite sure what it was.


    The horn¡¯s mournful cry broke the thick silence, sounding one last time.


    And the very next moment, a shock went through Sam¡¯s body. All that strength fled her muscles in and instant, and she fell flat on her face.


    [Congratulations! You have reached Level 6!]


    That¡¯s nice¡­


    [Sam Darling wins.]

 Chapter 56 - Hooliganism Will Not Be Tolerated

    Mongrel


    When Sam impacted the earth, one final flash blanketed the whole area, making Mongrel put an arm up over his face. A moment later he felt a great weight slam into him, and looked up to find a tidal wave of sand washing down over him and everyone else. Some unlucky audience members were knocked clean off their feet, nearly drowning in the stuff, while others were left stumbling and coughing and spluttering.


    Mongrel struggled to find his balance in the calf-high layer that was trapping his legs. He pulled them free one at a time, losing a boot in the process, and cursed profusely while jumping on one leg, pouring the sand out of the thing before sticking it back where it belonged.


    Once the dust settled a bit, Mongrel scrambled to the edge of the ring, leaning on the railing to see the aftermath. Nyx had not been affected one bit by the deluge, looking unruffled and calm beside him.


    The floor of the pit had been swept down to bare stone, only a few drifts of sand left here and there. Sam stood tall on the back of her fallen opponent, stray sparks bouncing off her. She was an absolute bloody mess, half her clothes blasted off, but she still looked like a victorious conqueror, powerful and invulnerable.


    She was saying something, but Mongrel was too far away to hear. The capture orb must have been swept away, because it was nowhere to be seen, and there was no amplification to make her voice carry.


    She hopped off Henke¡¯s back, took one jaunty step. Then the horn announced her victory, and a shudder went through her body. She fell like all the bones had been magicked out of her body, drained in an instant of all that seemingly endless strength.


    The whole audience was quiet aside from some low grunts of people getting back up, and the shuffle of feet as folk flocked to the railing.


    Mongrel tried to process everything that had happened in the last thirty seconds, and found it difficult to reconcile with reality. But it had happened. She had won. Some-fucking-how.


    And Mongrel suddenly found himself a very, very rich man.


    He tamped down the urge to laugh, not wanting to jinx it.


    Voices picked up among the gathered spectators, and soon there was a roar of activity. There were a surprising number of cheers amid the chaos¡ªor maybe not so surprising. Mongrel doubted that there had ever been such a spectacular finish to a five-under pit fight in the history of the sport.


    The unhappy ones, however, were really unhappy.


    There were definitely a lot of people in that crowd who were down a good chunk of cash with Sam coming out the winner, and they weren¡¯t shy about making their displeasure known. Scattered fights were breaking out, most of them between disgruntled audience members, but in some places League security people were stepping in to pacify the worst of the malcontents with the business end of a cudgel.


    Security was not doing a very good job at containing the situation. There were only a handful of them, compared to the dozens that were making a scene, hyping each other up and becoming angrier by the second. Some of them were actually hopping over the railing and into the pit.


    Golden Boy looked helplessly on from his bird¡¯s eye vantage point, unable to plead with his patrons without the aid of his capture orb. He had both hands to his shining cueball head, tiny white wings hanging sad and limp from his back.


    I¡¯m guessing they¡¯re not looking to get the new champion¡¯s autograph.


    ¡°Motherfucker,¡± Mongrel growled, gripping the wooden guardrail. ¡°Era¡¯s goddamn withered titties, why¡¯s there always some bastard looking to shit in an honest man¡¯s dinner?¡±


    ¡°A valid philosophical conundrum,¡± Nyx mused, ¡°for another time. For now, maybe you ought to do something to ensure our dear Samantha¡¯s safety.¡±


    ¡°I know that, demon!¡± Mongrel barked, slapping his hands against the railing. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ working myself up to it.¡±


    ¡°If you come back alive, I¡¯ll give you a kiss for free.¡±


    ¡°On my cock?¡±


    She snorted. ¡°On the cheek.¡±


    ¡°On the mouth.¡±


    ¡°Fine. On the mouth.¡±


    Mongrel smiled his most winsome smile, and whistled over the din to bring the boys to attention. He swung over the railing, turning back to face the pretty demoness with one hand hanging onto the guardrail and one leg dangling over the edge of the pit.


    ¡°A generous offer,¡± he said, ¡°but I¡¯ll have to decline. I¡¯m a firm believer in not sticking my dick in crazy, and darling, you¡¯re as twisted as they come. Still, it¡¯s nice to know that the effect I have on women extends to demons, too.¡±


    He winked, then let himself fall, a puzzled-looking Nyx quickly passing out of view. He landed in a graceful crouch, the boys dropping down on either side of them, and he charged ahead to reach Sam before the filthy zoo animals Sheerhome considered upstanding citizens did.


    * * *


    Sam


    Sam found herself thinking that she might have played her role as a heel a little too well.


    Half her vision was filled with gray stone, while the other half was filled with angry people running her way. She counted¡­ ten. No, two more just jumped down. An even dozen, then. There was a sort of storybook symmetry in being able to say you were beaten black and blue by a dozen men.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    People always told her that she was reckless and stupid and had the survival instincts of a lemming, but even she would have tucked tail and ran with odds like those. She would have loved to run away, only she was faced with the slight predicament of not being able to move a single muscle in her body.


    In fact, she might as well have been an amputee from the neck down for all that she could feel it.


    The men were getting closer, screaming obscenities and cursing her for all sorts of things. Oh. That one was holding a knife, wasn¡¯t he? And so was that one. That one had a sword, even.


    They weren¡¯t going to beat her. They were going to murder her.


    Oh. That makes this a lot less funny, then.


    A furry shape leapt over her head, then another, and another, all knuckling past. On their vests were the numbers ¡®2¡¯, ¡®4¡¯, and ¡®5¡¯.


    The chimps met the messy throng of oncoming aggressors, and a lot of leaping and snarling and shrieking and screaming and punching and wrestling and stabbing ensued.


    There was still something furry in the very corner of her vision, so Sam turned her eyes up until they almost rolled back against her skull, found Number Three standing there, flipping a knife in one hand while pinching a cigarette to his broad mouth with the other.


    ¡°Appreciate¡­ the help¡­¡± Sam managed to work out, the effort leaving a strong taste of blood on her tongue.


    Number Three glanced her way, scoffed, and made a jerkoff gesture with his knife hand.


    ¡°Nice work out there, kid,¡± came Mongrel¡¯s distinctly coarse, unattractive voice, and the man himself came clattering up on her other side a moment later, a rust-spotted sword resting on his shoulder. ¡°We¡¯ve got the rest.¡±


    Which was encouraging to hear, except when she looked back to the three chimp brothers brawling with the group of men some twenty feet off, it didn¡¯t look so much like the chimps were winning. The nice even dozen had suffered some falloff, several men lying moaning with bloody wounds, but three of the ones still standing had ganged up on poor little Number Five and were poking him full of holes while he screamed terribly. Number Two lay on his back, arms thrown wide, a knife handle sticking out of his neck. Number Four was surrounded by a slowly closing circle of men, his frantic jabbing with his knife not enough to keep them at bay.


    ¡°Well,¡± Mongrel said, scratching at his head, ¡°time for Plan B, I guess.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s¡­ that?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°We run like hell.¡±


    ¡°Good plan¡­¡±


    As they were finishing up with the chimps, a few of the attackers broke clear of their group and came for Sam, steel in their hands and murder in their eyes.


    Number Three charged ahead to deal with the first, expelling a fearsome war cry and swinging his knife arm in circles over his head.


    At the sight of the other two rounding the chimp to continue toward their real target, Mongrel reluctantly lowered his sword into an awkward sort of guard stance. He gave a disgusted croak and hawked a gob of saliva on the ground, as though the very thought of having to actually fight for himself put a bad taste in his mouth.


    ¡°What happened¡­ to running?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°We¡¯re onto Plan C now, kid. Keep up, will you?¡± He glanced over at her, then back at the two men coming his way. ¡°Plan C is we murder them before they murder us. Actually, you don¡¯t think you could get off your ass and help, do you?¡±


    Sam gave a tired chuckle.


    ¡°Yeah, thought not.¡±


    Mongrel angled his weapon at the faster of the two men, striking a bow-legged en garde posture. He never actually got to cross swords with his opponent, however. There was a brief flicker of movement, then the man¡¯s open, roaring mouth went into a surprised O as he slid into two pieces, bisected at the waist. Wet, pink guts spilled out of both ends as they flopped onto the dirt.


    In his place stood a man with a long, silvery blade held out to the side, its single edge dripping red.


    Even from behind, Sam instantly knew who it was just from the taper of his back and his unkempt hair.


    Will.


    Her heart beat faster at the sight of him, and her deadened body even scraped together enough nerve activation to twitch a little. As soon as she saw him, she knew she was safe. Mongrel clearly felt the same, because he immediately tipped his sword back to let it rest on his shoulder.


    Then Will looked back, and the relief she¡¯d felt at seeing him turned all sour.


    He looked¡­ terrifying. Rain-soaked and tight-jawed, his chest heaving with huge, slow breaths like a wolf at the end of a long hunt. Dried blood spatter covered the front of him, and his grip on that strange sword was so tight it looked like his knuckles were about to pop.


    The thing that disturbed her the most, though, was the look in his one thrown-wide eye. There was something indescribably dark behind that gaze, something that made her want to run away even more than the men literally out to kill her.


    The second man slowed at the sight of his bifurcated comrade, but kept up a cautious advance, a long dagger in one hand, the other held wide for grappling. He was a Level 6 Builder, she noticed by his uncovered left forearm.


    Will turned back to the man and approached him in a casual, plodding way. He had the reach advantage considering the absurd length of that sword he was wielding. Going by the dead gems on his arm he only had 2 AP left, along with a strange orange one sitting above the other crystals, but it didn''t look as though the resource discrepancy between him and his opponent bothered him much. When the enemy was within striking distance, he aimed a lazy swing, as though swatting an insect.


    The Builder dropped his dagger and caught Will''s blade between his palms, stopping it only inches from his face. ¡°Demolish!¡± he cried triumphantly.


    For once, Sam knew enough about the whole skill thing to understand what the man was looking so smug about, and her own heart sank in anticipation of Will¡¯s blade flying into shards.


    But the blade did not shatter. It rattled a little in Will¡¯s hand, but there was no visible damage; not even a crack.


    On the other hand, all the self-assurance drained from the Builder¡¯s face along with the color, leaving him slack-jawed and gray. Then he fell on his butt, and his mouth opened wide, and he began to scream, even though the sword had caused no injury to him that Sam could see.


    He fumbled desperately for his fallen blade, caught it, arm shaking violently as he held it up toward Will.


    With a dismissive flick of the wrist, Will¡¯s silvered blade severed the offending arm at the elbow, cutting through bone and sinew and muscle like it was nothing. The severed limb flopped like a fish even after being cut off, fingers working spastically around the hilt of the dagger.


    The man lay back and wailed, back arching, an obscene amount of blood pumping out of the remainder of his right arm.


    Will paid him little mind, sidestepping the fountain of bodily fluids and proceeding toward the attackers that were left. Number Three passed him on his way back to his master, having dispatched his opponent without much trouble.


    The six men that were left inside the pit looked as though they had thoroughly lost their appetite for violence, an attitude encouraged by the impossibly loud screams of the one-armed fellow.


    Will halted some distance from them, the tip of his sword resting on the ground. ¡°The show¡¯s over,¡± he said. ¡°Go home.¡±


    He received no argument. One of the men turned and started running, and the rest promptly followed.


    As soon as he saw that they were leaving, Will broke off any attempt at pursuit and returned to Sam instead, a hunch to his shoulders and a stiffness in his legs. He stopped on the way to clean his sword on an unsullied bit of the screaming man¡¯s tunic, then slammed it back in its filigreed scabbard.


    He bent to pick up the man¡¯s lost arm, dropped it in his lap. ¡°That belongs to you,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t lose it.¡±


    Sam¡¯s stomach churned with all the death. Part of her wanted to be sick, but the rest of her couldn¡¯t muster enough energy to care much. Things started going foggy on her, like she was fading in and out. One moment she was on the ground. Then she was¡­ moving. In Will¡¯s arms, she realized. Carrying her like a princess. For some reason, that made her want to giggle.


    Feeling his arms around her, the rumble of his chest as he was speaking to Mongrel, everything was all right again. All the death, all the pain, it didn¡¯t matter so much anymore.


    She¡¯d won, and Will was with her, and he was taking her someplace safe. That was all that mattered.


    Finally, her eyes slid all the way shut, and she let the fog take her.

 Chapter 57 - Whos Walking Who?

    Mongrel


    Mongrel and Number Three walked on either side of an exhausted-looking Will with the girl in his arms. They shot menacing glares at anyone who tried to get close, toting drawn weapons. Any drunken idiot who looked about ready to take them up on their offer of violence quickly thought better of it once they noticed the one-eyed man heading up their little trio. With Sam covering his left arm, there was no way for them to know exactly how run-down he was, reduced to just 2 AP.


    If a fight did break out, Mongrel wasn¡¯t sure how much help Will would be at this point. The way he staggered along, twitchy and stiff, Mongrel wasn¡¯t even confident he¡¯d stay mobile for long.


    Luckily, the thinning fairground crowds did not appear keen to test that theory, and reluctantly parted for them as they made their way south toward Darkside proper.


    And the rain had stopped. So that was something.


    There was nothing to be done for the chimps they¡¯d left behind; their bodies had already demanifested and been sucked back into his body, where they would gestate there until they had recovered enough to be resummoned in two or three days.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re actually this stupid, Matt,¡± Will growled, jaw muscles working as he ground his teeth. ¡°You have no idea how badly you just fucked everything up¡ªand things were plenty fucked-up already.¡±


    Oof, we¡¯re in ¡®Matt¡¯ territory, are we? Kid only calls me that when he¡¯s pissed.


    ¡°What the hell did I do?¡± Mongrel asked. ¡°Because of me, your girl is already Level 5, and she won that whole damn tournament. How about you stow away the attitude and start over with a ¡®thank you¡¯, instead?¡±


    ¡°All right. Thank you for fucking everything up. Really great job all around. I¡¯d clap if my hands weren¡¯t full.¡±


    ¡°Pfft. No need to get all testy.¡±


    Will spun around. Sam¡¯s head rolled against his shoulder, and the one wide eye he fixed on Mongrel was as mad as a cow in heels, only a tad more frightening. ¡°Mongrel, you realize I was trying to keep Sam out of the spotlight, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I suppose,¡± Mongrel muttered, uncomfortable at being forced to stand around while people gawked at them.


    ¡°Come morning, everyone in the city is going to know what happened here. They¡¯re going to know about Sam, and about you, and about my intervention. Which, of course, means that Lord Brimstone will hear about it. And once he learns I¡¯ve been raising a fighting ace Laborer behind his back, he¡¯s going to have some interesting questions for all three of us, you can be sure of that.¡±


    ¡°Sure, but¡­¡± Mongrel fumbled for an excuse, sniffing at his pursed upper lip. ¡°That¡¯s only because you stepped in. If you hadn¡¯t shown up, no one would know you two were connected.¡±


    ¡°No, of course not,¡± Will shot back. ¡°You¡¯d just be dead, the both of you¡ªthat¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡­¡± Mongrel shrugged. ¡°Maybe I did mess up a little. Sorry, I guess.¡±


    Will snorted, and turned to keep walking. ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit about your apologies. Right now, I need you to help us get out of the city as quick as possible. And in case I have to make it abundantly clear to a mental vacuum such as yourself, it¡¯s your neck on the line, too.¡±


    ¡°All right, slow your roll, kid. I get it already, so let¡¯s just keep moving.¡±


    Will did not argue.


    They continued making their way through the fairground. As though by magic, Nyx was suddenly at Mongrel¡¯s side, and he nearly jumped out of his own skin when he heard her sultry voice in his ear.


    ¡°Matthew,¡± she said, as serene and composed as ever, ¡°you are headed for the farm, yes?¡±


    Mongrel grunted to the affirmative, slipped in some mud, and swore as he fought to stay upright.


    ¡°Very good. In that case, I believe I will stay in the city to oversee our interests.¡±


    ¡®Our¡¯ interests, is it? Mongrel thought, but let the comment slide, as he did not have the energy to argue about it. A woman could end a man with words faster than a fella with a sword. ¡°Do as you like,¡± he said, mean-mugging a Builder whose hand was drifting dangerously close to his dagger.


    ¡°Good!¡± Nyx said in a bright voice. ¡°And of course, I will also ensure that your money stays safe.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck was that, now?¡±


    ¡°Think about it. Do you really think that Golden Boy will be happy to provide your winnings if you¡¯re tardy in collecting?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­¡±


    ¡°In short, there¡¯s a good chance he¡¯ll conveniently ¡®forget¡¯ about the whole affair and lose any paperwork to the contrary. And without the backing of a major organization, you have no leverage to force him into anything.¡±


    Mongrel snorted. ¡°I¡¯ve got my ways, darling, don¡¯t you worry.¡±


    The demoness threw him a patronizing smirk that made his face go hot with anger. ¡°I¡¯m sure you do, dearest. Of course, there¡¯s also the matter of the champion¡¯s purse. That¡¯s a lot of money to simply leave floating around without taking proper ownership. If you¡¯d delegate the matter to me, I can ensure that it stays safely stored away for you to retrieve at any time. All you need to do is have a little faith in me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s all, is it? Trust a demoness who¡¯d just as soon lie as take a breath?¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Nyx¡¯s smile widened. ¡°Yes, dearest. That¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Forget it.¡±


    She laughed. ¡°You¡¯re cute when you pout.¡±


    ¡°Will, aren¡¯t you supposed to start yelling at her to go away about now?¡±


    ¡°For once, I don¡¯t mind,¡± Will said, his gaze fixed doggedly ahead. ¡°At least she¡¯s keeping all the people off our backs.¡±


    Mongrel looked about. She was, at that. He hadn¡¯t noticed.


    ¡°Well?¡± Nyx prodded. ¡°What will it be, Matthew?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve already told you, woman! It¡¯s a no, and that¡¯s final! Keep your claws off my money!¡±


    ¡°How about we make it a contract, then?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not.¡±


    ¡°My undying and everlasting loyalty, in exchange for¡­¡± She tapped a finger against her chin in an exaggerated show of mulling things over. ¡°...A drop of your blood.¡±


    Mongrel scoffed. ¡°That¡¯s disgusting.¡±


    Will stopped on a dime, nearly causing Mongrel to bump into him, and turned back toward the demoness. ¡°What was that?¡±


    ¡°My offer,¡± Nyx said with a shrug. ¡°William, dear, I¡¯m very sorry, but it really doesn¡¯t involve you.¡±


    ¡°Take the offer,¡± Will said curtly, fixing Mongrel with his one sharp eye. ¡°Give her a drop of your blood.¡±


    Mongrel frowned. ¡°But you said¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know what I said! And now I¡¯m telling you to take her offer.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Will stepped up, bringing his, Mongrel¡¯s, and Sam¡¯s heads all uncomfortably close together. ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear what she just said?¡± he hissed. ¡°¡®Undying and everlasting loyalty¡¯. Demons don¡¯t make those kinds of deals¡ªthey just don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but it¡¯s some sort of trick, right? She¡¯s going to use my blood to¡­¡± He shrugged. ¡°I dunno. Whatever demons do. Make a voodoo doll and start twisting my balls in knots.¡±


    Will turned his attention back to the demon. ¡°Is this a formal negotiation?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Then the First Contract compels you to speak no untruth, and omit nothing that is contractually binding.¡±


    ¡°Obviously.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°You would swear undying and everlasting loyalty to this man, Matthew Caldwell? ¡®Undying¡¯, as in ¡®until the moment of your death¡¯? ¡®Everlasting¡¯, as in ¡®continually, without pause or cessation for any reason¡¯? ¡®Loyalty¡¯, as in ¡®ensuring Matthew Caldwell¡¯s interests whenever possible, whether physical, personal, or emotional, based on his own values and frame of reference¡¯?¡±


    Nyx clasped her hands over her ribs and sniffed indignantly. ¡°It sounds boring when you put it like that. But yes, I am willing to proceed under these terms.¡±


    ¡°And in return, you want a single drop of blood? As in, a non-repeated instance of Matthew Caldwell donating his own blood, drawn by his own hand, from a non-specific body part, that amounts at minimum to what collective human reference would qualify as ¡®one drop¡¯?¡±


    She rolled her eyes. ¡°Yes, William, that¡¯s correct.¡±


    ¡°What will you be using the blood for?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see how that¡¯s any of your business.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I have to insist.¡±


    ¡°A memento, that¡¯s all. A symbolic payment, since a contract cannot be made without terms going both ways.¡±


    ¡°All right, fair enough.¡± Will teetered on his feet, eye growing unfocused for a second. To avoid falling over, the lad simply sat down in the mud, ignoring the strange looks it earned him from passersby, and cradled the unconscious woman in his arms, curled over her as though to protect her from the world. ¡°To confirm, you will actively work to ensure Matthew Caldwell¡¯s longevity, good fortune, and personal satisfaction?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± the demon replied impatiently, looking down her nose at the boy.


    ¡°Why? Why would you do this? Especially for someone like him.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Mongrel cut in, then scratched quizzically at his neck. ¡°But, uh, yeah¡ªwhy?¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m fond of you, Matthew. Is it really such a difficult concept to understand?¡± She spoke with the patience of a school teacher explaining a concept to a particularly dim-witted child, which did not improve his opinion of her one bit. ¡°Humans are fond of their pets, aren¡¯t they? They take pleasure in watching them bumble about, and find their feeble attempts at understanding the world around them ¡®cute¡¯. Well, I am no different. Just as people will go to great lengths to protect their pets, I, too, will do everything in my power to keep you happy, healthy, and alive.¡±


    ¡°Did you just call me your pet?¡± Mongrel asked, rightfully outraged.


    ¡°Of course not, dearest¡ªI was making a simple comparison. Don¡¯t be so dramatic; it¡¯s unbecoming.¡±


    ¡°People don¡¯t usually swear fealty¡­ to their pets,¡± Will pointed out. His head had drooped so that his brow touched Sam¡¯s, and his voice was slightly muffled due to his chin pressing against his collarbone. He looked absolutely wiped out¡ªjust what kind of night had he been having?


    ¡°Yes, well, the other way around would be more appropriate,¡± Nyx said, ¡°but I expect it would take a fair bit of wheedling to bring Matthew around to that idea, and we don¡¯t have much time.¡±


    Mongrel felt like a man caught between his wife and his mistress with his pants down, looking back and forth while the boy and the demoness talked around him, bartering over him like he was a leg of lamb.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose your concept of loyalty would involve taking orders?¡± Will asked.


    Nyx snorted. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous, William. Regardless, I am much more effective when working at my own discretion.¡± She templed her hands before her, clacking sharp claws together. ¡°Well, I believe we have laid out the terms. Do you need that in writing?¡±


    Mongrel opened his mouth to speak, but Will beat him to it. ¡°A verbal contract will do.¡±


    ¡°Excellent.¡± Nyx turned her full attention to Mongrel, smiling sweetly. ¡°Well, Matthew? It¡¯s rude to keep a girl waiting.¡±


    Mongrel snapped his teeth shut, rolled his tongue around in his mouth, and slowly sheathed his sword. ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°Just give her the fucking blood, Matt!¡± Will snapped. He shifted his weight onto his left hip, digging a rumpled handkerchief out of his right pants pocket, and threw it over.


    Mongrel caught the fluttering ball of linen against his chest, unfolded it gently, and gazed long at the thing.


    To bleed, or not to bleed.


    He felt the same way he had before his wedding¡ªthe first one. That alone should have been enough to make him think better of the idea.


    Then again, having a demon on payroll didn¡¯t sound like such a bad thing. The little she-devil could even be moderately useful sometimes, whenever she took a break from blue-balling years off his lifespan.


    ¡°Fuck it,¡± he said, and held out his hand to the side.


    A moment later, Number Three deposited his knife into Mongrel¡¯s waiting palm. He tested the edge by shaving away a handful of arm hairs¡ªit was sharp, all right¡ªthen put it to the inside of his forearm, digging hard into the skin. He produced a shallow cut, hissing at the sting of it, then pressed the handkerchief against it as he handed the knife back.


    The cloth soaked red, and the sinking feeling in Mongrel¡¯s stomach grew into something that greatly resembled a powerful bout of constipation. He offered the handkerchief between two fingers, arm extended to its limit so that he could stay as far away from the demon as physically possible.


    ¡°Reckon you got a bit extra, there,¡± he grumbled, ¡°but you can have that on the house.¡± He couldn''t be arsed to produce exactly one drop, and he figured a couple more couldn''t make any difference anyway.


    Nyx took her bloody prize from his hand, very gently, in both of hers. The unnatural heat of her fingertips brushed against him for a brief moment, setting his skin prickling with gooseflesh. Nyx looked at the handkerchief for one moment, then folded it neatly and turned her attention away as though it were of no consequence.


    ¡°An excellent choice, Matthew,¡± she said with a dangerous, hungry grin, fangs flashing. ¡°Good boy.¡±


    ¡°Oh, what have I done?¡± Mongrel moaned. He regretting his decision already.


    ¡°Quit whining,¡± Will grumbled. He staggered to his feet, trousers heavy with mud, though he had somehow kept a single speck of it from getting on Sam. ¡°We¡¯ll untangle this later. Let¡¯s keep moving.¡±


    Mongrel turned his attention back to the demoness, but found that she had completely vanished, even though he¡¯d only looked away for a second.


    ¡°Women,¡± he muttered, and followed Will through the fairground.

 Chapter 58 - Rules Dont Apply to Rockstars

    Mongrel


    They made it through Darkside without issue, aside from the occasional pedestrian jeering or making a rude gesture. It was clear that Will had long since run out of gas, though, and Mongrel made sure to step close to him so he could catch the lad if he fell.


    ¡°Maybe I should carry the girl,¡± he said as they made their way through the dark, abandoned streets of Topside.


    ¡°No,¡± Will growled, and took another labored step, foot wobbling as he tried to find purchase on the uneven cobbles.


    ¡°Why not? This is slowing us down, son. We¡¯re gonna be home by Midsummer if you keep on like this.¡±


    ¡°Because I don¡¯t trust you,¡± Will said simply, in a surprisingly conversational tone.


    Ouch. Suppose I deserve that a tiny bit. Still stung, though.


    Will staggered against a wall, slid down until he was sitting, then spent a good while catching his breath, sweat dripping from his hair into Sam¡¯s face. With a groan of effort, he set her aside, nearly dropping her in the process, so that she was propped up against the wall. She stirred weakly, but didn''t wake.


    Will took the medicine bag out of his Inventory and opened it in his lap. He extracted three small vials that glinted in the dark, unstoppered each in turn, and downed them all at once. He tried several times to stick the empty vials back in their compartments with clumsy fingers, failed, and threw them aside instead with a growl. Once he had stowed everything back in his Inventory, he was down to just 1 AP, since extracting an item from one¡¯s Inventory cost 1 AP.


    Christ. Things had to be bad if he was acting like that. The kid was always getting on at Mongrel about being careful with his glassware.


    ¡°What was that you were chugging?¡± Mongrel asked.


    ¡°Stimulant,¡± Will replied, gritting his teeth.


    ¡°That looked like a lot.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll keep me moving for a while.¡±


    ¡°And after? What are the side effects?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll get very very tired. But that¡¯s a problem for later.¡±


    Will tipped forward to stand, but couldn¡¯t get higher than all fours. Mongrel had Number Three help him to his feet, then they both helped him get the girl draped over Will¡¯s shoulders, a more energy-efficient distribution of weight than carrying her in his arms, if slightly less romantic.


    Mongrel went to take that ridiculous sword off the lad¡¯s hip so he didn¡¯t have to worry about tripping over it, but Will told him off with a hard look.


    ¡°Where¡¯d you pick that thing up, anyway?¡± Mongrel asked, frowning at the silvered scabbard.


    ¡°I Soulbound it,¡± Will replied, and started walking.


    ¡°You Soulbound it? When did you¡­¡± Then he noticed the amber crystal burning on Will¡¯s left arm, raised to hold his woman steady. ¡°You leveled up, you little bastard!¡±


    ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°So you picked up Soulbind at Level 15?¡±


    ¡°No. I got Cancel.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­¡±


    ¡°I got Soulbind at Level 13.¡±


    ¡°You never told me that!¡±


    Will glanced back in Mongrel¡¯s general direction, then turned his gaze ahead again. ¡°You never seemed particularly interested, so I saw no need to keep you informed.¡±


    ¡°Saw no need¡­!¡± Huffing, Mongrel went scampering after his proteg¨¦. ¡°Kid, we¡¯re supposed to be a team!¡±


    Will barked a bitter, joyless laugh. ¡°Yes, we were. I suppose we both have things to be sorry for. I¡¯m sorry for not telling you what ability I chose at Level 13, and you¡¯re sorry for nearly killing the only person I¡¯ve ever loved. Guess that makes us about even, eh?¡±


    ¡°Point taken. Don¡¯t need to be such a little pisser about it. I was gonna give you a share of the winnings and everything, you know. It¡¯s not like I wasn¡¯t thinking about you at all.¡±


    Will halted, teetering this way and that to keep his balance. ¡°Stop talking,¡± he said. Calmly. Softly.


    Mongrel snorted. ¡°Yeah? Or what? You gonna put that fancy new sword through me?¡±


    Will looked back. His face was entirely devoid of emotion. ¡°Stop talking, Matt.¡±


    His hand didn¡¯t so much as stray toward his weapon, but the point might as well have been grazing Mongrel¡¯s neck for how quickly the mood shifted. Similarly, Will did not need to make his threat plain. There was no ¡®or else¡¯. With that one look, Mongrel understood exactly what would happen if he opened his mouth.


    So he kept it shut, and replied only with a small, slow nod.


    Will turned and kept walking. The rest of their trek through Topside went by in complete silence.


    I might have messed up worse than I thought, Mongrel mused, rubbing at his neck.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    * * *


    Reaching the end of Topside¡¯s main street, their flight was impeded by the closed-shut city gates, great oaken doors set with a bar thick as a man''s waist across the length of it. On the outside, Mongrel knew the iron portcullis would be down to act as an additional layer of defense.


    The silhouettes of men moved against flickering firelight inside the gatehouse, which lay atop the gate itself. He could make out faint, tell-tale sounds of men bored at their posts¡ªbantering, laughing, the occasional hawking and spitting.


    Mongrel did not like their chances of sweet-talking those doors into opening. The easiest thing would be to simply scale the walls and drop down on the other side before anyone got wise to what they were doing, but Will was in no condition to be performing any acrobatics, even less so with the human-shaped baggage he was carrying.


    They couldn¡¯t go over, which meant they had to go through.


    Mongrel waited for Will to start talking. As the silence stretched on, Number Three screwing his finger a full digit into his nose out of boredom, he eventually realized that the lad was expecting him to handle the diplomacy.


    Mongrel swallowed.


    Maybe that means he¡¯s done pretending I don''t exist, at least.


    He didn¡¯t think there was a very good chance of that.


    The gate guards had still not noticed their presence. ¡°Hullo up there!¡± Mongrel called through cupped hands. The voices up above went quiet. Figures stirred, and a few moments later someone peeked their head over the chest-high wall of the gatehouse.


    ¡°The fuck are you!¡± came a man¡¯s voice, accusative. ¡°Gates are closed until morning! Fuck off, before I ram a spear up your arse!¡±


    ¡°A tempting offer, sergeant!¡± Mongrel called back¡ªhe guessed it was a sergeant he was speaking with¡ªand forced himself into an easy posture of false confidence, hand resting on cocked hip. ¡°But I¡¯m sad to say that me and my partner here have places to be! So if you¡¯d go ahead and open this thing a crack, we¡¯d be right grateful!¡±


    ¡°Not a chance! No one goes in or out of this gate after nightfall¡ªBrimstone¡¯s orders. Do you not even know that much, you dense fuck? You wash up yesterday or something?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m well aware of the rules, my friend! We¡¯re only asking you to make one teeny-tiny exception.¡±


    ¡°Forget it! Go away!¡±


    ¡°¡®Fraid I can¡¯t do that!¡±


    ¡°You mother¡ª¡± The head disappeared from the wall. A short while later, a man came hurrying down the steps of the staircase set into the stone barrier that led down to street level. He held a swinging lantern out before him to light his path, and he was grumbling under his breath the whole way down. Mongrel could not make any of the words out from where he stood, but he could guess the gist of it.


    With a strained grunt, Will flipped the girl off his shoulders and back into his arms, where she covered up his sheet. Smart. Showing his level would no-doubt help prove he was somebody the guards ought to think twice about disobeying, but his pitiful one remaining AP would certainly not inspire any fear.


    The sergeant¡ªa Level 8 Laborer¡ªwas out of his gambeson, wearing just a rumpled undershirt on top of his trousers. He had a sword in his hand, and thrust his lantern in their faces, leaving Mongrel blinking at the light.


    ¡°Right, then,¡± the man growled. ¡°Who the fuck are you two clowns supposed to be? These doors don¡¯t open for anyone¡ªnot the Nightmare King himself¡ªexcept by Brimstone¡¯s say-so.¡± He looked down at Number Three, and his head jerked back in surprise. ¡°And what is that?¡±


    ¡°That, my friend, is a chimpanzee. He¡¯s with me.¡±


    Number Three began a fearsome snarl, but Mongrel smacked the back of his head, and his expression became a gummy smile instead.


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a fuck who he¡¯s with. You¡¯re all leaving right this moment, or this is going to get nasty.¡± He clanked his sword against the side of his lantern for emphasis.


    ¡°You might want to revise that attitude, friend,¡± Mongrel shot back with his signature winsome smile. ¡°You¡¯re talking to Matthew Caldwell, esquire. Gentleman and business mogul.¡±


    The sergeant blinked at him, brows slowly coming together in a scowl that was equal parts puzzled and annoyed.


    Mongrel sighed. ¡°And Brimstone¡¯s very best friend¡ªyou might have heard of him.¡± He jabbed a thumb in Will¡¯s direction. ¡°William Greene. Master One-Eye. The Misfortune. Butcher of Drownport. A beloved child has many names, as you know, and I can go on until we find one you recognize if you want.¡± He¡¯d made up that last one, but it sure sounded scary enough.


    The sergeant¡¯s gaze drifted onto Will, and he opened his mouth to spout something vitriolic, no doubt something to the effect of them being filthy little liars. Then his expression slowly slackened in mute recognition when he saw that one sutured-shut eye. ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°Open the gate,¡± Will instructed, and managed to put a fair bit of authority in his voice despite the fact that he looked about a second or two away from falling on his head.


    Mongrel moved over to the sergeant¡¯s side, flung an arm around his shoulders. ¡°You may note a certain pallor in my friend¡¯s complexion¡ªthe cold sweat on his brow. You see, it¡¯s been a few hours since he¡¯s killed somebody, and he¡¯s starting to get that itch again. It¡¯s a nightmare living with him, I tell you. Now, far be it from me, a humble businessman, to tell an upstanding officer of the law how to do his job, but I do recommend that you comply with the Butcher¡¯s request, and do so quickly. He doesn¡¯t like the word ¡®no¡¯, you see¡ªtakes it very personally.¡±


    Mongrel felt the man go stiffer and stiffer under his grip. Eventually, the sergeant¡¯s gaze drifted down to the unconscious woman in Will¡¯s arms, the blood all over his clothing, and the man''s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. ¡°Is she¡­?¡±


    ¡°Dead?¡± Mongrel laughed. ¡°Oh, nonono. Not yet.¡±


    ¡°Yet¡­?¡±


    ¡°Well, he likes ¡®em fresh, you see. It wouldn¡¯t do to kill a woman until you¡¯ve had the chance to enjoy her a little. At least, that¡¯s his philosophy on the subject. He¡¯s terribly partial to redheads. You have no idea the trouble I go through to keep procuring them for him. All the pleasure houses refuse to rent girls out to us these days on account of my friend''s habit of not returning them, so we¡¯ve had to resort to buying them wholesale from the flesh auctions. Expensive, expensive, expensive. We¡¯ve been running around all day trying to find a girl that would suit his tastes, so by now he¡¯s a little¡­ pent-up. Eager to get home and unwrap his present¡ªyou know how it is.¡± Mongrel clicked his tongue. ¡°But look at me talking about my own problems! How rude of me. Go ahead, sir¡ªyou looked like you were about to say something.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­¡± The sergeant cleared his throat, eyes fixed on Will. The lad stared back through his one eye, dark as sin and hard as steel.


    ¡°What¡¯s the holdup, sarge!¡± called a man from atop the wall, out of view. ¡°Can¡¯t handle a couple of drunks on your own? Need us to come down and rescue you?¡± There was scattered laughter at that.


    The sergeant spent another moment deliberating, rolling his pursed lips, then rammed his sword back in its scabbard and cried hoarsely: ¡°Open the gates!¡±


    There was a pause up at the gatehouse, laughter quickly dying off. ¡°What was that, sir?¡± the same man called back.


    ¡°I said open the fucking gates! Gin, Casper, Hubermann, get your asses down here! Rest of you, I want you raising that grill!¡±


    With an unbroken stream of equal parts orders and threats, the officer eventually got a couple of lads down to help him lift the bar off the doors and heave it off to the side. Mongrel kept expecting someone to come to their senses, to be staring down a length of sharpened steel any second, but soon enough he found himself staring through the gaping portal instead, overlooking the ever-charming view of the giant dung heap that was the Outside.


    ¡°I will be reporting this to my superiors,¡± the sergeant warned as they wandered through. ¡°There will be consequences.¡±


    ¡°Knock yourself out,¡± Will muttered, passing the troop of militiamen without sparing them a glance¡ªthough he did yank the lantern out of the sergeant¡¯s hand¡ªleaving the man stunned beyond reprisal¡ªand passed it to Mongrel. ¡°Of course, that¡¯s what they said in Drownport, too.¡±


    No one offered any retort to that. The gates began to close the second they were through, men scrambling like their lives were on the line.


    Mongrel wasn¡¯t so sure they weren¡¯t.

 Chapter 59 - The Long Road to Anywhere but Here

    Mongrel


    Mongrel had never had the dubious pleasure of visiting the Outside after dark. Inching through its crazy sprawl under a smothering blanket of night¡¯s shadow, excruciatingly slow with Will¡¯s labored shamble setting the pace, Mongrel found that he did not care for it.


    Outsiders had no walls to hide behind. The watchtower garrisons took care of most monsters that tried to encroach on the city, but not all. To escape the dangers of the night, the pitiful wretches of the slum simply shut themselves inside their homes and hoped that their ramshackle dwellings would be enough to repel an attack. It was not a bet he would have put any money on, personally.


    Of course, not everyone in this place had homes. The ones without huddled into corners or roved the streets looking for a place to break into, as much a threat to the more ¡®respectable¡¯ Outsiders as monsters were, if not more. Mongrel spotted eyes in the dark that glittered with reflected lantern light, watching carefully. Weighing whether they were predators to avoid or prey to pick apart.


    A dog howled in the distance¡ªat least, Mongrel hoped it was a dog¡ªand was soon joined by others, a haunting chorus dedicated to the waxing moon hanging like a guillotine blade over their heads, slicing free of its dispersing cloud cover.


    Mongrel shivered. He drew his sword, instructed Number Three to do the same with a flashing of signs.


    ¡°Will,¡± Mongrel whispered sharply as they descended through the slum, sticking to the somewhat clear main road. ¡°I think they¡¯re following us.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d imagine they are,¡± the kid replied without looking back, and hoisted the girl higher with a weary toss of his shoulder. ¡°Just ignore them.¡±


    Mongrel glanced over his shoulder, saw silhouettes skulking between buildings; getting closer, but staying just beyond the small circle of light the two men brought with them. It was impossible to guess their number. ¡°They¡¯re getting closer. I think they¡¯re planning to rob us down to our bones.¡±


    Will sighed heavily. He kept walking, and Mongrel had begun to think he was being ignored when the lad finally replied by drawing that long blade of his, stumbling with the effort of performing the movement.


    ¡°You good to fight?¡± Mongrel asked, continually checking behind him. There had to be at least four or five of the bastards, maybe more. To add onto that, it seemed as though every alley they passed was crowded with more and more unblinking eyes, vultures ready to strike at anything with its back turned and its guard down.


    ¡°With any luck, it won¡¯t come to that,¡± Will shot back. ¡°Let me see if I can get them off us.¡±


    He let his sword dip down until the slender point touched the bumpy, haphazard flagstones. Mongrel did not get the chance to ask what the plan was. The scrape of metal on stone was unnaturally loud, like the squealing of a hundred cats let loose in a room full of chalkboards. And beneath all that noise, there was something like¡­ whispering. Indistinct screams. Mongrel first assumed it was coming from their pursuers, but when he looked around he found that they had already slunk back into the shadows, no one in evidence. Even the dogs went silent, their incessant barking and howling coming to an alert, sober silence.


    After a few seconds of that, Will resheathed his weapon, never breaking his labored stride.


    ¡°Seriously, kid,¡± Mongrel said, hurrying to fall into step with him, ¡°what the fuck is that thing?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s none of your business,¡± Will shot back. ¡°Besides, now is not the time to talk about it.¡±


    Mongrel snorted, but let the matter pass as they came out into the countryside, nothing but the moon and stars for company. He tried to take his mind off that new sword Will was carrying, but every time his eyes happened to catch the bright scabbard in the firelight, he felt his hackles rise as though he were staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.


    If Will had been planning to Soulbind a weapon ever since Level 13, there was no doubt that the lad had loaded that thing up with some properly diabolical enchantments. But what could he have slotted in that would create something capable of making sounds like that¡ªsomething that felt so viscerally wrong?


    Half of him was intensely curious. The other half wished he¡¯d never find out.


    Predictably, there was a bit of a fuss at the perimeter when the militiamen found travelers on the road in the witching hour, when no reasonable civilian had anywhere to be but their own bed.


    They talked their way through in much the same way as the first time, and proceeded into the woods, the gnarled boughs enclosing them and swallowing the dark sky under an even more complete blackness, thick boles with twisted faces made of distorted shadows facing him whatever way he looked, wooden fingers reaching for him. The darkness seemed to press in around their little circle of light, making it seem feeble and weak, able to be swallowed up at any moment.


    The easy part was over. Now for the hard part.


    ¡°I¡¯ve recovered 1 AP since we started out,¡± Will said, ¡°but 2 AP is not enough to do much scouting, and I don¡¯t know how much more fatigue my body can take anyway. We¡¯ll be going into this blind.¡±


    Mongrel nodded grimly. There was a reason why no one sane ventured outside after nightfall. Sending a lone chimp, able to traveling quickly and silently through the woodland, had been risky enough. The three of them moving at snail¡¯s pace, with none of Will¡¯s usual detection abilities and his faculties reduced to the point where Mongrel had serious doubts if he could still swat a fly with that fancy blade, was¡­ a shaky prospect.


    ¡°Maybe we should have stayed in the city after all,¡± Mongrel muttered, raising the lantern toward the sound of a branch snapping. Nothing there. Probably. ¡°Gone to ground, you know.¡±


    ¡°Brimstone would track us down eventually,¡± Will replied. ¡°This is the only way.¡±


    ¡°I guess. Maybe. But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡± Will stopped on the trail, blinking repeatedly as a bead of sweat trembled on the tip of his nose. ¡°I hear something.¡±


    ¡°Shit.¡± Mongrel knew better than to doubt the kid¡¯s powers of perception, even diminished as he was. ¡°Monsters?¡±


    ¡°Obviously.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°What kind?¡±


    ¡°Have a guess.¡±


    ¡°Grinners.¡±


    ¡°Seems like it.¡±


    ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°Five or six.¡± Will paused for a moment. ¡°Yeah, definitely six. Trying to surround us.¡±


    Mongrel stepped close to the kid, placed the lantern on the ground so he had a hand free to grapple with. He signed to Number Three to stay alert, but he needn¡¯t have bothered. The chimp was already staring into the impenetrable darkness off the path, holding his knife in a reverse grip.


    Will tried to put Sam down, ended up falling on his knees with a pained groan. Mongrel helped him unburden himself, and they lowered the girl gently to the ground between them.


    ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡± Mongrel asked, helping the lad to stand. Will weighed heavily on him, his breathing coming in dry rattles.


    ¡°Well, we¡¯re definitely not going to outrun them,¡± Will thought aloud. ¡°And we¡¯re not hunting them down, either. Which means the only option is to wait for them to come to us; let them spring their ambush.¡±


    Mongrel gazed a while at the treeline, waiting for Will to continue. He did not continue. ¡°That¡¯s not much of a plan,¡± he noted.


    ¡°It''s the one we''ve got.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    They formed up in a tight defensive triangle around the unconscious woman, each one watching his corner. Will stayed on his knees, unsheathed blade laid out before him, and was trying to control his breathing.


    Mongrel focused all his energy into not shitting himself. He¡¯d fought grinners before, sure¡ªbut never at night. Never in conditions like this.


    They waited. The forest was quiet, so very quiet. You could have heard a rat piss on cotton in this smothering silence. Mongrel¡¯s heart was racing, battering desperately against his ribs, making his temples throb with the force of it. He licked cracked lips, cleared a dry throat. Nothing was happening. Nothing, nothing, nothing.


    It was a strange thing, being scared and bored at the same time. Not to mention hungry. And exhausted. And a little aroused, he was surprised to find. He¡¯d been spending too much time around Nyx.


    ¡°Heads up,¡± Will said, wobbling as he got a foot under him. ¡°They¡¯re coming.¡±


    Mongrel had been scratching a bug bite on his ass, and quickly jerked his hand out of his trousers. ¡°Ready to give us some cover?¡± he asked the chimp behind and to his left. Number Three gave an affirmative hoot. Mongrel nodded to himself.


    By now, even Mongrel could make out the swishing of displaced shrubbery, the panting of hungry mouths, the scrape of keen claws raking wood and stone.


    O, Era¡ªwherever you are, please look after your favorite son. If I survive this, I will convert to resurrectionism, I swear it.


    Black shapes darted out of the trees all at once, stepping into the orange pool of light given off by the lantern. Mongrel stared down two of the damn things, and he saw others darting about in his peripheral. Like huge dogs they were, but put together all wrong. Their legs were too long, ending in sprawled paws that were almost hands. Their coats were black and coarse and ragged¡ªtough enough, Mongrel knew, to resist a sword cut if you weren¡¯t careful.


    Their faces, though, were what commanded his attention. Hairless and almost human, they were placed on the ends of long camel necks, white-skinned and beady-eyed. Their mouths were split in unnaturally wide rictus grins, showing big yellow pegs for teeth, too many to fit, all crowding for space in uneven rows.


    They moved in an odd, hunchbacked gait, closing in at drunken zigzags, necks flailing.


    I¡¯ve done this before, Mongrel told himself. I¡¯ve done this before. I can do it again. Nothing special about it.


    He would have liked to credit a stirring surge of bravery for the way he held his ground, but really, his feet were just glued in place, refusing to move.


    The two grinners came at him fast, their strange movements making them hard to predict. They crossed over each other, swapping places, then swapped back again. They carried their heads low to the ground, teeth gnashing with a sound like a whetstone on steel.


    ¡°Now!¡± Mongrel cried once they were almost in reach.


    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Number Three weaving signs one-handed. A moment later, a chest-high Reinforced Barrier of hardlight glass winked into existence before them, all agleam in the firelight, running maybe ten feet across to bridge the distance between him and Number Two.


    Mongrel¡¯s two dance partners both slammed headfirst into the hardlight, long necks bending awkwardly as the rest of their bodies bore forward, carried by momentum. The monsters crumpled to the ground, legs scrabbling in confusion. They had left a spiderweb of cracks in the see-through surface, little chips of semi-matter flaking off and fading into nothing, but for the moment, the Barrier held.


    Seized by a surge of manic energy, Mongrel hooked his sword arm over the top of the Barrier and stabbed down at the creatures on the other side. The angle was a little awkward, but he knew that thrusting was a better bet against grinners than slashing, and he definitely scored a few decent hits. One of the grinners snapped at him, still in the process of standing, and Mongrel leapt back with a yelp.


    The first grinner to recover was not far behind him. It vaulted over the barrier, clumsily but with frenetic excitement, legs scrabbling until the body flipped over the top and it landed flat on its back with a gurgling cry. It was on its feet in a flash and coming for him; claws flashing, maw gaping, eyes crazy and wide.


    Mongrel would have rolled to the side, except the monster might hit the girl if he let the thing conclude its arc, and there wasn¡¯t much time to decide, and by the time he¡¯d even started considering his dilemma the grinner was already on top of him.


    It hit him like a bag of bricks, knocked him clean off his feet, his nose full of damp fur that smelled like trapped foot sweat and rotting flesh. He ended up on his back, the creature on top, its face so terribly close, its drool pattering on its face, and its mouth so very, very wide he thought he could see all the way down its throat.


    There was nothing Mongrel could do, his arms pinned under the crushing weight, except scream.


    O Era, please spare me, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease¡­


    Then a shudder went through the grinner, and its eyes crossed over, and it had a look on its unnervingly human face like it was choking on something. It gave a disgusting gurgle, mouth working open and closed, open and closed with a chattering of teeth. It lowered its head to snap at him still, its hatred for all mankind burning stronger than any self-preservation instinct, but the fight had all gone out of it like a tepid fart, and Mongrel was able to shove it off him with a yell.


    He scrambled up, the front of him all covered in the nasty black muck that passed for a grinner''s blood, and he realized that he¡¯d let go of his sword, that it jutted out of the twitching monster¡¯s ribcage, buried to the hilt.


    Mongrel¡¯s whoop of joy died in his throat. The second grinner, slightly smarter than its peer, had simply stepped around the barrier and was padding toward him, its eyes flicking warily between Mongrel and its dying compatriot. Doing the math on whether Mongrel could retrieve his weapon before it could rip out his throat.


    But Mongrel had never been very interested in numbers, and he wasn¡¯t about to start bothering with them now. He ran for his sword, and the second grinner came loping, but Mongrel stopped short, drawing his belt knife and tossing it with all the strength he had, putting his hips and shoulders into it.


    The knife buried itself in the creature¡¯s shoulder¡ªnot deep, and nowhere near lethal, but enough to make it flinch. Mongrel ran at the grinner with a fearsome cry and punted the thing square on the chin. Its teeth clacked together and its eyes went wide, awkward neck going all floppy. It seemed to have worked well the first time, so Mongrel kicked it again, and the grinner scrambled back from him, falling ass-over-head in its haste, and let out a gurgling hiss of pain and hatred.


    Seeing an opening, Mongrel scampered off to collect his sword, prising it from the fresh corpse of the first grinner by putting a foot on its chest and giving a few good hard tugs. But when he turned around, the monster was already running the other way, disappearing off into the woods.


    And it still had his knife stuck in it. Damn. That was a good knife, too. He''d won it in a game of cards off a slave trader from Octant Four with too much money and too little sense.


    Mongrel spun to see how the others were faring, and found that the fighting had already concluded. Number Three was just dislodging himself from a sprawling grinner riddled with holes, thick blood dribbling from a dozen different places, and Will was on one knee amid the severed body parts of what Mongrel assumed had to be three of the bastards, though it was difficult to tell for sure, all cut-up and heaped atop each other as they were.


    ¡°That¡­ that wasn¡¯t so hard!¡± Mongrel said with an incredulous laugh. ¡°We sure showed ¡®em what for, eh?¡±


    Then he bent double and puked on his boots.

 Chapter 60 - The Long Road to Anywhere but Here [2]

    Nyx


    Having gotten what she wanted, Nyx left Matthew and his little friend behind, hurrying a little more than strictly necessary. The moment they were out of sight, she pressed the bloody cloth she had just received over her ¡®nose¡¯ and ¡®mouth¡¯, breathing deep of its essence. The impression¡ªnot quite what a mortal would consider a ¡®smell¡¯, nor a ¡®taste¡¯, but something else¡ªwas staid, and sour, and pungent. It reminded her of clothes worn too long, the trapped sweat after sex, the stale leavings of a well-used ashtray.


    It was, in a word, orgasmic.


    Nyx had never tasted an essence so rank in her long, long life. Her own being buzzed as she continued to lap at the stinking soulstuff. She imagined that her semi-corporeal form¡ªno longer carefully managed and manipulated just right in order to resemble human emotion¡ªwas probably making some strange faces, but she did not care how many faceless mortals saw her, as long as Matthew wasn¡¯t one of them.


    She needed more. It wasn¡¯t enough.


    No, Nyx told herself. Don¡¯t be greedy. There was a reason why she had only asked for a single drop of Matthew¡¯s blood, after all.


    Reasserting self-control, Nyx forced her feasting to come to a premature end with a final shiver of ecstasy. As a contractual offering, she was able to swallow the handkerchief into herself, displacing it into the pocket of hyperreality that contained the true core of her being. She made certain, however, not to fully merge the offering with herself, but to leave it intact so that she could regurgitate it whenever needed.


    ¡°Am I interrupting?¡±


    Nyx turned to face the speaker, licking her lips. She found the movement strangely natural, almost reflexive. Very odd. ¡°Ah,¡± she said, ¡°Richard. It¡¯s been some time.¡±


    ¡°It has, most calamitous,¡± said the over-groomed, besuited businessman. The man people called ¡®Dickie Rich¡¯ sketched out a smooth, genteel bow, smiling as he straightened. ¡°I was surprised to hear that you had returned to the fold. I was led to believe that you left everything behind to chase¡­ humbler pursuits.¡±


    ¡°You have gotten better with your veiled insults, Richard. Give it another decade or two, and you might even be good enough to get a rise out of me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re too kind.¡±


    ¡°Now that is an insult.¡±


    Richard chuckled. He picked carefully across wooden duckboards, making sure not to get mud on his fine shoes, until he was by her side. ¡°Where are you headed?¡± he asked. ¡°I had hoped we might find a minute to talk.¡±


    ¡°I was planning to pay Hasan a visit.¡±


    ¡°Perfect! I was headed that way myself. Let¡¯s go together.¡± He held out his folded arm for her to hook hers through, expectant.


    Nyx noted the subtle, secretive smile on the Scholar¡¯s face, and felt a twinge of ¡®annoyance¡¯. Richard had always been a clever boy. He intended to find out just how much Nyx¡¯s self-imposed exile had weakened her, essence-starved as she had been without her network of contracts to rely on.


    No doubt he would be watching her closely, checking for any sign of instability in her form as she forced herself to assume a tangible shape. Then again, if she refused, that would be an even greater sign of weakness.


    Nyx made the only choice she could. She squashed her vast, formless essence into a shape dense enough to be interacted with, like a fat human woman trying desperately to squeeze into a too-small dress, and feigned nonchalance as she looped her ¡®arm¡¯ through Richard¡¯s, hoping that the excruciating pain did not show.


    She was weak¡ªdisgustingly so. Her old self would have swallowed a being of this reduced stature and hardly even noticed it.


    The two of them walked arm-in-arm through the fairground, drawing attention wherever they went. She had to admit, Richard was likely the one commanding the most respect from the rabble. Nyx was just another Fallen One, so quickly forgotten in her brief absence, while he was the richest man in Sheerhome, his face known everywhere, his word carrying almost as much weight as that of the local ruler.


    ¡°My condolences, by the way,¡± Nyx said, looking ahead, ¡°for your loss. Your fighter is still alive, I trust?¡±


    ¡°He is. Though he broke his divine vow by losing, so I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be able to use him in the future. I hear his tranformation is still ongoing, and rather graphic.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t sound particularly upset about it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because I¡¯m not.¡± Richard still wore that subtle smile, like he knew a secret no one else was privy to.


    ¡°Regardless, I¡¯d imagine you took a considerable loss with how the tournament ended. Not enough to shake the foundations of a man with your means, certainly, but at the very least a ¡®bad day at the office¡¯, as they say.¡±


    ¡°What makes you say that?¡± Richard asked, smile widening. ¡°Yes, I suppose it¡¯s a little inconvenient that I¡¯ve lost my five-under champion, but I was already considering other options. People were beginning to grow bored of Henke¡ªa little mix-up will be good for the League, I think.


    ¡°But no, I would not consider this a ¡®bad day¡¯. In fact, I¡¯d say I made out like a bandit. After all, I bet on your fighter to win.¡±


    Nyx laughed at that, approaching something like genuine mirth. ¡°How ruthless of you. Then, I take it you sabotaged Henke¡¯s chances?¡±


    Richard shrugged, wiping an imaginary speck of dirt off the lapel of his jacket with two fingers. ¡°There was no need. He was already broken after his fight with the Artisan¡ªthat was one upset I hadn¡¯t anticipated, I¡¯ll admit¡ªand supposedly he had an unfortunate encounter with a certain seductress that further impacted his confidence.¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Unfortunate,¡± Nyx agreed, nodding sagely.


    They walked on a while. Now that the fighting was over, the fairground was gradually emptying like an overfull bladder finally allowed release.


    ¡°Your fighter,¡± Richard said after some time, ¡°was quite spectacular.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°A little unorthodox.¡±


    Nyx ¡®snorted¡¯. ¡°Agreed.¡±


    ¡°Any chance she¡¯s looking to join the promotion on a permanent basis?¡±


    ¡°None at all, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a shame.¡±


    They both pretended to enjoy the scenery¡ªsuch as it was¡ªand let an appropriate silence hang between them.


    ¡°Her name is Sam Darling, is that right?¡± Richard asked without looking in her direction, off-handed.


    ¡°Correct,¡±  Nyx said. Of course, he already knew very well what her name was.


    ¡°And that¡¯s her given name?¡±


    ¡°Also correct.¡± By now, he would likely know that as well by way of Identification, so lying would serve no purpose other than making her look foolish.


    ¡°Related to Jack Darling, by any chance?¡±


    Nyx feigned indifference, using every bit of strength she still possessed to quell a trembling of her essence, only semi-successful. By Richard¡¯s furtive glance, she guessed that he¡¯d felt it.


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you know that name,¡± she said. ¡°You are quite well-informed.¡±


    Richard shrugged. ¡°I know more than some, and less than others.¡±


    ¡°More than most, evidently. To answer your question, of course she isn¡¯t. That would be ridiculous.¡±


    ¡°Of course, of course. I just had to ask.¡±


    He didn¡¯t believe her. If he hadn¡¯t known before asking her, he certainly did now.


    Nyx wasn¡¯t sure if that presented a problem or not. As far as humans went, uncomplicated and ruled by their animal urges almost to a fault, Richard was a particularly difficult equation to solve. Mercurial. You could never be sure exactly where he would land.


    If nothing else, she admired that about him.


    ¡°Are you back, then?¡± Richard prodded, still with the same indifferent intonation. He was holding nothing back, it seemed, digging for all he was worth. Clearly, his meteoric rise since Nyx¡¯s departure from the Sheerhome power game had brought a hungry confidence with it.


    ¡°Not for now,¡± Nyx hedged. ¡°I¡¯m only conducting some minor business.¡±


    ¡°I see. Well, do give me a heads-up if you ever start planning something big so that I can get out of your way. I would hate to step on the toes of a friend, after all.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Nyx replied, intending no such thing. How much of a fool did he take her for, exactly?


    They reached the bookmaker''s office of the one they called ''Golden Boy'' a short while later, catching the funny little fellow coming the other way just as he was about to hurry through the tent flaps.


    ¡°Hello, Hasan,¡± Nyx said in a warm, companionable tone. ¡°It¡¯s been a while. I believe we have a trifling money-related matter to discuss, you and I.¡±


    ¡°As do I,¡± Richard added, smiling.


    Hasan, the one they called Golden Boy, flitted his eyes between the two of them, looking¡­ constipated? Angry? No, afraid.


    Very afraid.


    * * *


    Mongrel


    Somehow, some way, they managed to drag their sorry asses back to the farm. Whatever happened to the one grinner that managed to escape with his knife, it didn¡¯t come back to bother them.


    Number One met them at the edge of the property, his glasses discarded to the ground in all haste. The old chimp wore a threadbare sweater instead of his vest, flashing worried signs at them.


    ¡®What happen?¡¯ he asked.


    ¡°Long story,¡± Mongrel panted, jogging past.


    Will allowed the two chimps to take Sam off his trembling, sweat-soaked shoulders while he went to fetch supplies from his workshop. The chimps brought her inside, where Mongrel instructed them to lay her out on the kitchen table.


    ¡®Dead?¡¯ Number One asked with one hand, touching the side of Sam¡¯s neck with the other.


    ¡°Not dead,¡± Mongrel replied.


    ¡®Lose money?¡¯


    ¡°Nah, we won. This is just the fallout.¡±


    ¡®Other apes?¡¯


    Mongrel gave a sheepish shrug, let his shoulders fall with a deflating sigh. ¡°Things got messy.¡±


    Number One gave no reply, but the shake of his head as he turned back to the girl said plenty. How was he getting lectured by his own familiars? He was too soft on them. No sane man would put up with treatment like this. But then, he''d always been too kind for his own good.


    Will was loading himself up as he got in, tossing vials back one after another and letting the empty glassware fall where it may.


    Mongrel took three quick steps over to him, caught his wrist while he had another thing of clear liquid half-raised to bluish lips. ¡°Relax, kid,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re home now. We¡¯re safe. There¡¯s no need for you to go all stumpy on us.¡±


    Will laughed in his face, breath smelling like the strong alcohol base he used for some of his potions. ¡°That¡¯s what you think?¡± he asked. ¡°We can¡¯t stay here, Matt. We¡¯ll look over Sam, gather some supplies, then get the fuck out.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    Will let the undrunk bottle go, its contents glugging out into the floorboards, and grasped either side of Mongrel¡¯s head. He brought them close until their foreheads touched, Will¡¯s all clammy and cold. His one eye bored in deep, his other dead and sagging.


    ¡°Listen to me, Matt,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m angry with you. I¡¯m furious. But none of that matters now. If we don¡¯t work together, we¡¯re all going to end up dead very soon. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°Sure, I guess.¡± Held firmly in place by Will¡¯s clamping down around his ears with feverish strength, he could only shuffle awkwardly on the spot. ¡°But if we can¡¯t stay here, where do we go?¡±


    ¡°Anywhere outside Brimstone¡¯s reach. Anywhere he won¡¯t find us. I¡¯m thinking Millstone.¡±


    Will let him go and staggered over to Sam¡¯s side, displacing Number One as he caught himself against the table.


    ¡°Millstone?¡± Mongrel asked, rubbing one aching ear as he followed the kid into the kitchen. ¡°But Brimstone already knows about that place.¡±


    ¡°Of course he does. He knows about every abandoned town from here to Stormfront. That doesn¡¯t mean he¡¯ll know to check there. It¡¯s not a sure thing he¡¯ll send people after us, but we have to act as though he will.¡±


    ¡°Why are you sure he¡¯ll be so upset, anyway? I mean, we haven¡¯t done anything. We killed some folk, sure, but that was self-defense. He won¡¯t be looking to wring the neck of his pet killer for doing what he does best.¡±


    ¡°Four reasons,¡± Will said, taking potion bottles out of an overstuffed bag and slamming them down on the table one at a time. ¡°One; he¡¯ll know I¡¯ve been raising a Laborer in secret, which will be hard to find an innocent explanation for. Two; he¡¯ll probably be able to riddle out the fact that I was responsible for what happened down at that slave-catcher tower, where a freshly caught female Laborer went missing. Three; based on her performance in the tournament, he¡¯ll know she¡¯s not just some Laborer, but a uniquely talented one, which is bound to tickle his paranoid streak. And four; her name. You threw her name out for the whole city to hear.¡±


    ¡°Her name?¡± Mongrel asked, frowning. ¡°What about her name?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Will worked his lips in a silent grimace, then shook his head. ¡°Nevermind. Don¡¯t worry about that. Someone as untrusting as Brimstone won¡¯t possibly overlook this, that¡¯s all I¡¯m saying. We¡¯re on the hook, and we have to get ourselves off it double-quick.¡±


    ¡°Right. I get it, kid. I think I do, anyway.¡±


    Mongrel had a bad feeling in his gut, which was mixing badly with the elation of winning all that money¡ªhe wasn¡¯t actually sure how much he¡¯d won, exactly. He was too old for this kind of emotional whiplash. Bad for the heart; had to be.


    All that pent-up affect expressed itself in the sudden and urgent need to void his bowels. ¡°Well, before we go,¡± he said, already headed for the door, ¡°I¡¯m going to take a shit.¡±


    Will offered no objection, absorbed in fussing over his sleeping sweetheart.

 Chapter 61 - The Long Road to Anywhere but Here [3]

    Sam


    Everything was really bright.


    Her mouth was so dry. The limelights were beating down on her; blinding, almost. She was hurting, which meant she wasn¡¯t dead, which meant she hadn¡¯t lost yet.


    She tried to blink away a blurry film in her vision, but it clung on, and shaking her head with what little force she could muster didn¡¯t help either.


    A vague silhouette appeared over her, blocking some of the light. Sam moved instinctively, wrapping her arms around the back of Henke¡¯s neck and pulling him close, killing his leverage. If she could flip him around, get on top¡­


    ¡°Sam.¡±


    She blinked. That voice wasn¡¯t Henke¡¯s at all. It was so familiar. Why couldn¡¯t she remember who it belonged to?


    ¡°Sam, let go of me.¡±


    Startled, she let her arms go limp, and they flopped down at her sides, outflung. The person with Will¡¯s voice pushed off her, stood tall. She blinked and blinked, but still couldn¡¯t make out his face.


    ¡°The fight is over,¡± Will said.


    ¡°Did I¡­¡± Sam coughed, tasted blood. ¡°Did I win?¡±


    ¡°You did.¡±


    ¡°Yay¡­¡± She closed her eyes, so very tired. When she opened them everything was all different, as though time had passed. ¡°Are you proud of me?¡± she asked, unsure if Will was still there.


    ¡°I am,¡± Will replied. ¡°I¡¯m very proud. But you¡¯re hurt, so you need to keep still for me, okay?¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­ I got to Level 6, you know.¡±


    ¡°Level 6?¡± There was a sudden urgency in Will¡¯s voice. ¡°Are you sure? Not five?¡±


    ¡°Yeahhh¡­¡±


    ¡°Have you spent your upgrade point yet?¡±


    ¡°Huh? Of course not. I was fighting¡­ just a minute ago.¡±


    ¡°Right. Sam, listen to me. If you get the chance, you need to put another rank in Healing Factor. It¡¯s important.¡±


    ¡°Mmhmm.¡±


    ¡°Say it, Sam. What ability are you going to put your point into?¡±


    ¡°Healing Factor.¡±


    ¡°Good. Drink this.¡± Suddenly, she found the edge of an earthenware mug pressed to her lips, a foul smell wafting from it.


    Sam wrinkled her nose. ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°Medicine,¡± Will replied tersely. ¡°Drink it.¡±


    ¡°I want water.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you water after.¡±


    Sam grunted her displeasure, but did as she was told, taking down a big helping of something bitter and viscous in one long draught. Will took the mug away, and handed it back what felt like hours later, filled with water now. She drank greedily, found her lips numbing by the time she was done, as were her limbs.


    She was so sleepy all of a sudden. She might have closed her eyes, except there was someone poking the top of her head.


    ¡°Who¡¯s doing that?¡± she asked, annoyed. ¡°Stop it.¡± She tried to reach back and stop them, but her arm was batted away by a multitude of hands.


    ¡°Shhh,¡± Will urged, stroking the side of her head. ¡°Try to sleep, Sam.¡±


    ¡°Then stop poking me.¡±


    ¡°No one¡¯s poking you. Try to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you¡­¡± The annoyance slipped through her fingers. The world was spinning, throbbing, and everything was so very heavy. Someone had dunked the back of her head in water; her hair was all soaked. Sam tried to make her mouth form words to complain, but her lips wouldn¡¯t do what she told them to, and her tongue was swollen and unwieldy.


    She shut her eyes.


    * * *


    Will


    For maybe the first time in his life, Will regretted not being religious as he worked to save Sam¡¯s life.


    The whole kitchen was a mess of blood; it seemed as though every surface was covered in it, walls and furniture and people. The room stank with it, cloying and metallic. There was a scramble of activity as Number Three helped manage Sam¡¯s wild thrashing, Number One rushed about fetching bandages, and Mongrel stood around being generally useless, mostly getting in the way.


    It wasn¡¯t good. Blood was pooling inside Sam¡¯s skull, putting increasing pressure on her brain. Going by Mongrel¡¯s description of how the finals had gone, Will assumed that one of the countless blows to the head she had taken was the culprit.


    She¡¯d had one seizure already, limbs spasming, and she would have fallen off the table if not for Will, Number Three, and Mongrel all holding her down. In this instance, her fearsome strength was terribly inconvenient, since it made her difficult to manage.


    As did her Tenacious passive. Will had loaded her with enough sedative to put down a horse, but as long as she didn¡¯t want to go to sleep, she kept thrashing and mumbling nonsense. He didn¡¯t think she even knew where she was.


    The pressure on her brain had been allowed to build the entire time they had spent traveling from Sheerhome to the farm, meaning the likelihood of brain damage was high. The fact that her skull had stayed relatively intact meant that it had been difficult to spot the hemorrhage¡ªhe''d only known to look for it when she began seizing out.


    Using a trephine with a circular, saw-toothed blade, Will cut out a very small piece of Sam¡¯s skull, allowing the blood to drain away into a large, slick puddle on the floor. She finally gave up and went under, which was a good thing¡ªas long as she was unconscious, they could keep her that way by continuously feeding her more anesthesia.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    They got her bandaged up and squared away, and after that there was not much to do but wait and see.


    He hoped what she had said about getting to Level 6 was real and not just fever rambling. At Rank 1, Healing Factor sped up the body¡¯s natural recovery mechanisms; only at higher ranks did it offer more advanced regeneration. Will wasn¡¯t entirely sure of the specifics, but it was possible that Rank 2 Healing Factor allowed for recovery of brain cells. He wasn¡¯t sure, though, and there definitely wasn¡¯t time to pop down to the Sheerhome library to double check.


    As it turned out during packing, Mongrel had bet not only his own savings, but all of Will¡¯s bugout funds as well. At least he still had the contract money for Philly Upnorth stuffed inside his coat, a little over 10 000G, which would likely be more than enough for their purposes.


    They packed some basic food and supplies, and extra sets of things for the other chimps once they reconstituted.


    It was definitely not a good idea to move Sam in the state she was in, but they had no choice. They got her on Zero''s back, strapped her to the saddle and tied her hands around the mule¡¯s neck to keep her from falling off, then set off north.


    Will had been able to recover 2 AP while at the farm, putting him at three total; far from optimal, but better than nothing. It was still too little for him to spend it on reconnaissance; he¡¯d save it for if they needed to protect themselves.


    Merchants and guard patrols would begin using the main road come morning, so they were forced to go through rough terrain to avoid detection. Will¡¯s Orienteering passive allowed him to sense the cardinal directions as well as the general features of the land around them, further boosted by his Awareness score of 6, which kept them from getting lost in the dense, sometimes nigh-impenetrable woodland.


    He did his best not to think about how exhausted he was. He was done. He¡¯d been done. Even with large doses of Prepared herbal stimulants taken continually to maintain wakefulness, he found that most of the time it was all he could do to stay on his feet and monitor his Orienteering, giving occasional instructions to Mongrel when they drifted off-course.


    They were forced to stop frequently, maybe twice an hour, to take short breaks so that Will could catch his breath. He tried to check on Sam when they stopped, but quickly found that he was too out of it to determine much beyond the fact that she was still breathing. His hands were shaking so much that Number One had to be the one to administer her anesthesia.


    They walked and rested and walked and rested, and every time they got up Will was surprised that his legs still held. The terrain changed gradually, becoming more hilly as they made their way inland, but Will hardly took notice except for the fact that they had to climb more inclines, slipping on undergrowth made slick by yesterday¡¯s rain.


    He hurt all over, joints creaking and screaming with every movement, and his mind was all a delirious mush. If it was only for himself, he probably would have called it quits a while back. Nothing was worth this much misery.


    Almost nothing.


    If he didn¡¯t keep going, Sam was dead. So he kept going.


    Will was zig-zagging up a forested hill, weaving between conifers, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jerked, and would have fallen with the surprise of it if the hand hadn¡¯t clamped down on his clothes, kept him upright until he found his footing, awkward and splayed.


    ¡°Kid!¡± Mongrel said, sounding urgent. ¡°Did you hear what I said?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Will pushed out as a tired sigh, wiping a sheet of sweat off his face.


    ¡°Number One says there¡¯s something coming our way.¡±


    Will found it difficult to care. He just wanted to lay down and die. ¡°What kind of something?¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t know. Look, I hate to ask, but do you think you¡¯ve got a Detect left in you?¡±


    Will laughed, since it was either that or cry. No, was the obvious answer. ¡°Yes,¡± was what he said. ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±


    * * *


    Mongrel


    He dragged Will up the hill, carrying him as much as holding him up, and set him down on a rock. He swayed in place, eye never focusing, looking like he was cresting a really shitty high.


    The kid had gone back up to 6 AP over the course of their little day trip through the interior¡ªit should have been higher, but his AP regeneration was probably all screwed up on account of his present condition.


    ¡°Detect [Life],¡± Will said in a dry rattle; good eye fluttering, bad one twitching. He probably would have fallen over if Mongrel wasn¡¯t crouched in front of him, holding both his shoulders. He sat there a while, then nodded. ¡°Grinners again,¡± he said. ¡°More of them this time. About a dozen.¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Mongrel hissed. ¡°Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. That¡¯s a big pack.¡± Grinners usually attacked each other on sight, and would only come together if there were humans to hunt nearby.


    ¡°I think the one we let go is with them,¡± Will explained. ¡°Guess he didn¡¯t throw in the towel. Rounded up some buddies, tracked us down.¡±


    ¡°What do we do? I don¡¯t think we can beat a dozen.¡±


    With a flashing of teeth more grimace than grin, Will tapped the orange SP crystal on his left arm. ¡°I might be able to get it done.¡±


    ¡°Kid¡­¡±


    ¡°What other options do we have?¡±


    ¡°Run like hell?¡±


    ¡°You know that would never work.¡±


    Mongrel shrugged. He did know that. He just hated the alternative. ¡°Will, listen to me. I won¡¯t pretend I know the first thing about semblances, but I do know they take a lot out of you. In your condition, it might kill you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that risk.¡±


    Mongrel wanted to argue. For all Will¡¯s (many) faults, he loved the boy like a son. He¡¯d never thought of it that way, but there it was.


    ¡°Here¡¯s the plan,¡± Will continued, and Mongrel lost his opportunity to veto the whole affair. ¡°We stay put, make them think we¡¯re making a stand. There are more of them this time, but that means they¡¯re more confident, too. They¡¯re not trying to circle us like last time, they¡¯re just coming in a wave from the south, think they¡¯ll be able to bowl right through us.


    ¡°That should give us an opening. When they get close, you take Sam and haul ass. I¡¯ll pop my semblance, try to trap all the grinners inside it. I haven''t tried it out yet, so I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll be able to take them all out that way, but in theory I should have a good chance.


    ¡°You keep going, don¡¯t stop until you reach Millstone. Barricade yourselves there in case I let some slip, make sure Sam pulls through. If I survive, I¡¯ll meet you there as soon as I can. If I don¡¯t show up, don¡¯t come looking for me.¡±


    ¡°If you need to use your semblance, fine, but at least the rest of us can stick around to help. Surely, together, we can¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that kind of semblance. It¡¯ll work better if I¡¯m alone.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean? I¡ª¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re close, Matt. Tell me you understand.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ Yeah. Okay.¡± Mongrel nodded reluctantly. ¡°I understand.¡±


    ¡°Promise me you¡¯ll keep Sam safe.¡±


    ¡°I promise I will.¡±


    ¡°If I don¡¯t make it, keep going north to Timbryhall. Speak to a woman named Vivi. Ask about Big Deal Buck.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡±


    ¡°Just tell me you¡¯ll do it.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ all right, then.¡± In a fit of sentimentality, Mongrel took the kid in a tight embrace, clapping him on the back. ¡°Don¡¯t die,¡± he said, chin resting on Will¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Will croaked. ¡°I¡¯ve still got a beating to dole out.¡±


    Mongrel sat back on his heels with a grin. ¡°Damn. I was hoping you¡¯d forgotten about that.¡±


    Number Three let out a series of shrill hoots from his scouting position in the treetops. That meant the grinners were close. Number One was with Zero, her reins in one hand and his mallet in the other, gripped just beneath the fat wooden head.


    He caught a flash of something black between the trees, then another, and another, and suddenly the forest was alive with them, moving all back and forth in unpredictable patterns so they were impossible to count or keep track of.


    ¡°Help me up,¡± Will said. Mongrel did as he asked, hands still hovering over the lad once he was up on shaky feet in case he decided to fall over. His footing held, though. ¡°Get out of here, Matt. Remember your promise.¡±


    Mongrel nodded. There was no time to argue, and no time for long goodbyes. He turned and ran as the flurry of black shapes closed in, a living noose pulling tight around them. Number One got the mule moving, and Mongrel soon caught up with him as the last chimp slid deftly down a tree trunk to join them, drawing the bow off his back as soon as he was on the ground.


    They hoofed it for all they were worth, but they could not go all that quick without rising Zero breaking an ankle on the uneven ground. He looked back and saw Will stand alone as the wave of hatred crashed down on him, some trying to streak past to make for the retreating prey. The steel of his sword shone silver against their black, and somehow, despite everything, he stood tall, as though all the fatigue had melted off him.


    He thrust the sword into the earth, then let go of the hilt. The weapon sank down, ground swallowing the blade, then the guard, then the hilt, until it was all gone.


    ¡°Semblance Art: Forget Me Not.¡±


    In the blink of an eye, a huge white sphere blinked into existence where Will had been, swallowing a chunk of the forest and all the grinners with it. The process was as instant as it was soundless. Solid and opaque, Mongrel had no way of seeing inside to know what was happening within.


    All he could do was have faith that the kid would pull through and keep moving north, soon bringing the white sphere out of sight.

 Chapter 62 - Ghost Town Living

    Mongrel


    Returning to Millstone was oddly nostalgic.


    This was where everything had started¡ªthe whole crazy chain of events that had flipped his life ass-up. This was where he¡¯d met Nyx, the sentient cigar cutter ever lovingly poised around his shaft.


    It looked exactly how he remembered it. The town sat in its little bowl of land, treeline surrounding it on three sides. The houses huddled together, cowed by years of weather and wear. In places, the wind had doors and window shutters smacking on walls, a sad ghost echo of the hammer blows that had sounded during the place¡¯s construction. At the north end of the village, up the hill slope, sat the longhouse, a slumbering patriarch to its little wooden children below.


    Mongrel waited with Zero at the edge of town and sent the two chimps inside to check out the buildings, make sure there was nothing unsavory waiting to spring out at them. Maybe ten minutes later, Number One came down the main path that cut through the middle of Millstone, giving a thumbs-up.


    No monsters. Well, that was something, at least. At the moment, Mongrel would take all the good fortune he could get.


    Following the all-clear, Mongrel ventured into town himself. There was no sign of the massacre he and Will had wrought upon Big Deal Buck¡¯s gang. The corpses that had once littered the northern hillside were nowhere in evidence¡ªnot so much as a bone. Either Buck had buried his comrades deep, or grinners had rolled through and eaten them all up, bones and all. He found the second alternative more likely.


    ¡®What do now?¡¯ Number One asked, hobbling beside Mongrel as they picked their way through town. ¡®Wait for friend? Think he come?¡¯


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Mongrel said, gaze fixed ahead.


    ¡®Think he dead?¡¯


    ¡°I don¡¯t know that, either.¡±


    ¡®Then what do?¡¯


    Mongrel sighed, chewing on his lower lip. ¡°For now? We stay put.¡±


    ¡®This place dangerous.¡¯


    ¡°I know that.¡±


    ¡®Monster come maybe.¡¯


    ¡°Yes. I think we can count on that much.¡± If grinners were anything, they were tenacious. Even if Will had taken down all the ones that had come after them in that second wave, it was still a good bet that more would come their way, probably sooner rather than later. Grinners could smell death from far, far away, and they flocked to it like flies to a dungpie.


    At least, they would most likely wait until nightfall. Grinners preferred to hunt at night, wait until folk were asleep and take them in their beds. That wasn¡¯t to say they would pass up a nice plump lunchtime human, as evidenced by the attack a bit ago. But Mongrel had no doubt that Will had made them pay for their eagerness, and after two losses in a row any remaining beasts would be more wary.


    At least, he hoped as much. With only two chimps to work with and at least another day and a half before the others were ready to be resummoned, he would need all the time as he could get to make the place defensible.


    Certainly, there was no room to stand around umming and ahhing. He got started immediately.


    Rather than shack up in the longhouse, as Buck had done, Mongrel chose one of the smaller houses at the eastern edge of the village, picking one that was still in decently good shape. While Number One and Number Three worked on making the building defensible, Mongrel took Sam inside and laid her out on the floor atop a bedroll.


    He tried to determine her condition, but he was no healer, and all he could really discern was that she was still alive. She was running a fairly strong fever, but at least she hadn¡¯t suffered another seizure since the one back at the farm, which he considered a good sign. He fed her more anesthetic to keep her under as Will had instructed, then went outdoors to help the chimps.


    They tore down all the surrounding houses in quick order, which both served to give them material to work with as well as improving their sightlines by removing nearby obstructions, creating a relatively clear field around their designated safehouse bar foundations and stovepipes and the occasional wall left unmolested.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Using a technique known as Repair joining, Mongrel had the chimps Demolish the ends of planks and pieces of the safehouse¡¯s walls, then place them together and Repair them again so that they were fused together when they reformed, providing strong bonds without needing to be affixed with screws or nails. This allowed him to quickly shore up the safehouse with extra protection, boarding up windows, strengthening walls, and patching holes.


    The house would not hold out for long against a determined attack, but it was the best he could do with so little time and so few resources at his disposal. This was not the extent of his plan, however.


    Using the Photosynthesis passive, Mongrel¡¯s AP regeneration was doubled while he was in sunlight. And with the Kindred Spirit passive, this allowed his familiars to gain the benefit of one passive of his choice. He had chosen Photosynthesis, meaning that his AP regeneration was doubled again for each active familiar. Even with most of them out of action, that still gave Mongrel quadruple AP regeneration while the sun held, giving him a lot more juice to perform the work he needed done before nightfall.


    Despite not intending to spend any time there, he sent the chimps to work on the longhouse. They performed some Repair welds on the windows to dissuade entry that way, but left the double doors at the front as they were. He had them dig a pit in front of the doors, fill that pit with spikes made from sharpened sticks, then cover it with rotted planks that were Reinforced so that they held when stepped on, and finally covered with gravel and soil so that the trap was concealed.


    Finally, he had the chimps climb up in the rafters and Reinforce the heavy ceiling beams, then intentionally weakened them with strategic uses of Demolish so that everything was just about held together. By that point it was late afternoon, sky turning a deep gold, and he lit a great fire in the hearth of the longhouse before having one of the chimps bar the doors from the inside, then clamber out through one of the smoke holes set into the ceiling.


    With the work more or less complete, Mongrel had everyone retreat inside the safehouse, Zero included, which left people and animals crowded into the single room. He forbade any fire from being lit as night approached, which meant that the safehouse looked dark and abandoned while slits of light shone through the boarded and shuttered windows of the longhouse.


    They sat in the dark; silent, weapons drawn, barely breathing.


    Mongrel did not get the chance to feel silly for overpreparing. Not long after nightfall, black shapes began to steal into Millstone, and proved that his caution had been prudent after all.


    The beasts stalked between buildings, indistinct silhouettes in the dark, coalescing on the one lit-up building at the far edge of town. Mongrel found that he had never missed Will as much as he did now¡ªwithout the kid¡¯s sensory abilities, it was impossible to get an accurate count of how many grinners they were dealing with.


    It was clearly a lot, though. More than either of the other times they had attacked by a fair margin, maybe as many as twenty or thirty.


    Evidently, all that losing had riled them up something mad.


    They poked around the longhouse a little while, prodding for weaknesses, before beginning to make their way inside in earnest. Grinners had an uncanny ability to chew their way through just about anything due to their Unceasing Hunger, and the scraping of teeth on wood became louder and more urgent as the beasts set to work, the blood-chilling sounds breaking the tranquility of night.


    They discovered that the doors were the weak point, and a whole pile of them quickly broke them down by biting and tearing and pressing their weight against them. The doors were flung wide, and the grinners poured inside, shoving and snapping at each other in their haste to devour any life they found inside.


    Unfortunately for them, there was no easy meal waiting inside the longhouse. Only a casket waiting to slam shut.


    The chimps waited for as many grinners as possible to get indoors, then released their sustained casts of Reinforce all at once. Without the added structural integrity provided by the skill, the roof beams broke with a great groaning of overstressed wood, and the entire ceiling came crashing down on the unwitting monsters. There were howls of pain, desperation, and rage, and a desperate scraping of claws as the grinners that had avoided immediate destruction scrambled to flee.


    Piling out of the same doors they had come in, the grinners stepped onto the rotted planks, no longer strengthened by Reinforce, and fell right through, impaling themselves on the spikes. It quickly turned into a second massacre as the ones behind shoved the ones in front, forcing their brethren down onto the spikes.


    The only ones that survived were the handful able to safely step over the backs of the other grinners once the pit was full of thrashing soon-to-be-corpses, and they limped off into the night with tails tucked between their legs.


    ¡°You keep after them,¡± Mongrel instructed Number Three as he unbarred the door to the safehouse. ¡°Stick to the trees, take some shots when you can. You don¡¯t need to finish them off, just make sure they don¡¯t get the idea to swing back around. Number One, go out there and see if you can find Will. I''ll stay here and take care of the girl.¡±


    The older chimp seemed less than pleased to be sent out under these conditions, but they both did as they were told, and Mongrel found himself alone inside the house, sitting against a wall with his sword across his lap, flinching at near every sound.


    [Congratulations! You have reached Level 12!]


    The sudden message made him jump, squeezed a trapped fart out of him. Once his heart rate settled, Mongrel chuckled to himself and shook his head ruefully. He had never expected to level up again, had never really felt motivated to try for it.


    His life had been so much simpler before he¡¯d found William Greene washed up on the Shore of Awakening. Before Millstone, before everything.


    It¡¯s all that damn brat¡¯s fault. It¡¯s because of him that I¡¯m out here with a horde of grinners nipping at my ass hair. He thinks he¡¯s angry, does he? When I find him, I¡¯ll give him a piece of my mind. You bet I will.

 Chapter 63 - Ghost Town Living [2]

    Mongrel


    Thankfully, there were no more attacks while the chimps were away. Number Three reported good success, having harried the remaining grinner pack for miles before losing track of them.


    Number One, however, had been less lucky. No sign of Will¡ªnot so much as a scrap of clothing. Mongrel was not sure if that was a bad sign or a good one. If the kid had made it out of that bind earlier with his legs still under him, he would have been here by now. Which meant that he was either incapacitated somewhere, or already dead.


    Mongrel would rather believe the former. If he¡¯d managed to drag himself into a hiding place somewhere, that would explain why Number One had been unable to find him.


    For the time being, however, that meant Mongrel needed to sort this mess out by his lonesome.  He¡¯d have to stay put in Millstone until A: Sam had recovered enough to travel, B: he was back to full strength on the chimp side of things, and C: he could ascertain with relative confidence whether Will was alive or dead.


    That meant at least one more day. Maybe more.


    Mongrel didn¡¯t think the grinners would dare bother them again tonight, so he risked he and Number Three getting a few hours of shut-eye while Number One kept watch, ready to wake them up if needed.


    Sure enough, the night passed uneventfully.


    When faced with the Ghost in his dreams, he put the three attribute points awarded at Level 12 into his derived attribute, Ideality.


    In the morning, he let Number One tag out and sleep while he and Number Three set about improving the safehouse¡¯s defenses. It was very possible that they had chased off the grinners for good, that they would not be hassled any further.


    Mongrel was not feeling quite that optimistic, however. He counted on them gathering more of their kind and returning by nightfall, more enraged than ever.


    That meant they had to be ready. His first trap had been a resounding success¡ªbut the decoy play wouldn¡¯t work a second time. Grinners preferred to tear humans apart in the quickest and most straightforward way possible, but they could be frighteningly cunning if pushed to it. No doubt, the ones that returned for their fourth attempt would be wary of human trickery.


    Mongrel figured he could use that against them, too.


    The spike pit placed in front of the longhouse had been successful in killing several of the monsters, but it was unlikely they would fall for such a trap again, and constructing a punji moat around the entire safehouse would take much too long. Instead, he faked it; dug up the soil around the building and turned it over so it would look like they¡¯d placed something underneath. Hopefully that would give the grinners at least a little bit of pause.


    He cut arrow slits into the walls of the safehouse, and a trapdoor in the ceiling. He had Number Three Repair weld the heap of extra knives they had brought from the farm onto the ends of wooden sticks to make improvised spears.


    They were forced to take a break around midday, about the time that Number One woke up, to sate their appetites. Zero was not a concern, as she could graze about the village during the day as long as he kept an eye on the old mule to make sure she didn¡¯t stray too far. For human and chimp, however, they had little in the way of feed. The provisions they had brought from the farm were largely depleted, and they were all out of water.


    The wells dotted around Millstone had run dry, so they were forced to venture further afield to find a stream. Number Three caught some reasonably sized frogs there while they were at it, and on their way back he climbed trees to harvest pine cones that they could extract the nuts from. Mongrel got handfuls of spruce tips along with a few edible mushrooms.


    Combined with the bit of jerky and bread they had left, it was certainly no great feast, but at least it quieted the insistent rumbling in Mongrel¡¯s stomach for the time being.


    Sam¡¯s fever broke that day. Number One cleaned and rebandaged her wounds, and they looked like they were beginning to heal, no sign of infection. She was well enough that Mongrel figured it was all right to take her off the anesthesia, and during her few lucid moments she managed to take some water.


    He did not think she would be any use against the grinners come night, but he could hope, at least. Pulling off miracles seemed to be the girl¡¯s speciality, after all.


    As a final addition to their defenses, Mongrel unraveled the yarn from his extra socks and tied them among the trees that surrounded Millstone, Reinforced so that they would serve as solid tripwire in case a careless grinner happened to rush headlong into it. He also attached empty medicine bottles to a few of them, so that they would clink together and make noise if the tripwire happened to be disturbed, giving some warning of approaching monsters and providing some indication as to the direction of attack.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Mongrel could not think of many other genius strategies, so he had all three of them simply rest throughout the late afternoon to recuperate their energy and allow his AP to regenerate. He imagined he would need as much of it as he could get.


    It was a good thing he¡¯d set up that tripwire, because the monsters made their move earlier than expected; at dusk. The faint clinking of glass was all the warning they got before they came swarming. From the north, the west, the south; dozens of them, all at once.


    Mongrel had never seen so manyb in one place before.


    They shut themselves inside the safehouse, and Number One created a Barrier coating on the outside that would hopefully keep the walls themselves from getting eaten up. With their Unceasing Hunger ability, the grinners would keep eating away at the wood if given half a chance until nothing remained to deny them entrance.


    The monsters were more cautious than the previous night, which was all right by him, since his main goal was to stall them long enough to resummon his other familiars sometime in the small hours of the night.


    They advanced slowly, picking their way through the buildings. Mongrel sent Number Three up on the roof via the trapdoor to take potshots at them, which gave at least a few of them some pause as arrows thudded into them. Grinners were tough bastards, meaning an arrow or two was unlikely to be lethal unless it was through the eye or the heart, but the curare-coated broadheads did their job properly, eventually downing several of the beasts before they reached the safehouse.


    Just as he had hoped, the monsters fell short when they reached the circle of upended earth, wary of traps. They stalked around, stepping this way and that, poking a paw onto the dirt here and there to test its integrity. By the time they realized they could simply walk across, Number Three had scored at least five more good shots.


    When they started close, Mongrel called Number Three inside and sealed the trapdoor shut behind him.


    The grinners piled up around the safehouse, clawing and biting and bashing their heads against the Barrier. Number One had made it take a sort of mushroom shape, bulging out at the top to prevent any monsters from climbing onto the roof, where they would be far more difficult to displace.


    Additionally, the Barrier was made up of smaller fractal patterns that increased its overall structural integrity, made possible by Mongrel¡¯s extra points in Ideality as they trickled down to his familiars through the Kindred Spirit passive.


    Number One created gaps in the Barrier where necessary so that Mongrel and Number Three could poke their spears through the arrow slits, stabbing at the snarling tide of black fur and terrible teeth on the other side.


    Given the sheer weight of beasts, it was not long before they began breaking through the Barrier, but when they did Number One just created another, and another, and another. This method worked in buying them some time, but it ate through Mongrel¡¯s AP frighteningly quick, and was extremely draining on his familiar.


    When Number One had accumulated too much skill fatigue to keep going, Mongrel had Number Three take his place and manned the defenses alone. This wasn¡¯t viable for very long, as with only one person keeping the grinners from getting too wild they quickly swarmed the Barrier and tore it down, too fast to create a new one in its place.


    The monsters began crunching their way through the wooden walls like enormous termites, the sound of their teeth scraping a terrible thing to have to listen to. Zero stepped anxiously inside the enclosed space, ears streaked flat, and Mongrel had no time to offer her any consolation as he was busy stabbing away. If anything, he wished somebody was there to console him.


    For once, he could have used a demon at his back.


    Number Three created another Barrier on the inside of the walls to keep the monsters at bay just a little while longer, but it was a stopgap solution at best. It would be at least another hour until the other chimps were ready to pop back out, and there was no way they were lasting that long. Even if they did by some miracle, Mongrel did not think it would make much difference against so many grinners. Despite how many they had taken down, there always seemed to be more ready to step over their dead comrades for a chance at some manflesh.


    There had to be some way out of this. Something he could do. But he could not think of it. Could not visualize the way forward short of a miracle. He glared accusingly at Sam lying there on the floor, but she refused to stir, sleeping soundly in blissful ignorance of the fact that they were all about to be eaten alive.


    Luckily, Sam Darling was not the only person Mongrel knew with a penchant for working miracles.


    All of a sudden, the grinners let up a little in their relentless aggression, seemed to grow somehow unsure. They fell away from each other, scrabbling, began to look around.


    One of them turned and ran, then another, then the whole lot of them broke off. Mongrel stood panting, blood-slick spear clutched in both hands, and shared uncertain looks with the chimps.


    Why were the monsters running?


    It was only when the silence of the night had firmly reasserted itself, broken only by the low moaning of dying grinners piled up against the walls, that Mongrel dared to go outside and find out.


    He saw the cause of the disturbance almost immediately, a dark shape coming down the south slope leading into the village in a slow, labored gait. Mongrel would have recognized him even if it weren¡¯t for the long, silvered blade in his hand.


    Will produced a terrible squeal of metal on metal as he scraped a knife along the blade, like a hundred voices screaming in agony. He repeated the motion over and over as he came down into the village, and the grinners fled at the sight of him, breaking east and west to avoid coming close to the young man.


    Mongrel whistled the two chimps to his side and pounded across Millstone to meet the kid. He fell down before they got there, and Mongrel kicked away the foul blade so he wouldn¡¯t touch it by accident before kneeling next to him.


    ¡°You¡¯re alive,¡± Mongrel said.


    ¡°Obviously,¡± Will grunted.


    ¡°Grinners don¡¯t seem to like you much.¡±


    ¡°They got more than their fill of me when I showed them my semblance. Sam¡­?¡±


    ¡°Alive. Safe.¡±


    Will let out a relieved breath. ¡°Good.¡± He fumbled his fingers across his front, pulled out a knife stuck through his belt. "Got something of yours."


    "My knife!" Mongrel exclaimed. "You''re all charity today, aren''t you?"


    Will''s lips parted as though to give a reply, but his consciousness was fading, eyes sliding shut. Mongrel gave the lad''s cheek a fond clap, then picked him up and carried him inside the house as the chimps set about finishing off the immobilized monsters still surrounding the place.

 Chapter 64 - We Need to Talk

    Will


    Waking up was not a pleasant experience.


    His head throbbed like mad, and he was cold all over; feverish. When he opened his dry, bleary eye a crack, he immediately wished he¡¯d kept it shut as it was impaled by spears of impossibly bright light.


    Blinking the light down to a somewhat manageable level, he found he was in an unfamiliar room, fresh sunshine washing in through open windows and ragged holes in the walls. The space was completely clear of furniture, just four walls and a ceiling, the only adornment being a moderately sized pile of horse feces sitting not far from where he lay.


    Sitting up was a laborious, lengthy process that involved a lot of wincing and groaning and muffled swearing. Once he got some momentum behind him, though, and his mental faculties began to return, he was spurred on faster by a growing sense of urgency, staggering to his feet and catching himself against a wall, letting out a sharp yell at the jolt to his tender shoulder.


    He¡¯d been stripped out of his coat and shirt and put into a fresh tunic, unlaced at the neck. His weapons were nowhere in evidence; neither was Mongrel, or his chimps, or¡ªmost importantly¡ªSam.


    Mongrel had said that she was safe, hadn¡¯t he? Will seemed to remember a conversation like that before he¡¯d passed out, but he wasn¡¯t sure he trusted the integrity of his recollection too much at the moment.


    Finding the front door, Will hurried outside into the warming mid-morning air, finding himself standing at the edge of Millstone village.


    The place was a dump¡ªmore than it had been previously. A generous handful of the surrounding buildings had been stripped essentially down to their foundations, and the longhouse off on his right had completely collapsed in on itself.


    Dark mounds of grinner corpses littered the place, the ground suffused with their viscous black blood, air heavy with the rank smell of them. He counted nineteen.


    Mongrel must have had a hard time of it. In all honesty, he was more than a little surprised that the old bastard had held out against so many, especially with only two chimps to work with.


    He¡¯d only just started wandering aimlessly in search of Sam when he saw Number Two and Number Four come up the way and take hold of either end of a dead beast, intending to drag it off to a large open pit beyond the town''s eastern edge that already contained a whole heap of grinners. Will was glad that Mongrel hadn¡¯t decided to burn them¡ªthe smoke would draw the attention of monsters and humans alike, and attention was the last thing they needed at the moment.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Will called to the two chimps, approaching them at a stiff half-jog that set his skull pounding, begging him to stop. ¡°Where¡¯s Sam? Is she all right?¡±


    Number Two dropped the rounded, human-like head of the grinner and signed back. ¡®In the middle,¡¯ he said, then pointed toward the center of town. ¡®She okay. No worry.¡¯


    Will nodded, but he wouldn¡¯t allow himself to relax until he made sure of her status for himself. ¡°And Mongrel?¡± he asked.


    ¡®Go fishing.¡¯


    ¡°I see. Any more trouble from the grinners since I¡¯ve been out?¡±


    ¡®No. They run away, don¡¯t come back.¡¯


    ¡°Good.¡±


    He took leave of the chimps and headed in the direction Number Two had indicated, running in spurts and slowing to a brisk walk whenever his body protested too much. He entered out onto what had once been the village green, now just an overgrown field of weeds, the stone well at its center nearly swallowed by the waist-high greenery.


    Will felt an instant and immense surge of relief as he saw a familiar shape bobbing up and down. Sam was in a section of the green that had been cleared of grass, doing forceful push-ups with a gleefully shrieking Number Five riding on her back. She was stripped down to a light linen undershirt, heavily bandaged underneath, a light sheen of sweat coating the bare muscles of her shoulders.


    ¡°Sam!¡±


    She shot to her feet almost instantly, spinning to catch the young ape in one arm with a dancer''s grace and setting him down gently. Her face, battered and bruised and crusted with old blood, was split by a stupid grin.


    Before he could say anything else, she was already wading through the grass at a quick, high-kneed clip, cutting the distance between them in a handful of seconds. Will braced himself to be tackled, gritting his teeth at the pain that was sure to follow, but the embrace she folded him in was surprisingly soft, her arms reaching around his waist and her hands gripping the back of his tunic.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she murmured into his shirt.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Will replied.


    ¡°I missed you.¡±


    ¡°I can tell.¡±


    Her grip hardened for a moment, and Will let out a stiff grunt at a flare of muscle ache in his stomach. ¡°Asshole,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to say you missed me, too.¡±


    ¡°All right, I missed you a little.¡±


    ¡°Liar.¡± She looked up at him, eyebrow cocked. ¡°I bet you were inconsolable without me.¡±


    Will snorted, and disentangled himself from her hug before it inevitably turned into some kind of wrestling match. He wasn''t sure he''d survive that. ¡°I¡¯d miss you more if you weren¡¯t such a brat all the time.¡±


    Number Five, still standing a ways off, waved to get Will¡¯s attention and signed: ¡®Dad say come get when you wake up. I go get now.¡¯


    Will nodded, and watched the little chimp trundle off before turning his attention back to Sam. He held her still by her elbows and gave her a long once-over. Some of her bandages were blood-spotted, but they looked fresh enough. There was no sickly-sweet smell of infection coming off her, just salty sweat. She made a disapproving grunt when he pried the lids of her right eye wide with two fingers, but otherwise suffered his examination without complaint.


    ¡°You seem to be recovering well,¡± he said with a reluctant nod of approval. ¡°How¡¯s your head?¡±


    She clicked her tongue. ¡°Hurts like a motherfucker.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d imagine. Any vomiting?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Good. Vision impairment? Memory loss?¡±


    ¡°No and, uh, maybe? A lot of that last fight is a bit of a blur. I don¡¯t really remember how I ended up here, either. Or where ¡®here¡¯ is, for that matter.¡±


    ¡°Did Mongrel explain it to you?¡±


    ¡°He said that was your job.¡±


    Will sighed. ¡°Of course he did.¡± He shrugged, shoulder sockets thumping with lingering skill fatigue. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll need to give your head a closer look at some point, but I¡¯d say you¡¯re healing nicely. I take it that means you got the second rank in Healing Factor like I asked?¡±


    Sam frowned, freckled nose crinkling. ¡°Huh? When¡¯d you tell me that?¡±


    ¡°Oh. Then¡­¡±


    ¡°No, for Level 6 I got this thing called Dental Enhancement. Look!¡± She hooked a finger under her cheek and pulled it wide, revealing white, straight teeth with sharp, overlong canines on top and bottom. ¡°My teeth got all busted in the finals, but I learned about Dental Enhancement earlier, so I knew just how to fix ¡®em up again. Smart, huh?¡±


    ¡°Sam, that¡¯s¡­¡± He shook his head slowly, rubbing at his bad eye. ¡°If you¡¯d taken that rank in Healing Factor, you could have gotten your teeth back anyway by pulling out the broken ones and waiting for new ones to come in.¡±


    She snorted. ¡°Whatever, dude. And anyway, it¡¯s not like I took it just for the teeth. This guy I fought in the preliminaries of the tournament had it, and when I punched him in the jaw it was like hitting iron, so I reckon it¡¯ll make my chin a lot stronger.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s great, Sam. Really great. I¡¯m sure your super chin will be a big comfort when someone puts a spear through your gut.¡±


    He found he wasn¡¯t able to hold onto his annoyance for long, however. He had missed her, antics and stupidity included. Maybe especially that.


    Since she hadn''t put another rank in Healing Factor, that meant it was likely her sheer amount of Toughness that had saved her brain from going to mush. That, or simple dumb luck.


    The latter had always been somewhat of a specialty of hers.


    ¡°What about you?¡± Sam asked. ¡°You slept for a whole day. Mongrel said you must¡¯ve been using a lot of skills before you came and got me that night.¡±


    ¡°I was,¡± Will admitted.


    ¡°Are you better now?¡±


    ¡°Halfway there, maybe. I¡¯ll need another day or two before I¡¯m back to full strength.¡±


    ¡°But you weren¡¯t injured or anything?¡±


    Will shook his head. ¡°No.¡± Nothing that would show on the outside, anyway. His conscience was the only thing that had taken a beating.


    ¡°What were you doing, exactly?¡± She looked resigned as she asked the question, as though she already expected not to get a straight answer out of him.


    That made his stomach twist up with guilt. ¡°I reckon it¡¯s time for us to have a bit of a talk,¡± he said, rubbing vigorously at the stitches of his bad eye. ¡°I¡¯ll explain everything that¡¯s going on. I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be ready just yet, but after everything that¡¯s happened¡­¡± He trailed off.


    Sam took his hand in both of hers, touch warm and soothing, and pulled it away from his face. ¡°All right,¡± she said, sounding uncharacteristically serious. ¡°I¡¯d really appreciate that. Whatever it is you¡¯ve got weighing you down, I want to help you carry it.¡±


    Will chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s not the kind of heavy lifting that big biceps will help with.¡±


    She returned an incredulous smirk. One newly elongated canine got caught on her lower lip, made her look even more like a big puppy than usual. ¡°You lift with your legs, not your biceps, stupid.¡±


    ¡°Right. Silly me.¡±


    Sam held onto his hand as he looked out over the ruined village, stepped closer until they were bumping shoulders. ¡°So¡­¡± she said, trailing off as she waited for Will to elaborate.


    ¡°This stuff is kind of dark,¡± he explained; words sticky, hard to work past his lips. ¡°Would you mind if we start with your half? I¡¯m very interested in knowing what happened during this¡­ tournament.¡± He wanted to know exactly how much of a beating Mongrel deserved.


    ¡°Sure!¡± Sam replied, smiling big, the brightness of her features not lessened in the slightest by the mess of battle damage covering its entirety. ¡°I have so much to tell you, it¡¯s crazy. It feels like it¡¯s been ages since we talked, even though it was only a couple days ago. Actually, how many days has it been now?¡± She started counting on her fingers, brow knitting with concentration.


    ¡°Six,¡± Will said after a brief mental catalogue.


    ¡°Damn. But yeah, it feels way longer than that.¡±


    ¡°You were talking about the tournament.¡±


    ¡°Right! The tournament.¡±


    ¡°Start at the beginning, please. Give me the long version.¡±


    ¡°You got it!¡±


    Hands clasped, they wandered aimlessly through Millstone as Sam began her deliberation of the past week¡¯s events.

 Chapter 65 - We Need to Talk [2]

    Will


    ¡°Mongrel said it was my idea, did he?¡±


    ¡°Something like that,¡± Sam replied with a shrug. ¡°That was a lie, then?¡±


    They made their way past the not-so-photogenic mass grave of monsters, two chimps still toiling away to roll more inside. They were going to need a bigger pit soon.


    ¡°That was a lie,¡± Will confirmed with a terse nod.


    ¡°Are you angry with him?¡±


    ¡°A little.¡±


    ¡°How much is a little?¡±


    ¡°Enough that he¡¯ll feel it tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Just don¡¯t go too hard on him.¡±


    Will stopped abruptly, forcing Sam to do the same to avoid letting go of his hand. ¡°Why the fuck not? He¡¯s been making money off your blood and pain.¡±


    ¡°I wanted to do it, Will. I could have said no, but I didn¡¯t. I¡¯m happy it turned out this way. Mongrel is who he is¡ªa little bit of a scumbag sometimes, sure, but not a bad guy.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯ve got a lot more faith in him than he deserves.¡±


    ¡°He risked his life for me in the pit, when those people were trying to kill me. And he did it again, keeping this place safe from all those¡­ things, when he could¡¯ve turned and ran.¡±


    Will shook his head, but saw no point in arguing. He suspected that there was nothing he could say that would crack Sam¡¯s relentless optimism. ¡°Whatever,¡± he sighed. ¡°Go on. Tell me what happened.¡±


    She''d already given him a rundown on how she''d allocated her level-up rewards since he''d last seen her. Two points each in Toughness and Strength at Level 3, a second rank in Shock Absorption at Level 4, and four points in Toughness at Level 5. All in all, he had no complaints, aside from her rather unfortunate digression into Dental Enhancement at Level 6.


    ¡°Right,¡± Sam replied, and tugged him along as they reached the edge of the village and began looping back around its western slope. ¡°So at first it was supposed to be just one fight, but then Mongrel got talked into the whole tournament thing by this guy called Golden Boy. Do you know about him?¡±


    Will nodded. ¡°I do.¡± He¡¯d heard a fair bit about the promoter through the rumor mill¡ªnone of it good.


    ¡°Gotcha. So then Mongrel went to a brothel for the night, and I got shacked up with this, uh, lady of the night named Serene. I wasn¡¯t too stoked about it at first, but eventually we got to talking and I found out she¡¯s actually really nice. She helped me out a bunch, but I ended up losing track of her at some point. I hope she¡¯s doing all right. I think she took it pretty hard when Ratcatcher died.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s Ratcatcher?¡±


    ¡°Oh, he was another fighter in the tournament. Bro, he was so amazing! He¡¯d been doing these pit fights for years but had never won a single match, and he joined the tournament to basically force himself to go all out and win at least once.¡±


    Her face lit up as she spoke, and she was gesturing wildly with her free hand, almost catching Will in the face more than once. Will found himself smiling along with her. Another man might have been jealous at hearing his woman speak of another man with such obvious admiration, but he knew that there was no need. Somehow, he knew that no one could ever take his place at her side.


    ¡°I take it he lost in the end?¡± Will asked, closely studying the side of her battered face, finding himself more than a little tempted to kiss her after what felt like a great abstinence.


    Sam shook her head at his question. ¡°I don¡¯t see it that way at all. Let me tell you the whole story, though. He won his first round against this Laborer called Skullcrusher. Skullcrusher was way bigger and stronger and everything, but Ratcatcher had this whole strategy for how to beat him. I guess his day job as an actual rat catcher helped him with his ability to think up traps and stuff, because he eventually got Skullcrusher stuck to the ground and choked him out by removing all the oxygen from the air around him using this skill called Tidy Up. There wasn¡¯t one person who thought he would win¡ªhonestly, even I wasn¡¯t so sure about his odds¡ªbut he showed ¡®em all up. It was fucking spectacular.¡±


    ¡°Tidy Up, huh?¡± Will mused. He¡¯d heard of the skill, but had never seen much need to dive into the mechanics of it. To immobilize your opponent, then remove all the oxygen from a section of the air by sucking it into another spot¡­ He had to admit, that was pretty clever, if a bit roundabout to serve much purpose in an actual fight.


    They came across Mongrel¡¯s mule, who was grazing among the wildflowers and idly swishing her tail to shake off the insects buzzing around her. Sam jogged over to the animal and began to stroke her mane, getting an indifferent harrumph in return.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°For the second match, he got paired up with Henke, the undefeated champion and the betting favorite,¡± Sam continued, still fretting over the mule; stroking her neck, scratching her behind the ears. ¡°I think he did even better in that fight, to be honest with you. The champion had this special ring that¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know about the Devil¡¯s Eye,¡± Will cut in. Which meant that he also knew exactly how unlikely her upset against Henke the Hero had been. It was said that the great Marcille had forged that ring, and that Dickie Rich had paid one million glories for it. He wasn¡¯t sure how much of that was true, but he knew its power had been the real deal.


    ¡°Right, well, Ratcatcher was able to turn the fire that the ring shot out against Henke, and landed some really nice shots on him. Then he used this thing called a valor surge, which was kind of like a big lightning strike if you twisted it sideways. He would¡¯ve won off the back of that, but some idiots in the audience started throwing things at him, and he got hit with this bottle, and then¡­¡± She shrugged, and slowly let her arm fall limp. ¡°He died. But I know he would¡¯ve won if it wasn¡¯t for that cheating at the end, so it would just be plain unfair to say that he lost. As far as I¡¯m concerned, he came out of that tournament undefeated.¡±


    ¡°I guess that¡¯s one way to look at it.¡±


    ¡°I think you would¡¯ve liked him,¡± Sam said, turning toward him with a smile. ¡°You¡¯re both the thinky type.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure I would have. But that aside, as much as I¡¯ve enjoyed hearing about all the friends you made along the way, why don¡¯t you tell me about some of your own matches.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Well, they weren¡¯t really that interesting. There was the Dental Enhancement guy, some sort of serial killer apparently, that I fought in the preliminaries. He gave me this.¡± She peeled back a bandage on her shoulder, revealing a near-perfect ring of tooth marks on her trapezius that was already beginning to scar over. ¡°He tried to cheat by using a knife on me¡ªthere were a lot of cheaters in that tournament, actually, now that I think about it¡ªbut then I beat him up some, and that was that.


    ¡°In the first round there was this lady named, uh, I want to say Terry? I knocked her out with a front kick to the chin.


    ¡°Then there was this weird cultist guy named Jax who kept blinding me with the Illuminate skill and doing all sorts of annoying stuff. Then he used Power Word on me so I would get super mad¡ªI guess he was trying to tire me out or something¡ªbut I got my hands on him and beat him up a bunch. I was so mad that I nearly beat him to death, though, so that was kinda scary.


    ¡°The third round was this dude named Holden who had a dog with him. That match never really got off the ground ¡®cause he threw a bomb at me and got disqualified for cheating.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, a what?¡± Will asked. ¡°A bomb?¡±


    ¡°Mmhmm.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how he expected to get away with that one.¡±


    ¡°I dunno, man, but that¡¯s what happened. It gets kinda blurry after that, but I know I fought Henke in the finals and won. Ratcatcher inspired me a lot, actually, because I was able to copy what he did and use one of those valor surges to beat the guy. I think I busted him up pretty good, but I can¡¯t say I feel bad about it.¡±


    Will had seen the very tail end of her match with Henke, so he already knew about the valor surge, but it was somehow still shocking to hear about it. At least hearing the part about her friend using it told him how she¡¯d learned about it in the first place.


    Of course, that left the question of how Ratcatcher had come across this information. He found it unlikely that the man had had the same passion as Will did for diving through old dusty tomes.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s pretty much it,¡± Sam said with a shrug as they moved on and let Zero return to grazing in peace, ¡°I guess you¡¯d know more than me about the part after that.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Like the reason why we¡¯re out here in this weird-ass ghost town, maybe?¡±


    He chuckled. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll explain everything in detail, but for right now, let¡¯s just say that your big entrance in the city will have caused a bit of a stir, and there¡¯s a good chance that Brimstone is on our asses. I¡¯m going to try and find a way to salvage the situation, but we¡¯ll need to do some strategizing when Mongrel gets back. I¡¯m afraid it might get a bit dicey for a while.¡±


    ¡°That sounds ominous.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, it¡¯s probably worse than it sounds, so.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Sam said suddenly, brows shooting up. ¡°I forgot! There¡¯s one more important thing I need to tell you about.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s this guy called Bill¡ªhe¡¯s a slave working on the cleaning crew in the pits. I promised I¡¯d buy his freedom if I won the tournament.¡±


    Will blinked, unimpressed. ¡°How did this promise come about, exactly?¡±


    ¡°He helped me bury Ratcatcher after he died.¡±


    ¡°Sam, have you ever considered that there might be such a thing as being too friendly?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°Anyway, now that I¡¯ve got my own money, I¡¯m gonna go back and make good on that promise as soon as I can. The prize money for winning the tournament was fifty thousand¡ªthat¡¯s a lot, right? Golden Boy made it sound like a lot.¡±


    Will smiled, and nodded reassuringly. ¡°That¡¯s a good chunk of change, yeah.¡±


    ¡°Does that mean I¡¯m rich?¡±


    ¡°Sure, more or less. You could probably buy your own house with that money and have a bit left over.¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t want my own house.¡±


    ¡°It was an illustrative example, Sam¡ªI wasn¡¯t getting ready to Message a realtor or anything.¡±


    Sam gave a satisfied grunt. ¡°Good, then. Because I meant that thing I said about sticking to you like a tumor. You¡¯re not getting rid of me¡ªlike, ever.¡±


    ¡°I know that.¡± He chuckled, and tried not to let any of the bitterness he felt come through. He wasn¡¯t looking forward to telling her that they would probably have to part ways again¡ªvery soon.


    There were a lot of things he wasn¡¯t looking forward to telling her.


    But he¡¯d put it off for as long as he possibly could, and now that her story was finished, she was looking at him expectantly to start his own.


    Will sighed, working his tongue around in his mouth, chewing words he didn¡¯t want to speak. ¡°Right,¡± he said, forcing himself to begin. ¡°I kind of lied, before. I¡¯m not really an herbalist, or a healer, or whatever. I mean, I am that, but not only that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d kind of figured as much,¡± Sam replied. ¡°So what is it you really do?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a hired killer, Sam. I kill people for money. That¡¯s what I do.¡±


    They stopped walking, and a long silence followed. He studied her face closely, trying to read every twitch of her features for some sign of what she was feeling.


    ¡°I¡¯d kind of figured as much,¡± she repeated, not sounding particularly surprised.


    The disappointment in her eyes cut him worse than any blade could have.

 Chapter 66 - We Need to Talk [3]

    Sam


    She wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d ever seen that mix of emotions on Will¡¯s face before.


    Sadness. Fear. Shame. Vulnerability. His one eye, normally so steady, was darting up and down, alternating between studying her and staring at the ground.


    He looked like a cornered animal.


    It broke her heart, seeing him that way.


    She moved the same instant he did. He took half a step back, and she cut the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him so tight he couldn¡¯t possibly escape, ignoring his groans of protest and the fact that the knife wound in her forearm sprung a leak, warm wetness soaking into the bandage.


    ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± Sam whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder. Will tried to wriggle away, but she held onto him, clasped her hands behind his back. ¡°Like a tumor, remember? You¡¯re not getting rid of me.¡±


    He stopped struggling with a shallow sigh. ¡°You disapprove of the things I do,¡± he said, sounding defeated.


    ¡°Killing people? Of course I do, Will. You¡¯re not a murderer.¡±


    ¡°I am a murderer. That¡¯s literally my job description.¡±


    ¡°In your heart, you¡¯re not a murderer. It bothers you, the things you¡¯ve done. I can tell that it does. You do it because you have to, not because you like it.¡±


    Will did not reply.


    ¡°Am I right?¡±


    There was a long pause. Then: ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°It weighs on you, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Terribly.¡±


    ¡°Did you think I would be angry with you?¡±


    ¡°Probably.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not.¡±


    She broke the hug, but caught Will by his collar before he could step away, stole the words out of his mouth by kissing him. He was stiff at first, unresponsive, but slowly softened up.


    ¡°All right, but¡ª¡± Will mumbled between kisses.


    ¡°Shh!¡± Sam hissed.


    It was a minute or more before she let him off the hook, wiping her lips with a knuckle and giving his chest a playful punch. ¡°You¡¯ve gotten better,¡± she said. ¡°You sure you haven¡¯t been practicing on your pillows in secret?¡±


    Will snorted, not dignifying her accusation with an answer.


    ¡°Look,¡± Sam went on, getting more serious. ¡°You¡¯ve always been the type to try and carry everything on your own, to hide the pain you¡¯re in. You did it when people used to pick on you, you did it when you got sick, and you¡¯re doing it now.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not fair on me, Will! You¡¯re supposed to tell your tumor everything!¡±


    ¡°I think you mean¡ª¡±


    ¡°I want to help carry your burdens, Will. I¡¯ve seen what the Frontier can be like now. I¡¯ve seen how much death and betrayal and tragedy are part of everyday life here. I¡¯d never change the way I am for anything, but I know I¡¯m not perfect. I¡¯m naive. I''m stubborn. I¡¯m idealistic. Sometimes, that leaves other people cleaning up my messes.


    ¡°Since forever, that person has always been you. Nothing has taught me that more than having to live without you the last five years. My life has been a mess, Will¡ªan absolute disaster.¡±


    ¡°Okay, but I don¡¯t know what that¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m saying we need each other. I can¡¯t even imagine the kind of sacrifices you¡¯ve made to get us to this point, the kind of choices you¡¯ve had to make.¡±


    Will sighed and gave up on getting a word in edgewise, pursing his lips as though to seal them shut.


    ¡°I can¡¯t make those choices¡ªthat¡¯s just not the kind of person I am," Sam continued. "But I would never fault you for making them, either, and I have complete faith that your decision to kill people, or whatever it is you¡¯ve had to do, has come from a desire to help people, and to make a better world. I¡¯m here for you. Whatever weight you¡¯re carrying, I¡¯ll carry it with you. I¡¯m metastasizing, motherfucker.¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    When it became clear that she had finished, breathing hard after that unbroken stream of words, Will gave a slow, considering nod.


    ¡°I understand,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m not sure you¡¯d feel the same way if you knew all the bloody details, but¡­ I get your point.¡±


    ¡°Then tell me.¡±


    ¡°Tell you what?¡±


    ¡°Everything. Every detail. Everything that¡¯s bothering you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure we have the time for¡­¡±


    ¡°Will.¡± She hit him with a hard look, arms crossed. ¡°You¡¯re shelling up. Don¡¯t do that. I hate it when you do that.¡±


    ¡°I just¡­¡±


    ¡°Why not try to have some faith in me, for once?¡±


    He wore a grave expression as he regarded her, his one eye searching her face. Then, after a while, he said: ¡°All right. I¡¯ll talk.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you start by telling me what you were really doing when the lord called you away? What you were doing on the night of the tournament.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±


    They sat down on the stone ring of the old well at the center of town, and Will leaned back on his hands, gazing long at the cloud-streaked sky without saying anything. Sam didn¡¯t push. She knew he was the kind of guy who liked to get his words all in order before he started talking.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a rough couple of days,¡± he began. ¡°I always try to do the right thing, but usually it feels like that¡¯s just the least bad thing.


    ¡°I¡¯ve told you about Brimstone before¡ªhow paranoid he is. Well, he got it in his head that the ruler of this city called Stormfront wants him dead, and he sicced me on the diplomatic envoy she sent to Sheerhome.


    ¡°It¡¯s a mess all around. Lady Winter, the ruler of Stormfront, is not the kind of woman you want to get on the bad side of, and Brimstone is courting open war with her. I don¡¯t know how many casualties we¡¯re talking about exactly, but it could be hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions¡ªespecially if Winter is forced off her post as protector of the interior long enough that Stormfront itself is overrun and monsters start spilling over to attack the coastal cities.


    ¡°There were few things I¡¯d rather do less than kill the mark Brimstone gave me¡ªPhilly Upnorth was his name¡ªbut of course, I couldn¡¯t say no to the lord and walk out alive, so I did exactly as I was told.


    ¡°He asked me to make it messy, to make it clear to Lady Winter that he¡¯s not to be trifled with, so I did. I butchered Philly Upnorth and half his household, left them in pieces. I let his wife live, but I¡¯m not so sure that was a mercy. Without guards, she¡¯ll never make it back to Stormfront, and it¡¯s doubtful at best that she¡¯ll retain access to her late husband¡¯s funds, considering Brimstone¡¯s opinion of him. More than likely, she¡¯ll be selling herself on the streets before the summer is up.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s awful,¡± Sam said, voice soft, a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m sorry you had to go through all that.¡±


    Will shook his head, grimacing bitterly. ¡°I didn¡¯t go through anything. What I did to those people¡­¡± He shook his head again. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t exactly know what I¡¯m saying.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Take your time, Will.¡±


    He was silent a while longer before he continued. ¡°Well, to be honest, the Philly Upnorth gig was the easy part. When I returned to the keep to report my success, I found out that Brimstone had decided that his wife was trying to kill him now. He was burning her alive, Sam. He was going to kill her then and there, so I did the only thing I could think of, and¡­¡± He put his head in his hands, rubbing at his eye sockets with the heels of his hands. ¡°I offered to torture her for him. Not just to keep her alive, but also to secretly pump her for information on her husband. He¡¯s extremely dangerous, Sam, and a complete mystery¡ªif we¡¯re going to stand a chance of killing him, I need to learn enough about his build so that we can effectively counter him.¡±


    Sam licked dry lips, found her throat tightening painfully. ¡°So, his wife¡­?¡±


    Will laughed; a tired, joyless sound. He raised his head, but kept his gaze trained firmly away from her, sad eye twitching. ¡°I did exactly what I promised. I cut her up¡ªcut her up bad. I made sure she was awake for it, too, so the guards would hear her screaming¡ªso they wouldn¡¯t suspect I was going easy on her.


    ¡°Even if we kill Brimstone now and manage to set her free, she¡¯ll never be the same. After her husband¡¯s flames, and my knife¡­¡± He sucked his teeth. ¡°She could get an Ideal Self restoration, get worked over by a team of top Physicians, and I reckon she¡¯d still be in pain for the rest of her life.¡±


    ¡°Jesus.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± He laughed, and glanced at her for a moment before looking away again. ¡°That¡¯s the job, Sam. That¡¯s a sucky day at the office for me. So before you take my hand again, you should remember all the blood smeared on it.¡±


    Sam wasn¡¯t sure what to say, so she just put her arms around him, hugging him from the side and squeezing him tight. He looked like he wanted to protest, but eventually just let out a sharp breath, deflating, and let his head fall against hers.


    ¡°There¡¯ll be more killing before this mess is all over,¡± he continued. ¡°A lot more.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re planning on taking out this Brimstone guy, then?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m strong enough to do that. But I¡¯m going to make sure he dies, yes. Preferably before he lights the whole octant on fire.¡±


    ¡°I understand. In that case, once he¡¯s dead, Sheerhome will be a better place and there¡¯ll be no one forcing you to kill people anymore, right? You¡¯ll be able to put it behind you.¡±


    Will stiffened at that. ¡°Sam, I¡­ that¡¯s not how this works. Liberating Sheerhome is just the first step toward saving the Frontier. It''ll give us a platform to work off of, but that''s it. It¡¯s not an end to anything. Even in some kind of best-case dreamland scenario, there are still hordes of monsters infesting the interior that need exterminating, along with the Devil Queen popping them out.¡±


    ¡°Monsters are different, Will. They¡¯re evil.¡±


    ¡°I guess.¡±


    ¡°So you don¡¯t think you¡¯ll ever be able to stop killing? Hang up your sword?¡±


    ¡°Probably not.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll believe it for both of us.¡± She snuggled tighter up against him, taking comfort in his warmth, rubbing her nose across his shoulder.


    ¡°You¡¯re a weird girl, Sam,¡± he said, and began stroking her hair.


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t meant as a compliment.¡±


    ¡°In that case, thanks for complimenting me on accident.¡±

 Chapter 67 - We Need to Talk [4]

    Sam


    Mongrel picked that rather inconvenient moment to show up, whistling merrily as he strolled into the village with Number One and Number Five waddling alongside him. The old chimp carried a decent number of fish, strung-together and slung over one shoulder, while the little chimp had a pair of improvised fishing rods in his arms.


    The old Farmer carried nothing except a lit cigarette pinched between two fingers.


    ¡°Hey there, kids,¡± he said as he strutted over to the well, kicking at the tall grass with each step, ¡°no sex in public now¡ªdon¡¯t make me break out the spray bottle.¡± He put a boot up on the stone circle, rested his elbow on his knee, and tapped a bit of ash off his cigarette, letting it drift lazily down into the gaping hole.


    He gave a flamboyant flourish as he raised his hand for another drag off his smoke, giving the two of them a good look at his left arm in the process¡ªthe twelve blue crystals that gleamed there especially. ¡°Notice anything different?¡± he asked, eyebrows pumping.


    Sam rolled her eyes. He¡¯d been doing that routine more or less since she woke up that morning.


    Will pulled free of Sam¡¯s grip, stood, and went over to Mongrel. He offered a handshake, giving a small nod.


    Mongrel¡¯s face lit up, and he stuck the cigarette in his mouth so he could take Will¡¯s hand. When he moved to reciprocate the handshake, however, Will cocked back and delivered a sharp right hook to the side of the man''s head, sending him sprawling on his back.


    ¡°Ow!¡± he squealed, spitting out his broken cigarette. ¡°I could have swallowed that, you know!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll consider that revenge enough, for the time being,¡± Will said, and helped Mongrel to his feet.


    The Farmer rubbed mournfully at his jaw, which was already turning red. ¡°I think it¡¯s broken.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not broken. Now, if you don¡¯t mind, I want to finish talking to Sam.¡±


    ¡°Fine, whatever.¡± Mongrel turned to stomp off, and shot over his shoulder: ¡°I really don¡¯t know where I went wrong with you, Will. You turned into such a violent boy.¡±


    ¡°Congratulations on getting to Level 12, by the way!¡± Will called after him. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you had it in you.¡±


    Mongrel threw a dismissive wave, no longer in the mood for bragging, and stomped inside the new house they had chosen to camp out in. The two chimps went in after him, and Number Five closed the door. Then he promptly opened it again, only to slam it shut. Evidently, Mongrel thought his exit had not been dramatic enough.


    Will chuckled, picked Mongrel¡¯s still-smoldering cigarette up off the ground, and flicked it into the well.


    ¡°I guess all three of us have leveled up since we saw each other last,¡± Sam said, and began running her tongue over her teeth. She still hadn¡¯t gotten used to the new ones.


    ¡°Yep. Good job on that. I really hadn¡¯t expected you to improve so quickly. It took me at least a couple months to get to Level 6, and I don¡¯t even want to think about how long it took Mongrel.¡±


    ¡°I was more thinking about you,¡± Sam prodded. ¡°What¡¯s with that new weird crystal you¡¯ve got?¡± She pointed to her own arm, indicating the orange gem sitting above Will¡¯s double rows of AP crystals.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Will said, glancing down at his arm, ¡°that¡¯s an SP crystal. You get one when you reach Level 15, and another when you get to thirty.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s it good for?¡±


    Will rubbed at his sad eye, chuckling. ¡°Do you want the short version or the long version?¡±


    ¡°The short version, please. My head¡¯s hurting bad enough already.¡±


    ¡°Well, you use it to cast this special technique called a semblance art.¡±


    ¡°Okay, that doesn¡¯t tell me anything.¡±


    Will spread his hands in a helpless gesture. ¡°Long version it is, then. Basically, a semblance is a custom technique that you get to craft when you hit Level 15. You can slot up to five skills into it that you have access to, and the Concord then generates a semblance art from a mix of your own desires and its own sensibilities. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Once you¡¯ve created your semblance art, you¡¯re stuck with it forever¡ªthere¡¯s no way to change it after the fact. There¡¯s not many people who have one, since it¡¯s pretty hard to get to Level 15, but they tend to be extremely deadly. I suppose the goddess expected them to be safe since they¡¯re ostensibly built from the vetted skills that the Concord gives you, but as it turns out they¡¯re by far the most easily abusable of its subsystems¡ªtied only by divine vows, maybe.¡±


    ¡°What does yours do?¡± Sam asked.


    The little smile Will had worked up throughout the course of his monologue¡ªafter all, he did love his monologues¡ªquickly wilted. ¡°It doesn¡¯t really matter,¡± he said. ¡°Suffice it to say, the only thing it¡¯s good for is killing people. It¡¯s not really a thing I¡¯m too proud of.¡±


    ¡°Is that where you got that sword from? The weird one?¡±


    Will shook his head. ¡°No no, that¡¯s something else.¡±


    ¡°Did you buy it?¡±


    ¡°Sort of. I had it made custom, then Soulbound it.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with it, Will? It zapped Mongrel when he tried to touch it, and we had to wrap it in thick cloth to even get it inside.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s¡­¡± He shrugged sheepishly, and he got that sad, puppy-dog look in his eye again. ¡°It¡¯s not really a thing I¡¯m proud of, either.¡±


    ¡°Is it dangerous?¡± Sam asked. ¡°I mean it¡¯s a sword, so it¡¯s obviously dangerous. You know what I mean.¡±


    ¡°I do. It¡¯s not dangerous to me.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    She found that she worried more and more about Will with each passing day. He was pushing himself too hard, trying to do things himself instead of asking for help. He¡¯d always been like that, but it seemed like he¡¯d gotten worse about it in the last five years. A lot worse.


    She worried that he was trying to rid the world of darkness by taking it all into himself. He didn¡¯t deserve that kind of pain. She hated seeing him this way; exhausted, all the colors drained out of him, a sort of nihilistic numbness behind his gaze.


    ¡°It¡¯s not dangerous to me,¡± Will repeated. ¡°I know the risks, and I¡¯m managing them properly.¡± As if in response, his left hand spasmed, curling claw-like. He hid it by squeezing it into a fist, gripping it hard with his other hand.


    Sam frowned. She stood up and went to him, tugging on the bottom of his shirt. ¡°¡®Risks¡¯? Like, what kind of risks?¡±


    He sighed, clenching and unclenching his jaw as he mulled over words he clearly didn¡¯t want to say. ¡°Remember when we were in Sheerhome together, and you tried to pick up that axe?¡±


    ¡°The cursed one.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Well, I had a blacksmith put five of those cursed items together into one sword. The way it works out, that means it has eleven skills slotted into it at once. As far as I know, that¡¯s never been done before.


    ¡°The only downside is, uh, the tenants. The spirits inside can get rowdy sometimes, but I¡¯ve taken precautions so that they don¡¯t bother me much, and I¡¯ve even found ways to turn them to my benefit.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like it, Will.¡±


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s no use complaining about it now¡ªyou can¡¯t un-Soulbind something. For better or for worse, me and Anathema are stuck together.¡±


    ¡°You named your sword, dude?¡±


    He stared dully at her. His sad eye seemed to sag. ¡°Yes, Sam, I named my sword.¡±


    ¡°What does that word even mean?¡±


    ¡°You know, I reckon you¡¯d just make fun of me if I told you, so you''re gonna have to stay guessing.¡± He ruffled her hair, and she blew hard in annoyance to get it out of her eyes.


    It was still early in the day and quite nice outside, so they started walking again, keeping a slow pace as they wove between dark, long-abandoned houses. Will¡¯s boots crunched on the overgrown gravel path. Sam hadn¡¯t gotten her boots back after that last fight, so she was barefoot. At this point, her feet were tough enough that the sharp rocks digging into her soles didn¡¯t hurt.


    ¡°So this semblance thing,¡± Sam said, ¡°it¡¯s not strong enough to beat Brimstone?¡±


    Will bobbed his head sideways in a halfway shrug. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Maybe, but probably not. He has his own semblance, you know¡ªnobody has any solid information on it, but Brimstone is an incredibly accomplished fighter. He¡¯s been on the bad end of countless ambushes, assassination attempts, fought his fair share of duels¡ªhe¡¯s come out on top every time. He never lets his guard down, either¡ªaccording to his wife, he doesn¡¯t even sleep. No, we¡¯re gonna need to get a bit more clever than just walking up to him and popping a semblance. Besides, semblances are a bit tricky. There¡¯s an art to making them work.¡±


    ¡°Tricky?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Using a semblance drains your AP completely, so if you let it off against a fresh opponent and they either avoid it or outlast it, you¡¯re completely wiped. That means you almost never want to lead with it¡ªit¡¯s more of a finisher late into a fight when you¡¯re low on AP anyway, or a last-ditch move if you get in trouble.¡±


    ¡°That does sound complicated.¡± Sam chewed her lower lip with one sharp canine, tried to get used to the feel of it. ¡°But I won¡¯t need to worry about that, right? Since I¡¯m doing the whole no-skill thing.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Will said, sounding thoughtful. ¡°I¡¯m not so sure about that one yet. As far as I know, semblance arts don''t technically count as skills, so there''s nothing stopping you from using one. Then again, you can''t actually slot any skills into it. I have no idea what that kind of blank semblance would even look like. Either way, that''s its own can of worms, so let¡¯s circle back to it some other time.¡±


    ¡°All right, I guess.¡± Sam looked around at the swaying pine trees, the derelict buildings, the pit of dead creatures they were passing, the two chimps having finished their task and ventured off someplace else. ¡°So, uh¡­ why are we here? And where is here, exactly?¡±


    Will gave a thin smile. ¡°Yeah, I reckon it¡¯s about time to have that conversation. Let¡¯s go back to Mongrel, see if he¡¯s over that little get-back I gave him earlier. Once I¡¯ve gone over why we¡¯re here, we need to have a talk¡ªall three of us¡ªabout what happens next.¡±


    ¡°Brother, that sounds really fucking ominous,¡± Sam said.


    Will just shrugged.


    Sam crossed her arms in annoyance, following behind as they made their way back toward the center of the village where Mongrel had set up shop.


    Sometimes, she really hated how cryptic Will could be. Especially when he was talking about shit that made it sound like the sky was coming down.

 Chapter 68 - Strategy for Dummies

    Will


    They ate an early dinner¡ªcourtesy of Number One¡ªthat consisted of roasted fish and a small assortment of nuts and berries. It was not all that much food when split eight ways, but the chimps had also been munching on some roots that were unpalatable for humans throughout the day, so they settled for slightly smaller portions.


    They ate in a rough circle on the floor of the house. Will was feeling fairly ravenous after all the ordeals he''d been through in the last few days, his body eager to recover some strength, but Sam was still fidgeting and eyeing others¡¯ plates after licking her own clean, so Will pretended he wasn''t hungry and gave her the rest of his food. Her face lit up at that, and she dug in with all her usual gusto.


    No longer occupied by eating, Will launched straight into his deliberation. He decided it was best to rip the band-aid off quick, so he started with the part he knew they¡¯d want to hear least.


    "We¡¯re gonna need to split up," he said, rubbing his bad eye. "I need to get back to Sheerhome as soon as possible to salvage what I can with Brimstone, and you guys need to head north.¡±


    "North?" Mongrel asked from the other end of the huddle, frowning deeply. "Why the hell would we do that?"


    "Because you need to find our good friend Big Deal Buck and bring him back to Sheerhome."


    "Him? He¡¯s an idiot!"


    "Who¡¯s Big Deal Buck?" Sam asked through a mouthful of fish.


    "Calling him a ''friend'' is pretty much the overstatement of the century, I think," Mongrel grumbled, playing with the crumbly fish steak on his own plate. "We all tried to murder each other a while back¡ªin this very town, as it happens. We killed all his friends and stole his demon, and he killed one of ours in return."


    "That¡­ doesn''t really sound like a friend," Sam agreed. "And anyway, why can''t we all just go back to the city together? Whatever trouble we''re in, I''m sure we can get out of it if we work as a team."


    "A very good question," Will said, nodding, and lit a cigarette off the dwindling cook fire. "One that touches on the reason why we''re here in the first place."


    "Okay?"


    "I thought we''d have a lot more time to prepare before taking Brimstone down. Unfortunately, you''ll definitely be on his radar after your antics in the pits, which means you can''t return to the city for the time being. This place is called Millstone¡ªit''s one of many settlements on the Frontier that were abandoned after the Deicide. We brought you here so you''d be outside Brimstone''s reach while we  formulate a plan.


    "Between your existence being revealed to the whole city and Brimstone''s recent obsession with waging war on Stormfront, everything''s moving much faster than I''d anticipated. If we don''t stay one step ahead, this will likely end very badly¡ªfor us, for Sheerhome, maybe the whole damn octant."


    "If Brimstone is courting trouble with Lady Winter," Mongrel mused, "why don''t we wait for her to knock him off for us?"


    Will took a drag off his cigarette and let out a smoky sigh. "There are a number of reasons why that would be¡­ less than ideal. Lady Winter could almost certainly deal with Brimstone, yes, but it''s going to take more than sending an assassin here or a squad of soldiers there. It''s hard to guess at the combat efficiency of her undead troops, but I imagine she''d have to send at least a good chunk of her army here if she wants to lay siege to the city. Alternatively, she could travel here in person to deal with Brimstone herself. Either solution would leave Stormfront compromised, meaning the likelihood of a monster incursion into the Hinterland is uncomfortably high.


    "That''s not to mention the fact that Lady Winter would ostensibly be viewed as a foreign conqueror. I find it unlikely that the citizens of Sheerhome would accept any ruler she seats on the high chair after taking Brimstone off it. That would mean civil unrest; riots, violence between partisan groups, coup attempts, that sort of thing.


    "The third solution is that Lady Winter makes an agreement with the rest of the Lords'' Council to put economic pressure on Sheerhome until Brimstone is forced to back down. This is a slightly better option in theory, assuming she could wrangle the bag of cats that is the ruling body of Octant Six, but that would still mean trade blockades and economic sanctions against Sheerhome for however long Brimstone holds out. He is not known to be a particularly agreeable man at the best of times, so my guess is that he would resist for several months.


    "That means starvation for the people of Sheerhome. The city does not produce enough food to supply its citizens, relying on shipments from Drownport and Octant Four. Many would die. Whichever way you turn it, relying on Lady Winter to solve the Brimstone problem is bound to end badly. Luckily, I managed to send her a Message via the Stormfront merchant''s wife, asking her not to intervene and to give us time to depose Brimstone on our own. Hopefully, she''ll listen."


    "I hate politics," Sam muttered into her spoon.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    "I''m with you so far, kid," Mongrel said, thoughtfully rubbing at his long stubble, "but I still don''t get what it has to do with that prissy little bastard."


    "That''s simple," Will replied. "We''re going to make him lord of Sheerhome."


    "Fuck off."


    "He''s not a perfect candidate, I''ll grant you that, but he''s likely the best we''re going to get. He''s extremely well-liked, as not only a former champion pit fighter but also an accomplished performer. Buck and Brimstone have a mutual hatred of one another, which is good because that makes it more likely for Buck to go along with the plan, and it makes Brimstone more likely to accept a one-on-one duel with him, rather than forcing us to go through a protracted and bloody guerilla campaign to get to him. Without a proper procedure for installing a new ruler, a public duel is the best way to ensure a smooth transition. Not only does it display the power of the new lord, it also sets him up as the only legitimate candidate by showing him single-handedly dismantling the old regime, rather than allowing things to break down into squabbling and infighting between multiple likely options.


    "Like I mentioned, Buck''s a very good fighter¡ªI can attest to that first-hand¡ªand his semblance is supposed to be well-suited to combat, meaning he might be able to compete with Brimstone in a semblance clash if it comes to that.


    "His only real demerit is that he''s a good few levels below Brimstone, at seventeen compared to Brimstone''s twenty-three. That''s why it''s important for us to level the playing field by learning as much as possible about Brimstone''s build and finding out his weaknesses. By returning to Sheerhome, I''ll head up that part of the plan while also doing my best to throw Brimstone off you two, to avoid him sending people after you. Additionally, I''ll see about drumming up some formal resistance against Brimstone, just in case that guerilla action becomes necessary after all.


    "I received word from my contact in Timbryhall some time ago that Buck went through there after we chased him out of Millstone, meaning he might have set up along the Iron Road by now. You follow that route, you find Buck, and you bring him back to the city¡ªdrag him along by his ears if you have to. By the time you get back, I''ll have everything in place to rid Sheerhome of its least favorite burn victim."


    Will spread his hands. "So there you have it. Any questions?"


    Sam licked her second plate, stacked it atop the first with a rattle of tin, and raised her hand.


    He nodded in her direction. "Yes, Sam?"


    "It sounds like we don''t really have any choice but to do it this way, and I get that, but¡­" She chewed her bottom lip with a newly sharpened tooth. "How long is this going to take, exactly?"


    Will knew she wasn''t going to like his answer one bit¡ªhe didn''t fancy it much himself¡ªbut he still had to say it. "It''s hard to say. A lot of it depends on how far north Buck''s gone and whether he''s in hiding. Hopefully it won''t take much longer than two weeks, but it could take as long as a month if he''s all the way up in Stormfront."


    "A month!? That''s ages!"


    "I''m sorry, Sam. I wish we had better options available, but we don''t."


    "But¡­" She looked mournfully at the empty plates in front of her, as though wishing there was more. "But I only just got to see you again¡­"


    "I know. I''m sorry."


    "We''ll have tonight together though, won''t we?" There was open pleading in the look she gave him.


    Will pressed his lips flat and forced himself to meet her gaze. It would be better if they began straight away, set out as soon as they had packed their things. They were short enough on time already.


    But he found that he couldn''t bring himself to be quite that cynical, no matter how much cause there was for it. "Yes," he said after a long pause. "Let''s rest up tonight and get started in the morning. One more day won''t make me look any more suspicious to Brimstone than I already do, and it''s best if we''re as rested as possible before we go into this."


    Sam nodded, looking if not happy, then at least a bit less worried. "Okay," she said. "That''s something, at least."


    * * *


    When Sam stepped outside to help Number Five with the dishes, Will took the opportunity to plop down next to Mongrel. The ugly old Farmer shrunk in on himself when he came close, ducking his chin into the leathery folds of his turkey neck.


    "What do you want?" he asked sullenly, looking to his familiars for assistance. None of them looked particularly keen on intervening. He glanced over at Will, then looked away again, glaring at the opposite wall with his knees drawn up to his chest like a pouty child. "I''m not doing it, you know. I was never into this whole ''killing Brimstone'' thing in the first place. No way, kid¡ªI''m out."


    "I understand," Will replied.


    Mongrel snorted. "But¡­?"


    "I''m asking you to go. I need you to go. Obviously Sam can''t do it by herself, and based on how you''ve acquitted yourself in the last few days I think I might have underestimated your abilities."


    "Flattery''s not going to get you anywhere with me, Willy-Boy."


    "How about guilt-tripping, then?"


    Mongrel let out a long, put-upon sigh. "You''re really going to bring that up again? It''s old business, Will¡ªI even let you get a free shot in! I think it''s going to bruise, by the way." He gave his cheek a self-pitying rub.


    "You know you did the wrong thing," Will said, forcing patience. "This is your chance to make up for it. Prove that I can trust you to watch my back¡ªand Sam''s¡ªthe same way I''ve always been there to watch yours. Doing your part to put Brimstone in the ground is the right thing for our friendship, it''s the right thing for our city, and if that''s not enough¡­" He shrugged. "Putting a new lord in the high chair who owes you a favor or two probably won''t hurt in regards to matters of personal finance."


    Mongrel shook his head firmly. "No way. If you want to court death so bad you need to chase her down, that''s fine by me, but I like my head where it is. I''ve got enough to deal with on my own now that I''ve got a pet demon stuck to me like a damn leech¡ªthanks to you, by the way. So I''m real grateful for the offer to join your little suicide mission, but I''ll pass."


    "All right, Mongrel," Will said, pushing himself off the old man''s shoulder as he stood back up. "I''m not going to force you into anything. It will mean an extra trip to Sheerhome, but I can probably scrounge together at least one or two reliable people to accompany Sam up the Iron Road."


    "You do that!" Mongrel snapped back, shrinking even further into himself. "And don''t say I didn''t warn you, either! You''ll end up dead over this, Will, mark my words! And when you do, I won''t be saying any pretty words over your grave, no sir. Won''t catch me digging it, neither."


    Will did not offer any argument. He was well enough acquainted with the old bastard to know that he was only getting heated because his conscience had already talked him into going, and he was desperately trying to talk himself out of it.


    Good luck with that, old man.

 Chapter 69 - Just One Night

    Sam


    They picked out their own house inside the village, away from Mongrel and the boys, to spend the night.  They settled for a small, one-room place that would keep the heat in better with just one fireplace¡ªbesides, being a little snug just made it cozier. They put their bedrolls out in front of the fire, wriggled up together.


    But any notion Sam had had to make most of their time was quickly obliterated. With Will''s skill fatigue and her¡­ everything, doing more than vaguely leaning their bodies together proved physiologically impossible.


    They lay there for a good while, staring into each other''s faces in the firelight, occasionally closing their eyes in ostensible sleep only to quickly open them again, before it became clear that neither of them would be getting much rest that night.


    "Can''t sleep?" Will asked, his one eye searching her face.


    Sam shook her head. "You?"


    He echoed the movement. "No luck."


    "What do we do?"


    "I have a remedy that¡ª"


    She put her hand over his mouth. "No!"


    His eye narrowed, and he waited until she released him to speak. "Why?"


    "Don''t you want to spend time with me when we have the chance? I''m not going to see you for ages after this."


    "A month is not that long, Sam."


    "No, a month is an eternity. Luckily we''ll only be apart for two weeks, which is still ages."


    "Uh-huh."


    "Are you saying you won''t miss me?"


    "Of course I will. But it''s important that you''re rested when you start out tomorrow. The Iron Road will test you, and I want to give you every chance to make it through all right."


    "Excuses!"


    Will shut his good eye for a moment, and his sad eye twitched. "You need sleep, Sam. Stop acting like a child¡ªyou''re not going to whine your way out of this one."


    [Five and a half minutes of whining later¡­]


    With neither one able to sleep, they went outside to lay under the stars instead. Two of the chimps were posted at the edges of the town to look out for anything untoward, but Will still brought that new sword of his just in case.


    Anathema. Sam didn''t know what that word meant, but it sounded scary. And even though Will had left it propped against the well some ten feet off, she could still feel it burning against her somehow, like a splinter caught under the skin of her consciousness.


    She didn''t like the sword. Not one bit. But Will had Soulbound it to himself, and apparently there were no take-backsies for that sort of thing, so she figured she had better get used to it.


    "The bugs went away," Sam noted, outstretched beside Will with a blanket beneath them, a legion of tiny lights studding the night. "Do you think they took the hint?"


    "No," Will replied, stifling a yawn against the back of his hand. "I''ve set a continuous cast of Repel in an area around us to keep the critters off our backs for a while."


    "That''s kinda smart!"


    Will threw her an annoyed glance, brow furrowed. "Why do you sound so surprised?"


    "I''m not!" Sam hid a grin with a yawn of her own, jaws creaking. "I realized how much there is to all this skill business while I was fighting in the tournament. I don''t think I could keep track of it if you put a gun to my head, but you''re pretty good at it, huh?"


    "I''d say so."


    "You always were a nerd."


    "And by that of course you mean that I took life seriously, unlike some."


    "Are you saying I''m stupid?"


    "Yes, I am. Luckily you''re moderately attractive, so that sort of makes up for it."


    "You''re horrible!"


    Will chuckled, but didn''t argue the point.


    They watched the stars for a minute and held hands, time sliding over them in a pleasant haze. She studied the scattering of lights, tried to find patterns in them.


    "The constellations aren''t the same here," Sam noted. "I mean, of course they aren''t. I just hadn''t thought about it before."


    "Mmhmm," Will replied, free arm propped behind his head.


    "Do you know any of them? Like, have people come up with new ones?"


    "I didn''t know you were interested in that sort of thing."


    "I meannn¡­ I''m not really. But I wouldn''t mind hearing you talk about them for a while."


    Will laughed. "Ah. I see what you''re fishing for now. There was probably some lifer with too much time on his hands before the Deicide who came up with some, but I never considered that sort of thing essential knowledge, so I can''t say I''ve looked into it."


    "Huh. Bummer." Then, after a minute, she said: "The moon''s not quite the same either. It looks bigger, doesn''t it? And sort of¡­ bluish."


    "Yeah. Apparently Era spent centuries terraforming and reshaping this planet and its satellites to make it resemble Earth as much as possible, but there have to be limits, even for a goddess."


    "Do you think she liked us?"


    "I''d imagine she did, right up to the point where Crow the Godkiller went and earned his moniker."


    "Yeah¡­" She wriggled closer to him, pressed their bodies more firmly together, ignored her body''s countless hurts making themselves known. "What do you think about her?"


    "You''re just trying to get a bedtime monologue out of me," Will said with a snort.


    "Nooo. I just figure you must have¡­ strong opinions about it."Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    "This is blatant exploitation, and I won''t stand for it."


    "So, do you think she''s really dead?"


    "No comment."


    "I think she''s still alive."


    Will knuckled at his sad eye. "And what makes you think that, exactly?"


    "I dunno. It just feels that way. Like she''ll pop out at some point like Santa and save everyone."


    "You sound like a resurrectionist."


    "You give me a better theory, then!"


    "Well¡­" He blew out his lips. "If you really need to know, I actually have a fair bit of respect for Era. Some people think she was an idiot for herding all the worst humans imaginable into one place and expecting them to behave, but I see a subtle genius in it.


    "The Concord was never meant to serve as a childproof toy for the lifers of the Frontier to toddle around with. It''s clear that the system can adapt itself to the whims of its users¡ªfor example, the ability to shorten ''Amplify'' to ''Amp'' in skill syntax is a fairly recent development. Despite this plasticity, the Concord has made no effort to remove any of the various exploits that allow people to use the system with deadly intent. I doubt it could ever be completely successful, of course, but it could at least get rid of the worst offenders, like Amp being usable on itself, for instance.


    "But it hasn''t done that. The Concord Ghost, or whoever is in charge, has not made a single attempt to prevent its misuse. Which, to me, means one thing. The Concord is meant to be a statement of intent; it''s a choice."


    Sam yawned triumphantly and let her eyes fall shut as she inched her head onto Will''s shoulder, slowly as to not break him out of his expository trance. "A choice," she echoed to make it sound like she was paying attention. "Hmm, I see¡­"


    He went on without missing a beat. "Era created this world and gave humanity the choice of making it either a paradise or a hellscape. She clearly would have preferred the former, but we chose the latter. It''s a perfect punishment¡ªone we knowingly brought upon ourselves, even after we were shown the alternative.


    "Era died for our sins¡ªnot to absolve us of them, but to brand us with them for eternity. No matter what we do from here on out, we''ll know we have no one but ourselves to blame for the blood and the mud we''re wallowing in.


    "Sure, Crow is the one who fired the first shot, but no one forced the world to go to war against itself in the wake of her death. No one forced us to accept the company of demons, or to enslave our fellow lifers the moment they wash up, or to scheme and betray and murder.


    "We had the perfect fresh start, and we threw it away. Crow was the original sinner, and in a way we are all his children, taking after his example and following in his footsteps. I can''t imagine a punishment more fitting than that. Whether this was a choice Era knowingly presented or simply a product of her shortsightedness is anyone''s guess, but I like to think everything that''s happened was by her design. After all, the alternative of inhabiting a world created by an idiot is not one I personally fancy."


    "I dunno," Sam murmured, her body growing heavy and sort of fuzzy at the edges. "I prefer my version."


    "The Santa theory?"


    "Yep."


    Will chuckled. "If we''re lucky, we''ll see who''s right in the end."


    He started off on another tangent, and Sam promptly fell asleep.


    * * *


    In the morning, Sam found herself back in the house, Will having tucked her under a blanket that she''d twisted about herself in her sleep until she was nearly choking herself with it.


    Getting up, she prodded at her body a while and found that she was in much less agony than she had been the day before. What luck! Her head was still quite tender, especially the soft spot at the base of her skull where Will had drilled out and plugged back in a section of her cranium. But all in all, she''d felt worse.


    Except she was ravenously hungry.


    She was relieved to enter out into the village and found that Will had set up an outdoor kitchen of sorts, cooking something that smelled like meat in a pan over the fire while numerous chimps ran about fetching him this or that, and he was giving them orders as though they were his familiars, and not Mongrel''s.


    The man himself was not present¡ªSam assumed that he was still in bed.


    "Good morning," Will said as she approached without looking up. "I''m just preparing some travel provisions for you and Mongrel. Make sure to pace yourself with it, all right? I''ll do what I can, but you''ll probably need to ration yourself a bit."


    Sam looked over at a rack that had four rabbits and two pheasants dangling from it. "Someone''s been busy," she said.


    "I''ve got good eyes, and Number One''s a good shot," Will replied.


    "Gotcha. So¡­" She bit her lip, her hunger steadily rising as she was forced to breathe in the pleasant aroma of frying fat. "Any of that going to be for breakfast?"


    "Over there." Will pointed off to the side, where a pair of tables had been hauled out of one house or another and laden with tin containers. "It''s not Prepared, I''m afraid¡ªI''m saving that for the travel rations, so they''ll last longer and be more filling¡ªbut I hope it''ll be good enough regardless."


    Sam was quite happy to judge that for herself. She seated herself at the table, where a light stew made from rabbit meat and indiscernible root vegetables had been laid out. Number Five was the only other one at the table, having gotten out of his duties by virtue of little-brother-privilege.


    The stew was a little on the bland side, considering that Will didn''t have much in the way of seasonings to work with, but it was warm and filling and pleasant, so she considered it a great culinary success.


    Mongrel soon reported in, eating mechanically even though he looked more than half-asleep, his thinning hair standing in a crazy shock. He was followed by the chimps arriving in a slow trickle. Will himself was last to arrive after packing the travel rations away in waterproof oil-paper wrappings.


    Pleasant conversation passed between them while they ate, but the breakfast had a strange air of finality to it that spoiled Sam''s appetite somewhat¡ªshe had to force herself to finish her third portion, and felt somewhat sick afterward.


    After eating they packed their things away, most of it going on Zero''s saddlebags, and then, altogether too soon, they were standing on the overgrown path leading east, and it was time to say goodbye. They stood facing each other; only five feet apart, but that small space felt like an unbridgeable chasm. There was a strange, awkward formality between them, like two vaguely acquainted coworkers riding the same elevator and not quite sure what to say to each other.


    Producing a fat paper envelope, Will counted out half the colorful paper money inside and took it out. He ignored Mongrel''s waiting hand, instead taking Sam''s hand and placed the stack on her palm with a firm nod.


    "This is about five thousand glories," he said. "It should last you the whole round trip. Don''t let Mongrel gamble any of it."


    "Hey!" the old man protested, but settled into silent stewing after receiving a hard glare.


    "You''ll want to pick up an Explorer from the flesh market in Timbryhall," Will continued. "You won''t need one as long as you stick to the main route, but if you end up off-road for any reason, you''ll be glad to have one. All clear?"


    Sam nodded, chewing on her lip, holding back tears with a great effort of will. "Promise me you won''t take on too much," she said, looking into Will''s face, all hard angles and cold pallor.


    He cracked a smile that didn''t make him look any less miserable. "Only if you promise the same."


    "Touch¨¦."


    His smile took on a slightly warmer curve, and he cut the distance between them in one step, leaning in to kiss her with a hand on the back of her neck. His stubble was tickly, and his lips were cold. "I love you, Sam," he said as he came away.


    The tears started coming, then, and she threw her arms around him. "I love you too, stupid," she whispered into his coat, and took several deep, deep breaths of his smell, trying to commit it perfectly to memory.


    The hilt of his sword dug into her stomach, buzzing uncomfortably, but she ignored it.


    She held the hug as long as he let her, which was not long enough. When he pried them apart, she was still fighting sobs, not very successfully.


    "See you in fourteen days," she said, wiping her eyes dry. "No matter what."


    "Sam, you have no idea of guaranteeing how long it will take."


    "Fourteen days," Sam repeated, more firmly this time.


    "All right," Will replied with a chuckle, sounding doubtful. "See you in fourteen days."


    "No. Matter. What."


    He nodded.


    "Catch you later, kid," Mongrel said. "I''ll do this thing for you, but after that we are even. I''m not doing any more favors for you, got it?"


    "Goodbye, old man," Will said with a little smirk, hand resting on the pommel of his sword.


    Will backed away a few steps, but Sam couldn''t quite bring herself to turn away and start walking, her mouth working silently in an effort to come up with something more to say, some kind of argument to make him come with her.


    She felt a leathery hand in hers, and looked down to see Number One''s aged face. He nodded toward the way ahead, toward Mongrel and the mule and the other chimps already heading down it, wading through hip-high weeds.


    Sam let herself be dragged along, reluctantly turning to face the path as the bad feeling in her stomach swelled.


    When she looked back at Will, he was already gone, only the broken remains of an abandoned village standing there.


    Fourteen days, she told herself. No matter what.

 Chapter 70 - Im Coming Home Again

    [DAY ONE¡­]


    Will


    He took his time coming back from Millstone, both to conserve energy and to scan the forest route they had taken from the coast for any potential disturbances. He was happy he did when he found three lifers coming north, perceivable long before they came into eyeshot through his sustained cast of Detect [Life].


    There was no good reason for someone to venture so far off the Iron Road, traveling toward no particular destination, unless maybe you were a particularly daring bandit.


    Will crouched where he stood amid the shrubbery, and shut his eyes to focus on his extrasensory perception. He would like to know more about these people before engaging them directly, but Detect [Life] told him nothing other than that they all appeared to be male, and that they were picking their way through the dense forestation with no particular urgency. He could not Identify them either without drawing their attention by the mental nudge. However¡­


    "Identify [Skill Use]," he whispered, casting his consciousness outward like a fishing line toward the three gentlemen. Since it was not targeting the men directly, but only skills in their vicinity, they would not take notice unless their Awareness was particularly high.


    This scan provided two results; Detect [Life] and Locate [Samantha Darling].


    Yep. That''ll do it.


    They were trackers. Interestingly, they were looking for Sam, not Will himself. He assumed that either Handsome or Brimstone had sent them, meaning that at least one of them knew the importance of Sam''s name.


    For perhaps the hundredth time in the last three days, Will found himself cursing Mongrel for his indiscretion. He forced calm by telling himself that it would have become a problem sooner or later anyway¡ªhe''d just hoped he''d get more time to prepare before thrusting her into danger.


    The man using Locate had to be an Explorer¡ªLevel 10 or higher since he had Locate¡ªwhich meant the other two were likely the muscle, serving as an escort. He should have anticipated they would use Locate to sniff him and Sam out, but he hadn''t expected Brimstone to dedicate those kinds of resources toward a manhunt just yet.


    Even though the other Explorer had Detect [Life] active, Will was still far out of his range by virtue of his own vastly expanded reach¡ªsomething that gave him a large advantage against nearly all other sensory types.


    He aimed a max-range Dash up into the crown of the nearest solid pine, at least thirty feet up. He straddled one of the branches, leaned his head back against the trunk, and stayed very still, waiting for the three lifers to come to him. If he didn''t move at all and hid the outline of his body, it would be almost impossible for the Explorer to make him out with his Detect [Life] over the ambient biomass of the trees¡ªthe easiest and most reliable form of camouflage against a sensory type, barring the Incognito passive.


    He waited until the three men were almost directly beneath him. Three curare-coated throwing knives and about a minute later, they were all on the ground. Will jumped down to greet them, wind tenting his coat and pine needles scratching his face as he fell from the canopy, landing in a soft, Repel-assisted crouch in the midst of the men.


    "Hey, guys," he said. "Hope you don''t mind me ''dropping in''." He held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "Sorry, that was a bad one, I know."


    "Who¡­ the fuck¡­?" mumbled one of the brawnier-looking fellows, struggling with a droopy, numbing face pressed half into the ground. They all had their sleeves down, but a quick peek at their sheets confirmed that they were two Laborers, Level 6 and 8 respectively, and one Level 11 Explorer.


    "I''ll give you one hint," Will said cheerily, rewarding the Level 6 Laborer''s feeble attempt to swipe at him with a shortsword by giving his face a couple firm stomps. "I''m not Samantha Darling."


    "You can''t do this," the Explorer hissed, slumped with his back against a tree one arm splayed out to the side and the other pinned awkwardly beneath him. His chin dipped down onto his chest as he gradually lost control of his faculties, but his eyes stayed fixed on Will with an accusing glare.


    Will turned his attention to the man, arms spread wide. "No? And why is that, exactly?"


    "You¡­"


    "I? Go on, speak up. In fact, take all the time in the world¡ªthough, maybe I should advise you have in fact all just received a lethal dose of poison, and that the window to administer the antidote will expire in about a minute¡ªmaybe two, for you big fellows." He knelt, catching his medicine bag as he expelled it from his Inventory, and unfurled it on the ground. "So if any of you fine gentlemen value your lives, I''d suggest you get a lot less disrespectful and a lot more cooperative."


    "Don''t tell him¡­ anything," the Explorer worked out with a floppy shake of his head. "He''s the Misfortune. He''ll just kill us anyway once he has¡­ once he has¡­ what he wants."


    "That''s an interesting theory," Will intoned, producing a glass vial of clear curare antidote and shaking it in the air. "Anyone care to put that to the test? I''m sure you''ll feel an enormous pride in not revealing our beloved Lord Brimstone''s secrets as your lungs refuse to inflate and you slowly choke to death."


    "Just tell us¡­ what you want to know," said Laborer 6.


    "Shut up!" the Explorer hissed.


    Will didn''t feel like listening to him anymore, so he cut that man''s throat real quick and returned to the cooperative one and wiped his knife on the Laborer''s trousers.


    Laborer 6 stared over Will''s shoulder at the Explorer gurgling blood. The man''s chest was pumping like mad, nostrils flared as he hyperventilated for all he was worth. Will gave his cheek a few soft claps, brought him back to the present.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    "Tell me what your orders were, and who gave them to you," Will said, speaking slowly and clearly. "Do that, and I''ll give you the antidote."


    "The advisor¡­" Laborer 6 said.


    "Handsome!" Laborer 8 cut in, eager enough to save his skin once he saw his friend doing it.


    "Ooh, sorry," Will said with an apologetic click of his tongue, "just a bit too late, I''m afraid. I only have the one antidote, so¡­" Untrue, but they had no way of knowing that.


    "But¡­" Laborer 8 pawed uselessly at the ground with one hand, pulling at random bits of greenery¡ªto do what, exactly, Will did not understand.


    Will sighed, straightened himself from his crouch by Laborer 6. "All right, all right. To make it fair, here''s what we''ll do¡ªboth of you tell me what you know, and I''ll give the antidote to the one whose story I like most. And for your information, I''ve got a lot in Empathy, so if you lie, I''ll know." Again, untrue¡ªagain, they had no way of knowing.


    The two men began to speak over each other in their haste to betray their master, slurring their words as the poison spread its tendrils into them.


    It was a fairly expedient interrogation, all in all¡ªthree was a very convenient number of prisoners, after all. One to make an example of, and two to pit against each other. It was textbook, really. Not that he got too much out of it. The men had been sent to track Sam, keep an eye on her, report back to Handsome. Whether the order had come courtesy of Brimstone or if Handsome had acted on his own was still unclear.


    There was no need to dispose of the corpses¡ªeven if someone went looking for them, which he doubted, the monsters would make the evidence vanish, bones and all, before the day was out.


    He traveled the rest of the way to the farm without issue. The main house was a mess, the floorboards in the kitchen still soaked with Sam''s blood. Unsurprisingly, the place had been turned over, locks smashed and furniture displaced and possessions rifled through. It was altogether too thorough a job to have been carried out by common brigands. Brimstone''s people had probably made this place their first stop.


    The worst tragedy was that most of the animals had either fled or been killed. A few goats wandered the crop field, but that was it. Mongrel would probably be torn-up about that.


    Will did not bother attempting to herd them back into their pen¡ªhe had bigger issues at hand. After washing up in the yard, changing into a set of clothes that had gone relatively unmolested during the search, and refreshed his alchemical supplies, he set out for the city. There was no use putting off his meeting with Brimstone¡ªbetter to rip the band-aid off quickly.


    By the time he reached Sheerhome, he was tired and sore from all the walking, but relatively fresh as far as skill fatigue went. An extra day''s rest in Millstone had paid dividends, and he had been as sparing as possible with skill use on the return trip to avoid spoiling that. Perhaps more importantly, it had been more than 24 hours since he''d used Forget Me Not, so he had his SP crystal back just in case things got really dicey.


    Approaching Brimstone''s walled military compound, he was swiftly halted by the attending guards. Will made no effort to resist as the points of four halberds came to rest less than two feet from his throat. He threw Anathema at their feet, unable to suppress a chuckle at the way it made them jump back, and waited patiently while one of the Laborers went to fetch a superior.


    Which, of course, turned out to be Will''s very best friend in all the world.


    "Well, well¡ªthis is some surprise," said Captain Griff as he came swaggering down the path that led up to the keep. "I knew you were a cheeky fucker, One-Eye, but I didn''t think you''d have the gall to come slinking back like this."


    "Oh, I couldn''t possibly deny you the pleasure of my company," Will replied with an amicable smile. "How have you held up in my absence? You do look a little red around the eyes, there."


    Griff flashed a brown-stained smile of his own, sharp and sadistic. "Tears of joy, mate."


    "Hmm, are you sure? I think you''re blushing now." He looked around at the halberd-toting guards, who had rapidly multiplied from four to a dozen. "What about you, fellas? Do you think he''s blushing?"


    A few glanced behind them, then quickly looked away to pretend they hadn''t.


    "Enough!" Griff barked, right hand twitching toward the handle of a dagger on his belt. "You''ve seen your last Godsnight, One-Eye. Remember what I told you?"


    "Hmm¡­" Will tapped his chin as though searching his memory. "That thing about dogs? Yes¡ªone of your better attempts at intimidation, if I recall correctly." He shrugged. "Oh well, I suppose everyone''s got to die sometime. All right, Griff, you''ve got me dead to rights. My only wish is that you''re the one to carry out the killing. I think it would make me feel better, dying by the hand of a friend."


    Griff''s scarred face contorted in a series of furious grimaces. He spat a gob of tobacco-laced spit on the ground, but said nothing.


    "Well?" Will asked, smiling, and held his arms out to his sides. "What are you waiting for? Based on what you said just now, I assume the lord has issued a kill contract on me¡ªat least put out a warrant for my arrest¡ªor am I wrong?"


    Griff''s red face was beginning to turn an alarming shade of purple, tendons on his neck jumping with tension, but still, he said nothing.


    "Or maybe, could it be that he hasn''t done that at all? Please, Griff, do tell me so that I know whether to start spitballing my closing remarks."


    "Lord Brimstone has forbidden you from entering the compound," Griff worked out through bared, gritted teeth.


    "Then, you won''t be putting me down like a rabid dog?"


    No reply.


    "Well, that''s a relief. I have so much to live for, after all."


    "Leave at once, assassin."


    Will gave a scandalized gasp. "Just like that? Not even a kiss on the cheek goodbye? Griff, are you¡­ are you embarrassed of our acquaintance? Do you not want to show your tender side in front of all your dress-up soldiers, is that it? For shame, my friend. I thought better of you, I really did."


    The guard captain gave another three or four toothless threats of hanging or impaling or burning at the stake before Will eventually got bored and left.


    It seemed that he was indeed in the doghouse with Brimstone, seeing how he had been denied access to the keep. The fact that he hadn''t been detained on the spot was a good sign, though. Maybe there was still a chance for him to talk his way back into the lord''s good graces.


    Not wanting to get Joe Crag wrapped up in his mess, Will picked a random caf¨¦ to while away some time as he gathered his thoughts. It wasn''t long after he''d sat down at one of the tables outside the establishment that a Message drifted out of the sky and hit the tabletop with a soft slap right between his hands.


    The wax seal bore the lord''s burning man mark. Inside was a letter written in Handsome''s neat, flowing style.


    William,


    I am glad to hear of your safe return to the city. Lord Brimstone will be embarking on a brief hunting trip tomorrow at noon, and requests for you to join him, if it pleases you. If you wish to attend, he asks that you bring whatever weaponry you would deem effective against a lesser hydra.


    I await your reply.


    Humbly,


    H.


    Will sipped at his coffee while mulling over the letter. He''d been worried about having to walk into the keep, Brimstone''s place of power¡ªhim inviting him out into the wilderness, the most vulnerable place for him to be, was surprising. A little too good to be true, even. A trap of some kind?


    I guess I won''t know until I find out.


    If you were going to bet on something, might as well bet big. Mongrel had told him that at some point¡ªprobably one of the few wise things that man had ever spoken in his life.

 Chapter 71 - Walkabout

    Bedlam


    The green dragon¡ªan adult female, once a great creature worthy of stories and legends, massive enough to crush buildings underfoot¡ªhad been reduced to a powerless, pitiful thing. It was pinned to the earth by thick wooden poles that impaled its wings in numerous places, flared at the ends like nails to prevent escape. Three arches of wood kept the long neck pinned, leaving a head the size of a horse tossing uselessly. Shining emeraldine scales had been dirtied from scrabbling in the soil and bloodied by its wounded patagia, leaving it looking less like a mythical creature and more like a frightened, cornered animal.


    Bedlam lounged on a flat rock some twenty feet downhill from the beast, cushioned by a thick bed of moss. He ripped a tough chunk of meat off the roast grinner leg, spat out a bit of gristle, and wiped grease from his chin with the back of his sleeve. His three full rows of AP crystals gleamed in the pale, overcast light.


    Eyes like platters were fixed unerringly on him, pupils sharp as knives fixed within amber irises. The dragon opened its mouth, showing teeth like swords, to breathe a corrosive mist that would melt him down to his bones, but nothing came out except a trickle of pungent, sulfurous fluid. The dragon was left gaping its jaws idiotically, achieving nothing.


    Bedlam yawned.


    He took another bite of his meal. Most people found grinner meat distasteful, but he liked it¡ªthe almost rancid bitterness added something unique, he thought.


    Meanwhile, the dragon had not had a morsel to eat or a drop to drink in three days, going on four.


    It was a stubborn animal, its will seemingly unbreakable.


    But Bedlam was stubborn too, and he had never met a living creature, whether man or beast, whose will could not be broken.


    "You''re the one dragging this out, you know!" Bedlam called to the dragon. "I can let you up from there whenever you like!" Ripping the last bit of meat off the bone, he hurled it spinning through the air, and it clacked as it landed on a sizable pile of other such remnants that littered the ground just out of the dragon''s reach.


    The dragon gave a furious rumble in reply, so deep it was almost inaudible, so powerful it shook the earth and sent small pebbles rattling.


    Bedlam laughed, shaking his head as he worked at a sliver of flesh caught between his teeth with his thumbnail. "All right, then. I can wait."


    Bedlam dozed for a while beneath the sullen, gray sky, allowing his thoughts to drift. A hunter for as long as he could remember, long waits were nothing new to him¡ªdelayed gratification was the sweetest kind, anyway.


    He''d spent a long time tracking the dragon, then he''d spent a long time trapping it. And now he was going to tame it, however long it took.


    Both his and the beast''s attention were pricked by a bit of paper flying through the air high above. Two sets of eyes followed the thing as it fluttered this way and that, then dove abruptly, spiraling downward until the Message landed flat on Bedlam''s chest.


    "A letter for me," Bedlam hummed happily, immediately sitting up and tearing into the yellow oil-paper envelope. "It''s been so long. Who do you think it''s from, girl?"


    The dragon did not answer.


    Bedlam shrugged, pulling out the letter and scanning it over.


    Action requested.


    Status: Urgent.


    Type: Resource retrieval.


    Target outlined below.


    Samantha Darling. Level 5 Laborer. Known aliases: ''Peaceful Fist''. Resident of Sheerhome. Potentially traveling north along Iron Road; destination unknown.


    Potentially traveling with two companions, outlined below.


    William Greene. Level 15 Cook/Explorer synergist. Known aliases: ''the Misfortune'', ''One-Eye''. Engage with caution.


    Matthew Caldwell. Level 11 Farmer/Builder synergist. Known aliases: ''Mongrel''.


    Sam Darling is a potential pressure point against Wayward Learner due to blood relations. Locate target and recruit/apprehend, then report in and await further instructions.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Ensure the target''s survival at all costs. Secondaries may be dispensed with however the agent sees fit. Find tracking medium enclosed.


    Bedlam laughed as he read over the letter. A missive from the Strategist himself, eh? Sent through one of his proxies, assuredly, but all the same.


    It had been quite some time since Bedlam had last heard from the bastard. He didn''t exactly appreciate being ordered around like a scullery maid, but in this instance, he couldn''t say that he minded too much. The girl didn''t interest him at all¡ªwhat the task implied, however? Finally getting to lock horns with the Nightmare King sounded like a good time.


    Bedlam glanced up at the dragon and sighed. Suddenly, his present task seemed a chore. He refused to leave before seeing it through to the end, though.


    "O Era," he said as he leapt to his feet, twisting his torso this way and that to work the stiffness out of it, "join our hearts, that we may become one."


    [Familiar creation failed. Invalid target.]


    "You''re making this so very difficult," Bedlam said with a disappointed shake of his head, hopping off his flat rock and picking his way up the stony hill toward the dragon''s ponderous head. "But you know what? I think I''ve finally come up with a name for you." He made a series of hand signs, and another wooden Scaffolding pole appeared in the air, then shot with force straight down, became another giant nail that pinned the winged beast to the earth.


    The dragon roared in pain and rage and contempt. Acid spittle flew from its mouth, and would have landed on him if he didn''t erect a Barrier between them. The dragon mustered some deep scrap of strength, thrashing its whole body against its bonds, tail swishing wildly and sending stones tumbling down the hillside.


    Before long, however, exhaustion took it, and it settled into seething silence, huge round eyes fixed always on Bedlam, unblinking.


    "I''m going to call you Whiskers," Bedlam said with a friendly smile up at the dragon. "I hope you like it."


    She would break in another day or two. After that, he would go looking for the bullet with Jack Darling''s name on it.


    * * *


    Sam


    There was not anything particularly iron-y about the Iron Road. In fact, there wasn''t even much stone to speak of, just a wide dirt path deeply furrowed by wheel tracks. Every once in a while, they passed raised, squarish stones by the side of the road, which Mongrel explained were mile markers.


    Since they were meant to be traveling in secret, the chimps were forced to follow along through the forest on their left due to being too recognizable, far enough not to be seen but close enough to assist in case things got dangerous.


    Sam and Mongrel walked side by side, the old man whistling a happy tune while leading his pack-laden mule by the bridle. Sam felt a bit bad for her, so she took two of the four saddlebags to wear across her shoulders like a yoke, taking a bit of weight off Zero''s back.


    "You don''t need to do that, you know," Mongrel said. "The old girl''s carried heavier than this."


    "I''m happy to do it!" Sam chirped. "Besides, a bit of extra weight''ll help me level up faster, won''t it?"


    "I suppose."


    "Gotta think smarter and harder. Keep up, old man."


    Mongrel snorted. "You do that. Me? I''m happy if I get some other sap to do the thinking for me."


    "Like Nyx?"


    "Like¡ª" The old man shot her a sour glare, sucking noisily on his teeth. "That cock-tease is lucky I put up with her at all."


    "Will mentioned something about her working for you now."


    "I¡­ guess so? Hard to say what that''s all about, really."


    "In that case, maybe you could teach her some manners? She doesn''t seem to respect other people very much."


    "Oh, sure. Right after I teach her to sit pretty and bark on command."


    "And wear clothes on a regular basis."


    "Actually, that''s one personality quirk I think I can live with. Say what you want about the bitch, she ain''t hard on the eyes."


    ¡°Do you love her?¡±


    "Do I¡ª Kid, did that Henke fella knock all the sense out of your head? Of course fucking not! She''s a horrible, gold-digging, cock-munching, deceptively alluring little creature, and nothing but!"


    "All right," Sam said, grinning. "Whatever you say. But methinks the lady doth protest too much."


    "Stop talking all fancy like that. It''s annoying."


    "As the lady wishes."


    "Shut up."


    It was only mid-morning, but there was a surprising amount of traffic going to and from Sheerhome. There were small troops of mounted militiamen keeping the road safe, merchants in armored horse-drawn coaches protected by heavily armed caravan guards, humbler peddlers on carts drawn by mules or simply trudging on foot with overstuffed packs of goods. There were adventurers; hopefuls who did not yet understand the true nature of the Frontier. There were itinerant Entertainers, bards and the like clad in colorful garb and lugging instrument cases.


    More than once, she saw a load of slaves rattle past in rusted wagon-borne cages, faces bleak and despondent. Sam wished there was something she could do for them, but she did not know what, and no one else seemed to care, barely glancing at the human chattel as they went about their own mundane business.


    Contrasting against the human misery, both weather and view remained fair. They were mostly surrounded by conifers, pines and firs gently swaying, but sometimes the road drifted into view of the River Sterling, rocky and wild and foaming white.


    The sun stood high, with a mild breeze to cut through the approaching noonday heat. Birds sang. Once, Sam saw a deer turn from the treeline at the sight of humans and hop off into the woods.


    Sometimes, the trip felt like a regular hike¡ªalmost pleasant, if not for the fact that Will wasn''t there. As soon as she began to get comfortable, though, some fresh horror reared its head to remind her exactly where she was. Once they came to an old crossroads, a disused path to some long-abandoned settlement forking off west, where five men had been strung up on rough-hewn gallows and hanged, arms bound behind their backs. The bluish, bloated corpses did slow, slow pirouettes on the wind, wooden signboards around their necks identifying them as bandits. Baking in the sun, they let off an unspeakable stench that made Sam retch.


    People walked around the hanged men on either side, no one paying them much attention except for a pair of low-level adventurers who stood gawking up at them, looking very much like they had begun to regret their decision to travel inland.


    Sam could not get out of there quick enough.


    An hour or so down the road, a pillar of smoke in the distance warned her before they turned a bend in the winding road and found a group of militiamen burning a pile of what turned out to be grinners, wearing masks over their faces.


    The corpses had smelled better. It was a miracle that she kept her breakfast down.

 Chapter 72 - Walkabout [2]

    Sam


    "All right, let''s go over some cover stories," Mongrel said as they stopped for lunch by a sparkling bank of the River Sterling.


    "Ooh!" Sam replied, unwrapping a packaged ration for herself. "Does that mean we get to come up with fake names and backstories and stuff?"


    Mongrel gave a shrewd grin, an unfolded ration packet in his lap and a cigarette between his teeth. "You know it, kid. Hit me with your best shot, and I''ll tell you if it''s good enough."


    "Hmm¡­" Sam chewed thoughtfully on some rabbit meat, savoring Will''s Prepared cooking. It almost made her feel like he was still there. "I''ll be Matilda Sprucewood, a former militia soldier who had to flee the city due to her gambling debts. Her favorite foods are minestrone, pizza, and chicken salad. Also, she has a dark secret she doesn''t want anyone to find out about." She tapped her temple knowingly, grinning. "Not bad, huh?"


    "I suppose." Mongrel mulled it over while he had a bite of food, puffed at his cigarette, then took a swig from a canteen filled with spirits. "You know what, though?" He sized her up through one rheumy eye, the other pinched shut. "I think you should pretend to be a man. That''ll throw people dead off your scent."


    Sam scoffed. She was not a fan of that idea at all. "It would never work."


    "What do you mean? You''re halfway there already!"


    "Mongrel, did you know that you have a very punchable face?"


    "All right, kid, don''t get your panties in a twist. All I mean is you got the height and build for it. Other than that, you''re very, uh¡­ feminine."


    "I''m girly!" Sam insisted. "You know, in a way. Sort of. Will thinks so! I mean, he hasn''t ever said so, but he must, right?"


    Luckily for the structural integrity of Mongrel''s face, though, pretending to be a man did sound like good fun. At the very least, it would let her try out method acting.


    The meal Will had made ran out far too quickly, but she had to admit that it was very filling. After workshopping her cover story for a bit with Mongrel, she was ready to try it out.


    After adjusting her clothes to de-emphasize whatever feminine curves she had, Mongrel stepped back to size her up, stroking his stubbled chin. "Give us a scowl," he said.


    Sam scrunched up her face a bit.


    "Yep, that''s better." He rubbed a bit of road dirt into his hands and smudged it on her face with little artful flourishes. Finished, he hummed approvingly at his handiwork once he''d returned from washing his hands in the river. "Mmhmm. Nearly perfect."


    As they got moving again, Mongrel wanted her to find a hat to hide her hair under, claiming that the color was too recognizable. So to test out her new disguise, Sam jogged up to a peddler atop a moving cart and leapt onto the driver''s seat beside him.


    "Hello there!" Sam said, pitching her voice down just slightly¡ªnot so much that it was obviously put-on¡ªso that it would hopefully pass for a man''s.


    The pudgy, round-faced peddler nearly jumped out of his own skin, and had to hold down his straw hat as he scrambled back to keep it from tipping off his head. "Who are you!? What do you want from me!?"


    Sam gently steered away the long dagger that was aimed at her face with one finger. It was difficult to both smile and scowl at once, but she thought she did a fair job of it. "I''m Fat John!" she said, "the friend you never knew you had."


    She threw an arm over the man''s shoulders, hauled him upright to keep him falling off the wagon and hurting himself, and he dug his chin into the generous folds of his neck like a turtle trying to hide its head.


    "Okay!?" the man whimpered. "If you try to hurt me, I''ll call for help, and the soldiers will hang you for banditry."


    "I''m sorry if I startled you, friend¡ªI didn''t mean to cause you any alarm. I want to do some business with you, that''s all."


    "What kind of business?"


    Sam poked the brim of the man''s straw hat. "I think that''s just the handsomest hat I ever saw, and I want to buy it off you. How much for it?"


    The peddler quickly found his footing again, and a bit of haggling followed. In the end Sam parted ways with twenty glories for the hat and a pair of boots, not certain whether that was a lot or a little but reasonably confident that she''d gotten a good deal, and waved at the peddler over her shoulder as she jumped back to the ground, the hat having changed heads to adorn her own.


    "Say, stranger?" the peddler called to her. "I have something else that may interest you, if you''d like to have a little look-see."


    Sam was indeed interested, and had to hide her excitement when she found out what she was being offered. The peddler held out a glass bottle of vibrant, dyed-red liquid to her, proudly announcing that it was a sure-fire remedy for erectile dysfunction, and offering it to her at a special price.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The obvious conclusion, of course, being that her disguise had worked! He thought she was a man!


    She didn''t buy any, though.


    That afternoon they passed a rest stop, a large patch of bare earth beside the road where people could spend the night in relative safety, protected by a small militia garrison. There was even a roadside inn. A few caravans had already unloaded there, a sprawl of people and vehicles and animals.


    Mongrel had them move right past it. Having gotten a head start due to starting from Millstone, a ways along the route, they made it to the town named Greensby that day, entering through gates of lashed-together logs in a tall palisade just before they were set to close for the nightly curfew.


    Sam could not make out much of the town in the weak light of the failing sunset. For food and board, Mongrel led them to a ''good place'' he knew, which turned out to be a dive of an inn called The Three-Breasted Virgin, which attracted pretty much the clientele you would expect from an establishment with that name.


    It was cramped and smoky and crowded and loud, leering scoundrels in various states of inebriation pawing at homely serving girls.


    Somehow, she found herself envying the chimps, who had to sleep under the stars outside of town.


    Surprisingly given the absolute state of the inn, it was completely booked up, and Sam had to bribe the skinny innkeeper with twice the usual rate to convince some of the other guests to shack up so that she and Mongrel could share a single room.


    "Is there really not anywhere else we could stay?" Sam asked as they wrestled their way to some seats in the common room, nearly having to shout to be heard over the din of rowdy men''s voices. She was beginning to regret paying the innkeeper in advance.


    "Sure there is," Mongrel replied, putting his boot against a dead-drunk man on a bench and pushing him down its length to make room for himself. "But why would you want to forgo this authentic folksy ambience?"


    Sam took a seat on the bench opposite, a table of old hoary wood between them that was fuzzy with splinters. She gave Mongrel a doubtful grimace. At the moment, there was nothing put-on about her scowl.


    Mongrel laughed. "Consider this part of Uncle Matt''s introductory course on Frontier living, kid. Just relax and try to enjoy yourself."


    "Whatever, dude," she replied with a snort. "Also, your name is supposed to be Ferdinand, remember?"


    "Yeah, yeah."


    There was an Entertainer sitting on a stool in the corner of the room, singing something and strumming a guitar, but Sam heard none of it over the noise. After several attempts, Mongrel successfully waved over a plump-faced serving girl to order some food and drink.


    Apparently the inn did not really offer anything non-alcoholic, and her bench neighbor laughed when she asked for water, the serving girl just frowning in puzzlement.


    "I''ll see what I can do, sir," she said with a curtsy and weaved off through the crowd to fetch the things they had ordered.


    "She bought it," Sam mouthed at Mongrel with a double thumbs-up, and he cackled in reply.


    While waiting for her food, Sam watched her neighbor play cards with the woman opposite. The game was called roundabout, and Mongrel explained the rules as the strangers went through a series of games, the woman''s mood brightening as her pile of bills grew, while her opponent''s mood tipped in the other direction, jaw clenching and heel tapping impatiently on the floor, though he refused to stop playing regardless of how much he lost.


    "Let me show ''em how it''s done," Mongrel said with a shrewd grin, holding out a knobbly hand. "Spot me a tenner, kid."


    "In your fucking dreams," Sam retorted. Will had been pretty clear on not letting Mongrel gamble for any reason.


    He hadn''t said anything, however, about her gambling.


    Sam dealt herself in, and Mongrel quickly broke out of his sulking to coach her on some of the game''s simpler strategies. As it turned out, she was not very good, and lost about four games for every one that she won.


    They were only playing for pocket change, though, as far as she could tell¡ªWill had given her about 5 000G to work with, after all¡ªand it was a great way of getting to know the people she was playing with. The woman, Florence, was a rather shrewd Scholar in a travel-worn suit who was originally from Octant Seven, but had fled her home after some unrest in a place called Boomtown and was seeking to resettle in Stormfront.


    The man, Chip, was a Builder heading the opposite way, having worked as a mason in Timbryhall for two years and earned enough that he hoped to buy a place in Drownport, where housing was apparently cheap, to settle down permanently. Rather ornery at first, he warmed up significantly over the course of a few games as he seemed to take comfort in the fact that someone besides himself was losing, too.


    Sam, for her part, got to flex her acting ability a bit, putting the intricate backstory she had spent the whole day cooking up to use.


    "You don''t look much like a ''Fat John'' to me," Chip observed, eyes turned to the hand of warped, discolored cards he was shuffling through. "Is it supposed to be one of those ironic names?"


    "Oh I assure you my friend, it''s very accurate," Sam said with a hearty chuckle. "It''s not my belly that''s fat is all."


    Chip laughed at that, and Florence rolled her eyes with a put-upon sigh. Sam aimed what she hoped was a sleazy wink at the latter, emulating Mongrel as best she could. Based on the vaguely disgusted sneer she got in return, she figured she must''ve done a good job.


    The serving girl came out with food on platters, which consisted of bread, thin potato soup, and a hunk of hard cheese. Sam got a mug of milk to drink. When the girl returned some time later to ask what she thought of the food, Sam said that she liked it, even though it was really quite bad. Not that she would have said no to seconds. The girl apparently picked up on this, because she went and got Sam another helping of soup and bread, saying that Sam didn''t need to pay on account of the fact that the stuff that was uneaten at the end of the night would just go to the pigs anyway.


    The serving girl, whose name was Apples¡ªso-called because of her rosy cheeks, Sam imagined¡ªwas very chatty, and stayed by the table to talk for a while even after Sam made it clear that they had everything they needed.


    Not that she minded the company. Apples was quite friendly, asking questions and laughing a lot. She was almost¡­ a little too attentive.


    They called it a night relatively early so they could start out at first light in the morning. The room they had paid so outrageously for was small, almost a cleaning cupboard. They did rock-paper-scissors over who would get the bed, and Sam ended up on the floor. At least Apples had been kind enough to send her up with an extra blanket so she had something to lay out beneath her, at least.


    "Hey, Mongrel," Sam asked once they had turned out the one candle and were tucked in for sleep, "do you think that girl back there might have been working for the people we''re trying to avoid? Brimstone''s men, or whatever?"


    Mongrel laughed, but didn''t answer her question.


    She didn''t know what that was supposed to mean.

 Chapter 73 - Real Eyes Realize Real Lies

    [DAY TWO¡­]


    Will


    He met the lord''s small retinue outside the military compound¡ªHandsome, Griff, four Level 9 guards, and Brimstone himself¡ªand accompanied them through the city. They were all afoot, since Brimstone never rode. He did not trust any animal enough to put himself on its back.


    The guards wore heavy scale armor, two with greatbows and two with halberds, the latter carried upright and affixed with fluttering black-and-red pennants to declare to the population that the lord himself was among them.


    Griff was in his Sunday best, clanking along in a suit of full Enchanted plate. Rendering the image somewhat anachronous was the shotgun he cradled like a beloved babe in the crook of his bare left arm.


    Will had fetched his rifle from Joe''s place, carrying it free of its case on a strap over his shoulder, and had Anathema hanging from his hip. He had nothing else by way of weaponry except his throwing knives and whatever was in his medicine bag.


    Handsome, like his master, carried no weapons at all. The two of them walked at the head of the pack, lord in his beggar''s robe and advisor in his ruffles and frills.


    The usually well-trafficked streets of Topside were unnaturally empty as Brimstone made his way through, folk that saw them suddenly remembering that they had somewhere else to be very urgently. Of the ones that did not flee, many stood frozen, staring after the retinue with pale faces and tight lips.


    Will focused on keeping his breathing even as he trailed behind Brimstone at a respectful distance. He was ready to make himself scarce at a moment''s notice, to fling himself over the rooftops with a Dash if things took an accusatory turn, and to counter-Cancel any attempt to ground him. He suspected the advisor was the type of man to spec into that sort of skill.


    "Sleep well, assassin?" Griff asked as he ambled alongside Will in his ridiculous metal suit, wearing the most joyous expression he had ever seen the man produce.


    "Oh, very," Will replied, doing a fair job at sounding unconcerned. In fact, he had spent most of his night in a room at The Rosy Drake, staring at the door with the sword in his arms. He''d dozed off for maybe an hour or two somewhere in the small hours of the morning. "And you? How''s the nightlife for Sheerhome''s most ineligible bachelor?"


    "Go fuck yourself with the broad end of a shovel."


    "That sounds very painful, so I think I''ll pass, but I appreciate you wanting to share your interests with me."


    "Make all the jokes you like." Griff took out a small metal tin and angrily stuffed himself a wad of pungent shit-colored tobacco that went beneath his upper lip. "I''ll be the one laughing when I finally get to part your head from your shoulders in about an hour or so."


    "We''ll see," Will replied with a bland smile, shrugging the rifle higher on his shoulder.


    "Indeed we will," the guard captain growled, and they settled back into silent animosity.


    Brimstone did not speak nor even glance in Will''s direction until they were well out of the city. Walking through the flat farmlands north of Sheerhome with their swaying fields of gold, Handsome looked back and called him forward with a wave.


    Will did as he was bid, and he suddenly found himself in the unenviable and hair-raising position of walking nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with the lord, who still had his gaze fixed on the path ahead and the line of guard towers that were still just little brown dots on the horizon.


    "You''ve had an eventful few days, it seems," Brimstone observed, no inflection in his voice at all.


    You said you wanted to be my friend, Handsome, Will mused. Let''s put that to the test. He was fairly certain that the advisor had been covering for him for some time already.


    "You could say that, my lord," Will said in reply to the lord''s question.


    "You appear to have made a bit of a stink at the fighting pits, then absconded the city before curfew was lifted with a man and a woman. The man, as I understand it, was your business associate, while the woman was the unexpected winner of the tournament. After this, you disappeared and could not be found. Handsome''s Messages to you went unanswered. I am having a hard time understanding the meaning of all this, so would you mind explaining it to me?"


    Will had not received any Messages at all from Handsome, which left another thing to wonder about, but he did not see fit to mention it. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and began his rehearsed tale. "Yes, it''s a rather sordid and involved affair."


    "How so?"


    "The woman''s name is Sam Darling. She washed up in Sheerhome quite recently."If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "I see." Brimstone nodded as though he was hearing this information for the first time, but Will was certain that he knew all the basics already, and was most likely gauging Will''s truthfulness by seeing how much he would reveal of his own accord. "She is a Laborer, I hear," he added after some time, "but she did not submit herself to my militia. Why is that?"


    "The truth is that I was keeping her secret from you."


    Brimstone arched a bald eyebrow at that. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he said nothing. The crystals on his arm glinted dangerously. Twenty-four of them, Will realized. He had gone up a level since Will had seen him last.


    "The reason for this, my lord, is that I was in love with her," Will explained. "I was hoping to keep her out of Sheerhome politics for as long as possible."


    Handsome, walking at Brimstone''s other shoulder, leaned in and whispered something. The lord nodded, then turned his attention back to Will. "I see. You were in love with this Sam Darling. And then¡­?"


    Brimstone did not give the name any particular weight. It might have been play acting on his part, but Will suspected that he really wasn''t familiar with its significance. Which suggested that Handsome had been acting alone when sending men after Sam specifically.


    "Then she and my friend betrayed my trust," Will said with a shrug. "They entered her into this pit fighting tournament without my knowledge or permission, and even stole a large portion of my own funds to bet on these matches.


    "What they had intended to use this money for, I cannot guess. I suspect it would not have gone toward anything reputable, and I now have reason to believe that they would eventually have acted against you, my lord, to which end those funds might have been used.


    "Once I found out about the tournament, I traveled there immediately and fought some men in self-defense who meant to kill Sam Darling. I took both her and my associate back to my farm outside the city and gave them a chance to explain themselves. I didn''t like their answers. Their treachery and stupidity left me with no choice but to get rid of them."


    Again Handsome whispered something to Brimstone, and again the burned man nodded. "Yes. I was concerned for your safety, so I sent some men to your home to search for you, but they found the place deserted and with signs of a recent struggle. Then¡­?"


    "I suspect you know the answer already. I cut Sam Darling''s skull open and spilled her blood all over the floor. She proved quite resilient, however, and was able to escape with my associate. I was extremely weak from skill fatigue then, and lost track of them at one point. It took me some time to find them again, but I eventually tracked them down and dealt with them, and here I am now." Will spread his arms. "There you have it, my lord."


    Handsome whispered, and Brimstone said: "I see. I''m sad to hear that you''ve suffered such betrayal. I know its sting intimately. Has this event left you emotionally compromised?"


    Will offered a shallow bow. "Not at all, my lord."


    "Good. In that case, I''m glad to have you returned to me, my Misfortune." He gave Will''s shoulder a hearty clap, his touch oddly cold through Will''s clothing. "There is much work to be done."


    "Thank you," Will said. "I apologize if I caused you much worry, with the war against Lady Winter looming over your head."


    Brimstone gave a joyless laugh. "Think no more of it. I''m sorry I forced you to divulge details of your love life¡ªit''s a sensitive topic, I know."


    "My lord!" Griff called from the back, outraged. "You can''t seriously believe this nonsense!"


    Everyone stopped to look at the armored Laborer. Handsome''s expression was as unreadable as always, while Brimstone looked vaguely annoyed. "And why is that, captain?" the latter asked.


    "He''s obviously a traitor! Murdering women is hardly proof of honest conduct." He pointed a gloved finger at Will. "Swear, assassin! Swear that you are loyal to the lord, or brand yourself a traitor."


    Evidently, Griff was aware of the advisor''s secret.


    Brimstone still looked mildly displeased, like a parent embarrassed at his child throwing a tantrum in public, but he did not contradict the guard captain. Slowly, his wet, bloodshot eyes swung onto Will. He waited, expectant.


    Will had hoped it wouldn''t come to this, but he had prepared for the eventuality, and did not miss a beat as he bowed low and said: "Of course I am loyal to you, Lord Brimstone. Your success is my success."


    It was the first outright lie he had told since the start of the conversation, and a pretty big one, too. He was confident that Handsome had been covering for him up to this point. His cover hinged wholly on his suspicion that Handsome could bend his vow very far when needed.


    Handsome said nothing for a few moments, staring blankly at Will. Then he blinked rapidly, and seemed confused for a moment, frowning. "I''m sorry, Master One-Eye," he said, "would you mind repeating that one more time?"


    "Of course I am loyal to you, Lord Brimstone," Will said.


    Handsome nodded. "I believe he is telling the truth, lord," he announced for all to hear.


    Brimstone gave a firm, definitive nod. "Of course," he said. "I never doubted you, my friend." The long look he gave the guard captain was not threatening, exactly. But then, even a light frown from Lord Brimstone was as good as a knife against your throat. "Captain, you know I value your input, but I would appreciate it if you don''t interrupt me in conversation again. Is that all right?" His voice was mild, almost friendly.


    "Of course, my lord," Griff spluttered out, bowing as low as his armor would permit. But the moment the lord turned away, his intense glare found Will once more, flitting back between him and Handsome as though he suspected the two of colluding.


    Will was not sure if they were or not, but at the moment he was quite grateful to have such an honest liar watching his back.


    ''Did you break your vow?'' Will signed to Handsome as they walked on, behind the lord and with their backs blocking the guard captain''s view.


    ''No,'' Handsome replied with a light, unknowable smile.


    ''Then how did you lie?''


    The ugly man''s smile widened just a hair, his deep-set eyes glittering. ''I didn''t lie,'' he signed. ''You are a convincing man, Master One-Eye. In that moment, I believed you.''


    ''I understand.''


    In actuality, he did not understand at all. Handsome should have been able to detect his lie easily, so how could he have convinced himself to believe that Will was telling the truth?


    He could not puzzle it out, and the advisor clearly was not about to reveal his secrets. He did notice, however, that the advisor had one more AP missing than before, meaning there had to be a skill involved.


    The more he learned about Handsome, the less he knew. And the less he knew, the more frightening the man appeared. Will was beginning to think that Handsome might prove almost as great an obstacle as Brimstone himself, somewhere down the line.

 Chapter 74 - Featherless Biped

    Handsome


    The boy had some cheek.


    It was only a well-timed cast of Power Word [Amnesia] to make Handsome momentarily forget the boy''s motives that had allowed him to speak on his behalf without lying.


    Luckily for the young man, his combination of traits, along with his competence in the clandestine arts, made him a near-perfect candidate for Handsome''s ends. He did not have a specific role in mind just yet, but it would not take much work to find one within the ranks of the organization, he was sure.


    It was almost time to make his formal proposal. Ideally after Bedlam had secured the girl, so they had something to pressure him with. Based on what Handsome had heard about this Sam Darling, it seemed unlikely that she would willingly serve the organization, but she would still prove an excellent asset.


    And to think that Handsome had found his post in Sheerhome dreadfully boring, once upon a time.


    He walked alongside the lord and Will Greene, passively reading what little conversation flowed between the two men. He sensed Will''s disgust of his sovereign¡ªwho could blame him, really?¡ªbut he sincerely hoped he could persuade the young man to back off from his efforts to see Brimstone killed.


    However useful the boy might one day become, his life would come to an abrupt and immediate end the moment his existence proved an impediment to the cause.


    Brimstone was more difficult to read, his emotions erratic and often contradictory. It had taken quite some time for Handsome to get the hang of teasing out the man''s intentions, but by now he probably knew Brimstone better than the man knew himself.


    It was clear that he had some genuine affection for Will Greene, which was surprising given the boy¡¯s profession. For one so wary to put his faith in an assassin, of all people¡­? There was something slightly comedic in that.


    Even funnier, of course, was that Will Greene was plotting the man''s demise. It was the most obvious outcome you could possibly expect from inviting a hired killer into your inner circle; but if the lord saw it coming, he hid it very well.


    They made an interesting pair, the two of them. He hoped he could keep them both alive a while longer. Brimstone would need to die in the end, of course, but not for some time. Will Greene, for his part, might yet be spared, if he could only be made to see the light.


    * * *


    Will


    A ways down the road, Brimstone halted the party. "Master One-Eye and I will go on ahead," he declared. "The rest of you can stay here and busy yourselves however you like until our return."


    Griff''s ugly mug fell slack. His mouth worked silently as though he wished to object; but then, he had already been reprimanded for that very thing, and so snapped it shut with what appeared to be a herculean effort. He glared at Handsome as though he expected the advisor to intervene, but he only sketched out a genteel bow in acknowledgement of the lord''s command, and, finding himself at ease, moved off to the wayside to inspect a spray of colorful wildflowers.


    "Are you sure about this, my lord?" Will asked doubtfully, unsure if he should be feeling terrified or elated at the prospect of getting a moment along with Brimstone. "I thought we came out here to hunt a hydra?"


    "Only a lesser hydra," Brimstone intoned, licking what was left of his ruined top lip. "I''m sure the pair of us strapping young death-dealers can handle one of those on our own, don''t you think?"


    "Probably." Will had spent a good deal of time after receiving the summons from Handsome researching lesser hydras at the library. Fighting one did not top his list of fun leisure-time activities.


    Brimstone laughed, clapped Will on the back, and set off north at a jaunty stride. Unable to refuse, Will sighed and went after. He did spare a glance back at Captain Griff, putting on his most insufferable grin. The man went even redder than usual and made a rude gesture, but did not dare voice his fury with daddy dearest within earshot.


    They continued down the path, passing a Farmer walking beside an ox-drawn cart who was bringing produce into the city. The man steered his cart somewhat to the side so they could comfortably pass and stood there gawking, patting the muscled back of his ox as though it was the animal that needed comforting.


    "Hello," Brimstone said with a languid wave, stirring the brown rags in which he was sheathed.


    "Heuh¡­" The Farmer cleared his throat. "Hello." Evidently, the honorific had entirely slipped his mind, and Brimstone did not ask for it, offering the large animal a pat of his own as he passed by.


    Will smiled at the man, but did not say anything. They moved on.


    "You seem to be in a good mood today, my lord," Will observed.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Brimstone threw him a quick glance, and his ruined lips peeled back in that terrible, gummy smile of his. "Please," he said. "It''s bad enough that Handsome insists on all this ''lord'' nonsense."


    Will pawed at his bad eye. "All right. Then, uh, sir?"


    "No, no. I want you to call me by my name. Aside from Handsome, you are the only friend I have left in this world. However high a man rises, he ought to have at least one person who doesn''t mince his words around him."


    "If you insist. I don''t actually know your name, though."


    Brimstone''s smile widened, and a tear escaped one of his irritated eyes to run down his scar-slick face. "It''s a little funny, actually," he said. "Would you believe it if I said we share the same name? I was called William once, too."


    "Huh. Then, you¡­ want me to call you William?"


    "Please."


    "All right. But only if you stop calling me ''Misfortune'' and ''One-Eye'' and all that. I hate those names."


    "You do?"


    Will shrugged.


    "I''m sorry. I didn''t know. You see, this is what happens when you have nobody telling you ''no''. In that case, you can call me William, and I''ll you Will. It might become a little confusing otherwise."


    "Fair enough," Will said.


    Does he actually believe we''re friends? He can''t be that stupid, can he?


    Being alone with Brimstone in such a secluded place was an exercise in self-control. The man he hated with all his heart was walking less than an arm''s length from him, guard lowered, no one around to stop Will from making his coup a very short affair indeed. One movement, that was all he needed. To unsheathe his sword and cut Brimstone''s head off all in one motion.


    Nothing could be easier.


    It was too easy. Too perfect. Something told Will that this was the very reason Brimstone had brought the two of them out here, away from everyone else. Maybe he trusted Will less than he claimed¡ªmaybe he wanted to see what his ''friend'' would do, if given half a chance to kill him.


    And if he was even the slightest bit on his guard, Will had no illusions that he could beat him. Level 15 to Level 23¡ª24, now¡ªwas simply too great a difference to be made up with a fancy sword and a plucky attitude. Especially given Brimstone''s reputation as an unrivaled dualist.


    And besides, he could not be the one to kill Brimstone. It had to be Buck, or at least someone powerful enough to claim the high chair. If Brimstone died now, without a clear candidate to assume power in his stead, Sheerhome would drown in blood before a new lord could climb to the top of the corpse pile.


    No. Now was not the time. He needed to be patient.


    "What happened to the lady-consort while I was gone?" Will asked. "Is she still alive?"


    "She is," Brimstone replied. For some reason, the dour topic did not appear to dampen his spirits. "I paid her a few visits myself in your absence¡ªyou were right, Will, that we need to learn whatever it is she knows. Still, she''s told me nothing but lies. The new healer I''ve appointed has made sure that she''s pulled through, though, so you may resume your work on her whenever you like. I saw the¡­ marks you''d left. Very thorough."


    "I can''t tell if that''s supposed to be a compliment or not," Will said with a cautious chuckle. It seemed as though the lord wanted him to be less formal, and anything that could put him at ease was worth a shot, even if it meant being friendly with a man he spent every other night dreaming about violently murdering.


    Brimstone laughed too. "Honestly? I can''t tell either." He turned his eyes to the horizon, toward a watchtower at the edge of the safe zone they were slowly closing in on. "This certainly is a cruel world we''re living in¡ªisn''t it, Will?"


    "It is."


    Thinking about what Brimstone had just told him a second time, Will realized with a knotting of his guts that the lord had leveled up just after he began visiting Dawn in the dungeon. Most likely, he had leveled up from ''cooking'' his own wife.


    A cruel world indeed.


    As they came closer to the lonely watchtower in the distance, Will found an odd amount of movement on the walkway surrounding the raised guardhouse. Not people walking around, he soon realized, but heads twisting, mouths gaping. The watchtower was like an apple eaten through by enormous pale worms, black eyes unblinking and necks thick as a man''s torso contorting.


    Will had never seen a hydra before, lesser or otherwise¡ªthey were quite rare. Immediately upon seeing the monstrosity, he wished he could return to a state of blissful ignorance.


    The flora around the tower and maybe one hundred feet to either side looked all strange, tall grass twisted into coiling corkscrews, gone from green to a dark, purplish brown. The field appeared to move even when the mild breeze died down for a moment, the coiling grasses bobbing up and down, curtsying to the monster as though in obeisance.


    "A small worldstorm rolled through yesterday," Brimstone explained, a frown creasing his brow. "Hit the tower there, and turned everyone inside into¡­ that. Not a pretty sight, is it?"


    Will stared for a moment at the writhing, fleshy tangle. "No. It sure isn''t." He glanced at the lord. "A worldstorm, you said? This far south?"


    "Yes. They''ve been hitting closer and closer, lately. The Unmaking grows, and the storms it creates grow ever more powerful, last longer before dissipating."


    "Then, in light of that¡­"


    "I know." Brimstone gave a firm nod. "I have to kill the witch quickly. The Lords'' Council will put someone more competent in charge of Stormfront, then an expedition can be mounted into the Unmaking to discern exactly what can be done to stop its spread."


    That wasn''t exactly what Will had been planning to say, but he didn''t see any point in arguing.


    It was a good thing that the hydra remained trapped inside the remains of that tower¡ªhe didn''t want to think about how much damage a creature like that could have done to surrounding farms.


    As they drew closer, the mad tangle of disturbingly humanoid heads¡ªeight of them, Will determined¡ªwheeled about to face the intruders, gnashing gray, toothless gums.


    "Have you killed one of these before?" Will asked.


    "No," Brimstone replied.


    "I see¡­"


    According to his research, lesser hydras came with the ability Mutagenesis, allowing them to regenerate very quickly from any injury. A few rifle bullets probably wouldn''t do enough tissue damage to affect it much¡ªit needed to be destroyed quickly, all at once. That meant Anathema. That meant getting in range of those heads.


    "Want me to take care of it?" Will asked, a hand on the filigree handle of his saber.


    "It''s all right, Will," Brimstone said, holding a hand over Will''s chest to keep him back while stepping forward himself. "I''ll get this one. Just be ready to intervene if things go badly."


    Will felt a small pang of relief. "Understood."

 Chapter 75 - Featherless Biped [2]

    Will


    Brimstone stepped toward the writhing monstrosity, humming softly to himself. Will drew his sword and watched closely, waiting, poised to drive his blade through the lord''s back if half an opportunity presented itself.


    A clutch of black-eyed heads curled in on the lone human like the fingers of a giant hand. Brimstone halted in the strange, purple grass, raised his hand as though to wave, and waited with a supreme lack of concern as gaping mouths dove at him on all sides.


    Then there was fire and heat and light, followed closely by a shockwave that sent Will stumbling back three steps. Smoking flesh and smoldering wood went flying in a wide arc over the field, alighting to the ground like a meteor shower in miniature. Only a few ragged poles were left of the watchtower that had stood there a moment prior, tangled bits of pale, bloodless monster flesh sliding down them.


    "I think that did the trick," Brimstone said, turning back toward Will with a tight smile. He worked a reddened fist already bubbling with fresh burn blisters, his own body not entirely exempt from the power he wielded.


    "Seems that way," Will replied numbly. "Would you like me to clean up, m¡ª... William?"


    Brimstone nodded. "That would be excellent. Thank you, Will."


    Luckily, the worldstorm-affected flora did not appear very flammable, the stuff in close proximity to the burning wreckage only giving off a thin, malodorous vapor, but Will did not take any chances as he picked his way through the field, convincing his sword with some difficulty to Absorb the flames into itself, pausing occasionally to let the heat disperse when the metal became nearly too hot to touch.


    He gave extra care whenever he passed one of the hydra''s heads that remained intact enough to be recognizable, giving each one a firm kick or two to ensure that it was quite dead. Several were still alive and in the process of regenerating, prompting him to finish them off with a few good cuts and a scooping out of slimy gray matter.


    Once fire and hydra were both firmly snuffed out, he rejoined Lord Brimstone, who had seated himself in a patch of healthy greenery some distance off and was blinking up at the sky, hands folded in his lap with the good one cradling the freshly burned one.


    "My lord," Will said. "William, that is. The job is done¡ªwould you like us to go and meet back up with the others?"


    "Here, sit," Brimstone replied as though Will had not spoken, motioning to a spot in the wildflowers beside him


    Reluctantly, Will did as he was bid, sheathing his sword and plopping down in the grass, swatting away a bumblebee that drifted annoyingly close to his face. Any inclination toward taking in the idyllic environs were soundly dashed by his present company, as well as the pungent stench of sulfurous plant matter and burnt flesh wafting from behind.


    With a glance down at Brimstone''s left arm, Will noted that the lord had only used 5 AP to produce an explosion hefty enough to completely wipe away both watchtower and hydra. That meant he either had multiple ranks in Amplify, a high Awareness score coupled with a good effort modifier¡ªfurther increased by his level modifier¡ªor both.


    He showed no sign, however, of the incredible AP regeneration that Will had heard of, which meant that it wasn''t due to a passive¡ªnot a constant-type passive, anyhow. Good to know. At this point, any scrap of information on Brimstone''s build was invaluable.


    "Do you ever think about the future?" Brimstone asked, studying the cerulean sky with its cottony clouds, no sign of the life-warping storm that had apparently raged in this very spot just a day past.


    "Sometimes," Will replied.


    "I think about it constantly.  My own future, of course, but mostly that of the city for which I am responsible. I hold so many lives in my hand. If I take a wrong step, they all suffer. It can be debilitating, sometimes, knowing that."


    "I can imagine."


    "Some people think I am cruel¡ªthat I enjoy hurting others. In reality, it makes me weep inside. I was very soft as a boy, you know. I''d cry if I saw a bird with a broken wing or stray cat left out in the rain. I''ve had to burn that kind of weakness out of me¡ªafter all, a bleeding heart does not a competent ruler make."


    Will had some serious objections to the assertion that the specifics of Brimstone''s rule was meant to benefit anyone but himself, but kept that to himself.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    The burned man sat for some time considering the world around him, his roughspun robe tugged lightly by the summer wind. Then, quite suddenly, he said in his dry rasp: "My mother was a very troubled woman."


    Will was not sure how he was supposed to respond to that. In the end, all he worked out was: "I see."


    The lord glanced in Will''s direction, smiling blandly, then turned his attention back to his environs. "She had some sort of sickness in her head, I think. Of a hysterical nature. Sweet as sugar one minute, all snarling fury the next. It was a terrible thing, living with her. I wanted to leave, of course, but there was no one else to care for her. Everyone else in her life had already abandoned her. So I stayed."


    He picked the head off a dandelion and rolled it delicately between fingers made stiff and clumsy by layers of scar tissue. "She saw too much of herself in me, I think," he continued. "Used to say I had demons crawling around on me, burrowing into my skin like mites. Scared the shit out of me." He barked out a joyless laugh. "She''d try to beat them out of me. Far as I can tell, it didn''t take."


    Will rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "That''s¡­ I''m sorry that happened to you."


    "It''s all right, Will. It''s all right." He flicked the dandelion head away, watched it disappear among the thick grass stalks. "She killed me in the end, you know. Day after my eighteenth birthday. It''s hard to remember exactly what happened, but I think she took a knife to me in my sleep. By the time I woke up, I was already bleeding out, stuck through all over.


    "It didn''t hurt very much, so that''s something. I still remember her face, though. The fear and the anger and the¡­ confusion, almost. Like she wasn''t completely sure what she was doing or why. Still haunts me, that face.


    "I used to think I died for nothing. Used to be angry with my mother for what she did. I''ve realized the meaning behind it, though. Took some time, but I did it. It was a lesson, you see. Whatever happens, however hard life gets, I have to make sure I don''t end up like her."


    Will had to hold back an indiscrete noise at that. Whatever his mother had done to him, he had surely crossed that moral threshold a long, long time ago. He''d had no idea the man''s delusions went this deep.


    He fished the last cigarette out of the pack in his pocket and went to get a match to light it, but Brimstone offered out a flaming finger instead. Will put his smoke against the sliver of fire and puffed the cigarette awake, leaned back while dragging on it. Then he held it out to the lord. "It''s not poisoned," he said, smiling.


    Brimstone hesitated for a moment, then gave a smile of his own as he accepted the cigarette. He puffed thoughtfully on it, like it was a ritual unfamiliar to him, but nodded his enjoyment of it. They passed the cigarette back and forth, smoking together like they were the best of friends even though Will had to fight every fiber of his body not to part the other man''s head from his shoulders then and there.


    "Do you think I''m a good person, Will?" Brimstone asked suddenly as he looked over, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.


    "No," Will replied before his rational side could talk him out of it. "You wouldn''t be here if you were, would you?"


    The burned man nodded gravely. "True enough. As always, my friend, I appreciate your candor. There''s not many who would say that sort of thing to my face these days."


    "In that case, I''ll be sure to insult you more often."


    Brimstone laughed, then quickly grew serious again. "I''m sorry to put you to work so quickly after the ordeal you''ve been through, but there''s someone I need killed."


    Will was thrown by the sudden shift in conversation. "Oh?"


    "Three people, actually."


    "That''s quite the crop. Names?"


    "Fletcher of the Sheerhome academy, Father Christopher of the local resurrectionist chapter, and the man they call Captain, formerly of the Sheerhome militia." Noting the frown forming on Will''s brow, he continued: "All three are high-level individuals who have refused to lend their direct aid to me¡ªand by extension, this city¡ªin the conflict against Lady Winter. I can''t afford that kind of dissent at the moment. Hopefully, their deaths will act as a reminder to others regarding the importance of unity in these trying times."


    As was often the case with Lord Brimstone, Will found himself at a loss for words. "William¡­ What you''re asking is not an easy thing. All three of these men are a higher level than me." Not to mention that Fletcher was a personal friend.


    "I''m aware. However, I''m afraid that you are the only man I trust for this task. Additionally, neither the librarian nor the priest are especially combat-oriented, as far as I know, and the so-called ''firefighter'' is past his prime. Resourceful as you are, I believe you will find a way to manage."


    "Possibly, but¡­"


    "I won''t place any restraints on you like I did with the witch''s spy. Kill the men as you see fit¡ªblade or poison, I care not which."


    "Well, I¡­" Will ground his teeth, knowing full-well that he could not refuse, but wanting to think of any possible reason to weasel out of the task.


    Brimstone put a hand on his shoulder, the sudden touch nearly making him jump. "I know I''m asking a lot of you," he said, gaze tender and earnest. "But it must be done. For the good of the city."


    Will fought with himself. "Fine," he worked out at last, the word coming out as more of a hiss than he would have liked. "It would be best to carry out all three killings in the same night, so that the targets don''t catch wind of any danger."


    Brimstone nodded along. "Sensible, yes."


    "It will take longer than usual to gather information on the targets and draw up a viable plan."


    "I understand, and I trust that you will act with all possible haste." Brimstone stood up, giving a contented sigh as though having offloaded some great worry. "Well, I suppose we should get back before Captain Griff starts worrying that we''ve fallen down dead in a ditch somewhere."


    Will took a last drag off the cigarette and crushed it against his boot heel. "Oh, I would just hate to upset him in any way."

 Chapter 76 - A Polite Disagreement Between Gentlemen

    Sam


    Sam awoke in the middle of the night with a terrible predicament.


    She needed to pee.


    Imagining that Mongrel would neither be useful nor particularly grateful if awoken before the crack of dawn, she fumbled herself into some clothes and a pair of unlaced boots and stomped off to find a place to do her business. The bedpan stored under the bed was out of the question.


    Surprisingly, she found lights still burning in the common room, which was only just now beginning to turn away patrons. A bull-necked Builder with tattoos covering every inch of his body helped along those refusing to leave with the business end of a leather-wrapped cudgel.


    Sam announced herself to the bouncer so that he would recognize her on the way in, and asked him where to find the nearest outhouse. Receiving some vague directions, she slipped out with the slow trickle of patrons out front of the building, then rounded it to find the outhouses in the back, indistinct shapes in the dark tucked close to the log palisade.


    One whiff of the booths once she got close was enough to convince her not to go inside. She had no idea what could produce such an ungodly stench, but she could only imagine that the outhouses had not been cleaned in a very long time.


    Whatever. I''ll just find a nice patch of ground somewhere.


    Sam was coming around the side of The Three-Breasted Virgin when she saw a woman in the light of a window, hands clasped at her chest and back pressed against the next building over. Two large men were bearing down on her, making sexual advances so brazen they made even Sam''s ears go hot.


    Sam did not need to deliberate whether to intervene¡ªby the time her mind had processed that there was a choice to be made, her body was already moving.


    "Hey there, fellas!" Sam called as she jogged over, doing her best to keep her unlaced trousers up with one hand. "You ought to leave the lady alone. It doesn''t look like she''s buying whatever you''re selling."


    The men turned toward her, one keeping a hand on the woman''s shoulder. It was Apples, Sam realized, the serving girl she had spoken to earlier. Her eyes were wide with desperation, lashes dewy with sparkling tears.


    "Fuck off," said the man with both hands free, hawking a gob of thick mucus at the ground between Sam''s boots as she came to a stop.


    "Sure," Sam replied, crossing her arms as she stared the ruffian down. He was powerfully built, but she had at least a few inches of height on him. "I''ll leave if you do."


    "Look, pretty boy. You better learn to mind your own business, or you won''t be so pretty much longer." He patted a shortsword hanging at his belt, evidently noting the lack of one on Sam''s hip.


    "I''ve always been bad at minding my own business. Call it a personality flaw, I guess."


    "A fatal one," the second ruffian called over his shoulder, attention still fixed on the serving girl. "Go on, Karl¡ªteach the fucker some manners."


    "I''d be right happy to," said the one named Karl. A moment later, he was showing steel, and Apples clamped her eyes shut, trembling with abject terror.


    Sam could not stop thinking about how she still really needed to pee.


    The man came at her, sword held before him point-first. She caught the lunging weapon by the blade and pried it out of his grip without much effort, tossing it behind her. He gaped at her for one long moment, then his face knotted up with rage and he charged at her, driving his shoulder into her gut and grabbing both her legs for a takedown.


    Sam sprawled her stance, digging the heel of her back leg into the earth as she was driven back. She kept her footing, stuffed the takedown, and wrapped an arm around the man''s bowed neck, the back of his head caught in her armpit. Cinching a standing guillotine choke, she heard the man groan as blood flow to his brain was cut. He beat desperately against her to break free, but his attempts quickly weakened. In less than ten seconds, he went slack in her arms. She released him and let him topple onto his back with a heavy thump; limbs sprawled, eyes rolled back.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    The second ruffian saw the way things were going and made to run. Sam caught up to him in a few steps, hauled him back by the collar.


    "Hold on there, mister," she said. "Isn''t that your friend there?" She pointed at the man on the ground, just beginning to come to.


    "Yes?" the second ruffian replied, not sure what answer he was expected to give.


    "And you were just going to run away? That''s no way to treat a friend. You''re going to stay here and make sure he''s all right, understood?"


    "Uh, sure?"


    "Good man." Sam shoved the second ruffian in the direction of his friend, then took Apples by the arm and began guiding her out of the alley. "And don''t you go harassing any women in the future! I''m sure it''s a lot more fun to get with someone who wants you back, don''t you think?"


    She did not wait on a reply, leading the serving girl well away. She set her down on a bench outside what appeared to be a post office, in the failing light of a street lantern.


    "Thank you," Apples breathed, her normally rosy cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink. "You really saved me."


    "It was nothing."


    "It was something to me." She took one of Sam''s hands in both of hers, cold and shaky. "Thank you, John."


    The name reminded Sam that her fake man voice had begun to slip, and she cleared her throat to reassert it. "Well, I''m glad I could help. Want me to walk you home?"


    "I''d hate to ask anything more of you, but¡­ yes. That would be nice."


    Sam let the girl rest for a minute before they got moving, letting Apples take the lead as they went down the main street of the small town.


    "Does that sort of thing happen a lot?" Sam asked.


    "Sometimes," Apples admitted. "Usually Rasmus keeps an eye on me, but he''s not always around."


    "Rasmus is the bouncer?"


    "Yeah. He''s nice."


    A pair of guards on night patrol came the other way down the road and admonished them to be on their way quickly, since it was after curfew.


    "I''m sorry you''ve got to worry about that sort of thing," Sam said once they turned onto a smaller side street, leaving the lantern light of the main road behind for near-complete darkness aside from the barest touch of silvery moonlight. She wished there was something more she could offer the girl than condolences, but could not think of anything.


    "It is what it is," Apples replied, holding onto Sam''s sleeve with two fingers like a small child not wanting to lose track of her mother. "I moved here from Sheerhome because they said folk were more civilized inland, but it seems all the same to me. Maybe I''d need to go further north, but I''m too weak to get there, and I haven''t got the coin to sign on with a caravan." She held up her arm, showing four AP crystals and the sickle-and-sheaf mark of a Farmer.


    "That sounds really hard." Sam certainly had money to spare, but she wasn''t sure how far it was wise to extend her generosity, given the need for secrecy, and she still hadn''t decided one way or the other if she thought the serving girl was a plant or not. It seemed unlikely, but still¡­


    Her tummy grumbled unhappily. She''d always hated moral conundrums¡ªthey made her hungry.


    They stopped in front of Apples'' tenement building, just a vague, blocky outline in the dark, but the girl was reluctant to let go of Sam''s arm.


    "You''re leaving in the morning, aren''t you?" she asked.


    "Um, yes," Sam replied.


    "To Stormfront?"


    "Probably. Uh, maybe. We''re not sure yet."


    "Would you take me with you?" Most of the girl''s face was wreathed in shadow, but her eyes sparkled up at Sam, pleading. "Anywhere''s got to be better than here. I''ll pay you. I have some saved away¡ªnot very much, but I''ll give you what I have. I would feel so much better if I had a good man like you to protect me."


    Sam laughed nervously, unsure what to say. Damn it, my acting is way too good! "You know, I''d love to, but I''m not really the one who makes all the decisions. How about this? Let''s both of us sleep on it, and we can discuss it in the morning after I''ve had a chat with my partner."


    "Okay," Apples replied, sounding placated¡ªto Sam''s great relief. She let go of Sam''s sleeve and began making her way toward the building with slow, slow steps. "I''ll talk to you tomorrow then. Or later today, I guess, technically."


    "Yep!"


    "Goodnight, John."


    "Goodnight to you too, Apples."


    The girl went inside, and Sam was left standing out front, an inexplicable nervous sweat making her shirt back sticky.


    And she still needed to pee.

 Chapter 77 - Apples in the Cart

    Sam


    She had to drag Mongrel out of bed in the morning, getting him down to the common room and in front of a bowl of food before he was conscious enough to actually make conversation with. Sam noticed Apples the serving girl already making eyes at her across the room as she went about sweeping road dust off the floor, and figured it was probably best to get the whole affair over with as soon as possible.


    "So," she said around a mealy apple, "I had a bit of a situation last night."


    "Mmh," Mongrel grunted, draped low over his plate of eggs, his chin barely off the table.


    "You remember that serving girl we spoke to? Well, I happened to run into her while I was going out for a leak. One thing led to another, and it turns out she wants to tag along with us for a bit."


    Mongrel laughed a bite of food back onto his plate and shook his head ruefully, but gave no other reply.


    "What''s so funny?"


    "I''m not surprised, that''s all."


    "What do you mean?"


    "That girl was making doe eyes at you all night, kid. She''s very interested in something you don''t got, that''s all I''m saying."


    Sam blinked. "Oh. Then¡­"


    "Yup."


    "So she''s¡­"


    "Yup."


    "Well, that''s awkward." Sam fought a hard flush. "That aside, what do you think? She wants to tag along with us at least for a while up the road, until she can find a place to settle where she won''t be harassed so much."


    "What do I think?" Mongrel asked, cracking one bleary eye at Sam through his chaotic gray shock of hair. "I think it''s a bad idea, obviously."


    "Right. But¡ª"


    The old man held up a finger, ushering silence. "But you want to play the hero anyway. I get it kid, I get it. And I can''t be bothered arguing with you, so do as you please."


    Sam took a last bite off her apple and munched down the core as well, sucking the sugary pulp off her fingers. "All right, thanks!"


    "Now, obviously, it''ll be your responsibility to care for her."


    "I can do that."


    "And¡­" He shrugged, heaped some scrambled egg onto a thick slice of bread, took a bite of it, then said: "Not that it makes any difference to me either way, but you probably oughta think of a way to let the girl down easy. Things might get pretty awkward for all parties involved if you don''t nip it in the bud right quick."


    "Yeah, I¡­ I''ll figure something out. I mean, are you sure that she¡­?" Sam threw a glance across the room, found Apples waving back at her. "All right, yeah. Maybe she does."


    Mongrel laughed.


    As soon as they had eaten, Sam went and broke the news to Apples that she could tag along with them as far as she liked. The plump serving girl quit her job in rather dramatic fashion, throwing her apron at the innkeep and telling him in no uncertain terms what she thought of being in his employ. The pasty fellow was glaring venom at Sam and Mongrel when they paid up for the food and were getting ready to leave, but there was little the man could do with his bouncer off-duty until the afternoon.


    Greensby wasn''t any prettier at night than it was during the day, Sam decided as they stepped out of the shabby inn and into an equally shabby town. There was not much to indicate where the place had gotten its name from, exactly, as most of it was in dusty gray and brown and beige, hardly an inspiring sight.


    Apples chattered the whole time as they got Zero out of the stables and made their way through town. The (former) serving girl showed them where to get travel rations at a decent price, then went home to change out of her tight-bodiced dress into more sensible travel wear, catching back up at a run with a satchel bouncing off her shoulder.


    There were barges running from the eastern end of town, as the River Sterling grew calmer and steadier here, making ferrying goods upriver a tenable endeavor. Mongrel decided that the river route was too risky, however, as it would necessarily bring them into close proximity with people  for long periods of time¡ªpeople who might be able to identify them later¡ªso they continued along the land route as before.


    Sam quickly decided that if they were going to be traveling together, she might as well take the risk of putting her faith in Apples and hope she would prove trustworthy, rather than keep the lie going with her.


    "Here''s the thing," Sam said. "We''re not really looking for soldiering work, all right?"Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    "Oh?" the girl said.


    "Yeah, we''re actually trying to find someone, and once we''ve tracked him down, we''re taking him straight back to Sheerhome again. You could call it a bit of a¡­ sensitive mission, which is why we''re traveling under disguise."


    "Then¡­ your name isn''t really John?"


    "Yeah, about that¡­"


    All things considered, Apples took the news fairly well, though there was a lot of blushing and stuttering after the initial shock died down. As for the manhunt part of their journey, she appeared to have no issue with it, nor with the fact that they needed to work beneath the notice of the lord''s men.


    "You know anything about this Big Deal Buck fellow, then?" Sam asked.


    "I suppose so," Apples replied, absently patting Zero''s flank as she walked alongside the animal. "He made kind of a big show when he came through Greensby. Only stayed one night, and went under an assumed name just like you did. Guards found him out pretty quick though, and tried to detain him on charges of¡­ banditry, or something, I think? Anyway, Buck slipped away, and that''s the last I''ve heard of him. It was the talk of the town for a while, but he didn''t stay at the Virgin, so I don''t know many details. This was a while ago, too, like maybe a month or two?"


    "Sounds about right," Mongrel cut in, walking a few paces ahead of them with one finger hooked through Zero''s bridle.


    "What is it you want someone like that for, anyway?" Apples asked. "He seems dangerous."


    "We''re planning on putting Brimstone out of a job, and Will¡ªmy boyfriend, that is¡ªthinks we need this Big Deal Buck guy to get it done." It still gave Sam butterflies whenever she thought about the fact that her and Will were really together, somehow, after all this time she''d spent with the bitter knowledge that such a thing would remain forever impossible.


    Apples went a bit pale at hearing about the Brimstone bit.


    "D''you really need to tell her everything, kid?" Mongrel asked with a snort of annoyance.


    "I''d rather not string her along without letting her know what she''s getting into," Sam explained.


    The old man let it go with a shrug. "Whatever. Your responsibility, just remember that."


    Sam turned her attention back to the plump young Farmer. "Things might get a bit dangerous for us along the way, so if you decide you don''t want to travel with us anymore, just let us know and we can drop you off at the next town. If things don''t work out well for you there, we can bring you back down to Greensby on our way south. What do you think?"


    Apples considered carefully for a while, then gave a slow nod. "I''ve heard things about Brimstone¡ªabout what kind of leader he is. If you''re standing against him, that must mean you''re the good guys in all this. I''m not¡­ well, I''m not brave or strong or anything like that¡­" She blushed, and cupped her cheek in her hand to hide it. "...But I want to help you if I can. The way you helped me."


    Sam nodded, grinning. "I like your fighting spirit, Apples. I think we''re going to get along great."


    As with the day before, Sam insisted on carrying some of the packing to hopefully help her level. She took Apples'' satchel as well, weighing herself down to the point where the hike was actually moderately challenging as the hours wore on.


    They stopped sometime after noon, meeting up with the chimps in a forest clearing not far from the road. They took their midday meal there, and Sam supplemented one of Will''s rations with bread and cheese they''d picked up in Greensby.


    Naturally, the newcomer to the team was more than a little startled to find five full-grown chimps bearing down on her, but she regained her composure quickly enough. She grew a bit more relaxed around them after Number Five gifted her a handful of blueberries, which she ended up sharing with the young chimp, both of them picking berries out of her upturned palm.


    The chimps were not pleased at having to travel under such ignoble conditions, and communicated this to their father both loudly and at length. There was nothing Mongrel could do to amend this, but he gave them a pipe and a tobacco pouch to share as a small consolation gift for when their cigarettes ran out. This, apparently, was good enough to stop their bellyaching for the time being.


    Continuing along the Iron Road, they kept it up until dusk, when they pulled in at the rest stop sitting at the halfway point between Greensby and Timbryhall. Plenty of caravans and smaller traveling parties were already occupying the open space, a staggered double-row of wagons making a sort of shield against the wilds to the west.


    Plenty of cook fires burned about the place, with voices of merriment and argument rising in equal measure above the din of everyday activity.


    Mongrel picked out a spot for them near the edge of it all and set up a fire for them to cook their dinner on. Apples handled that part, doing a fair job at it. They ate and told stories until after it got dark, stars winking down at them, and the fires about the rest stop began to burn low.


    "You know," Sam said, "I don''t really know anything about this Buck fellow, myself. What''s his deal?"


    "Ach, he''s not all that special," Mongrel said, sucking on his teeth as though he found the subject distasteful. "Just another jumped-up cutthroat, an altogether too common breed on the Frontier. Only thing sets him apart is that he''s got a higher opinion of himself than most of those other knuckleheads."


    "I heard he''s a hero," Apples said, and immediately shrank into herself at the glare Mongrel gave her. "Sorry. I mean, that''s just what I heard."


    The old man scoffed, arms folded tight atop his spherical belly. "Hero indeed. Yes, I''m sure that''s what he''d like you to believe. Always been one for spreading tall tales about himself¡ªthen again, that''s Entertainers in a nutshell, every rotten  one of ''em."


    "You and Will had some kind of¡­ fight with him, right?" Sam asked.


    "You could say that. We murdered some of his, he murdered one of ours, we parted on less than agreeable terms. Stole Nyx off his hands while we were at it."


    "Nyx was with him?"


    "Yeah. Wish we''d left the demon behind and picked up the bounty reward for the sorry bastard instead. Meaning no offense, of course, seeing as you wouldn''t be here without the bitch."


    "So you fought Buck¡­ and won, I guess?"


    "Yeah. Will did."


    "Then why do we need him, if Will is stronger?"


    Mongrel chuckled. "I wouldn''t say he''s stronger, exactly. Credit where credit is due, the bandit has got one hell of a sword hand. No, our Will fought dirty, got the better of him with one of his little tricks. Those kinds of tricks won''t work on Brimstone, though. He''s too wary of that kind of thing. And then there''s all that stuff Will said about Buck being a good candidate for taking over the lordship and bla bla bla. You remember."


    "I remember."


    "Good."

 Chapter 78 - Top Ten List

    Sam


    After the talk about Big Deal Buck and Lord Brimstone and their relative strengths, the conversation naturally shifted onto the very strongest people on the Frontier. Sam had been interested in knowing about this for some time, and for once found herself listening intently as Mongrel began expositing in his slow, self-indulgent drawl.


    "Well, far as I know, there''s only a handful of Level 30s rattling around, and they are some scary customers, every one of them. As for who''s the strongest, most would agree it comes down to two candidates. First is Crow the Godkiller¡ªno surprises there. Second is the Nightmare King of Octant Five, also called the Immortal.


    "There''s not much known about the former. Not about his build, or his appearance, or even what octant shot him out. It''s all a big mystery¡ªthe kind folk love to go back and forth on over a mug of beer." Mongrel leaned forward on the opposite side of the crackling fire, uneven teeth glinting in the warm light as he cracked a wide grin. "Some think he diced the goddess with their souls as the stakes, and he cheated her to win. Some think he''s a demon who gained possession of a human body. Some think his secret is he found a way to build atomic bombs here on the Frontier, if you''ll believe that." His eyes swiveled onto Apples, who was fussing with her boot laces, knees drawn up to her chest. "What about you, new girl?" he asked. "You got a story about the Godkiller? You must''ve heard about a hundred of ''em every night working as a waitress."


    "Well," the young Farmer said thoughtfully, "I heard that he fell in love with the Devil Queen and ventured into the Unmaking to marry her¡ªwhich is why nobody''s seen him since the Deicide¡ªand that he''s the father of all monsters."


    Mongrel laughed so spittle flew sizzling into the fire. "That''s the stupidest thing I''ve ever heard! Who''d ever fall in love with a demon?" He kept on chuckling, wiping imaginary tears of mirth from dry eyes. "Oh, you''re an absolute riot, new girl."


    Apples blushed deeply and buried her lower face into her knees to hide it. "It''s not like I think it''s true or anything," she explained, "it''s just something I heard, that''s all."


    "Mongrel," Sam said warningly. "Be nice. Can''t you tell she''s shy?"


    Mongrel just returned a shit-eating grin, sticking out his chin as though daring her to smack it.


    She decided that she would save that kind of measure for a more serious infraction, and settled for wagging her finger at him instead. "So no one actually saw the goddess get killed?" she asked, directing her question at Apples, not Mongrel.


    "I don''t think so," Apples replied. "I mean, lots of people say they did. Or, like, a friend of a friend talked to someone who swears they saw it, that kind of thing. No one''s ever shown real proof, though¡ªthat I''ve heard of, anyway."


    "The girl''s right," Mongrel said, scooting closer to the young woman to reassert his place in the conversation. "They say the goddess walked the Frontier in the Better Times. She''d heal the sick, hear folks'' grievances, give out little bits of fortune cookie wisdom here and there. You can bet your ass the resurrectionists wrote down every useless word of it too, put it together in a stuffy old book no one cares about.


    "Anyway, Era must''ve been pretty confident in her own immortality, because apparently she''d meet with whoever, wherever, no protection or nothing. The accepted story goes that she was in her seat of power at the center of the Frontier¡ªGoldbrand, they called the city in those times, though it''s long-since been swallowed by the Unmaking.


    "Crow came to her shining palace and asked for a private audience. Era granted it, and the doors were closed on all angels and boonkin and human servants and such. Crow was the only one who came back out again. A ripple went through the world, so they say. Birds went quiet, horses threw off their riders, hounds turned on their owners. The angels went mad with grief, and some killed themselves while others swore vengeance on humanity.


    "Well, in the girl''s favor, some stories do claim that Crow had help from a demon to kill the goddess, and that she swallowed Era''s corpse to become the Demon Queen, birthing the Unmaking out of the once-shining Goldbrand, now a tarnished ruin."


    He spread his hands with a grandiose storyteller''s flourish. "And so it is written."


    "So it is written," Apples echoed at a low whisper.


    Sam thought about it for a second. "So," she said, playing with the soft spot at the back of her scalp left by Will cutting her skull open, "how do we know that the goddess is even dead? What if she survived Crow trying to kill her, and she''s just really mad about it, and she''s actually the thing people call the Demon Queen now?"


    Mongrel shrugged. "You missed the part about angels falling on their swords. You wouldn''t get that bent out of shape over an attempted murder, now would you?"Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    "I suppose not."


    "And if anyone would know for certain what happened to ol'' Era, it would be them, wouldn''t it? So I think we can be pretty sure that the bitch is dead."


    "I guess."


    "Full points for creativity, though. We''ll make a regular theorist out of you yet."


    Sam snorted out a laugh, leaning back on her elbows. "Shut up, dude. What about this Nightmare King fellow? The way you talked up Crow, he must be pretty strong to hold a candle to the guy."


    "Well, I reckon his accomplishments speak for themselves," Mongrel replied with a half-shrug. "He''s in charge of the Frontier''s only bona fide empire¡ªstarted out with Octant Five, and recently went and conquered Octant Eight. Apparently he''s waging war on Octant Three to swallow that up, too. Ever since the monsters started kicking our prissy little tushies, humanity''s been pushed back on every single front, every single octant shrinking closer to the coastlines.


    "Well, the Nightmare King''s lands are the only exception. His territories have actually flourished since he came to power a few years back, expanding further and further into the interior, if you''ll believe it."


    "That''s why they call him the Nightmare King," Apples cut in, voice shy and thin but with eyes that showed an eagerness to share her thoughts. "They say he''s managed to drive the monsters back because he''s something even worse. They say he''s so frightening to look at that people faint at the sight of him, and that he''ll take any woman he likes to sleep with her for just one night, then kill her. That he''s searching for the wife he lost on Earth, and that he''ll know her by her kiss, and he''ll keep carving a path through as many women as he needs to until he finds her."


    Mongrel rolled his eyes with a dramatic snort. "Well, aside from all that romantic melodrama, I reckon that''s more or less true. These days, he''s sequestered in The City That Breathes, and sends his faceless men out to enact his bidding and fight his battles."


    "What''s a ''faceless man''?" Sam asked. "And what the fuck is ''The City That Breathes'', for that matter?"


    "That''s just what they call it," Mongrel replied with a note of strained patience in his voice. "As for the faceless men, they''re supposed to be the Immortal''s pet army of monsters that have sworn fealty to him."


    "They don''t eat or sleep or feel pain," Apples added. "They''ll fight until they drop dead from wounds or exhaustion, and follow their master''s bidding without question."


    "Pretty spooky," Sam said.


    "They say Crow and the Nightmare King fought once, when the latter was just coming up," Mongrel continued. "They leveled a whole city in the process, but there was no conclusive winner, which is why no one can really say who''s stronger out of the two. They say the Immortal got his nickname because he literally can''t die. He''s been killed a hundred different ways¡ª" Mongrel counted on his fingers, "¡ªhanging, burning, quartering, beheading, exsanguination, impalement, submerged in the ocean, even thrown in a damn volcano if you want to believe some of the more outlandish stories¡ªand he''s come back every single time, right as rain, as though nothing ever happened.


    "The why of it is anyone''s guess. You''ve got the usual nonsense like he diced the goddess to gain his immortality¡ªwhich doesn''t make any sense, considering he apparently only came to the Frontier a few years back¡ªas well as more mundane explanations, like that it''s some particularly disgusting combination of abilities.


    "If you ask me, I''d say Crow gets too much hype on account of the whole goddess-slaying business. When it comes to actual abilities, no one''s got much to say, and it''s not like he was a big name before he showed up that day in Goldbrand. The Immortal, on the other hand, has a track record as long as my cock¡ªmeaning very, by the way, just so we''re clear¡ªand is still adding to it to this day despite his self-imposed exile.


    "Aside from those two gentlemen, there''s a vanishingly small group of lifers who are even close to their level. There''s Lady Winter, of course, native to our very own Octant Six, who has the power to raise the dead. Then there''s Marcille the Revolutionary of Octant Seven, who''s generally agreed as the finest enchantress the Frontier has ever seen. There''s Florian of Octant Three, the so-called ''most handsome man alive''," Mongrel made air quotes and rolled his eyes to show exactly what he thought of that title, "and Sage, a healer who''s been around since the Better Times. He did like Crow and wandered off into the wilderness after the Deicide, never to be seen again. There were maybe two or three other Level 30s that died at various points during the war, but other than that, that''s all of ''em."


    "What about the one from Octant Four?" Apples asked.


    "That new pipsqueak? Yeah, I guess I forgot about him. They''re all weirdo resurrectionists over there, and I guess this whatchamacallhim''s the new king of the freaks or something."


    "The Lion of the West."


    "Yeah. That. Clearly, the kid has a pretty high opinion of himself."


    Mongrel yawned. Then Apples yawned, too. Then Sam yawned, three.


    The conversation tapered off, and they all turned in pretty soon after, bedrolls somewhat softening the hardness of the bare earth. Mongrel had said that thefts and even murders were fairly common at these rest stops, but they were able to sleep all three at once without posting a sentry due to the fact that they had the chimps watching over them from the treeline, two boys at a time in revolving shifts ready to punish any intrusion of privacy with an arrow or two.


    Despite that, Sam had a hard time falling asleep, staring into the failing fire as the graying, burnt-out logs crackled their last. The food and conversation had diverted her for a while, but now that she had nothing to occupy her, she found her thoughts inescapably drawn to Will, his dour, gaunt face appearing in front of her whenever she closed her eyes.


    It sounded like he was heading into danger, going back to Lord Brimstone even after potentially blowing his cover. She could only try to convince herself that he was being as safe as possible, even though she knew well that probably wasn''t the case. That boy was way too self-sacrificing for his own good.


    Twelve more days, she thought. Twelve more days, then I''ll be able to fish him out of whatever trouble he''s managed to land himself in without me.

 Chapter 79 - Rumors of the Greatly Exaggerated Variety

    [DAY THREE¡­]


    Serene


    Sweat. Blood. Sand. Lamp oil. Damp wood. Thumping voices. Cold lips. Stiff fingers. Nervous shiver. Earnest eyes.


    Serene awoke from yet another dream¡ªthe same one she''d been having for days.


    Ratcatcher had meant nothing to her. She''d barely had one proper conversation with the man, and based on what she had learned of him, he was far too timid for her taste. In either case, he was dead now, which meant that he didn''t matter anymore. Sentimentality for the dead was a frivolous luxury Serene could not afford.


    So why couldn''t she forget his face?


    Why did she keep dreaming about that kiss?


    The kiss.


    The kiss.


    It had made her feel nothing, empty, just like every other kiss she''d ever had. Catalogued alongside the hundreds of men and women she had sampled across two lives, it was somewhere near the bottom third.


    It was nothing. Dust. Of no consequence whatsoever.


    "Good morning, princess," came a voice that was making itself altogether too familiar.


    "Please go away," Serene groaned, refusing to wake, an arm thrown over her eyes to block out stabbing sunlight. Her sheets clung to her with cold sweat, making her feel trapped.


    "Go away?" the man asked incredulously. "You think I want to be here? You''re the one who put me here, remember? You''re the fucked-up whore whose guilty conscience conjured me up."


    "It''s too early for this."


    "Actually, it''s a bit past noon, but nice try."


    "Shut up."


    "Lalalalalalalalalala¡ª"


    Serene shot stick-straight, wrestling with the sheets, growling: "Oh my god, stop acting like a five-year-old!"


    Ratcatcher sat at the end of her bed, one leg drawn up to his chest and the other dangling over the side. "Then you should stop imagining me that way." His voice was chirpy, but the laughter that followed dripped with mocking venom.


    "Fuck off."


    "Delighted to see you too, princess. And might I say, what a lovely sight it is. The pallor of your complexion really brings out the dark circles under your eyes." He put his fingers to his mouth and exploded them out in a chef''s kiss.


    He looked the way she remembered him; thin and unassuming, wearing drab, baggy clothing. His hair, hanging limp and unattractive, almost covered the bloody ruin that made up half his face. Almost, but not quite.


    Serene elected to ignore him, getting up to wash her face and upper body from the water basin using a relatively clean rag, before picking out some comfortable clothing to drape over herself, pulled at random out of the mess that was her wardrobe. Ratcatcher chattered away, stalking her back and forth across the apartment as she continued to ignore him.


    Her mother popped in for a bit, a knife protruding from her ribs, to sling insults and accusations. She was equally disregarded, and eventually vanished on her own.


    Ratcatcher proved to be a more stubborn apparition, there with a mocking smile every time she turned around.


    The visions weren''t exactly a new development. She wasn''t sure if they were brought on by too many substances in her bloodstream, or too few, or both at once, or some form of insanity wholly her own.


    Not that it mattered, because she knew just the thing to drive the ghosts away. Boulder wouldn''t start sending in customers until later on in the afternoon, meaning she had plenty of time to get sauced until then.


    She sat down at the low table in the middle of the space to light up her pipe, but found to her horror that the little metal tin was completely scraped clean of the precious powder.


    "Fuck¡­" Serene muttered, tossing the tin aside to clatter hollowly across the floor, and dipped her head forward to let it rest against the cold tabletop for a moment.


    "Ooh, bad luck," Ratcatcher laughed, crouching just beside her and staring intently into the side of her face with one eye, the other socket an empty hole of withered tissue, black blood, and protruding bone. "I suppose some dastardly type must have snuck in during the night and smoked up all your drugs, huh? Guess you''d better resort to Plan B."If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Serene slid down on all fours and began rooting around beneath the table, poking at the various bottles of spirits that stood or lay overturned under there. Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty. She produced one with a splash of cheap vodka left at the bottom, and she drank it in one draught, letting out a noxious burp as her stomach protested being fed an exclusively alcoholic breakfast.


    "Yep, there we go," Ratcatcher said. "Just suck it aaaall down. That''ll make you feel better."


    The little bit of vodka would barely even get her buzzed, let alone drunk enough to smother her worries, so she kept looking. Nothing, except a few pitiful drops of rum that she teased out of the very final bottle. The terrible realization was slowly dawning on her, however, that she was going to need to leave her apartment to get more.


    The prospect of handling the world outside the four walls surrounding her seemed an unconquerable endeavor, but what choice did she have? In a daze, fingers trembling, she stuffed a wad of cash in her pocket, shuffled to the door, slipped into some shoes and set on her Illusory mask of beauty before taking a deep breath and stepping out.


    The stairs to the ground floor were interminable. Ratcatcher slid down the railing, laughing at her, jaw on the ruined side of his face gaping unnaturally.


    Boulder the Builder was loitering near the entryway, big man propped against the wall by one muscled shoulder while peeling an orange with clumsy, fat thumbs, getting juice all over his hands. The grin he gave her in greeting was somewhat incredulous.


    "Bit early for you to be up and about, isn''t it?" he asked, waving her over.


    "It''s past noon," Serene replied, stepping close to him.


    He laughed. "Yeah, that''s what I mean."


    Ratcatcher took a position right behind the man, pointing to the side of the Builder''s blocky, stupid mug. "Isn''t this sweet? He knows you so well."


    Serene fought the urge to glance in his direction.


    Boulder groped around the back of her with one huge hand and pulled her in by her ass, forcing a few slobbery kisses on her that tasted cloyingly sweet before telling her not to fuck about too long outside. She agreed and left out into the street, grumbling under her breath over the fact that he had gotten sticky orange pulp on her skirt.


    The light outside burned, and everything seemed too bright, too much, people coming this way and that in the bumpy street, snatches of unnamed faces glimpsed for fractions of a second before sliding past. Too many, too close. She walked fast, the comedown hitting her harder with every minute as her head began pounding and her knees turned soft and her hands shook so bad she had to close them into fists. Her tongue was suddenly too big for her mouth, dry like a sand-covered carcass.


    She went to the nearest smoke lounge, just two streets down, immediately getting some relief once she got down the side street stairs and entered the cool, shaded basement, folk laid out on cushions with low tables holding pipes and hookahs.


    The owner, Ty¡ªa Trader in an unseasonably thick sweater¡ªwas reclined in an old padded chair behind a counter just inside the door, idling through a broadsheet over a pair of dirty glasses.


    "Hello, Serene," he said without looking up. "How much?"


    "The usual."


    "You look pasty. Maybe you ought to stick around for a while, have a hit to get you regular before you go?"


    "Yeah. That might be best."


    Still without looking up, Ty rested the newspaper in his lap to free up a hand while he reached under the counter and tossed up a small paper packet. Serene smacked all the money she had brought into his upturned palm, and waited while he counted it out.


    "You''re a bit light," he observed disinterestedly.


    "Oh." Serene did not like the idea of having to go all the way back to the apartment for more¡ªnot one bit. "Well¡­"


    "Don''t sweat it. I''ll open a tab for you."


    Serene breathed a hard, shaky breath of relief out through her nose. "Okay. Thanks."


    Ratcatcher sat crouched on the counter at the very edge of her vision, eye glittering in the murk.


    Serene reached for the packet of opium powder, but fell short when Ty finally looked up and said: "Hold on. Didn''t you say you were friends with that Sam Darling who won the tournament the other day?"


    "Yeah," Sreene said, hand hovering. She couldn''t remember ever telling him that. "I mean, sort of. Why?"


    Ty folded his broadsheet and held up the page he was on, pointing. "Did you hear about this? Apparently she''s dead."


    "What," Serene replied flatly, hand dropping to her side; so caught off-guard that her mask shattered. The shards trickled down her front and vanished. "She''s dead?"


    Ty shrugged. "That''s what the paper says."


    Serene ripped the thing from him, read over the article he had indicated. The title read: ''BREAKING! BUTCHER OF DROWNPORT CLAIMS MORE VICTIMS¡ªNEW INFORMATION ON BRUTAL DARKSIDE SPREE!''


    "What the fuck¡­?" she whispered, then looked up at the Trader, shaking the newspaper at him. "Who is this person?"


    Ty removed his glasses and rubbed them on his sweater to clean them, only managing to smear the grease around a bit. "That''s what they''re calling the Misfortune these days. You know, Brimstone''s pet killer."


    "He killed her?"


    "Guess so. Apparently he had some sort of fit and started killing folk down at the pits right after that tournament ended. Must¡¯ve lost a lot of money or something. You were there, weren''t you? Don''t you know this stuff already?"


    "I did hear about some kind of commotion, but I didn''t look into it. I''ll be honest, the last few days have been a bit of a blur."


    "That''s putting it mildly," Ratcatcher said, chuckling.


    Ty held up his glasses, grimaced at the still-dirty lenses, but eventually shrugged and put them back on anyway. "Well, I guess he made off with your friend there, kidnapped her, and now word is he went and carved her up." He took the newspaper back and began leafing through it once more; one leg folded over the other, foot wiggling. "Now, I''m not the biggest fan of our great leader¡ªfar from it, in fact¡ªbut this Butcher guy makes Brimstone seem downright friendly by comparison. Someone ought to put that creep down. Don''t think the lord''s disavowed him as of yet, though, so we might be waiting on that a while."


    Serene stood in silence while she processed the information, trying and failing to reassert her illusory mask.


    She wasn''t sure why she cared to begin with. Sam Darling was a chance acquaintance, nothing more. She''d gotten soft lately. Way too soft. She couldn''t afford to care. Not about anything.


    But she''d already picked up enough ghosts, and she certainly didn''t need one more. It was crowded enough in her head already.


    "Tyler," Serene said, surprising herself with how calm she sounded, "tell me everything you know about the Butcher of Drownport."

 Chapter 80 - Please Come Back During Regular Business Hours

    Will


    After having to spend an obnoxious amount of time searching, Will finally tracked Nyx down to a large grain warehouse in Seaside. The main transport gates were locked with a heavy chain, but he quickly found an unlocked side entrance.


    He spotted the demoness immediately upon entering the open floor space, her back turned to him. She was overseeing two burly Builders who were beating some poor Trader up against a sprawling stack of crates, the victim whimpering and begging incoherently.


    "Hello, William," Nyx said without turning. Today, her outfit consisted of a trio of strategically placed fig leaves, the rest of her lithe, ashen-skinned body on full display.


    "Peace!" the Trader cried, holding out his hands, but nothing happened. Too emotionally compromised to cast skills. Pathetic. The man''s attempt at saving himself had the opposite effect, the two Builders lighting into him harder with annoyance at his presumption.


    Will sighed as he approached the demoness''s side. "You were expecting me." Not wanting the others in the room to overhear the conversation¡ªwhoever they were¡ªhe cranked his Light Touch passive and placed one finger against Nyx''s upper arm to include her in the effect.


    "Yes," Nyx said, giving a self-satisfied smirk at Will''s touch but making no effort to avoid it. "In truth, I''d expected you sooner. I''m a little offended that I wasn''t your first stop upon returning to the city."


    "I have better things to do than keep you company. That''s what you have Mongrel for, isn''t it?"


    Nyx glanced over at Will, her eyes aglow with an inner fire. "Very true. And how is Matthew? Healthy, I trust?"


    "Last I saw him, sure."


    "He didn''t come back with you, I take it."


    "No. He and Sam are going north to track down your old friend Buck."


    "Ah. Yes, I suppose you could do worse than him for the high chair, though he is dreadfully boring."


    "Are we talking about the same man?"


    "Being flamboyant does not inherently make one interesting, William."


    "Fair enough." Will nodded toward the merchant receiving a generous beating and his two very enthusiastic tormentors. "What am I looking at, exactly?" he asked.


    "Just a minor business dispute," Nyx said, giving a small wave of her fingers as though to dismiss the matter entirely. "Nothing you need to worry about, dear. Now, why don''t you tell mommy Nyx what''s the matter? Let me know what you need, and I''ll certainly see what I can do."


    Will''s lip twisted in a disgusted grimace, and it was only with some effort that he kept from yanking his finger back from the demon''s too-hot skin. "What makes you think I want anything from you?"


    Nyx laughed and gave the back of Will''s hand a soft pat. "I have no illusions about our relationship, William. I''m well aware that you would never seek me out just for the sparkling conversation."


    "Well, you''re not wrong."


    "I have Samantha''s champion purse in secure storage, if that''s what you''re concerned about. And your cut of Matthew''s winnings, as well."


    "Good."


    "If you come by my office tomorrow, I can have it ready for you."


    "That''s all right¡ªkeep it for the time being." Will paused, watching the two toughs ply their trade with mild disinterest. "Also, what do you mean by ''office''? Where is that supposed to be, exactly?"


    Nyx looked around her at the interior of the large, open building, her insufferable smirk widening. "Why, right here, of course. As soon as that good gentleman over there finishes signing a few silly little papers, that is."


    "Right." The Trader was looking pleadingly in Will''s direction, one eye nearly swollen shut and a trail of bloody drool extending from his bottom lip. Will, not particularly in the mood for heroics, ignored him. "Well, you''re right. I do need something."


    "Do tell," Nyx purred, cat eyes narrowing in smug satisfaction.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Will sighed. "Apparently, there''s a slave named Bill who works in the pits. A sanitation worker, or something like that. I would like you to buy his freedom. Apparently, Sam promised to set him free."


    "That should not prove any issue."


    "You can put some of the money you''ve set aside for me toward this. Just be sure not to overpay."


    "Oh, I never do, dear. Anything else?"


    "Pleeease!" the Trader wailed, shaking hands raised in pitiful defense. "I''ll sell! I''ll sign whatever you want! Just leave me be!"


    One of the Builders paused with his fist halfway to the man''s gut, holding him up by the back of his collar with his other hand. The second Builder turned back toward Nyx, brows raised in a silent question.


    Nyx motioned for them to continue with an impatient wave of her fingers.


    "It sounds like he''s had enough," Will noted.


    "He needs to be taught the consequences of denying one of my kind," Nyx replied without a shred of emotion in her voice.


    "He''s had enough," Will repeated, more firmly this time. "You''re just playing with your food at this point."


    The demoness shrugged and gave a small sigh, arms folded beneath her (almost) bare chest. "Oh, very well. Boys, take this one upstairs and have him sign the paperwork. After that, wait for me."


    The two Builders each gave a shallow bow, then took one arm each as they dragged the half-limp Trader across the warehouse, then up some stairs, the toes of his boots making a rhythmic thump, thump, thump as they hit off every stept.


    Once they were no longer in earshot of anyone, Will was quick to remove his one finger from Nyx''s arm, feeling like he needed a bath even though he had barely touched her.


    "What is it you''re trying to do here, exactly?" Will asked, not entirely sure that he really wanted to know.


    Nyx paced about the warehouse with the slow, graceful steps of a stalking panther, her bare feet never upsetting the thick layer of grain dust covering the floor. "Just some minor business dealings to keep me occupied until Matthew returns," she said. "I have a tendency to get bored¡ªit''s a flaw of mine. I keep busy to combat this." She spun to face Will and plopped down on top of a wooden crate, her legs thankfully crossed. "But you''re not here to talk about me, and I sense that you have something else on your mind."


    "Yes," Will said, crossing his arms as he regarded the demoness from the other end of the room, glad to have a little distance between them. "There''s also a woman I need to find. Her name is Serene, I believe. A friend of Sam''s."


    Nyx nodded sagely. "I know of her, yes."


    "Good. I''m supposed to check up on her and let her know that Sam is doing all right, but I''m not sure she can be trusted with that kind of information. Sam is dead as far as the public is concerned, and I would like to keep it that way for the time being."


    "I have a vested interest in the girl. If it''s all the same to you, I''ll tend to her myself. One less thing for you to worry about, busy man that you are."


    Will nodded. The fact that she was the one to suggest it made his hackles instantly rise, but in truth he was happy to dump the responsibility on her. Sam evidently had a bad habit of picking up liabilities, and he was not in any mood to figure out how to deal with them at the moment. He had enough on his mind.


    "Anything else I can do for you?" Nyx asked.


    "Do you know if Buck has any allies in the city? Folk who are likely to stand behind him if he makes a bid for the high chair? I imagine he might still have some friends in the pit fighting scene."


    "He does indeed. Hasan was very enamored with him."


    "I''m not on a first-name basis with every sleazeball in the city. Who''s Hasan, exactly?"


    "They call him Golden Boy these days."


    "Right. Yes, he might prove useful."


    "Would you like me to reach out to him for you?"


    "Please do."


    Nyx gave a self-satisfied grin. "Your wish is my command."


    "That''s all, then," Will said, and turned to leave. "Stay out of trouble, demon."


    "Oh, don''t worry on my account, dear," Nyx said with a sparkling laugh that echoed through the high-ceilinged warehouse. "I wouldn''t do anything Matthew would disapprove of."


    "Good." Not that that constrained her rules of engagement very much.


    Will was at the door when he had a thought, pausing as he reached for the handle. "Demons are shapeshifters, aren''t they?" he asked, turning back toward Nyx.


    "Of a sort," she replied, still sitting on her crate with her chin resting in her hand, a bemused smile playing on black lips. "Why?"


    "If I showed you a person, could you copy his appearance?"


    "Ah. I''m afraid not. The First Contract forbids us from impersonating humans. So unless you want me to assume the identity of another Fallen One, I can''t help you."


    "I see. That''s a shame."


    When he tried to leave a second time, it was Nyx who called out. "How would you like to make a deal, you and I?" she asked. "Off the books, no contract involved. Just an agreement between two gentlebeings."


    Will cocked an eyebrow at that. "What kind of deal?"


    "To help each other out." She hopped off the large box and came swaggering across the room, a dangerous glow in her fiery eyes. "After all, we both know what it''s like to work tirelessly on someone else''s behalf. And we both know how difficult it can be to nudge them along the right path." She stopped in front of him and extended one clawed hand, the other resting on her naked hip. "So why not join forces? I''ll help you with Samantha in whatever capacity I can, and you do the same for me and Matthew. I believe the human term is ''wingman''. Deal?"


    Will gazed long at her offered hand. "Off the books?" he asked.


    "Yes."


    "You don''t invoke the First Contract?"


    "No."


    "All right, then."


    He shook her hand.

 Chapter 81 - Warp World

    Will


    Exiting the warehouse, Will decided that he had better return to the farm. He needed to get the place liveable again, maybe round up some animals if there were still any that hadn''t been taken by the local wildlife.


    Folk were avoiding him even more than usual, pedestrians giving him a wide berth so that there was a bubble of empty road around him wherever he went, even in the busier streets. He reckoned there was probably one rumor or another going around that had people thinking he was a devil without the horns. It wouldn''t be the first time.


    At least it let him get around quicker.


    Will found his mind wandering, trying in vain to piece together some kind of plan for how to handle his newest rush order of contracts from Brimstone. The best thing would be to simply stall until Sam returned with Buck, but he was not nearly confident enough in the lord''s patience to put much faith in that idea.


    He probably could actually pull off the kills if he put some elbow grease into it, but that felt like a waste of time and effort and potential allies, while also taking on considerable risk in facing three lifers at a higher level than him.


    There had to be another way.


    Absorbed in thought, it took him a while to realize that he had gone the wrong way somehow, taking into a Topside side street going north when he had meant to cross the lower bridge going east. As he went to backtrack, he somehow ended up even more lost than before, the side street not leading out onto a main thoroughfare like it should have, but an even more narrow alley, littered with stinking refuse and empty of people.


    "What the hell¡­?" Will grumbled, pawing at his bad eye.


    He was looking around in a vain attempt to get his bearings, cursing himself for getting so distracted, when a back door flew open maybe twenty feet ahead. A woman lurched out into the street, tall and bloody-faced, staring him down with an expression grim enough to curdle milk.


    Will''s frown deepened as he studied her. "Sam¡­?" he asked, not quite believing what he was seeing. "What are you doing here?"


    "I''m not that easy to kill," Sam announced, fists clenching and unclenching. She settled into a low, tight guard, the walls pressing in too close around them to accommodate a wide stance.


    "What the fuck are you talking about? Sam, where is Mongrel? Who hurt you? Did something go wrong?"


    She ignored his questions, baring her teeth in a snarl as she came at him. "I''m going to give you exactly what you deserve, killer."


    Will couldn''t believe what he was seeing. In fact, he really didn''t. This couldn''t be right, it was¡ª


    Sam''s fist collided with his chin and he reeled back with the impact, hanging onto the walls on either side as he teetered on his heels. He worked his jaw, blinking away the confusion, and just barely had enough presence of mind to duck the hard jab that came his way.


    She was moving impossibly fast, almost a blur, and he''d only halfway brought up his elbow to parry when a hook caught him below the ribs and pitched him into the right-hand wall. It was all he could do to keep backing away, keep dodging. She ignored all his attempts to talk her down, cold fury writ large on her face.


    Recovering somewhat from his initial confusion, Will let his cheek roll around a jab and noticed that she only had five AP crystals on her hard-muscled forearm. From her peeled-back snarl, he could also tell that she was missing those ridiculous new teeth of hers.


    But most importantly, he had taken a hit from Sam before, and this felt nothing like it. Each hit brought a real impact, which had fooled him at first, but there was no pain to follow it. No true weight.


    Will had almost backed himself into a dead end that hadn''t been there before, but he forced himself to halt, stand his ground. He didn''t draw his weapon. Instead, he closed his eyes and whispered: "Detect [Life]."


    The glowing outline in his mind confirmed it. Someone was standing behind him, invisible to the naked eye but outlined clear as day by the extrasensory perception afforded by Detect. Arm raised. Hand posed just so, forefinger curled¡­


    Will threw up a hand over his shoulder, Repelled hard. The hidden arm flew up, and a deafening gunshot clap broke the turgid stillness of the alley. A person gasped. Will spun, drew his saber hilt up, and hit the attacker with the pommel all in one fluid motion.


    The person fell with a pained yelp, and Will opened his eyes just as the Illusion shattered around him, both the vision of Sam and an unreal sheen that lay over the alley itself, details of the surrounding buildings shifting, connecting paths shuffling into their correct places.


    A woman lay sprawled on the dirty ground, spent muzzle-loaded pistol lying next to her. The woman rolled on her side to spring for her weapon, and Will knocked it away with the toe of his boot before she got close, sending the pistol clattering away out of reach. He placed a foot against the side of the woman''s head, pressing her firmly into the filth.


    He fished up her left sleeve with the end of his sword to get a peek at her sheet. Level 7 Entertainer. She didn''t look familiar. A freelancer, maybe?


    "You probably know how this works already," Will said, keeping his sustained cast of Detect [Life] active to scan for additional threats. He only sensed tenants shuffling around inside the surrounding homes, startled by the gunshot. "Tell me who sent you, and I let you walk out of here with all your pieces still attached."


    "No one fucking sent me!" the woman snarled, trying to spit out the unmentionable effluvia trickling into the corner of her mouth.


    "Right. Of course not." He ground his boot heel deeper into her cheek. "You have loyalty for your employer¡ªI respect that. But you know, we have some empty cages up at the fort, and I am a pretty patient guy. So save yourself a finger or three or five, and tell me what I want to know."This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The woman struggled weakly, but she wasn''t getting up, and they both knew it. She tried to conjure another Illusion, but a firm stomp cured her of that notion. "No one sent me!" she hissed. "Someone had to stand up to you, freak!"


    "Oh, yeah? And why''s that?"


    "Because you killed a good person."


    "Fascinating. They got a name, this person of yours?"


    "Fuck you. I''m not telling you anything."


    "If they''re dead anyway, what''s the difference?"


    "Sam Darling. She''s the one you killed. Does she haunt your dreams, I wonder? Or are you enough of a monster that you feel nothing at all? You certainly look like one."


    Will blinked down at the dirty, scuffed-up woman on the ground, boot still pressed against her face. "Is your name Serene, by any chance?"


    "None of your business."


    "It is you, isn''t it?" He took his foot off, hauled the woman to her feet by her baggy shirt, caught her wrist when she tried to claw his face and twisted her arm around so her face was pressed against a splintery wood building. "You''ve got bad information," he said in a slow, calm tone. "Sam isn''t dead."


    "Bullshit!"


    "I was just talking about you, actually. Sam asked me to check in on you. Looks like you''re doing all right to me, present life choices notwithstanding."


    "Wait¡­" Serene suddenly went very still. She couldn''t look at him straight on with her face against the wall, but one bloodshot eye fixed him with an intense stare. "Are you¡­ that guy she was obsessed with?"


    "I hope so."


    She was silent for a few seconds. "Let me go," she said, pushing against him for emphasis.


    "If I do, will you try to kill me again?"


    "Not if you''re telling the truth."


    "All right, then."


    He took Serene out of the alley and over to The Lucky Lady, where he talked Joe Crag into lending him a private room without offering much explanation. Luckily he was a good sport about it.


    Will sat the woman down to check her over. Her clothes were filthy, but there wasn''t much he could do about that except give her a rag courtesy of Joe to wipe away the worst of it. The right side of her face would bruise rather badly, but there were no fractures that he could tell. There was a good deal of older damage already present, marring a face that would otherwise have been quite attractive.


    "Sorry about all that," Will murmured while he took a pair of forceps to the woman''s face, plucking out long splinters. She did not wince or make any noise in protest. "In my defense, you were going to blow my brains out."


    "I''ve had a lot worse for a lot less," Serene said; voice emotionless, eyes distant.


    "I''m surprised you showed such loyalty to Sam. From what she told me, it seemed like you only knew each other for a day or two."


    "Yeah, well." It sounded like she was going to continue into some kind of explanation, but instead she just fell quiet.


    "She has that kind of effect on you, doesn''t she?"


    "That how she reeled you in?"


    "Pretty much. That girl is offensively charming."


    "Yep."


    "Yep, yep."


    Will finished up with her and gave her a mild painkiller from his medicine bag. Aside from her superficial injuries, he noted that she was also sweating excessively, with dilated pupils and twitchy hands. "You''re an addict," he observed. "Opium? Or do you go in for the harder stuff?"


    Serene shrugged, picking at a few smaller hair-fine splinters that he had missed. "What''s it to you?"


    "Nothing. It''s a disgusting habit, that''s all."


    "If you say so."


    He sat back from her, settling into his chair and beginning the process of resetting his supplies into the medicine bag. "Your talent with Illusions is impressive, though. That skill only works on one sense at a time, so you must have woven at least three separate casts together to make your little projection of Sam. You might have gotten me with it if you''d chosen a better subject for your distraction."


    "Thanks, I guess." She was staring off into the wall, dead behind the eyes. An AP crystal on her arm popped and went dark. A shimmer alighted on her face, settling into a perfect mask of smooth, unblemished beauty framed by her mussed black hair.


    The mask was seamless. If he didn''t already know that it was an Illusion, he never would have guessed.


    "So, what now?" she asked. "Are you planning on letting me go?"


    "Not going to ask about Sam?" Will buckled his medicine bag shut, opened his Inventory, and stowed the compact satchel inside.


    "It''s not really any of my business. As long as she''s safe, it''s all good."


    "Your devotion to avenging a friend is admirable. Stupid, but admirable."


    "Don''t read too much into it. I''ve just realized that my life just isn''t worth very much to me, that''s all. Might as well throw it away on something ''admirable''."


    "You''re a prostitute, is that right?"


    "Yep."


    "Interested in a job?"


    Serene cocked a sculpted eyebrow at him. Fascinating. The expression, despite being a manufactured Illusion, was perfectly lifelike. "I don''t fuck my friends'' boyfriends. Go ask someone else."


    "Not like that. Something more in the admirable and/or stupid direction."


    "Meaning?"


    "I have just the job for you. You''d be helping Sam and the city in the process. Doing good."


    "That sounds like pro bono work. I''ll pass. No offense, but you''re really not as charismatic as your girlfriend."


    "I''ll pay you for your time."


    "My time''s not cheap."


    "Good thing I''ve got a lot of money, then."


    "Whatever. What do you want me to do, exactly?"


    "You''re going to help me and Sam kill Brimstone."


    "That sounds more stupid than admirable to me." She leaned back in her chair, gave a shaky sigh. "I find it hard to believe that Sam would sign off on murder."


    Will shrugged. "She''s not the one who''ll be doing the murdering. She understands that there is no way for this to end peacefully."


    "And for that matter, I also find it hard to believe that Sam would get with someone like you. Does she know what you do?"


    "As of recently, yes."


    "And she''s all right with that?"


    "No. But she understands."


    "Understands what?"


    "That I kill because I have to, not because I like it."


    Serene''s laughter dripped venom. "That''s a lie, and you know it."


    "Because?"


    She tapped at the corner of her eye. "That eye of yours. When you had me on the ground, right under your boot, that eye told me everything I needed to know."


    "Such as?"


    "You wanted me to fight back. Wanted the excuse."


    He already knew what she meant, but he asked anyway. "Excuse to do what?"


    "To get your hands red, killer."


    Will shook his head, chuckling.  "You''ve got a bit of a mouth on you."


    "Wouldn''t be much of a whore if I didn''t."


    "You want the job or not?"


    "Sure, what the hell? I''m feeling stupid enough."


    Will rose and kicked the chair back against the table none-too-gently. This conversation had taken a toll on his nerves. "Good. Come with me." He made for the door, pausing with a hand on the jamb. "My name is Will, by the way. Please don''t call me anything else."

 Chapter 82 - Gotta Stop Stopping

    Serene


    Will took her outside Sheerhome¡ªpretty much the only time she had left the city¡ªand led her down a narrow forest trail. Seeing so much nature and smelling something other than sweat and garbage might have been a nice change of pace if not for the fact that she spent every second wanting to throw up and shivering with fevers, sunlight needling her eyes. It had been almost a day and a half since she''d had a hit, and she was really starting to feel it now.


    Jumping at every unfamiliar sound, she was constantly gripping the knife Will had given her in a clammy fist. She''d heard the stories of what happened to people who ventured into the wilds. Of the things that lurked there.


    Will did not appear concerned. That didn''t make her feel any better. One-eyed bastard.


    "You two make a weird couple, killer," Serene observed. She didn''t have any real desire to make conversation with the Misfortune, but the shakes were starting to drive her crazy, and at this point she''d take any kind of distraction from obsessing over what might be hiding behind the nearest tree.


    "Me and Sam?" Will asked. Tall and shaggy-haired, face all hard planes and dark shadows, he cut an imposing figure. Especially with that long bright dragon fang of a blade hanging off his hip. "I was always drawn to her particular brand of crazy, and she was always drawn to lost causes."


    "''Always''? How''s that work, exactly? I thought she washed up recently."


    "She did. Not two weeks ago."


    "So you can''t have known each other that long, then." Serene frowned, rubbing at her sweat-slick brow. "Now that I''m thinking about it, she made it sound like you two knew each other before the Frontier. But that''s¡­"


    "Impossible?" Will gave her a nasty smile, hopping with easy grace over a rock in his path.


    "Yeah."


    "Actually, it was only difficult."


    "You brought her here?"


    "With Nyx''s help."


    "Jesus, man. That is fucked up. So if she didn''t actually get sentenced here, then¡­"


    Will''s smile widened into a predatory showing of teeth. "As far as I know, she''s the only person on the Frontier who doesn''t actually deserve to be here." He stopped on the path, one hand on the hilt of his saber, and cut her with that searching, one-eyed gaze of his. "Let me guess. You thought she was too good to be true."


    "Something like that." Serene''s step faltered, her grip on the knife tightening. Something about his stare triggered her fight-or-flight, like he was one sudden movement away from cutting her head off. If even a fraction of what she had heard about the man was true, maybe that wasn''t so far off the mark.


    "Well, she''s not. She''s just as good as she seems¡ªmaybe more. Even on Earth, she''s a rare individual. On the Frontier, she''s unheard of. If there''s a person alive who can save this place, it''s her. It''s my job to make sure she gets whatever she needs to make it happen. It''s my job to ''get my hands red'', as you so tactfully put it earlier, so that hers can stay clean."


    Standing still was making Serene realize just how unsteady her legs were, and she caught herself a tree trunk to stay upright, knees wanting to buckle under her. "You''re kind of a bastard, you know that?" she said. "You, what? Had Nyx take her out of her perfectly normal life on Earth and put her here? What''s wrong with you?"


    "Pretty much, and a lot," Will replied. "Judge me all you like. That''s what I''m here for." He turned and kept walking without waiting for her.


    Despite her feelings about the man, she was fairly confident that she would die out here if she lost track of him, so before he could slip out of sight she staggered after him, managed to catch up.


    "What have you done to her now?" Serene asked. "Where is Sam?"


    "I thought it wasn''t any of your business," Will replied with a wry chuckle.


    "That was before I realized how much of a psycho you are. Now I''m worried."


    "She''s going north with Mongrel. You''ve met him, I take it?"


    Serene snorted. "Unfortunately I''ve had that dubious pleasure, yes. Knowing he''s along for the ride doesn''t exactly fill me with confidence. What could possibly possess you to send her into the interior?"


    "I need her to find Big Deal Buck and bring him to Sheerhome. I''m planning to have him get rid of Brimstone for us, so we can put him on the high chair."


    "Hmm. I suppose you could do slightly worse than him."


    "Know him?"


    "I''ve fucked him a couple times. He''s a sweetheart."


    "With women, maybe," Will muttered, shaking his head.


    "People love the guy, but you know he''ll make a really shitty leader, right? He''s got the attention span of a hamster and the libido of a bunny."


    "I''m aware. I''ve factored it into my plan."


    "Meaning?"


    "He''ll make a perfectly serviceable ruler if he''s got good advisors to guide him."


    "Let me guess¡ªyou include yourself in that list?"


    Will gave a limp shrug. "I guess we''ll see once his butt is in the chair."


    A long stretch later, the trees abruptly ended as they entered out into a large clearing occupied by a smattering of farm buildings. Serene had never heard of anyone making a home in the middle of nowhere like this, at least not in the Bad Times, but Will had evidently lived here for some time. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "This place is a bit of a mess," Serene noted as they entered the main farmhouse, finding bloody handprints on the walls and possessions strewn everywhere. "You get broken into or something?"


    "Or something," Will replied.


    He brought her into a kitchen that might have been quaint if not for the copious amount of blood soaked into the floorboards, making each step sticky and gross.


    "Sam''s blood," Will said before she had time to ask, as he directed her to sit down on a couch. "She suffered a brain hemorrhage after the tournament. Surgical intervention became necessary."


    "Why''d you let her fight in the tournament in the first place?"


    "I didn''t. That was Mongrel''s idea. I wasn''t around to stop him, though, and that''s on me."


    When Serene didn''t move fast enough, Will took her by the arm and shoved her into the seat none-too-gently. "Wait here," he said, already walking out of the room. "I''ll be back in a moment."


    "Where are you going?" Serene asked.


    "Just fetching some supplies. Don''t move."


    "Don''t worry. I''ll be here." Serene tried on a chuckle, but it mostly came out as a queasy groan. Her legs throbbed in rhythm with the pounding of her skull¡ªshe wasn''t sure she''d be able to stand up if she wanted to.


    He went and got a pail of water and a rag so that she could clean off the worst of the filth, as well as a change of clothes, then left again. He was gone a while that time, which gave her enough time to slowly and laboriously struggle into the new clothes. She thought they smelled like Sam.


    As she looked around the place, she saw one of the cabinet doors hang ajar, the glint of bottles inside. Maybe she could stand after all¡­


    Then Will suddenly returned, breaking her out of her thoughts. He placed down a small vial on the dining table with a sharp click, then slid a folded-up note next to it.


    "Choose one," the Misfortune said in a cold, stern tone.


    Serene already knew what the clear vial contained, eyeing the chunks of amber residue, but she asked anyway. "What''s that?"


    "Opium," Will replied. "Very pure. Very potent. I use it on rare occasions for pain relief. You''ll likely never experience better in your life."


    Serene swallowed hard. How could her throat be so dry when the rest of her was soaked in sweat? "And the note?"


    "Read it."


    Reluctantly, Serene picked up the scrap of paper and scanned over the neat writing inside.


    I, ______, hereby vow that I shall never imbibe an intoxicant for recreational use for as long as I live.


    In return, I ask that my ''Illusion'' skill be granted the power to affect all five senses with each single cast.


    And so our accord is made.


    "What is this?" Serene asked.


    "A divine vow," Will replied. "An exchange with our late goddess. Adhere to the first clause, and you gain the benefits of the second."


    "Right¡­"


    "Like I mentioned earlier, your prowess with Illusions is significant."


    "Well, I have four ranks in it, so I''d certainly hope so."


    "Those will help with the scope and duration of your casts, but you have a rare talent at creating lifelike Illusions. You don''t even have access to the Ideality attribute, which makes it even more impressive. Augmented by a divine vow, it will serve as a basis for a solid build. One that could prove very useful for the city and its people¡ªone that will take you beyond the need to sell your flesh for petty cash, at a bare minimum."


    "When it says I''ll never ''imbibe an intoxicant for recreational use''," she said, making air quotes, "does that mean what I think it means?"


    "Yes it does. Hence the choice." Will spread his arms, motioning to the two items. "If you choose the opium, I will send you on your way with the rest of my stash and enough money to have made it worth your time coming all the way out here. Let''s say¡­ a thousand glories. Not a bad turnout for half a day''s work, wouldn''t you say?"


    Serene couldn''t take her eyes off the little glass bottle, the resin within. So much of it¡­ Her stomach was vibrating with unease, cramping hard, and her entire body was getting itchy like she was covered in bug bites.


    "If I take it¡­" Serene cleared her throat, voice gone croaky. "Even if I take it, I''ll never make it back to the city."


    "I''ll escort you, of course."


    "Bullshit. You''ve told me too much." She tore her eyes off the beautiful sight of the deep, rich, sun-colored residue with some effort, meeting Will''s inscrutable gaze. "I''ve known people like you all my life, killer. With what I know now, there''s no way you''d just let me walk."


    "You have a very low opinion of me, Serene." His dark eye carved into her with the precision of surgical steel, the other stitched-shut and sagging grotesquely. "Are you saying I''d kill you?"


    Serene held his stare for as long as she could, refusing to back down, but eventually found her gaze sliding off to the side anyway. "I''m saying there''s a good chance I''d end up in some kind of ''accident'' or take a sudden ''trip'' to the next octant over, never to be heard from again. Are you really going to deny it?"


    "I wouldn''t do that," Will said. For some reason, the softness in his voice put her even more on edge, raising the hairs on her arms. "You''re Sam''s friend." He stood back from the table with a sigh, folding his arms behind his back. "But you''re right. I can''t let you walk away. I''d need to confine you here until Brimstone has been taken care of."


    "As a prisoner?"


    He pursed his lips in a sort of noncommittal almost-shrug. "Pretty much."


    "What would Sam think of that?"


    "I imagine she''d take issue with it." He smiled. "She''d forgive me, though. She''s nice like that." He bent forward and slid the opium vial closer toward her. "I was telling the truth about this, though. It would be easier to keep you prisoner if you''re doped up. I''d give you as much as you like."


    Serene considered her options. In truth, she was trying to consider anything other than that beautiful, perfect little bottle, shining so splendidly. Just from the look of it, she knew it was as pure as Will claimed. She already knew the feeling it would give her. The best feeling in the world¡ªnothing at all. Total oblivion.


    "Take it," Will coaxed, sliding the bottle another inch. "Go on. It''s all right." His one eye never left her face, never blinked.


    Ratcatcher stepped out from behind him, half his face a ruin, the other half grinning madly. "Take it," he said.


    "Take it," Will repeated.


    "Take it," Ratcatcher echoed.


    "Take it."


    "Take it."


    "Take it."


    Ratcatcher crept up to her until he was barely an inch from the side of her face, whispering into her ear. "Take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it take it¡ª"


    Serene picked up the note. It felt like a lead weight in her hand. "What do I do with this?" she asked.


    Will smiled, and pocketed the vial. Its sudden absence was a great blow to her already fragile sanity. "Just say the words, adding your actual legal name where prompted. I assume it''s not really Serene?"


    Serene made her choice then, knowing she''d regret it. She rushed through it while the better part of her still had some sway, not giving herself a second to back out. "I, Catherine Hall, hereby vow that I shall never imbibe an intoxicant for recreational use for as long as I live. In return, I ask that my ''Illusion'' skill be granted the power to affect all five senses with each single cast.


    "And so our accord is made."


    For a while, nothing happened. Then, when Serene was just about to ask if she had done it right, her vision was flooded with a flash of light, imprinting words on the backs of her eyeballs.


    [Divine vow accepted.]


    Blinking the unpleasant light away, Serene sank back into the couch and hugged herself tight. She wanted to throw up.


    Oh, what have I done¡­?

 Chapter 83 - Gotta Stop Stopping [2]

    Serene


    She felt a rush of pride the moment she made her vow. And the very next moment, a great pit of despair opened before her, and she was overcome with a dizzying spell of existential vertigo.


    "What happens now?" she asked.


    Will regarded her with the same stone-faced expression he seemed to keep at all times. "Now you wait until the drugs are flushed from your system," he said, "and until you''ve weaned your body off its dependency to whatever substances you''ve been filling it with."


    "I know that!" Serene hissed, sliding until she lay bonelessly draped over the armrest of the kitchen couch. "I mean, how are we going to do it?"


    "We?" Will asked. "It''s not a very complicated procedure, and I''ve got a lot of things to do. I''ll check in on you every now and then, but for the most part you''ll need to tend to your own needs. There should be food in the house, and I''ll make sure to bring in fresh water on a regular basis."


    "What? You''re just going to leave me here?"


    "I don''t know what you expect me to do, Catherine."


    "Don''t call me that!"


    "Then stop calling me ''killer''."


    "You are one."


    "So are you."


    "Shut up!"


    "What?" Will asked. "I didn''t say anything."


    Serene glanced around, found Ratcatcher crouched by her side, grinning evilly. "You''re a killer, babe," he repeated at a low, sultry whisper.


    "You seem to be a little delirious," Will noted. "Try to get some sleep."


    "Fuck you."


    "No thanks."


    "At least¡­ lock me away somewhere. Somewhere with no temptations."


    Will shrugged. "Don''t think that''s a good idea. Only place on the farm sturdy enough to hold a person against their will is the root cellar. Gets awful cold down there, and it''s dark, and it smells. I wasn''t really looking forward to throwing you in there if you''d decided to be difficult. Not the best place to be going cold turkey.


    "Besides, you need to be able to get through this on your own, with your own strength."


    "Why?" Serene asked, whimpering at the building pressure behind her eyes.


    "Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?" Ratcatcher repeated in a mockingly shrill voice.


    "Because I said so," Will said in a way that made it sound final.


    "You''re¡­ such a dick."


    "Noted. By the way, I feel I need to make it clear that you should not, for any reason, break the vow you just made." Will drummed his fingers casually along the edge of the tabletop. "The Concord punishes oathbreakers pretty harshly. Like, ''fate worse than death'', Old Testament kind of harsh."


    "Great. Really glad you told me that now."


    "I assumed the gravity of it was implied with a name like ''divine vow''."


    Serene let out a frustrated sigh that turned into a pained groan halfway through.


    "Well, I''ll let you get some rest," Will said, and stood up to leave.


    "Wait!" Serene cried. "I''m sorry! Please don''t go! I don''t want to be alone!"


    The spirits always came out when she was alone.


    Serene''s heavy lids fell shut for just a second, and when she pried them open again, the Misfortune was gone, having disappeared without a trace.


    "Killer," Ratcatcher whispered.


    "Killer!" Serene''s mother accused.


    "Killerrr!" sang that one neighbor''s cat, dancing on the table.


    Serene covered her face with her corpse-chill hands and wept.


    * * *


    Time became a vague, immaterial concept.


    Serene suffered, and wept, and endured an unending torrent of vitriol from a hundred different voices. At some point Will returned with a bucket of water and instructed her to drink. She tried to trap him into staying with conversation, but the moment she looked away he was gone again.


    The bottles glinted, glinted, glinted from the cupboards like eyes in the dark. Why hadn''t he taken them away? How could he be so cruel?


    Then she found herself scrambling up on stiff legs, staggering over to the other end of the room, throwing the cabinet doors wide to dig out the bottles inside. She uncorked one, smelled the contents. Whiskey. She picked up another. Brandy. Another. Some kind of liqueur. She sat back down with a whole clinking armful, the only thing on her mind to bring one of those bottles to her lips and swallow salvation.


    Just a mouthful.


    Just a drop.


    Anything.


    Even though she knew the price, the pull was so strong. Maybe Will had lied? Maybe he was trying to mess with her. She wouldn''t put it past him, the dickhead. Why not have a drink just to spite him?


    "Yes, there we go," Ratcatcher chuckled, clambering onto the table with the jerky, too-quick movements of a spider. "Have a drink. Just one. The last one, right? Just to get you straight. Then you can stop forever."


    "Shut up," Serene groaned, rocking back and forth, clutching the bottles protectively. "You''re not real. Go away."


    "I''m as real as you are, babe." He crept closer until he was almost on top of her, trailing ruined intestines from his blasted-open gut. "Face it¡ªthere''s not a person under that pretty mask you wear, no matter how much you pretend there is. You spent your whole life pretending. Then you came here and started right back up again." He laughed a bitter laugh. "That must be why you''re so good at it."


    Serene curled into a ball on the couch, still holding onto the bottles, and squeezed her eyes shut. She said prayers to a goddess she didn''t believe in, repeating them over and over just to try and drown out the voice.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    It didn''t work.


    She must have dozed off at some point, because when she opened her eyes again, it was dark in the room apart from a low cook fire and a single candle guttering on the table. Will sat on a chair a few feet away, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles as he pared an apple into wedges with a sharp knife. Arranging the wedges on a ceramic plate, he steered it slightly toward her.


    "Eat," he said.


    "Not hungry," Serene whispered. Her arms were empty, she realized. Where were the bottles? Had she drunk it all? No, she shouldn''t have. She still felt all empty and cold.


    "You need to eat," Will repeated, wiping the juice off his knife with a handkerchief. "You haven''t been drinking enough, either."


    "What do you care?"


    "I don''t. You still need to eat, though."


    Realizing that he wasn''t going to go away until she did what he wanted, she made a sound halfway between a snarl and a whimper. It took three attempts before she managed to sit upright, propped with her elbows on the table and a shaky hand holding sweaty hair out of her face.


    Her stomach gurgled uncomfortably at the sight of the apple wedges. They looked fresh enough, but at that moment there were few things she''d rather do less than eat them. Even the faint, normally pleasant fructose smell made bile rise in her throat.


    "Go on," Will said, his voice sounding strangely like Ratcatcher''s.


    Serene reluctantly picked up one of the wedges with two fingers. The moment she touched it, the bright yellow pulp began to shrivel and darken, curling in on itself like a dead grub until she was holding a brown, leathery husk.


    She let go of it with a disgusted yelp, and it vanished from her hand. She looked down and found that the rest of the apple was gone, too, and the plate besides.


    "What''s going¡­" Looking up, she found that there was only an empty chair where Will had been sitting. "...on?"


    * * *


    Will


    Only three of the goats had survived¡ªEmmie, Wilma, and Esmerelda. He rounded them up and herded them back toward the farm by intermittently Pulsing in the opposite direction of where he wanted them to go. The sensory spike it produced was enough to trigger the animals'' fight or flight, making them run roughly wherever he liked. A bit of finagling and two dead grinners later, he had them back in the stables where they''d be safe enough for the time being. Some careless guest had broken the latch, but he circumvented that by tying the door shut with some steel wire.


    All of the chickens had either been killed or strayed far enough that Will could not locate them, and he found the feather-strewn corpse of the rooster in the crook of an old tree, gnawed to the bone by various scavengers.


    There wasn''t much he could do for the farm without Mongrel¡ªor rather, his chimps¡ªthere to do their Farmer-Builder thing. As such, he spent most of the day taking inventory of what was still present and what was lost or broken, as well as harvesting some of the herbs from his garden that would soon spoil otherwise, then preparing them for long-term storage until he had the time to make something out of them.


    He gave the workshop a once-over as well, but it appeared that no one had been quite brave enough to touch his alchemical goods, all his finished product present and accounted for.


    It was late afternoon by the time he was done with that, sun gone low. He had a smoke on the porch, enjoying a few minutes of silent contemplation before going inside to check up on his newest charge.


    Entering the farmhouse, things immediately seemed¡­ not quite right. He couldn''t quite put his finger on it, but the feeling didn''t go away. Trusting his instincts, he had Anathema drawn as he paced through the hall, but a pulse of Detect [Life] showed him nothing untoward¡ªjust Serene in the kitchen, pretty much in the same spot he''d left her.


    As he went into the room to inspect her condition, he immediately figured out what he''d been picking up on. The house was too dark, like all the light had been sucked out of it. There was a starry sky showing through the window, along with an impossible view of some barren desert cast in deep blue by weak moonlight.


    A fire burned on the hearth that Will did not remember lighting, and there was a candle on the table whose brass holder did not match any he owned.


    Serene lay in a tight ball, arms wrapped around her like a child, and there were overturned glass bottles strewn on the floor below her. Unopened, he noted. Good for her.


    "How are you holding up?" he asked, sheathing his sword as he approached. The spirits in the blade gave a disappointed murmur, his fingers sticking to the handle, and he had to forcefully pry them free.


    Serene''s eyes slowly opened, and her entire appearance rapidly shifted in the span of a few moments. She was clad in a dress, then trousers and a tunic, then a skirt and a blouse, then just an undershirt, and finally a dress again. Her face morphed, melted, reformed again. Went from beautiful to grotesque and back again.


    "Just go away," she breathed, desperation in her voice. "I''m tired."


    "I''m here to check on you."


    "You''re not real."


    "I feel pretty real."


    "Don''t worry about her," said a voice in his ear, "she''s just sulking right now."


    Spinning, Will had his sword halfway clear of the scabbard before he realized what he was looking at. A man with a good chunk of his head blown out, intestines spilling out of him and trailing around his ankles. A man with no business walking around. There was a brief moment of confusion, then Will understood, rammed the saber home again.


    "Who is this, then?" he asked. "A friend of yours?"


    "Like you don''t know," Serene muttered, burying her head in her arms.


    "I actually don''t. I''m not one of your Illusions, just so we''re clear."


    "What a coincidence! Neither am I!" said the dead man, throwing an arm over Will''s shoulder. It felt just like he had a real person touching him, down to the bloody mess he transferred from his ruined jaw onto Will''s cheek as he rubbed up uncomfortably close.


    "You don''t seem to have very good control over them at the moment," Will noted. "Though, I suppose you can be forgiven for that, circumstances being what they are."


    Her skills really were very impressive. He could certainly use her¡ªif she survived her detox, in any case.


    "Shut up," Serene said.


    "She''s really not very polite, is she?" the dead man observed with a light chuckle. "She gets like this when she can''t pump herself full of junkie filth every five minutes."


    Another man stepped out of thin air on Will''s right¡ªan older gentleman with a thinning pate. "Disgusting whore," he spat.


    "She killed me, you know," said a woman walking in circles on the ceiling, defying gravity.


    "She''s not even worthy of breathing the same air as me," Sam said; leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed. She directed her gaze from Serene to Will. "Now that I think about it, neither are you."


    Will''s patience for this charade had all run out. "Cancel," he barked, and with a snap of his fingers the Illusory coating that covered the whole room shattered like glass, leaving the kitchen as it should be. An orange sunset fell in through the windows, the hearth was cold, and the table stood empty, no candle on it. Most importantly, there were no longer any pretend people occupying the space.


    Serene lay on the couch in her scuffed trousers and sweat-soaked shirt, peeking up at him through her raised forearms. "Are you actually there?" she asked, voice tiny and scared.


    "I am," Will said simply. He went and fetched the young woman a large mug of water from the bucket he had brought in, crouched beside her to let her drink. She gulped it down like a woman possessed, and he had to refill it twice before she was satisfied.


    Then he tied on his apron and went to cook them dinner using what unspoiled supplies were left in the house¡ªa light soup made with potato and herbs and potted chicken all boiled until very soft so it would be easy to digest for Serene''s compromised system.


    "You left," she said while he worked over a pot on the stove, accusation in her voice.


    "My life doesn''t revolve around you," Will replied simply. "I told you I had things to do."


    "Are you going to leave again?"


    Will sighed. "That seems to be what I do best. But no. I''ll be staying in for the night."


    "Okay."


    He finished the soup, Prepared it, and plated the table for two. Serene worked her way through a bowl with ravenous haste, threw up, then ate more carefully on her second try, managing to keep it down this time.


    Once she was done eating, he forced some more water down her, then got her ready for sleep. He brought her to the room that had originally been meant for Sam, before she''d insisted on sharing his. Another Illusion began spontaneously manifesting as he was bundling her into bed, forcing him to Cancel it again.


    He left a candle burning for her on the nightstand, instructing her to blow it out when she felt she was about to fall asleep, and turned to leave.


    "Wait!" she called after him.


    Reluctantly, he looked over his shoulder and found the sweat-soaked, bruised woman looking up at him from her blankets with pleading eyes. "Sam told me stories to help me sleep."


    "That''s very nice of her," Will muttered. "But as you''ve already quite correctly pointed out, I''m a bit of a bastard. I''m not a babysitter."


    "Please."


    "I thought you hated me."


    "You''re better than them." Her eyes darted wildly about the shadows dancing on the walls, as though expecting them to come alive at any moment.


    Will sighed, and pulled a three-legged stool from the corner of the room over to the bedside, taking a seat. "Fine. What do you want me to talk about, exactly?"


    "Tell me about Sam."


    "What about her?"


    "Something nice."


    "Something nice it is, then."

 Chapter 84 - Secret Spy Stuff

    Sam


    They set out from the rest stop at dawn, continuing along the Iron Road. Things started out smooth, but as the morning progressed they began to encounter a lot of soldiers coming the opposite way in a steady trickle of mounted squads and armored supply trains. Pedestrians like Sam''s group had to vacate the road entirely to give the soldiers space, walking on either side of the path. Merchant wagons, on the other hand, squeezed themselves onto the edge of the path, occasionally stopping until the militiamen had passed by so they could continue on their way.


    Sam was immediately on high alert every time she saw a glimpse of that black-and-red livery, the brim of her straw hat pulled low to conceal her face as much as possible. Fortunately, the soldiers did not appear particularly interested in her group, mostly passing by without more than a barked-out ''Make way!'' in their general direction.


    At least with all those armed men choking up the road, they didn''t have to worry about monsters or bandits that day. Stopping only briefly for a midday meal, they arrived at Timbryhall by early evening, a good while before night curfew.


    Just like Greensby, the settlement was ringed by a palisade. This one was taller, however, built from great big logs. It had watchtowers overlooking the area¡ªbare earth for hundreds of yards around that had been cleared of all forestation¡ªwith manned ballistae ready to put javelins through anything with ill intent. The impaled corpses of twisted creatures that littered the earth¡ªall fresh, as far as Sam could tell¡ªtold her that the ballista operators did not go idle.


    As suggested by the exterior, it immediately became clear once they entered Timbryhall that it was far larger than Greensby¡ªa good-sized city compared to a wayside town. Even as it was winding down for the evening, the crush of people along the dirty main road was almost as suffocating as Sheerhome''s anthill foot traffic.


    "What now?" Sam asked as they came out into a square, one hand holding Apples'' and the other hanging onto Zero''s stirrup to make sure they didn''t lose each other in the bustle. She eyed the signboards of the streetside inns with great suspicion. "Should we find somewhere to sleep?"


    "Not yet," Mongrel replied, thumbs hooked through his belt, shoulders curled in his usual slouch. "Will said we should see about some friend of his, remember?"


    "True. Vivi, was that her name?"


    "Yeah."


    "How do we find her, then?"


    "Fuck if I know. I''ve never been to this shithole, and I sure don''t know any ''Vivi''."


    "Riiight." Sam glanced over at Apples, but only got a furtive shake of the head from the young Farmer girl. "So what do we do?"


    "Don''t worry, kid. I''ve got my ear to the ground wherever I go. Just leave this one to Uncle Matt."


    When he put it like that it definitely made her worry, but seeing as she didn''t have a better idea herself, she let him go ahead with whatever he wanted to do. Leaving her and Apples outside with the mule, he took some money and went into the nearest dive tavern. What felt like at least an hour passed with no word. Bored of waiting, Sam bought some meat pies from a food place to share with Apples. The other girl only ate one¡ªshe must not have been very hungry¡ªwhile Sam helped herself to the other three.


    She was beginning to think that Mongrel had gone and gotten himself stabbed in there when the old man finally emerged from the creaking doors of the tavern, just as a bell tower was ringing a sonorous clangor for curfew. It was nearly full dark, and the streets were nearly abandoned by this point. Lamplighters were moving about to fire up the street lanterns so the guards had some light to go by during their patrols.


    "Took you long enough," Sam muttered, standing up from the old water barrel she had been using as a stool and working the stiffness out of her legs.


    "Can''t rush genius, kid," Mongrel said with his crooked grin as he approached at a lazy swagger, thumbs hooked through his belt.


    "Did you at least figure out where we''re headed?"


    "''Course I did."


    Sam could smell sour beer on his breath once he got close. "Did it actually take that long, or did you stick around just for the kicks?"


    Mongrel''s face instantly became the very picture of innocence. "Well, it would have been suspicious if I''d left straight away, wouldn''t it? Had to make it natural, you know."


    "Uh-huh. That''s the last time you go on an errand unchaperoned, old man."


    "That''s unfair!" Mongrel directed an outraged pout at Apples. "New girl, tell her she''s being unfair!"


    "I think she''s¡­ being pretty reasonable, actually," the girl stammered out, glancing nervously at shadowed alleys and street corners.


    Mongrel gave a loud harrumph. "Women!"


    Sam sighed. "Enough whining, Mongrel. Just take us to Vivi''s place, please. If we can''t shack up with her, we''ll be in a hurry to find an inn before they close their doors for the night."


    "Only if you ask nicely."


    "Please, Mongrel."


    "That''s better."


    Mongrel turned on his heel in nearly a full circle before finding the direction he''d been looking for and marching off that way. Sam rolled her eyes dramatically as she followed behind, and Apples let out a quiet giggle into her hand.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Mongrel took them to the less densely tenanted north side of town. After a bit of walking in circles and asking directions from nonplussed guards, they eventually found their way to a large, detached townhouse with three stories. It even had a little garden out front, the property protected by a wrought-iron fence. Whoever this Vivi person was, she clearly did quite well for herself.


    Sam was working up a cold weight of anxiety in her gut as they approached the gates, bars artfully crafted into leaves and climbing vines. A ''contact'', Will had called her. But what if they were actually closer than that? What if she was beautiful? Vivi was a rather pretty name, after all¡­ And now, to find out that she was rich!


    Sam did not like the idea of having competition. Not one bit.


    Mongrel tried the gate and found it swung right open. There was light shining out of the stained-glass windows set into the front of the house, so they walked along the path of white flagstones and up the three steps to the porch, Zero left wandering about the garden and sampling the bushes.


    Mongrel knocked. Sam waited, wringing her hands, biting her lip so hard her sharp canine punctured skin, left her sucking at the bloody needle-prick.


    The door swung open with a warm creaking of hinges, and there stood a homely, heavy-set woman in her late middle years, wearing a rich red dressing gown and with her gray-brown hair drawn up in a loose bun. She had her hands in the pockets of her robe, and peered out at them with small, hawkish eyes through a pair of round spectacles.


    Sam felt an immense wash of relief. Oh, thank goodness. She was well out of Will''s age range. Unless he preferred older women? Oh dear¡­ But no, that didn''t sound like him at all. She was probably safe.


    "Ah, it''s you," said the woman, taking a step back from the door to permit them entrance, soft slippers swishing on worn-smooth hardwood.


    "Are you Vivi?" Sam asked, removing her hat to be polite.


    "I am," the woman replied with a thin but genuine smile. "Forgive me for the impoliteness, but would you mind giving me the password? Troubling times, these¡ªbetter to be safe than sorry."


    "Uhhh¡­" Sam glanced at Mongrel, who gave a shrug of indifference. "I don''t think we have a password? But Will told us to find you, is that enough?"


    Vivi sighed, taking one hand out of its pocket to rub at a brow just beginning to crease with age. "That boy is a mystery to me. Astonishingly clever at times, but he''d lose his own feet if they weren''t attached to him. Of course he didn''t give you the password."


    "Sorry," Sam said, running a hand sheepishly through her hair, which turned to nervously pressing on the soft spot of her skull.


    Vivi clicked her tongue. "Not your fault, dear. Although, without a password, I''ll have to insist on Identifying you to confirm that you are who you claim to be. Any objections?" She spoke with the stern, no-nonsense tone of a school teacher used to dealing with unruly children.


    "No objections here," Sam said quickly.


    "Whatever you need, darling," Mongrel said with his sleaziest grin. "You can give me a pat-down too, if you''d like."


    Vivi pointedly ignored the comment, her attention still on Sam. "Very well. Go ahead and lower your mental defenses for me, dear."


    Sam hadn''t been maintaining any mental defenses in the first place, so there was nothing to lower, but she didn''t want to seem stupid, so she held her temples and made a low grunt of effort as she pretended to¡­ un-shield herself, or something.


    "Identify [Three]," Vivi said, and spent a few moments looking at each member of the group in turn, studying them intently. Sam squirmed uncomfortably under the older woman''s firm gaze. She felt like she''d been called to the principal for getting in a fight, the authority figure in the process of deciding how much blame to assign each party involved.


    "Samantha Darling and Matthew Caldwell," Vivi said, nodding with a satisfied click of her tongue. "All appears to be in order. Will told me to expect you."


    "Great!" Sam said, smiling with relief. "Then, would it be all right if we come inside? Also, you can just call me Sam."


    Vivi held up a chubby finger. "Not so fast, Sam. I was told to expect two visitors. Who exactly are you, Molly Carlsen?"


    "Um¡­" Apples stammered, trying to make herself small behind Sam and Mongrel.


    Vivi curled her still-raised finger, calling the plump young woman forward. "Now is not the time to be coy, dear. My profession necessitates a certain level of discretion. If you can''t satisfy my curiosity, I''m afraid I can''t allow you inside."


    Apples crept forward, cheeks flushing hard in the light that spilled through the open doorway, and struggled to form words¡ªwithout much luck, except for a few strangled noises.


    "We met her yesterday," Sam supplied, putting an arm around the girl to calm her down. "She goes by Apples. She was a serving girl in Greensby, but she was unhappy there, so we agreed to take her along with us until she finds a better place to live somewhere along the Iron Road."


    Vivi''s brow wrinkled into a frown that only deepened with each word coming out of Sam''s mouth. "Is that supposed to be a joke?" she asked.


    "Uh, no."


    "Do you really work with Will? This doesn''t seem like the type of thing he would sign off on at all."


    "I don''t always listen to him."


    "Clearly." Vivi sighed, making a vaguely dejected gesture with her hand. "Well, do you trust this random woman you met yesterday enough to let her in on the details of a plan that will likely decide the fate of an entire octant?"


    "Yes."


    "Y-You do?" Apples asked.


    Sam nodded seriously, and squeezed the girl tighter.


    Vivi gave a small, incredulous laugh. "Goodness gracious, what has that boy brought to my doorstep? Ah, what the hell, in you come. I suppose I won''t be needing this." She took her remaining hand out of the gown''s pocket, withdrawing a slender six-shooter revolver in the process. She made a show of uncocking the hammer with a sharp click, then set it aside on a small table.


    Sam and Apples stepped over the threshold, but Vivi held Mongrel back by poking an accusatory finger into his chest. "Mr. Caldwell, I''m afraid you''ll need to find separate accommodations for your horse. I don''t want it chewing up my garden."


    "Aw, c''mon," Mongrel whined, making a broad gesture at Zero who was busy grazing with a supreme lack of concern for the human business going on around her. "She''s harmless, look at her!"


    "How about this, Mr. Caldwell?"


    "Please, call me Matt."


    "Matt, how about this? Either you stay here, or your horse does. If you want to be a gentleman and give up your spot for her, that''s fine by me."


    "I''ll go find a stables," Mongrel muttered darkly, kicking his feet as he stormed down the steps and snatched up Zero''s reins. He hurried off the property, the clop-clop of hooves on stone receding down a darkened street until no sign of the old man remained.


    "Is he always that charming?" Vivi asked dully, arms crossed as she peered off into the dark.


    "I think he was better than usual, actually," Sam said. "He tends to be on his best behavior around beautiful women."


    "Ha!" Vivi strode off inside, and Sam followed, closing the door behind her.


    Mongrel would be back eventually. Frankly, he could use a little nighttime exercise as penance for his earlier stunt with the tavern.

 Chapter 85 - Secret Spy Stuff [2]

    Sam


    The inside of Vivi''s home was lovely and warm and smelled of cinnamon and fragrant herbs. Aside from the foyer and a small adjoining kitchen, the first floor was split in half into a living room and a library, though Sam wasn''t entirely sure what set them apart as both rooms were completely filled with books and writings of all kinds. There were many shelves dedicated to stacks upon stacks of newspapers, she noticed.


    Sam and Apples sat down by the fireplace in the living room. Vivi was gone for a few minutes, then returned with a platter of dried fruits and meats and a pot of tea as a light evening meal, setting it all down on the wide coffee table between them before taking a seat in a well-stuffed armchair. She had rolled up the sleeves of her gown to reveal nine AP crystals and the quill-and-inkwell of a Scholar.


    "Thank you very much for taking us into your home, Ms. Vivi," Sam said, putting on her most polite demeanor. "I''m sorry if it''s a terrible imposition, but would it be possible for us to sleep over here tonight? I think most of the inns will have stopped taking in people by now, and I don''t exactly know where else we could turn."


    "Of course, of course," Vivi said with an absent-minded wave of her thick hand, "I''d assumed as much already¡ªI had some guest rooms made up as soon as I got word from Will. Although, there are only two of them, so you and your friend here will need to share."


    "Thank you, Ms. Vivi! We don''t mind sharing¡ªdo we, Apples?"


    Apples shook her head so that her chubby cheeks jiggled.


    "Good, then." Vivi poured herself a cup of steaming black tea and sipped gingerly at it. Those keen hawk''s eyes never left Sam, though, the woman''s glass lenses glinting in the firelight. "I have heard some things about you, Sam."


    Sam squirmed in her seat. "What kinds of things?" Vivi had to have worked in education in her previous life¡ªSam always felt like she was on the spot when under her scrutiny.


    "That you recently won a deathmatch fighting tournament back in Sheerhome, for one."


    "Really?" Apples asked, eyes gone round.


    "Kind of," Sam said with a sheepish laugh.


    "And in spectacular fashion too, from what I''m told. The popular version is that you summoned lightning from the sky to defeat your last opponent, but that would be ridiculous, of course."


    "Right," Sam agreed, not sure if it would be considered bragging to correct the Scholar, "nothing like that, of course."


    "I also hear that you''re supposed to be dead."


    "Yeah¡­"


    "Congratulations on being resurrected again, in that case. Only a shame you didn''t end up someplace nicer for your third go around."


    "Right¡­"


    "It was a joke, dear. Do lighten up." Vivi took another sip of her tea, and reached for a dried apricot. "The only thing about you that I know for a fact is that Will obviously has a very high opinion of you. In his most recent Message, he asked me to extend you every possible courtesy, and to help ''bail you out of trouble'' if you managed to help yourself to some. Are you a troublemaker, Sam?"


    "No, ma''am! Well, I don''t think so." The Scholar''s gaze was not accusing, merely curious, but it caused Sam to wither regardless. "I try my best not to be."


    "Aren''t you precious? I can see why Will is so taken with you."


    Sam felt her face go hot, and quickly grabbed some tea to hide her blush behind the cup, managing to scald her tongue when she drank it too quick. "He said that in his letter? That he''s¡­ taken with me, or what have you?"


    Vivi''s lip curled in a bemused smile. "Not in so many words. I gathered through inference."


    "Oh. Right. Of course."


    "And you feel the same way about him, I see."


    "Well¡­!" Sam cleared her tingly throat as she set down the too-hot coffee, settling on eating to diffuse her nervous energy instead. "We actually are, sort of, you know, together."


    "So romantic," Apples breathed, cupping her cheeks in her hands.


    "Indeed," Vivi agreed. She chuckled into her tea, momentarily upsetting the trail of steam rising from it. "William Greene, in a relationship with a woman. Out of all the curious twists of fate to happen in these strange times, I''d unfortunately left that one off my bingo card."


    "How is it you know Will, exactly, if you don''t mind me asking?" Sam asked.


    "You could say that he''s a pen pal of sorts."


    "Of sorts?"


    "If you want to put it indelicately, you might also call him my informant. I learned of him through my work about two years ago and saw fit to contact him. We''ve been working together quite amicably ever since."


    "I thought you''d be his informant."


    Vivi smiled. "Yes, I suppose he would think of it that way."


    "But you''re friends?"


    "We''re acquaintances, yes."


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Got it."


    There was a sound of a door coming open as Mongrel stomped in out of the dark, shutting the door behind him just slightly harder than necessary. When he wandered into the living room Vivi raised a forbidding finger, cup raised to her lips in the other hand, and stopped him in his tracks.


    "No shoes indoors, Mr. Caldwell," she said in her cool school teacher voice, one that brooked no argument. "We are not animals."


    The old man gave a dignified snort, but spun on his heel without a word to do as he was told. Once he was de-shoed and properly seated around the coffee table¡ªbig toe poking out through a hole in one of his socks¡ªVivi finished her tea and set down the cup on its saucer with a final-sounding clink.


    "Well," she said, "now that we are all present, why don''t we discuss the reason you have come to me?"


    "All right," Mongrel replied, already competing with Sam over the food platter and stuffing his mouth with too many morsels. "Gho uhn."


    Vivi quirked an eyebrow at him.


    Sam swallowed a mouthful, cleared her throat, and said: "Please go on, ma''am."


    The Scholar let out a small sigh. "Very well. I trust none of you are familiar with me or my work?"


    Sam shook her head.


    Apples shook her head.


    Mongrel gave a low grunt, too busy eating to reply.


    "I see. I work as an editor for the local news publication, and I''m also a full member of the Couriers'' Guild. This means I am able to maintain a wide information network across the octant and beyond, giving me access to intelligence most are not privy to. That, and the fact that me and Will share the same¡­ shall we say ''radical'' political leanings, are the reasons why he directed you to me. You''re looking for the man they call Big Deal Buck, correct?"


    "That''s right," Sam said, nodding.


    "Then I''ll tell you what I know. He came through Timbryhall roughly six weeks ago, already on the run from Lord Brimstone''s men. Updated bounty warrants and notices of his imminent arrival came by Message ahead of him, but he disguised himself well enough that he wasn''t picked up on entry. He found refuge at a local brothel, The Eternal Rose, where a number of the girls sheltered him and protected his identity.


    "He stayed there for three days, then purchased supplies and a mount and continued north. From there, he spent some time in Talltop. Being at the halfway point between Sheerhome and Stormfront, it serves as something like neutral ground, meaning that Brimstone has less direct power there.


    "I don''t have conclusive information on his current whereabouts, however. If he''s still in Talltop he''s been keeping a very low profile and staying clear of trouble, which doesn''t seem like him at all."


    "Agreed," Mongrel muttered, digging at something between his teeth with a fingernail.


    Vivi continued as though Mongrel had not spoken. "Which means that he''s most likely either continued north to Stormfront to seek Lady Winter''s protection, or he''s gone west to Freetown. I find the second option most likely, personally."


    "Now you''re just making shit up, lady," Mongrel said. "I''ve never heard of any place called Freetown before, and you can pretty much count all the Octant Six settlements on both hands, so I find it unlikely that one slipped my mind."


    "I''m not surprised that you haven''t heard of it," Vivi replied smoothly. "Its existence is something of a loosely guarded secret."


    "Why?"


    "Freetown is a settlement founded only a few years ago, located in the wilds somewhere west of Talltop. It''s a commune for outlaws of all stripes¡ªsomething of a pirate haven, you might say. The town also serves as a staging ground for raids and highway robbery against the territories of lords Brimstone, Winter, and Oaken, existing somewhere between the jurisdiction of all three powers.


    "As I said, its existence is meant to be a secret, albeit a rather open one among the criminal element. I happen to have a few informants who run in those circles, which is how I learned of it. I would expect Buck to be well-aware of Freetown as well, and I imagine that he would be inescapably drawn there. As one of the most successful outlaws alive in Octant Six, he would have instant celebrity status there. And from what little I know of the man, I feel comfortable in saying that there''s nothing he loves more than having his ego stroked.


    "The only real alternative being to report under Lady Winter''s uncompromisingly militaristic structure in Stormfront, I think it''s fairly obvious which one our man would choose, given his famous disregard of authority."


    "So we basically know where he is, then?" Sam asked. "That''s great news!"


    "Maybe hold off on the celebration a little while longer," Vivi said, motioning to usher calm. "We can be reasonably confident that Buck is in Freetown, yes."


    "But?"


    "But I don''t know where Freetown is in precise terms¡ªnor can I find out by any readily available means. The only way to find it is to rely on one of a small number of guides who lead new potential members to the haven along their hidden paths."


    "Okayyy¡ªhow do we find a guide?"


    "You''ll need to ask around in Talltop."


    "Any idea who to ask?"


    "I''ll give you a list of names to get you started. I''ve compiled a dossier for you that contains the most basic intel you might need.


    "Although your search hinges on finding a guide in Talltop, I do recommend that you bring your own, also. I notice that you don''t have an Explorer. These guides¡ªbeing criminals, as you understand¡ªare not always trustworthy. If one tries to set you up in an ambush or leaves you for dead, it will be useful to have your own method of navigation through the interior, at least to get you back to civilization."


    "Will did mention that we should pick up an Explorer from the slave market here," Sam mused, tapping a finger against the tip of her nose. "We''ll go first thing in the morning and get that sorted out, then."


    "I''m sure I could find you a trustworthy Explorer among my contacts in the city. In fact, I have a runner I deal with regularly who might be able to do the job nicely."


    "That''s all right, ma''am. I want to take the opportunity to free at least one slave while I have the chance. I''m sure whoever we end up choosing won''t let us down."


    Vivi threw Mongrel an inscrutable look over her spectacles. Mongrel just gave an exasperated shrug, refusing to get involved.


    "Well, if you''re sure¡­" the Scholar muttered.


    "Thank you for all your help, ma''am," Sam said with an emphatic smile. "We''re all really grateful for the information. Although, um¡­ Not to be rude, but why are you doing this? It seems to me like you''re putting a lot on the line by helping us."


    Vivi took off her glasses, folded them, and placed them on the table. With the briefest of smiles, she said: "I haven''t given up hope for a better world just yet. If there''s a chance to replace Brimstone with someone even marginally less homicidal, I''m willing to bet on that."


    Sam''s smile grew into a grin, and she found her fingers gripping the armrests of her chair. "That''s what I like to hear," she said.


    "Also, Will Greene owing me a favor might prove useful someday."


    "I guess that''s fair, too."


    "I suspect you won''t have too hard of a time here in Timbryhall. You''re lucky that you came just as Commander Thorpe left for Sheerhome with his commandos and a good chunk of the garrison."


    "I suppose that was who we''ve been seeing on the road all day," Sam mused.


    "Yes, I''ll bet it was." Vivi leaned back in her armchair with a contented sigh. "Now, if there''s nothing else pressing at the moment, I suggest you all go upstairs and get some rest. You can feel safe while you''re here."


    "Thank you, ma''am," Sam and Apples said in unison.


    "Cheers, yeah," Mongrel muttered a beat later.

 Chapter 86 - Gug the Genius

    [DAY FOUR¡­]


    Sam


    "I''m staying."


    Sam looked up from trying to fit the last of the extra supplies Vivi had given them into her bag. Apples stood in the doorway of the room they had shared last night, hands clasped tightly.


    "What do you mean?" Sam asked.


    The young Farmer looked abashed for some reason, and had some trouble getting her words out as she took a few steps into the room. "A-After you went to bed last night, I ended up not being able to sleep, so I stayed up for a while with Ms. Vivi. We ended up discussing some things, and¡­ she agreed to take me on as a maid of sorts. I''ll do her cleaning and housework and maintain her garden so she has more time to focus on her work.


    "Getting to care for some plants will be good for me. I might even be able to put on a few levels if I''m lucky."


    "Do you think you''ll be happy here?" Sam asked, standing up from her packing.


    "I do. Ms. Vivi has been very kind to me so far."


    Sam laughed, and gathered her friend up in a hug. "That''s great news, then!"


    "It is," Apples murmured into Sam''s collar, sounding slightly strangled.


    Sam gave her a firm squeeze, then pulled back to regard her at arm''s length. "Then why do you look sad?"


    "I know I''m being a coward," Apples said, lowering her chin to her chest and averting her eyes. "You and Mongrel are risking your lives to save Octant Six. You already saved me. You''re heroes. I should be helping, but instead¡­" She trailed off, biting her lip.


    Apples squirmed, but Sam held her in place with a firm grip on both her shoulders. "Don''t talk like that! You aren''t a coward, Apples, okay? Some people are fighters, and some aren''t. There''s no shame in admitting when you''re in over your head. Best leave the skull-cracking to me and the old man, eh?"


    "Yeah, but¡­"


    "Besides, the plan was never for you to come with us to the end of the line. You were supposed to find a safe place to live, remember? You''ve done that now¡ªfaster than we expected, too¡ªso let''s be happy, yeah?" Sam cracked an encouraging grin.


    Apples blinked up at her. "Anyone ever tell you that you have really nice teeth?"


    "Oh, thanks!"


    "Like, outrageously nice. It''s kind of distracting."


    "Thank you!" She chuckled. "I''m not used to getting compliments that are actually meant to be compliments."


    Apples gave a confused frown, but didn''t question the statement. Sam let go of her arms, and the plump Farmer took a small step back. "Anyway, I just feel like I should be doing more to help¡­"


    "You''ll keep our secret, won''t you?"


    "Of course!"


    "Then you''ll have done plenty."


    Sam insisted on another hug, then Apples helped with the rest of the packing. They went downstairs to the kitchen and ate an early breakfast courtesy of Vivi.


    Both women followed Sam and Mongrel to the door when they were getting ready to leave.


    "Here is the dossier I compiled on Buck and potential points of contact in Talltop," Vivi said, handing over a thin paper folder. "Other than that, I have nothing to offer but my well wishes."


    "Thank you, Ms. Vivi," Sam said, stowing the folder away in one of the bags.


    Apples thanked Sam for everything, then they said their goodbyes and suddenly she and Mongrel were out in the cold, dawn painting the sky gold, the night curfew only just lifted.


    They fetched Zero from the stables Mongrel had housed her in, then made directly for the slave market. The place was located on the east side of town, by the river docks It was a sprawl of large, blocky auction buildings and long, narrow housing barracks and less permanent sales tents set up wherever they fit.


    "Right, let''s do this quick and painless," Mongrel said, voice still hoarse from sleep. His thinning gray hair was a mess, standing straight up on one side and flattened from his pillow on the other. "We''re here a bit early, so the auction houses don''t seem to be open yet, but that shouldn''t be a problem. They''re mostly for high-value slaves and wholesale lots, neither of which are anything we''re interested in.


    "Tons of Explorers get sent here to work the mines and paper mills, so finding one won''t be difficult. They''re all pretty much the same, so we''ll just get one that''s cheap rather than overpaying for some high-level model. Probably better to get a freshie anyway, since they won''t have had time to get their heads filled with whatever nonsense the taskmasters stuff them with."


    "I guess that sounds reasonable," Sam said, rolling her shoulders uncomfortably.


    Even though they''d beaten most of the rush by coming to the market at the crack of dawn, there were still a fair number of people about, mostly workers and taskmasters moving between the buildings, probably doing morning head counts and the like. There was a heavy barge bobbing in the water that was unloading its human cargo onto one of the wooden jetties. Folk chained together, hand and foot¡ªrough-clad and hollow-cheeked and empty-eyed.


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    Sam couldn''t help but stare as they shuffled past.


    Such suffering.


    "Don''t worry about them," Mongrel said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, and gave Sam''s shoulder a light punch. "Whatever you might be thinking of pulling would only make things worse for us and them."


    "I know," Sam replied as she tore her eyes away, chewing on her lower lip. "It''s just sad."


    "Yeah, yeah. C''mon, kid¡ªthe sooner we get this done, the sooner you won''t have to look at this stuff anymore."


    In this instance, Sam was happy to let Mongrel take the lead. She trailed behind him like a lost puppy while he picked his way through the market, dickering briefly with a few merchants and sneering at their prices.


    It felt wrong to think that way, but she was hoping they could follow Mongrel''s plan and get this over with. Every collared person she saw was a stab to her heart, and she could swear that their pleading eyes were boring right through her, even though in reality most of them hardly glanced in her direction.


    Then, suddenly, Sam spotted something that made her double-take, stopped in her tracks by sheer confusion.


    In front of a white-and-red pinstripe tent stood a giant cage of black iron, rusted bars thick as a man''s wrist. Inside the cage sat a hulking figure¡ªa behemoth swollen with corded muscle, leathery green hide splitting with pink stretch marks at the shoulders and biceps as it struggled to contain the body''s tremendous bulk.


    The creature had a big, ugly, bald head with a brick-blunt brow that protruded over its eyes and made them look tiny and beady in comparison. Its thick jaws worked silently, cheeks quivering with striated muscle.


    It was clad in a patchwork of old rags assembled into a sort of short robe, and sat on the ground before a comically small table, holding an equally ant-sized pencil to a blank sheet of paper. Its blubbery lips moved silently over big yellow peg teeth, and its bushy black brows were drawn together seemingly in deep thought.


    "You there!" a voice called out, snapping Sam out of her reverie. "Big fella!"


    It took a moment before Sam realized that she was, in fact, meant to be a fella, and another moment before she realized that the man in the green robe over there was, in fact, pointing right at her.


    "Me?" Sam asked, holding a hand to her chest.


    "Yeah, you!" The man¡ªa Trader¡ªducked out of the tent and came to stand beside the cage, motioning her over with the walking cane he carried. "Gawking ain''t free, you know."


    Sam looked at the creature, then back at the man. "It''s standing in public, though."


    "Fuck do I care?" The man spat on the ground. "It''s twenty to gawk at the freak."


    Mongrel was halfway to another building before he noticed that Sam had stopped and came marching back over. He looked like he was about to direct some venomous rebuke at the slave trader, but his face fell slack as he came to stare at the huge creature. "Holy hell. How''d he get a troll to wear a dress?"


    "Twenty per person," the slave trader amended, foot tapping the ground. "Elsewise, you two can fuck right off before I sicc the enforcers on you."


    "Whatever," Mongrel muttered, making a jerk-off gesture at the man. "We''re not paying a rotten cent to look at some troll like it''s something we haven''t seen before. Come on, kid." And with that, he turned back toward the place he had been headed for.


    Sam would have followed suit, but noticed something else at the last moment that gave her pause. The troll''s bulging forearm was adorned by a line of seven shining AP crystals, along with the symbol of a Scholar.


    It wasn''t just some monster.


    It was a person.


    "Yes!" the slave trader said, motioning to the troll. "As you see, this is a one-of-a-kind freak of nature! A monster bestowed with human reason. Yours to marvel at for as long as you like, once you''ve paid the fee. He even talks." The man thumped his fist against the cage, then waited expectantly.


    "I am Gug," the troll said in a loud, rumbly bass that Sam could swear was powerful enough to set the ground vibrating beneath her. "I am a troll. Do not be frightened by my appearance. I am harmless." He spoke with a flat, bored inflection, as though he had learned the words by heart and was speaking them on rote reflex. He rolled the tiny pencil between two thick sausage fingers, never once looking up from his paper.


    "Huh." Mongrel scratched at his bald spot, wearing a puzzled expression. "That sure is some scam you''re running. I don''t know how you''re doing it, but I''m not going to waste my time finding out." He tugged on Sam''s shirtsleeve, motioning insistently toward his destination with his outthrust chin. "Now let''s go."


    The troll pawed uselessly at a broad metal collar around his neck, probably big enough for her to use as a belt, his sunken black eyes staring at the blank page.


    He looked sad.


    "You go on ahead," Sam said, shrugging off Mongrel''s hand, "I just want to check this out for a minute."


    "Kid, I know you weren''t exactly gifted with an abundance of common sense, but as grifts go, this is a pretty obvious one."


    "I guess I''m getting scammed, then. What do you care? It''s my money."


    "It''s the principle of the thing! Like hell am I going to let a proteg¨¦ of mine get suckered by by some tacky fucking carnival scam!"


    Sam counted out a stack of paper bills from her bag¡ª500 G¡ªand handed it to Mongrel between two fingers. "That should be enough to buy us an Explorer, right?"


    The old man snatched the money out of her hand before she''d even finished speaking, skimming over the stiff cotton paper himself. "Could use a little more, maybe," he said.


    "That means it''s enough."


    Mongrel harrumphed. "Whatever. I''m keeping the change."


    With that he stalked off, leaving Sam to slowly approach the caged troll. The slave trader got his twenty glories, and he glared down at the money in his hand like he was kicking himself for not setting a higher price, having just seen that Sam had plenty to go around.


    "Hello, Gug," Sam said with a tentative smile, craning her neck to try and catch the troll''s gaze. "I''m S¡ª... Uh, John. Do you have a minute to talk?"


    She wasn''t used to having to look up at someone. Is this what short people feel like? Their necks must hurt all the time.


    The troll finally raised his ponderous head, blinking at her as he only just now registered her existence. "I have writer''s block," he stated bluntly, pencil still hovering idly above the page.


    "That sounds hard. Are you a writer, then?"


    "Yes! I am a writer. I am also a genius. A genius writer."


    The slave trader, already about some other business inside his tent, gave a loud sigh. Evidently, he had heard this routine before.


    "Oh, wow," Sam said, nodding along emphatically. "I''ve never met a genius before."


    Gug''s face split in a huge, smug grin. "Heh."


    Sam slowly extended her left hand through the bars, hoping that the troll wouldn''t simply rip it out of its socket. "It''s very nice to meet you, Gug," she said. "I hope we can be friends."


    Gug stared at her hand for several long moments, sitting statue-still and looking almost startled. Then, very delicately, he tucked his pencil behind one floppy ear and slowly, slowly reached out. His hand was somewhat too large for her to shake properly, so she simply grabbed hold of two huge, rough fingers and gave them a good tug.


    The troll let out a shrill giggle, putting his free hand over his mouth. "I have never had a friend before!" he exclaimed.


    "Would you like one?"


    "Yes! Very very much!"


    The troll''s melancholy had completely dispersed, replaced by a pure, childish glee.

 Chapter 87 - Gug the Genius [2]

    Sam


    "You are John."


    "Yes."


    "And I am Gug."


    "That''s right."


    "And we are now best friends?"


    "Well, I don''t know about ''best'' friends. People usually know each other for a while before they start breaking out words like that."


    Gug stuck his pink tongue out between his teeth, thinking. "But you are my only friend," he said, "so that means you are also my best friend."


    "I¡­ suppose that''s true."


    "By definition you are also my worst friend, but that would be a very rude thing to say."


    "That''s true, Gug. You''re a very polite troll, aren''t you?"


    Gug grinned, tongue still caught between his teeth. "Heh."


    She imagined that the slave trader wouldn''t be very pleased about her shaking the troll''s hand, but he could suit himself for having his back turned. And for being a money-grubbing, slave-owning bastard, but that was another thing.


    When she tried to pull her hand back, however, Gug moved quick as a snake, readjusting his grip so that he enveloped her whole hand in his giant, green fist. He held onto her tight, so tight that Sam was gritting her teeth with the pain of it as he yanked her arm up and down in an exaggerated handshake, entirely oblivious to her discomfort.


    "You can let go of my hand now, Gug," Sam worked out with all the calm she could muster, free hand white-knuckling one of the metal cage bars for support.


    "But¡ª"


    "Gug, you''re being too rough. You have to be gentle with friends."


    His grip instantly sprang open, and Sam staggered back a step with the sudden release, working her aching hand. "Thank you, Gug," she said. She didn''t want to think about what the outcome would have been for someone who didn''t have her Toughness.


    "Oh, no!" Gug wailed, eyes gone round as saucers but still dwarfed by his jutting block of a forehead. "I am a bad troll! I am very very very bad!"


    "You''re not a bad troll," Sam insisted, and stopped fussing with her hand so the troll wouldn''t think she was hurt. "That was the first time you''ve ever shaken hands with someone, wasn''t it?"


    "Yes!"


    "Well, even a genius can''t be good at everything right from the start. You''ll get better."


    Gug''s eyes slowly returned to their tiny, slitted neutral, then his brows crept down so that they were almost swallowed entirely beneath the wrinkly folds of his face. "I see. Then I will practice." He closed his hand on air and carefully bobbed it up and down in a ghost imitation of a handshake, chewing on his outthrust tongue in his concentration. "I will become a master of shaking hands so that I can say hello to many people and get lots of friends."


    "That sounds like a great idea!" Sam said with an encouraging smile. "Do you like people, Gug?"


    "I do!" the troll explained, his booming voice echoing out over the still-quiet market street.


    "Humans, that is."


    "Yes. A wise man once told me: ''Don''t judge others, or it will give you indigestion''."


    "Uh-huh." Where did he get that one from? "Are there other trolls like you?"


    Gug''s tongue darted back into his mouth, and he gave a tight shrug. "Dunno."


    "Are you sure you don''t know?"


    "Trolls are scary. They yell a lot, and they don''t like literature." He said the last word in an exaggeratedly enunciated fashion, as though very proud of knowing the word.


    "I understand. I''ll imagine there aren''t many trolls with crystals on their arms, like you have."


    Gug nodded solemnly. "Yes. A wise man once told me: ''You are a very special boy, John''.


    "That''s my name."


    "Yes." Gug stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Most curious."


    "Were you born that way? With the crystals, and the mark?"


    "Dunno."


    "Right. But you can do things? You can¡­" Sam motioned vaguely at the air, looking for the right word. "...use abilities, that type of thing?"


    "Yes."


    "Like what?"


    "I do genius type of things."


    "Aside from that."


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    "I do writer type of things."


    "Aside from that."


    Gug considered a moment. "I whoosh sometimes."


    "You ''whoosh''?"


    Gug arched a fuzzy black caterpillar eyebrow at her, as though she were stupid for not understanding. "Yes. I whoosh, and then my brother comes out."


    "You have a brother?"


    "Yes. He helps me when things get scary. I just need to say the magic word, and then he shows up right away. But he won''t come out while I''m wearing this stupid necklace. He must think it is ugly." He tugged at his collar, then sighed and let his hand fall limp into his lap. "It is very badly designed. What kind of necklace gets stuck after you put it on?"


    Sam adjusted her hat, struggling to comprehend most of what the troll had told her. "How did you end up in a cage?" she asked.


    "I walked in."


    "Riiight. Do you like living in a cage?"


    "No. I hate it very very very much. I am always hungry and itchy and no one appreciates my literary genius. Sometimes people throw things at me, but Andros says they are only allowed to throw things if they pay, otherwise I''m supposed to roar until they go away."


    "Do you always do what Andros says?"


    "Yes. A wise man once told me: ''Be a good boy, or you''ll explode''.


    "That''s a bit dramatic. Are you sure you''re not paraphrasing?"


    "I pair all my phrases." The troll started playing with his toes, touching each one in turn, lips moving silently as he counted them to himself.


    "Say, Gug," Sam said with her most encouraging smile, once more approaching the bars, "I''ve enjoyed talking with you a lot, but I''m afraid me and my friend have some urgent business out of town, so I won''t be able to come back and visit you later."


    Gug paused on the middle toe of his left foot, finger hovering over the stubby green digit. "Oh. That''s very sad."


    "I have an idea, though. If I could get you out of that cage, would you be interested in coming with me?"


    Gug''s eyes lit up with sparkling hope, his mouth going into an O. "A wise man once told me: ''Never look a gift fish in the trout''!"


    Sam frowned. "Does¡­ Does that mean yes?"


    "Yes! A quintillion times yes!"


    "He''s not for sale!" the slave trader barked without missing a beat, hobbling out of his tent in a rush and leaning heavily on his cane. "Get your grubby hands away from my freak, friend, or we''re going to have problems!"


    "I''ve got money to pay for him," Sam said with a shrug.


    "It doesn''t matter how much you offer¡ªhe''s one-of-a-kind, and just happens to be a tremendous source of passive income! Now get away from my freak!"


    "I already paid to see him, though. You said I could look for as long as I want."


    "I changed my mind!" The slave trader repeatedly jabbed his cane at the ground. "Don''t think you can bully me just because you''re a Laborer, sir. If I say the word, enforcers will beat some manners into you."


    "Does that mean I''m not getting out of the cage?" Gug asked with a hangdog look, slowly turning his great big head to regard the slave trader.


    "Of course you''re not! It''s for your safety, remember? We spoke about it. I''m the one protecting you from all those nasty people who will carve you into pieces the moment you take a step out of there."


    "Do I have to keep wearing the necklace, too?"


    "Yes! Fucking of course, yes!" The slave trader glared at Sam. "Now look at what you''ve done. You''ve gone and given him ideas. This is the last fucking thing I needed today."


    Gug threw his head back in despair. "The sadness! I am a poor worm left to shrivel after the rain, robbed of the fertile manure of creativity!"


    "Oh god, not the poetry," Andros breathed, clutching his head. With a rage-filled growl, he stuck his cane through the bars and jabbed the troll repeatedly in the ribs. "You stupid animal! What have I told you about reciting fucking poetry?"


    "The despair!" Gug wailed, paying the human no mind at all. "I am a beautiful pie left in the window to get stale and cold, without a soul to enjoy the supple flavors of my artistry!"


    "I said¡ª!"


    "Brother! Help me!"


    "Shut up!"


    "Brainstorm! Brainstorm! Brainstorm! Brainstorm!"


    "Be quiet!"


    Gug clapped his massive hands over his ears¡ªlittle eyes squeezed shut, face contorted in panic. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!" he screamed¡ªa singular, atonal noise so loud it could probably be heard over half the city.


    "Fine!" Andros cried, tossing aside his cane and pointing a finger at Sam. "Three thousand! I''ll sell him to you for three thousand glories!"


    [Two minutes of haggling and a lot of screaming later, 600 G changes hands.]


    * * *


    Sam received a bill of sale, a key to the Enchanted slave collar, and a stream of vitriol from the slave trader before he was called off to explain the situation to the armed market enforcers who had shown up to investigate the disturbance.


    With the heavy padlock on Gug''s cage unlocked and discarded, Sam swung the door open for him to step out. The troll climbed to his feet warily, having to stoop to avoid hitting his head, and wrung his hands as he remained frozen inside the cell.


    "Come on, big guy," Sam said, smiling as she waved him over. "Come on out. You''re all right."


    "Andros says I will die if I go outside."


    "Andros doesn''t always tell the truth. You''ll be all right."


    "Promise?"


    Sam nodded. "Promise."


    Slowly, hesitantly, Gug ducked under the cage, but wavered at the last. Sam caught him by his little finger and gently pulled on him. He came out all the way, stepping out of the black ribcage that had been his prison and into the pale morning. He unfurled to his full height, and Sam had to tilt her head way back to look up at his face, framed against the bleak sky.


    He had to be at least eight feet tall, swollen muscles straining against his ragged gown. Jesus.


    "I am not dead yet," Gug observed, his little eyes flitting about the street with great caution. "That is¡­ fortuitous."


    "How''s it feel to be out of the cage?"


    "Scary. And a little exciting. No, very exciting."


    Sam felt a little sheepish standing next to the literal green giant when Mongrel came out of the building he had gone into with a young pimple-faced lad in tow. The old man looked at her, then the troll, then back again.


    "I had a feeling it would end like this," he said, not even sounding disappointed. Mostly just tired. "You expecting this thing to come with us, then?"


    "What¡­ What is that?" the collared slave behind him¡ªa Level 2 Explorer¡ªasked in the shrill, cracking voice of someone barely old enough to be on the Frontier.


    "This is your new friend Gug," Sam said. "I''m, uh, John. What''s your name?"


    "I''m¡­" The young man trailed off, paling as he stared up at the troll. "I¡­"


    "I''m calling him Oatmeal," Mongrel said as he strode right past them, "on account of his biting wit and roguish good looks."


    "A-Actually sir, it''s Wes¡ª"


    "Come on, you feckless shits! Best move this freak show out of town before folk start lining up for tickets."

 Chapter 88 - Fog of War

    Sam


    The enforcers were soon joined by a detachment of city guardsmen investigating the commotion caused by the troll. Predictably, they were less than pleased, hands on weapons as they interrogated both Sam and the slave trader in turn. Luckily, there was not much they could do to prevent Sam from doing as she liked with her legally acquired ''property'', and they did not seem keen on hauling Gug behind bars again for his outburst. Accepting Sam''s promise to leave the city that day, they let her off with a warning.


    From there, Sam spent much of the morning buying supplies for their two new travel companions. The Explorer, Oatmeal, was easy to sort out. Some durable clothing, a backpack, a bedroll, a water flask, a shortsword and a dagger, a razor for grooming, some sturdy boots, and extra socks. She procured all this for less than two hundred glories.


    The troll was more difficult. Though initially humble in his requests, he became bolder as he realized that Sam was a generous patron. He really wanted a suit, and Sam, wanting to indulge him if at all possible, took him to a local tailor. The Artisan owner obviously didn''t carry anything in Gug''s size, but Sam convinced him to put a rush order on something bespoke by offering a good deal above rate.


    The tailor and his assistants worked fast, stripping the troll of his stinking rags and assembling an outfit around him right in front of their eyes, needles working like magic, layers of fabric prepared and added.


    In the end, Gug ended up with a three-piece suit of brown tweed that fit him perfectly and looked surprisingly good on him aside from the somewhat clashing combat boots that had needed to be built extraordinarily rugged and thick-soled to accommodate the troll''s extreme weight. To top it off, she got him a bowler hat off the shelf that was made of a similar material. It was a little small on his big head, but there was something cute about that.


    All of this set her back almost as much as buying Gug in the first place, and they weren''t done with his purchases yet. He expressed an aversion to weapons, which she could certainly sympathize with, so she forewent buying him any arms aside from a dagger that was more like a small belt knife for him, to use for eating or minor everyday tasks.


    He insisted on a briefcase for carrying his ''documents'', but Sam did not feel like spending even more money and time getting him something made special, so she simply bought him a large travel trunk with a metal handle at the top that would have been bulky indeed for any normal person to carry, but suited Gug just fine to carry one-handed. Luckily, he did not seem to notice any difference between that and what he had requested.


    Instead of a bedroll, they got him a large tarp that could be folded up to provide at least a little bit of padding. Not the softest thing in the world, but it would have to do. A set of large saddlebags would suffice to carry his miscellaneous items, worn over the shoulder like a bandolier.


    Lastly, she took him to a bookseller''s stand where he got to pick out some volumes for the road. Most of the inventory consisted of extremely graphic pornography, which Sam had to steer Gug away from, eventually finding him a stack of old, second-hand volumes, adventure novels and the like, that had to have survived all the way since the Better Times.


    Gug was overjoyed with his new items, constantly stroking the long right sleeve of his jacket or tugging on his bowler hat or patting the book he had decided to wear in the inside pocket of his coat, as though to make sure it was all still there.


    "You''re spoiling the bastard," Mongrel muttered. "Going to end up broke before we even turn back for Sheerhome, the way you''re carrying on."


    Sam ignored him. He was just being cranky.


    Gug was so happy, in fact, that his constant prattling and joyful noises forced them to make a quick exit from Timbryhall, lest they cause another incident. Folk stared at the troll like they were seeing an alien walk past, and the guards at the north gates had hands on weapons until the group was well clear.


    Once they were back on the Iron Road, Sam took Gug and Oatmeal to the side of the road, where she removed and tossed aside their collars.


    Gug rubbed at his wide bull neck in amazement, huge eyes fixed on Sam. "You¡­ took off the necklace," he said in his slow, thick drawl.


    Sam nodded, grinning, and patted the troll on the arm. "That''s right, big guy. You''re free¡ªboth of you."


    "Free¡­?"


    "Which means you have a choice going forward. I told you that we''re headed north on some business, and that it might get dangerous. We''d be really happy to have both of you come with us on that journey. But if you''d rather go your own way, I completely understand."


    "I will go with Best Friend John," Gug said with a solemn nod.


    "I suppose I''ll stick with you guys¡­" Oatmeal added, sounding somewhat unsure of himself as he looked pointedly away from the troll, seemingly wanting to block out his existence entirely.


    "Great!" Sam exclaimed, and gave each man a firm handshake to formally induct them onto the team. Gug was very gentle this time around, tongue firmly between his teeth as he cupped Sam''s hand like he was holding a baby bird, deliberately moving it up, then down, then letting go with a sharp exhalation through flared nostrils.


    This meant that the two of them had to be let in on the plan, starting with the fact that her name wasn''t actually Fat John. Gug took it all in dull stride, not seeming to have any opinions one way or the other about their actual destination or the danger it might entail, while Oatmeal visibly paled at the mention of deposing Brimstone.


    The Iron Road remained nearly abandoned even though it was pretty much reached mid-morning by now. It seemed that the Sheerhome militia pulling back its patrols between Timbryhall and Talltop had dissuaded most from braving the route.


    A single slave transport rattled alongside them as they started up their trip for the day, an armored wagon protected by nearly a dozen Builder and Explorer mercenaries trudging in a loose grouping around their charge.


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    "You freeing slaves?" asked a young woman with wide, pleading eyes directed at Sam, pressing herself against the bars holding her in. "You should buy me too. I''ll do anything you ask. I''m good in bed¡ªreally good. I¡ª"


    "Shut your fucking gobs back there!" the Trader foreman barked from the driver''s seat, thumping the passenger compartment behind him. Then he pointed a finger at Sam. "And you! You better slow down some, stranger. I don''t know who the fuck you are, or why you have that thing in tow, but I don''t want you anywhere near my goods. You understand, or do we have a problem?"


    Sam didn''t much like his tone, but the last thing she needed was a fight. She had her group fall back to let the slave transport get ahead, dragging their feet until it was out of sight before picking up the pace again. She felt bad about that one slave, trying in vain to shake off the memory of her desperate expression.


    Gug read while he walked, navigating the pitted dirt road with surprising dexterity even as he was completely engrossed in his book, his nose practically touching the page.


    Mongrel was still sulking about having a monster as a travel companion, so Sam got to talking with Oatmeal instead. The lad was only nineteen, having washed up about a month ago and caught by a shoreside slaver crew immediately. He didn''t know much about the Frontier aside from what he had been told by other slaves, and everything he did know seemed to terrify him. She couldn''t really blame him.


    The forest grew denser along this stretch of the route, spidery trees reaching out from the roadside, seeming to close in on them, their black boughs blocking off much of the overcast sky. Creepy.


    If only that had been the worst of it.


    Mongrel was the first to take notice. Tendrils of mist snaking out of the treeline, whirling about their feet in lazy spirals as they upset the turgid currents. Small and unobtrusive at first, the hazy gray tentacles grew until they were arm-thick, pooling across the ground and nearly obscuring the road entirely.


    They instantly discarded the possibility of a natural explanation. Any hope of outpacing the unnatural fog went out the window almost as fast, and Mongrel called a halt so they could figure out what the fuck was going on.


    Which was when they discovered that they weren''t actually on the road anymore. The path on which they stood was too narrow to possibly be the Iron Road. None of them could say when they had veered from the road, but there they were, fenced in by a cage of gnarled, grinning trees whose gaps were plugged up with dense that resisted any effort to see through it.


    Mongrel tried to call the chimps over with a series of sharp cries and whistles, but there was no reply to his questing calls, and no apes appeared. It was as though the fog muted all the sounds of the forest, even their voices, so that everything seemed unnervingly muffled.


    "Well," Mongrel said, slowly chewing on a piece of jerky hanging from his mouth, "this isn''t great."


    "What''s going on?" Oatmeal asked, nervously fingering the grip of the shortsword at his waist while spinning around and around.


    Gug was only just now looking up from his book to see why they had stopped.


    "Is it an Illusion?" Sam asked. "Is someone trying to lure us into a trap?"


    "A trap, almost certainly," Mongrel said. "Bandits I''m less sure about. I''ve never seen an Illusion like this before. Besides, it''s an awful rough stretch of wood to operate in if you''re looking to rob folk. Too much hassle getting around."


    "Then what do you think it is?"


    "Well, I''ve got some idea. Now, I''ve never seen one, but I heard folk talking about this monster that lures people off roads with mirages and hallucinations and that sort of fuckery, tries to get them alone so it can eat them up. Called a, uh¡­ nettlegeist, I think."


    "Okay. So what do we do?"


    Mongrel snapped his fingers at Oatmeal. "New kid, how''s your Orienteering? You getting anything that''ll help us get back on track?"


    "I don''t know¡­" the young Explorer replied. "It feels all¡­ turned around. I couldn''t even tell you which way is north right now."


    "Do you have Detect?"


    "No."


    "Damn. What about you, genius?"


    Gug shook his head so his fleshy lower lip quivered.


    Mongrel sighed. "Of course not."


    "If we get rid of this nettlegeist thing, will that get rid of the fog, too?" Sam asked.


    "Probably," Mongrel muttered. "Do you see any nettlegeists around, though?" He motioned around him, arms outstretched, as he chewed up the end of his jerky and spat out some gristle. "It''ll do everything it can to hide from us until we''re weak enough to kill without trouble. That''s why I wanted to use Detect, so we could cut through all this bullshit fog and track it down. As it is¡­ I don''t think we have a lot of options."


    "Shit."


    "Yeah, like I said, it''s not looking great."


    They decided to keep moving, hoping to find some way of baiting the monster into attacking, or possibly wandering long enough to get Oatmeal to Level 4 so he could pick up Detect.


    The narrow forest path they followed ran out at some point, forcing them to pick their way through the terrain at random, cutting across sodden marshland and thickets of shrubbery that cut at their clothes and their skin, clouds of bugs eating them up. Luckily, Sam''s skin was too tough for a mosquito''s sucker or a midge''s jaws to penetrate, but the others were not so lucky. They walked in a tight single file, keeping no more than an arm''s length from the next person to avoid losing each other to some trick of the fog.


    Sam was beginning to think that the monster was herding them. When they turned one way, the fog would lessen just a little, enough to at least see where you were stepping. When they turned another, it would solidify into a forbidding wall that obscured even the person just a few feet in front, forcing them to hold hands to keep track of one another.


    It became difficult to tell time. The sky was no longer visible. Everything was gray.


    They entered an area of sparser forestation, which was a relief, and hopefully a signal that the terrain was going to get easier on them. Then they began to hear human-sounding screams, and they didn''t have to walk long before they found the source.


    The fog retreated entirely as they entered a flat stretch of ground that led into a small peat bog, the gray mass settling as a circular wall around the immediate area in a way that was a little reminiscent of one of the Sheerhome fighting pits.


    The slave transport they had seen earlier was partially submerged in the muck, horses drowned in their harnesses. A handful of dead and dying mercenaries lay strewn around, some struggling weakly at the sucking mud, clutching weakly for clumps of grass.


    A giant creature¡ªa troll, Sam quickly realized, just like Gug¡ªwas sitting down beside the wagon, having torn open the side like a child carelessly peeling away the gift wrapping of a present, and was currently reaching inside to pull a person out by his waist. The troll was a fair bit larger even than Gug, and fit the slave''s whole head in its grotesquely wide gape, biting down like it was crunching on an apple and tearing the head off the neck before discarding the headless corpse among a growing pile to its side, only interested in its favorite pieces. Still chewing, it reached into the wagon for its next victim while humming atonally to itself.


    "Kid, let''s¡ª" Mongrel began.


    But Sam was already running, bags discarded without a thought as she headed straight at the beast.

 Chapter 89 - Fog of War [2]

    Sam


    This troll was a big fucker; a mountain of blubber covered in a green elephantine hide criss-crossed with old battle scars. Its hair hung in sticky black stripes down the sides of its head, and its chin and belly were smeared with red gore.


    It sat naked in the bog, unbothered by the muddy water covering most of its legs. Absorbed in choosing its next human morsel, it paid no mind to Sam barreling toward it. Its hand hovered this way and that over the slaves remaining inside the cage, fish in a barrel as they were still chained to the floor.


    Sam charged into the flat stretch of grassy peat, wet sludge coming up to her ankles, then her shins, then almost up to her knees. It flowed in through her boot tops, cold and heavy and squelching. The viscous mud sucked at her feet and slowed her from a breakneck sprint to a labored trudge; arms swinging, legs dragging.


    The troll lifted out a wailing woman by one arm. It gave her chain a yank to effortlessly snap it loose from its mooring, broken links scattered about and quickly sinking out of sight. Still noisomely smacking blood-caked lips, it raised the woman to its mouth. Her scream dropped away to a pale, disbelieving stare as she gazed down its putrid gape, tongue like a huge red slimy worm against its chin.


    Sam reached down without slowing and scooped a big clump of muddy moss. "Hey, fuckhead!" she shouted, tossing her foul-smelling payload with all her strength.


    It found its mark, hit the troll over the ear with a wet smack. Finally, the monster looked up from its still-squirming meal. The slime-green cinderblock of a face had gone slack with shock, tongue lolling.


    Sam was just twenty feet away, closing with all possible speed.


    The troll opened its fist and let the woman fall away, her arm twisted grotesquely from its vice grip. The creature began to rise, tipping onto all fours with the grace of an enormous toddler, hands entirely submerged, then got one foot beneath it as it let out a series of snorting grunts, annoyed at being interrupted in the middle of its meal.


    Sam reached the troll while it was still on one knee. The thing towered over her as tall as a house. She put her whole back into a sweeping hook, her fist connecting with the kneecap of the troll''s supporting lead leg. She felt bone and cartilage crunch, leg knocked sideways by the force of the blow.


    The troll roared with equal parts surprise and agony, spraying bloody spittle down at Sam from above, and she felt little impacts of bone shards and flesh scraps across her shoulders and head.


    Expelling a sharp, hissing breath, Sam drove her fist into the same spot, then a third time, completely shattering the knee, socket visibly popping out of place and protruding against the skin.


    The troll fell back, wailing piteously, and made a big splash of mud as its bare ass hit the loose ground. It stared gormlessly at her, propped up on its hands.


    Sam moved after her flatfooted opponent to follow up¡ªtemples thumping, face hot, the crazy drumbeat of her heart pounding in her ears. Everything was surreal. She was fighting a monster. A really fucking big one. She needed to do something while it was still off-balance. Neutralize it somehow, or¡­


    Should I kill it? Is that what I need to do here?


    Normally she would go for a choke to subdue an aggressive opponent, humble them enough so that by the time they woke up, they''d thought better of hurting anyone. But this was a monster. They were supposed to have no quit in them at all, and that thing had a neck nearly as wide as her torso¡ªshe doubted she could get that thing in a rear naked choke even if she put her all into it.


    Its eyes were thrown wide in an almost human kind of fear. It didn''t want to die.


    I need to kill it, she told herself. There''s no other way.


    But how would she even go about doing that? Figuring out how to kill things wasn''t something she''d ever spent much time contemplating.


    These thoughts ran through her head in less than a second, but it was long enough for her momentum to stall, legs sinking deeper in the greedy, murky sludge as soon as she wasn''t constantly moving them.


    Breaking through her paralysis, she decided the troll''s head was still too high for her to punch, so she aimed a spinning heel kick at its temple, but her leg was stuck worse than she''d expected, and it was only with a lot of effort that she pulled it loose, her boot nearly coming loose in the process, and what was meant to be a kick just turned into a lot of awkward flailing.


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    When she looked up from her raised foot, she found that the troll had reached blindly behind it and taken hold of the woman it had been meaning to eat by her legs. Sam only had time to halfway raise her arms in an instinctive guard before the troll swung its victim like a club, bringing the screaming woman around in a wide arc. The woman''s body collided with Sam''s, and her panicked cry abruptly cut off.


    With all of Sam''s durability, the other woman shattered simply against her; bones crunching, body deforming in slow motion like a bag of wet sticks. Sam was knocked clean out of the mud and was suddenly flying, wheeling through the air, catching a brief glimpse of a bloody, disembodied eyeball soaring with her.


    Sam''s head hit off a tree, reversed her spin, and she hurtled on until her momentum was violently arrested by a thick birch trunk, body wrapping around it. She rolled to the ground, groaning with the pain exploding through her side while she struggled to figure out which way was up in the topsy-turvy world swaying drunkenly around her.


    Her heartbeat was so loud.


    Flailing wildly, her hand eventually found something solid to push off of. She tried to stand, fell over, shook her head a little clearer, and tried a second time with more success. The ground held fairly well under her, a bit drier here. She looked around, saw the troll a ways off as it tossed aside its spent weapon, the woman''s mangled corpse hitting off the wagon and tumbling over the top out of view.


    The monster came at her, each massive footfall producing a lazy swell of dark, viscous water. It stepped onto the back of a weakly flailing mercenary, snapping his spine and muffling the man''s scream by plunging him into the mud. The troll did not appear to notice.


    Sam blinked, her jaw hanging dumbly open, legs still trembling under her.


    Those people¡­ If I hadn''t hesitated¡­


    The troll picked up speed as it reached the end of the most sodden terrain. It pounded toward her with a bellow that promised violent and bloody murder. Its knee was holding its weight, the ruined joint somehow mending itself as broken bits of bone shifted under the skin and clicked back into place.


    Sam''s hands twitched. She wanted to turn them into fists but couldn''t quite find the will. Couldn''t think at all. Nothing felt real. All of this had to be happening to someone else.


    I have to¡­ I should¡­


    "Brainstorm!" came a loud, bassy shout from somewhere behind her, the suddenness of it making her flinch.


    Before she had time to see what was causing the commotion, an enormous figure slid in front of her. Gug had removed his hat and suit jacket, now in his bright shirtsleeves and brown waistcoat. His back was to her, broad as a barn. Something about his demeanor was different. He stood taller, great big fists raised in a tight boxer''s guard.


    "Don''t interfere, human," Gug said¡ªan oddly chill edge to his voice¡ªas he spared a glance back at her. "I can''t guarantee your safety if you get in my way."


    Sam was too stunned to argue.


    The enemy looked just as shocked to be staring down one of its own kind, but quickly got over its surprise. The two moved toward each other, the enemy at least a foot taller and probably two hundred pounds heavier than Gug.


    The two titans collided violently.


    Gug was no faster than before, but there was a new, strangely graceful fluidity to his movements. Each step, each minute shift of his weight was calculated, economical, perfect. He sidestepped the enemy troll''s opening haymaker, countered with a stabbing hook that connected only with the ends of two folded fingers, providing a sharp enough cutting edge to puncture the bigger monster''s thick hide and produce a trickle of blackish monster blood.


    The enemy roared and threw its weight around, throwing a series of groping swipes, but Gug avoided each one, stepping calmly so that the giant hands flew harmlessly past, missing by fractions of an inch. He barely seemed to be putting any effort into it, taking one step here, two there, barely needing to move his torso to weave. It was as though he was anticipating the other troll''s movements¡ªeven though they looked wildly unpredictable to Sam¡ªso that he was always just where he needed to be to avoid danger.


    He bounced a stray hit off his guard with a grunt, ducked under the next swing, retaliated with a quick combination of those short, stabbing punches that left more holes in the enemy.


    Gug was moving well¡ªreally well, actually¡ªbut the damage he was producing was negligible. The wounds he had opened up on the enemy had already begun to close, the oldest one letting out one last spurt of blood before the ends of the thick hide joined together in a new puckered scar. But Gug maintained the same perfectly even pace, kiting the other troll around in small circles to keep everybody else out of harm''s way.


    The other troll noticed it wasn''t connecting even as it swung over and over. That riled it up pretty quick. The huge monster lunged with a bellow, and Gug met it with a hard low kick to the inside of the shin. The other troll''s leg went sideways. It slipped in the mud and pitched a little off-balance, its big heaving belly luckily concealing its crotch. Gug took his chance and moved in, going from almost lazily effortless to lightning-quick, delivering a palm strike to the bigger troll''s chest that sent it stumbling back. Its eyes went wide as it drew in a panicked gasp and clutched at its heart.


    Making no effort to close the distance as the enemy fell back, Gug instead raised one finger toward the other troll, resting his other hand in the pocket of his trousers.


    "Power Word [Death]," he rumbled.


    A silent ripple of twitching muscles went through the enemy''s whole body. Its face slackened. Its eyes rolled back in its head, and its body went limp all at once, toppling backward and landing in the bog with an enormous splash of water and peat and chunks of moss and grass.


    There was no movement after that. Not a twitch.


    The thing was dead.

 Chapter 90 - Nug the Nefarious

    Sam


    Sam stood staring at the devastation, stupid and slack-jawed, for too long. She willed herself out of her stupor, at least bodily. Started moving. She needed to do something. To be useful, somehow.


    She waded back out into the bog to check for survivors. One by one, she dragged cold, limp bodies out of the insatiable pull of those muddy waters. Most were stone dead. Others were headed that way, already well on their way through death''s door. Some bodies had been irretrievably lost to the undertow.


    In some places the mud was up to her waist, a heavy force resisting any effort to breach it. Mongrel and Oatmeal weren''t able to help, since they weren''t strong enough to brave the peat bog and would probably just get stuck themselves. It was Gug who accompanied her, maneuvering the impediment more deftly than her thanks to his added height, having removed his boots and rolled his trouser legs up to the knees.


    The troll was still acting different, an unnerving coldness behind his little black eyes and a stern set to his heavy brow. Sam couldn''t put her finger on what it meant, but she had enough to worry about that it didn''t occupy much of her mind at present. He was helpful in retrieving the bodies, however, and somehow knew which spots to avoid that would make her sink down to her neck or worse.


    The time spent fighting the troll had seen the wagon pulled even deeper into the bog so that only one high corner stuck out. Gug dragged the metal-bound vehicle high enough that Sam could slip in through the ruined hole left by the monster and confirm that all the slaves inside had drowned, unable to save themselves as they were chained in place.


    What an awful way to die.


    [Congratulations! You have reached Level 7!]


    The message burned itself into the back of her mind as she was dragging one of the corpses to shore, frequently slipping in the mud, caked in the stinking stuff up to her cheeks.


    "Shut up!" she growled, and let go of her charge to yell at the sky. "Take it back!" The last thing she wanted right now was to be rewarded for her failure.


    But the Concord did not care about her moral crisis; did not respond to her childish tantrum.


    Trudging past with a body held carefully in outstretched arms to avoid getting muck on his clothes, Gug spared her a brief questioning look.


    "Sorry," Sam muttered as she returned to her work. "Please just ignore me."


    Gug obliged, moving on without a word spoken.


    There were only two survivors. A female Builder mercenary who was relatively unharmed, and a male Entertainer slave who had nearly drowned and was now pale and shaking.


    Oatmeal was trying and failing to start a fire while Mongrel tended to both of the survivors. The fact that the old Farmer was the most medically competent among them was somewhat concerning, but there it was.


    With nothing left to busy herself with, Sam was left standing in front of the rough line of corpses that they had made by the edge of the bog. Thirteen dead. At least two of them because of her. Because she''d hesitated.


    She stared especially at the one woman that the troll had used as an improvised weapon. She might have been pretty once, but now she hardly looked human. Her face was flattened, caved-in where it had struck Sam''s chest. Her neck was all twisted around, and her spine had snapped like a twig. A broken end of her collarbone protruded through the skin, pink and bloody.


    Sam could still remember the sensation of their bodies colliding, of another person shattering against her in a strangely intimate unmaking. It replayed endlessly in her head until she wanted to be sick, then kept going until she actually was sick, sagging low to spew up her breakfast.


    "Are you injured?" came Gug''s rough, deep rumble, that new icy coldness still present in his voice.


    "No," Sam mumbled. "Not at all." Not that she''d checked. A cursory glance down at herself revealed little. She wiped at the mud caking her. She didn''t think anything was broken, or that her skin had even been pierced.


    "Are you sure? You took a bad hit."


    "Yeah. I''m pretty tough."


    "I see. Impressive, for a human."


    Sam tore her eyes away from the mangled woman to glance up at the troll. "Something is different about you. What''s going on?"


    Gug was digging dirt out from under his fingernails, his face showing a great indifference for all the devastation around him. "That''s because the person you spoke to before was Gug. I am his brother, Nug."


    "You''re¡­ his brother?" She did remember Gug mentioning something about a brother before.


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    "Yes," Gug replied simply.


    "What do you mean?"


    "When Gug needs help, he calls for me and I take over."


    "Uh¡­ huh." Something like a split personality, then. Normally, she probably would have considered that interesting. "I''m sorry for making you do that," Sam said after a while. "Kill one of your own kind, I mean."


    Nug frowned down at her. "Why?"


    She shrugged. "In case it upset you."


    "Ah."


    "Did it?"


    "No. Killing does not make me feel one way or the other. It is rather like¡­ tying one''s shoes, only messier. I do dislike mess. In that sense, yes, I suppose this was an undesirable outcome." He gazed out at the bog, the other troll still slowly sinking, only its round belly and twisted face still visible over the waterline. "As for killing one of ''my own kind'', I find the very notion offensive. Do not presume to compare me to one of those mindless beasts. I am to a troll as a human is to a bonobo."


    "I see."


    Nug stared at her for a while, then heaved a sigh. "You seem upset. Why? You didn''t know these other humans, as far as I can tell."


    Sam shook her head. "I didn''t." She looked back at the bodies, felt a new wave of nausea bubble up inside.


    "Then, why?"


    "I failed to save them. At least two, probably more, are dead because I couldn''t bring myself to kill."


    "Ah. Yes, that is a considerable weakness. A fool once told me: ''To achieve the good life, love without shame and kill without mercy''."


    Sam nodded along absent-mindedly. In an effort to think about something, anything else, she asked: "You seem strong. How were you able to use something like Power Word [Death]? I was told that it doesn''t work unless the target is already attuned to the concept you''re influencing them with."


    "In this case, it worked due to a fairly complex set of ability interactions. It would take some time to explain."


    Sam looked over at Mongrel, still prodding at the two survivors and barking orders at Oatmeal. "Doesn''t seem like we''re in much of a rush."


    Nug sighed. "If you really must know, I''ll try to explain the sequence of events in order so that even a human can understand.


    "One, my brother used Brainstorm to vastly boost his aggregated Processing score and allow me to take over.


    "Two, I used Telepathy on the troll to gain insight into its thoughts, actions, and bodily functions while also dumping a large amount of raw information into its head to confuse the beast and slow its reaction speed.


    "Three, I used Visualize to manifest my understanding of the enemy''s cardiovascular system into a concrete visual layout, essentially allowing me to see inside its body.


    "Four, I engaged the troll in close combat. Though I could easily outmaneuver it, I was of course well aware that trolls possess the innate passive Mutagenesis, allowing for extremely rapid regeneration and making them very difficult to kill short of completely dismantling the body. That would have been messy and time-consuming, so I settled for a simpler approach.


    "Five, I made a blunt-force strike to the site over the enemy''s heart, timing it perfectly to the rhythm of its heartbeat so that the trauma produced momentary arrhythmia, something adjacent to a brief cardiac arrest. Not enough to kill, but¡­"


    "But close enough for Power Word [Death] to work on it," Sam guessed.


    "Correct. Normally, this would be an extremely difficult Power Word to pull off even with that level of setup, but it was made easier by the fact that I had already penetrated the enemy''s mind, giving me greater influence over its mental state, as well as my prodigiously high Processing score allowing my Power Words to work with greater efficiency.


    "Monsters are easily affected by these types of mental attacks, as they are stupid and typically have weak mental barriers, but Power Word would not have worked at all if not for the preceding cast of Telepathy. A Power Word target needs to perceive and understand the word they are being influenced with in order for it to take effect. Trolls typically have no comprehension of the One Tongue, making them immune, but by having direct Telepathic access to its mind I was able to transfer the information directly as raw mental stimuli in addition to casting the skill verbally."


    Sam found the lengthy explanation somewhat calming, feeling almost like Will was there to lecture at her. She wished he was there. She could use a hug. Just looking at his face would be enough, really.


    But he wasn''t there. And there were still another ten days until she would see him again, assuming they ever made it out of the impenetrable fog that still ringed their small area of clear space.


    Nug went on talking, and Sam wasn''t about to stop him, even though she wasn''t really paying much attention.


    "Power Word [Death] does not cause any physical damage. It merely convinces the target body to instantly shut off any cerebral and cardiovascular activity, as it believes it is dead, which in turn causes true death. This bypasses any regenerative power granted by Mutagenesis, making it a perfect tool against this type of enemy."


    "That''s very impressive," Sam mumbled. And more than a little terrifying, but she didn''t say that out loud. "Thank you, Nug. For doing what I couldn''t."


    Nug gave a small nod. "You''re welcome." He began pulling out handfuls of dry grass to wipe his bare legs down with. "And thank you, human, for saving my brother from bondage. It''s been a long time since anyone has treated him with any kindness."


    "Don''t mention it."


    "As such, I have no objections to his traveling with you. However." He rose to his full eight-foot height, towering over her, face shadowed from what little sunlight broke through the fog over their heads. "If you allow Gug to come to harm through your weakness, I will see that you pay for it dearly."


    Sam expelled a quick, hysteric laugh before she could stifle it. "Understood, Nug," she said. "I''ll¡­ try to do better."


    "Good. See that you do."


    The active effect of Brainstorm must have ended not long after, because a change came over the troll''s face, and he seemed confused for a moment as he looked around, inspecting first his surroundings, then his own body. He made a sad sort of moan at the sight of his waistcoat and trousers flecked with mud. At least they were already brown, so the mess was not too obvious.


    "What happened?" Gug asked, blinking vapidly at her, his lower lip outthrust. "You were in trouble, so I whooshed. I thought my brother could help you."


    "He did," Sam replied with a put-on smile, scratching at a dried-out crust of mud on her cheek. "You both really saved my ass, Gug. Thank you."


    "Really? I was helpful?"


    "Really."


    "Really really?"


    "Really really, Gug."


    His face split in a huge, stupid grin. "Heh."

 Chapter 91 - Not So Peaceful Fist

    Sam


    Mongrel eventually finished with the two survivors and came over to where Sam had found a seat on the ground, fruitlessly pulling up blades of grass. The old man was wiping his hands on a strip of a pieced-up blanket, having used the rest as bandaging, and watched her a while with pursed lips.


    "We should probably be burying them," she said, nodding toward the line of corpses some fifteen feet off.


    "Nah," he replied. "No time. Besides, some beast or another would just come along to dig them up again."


    "I suppose."


    With a dramatic groan, he bent down to take a seat next to her, knees crackling. His hands reasonably clean of blood and dirt, he handed his rag to Sam. She accepted even though it was already well-used, and began rubbing her arms and face with it. It wasn''t like it could make her any dirtier.


    "I''ll table the lecture about you running off all half-cocked," Mongrel said with a chuckle, though his brow retained a light frown. "Looks like you''ve got enough on your mind already."


    Sam snorted. "Thanks."


    Another pause. Then, after a while, he said: "You can''t win ''em all, you know. There''s no shame in getting your ass kicked every now and then."


    Sam finished with the rag and let it drop between her feet. "I know that. I''m not upset because I lost."


    "Why, then?"


    "Because I hesitated, Mongrel. I could''ve stayed on top of that monster, kept it from hurting anyone else, but I froze. Couldn''t make up my mind on whether I should kill it. Because of that, people died. Their deaths are on me."


    "I get it, kid. Don''t be so hard on yourself, kid. I reckon none of ''em would have lived if you hadn''t gone in like you did."


    Sam looked up at the old man. She refused to allow herself the indignity of crying, but she couldn''t stop a slight quiver of her bottom lip. "This can''t happen again. I have to be able to kill monsters. If something like this happens again, I have to be ready."


    He said nothing, just watched her, slowly ran a hand through his thin gray hair. Then he gave a tiny nod.


    The two of them sat in silence for a minute, Mongrel just making random plosive noises to cut the awkwardness¡ªquite unsuccessfully. Then he gave her a hesitant, weird uncle kind of pat on the back.


    "Reckon we should get a move on soon," he said, climbing to his feet. "The new kid got to Level 3 just before we hit all this mess, so if we keep going we might get him high enough to pick up Detect. I''m thinking all this fucking smoke and mirrors might actually be good for his leveling."


    "Right," Sam replied, and began picking herself up.


    As she got ready to leave, she noticed that the fog had begun closing in on the area where they stood, tendrils of mist spreading across the ground and twirling about their legs as though to grab hold of them.


    "The nettlegeist thing must have herded us here specifically," she said, "hoping the troll would kill us so it could get some easy leftovers."


    "I reckon so," Mongrel said with a nod.


    "So I guess it''s some kind of¡­ symbiotic¡­ scavenger type thing?"


    "Reckon so."


    "So what are the chances of the nettlegeist running us into even more monsters when we keep going?"


    "High, I reckon." He looked up from his double-checking of Zero''s gear, absently patting her neck as the mule stepped nervously in place. "Three of the boys have died already, somewhere out there. I know ''cause I feel them shoot back inside me to regenerate. I won''t know exactly how they died until they pop back out and tell me themselves, but I can feel their emotions a little, and it doesn''t seem like they died nice. Either the nettlegeist got them, or there are other nasties out there waiting for us."


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    "Fun," Sam muttered.


    "Truly fucking hilarious."


    They got moving again, picking a direction that seemed relatively safe¡ªnot that they had much to go by¡ªand headed off into the mists. The two survivors from the slave transport tagged along without protest. The mercenary was a Level 6 Builder named Price, and the slave was a Level 3 Entertainer named Flowerboy. Neither one of them talked much.


    They made all right progress for what felt like a few hours. They reluctantly followed the path that the fog laid out for them, though they strained against it whenever possible, and stayed ready for anything. But nothing jumped out at them, and their vigilance was eventually blunted.


    Toward what had to be the afternoon, though it was impossible to tell through the impenetrable gray blanket that surrounded them on all sides, the group began to notice a strange affliction coming over them. Shortness of breath accompanied by a tingling in the mouth and throat, as well as rapidly spreading rashes. It was almost like some sort of strange allergic reaction. Only Sam and Gug were mostly exempt, likely due to high Toughness and Mutagenesis respectively.


    "Could be hallucinations," Mongrel said once it became severe enough that they could no longer ignore it. "Might be the nettlegeist is trying to freak us out, get us rushing, making mistakes."


    "And if it''s not that?" Sam asked.


    "Might be another monster fucking with us. Hard to say." He scratched vigorously at a growing red patch on the side of his neck until his nails made white streaks of flaking skin. "But I guess our outlook just went from bad to worse." He directed a stern frown at Oatmeal, who looked like he was trying to disappear into his collar. "So you better quit fucking around and level up already."


    No one was feeling particularly good about it, but there was little they could do to stop the symptoms, so they just kept going, picking up the pace as best they could without being reckless.


    The day wore on, and they finally began to notice some sort of change in the sky as the section of fog over their heads slowly darkened. Strangely, they also felt as though the fog began retracting with the failing of the day, eventually allowing them to see more than a few feet in front of them. The bony, mostly leafless trees around them came back into view. Though a drab, uninspiring sight, it was still welcome.


    Of course, they still maintained a healthy suspicion that it was the nettlegeist luring them into another trap, but as time passed and nothing attacked them that began to seem increasingly less likely.


    "I think our friend is starting to get tired," Mongrel speculated, followed by a fit of hacking coughs. He finished with a long groan, wiping spittle from his lip, and said: "Monsters don''t get AP, so any innate skills they have are necessarily cantrips, meaning they can use them to their black little shriveled hearts'' content. They still suffer skill fatigue, though, as far as I know.


    "I reckon the nettlegeist was expecting us to have croaked already. Needing to keep up this fog for a whole day might be starting to take its toll.


    "Good," Sam said, nodding. "Maybe it''ll clear up enough that we can track the bastard down."


    "Here''s hoping."


    They hardly had time to utter that thought before an unholy wail cut through the twisting wall of mist, almost like the throaty yowl of a dying cat. Definitely not human.


    Within moments, the fog began trembling, dispersing, evaporating.


    "The shit was that?" Mongrel growled, naked sword resting against his shoulder and his free hand resting on his cocked hip. "Nettlegeist slip and fall down a ravine or something?"


    Oatmeal, taking things in somewhat less even stride, had his trembling blade in both hands, point held out before him as he jerked his head this way and that. "Is that good or bad?" he asked, looking a bit green in the face. "Oh god¡­ I''m going to die, aren''t I? Why did I agree to this¡­?"


    There was another cry, fainter this time, shortly followed by a familiar-sounding hoot.


    "That''s Number One," Mongrel said without hesitation.


    Sure enough, a minute later the old chimp came hobbling through the undergrowth, displacing some of the final stubborn tentacles of mist. He wore his bow case strapped to his back and the weapon itself in one hand, an arrow clutched against the grip.


    With rare energy, Mongrel shoved past the others and met Number One halfway at a steady jog. He got on one knee and put a hand on the old chimp''s shoulders. "Good to see you, buddy," he said.


    The rest of their conversation passed in silence as signs flowed rapidly between the two. Sam lingered nearby, not wanting to interrupt, until Mongrel stood back up and faced the others.


    "I''ve got some pretty good news and some slightly less good news," he announced. "Number Two is the only other chimp still around, but him and Number One got separated, so we still don''t know where he is.


    "That''s the slightly less good news. The pretty good news is that Number One managed to stalk our stalker for a little while and got a shot off on it. It did a runner, but he thinks he can track it.


    "So I guess the question is, do we want to chase the fucker down and kill it, or do we want to take the opportunity to get out of here while we''ve got it running scared?"


    "We kill it," Sam said quickly, sounding a good deal more confident than she felt. "If we give it time to rest and recover it might just come after us again before we can get away, and there''s no guarantee that it will give Number One another chance to tag it."


    "Fair enough," Mongrel said, "and I happen to agree." He made a lazy gesture toward the others with the point of his sword. "Anyone, objections? Opinions?"


    Oatmeal shook his head.


    Flowerboy shook his head.


    Gug was staring off at nothing with his tongue out, clearly not paying attention.


    "Let''s kill it," Price said, prodding at a rash forming on her jawline. "I''ve got friends that need avenging."


    And so it was decided.

 Chapter 92 - Not so Peaceful Fist [2]

    Sam


    The group followed Number One as he trapped the nettlegeist through the woods, following a light blood trail that the monster had left behind as well as some subtle disturbances in the foliage. Sam would certainly not have noticed most of it if the old chimp didn''t point out what he saw every so often, keeping a measured pace to avoid getting ahead of the others.


    It was nice not to be stuck in a gray bubble anymore, actually able to see some of the terrain around her. The forest was less dense than it had seemed when fog was plugging all the gaps. Without all the bullshit in the way, it was also easier to avoid thickets and thorny bushes.


    Number One soon led them out into a large clearing that sloped up toward a low hill at its center. The hill was riddled with big dark holes that Sam quickly realized were tunnels, bloody idols of carven bone posted about the place as though to dissuade visitors.


    Number One turned to his father and signed something. Mongrel nodded.


    "That looks an awful lot like a grumpling den," he said with a weary sigh, scratching angrily at his neck. "Number One thinks the nettlegeist went in there. Damn things must be friends of his."


    "Shit," Price muttered.


    "What does that mean?" Oatmeal asked, looking around at the others. "Is that bad?"


    "It means we''ve got our work cut out, at the very least," Mongrel replied without a glance at the youth.


    Sam was about to ask if it was possible that the den was abandoned, but her question was answered as she saw several pairs of eyes glittering in the openings, heard low voices chattering incomprehensibly when she strained her ears.


    "Well, guess there''s nothing for it," Mongrel said. "The sun isn''t getting any higher with us farting around. No choice but to go in and clear the place."


    "Can we do that?" Oatmeal asked.


    "You better hope so." He pointed at Sam. "You better go first, girl. You''re the only one who can take a good knock upside the head without your brains spilling out. Genius, I reckon you''re too big. You stay out here and cheer us on or something."


    "Okay," Gug intoned, digging in his nose with a pinky finger.


    "I''ve got this one, guys," Sam said. "Let me do this on my own."


    Mongrel hissed as he scratched himself too hard, pulled his hand away to inspect the fresh blood under his fingernails. "Bad idea, kid. That''s a big nest right there¡ªno telling how many of the little fuckers are inside. I know you think you''ve got something to prove, but going into a place like that without backup is pretty crazy, even for you."


    "I''m doing it," Sam insisted, arms tightly crossed to hide the fact that her hands were trembling.


    Mongrel didn''t back down, hands on hips and chin outthrust in that annoying way of his. "I''ve known a thousand stupid kids like you, and most of ''em died before they got old and wise like me. Young people all think they''re unkillable until something kills ''em. You''re not as invincible as you think, all right? If you die out here, Will is going to fucking shishkebab me with that sword of his, and I''m not too keen on that."


    "I''m doing it," Sam repeated. She turned to Gug, the troll looking back at her with a vapid, vaguely questioning look on his blunt cinderblock of a face. "Gug, would you mind asking your brother to come out for me? I could use his help with something."


    Gug did not mind. One Brainstorm later, and his colder, sterner self manifested in full force.


    Sam explained to him what she wanted. "Would it be possible for you to link us up with Telepathy so that when I''m in there, you can hit me with a Power Word [Rage] or something? Just to, uh, make sure I have the guts to do what I gotta."


    "You do not look angry enough for that to be effective on you," Nug said, then heaved his massive shoulders in a shrug. "Although, I believe I can make something work."


    She nodded her approval.


    Realizing that he wasn''t going to win an argument against her, Mongrel decided not to stand in her way. "I''d offer you a sword," he said, "but it''s looking like it might get a little tight in there to be maneuvering a blade around."


    Sam took his point. She hadn''t planned on bringing a weapon at all, but in the end she went and fetched a small hatchet strapped to Zero''s packing that they normally used to chop firewood. Weighing it in her hand, she decided it would have to do. She had her belt knife as a backup, too, if she needed it.


    Oatmeal looked supremely relieved that he wouldn''t need to do any fighting after all. Price stooped to prepare a torch for Sam while Mongrel put a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close.


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    "Grumplings are common enough that I''ve fought a couple in my time," he said, "so let me tell you what''s up with these guys."


    "All right," Sam replied.


    "Their innate ability is called Hordeling Outburst. I guess it gives them a sort of hivemind. They''re normally pretty cowardly, so they prefer to set up ambushes and the like. They look dumb as bricks, and just one on its own isn''t too dangerous to deal with, but they''re crazy coordinated. Kind of like those creepy twins who do everything in sync and finish each other''s sentences and shit."


    "Right."


    "Expect them to get sneaky with you is all I''m saying. I''ve never known anyone stupid enough to walk into a grumpling den, let alone come back out again, so I can''t tell you what you''ll find in there. Watch your ass."


    "Got it. Any chance we can talk them down? Do you think they speak our language?"


    "They''re fluent in gibberish and that''s about it. Besides that, they''re as friendly as a pack of piranhas."


    "Actually, piranhas aren''t really that aggressive toward humans. In fact, they''re mostly herbivorous for some parts of the year."


    "Kid, seriously, who cares?"


    "I do, because I had to sit through a whole ten-minute lecture from Will when I made a comparison like that."


    Once she was ready, Nug came and cast Telepathy on her, placing one finger against her forehead to apply the skill effect more easily. She expected it to feel strange, like having someone else stuffed into her head, but there was only a light creeping sensation across her skull that quickly faded. Nug explained that the connection was only one-way unless he chose otherwise, meaning she wouldn''t be able to view his mind at all, only the other way around.


    Then, while the others remained at the edge of the clearing, Sam approached the hill alone, hatchet in one hand and flaming torch in the other. The indistinct chattering from inside dropped to a low murmur as she got closer, the eyes glaring at her from those tunnels seeming to have multiplied since she first spotted them.


    She stopped about twenty feet from the nearest entrance and shouted: "Hey! You in there!"


    The hill grew completely silent. The only sound was a light wind sighing through the trees.


    "I don''t have any quarrel with you," she continued, "just the thing you''re harboring. If you let me pass, there''s no reason for us to fight."


    There was no response. One pair at a time, the eyes vanished, until she was staring at a messy collection of dark, empty cave entrances.


    Sam was pretty sure that meant they''d rejected her offer, but it still remained to be seen. Forcing herself into action before inertia could root her feet to the ground, she picked one of the larger tunnels and stepped inside. Almost instantly, the world narrowed in on her, darkness closing all about her with only a slim circle of insufficient, flickering light cast by her firebrand as she held it out before her.


    She spared a single glance back at the entrance, took a deep breath to steel herself, and continued.


    The tunnel was wide enough for her to maneuver without much impediment, but she had to walk just a little bit crouched to avoid hitting her head off the uneven ceiling. Hanging roots brushed over her face and hair like trailing fingers. They made her shiver. It smelled like mold and dirt and rancid flesh. She quickly learned the source of the latter as her feet kicked off bits of bone, some of which still had bits of gray, rotted tissue attached.


    The remains of some other unfortunate travelers, she guessed.


    The walls were covered in a strangely thick mat of slimy mushrooms of various sizes and species, their umbrella tops producing a faint, arrhythmic drum beat as water dripped from the moist earthen ceiling to hit off them.


    She stopped as she reached a small chamber with three other paths branching out from it, unsure which one would get her to the nettlegeist. She held up her torch while she scanned the cave floor for any signs of the blood trail they had followed, but it was so covered in debris and old, dried-in bodily fluids that she doubted she''d have much luck there.


    Then, all at once, the tunnel system came alive in an explosion of frenzied movement, chattering and shrieking and the pounding of bare feet coming from every direction at once.


    A whole heap of four feet tall, hairy bundles of fury sprang at her from the shadows. They were like some bizarre variety of monkey with too-big heads, round saucer eyes, and wide mouths lined with many needle teeth. She tried to beat them back with her torch, but as soon as she turned one way there were others jumping on her from behind. Several grumplings latched onto her back and hung off her arms, trying to pin her down. One clambered onto her shoulders and clapped its hands down over her eyes, effectively blinding her, while screaming in her ear so loud that she quickly could only hear ringing on that side.


    Sam dropped her torch on the ground to free up a hand, caught the beast riding her shoulders by a handful of greasy fur, and flung it ahead of her with force, not bothering to determine where it landed.


    The creatures bit her, clawed her, stabbed at her with crude knives of flint or bone, buffeting her this way and that with the sheer weight of their stinking bodies.


    "Nug!" she shouted, her voice nearly drowned under the chorus of unholy gibbering that issued from the grumplings. "I need that Power Word now! Please hurry!" She could only hope that his connection to her mind was still holding strong.


    The reply was almost instant.


    <Very well, human.>


    Sam''s stomach lurched like she was looking over the edge of a very tall building, and her eyes went wide as there was suddenly too little air inside that chamber, everything all staid and moist and clinging to her skin, countless voices screaming, bodies pressing too close, pulling on her.


    She''d never make it out of this cave alive.


    She''d die in here, and she wouldn''t be able to go back and help Will, and he would die, and all her friends would die, and it would all be her fault.


    My fault.


    <Your fault, human.>


    With a high yell, voice breaking, Sam brought down the hatchet on the closest furry head in front of her, felt the skull splitting under its weight as easily as a piece of firewood, the metal head buried up to the shaft. A pair of huge eyes rolled back, and she felt the little body spasming through the handle before going slack.


    It was the first time she had ever felt something die by her hand.


    But there were so many more of them. She''d never get them all.


    She couldn''t breathe.

 Chapter 93 - Not So Peaceful Fist [3]

    Sam


    The corpse of the grumpling she had just domed was stuck so firmly that it came up with the axe when she tried to pull it away, its limbs dangling. With a strangled noise, she let the weapon fall, turned her focus to the unified mass of claws and fur still bearing down on her, climbing all over her, tearing and stabbing at her.


    Two grumplings were trying to make off with her fallen torch to leave her in darkness. Expelling a frightened yell, she hit the first one with a clumsy front kick to the side of the head that sent it bouncing off the wall with a scattering of spongy fungus. She reached blindly and tore a biting creature from her body by its ankle to swing into the second thief with all the force she could muster, their skulls knocking together with a sharp smack, both compacting under the force like overripe pumpkins. She threw her living weapon to the ground, stomped the back of its neck, then rolled it aside with the broad side of her foot.


    She laid about her in an indiscriminate, blind frenzy, hands and feet moving on jerky reflex. She crushed bones, shattered skulls. Everything was a loud, dark, breathless storm, seconds passing like hours.


    Then, suddenly, the horde of creatures disengaged all at once, leaping off her and ducking away from her wild haymakers to go slinking off in the dark every which way, out of her tiny circle of light in a second flat. She was left standing there, wheezing for breath, with the torch guttering at her feet to cast her own crazy shadow jittering along the chamber wall.


    Her clothes were torn so bad that they hung off her like rags, and her skin stung in countless places. She prodded at herself, tried to figure out if she was badly wounded, but she only found minor scratches and some small, superficial puncture wounds where she had been stabbed that made her fingertips come away red.


    A rough half-dozen grumplings lay scattered about her; half of them stone dead, the other half still thrashing weakly. Horrible gurgles and moans and sucking noises issued from their throats.


    Sam picked up her torch, the thing coming back to full life when it was removed from the moist dirt. Getting a closer look at the creatures on the ground, she found that behind their fur coverings, their bodies were grotesquely deformed. Mushrooms sprouted from them all over; arms, armpits, chests, faces¡ªeven mouths, in one case. These spread out in sprays of dirty greens and reds and browns and grays, similar to the ones that festooned the walls.


    She wasn''t sure what that meant. Was the nettlegeist causing all this fungal growth? Was it due to something else?


    With neither the time nor the presence of mind to give it any thought, Sam dislodged her hatchet and trudged on, picking the tunnel that most of the creatures seemed to have fled down. Maybe she should have given the dying grumplings mercy by finishing them off, but she was already out of the chamber when she had the thought, and by that time it was too late to go back. She was glad for the excuse.


    Even as she continued down the tunnel for some time, her heart continued to batter the inside of her chest. Shadows jumped out at her, the light off her torch constantly shifting and distorting over the fungal growth that streaked the walls.


    Dark, terrible thoughts raced through her mind. Too weak. Too slow. Couldn''t save anyone. Will would die. Will was already dead. Her heart was beating too fast. She couldn''t get air. She leaned against a wall to catch her breath, crushing wet mushrooms under her elbow.


    "Nug," she breathed through hard panting, "I don''t know if¡­ if you''re still doing the thing, but you can stop now. It''s too much. It''s too¡­ I can''t¡­"


    <No.>


    Her advance instantly turned into a mad scramble, breaths coming in shallow gasps, tears streaking her face. Faster. Faster. She needed to go faster. Even a dead sprint wasn''t fast enough.


    She skidded to a stop when a shambling shape came into view. A single grumpling, something off about it. The dark-furred creature was horrifically bloated with fungal growth, tottering on emaciated legs that supported a huge, rounded, misshapen belly. It carried no weapons that she could tell, but unlike the others that had been entirely naked, this one had a filthy hide thrown over it like a ragged poncho. The sloppy garment was studded with bits of sharpened flint that glinted shiny gray-black in the torchlight.


    Sam barely had time to process the whole baffling, disgusting sight before the creature let out a shriek that sounded more like an expression of agony than fighting spirit. It arched back, arms thrown wide, and its stomach rapidly swelled until it was pushing on the flap of its garment.


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    Then, all at once, it ruptured violently, a dull explosion that sent gore flying, spattering the walls and floor and ceiling all over. Stone shrapnel from the hide poncho went whistling past Sam''s face, and suddenly she was blinking at a flare of pain in her right eye, vision gone black on that side, drawing a hiss of renewed pain from her when she tried to prod at it.


    The exploded grumpling was well and truly dead, torn open from waist to crotch, and the only thing blocking her path now was its still-twitching corpse.


    Halfway blinded, Sam kept moving. She couldn''t afford to stop. Not for anything.


    Only a few steps down the line, another wave of grumplings fell upon her in a coordinated assault. They came charging out of hidden tunnels at her sides that had been concealed behind fungal foliage, and several even dropped down on her from somewhere above.


    This time, they lassoed her with thin ropes made from twined tendons, teams of them pulling on her from several directions at once to hold her in one place between them.


    A pulsing fog billowed through the tunnel as she tried to fight back, further obscuring her already halved vision. The grumplings did not appear affected, even as the fog thickened and muffled her torch''s light even further. Maybe they could navigate in the dark. Maybe the nettlegeist could choose to omit its minions from the skill effect. The why of it didn''t really matter.


    The grumplings jabbed at her with knives and hacked at her with little stone axes. They focused her efforts on her ankles, sides, head, backs of the knees. Anywhere and everywhere that might be a weak point. Their bodies pressed against her, smothering, each creature almost indistinguishable from the next as they stepped in and out in perfect sync, one grumpling never getting in another''s way.


    Another foreign thought echoed through her head, effortlessly cutting through the noise.


    The fear chilling her veins heated, boiled, burned. Sam felt herself slip, falling into herself until she felt like she was a passenger in her own body. Swallowed by a single, all-consuming desire.


    A need to tear these disgusting creatures into bloody pieces.


    She was only vaguely cognizant of her body''s actions, experienced as blurry snapshots of awareness. Smashing a grumpling against the wall. Stomping another into the ground until its brains spilled out. Throwing the hatchet at one running toward her and catching it between the eyes. A snapped neck. A shattered spine. A flattened rib cage. Picking one up by its oversized head and digging her thumbs into its eyes until they popped like grapes, then crushing its skull between her palms.


    Through it all, she was walking forward. Forcing them back. Leaving broken bodies in her wake. They retreated occasionally to set up another ambush, but always came back. At the next intersection, a pair of those bloated ones came at her from opposite directions and threw themselves at her. She stood there and let them blow up, shrugging off the nicks she took from the shrapnel, and moved on.


    For a while they stayed at range where they were only vague, shadowed figures and peppered her with blow gun fire, aiming for her face. The projectiles bounced off. She ignored them. The monsters realized that strategy wasn''t going to work, and quickly abandoned it.


    The fog undulated about her and solidified into ghostly shapes, trying to confuse and disorient her, but it made no difference as she was just walking without a plan anyway. She figured she had to be going in the right direction, going by the grumplings'' increasingly desperate attempts to repel her.


    They collapsed the ceiling on her head to try and bury her and cut off her advance, but she broke through the rubble and kept going. She encountered what she thought were just medium-sized rocks littering the ground until she stepped on one and it exploded in a grainy cloud of choking spores that made her torch flare brighter for a moment. Some sort of huge camouflaged puffballs.


    She let none of it slow her, and finally made it out of the tunnel into a larger chamber. It was roughly circular and maybe thirty feet wall-to-wall,  with a higher ceiling that extended a good five feet above her head. Old bones and moldering trash lay heaped in a huge pile at its center, illuminated by a hole in the ceiling that trickled a shaft of ambient dusk light down into the chamber, hitting off random pieces of dirty glass or tarnished scrap metal that poked out of the trash hoard.


    A group of seven larger, burlier grumplings in rattling bone armor stood arrayed in front of the hoard, snarling and shrieking and slinging what Sam assumed to be insults in their own cursed language at her. They jabbed metal-tipped spears at her, warning her to stay away.


    They were guarding a long, pudgy figure that lay on its side before the hoard, many legs working feebly, a fat tail swishing at the air. Sam could not see the thing all that clearly past its defenders, but it looked grotesquely pale and soft, like a huge, white worm or a floppy centipede. An old, withered grumpling knelt by the creature''s side, hard at work extracting an arrow from its side with viscous, pus-like fluid bubbling past the shaft.


    Sam''s lip curled with disgust.


    The nettlegeist willed its guards to part by frantically waving a slightly longer forelimb; chubby, clumsy and blunt-fingered like the arm of a baby. She got a good look at its face, then, which was no face at all, just a vague suggestion of a head on top of a fat neck, an eyeless, featureless shape only broken up by a thin mouth. "Human!" it cried in a butchered, oddly enunciated attempt at normal speech, body wiggling and contorting with the effort of producing words. "You leave! Make deal, you leave!"


    "No," Sam replied.


    "Take treasure! You leave, take treasure! No follow!"


    "No," Sam repeated.


    The chance for this to turn out peacefully had ended a good long while ago.

 Chapter 94 - Not So Peaceful Fist [4]

    Sam


    Figuring she might as well make use of the excellent shot that the nettlegeist had given her at its head, Sam reared back and hurled her hatchet, sent it spinning into the murk. Before the weapon had even left her hand, the aged grumpling healer had staggered up, arms thrown wide and scrambling into the path of the hatchet. The blade bit deep into the center of its chest with a thud, and the withered little creature tumbled away, choking on its own fluids.


    That put a rather conclusive end to any negotiations the nettlegeist thought it was having. It only needed to give a long hiss as a command for its honor guard to rush forward, expelling brave war cries.


    Sam dropped her torch and waited for them to reach her, four diving in to pressure her while the remaining three circled at a distance, angling for an opening. She caught the first spear thrust at her by the shaft, stopping the point an inch from her gut, and ripped it from the creature''s hands. The grumpling didn''t let go fast enough and was carried forward by the pull, stumbling face-first into the knee she had raised and waiting for it. It fell away, and she twirled the spear around in her fingers to get a proper fighting grip on it, then spiked it point-blank through the grumpling just now taking the place of the first one. It shattered the large animal skull that served as its breastplate and went clean through the torso, coming out the other end to impale the creature to the ground.


    One of them released its weapon to leap at her from the side. She met the thing with a raised hand and caught it by its neck; left it dangling, flailing. Adjusting her grip, she brought the creature up to her mouth and effortlessly tore out a chunk of its throat, then tossed it carelessly aside. She spat out the chunk of sour-tasting esophagus at one of its advancing comrades.


    They fell one by one, and even with steel instead of stone their weapons did not do much to hurt her. The last two tried to flee. She nailed one in the back of the head with a scooped-up rock as it made for the nearest tunnel, caving in its brainpan. The last one didn''t make it more than two steps before she caught it by the ankle and it went flopping on its face. It screamed as she stepped on its spine, then screamed no more as she felt bone shatter like fragile glass.


    Upon seeing that it no longer had any protection to hide behind, the nettlegeist forced its ponderous body upright with a frantic clicking of countless sharp limbs. Sam''s mind struggled to figure out how to classify the creature. Snake? Worm? Centipede? Something even more primordial with its doughy, featureless body, like some vastly overgrown amoeba? A forest of mushrooms sprouted from its back in colorful ridges, releasing powdery waves of spores with every movement the monster made that mixed with the mist that now issued from around its feet and was quickly thickening throughout the chamber.


    The fog soon concealed everything, leaving her blind to the creature''s movements and everything beyond arm''s reach. Its spores clung to her throat and burned the one eye she still kept open. She shut that eye too, and strained her hearing for the tap-tap-tap of many legs and whisper of its dragging underbelly as it circled her.


    "Be careful," Sam murmured. "The nettlegeist might try to flee. You should surround the den to cut off its escape."


    <Already done, human,> Nug replied, sounding vaguely offended that she even thought she needed to remind him of something so elementary.


    "Good."


    That was just a precaution, though. She didn''t think the nettlegeist was really going to run. If that was its plan, it would have done so by now, but it was still circling, circling. It was done running. It was setting up one last, desperate attack.


    Sam saw no need to disappoint it. She dropped her arms by her sides and waited, daring it to do its worst. A few moments later she felt a strong impact out of nowhere that would have sent her stumbling if her legs hadn''t already been wrapped up in a thick, slimy tail. The nettlegeist wrapped itself around her, going higher and higher up her body, its legs digging into her clothes and skin until she was trussed up all the way to her shoulders.


    The nettlegeist''s blank face slowly slid into view in front of her, its pale countenance partially blending in with the fog that surrounded it. It squeezed her tighter, choking her, and its toothless, tongueless mouth gaped into a wide, gaping hole as it spewed out a watery cloud of clinging spores directly in her face.


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    Holding her breath through it, Sam shrugged one of her pinned arms higher, then higher still, extracting it by inches. Her task was made significantly easier by the slickness of its smooth, thin-skinned bulk reducing friction. When she finally dragged it loose, the nettlegeist snapped its mouth shut and tried to jerk its head back out of reach, but Sam caught it in her hand, digging her fingers into the spongy flesh and holding it in place.


    The nettlegeist''s myriad limbs scraped against her all over as it struggled for its life, and it let out a long, thin hiss that intensified into a panicked whine as she clamped down harder. Its head seemingly did not have a skull inside, its tissues providing only token resistance. When her fingers had nearly met in the middle, hand closed most of the way into a fist, the monster finally went slack. Insectile limbs jerked spasmodically as its elongated body released its cramping hold.


    Sam let the disgusting monstrosity fall away, its upper body slowly unwinding as it sagged down her, and she stepped free of the part still clinging to her legs. She went over to the dead old grumpling and pinned a foot against its small stomach to jerk her hatchet back out, then took it back to the nettlegeist to behead it, just to be safe. The blade being as small as it was, it took a handful of hard chops before the head came completely off.


    Standing up off her haunches, Sam kicked the formless head off into the dark. She gave a heavy sigh, feeling suddenly exhausted, and she let the blood-slick hatchet fall from her stiff fingers to clatter on the ground. Bodies littered the chamber around her, some still twitching occasionally.


    It was over.


    She''d done what needed to be done.


    [Congratulations! You have reached Level 8!]


    Yay. Go me.


    * * *


    Mongrel


    At some point, the faint screams and other, more unspeakable noises issuing from the den ceased, overtaken by an oppressive silence. Then the troll announced Sam''s success, and the ones who had been placed around the clearing to cut off the nettlegeist''s retreat were able to pull back to the temporary camp they had set up.


    Not long after, the kid came wandering out of one of the monster tunnels; clothes gone to tatters, caked up to her eyeballs in blood. She walked slowly, without any particular energy or purpose. Mongrel jogged over to meet her, offering an arm to steady herself on.


    She declined. "I''m all right," she said with a tired smile, one of her eyes pinched shut. "Most of the blood isn''t mine."


    He brought her over to the camp and sat her down so he could be the judge of that. It turned out she was telling the truth. Despite looking an absolute state, she really wasn''t very badly injured. Aside from a few scrapes and cuts and minor puncture wounds, she was still in decent shape.


    The worst damage she had sustained was probably the eye, which had somehow been pierced by a tiny flint shard. Number One was able to extract the foreign object, but aside from that there wasn''t much to be done until they could get her to a Physician in Talltop, meaning she''d probably be keeping up her Will Greene impression for the next little while.


    Number One plucked out stone pieces from a few of the other wounds as well, then cleaned them with alcohol and bandaged the worst ones. Sam thanked the old chimp with a stroke on the head and a tug on his earlobe, but appeared too weary to say much.


    He imagined it was probably more mental than physical exhaustion that was plaguing her. Popping one''s cherry could affect people quite powerfully, and Sam was a girl of particularly sensitive moral constitution.


    "How''d it go in there?" Mongrel asked, crouched next to her, when she didn''t say anything for a while and just sat on a foldout stool staring at nothing.


    "It went well," she said in a distant voice that was nothing like her usual chirpy tone. "The nettlegeist is dead. I think most of the grumplings too. Maybe all of them. I dunno."


    "All right, kid." He patted her leg and gave her a sympathetic smile. "You did a good job."


    "Thanks."


    Mongrel stood away to give the girl some room. The mercenary woman, Price, approached him as soon as he finished talking with her. "How the fuck did she just do that?" she asked, grabbing Mongrel by his sleeve.


    Mongrel glanced down at the offending hand, then back up at the hard-faced woman. "What do you want me to say? The kid''s got guts, is all."


    "Fuck off, man. A Level 6 Laborer doesn''t pull the type of shit she just pulled with ''guts''."


    "Level 8, actually," Sam corrected absently. "I just haven''t had time to sleep yet."


    "Fuck me," the mercenary muttered, rubbing her forehead. Realizing that Mongrel wasn''t about to give her a satisfying explanation, she stalked off to fetch some firewood, muttering obscenities under her breath.


    Oatmeal and Flowerboy were suitably awestruck, whispering amongst themselves about what might have happened inside that den. The troll was the only one who didn''t seem to have an opinion. Once his genius mode ran out, he went back to picking his nose and reading his books.


    It was pretty much night already, and the kid looked like she could use a bit of downtime, so Mongrel decided that they would camp out right there in the clearing for the night. He set up a rotating watch to keep an eye out just in case the grumplings weren''t quite genocided out of existence, or some other unspeakable thing decided to spring on them out of the woods.

 Chapter 95 - A Trip to Talltop

    [DAY FIVE¡­]


    Mongrel


    Luckily, the only thing that sprang on them that night was a rather welcome surprise. Mongrel woke up in the morning and discovered that Number Two had found his way to them in the night. Sam had also allotted her dual level-up rewards, putting points in Strength and a rank in Healing Factor.


    Before setting out, Mongrel and Price and a reluctant Oatmeal ventured inside the den, since Sam had mentioned that the nettlegeist had apparently been sitting on some kind of treasure hoard in there.


    What they found was a rather gruesome scene. Making their way to the center of the den did not prove difficult, since they could just follow the steady trail of twisted and dismembered grumpling bodies that Sam had left behind. If there were any still living in there, they stayed well hidden.


    The supposed ''treasure hoard'' itself turned out to be more of a garbage heap. Most of the stuff heaped in there was either disgusting and/or unusable. Mongrel rifled through the pockets of old corpses for some cash. The cloth paper bills were all badly rotted, but he figured he might be able to get the chimps to Repair them back to usable condition.


    Aside from that it was all useless, and Mongrel quickly tired of rooting through stinking, moldering detritus. He''d hoped to at least find some jewelry or a bit of gold or something, but no, nothing like that.


    Oatmeal persisted longer than Mongrel did, but came up just as empty-handed, except of course for the filth that covered him up to the elbows. Ah, the folly of youth.


    Mongrel was about to turn his back on the place in disgust when he happened to take a closer look at the headless nettlegeist that lay draped across the floor like a bad rug. Now that he was paying attention to it, there was something really rather strange about the beast, and he knelt with a frown to inspect further.


    He''d never seen a nettlegeist up close before, but he didn''t need to be an expert to know that there was something amiss. It was as though someone had gone and pasted two creatures together into one. It was mostly nettlegeist in form, long and slug-like and glistening wet, but the back part of it had something else grafted to it. Some strange structure of hardened fungus, surrounded by drier, almost bark-like tissue. He could even see a seam where the two pieces connected, the sutures that held them together.


    He''d never heard of anyone putting two monsters together into one like that, but he supposed some mad Physician out there could probably get it done. The why of it he wasn''t even going to start guessing at¡ªthe Frontier had a thousand different varieties of crazy, most of them trite and uninteresting. The effect, however, stood out clear as day.


    Judging by the copious fungal infestations that coated the inside of the den and had even been growing on the grumplings, Mongrel could only assume that the nettlegeist had been responsible for this in addition to the supernatural fog that had lured them out into the middle of nowhere.


    Meaning that some bastard had seen fit to create a monster with two innate abilities.


    Now that was a slightly terrifying thought, one he was eager to put behind him as he hurried out of the abandoned grumpling den and ordered the others to break camp.


    They were getting the fuck out of this place¡ªpreferably before some other nightmare creation decided to wander along and help itself to their unprotected posteriors. He rather liked his posterior unmolested¡ªunless of course he found himself in that sort of mood, and it was a paid-for service carried out by professionals.


    It took them most of the day to get back onto the road, still less than halfway to Talltop. By then, the affliction they were all suffering had begun to manifest equally telling and terrifying symptoms. Noticeable infestations in the form of uneven rings of fuzzy mold, had begun growing at the sites of the rashes all over their bodies.


    The obvious conclusion to draw from this was that their affliction was a gift courtesy of their friend the nettlegeist, continuing to pay dividends even after its death. They cleaned and scrubbed and disinfected themselves as best they could, but in the morning things were looking even worse. Oatmeal and the working lad were getting delirious, breathing shallow and raspy.


    Even Sam and the troll had started to become affected, the kid especially. Mongrel guessed that she had gotten a bad dose of infectious spores.


    They set out as early as they could and traveled with all haste, all but running toward Talltop. By noon, little actual mushrooms had begun sprouting from their skin like tiny pale fingers. Mongrel spent much time clawing them off¡ªthey only grew back when he did, but he refused to let some damn shroom have its way with his body uncontested.


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    With no antibiotics or relevant healing skills, there was practically nothing they could do to halt the spread of the infestation. They needed a proper Physician, and fast, or he feared they might suffer permanent damage or even start dying off.


    The working boy passed out at some point, and the troll volunteered to carry him. The fact that Sam didn''t showed that she was doing rather badly at this point, eyes pointed directly at her feet as she focused on each dogged step.


    The road seemed to be going on forever. They passed the halfway rest stop at some point, but he quickly lost track of how far they had left to go once the letters on the mile markers stopped making sense, bled together into a confusing jumble of nonsense symbols.


    Things got weird. Funny. His vision was too bright and too blurry at once. Soon he couldn''t see much of anything anymore, tripping over every other bump in the road, but he didn''t say anything to the others. He worried they''d say the same thing.


    They didn''t stop to eat. There was no time, and he doubted anyone had much of an appetite anyway. Keeping down a mouthful of water here and there was difficult enough.


    Oatmeal was vomiting. Half of Sam''s face was hidden behind a scaly fungal mask. Mongrel was having a hard time breathing, feeling like he had a fat hairball tickling his throat no matter how much he hacked and coughed and retched.


    In what had become an annoyingly frequent occurrence lately, Mongrel found himself wondering where a demon was when you needed one. He could almost hear her now, that bitch, laughing at his misery.


    No, wait¡­ that was his own laugh. He was laughing at nothing. He tried to make himself stop, but that only caused him to start laughing harder. That made him start coughing, and that made him start retching up bloody pieces of fibrous plant tissue.


    "Now that I think about it, are mushrooms even plants?" Mongrel asked, directed toward the group at large.


    No one replied.


    Getting dark.


    Had to keep going.


    Had to¡­


    * * *


    [DAY SIX¡­]


    Will


    As her recovery progressed, Serene''s condition steadily worsened. She was wracked by fevers and powerful delusions, her deranged thoughts often manifesting as unintentional casts of Illusion. Will hated the fact that he was now on a first-name basis with most of her imaginary friends. Not willing to waste AP on a Cancel every time he came to check on Serene, he was forced to simply navigate around them, ignoring their incessant babbling as much as humanly possible.


    Anathema had a Cancel Enchantment baked into it, which he might have used to cut the Illusions apart, but he had not yet mastered that particular trick, and Serene''s delusions were not quite annoying enough to justify dealing with his own ghosts every five minutes.


    He really ought to have been spending his time in the city, trying to coordinate some sort of recourse for the clusterfuck that was about to fall on his head. Then again, Serene was currently going through the worst of her withdrawals, her survival at its most precarious, so he reckoned it would be irresponsible of him to leave her alone for too long.


    After all, he had brought the puppy home, which meant he was responsible for feeding it and watering it and ideally making sure it didn''t die straight away.


    So he stayed put. Hanging around the farm gave him some time to tinker with an idea he''d been considering as a just-in-case contingency¡ªa poison potent enough to burn through Brimstone''s two ranks of Poison Resistance.


    Using the supplies already in his workshop, he mixed a nasty little cocktail of curare, cyanide, and atropine. It was a fairly indulgent piece of work¡ªthe poisoner''s equivalent of putting ice cream on your pizza. He almost felt stupid making it. It didn''t need to be elegant, though¡ªas long as it could kill a motherfucker deader than dead, that would be good enough.


    For good measure, he also mixed in the entirety of his minuscule stock of thallium¡ªan ingredient he had acquired at great cost nearly two years ago for just this kind of situation. Being a metal, he reasoned that it might interact differently with Poison Resistance than an organic toxin.


    His rough mixture prepared, he put it through several rounds of reduction, purification, and Preparation. It was an exhausting and time-consuming process that took him nearly a full day, but the electric feeling that went through his fingers and up through his spine on the final cast of Prepare told him that he had created something special. A masterwork¡ªit had to be.


    This assumption was all but confirmed by the fact that he leveled up just moments after completing his evil little decoction, putting him at sixteen. Certainly a welcome benefit. He''d put the attribute points in Processing to put him at six, mostly to improve his reaction time.


    What he was left with for his efforts was a tiny volume of an angry black residue, barely a thimbleful. It had a strongly bitter odor, and he imagined it would taste even worse. It certainly wasn''t a subtle method of killing¡ªthen again, it didn''t need to be.


    For the sake of labeling and personal reference, he dubbed his substance ''the prince of poisons''. To test its effectiveness, he laced a bit of cured meat from the pantry with it and tossed it into the woods at a reasonable distance from the farm. Then he simply returned home and maintained a long-range Detect [Life] to monitor the bait he had set out. The first taker was a large grinner, which died in seconds. After that, all other animals and monsters avoided it.


    Grinners had infamously strong stomachs. Thanks to their innate ability, they could eat just about anything without suffering ill effects. It worked, all right.


    Its efficacy confirmed, Will smeared most of it onto Anathema. The blade Absorbed the residue greedily, leaving a completely clean mirror-shine surface in seconds. Next, he coated a single throwing knife in it. And lastly, with the last scrapings, he laced one happy puff with the stuff. Just in case.


    All in all, not a bad day''s work.

 Chapter 96 - Fun Guy Fun Die

    [DAY SEVEN¡­]


    Sam


    Sam awoke to half darkness, half light. Pain in long strips up and down her body, like she''d received a thorough flogging. And a strange sound, almost like¡­ someone humming?


    She sat up, blinking away a blurry film of sleep from her left eye. The right was still dark. The unfamiliar room was lined with beds. She was on one of them. Green-leaved branches swayed outside the glass windows.


    Several of the other beds were also occupied. Mongrel, two chimps draped randomly atop him like a heavy fur blanket. Oatmeal, the youth curled up in a tight ball. Price, the mercenary cradling her sword in her sleep.


    Sam pawed at her right eye, worried she might be blind, but found the edge of something soft and peeled away a bloody square of gauze and cotton. Light flooded in; blurry, painful, thumping hot. But not blind.


    The soft humming abruptly cut off with a startled: "Oh!"


    Sam looked to her left and found a man just standing up from a work desk in a corner of the room to hurry over. A pasty fellow with goggles around his neck. A Physician.


    "You''re up early," he said, coming to her bedside. "I expected you to be a while yet."


    "Where am I?" she asked, looking around but finding no immediate clues as to her whereabouts.


    "How much do you remember?"


    "It''s pretty hazy. We were going to Talltop, then everyone got sick¡­ I guess if we''re still alive, that must mean we made it."


    "Sort of. I''m Icarus, and this is my clinic. Everyone in your group was taken here for treatment. And yes, you''re in Talltop."


    "Okay, that''s¡­ that''s good. That''s a relief. What''s the ''sort of'', then?"


    Icarus shrugged. "Well, you''re the only one that actually made it into town. Rambling, delirious. You asked us to go out there and pick up your friends. The guards got a party together and went. Pretty sure they would''ve just robbed your friends and left them for dead, but apparently the sheriff insisted on rescuing you." The Physician shrugged. "He''s a decent guy. You should probably drop him a ''thank you'' when you get the chance."


    "Oh. I guess I will, at that."


    "Hauling a troll all the way here can''t have been easy, either."


    "His name is Gug."


    "He told me as much."


    "I don''t see him here¡ªis he all right?"


    "Oh, sure." The Physician pointed with a thumb over his shoulder at an open doorway leading to another room. "He''s just over there. Absolutely fascinating specimen. I have no idea how a monster ever managed to get Concord access. Do you happen to know?"


    Sam shook her head sheepishly. "No. He can be pretty tight-lipped about that stuff."


    "That''s a shame. I expected him to be more trouble, but he''s very polite. Quiet, too, long as he''s got a book in front of him. Is he dangerous at all? Should I be worried?"


    "No," Sam said, though she wasn''t sure if she could say the same for Gug''s brother. "No, he''s a big sweetheart." Giving the beds another look, she observed: "There was one more person with us. His name was, uh, Flowerboy. Where is he?"


    "Ah." The Physician sucked on his teeth as though tasting something bitter. "He didn''t make it, I''m afraid. The infection set in too deep in his lungs, no way for me to remove it without killing him. I''m sorry."


    "I see." Sam felt guilty that his death didn''t mean much to her. She hadn''t really known him. "And the rest of us?"


    "I expect you will all make a full recovery. Not that keeping you alive wasn''t challenging, mind you, but I like a challenge. That mycophant must have gotten you all pretty bad, huh? I''m not sure how you even got away, to be honest."


    "A mycophant? Is that what it''s called, the thing that spread those mushrooms?"


    "That''s right."


    "Have you ever heard of two monsters getting stuck together? Like, half of one and half of the other stapled up to have the powers of both?"


    "No, I haven''t." The Physician frowned deeply. "Are you saying that''s what you encountered?"


    Sam nodded. "A mix between a nettlegeist and a¡­ mycophant, or whatever you said."


    "Goodness. And you survived?"


    "Yes. We killed it."


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    "How?"


    "With violence." Sam didn''t really feel like discussing the topic.


    Icarus chuckled. "Fair enough." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, as though to work out some accumulated fatigue. "I wouldn''t mind a chance to study its corpse, actually. I imagine it would be informative. A monster with two abilities¡­" He shook his head incredulously, tongue tenting his cheek. "I never would''ve imagined."


    "Getting to the body might be a bit of a task. It''s like half a day out in the middle of nowhere, so."


    "That''s a shame. I reckon it''ll have to stay a mystery, then." He laughed. "Not that I''m complaining, mind you. The last twenty-four hours have been crazy. A sentient troll, a mycophant infection, and, well¡­" He motioned to Sam, somewhat shyly. "Then there''s you."


    Sam cocked an eyebrow. "What about me, doc?"


    "Well, you''re¡­ Hmm, how should I put this¡­? I''ve never had a patient like you, I''ll say that. The anesthesia didn''t take on you very well at all, and cutting your skin was like¡­ whittling wood. I had to get three strong fellows in here to hold you down, and a fourth to do most of the cutting for me. It was quite the show."


    "Right. Sorry about that." Sam rubbed the back of her head sheepishly, pressed against the soft spot on her skull with her middle finger.


    "I had to do a full Identification on you so I could figure out a treatment plan based on your abilities. You realize you have way more attribute points than you should at your level, right?"


    "Yeah."


    "What''s that about?"


    "Uh, it''s¡­ kind of a secret, actually, if you don''t mind."


    The Physician''s face went through a series of micro-expressions as he studied her in silence for several moments. Brows briefly lowered in puzzlement. A dissatisfied twitch in his cheek. A slight flaring of the nostrils, a parting of the lips as he prepared to say something in opposition. Then he seemed to catch himself, coughed into his hand as his face went back to neutral, and said: "Right. Of course."


    "I''m sorry," Sam said with a vague shrug.


    "Don''t be. It''s not every day you see and hear about so many things that should be impossible. It''s a bit¡­ frustrating not to have any explanation for them, that''s all."


    "I feel you." Things got awkward then, so she made random noises with her mouth to fill the dead air before asking: "So, what''s the damage, doc? Are we going to be all right?"


    "You will be for sure," Icarus said, looking out over the other patients. "You had some bad growth on your face, but I cut off and Cleansed everything. It''ll scar, but it seems like you''ve got a fair few of those already. Worst part was your eye¡ªhard to fix those at my level, very delicate¡ªbut the laceration will heal on its own, I think, with your improved Healing Factor. You might see funny for a while, but you''ll be fine.


    "As for your friends, it''s a little more up in the air. Like with you, I removed all extraneous fungal growth and Cleansed them to make sure it was all gone. The troll has already made a full recovery, pretty much, so don''t worry about him. The others should live too, although I had to amputate the Builder''s left arm below the elbow, but I happened to have a cadaver handy to graft on a new one. It should do her fine, as long as she''s gentle with it at first and visits a Physician regularly to make sure it''s not rejecting. The Explorer is still running a bad fever, and he might need another few rounds of Cleansing to get rid of some persistent growth in his lungs, but I think I''ll be able to save him."


    "Thanks, doc," Sam said. Then she frowned. Then she frowned a little deeper. "Hold on. Did you say twenty-four hours earlier?"


    "Uh, yeah."


    "Fuck."


    "You could probably use another day''s rest, actually, but I can tell you''re not going to do that. That''s Laborers for you, I guess. Never know when to stay down."


    She had been out for a full day. That meant it was¡­ day seven since she had set out on the Iron Road. She couldn''t afford to waste any more if she was going to make it back to Will on time.


    She refused to be late. She''d promised him fourteen days, and she would keep that promise. No matter what.


    Icarus took a step back as Sam swung her legs over the side of the bed. He held out his hands toward her, trying to urge her to stay put, but she ignored him, got up on unsteady feet. Seeing that she was only half-dressed, she asked the Physician to lead her to their packing. The bags were being stored in a back room, and she rooted out some fresh clothes to change into. She was already squared away in terms of payment, as Icarus had apparently helped himself to his fee out of what he had found in her bag. She pocketed what was left, which was just a bit over two thousand.


    She also fished out the dossier Vivi had sent with her to look over the names she had been given for potential guides to contact in Timbryhall. There were three names.


    She asked Icarus about them. He didn''t know. Apparently he didn''t get out much. Headed for the front door, Sam saw Gug sitting in the front room, cross-legged on the floor with his great head bowed over a book that looked positively tiny in his fat hands. He turned the pages quickly, with surprising gentleness and dexterity.


    "Gug," she said, "how are you holding up?"


    "Good," the troll replied without looking up. "The doctor has very many books. He is letting me borrow some. He is nice. I like him. He is my fourth best friend."


    "Is he now? That''s great. Look, will you be all right if I step out for a bit? I need to find someone who can tell us how to get where we''re going next for our trip."


    "Okay."


    Sam was satisfied with that, and hurried toward the door.


    "Hold on," Icarus said, following close behind. "You might want to be careful. It takes most people a while to get used to¡ª"


    Sam swung the door open and stepped through, and her stomach lurched with a sudden vertigo that made her press herself flat against the doorframe.


    The door had led out onto a wide wooden platform, and beyond that¡­ Beyond it, a great wide expanse of air. There was maybe a hundred feet of empty space between her and the ground laid out far below.


    The platform she was standing on protruded from an enormous tree, its trunk so massive that twenty men could have thrown their arms around it without making a full circle. Its crown hung like a big green cloud over her head, blocking much of the afternoon sun so that it seemed overcast even though it wasn''t.


    Glancing around, she found that there were other trees, other platforms, rope bridges connecting them. Some platforms had pulley-operated elevators to bring things up from the ground and vice versa, though none of them appeared to be in use currently.


    "I guess you don''t remember coming up here yesterday," Icarus said as he stepped out beside her, not appearing the least unnerved by the height.


    "This is why they call it Talltop, huh?" Sam worked out through clenched teeth, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the door frame. "I didn''t think it''d be quite so literal."


    "Grandfather trees, they''re called. Living up here keeps the monsters off our backs for the most part, which is useful when you don''t have a militia or an army to protect you. Makes some things a bit inconvenient, but you get used to it pretty quick."


    "I''m not really a big fan of heights."


    "Then I guess you won''t like Talltop much. It''s not for everyone." Icarus retreated back inside his clinic, calling over his shoulder: "Good luck finding those people you''re after."

 Chapter 97 - Just Hanging Out

    Sam


    Sam''s need for haste clashed with her fear of heights as she crept through the treetop town, hanging onto railings and ignoring the vaguely mocking looks of the locals who strode past her.


    Her mind lingered on the long drop beneath her feet, the fact that there were only a few thin wooden planks separating her and that vast expanse of open air at any given moment. She wanted nothing more than to hurry back to the clinic and throw herself into bed with a blanket over her head and pretend that she wasn''t in this place, that the last few days were just a bad dream.


    But that was not an option.


    Will needs me to come through. After everything he''s sacrificed for me, I can''t let him down.


    It was already day seven, and afternoon from what she could see of the sky through the thick green canopy. No time to waste if she wanted to make that fourteen-day deadline.


    The platforms built off of the giant tree trunks held most of Talltop''s buildings, which were squat and clustered together like fairy rings. Terraced rooftop farms grew sad produce that did not need so much sun. More daring lifers swung between platforms on suspended ropes rather than use the rope bridges. Just looking at them made Sam''s stomach churn.


    Telling herself that she was being brave with every other step, Sam made a laborious expedition into the heart of the town. She figured she''d find a tavern or an inn or an alehouse and ask around for Bushy, the first name on Vivi''s list and the one that had been identified as the best candidate. She tried asking a few passersby for information on the man or where she might find someone who knew, but no one looked particularly keen on talking to her, regarding her with open suspicion before hurrying along.


    She noticed that everyone in Talltop wore at least one weapon on full display. Many of them were a higher level than she was used to as well, with most around the seven or eight range and a fair few above ten.


    Near the center of town, an even larger tree than the other colossi towered above the rest, only a few buildings taking up the wide platform that extended from the rough-barked trunk. Humans hung from its boughs by deformed necks, dangling there like awful holiday decorations. They were suspended above the empty void separating the big central platform from the next one over¡ªmaybe ten in all, and in various stages of decomposition. Even from about twenty feet off, she could certainly smell them. She''d never get used to the smell of corpses.


    The bodies wore signs around their necks detailing their crimes. Her gaze slid over the names. She quickly made to move on, going for¡­


    Oh.


    Luc ''Bushy'' Blanchard. Banditry.


    Well, shit.


    Luckily, she still had two more names on her list. Schultz, and¡­ Vadim. At least one of them had to be around and amenable to help.


    A nearby tavern  beckoned her over with its lurid signage. Simply named ''The Hole'', she figured it was the kind of place where a person might find some leads on a morally questionable bandit guide. Entering through a low door, she found the interior cramped, dark, and smelling of sweat and smoke.


    "No, you are done," the owner was telling a shapely woman slumped over the bar.


    "Oh, come on¡­" the woman muttered, drunkenly slurring her words, most of her silhouette hidden behind a messy mane of black hair shot through with white streaks. "You know me. We''re friends, aren''t we? You know I''m as good as my word."


    The owner, a big Cook in a sweat-stained shirt, crossed his arms over his chest as he peered at the top of the woman''s downturned head. "I do know you, Mags, which is how I know your word''s worth about as much as a passing fart. I''m done doing you favors. You don''t pay, I''ll need to have you thrown out."


    "Hey, uh, sorry for interrupting," Sam said as she approached the bar, warily eyeing the half-drunk patrons scattered among the handful of wobbly tables in the common room. "I''m actually looking for someone named Schultz, and I was wondering if you might point me in the right direction."


    The owner barely glanced her way. "You want small talk? Order something."


    Sam sighed, and pulled up on a stool next to the drunk woman. "Okay, fine. Do you have¡­" She hesitated, about to ask for juice or something, but she wasn''t really looking forward to the back-and-forth that usually entailed. Instead, she nodded to the woman next to her. "Two of whatever she''s having."


    That got the other woman perking up pretty quick, looking up from the pillow she''d made of her own heavy breasts against the bartop to blink bleary-eyed at Sam. "One of those for me?" she asked.


    "Sure," Sam replied with a shrug. She paid the owner what was probably an inflated price, and soon had two slopping tin mugs of what looked like beer served to her. She steered one toward the stranger, who began drinking it down in healthy gulps, while Sam merely stared into the murky, foamy surface of her own swill. "So, about this Schultz guy?" she said hopefully.


    "Yeah, he''s dead," the owner said matter-of-factly, serving a shot of something strong to a patron coming up to the bar for a refill. "Got shot in the stomach about¡­ two weeks ago. Cheated at cards."


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    "Fuck, really?"


    "Yup." He pointed a stubby finger at Sam, eyes narrowed knowingly. "Say, you''re that crazy girl, aren''t you? The one that almost got done in by a mycophant."


    "Girl?" Sam worked out, face going hot. Feeling the top of her head, she suddenly realized she wasn''t wearing her hat, which made her even more flustered. "No, you see, it''s¡ª I''m¡­"


    "Relaaax," the owner said with a low chuckle, and continued at a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned in close: "Everyone already knows. You''re supposed to be traveling in disguise, right?"


    "No, that''s¡ª"


    "Running from Brimstone or whatever? You don''t need to worry about that here. He''s got no power in Talltop."


    "Right¡­"


    "Your name is Samantha Darling, ain''t it? C''mon, the doctor''s already been telling people as much after he Identified you."


    Sam let out a long sigh. "Yes. Fine. Whatever." So much for her brilliant disguise. Maybe it was for the best. She''d been doing an increasingly shitty job at maintaining it anyway.


    "Darling?" the stranger asked, whole upper body swaying drunkenly as she turned to regard Sam more closely. "Huh. I thought you looked familiar¡­"


    "What''s that supposed to mean?" Sam asked. "Have I met you before or something?"


    The stranger snorted out a chuckle and dove back into her mug. "Nah. Just reminded me of someone I used to know."


    "Don''t bother with that one," the owner said with a disgusted sneer. "Mags is always spouting off nonsense, all this big talk like she used to be somebody."


    "I am somebody," Mags insisted.


    "If you were somebody, you wouldn''t be in this shithole, mooching off other people''s charity."


    Mags smacked her lips wetly. "That''s¡­ very true, sir. I must concede to your biting wit once again." The noisy slurping that followed suggested that she was not too upset by that fact.


    Sam reminded herself that she had a reason for being here. "Okay, Schultz isn''t around," she said to the tavern owner, "but what about Vadim? An Explorer named Vadim?"


    "Oh, sure," the owner said. "He hangs out here all the time. Nice enough fellow."


    Sam, who had been preparing herself to hear that the man had suffered some untimely and inconvenient demise, felt her brows lift in surprise. "Really?" She looked around the place at the unassuming, shadowed faces. "Is he here right now?"


    "No no, he''s still at work I think, so you''ll need to check back in a while. Of course, you''re welcome to do your waiting right here over a mug or two. Nothing like a stiff drink to get time running quicker."


    "And so it was written," Mags agreed, thumping her palm on the bar.


    "And so it was written!" echoed a few other patrons with a smattering of laughter and tin mugs clinking where folk sat close enough.


    Mags held up her mug toward Sam as a trickle slopped over the rim and ran down her knuckles, a seemingly endless amount of cleavage spilling out of her rumpled, half-laced tunic. Her eyes were half-lidded, face slack. "C''mon, little Darling," she said. "Clink me. Let''s clink it up."


    Sam rubbed at her soft spot and frowned down at the untouched mug in front of her. She hadn''t intended to drink any of it, of course, but it seemed she was going to be here a while anyway. After all she''d been through, she figured she could use something to take her mind off things¡­


    With a shrug, she picked up her mug and knocked it against the other woman''s, then took a big gulp. It tasted like rotten grass going down and had her coughing, the stuff nearly shooting out of her nose, and soon folk were laughing at her as her face went steadily hotter.


    "Easy there, little Darling," Mags said with a chuckle, thumping Sam hard on the back. "This your first time drinking or what?"


    "Second, actually," Sam muttered into her mug, working her way up to a second mouthful to redeem herself. "Tasted so bad the first time I never went back to it." She let out an acidic burp and stifled the urge to be sick into her cup.


    "That is just the cutest thing ever," Mags said with the exaggerated enunciation of someone obviously drunk trying not to act it, "isn''t it, Chief?"


    "That it is," said the owner, snapping a kitchen towel before throwing it over one shoulder. "You messing with us, Samantha Darling?"


    Sam shook her head.


    Mags threw a sweaty arm over the back of Sam''s neck and dragged herself over until her head was resting on Sam''s shoulder. "Well, don''t you worry little Darling, I''ll teach you everything there is to know about functional alcoholism."


    "Not that you''d know much about the ''functional'' part," Chief muttered.


    "Hurtful," Mags said with a mock pout, her sour breath hot on Sam''s cheek. "Now, you be a good girl and have your medicine, little Darling. The great thing about alcohol is, it tastes better the more you drink."


    "Doesn''t it just," Chief agreed.


    "Go on now," Mags murmured, tapping encouragingly at the bottom of Sam''s mug. "Bottoms up."


    Not wanting to disappoint, Sam took a deep breath and swept the rest of her beer in one go, giving a wet belch as she slammed the empty mug down with a hollow metal thunk.


    "There you go!" Mags leaned away and patted Sam''s back as she gave a full, husky laugh. "Now, seeing a woman wet her throat might make another feel mighty thirsty. Just how generous are we feeling tonight, little Darling?"


    Sam fished a few bills out of her pocket without bothering to count and handed them to the owner. "Just keep my mug full," she muttered, then gave a sideways nod toward the dark-haired woman. "Hers, too."


    Chief counted out the money, laughing so his big belly bobbed up and down, and stuffed it away. "Sure thing, sweetheart. Looks like it''s your lucky day, Mags."


    Mags eyed her mug being refilled from a barrel with rapacious hunger. "Every day is my lucky day, Chief," she said, great certainty in her voice.


    Sam drank with the dark-haired stranger, quickly losing track of how many mugs she''d knocked back. No matter how much she drank, she couldn''t keep up with Mags, who drank it down like a fish, and at a perfectly steady pace. Wouldn''t you know it, the beer did taste a little less shitty with each new mug. And wouldn''t you know it, with each new mug, her problems all melted further into the back of her mind, something half-remembered and unimportant. It was nice.


    After a while, everything started to get a bit weird. She started sweating, and was hot all over, and her lips got numb. She remembered drinking, then talking with folk, then drinking, then gambling a bit, then drinking some more, then walking somewhere outside, then¡­


    Black.

 Chapter 98 - An Unfortunate Turn of Events

    [DAY EIGHT¡­]


    Sam


    Sam tried to open painful, grainy eyelids, feeling as though someone had swept a liberal dusting of sand down them. For that matter, she felt like she''d swallowed a spadeful or two. Her throat was dry and raspy, her gut bloated and gurgly.


    "What the fuck¡­?" she muttered, her own voice sounding strange, sort of tinny in her ears.


    Finally managing to wring some of the grit from her eyes with the heels of clumsy hands, she blinked up at the world from a cold floor. She was in a room. A room she didn''t recognize. She sat up to get a better look, groaning at the sour, heavy stomach contents that sloshed around in her with the movement. She wormed herself into a semi-seated position, came to rest against something unyielding behind her. She looked out over an empty room, no furnishments at all except a slop bucket in one corner and a thin gray cot squished into the opposite corner, a woman sprawled out atop it. The walls were all badly hammered sheet metal.


    Did I black out?


    It took Sam a moment to recognize that it was the woman she had met yesterday, Mags, who was snoring over there. She lay spread-eagle on her back; dirty bare feet, a battered leather hat over her face, a steel collar around her neck, her rumpled tunic twisted and pulled in her sleep so that her breasts were dangerously close to popping free. Sam hadn''t really paid any attention to it earlier, but based on the woman''s sheet it seemed that she was a Level 15 Artisan-Entertainer.


    The previous night came back to Sam in chaotic snippets. None of it made much sense. She tried to call out to Mags, hoping maybe she had some answers, but the woman was out cold, and Sam quickly gave up when the sound of her own voice set her skull ringing like a bell.


    After giving herself a few minutes for the rocking floor to even out, Sam spun herself around to investigate behind her. She found that what she had been leaning against was in fact a row of iron bars separating her from the other half of the room, where the walls were of wood rather than metal. The opposite wall had a single window set into it, far out of her reach, which let in a beam of pale morning light thick with slow-moving dust motes.


    Sam looked down between her feet. The floor was also metal.


    She hadn''t wanted to recognize the fact, but she was forced to admit it now. She was in a cell.


    "What the hell did I do yesterday?" she muttered. "What did I do?"


    "Yeah, it got a bit interesting there at the end," came a hoarse woman''s voice, accompanied by a husky laugh.


    Sam spun back around and saw Mags levering herself up the back corner with both arms like a very clumsy spider to get into a sitting position. The hat fell off her face and went rolling across the floor on its rim until it bumped against another wall and fell flat with a soft bwump.


    Mags, bleary-eyed and messy-haired, did not look the least bit displeased to be starting her morning in a prison cell. She spat at a strand of hair caught in the corner of her mouth, worked her tongue, then when that didn''t do the trick finally settled for fishing the bit of black hair out with two fingers.


    "Good morning, little Darling," she said, flashing white teeth.


    "Just how much did we drink last night?" Sam asked.


    Mags shrugged. "About average, I''d say. Probably a lot for you though, it being your first time getting proper drunk and all."


    "I blacked out."


    "You and me both."


    "That shouldn''t have happened. I''ve got a passive that¡ª"


    "Tenacious."


    "Yes. That."


    Mags twisted a chain around her neck the right way around, dropping a silver star amulet into her cleavage. "Tenacious keeps you from falling unconscious as long as you''re willing it not to happen. Seemed to me like you were doing your best to drink yourself into oblivion last night." The middle-aged woman grinned wide, a fine creasing of crow''s feet around her cold blue eyes. "Can''t count on an ability to protect you from yourself, little Darling."


    Sam tried to poke at the soft spot on her skull, but discovered after digging around her scalp a bit that she couldn''t find it anymore. It had finally healed all the way.


    "What happened?" she asked, hoping the other woman knew more than she did. "I was supposed to meet with someone. Vadim."


    "Oh, you met him all right," Mags replied with a snort of laughter, clapping the heels of her bare feet together in a strange sort of applause.


    "Okay¡­? Mind elaborating? Where is he now? Why are we in a fucking prison cell?"


    "An excellent question, my dear. You see, what happened was¡ª"


    A door on the far side of the room, beyond the bars, swung open, drawing their attention. A man entered, a Level 17 Explorer in a crisp blue button-up, wearing a full beard and a dark expression.


    "Good morning, ladies," he said, stepping close so his boot tips nearly touched the bars. "I trust you know who I am?"


    "Uh, no, actually," Sam admitted, and stood up so that she wouldn''t have to keep looking up at the man. She found that her splitting hangover headache was already beginning to clear. She guessed that was her new and improved Healing Factor pulling its weight.


    "I''m Nick Tawney, sheriff of Talltop," the bearded man said and motioned to a silver star on his breast, eight points on it just like the one Mags was wearing around her neck.


    "Sheriff!" Sam lit up at that, tottering against the bars. "I was told you''re a good man. That you''re the one responsible for saving the lives of my friends."


    "I wasn''t alone in that," the sheriff replied, taking a step back from her. He had his thumbs hooked through his belt, one hand edging close to a big, shiny revolver holstered on his hip. "We all pitched in."


    "That''s not what I heard. I heard the others would''ve robbed my friends and left them for dead if you hadn''t intervened."


    "I''m starting to wish I''d listened."


    "What?" Sam was taken aback, stunned into silence for a moment. "I¡­ Do you mind telling me what''s going on, sir? I''m sure whatever this is, there''s been a misunderstanding. I''m not a criminal."


    Mags let out a loud bark of a laugh at that.


    The sheriff gave a snort himself. "Original. That''s on the list of excuses I''ve never heard before right behind ''I didn''t do it'' and ''I don''t belong here''."


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    "But I''m not! And I didn''t! And I don''t!" Sam didn''t find any of this particularly funny. "Whatever I''m supposed to have done, I''m sure there''s a good explanation for it."


    "You''re in for murder," Sheriff Tawney said, meeting her gaze evenly.


    Sam''s eyes went so wide it hurt. "What? Who? No, that''s¡­ That''s impossible! Sure, I was a bit drunk, but I''d never kill anyone! I''m one hundred percent sure of that!"


    At least, she felt that she should be sure of that. Only, recent events had somewhat skewed her view of her own moral compass. She still remembered the feeling of killing those grumplings; blood running between her fingers, bones splintering under her knuckles, screams cut off beneath her bootheel.


    She had been very drunk. But no, she couldn''t have killed someone. Could she? She didn''t remember anything like that, no matter how many times she went over her sparse memories of the previous night. Why couldn''t she remember? Surely, murdering a man in cold blood was something that would stick with her regardless of how drunk she was at the time. Then again, she didn''t really have any idea of how alcohol worked. Was it really possible to forget something that big? Was it possible for alcohol to alter her personality to that extent? Surely, there was no way she''d ever do something like that normally. She couldn''t even contemplate the idea. Why would she ever kill someone? She''d never had that urge in her life. Well, almost never. She could only think of two instances. But that was a long time ago, and she''d been a different person then, and¡­


    Sam was broken out of her racing thoughts as she finally realized that someone was calling out to her. She realized that she was hyperventilating, breaths coming shallow and fast like she was having some kind of fit, hands gripping the iron bars so tight they had begun to distort in her grip.


    "Stop that, Darling," Sheriff Tawney repeated, his hand having migrated all the way onto the lacquered wood grip of his revolver. "Let go, or by the goddess, I''ll shoot you dead where you stand."


    Sam''s hands sprung open, and she raised them in a shaky gesture of peace, blinking at the deep prints she had left in the rough iron. "Sorry. I didn''t mean¡­ Look, can we just¡­?" She took a moment to catch her breath, supporting herself against the wall, other hand tugging at a thick collar around her neck that suddenly seemed to be constricting her throat. "I didn''t kill anyone, I promise."


    "Yeah, well, someone did," the sheriff replied calmly, removing his hand from his weapon and crossing his arms. "Vadim Komarov was found brutally murdered yesterday¡ªdecapitated¡ªand folk say it was you two who did it."


    "Vadim¡­?" Sam mumbled. "No¡­ That¡­"


    Everything had turned into such a mess on her. She''d lost another day when she was behind schedule already, she''d landed herself in a cell, and now she apparently had no one to take her to Freetown even if she somehow managed to wriggle her way free of this disaster.


    "Goddamn, take a breath, will you?" Mags said, suddenly at Sam''s shoulder, one oversized sweaty breast pressing into her shoulder. "Look, I''ll clear this up right now. I killed that fella, whatever his name was."


    "Vadim."


    Mags gestured dismissively. "Yeah, Vadim, whatever. I blew his head off all right. This sweet innocent thing here didn''t lay a finger on him." To punctuate her statement, Mags planted a wet kiss on Sam''s temple, leaving a waft of sour alcohol behind as she leaned away.


    An immediate wave of relief threatened to knock Sam off her feet. She let out a long, shaky breath. Her vision doubled. Her knees trembled.


    She wasn''t a killer.


    Thank god. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.


    Although, that thought inevitably led to the next. If Sam wasn''t a killer, the trashy drunk clinging to her had to be. She''d just admitted as much, after all. Sam wasn''t too sure what to do with that information.


    "So you admit to murder?" Sheriff Tawney asked, eyebrow cocked.


    "Murder? Nonono. It was self-defense, see."


    "Of course it was." The sheriff did not sound impressed.


    "Glad you agree!" Mags cracked a lazy grin. Then she gave a slight half-shrug. "But seriously though. That whatever-whatever was a rotten customer, so I set him straight, that''s all. Permanent like, you know?"


    "What are you saying? Explain yourself, Magpie."


    "All right, you''re not convinced, so I''ll give you what happened from the start." Mags finally released Sam, leaving a warm wet spot on her shoulder where her sweat had soaked in, and teetered over to the cot to tumble gracelessly back down into a cross-legged sit. "So me and little Darling here were getting fairly lit up at The Hole. You should have seen this girl. First time having more than a sip of alcohol, and she was drinking big burly men under the table until they were blubbering for mercy. Funniest shit ever."


    "Please get to the point," Sheriff Tawney urged with a low sigh.


    Mags made a vague, wide gesture with her hands. "Right, well, little Darling was waiting for this fella to show up. Vadim, you said his name was? Well, eventually he shows up, right? But the bar was pretty rowdy at this point, and she wanted to talk in private. Except she wasn''t walking too straight at that point, so as the responsible friend I am, I agreed to help her get back to the doctor''s clinic where she''s been staying so she could have a nice quiet chat with this man and maybe get some sleep after.


    "We got maybe halfway through town, then, wouldn''t you know it, this Vadim guy attacked us out of nowhere! Kicks me off a bridge, and tries to make off with the girl, guessing for some deviant act or another. I got pretty quick fingers though, so I managed to grab onto the edge and swing back up. Guy sees me and goes for his weapon. I didn''t let him."


    Mags sketched out a seated bow, one raised palm upturned. "And that''s why you have a body in your town that doesn''t have a head on. Honest truth."


    Sheriff Tawney watched the woman for a moment, scraping his teeth across his bearded underlip. "That''s a nice story. Really, full points for creativity. I don''t buy it though."


    Mags laughed like that was really very funny, playing with a bracelet of black beads on her left wrist. "Whyever not? You calling me a liar?"


    The sheriff didn''t blink. "Yeah, Magpie, I am. I''m calling you a liar. I''ve known Vadim for years. He''s a good man. He wouldn''t just attack someone unprovoked. He wouldn''t do any of the things you''re describing."


    "And yet it happened."


    "I don''t have evidence to disprove your story. Then again, ''innocent until proven guilty'' isn''t really a thing in these parts. So we''ll see what the people of Talltop think. Darling, you''re clearly involved in this¡ªI''m not letting you off the hook on the word of some lunatic. You''ll both have the chance to speak in your defense at noon. Then I''ll speak, then folk''ll vote. If you''re found guilty, you''ll be hanged or exiled. That''s all there is to it."


    "A courtroom scene sounds like it could be good fun," Mags mused. "But meh, I think I''ll pass. I''d rather have the cowboy standoff scene."


    The sheriff frowned. "What''s that supposed to mean?"


    "It means I want a trial by combat."


    "Seriously?"


    "Oh, I''m always serious," Mags said with a rather unserious grin, tongue between her teeth. "It''s my right, isn''t it?"


    "It¡­ is your right," the man reluctantly agreed. "But really, I''d take my chances with Talltop''s spirit of forgiveness if I were you."


    "Duly noted, sheriff. Now, I''ll represent myself and my little Darling here. I''ll duel anyone of your choosing, with the rule set of your choosing."


    "What do you have to say about this?" the sheriff asked, glancing in Sam''s direction.


    Sam, who had been trying to melt into the scenery, flinched as attention was shifted onto her. She had no idea what to think about any of this. Her poor fried, overstimulated brain had given up some time ago, and her head was currently all full of mental static. "Uh¡­"


    "Don''t you worry about a thing," Mags said, tucking her hands behind her head and leaning back against the wall. "You were a fucking standup drinking partner yesterday, letting me get sloshed on your dime,  so I''ll start paying you back by getting us out of this. You just say ''yes'', little Darling, and stand back."


    "Uh¡­" Sam looked between the two of them, found both of them staring back at her, unblinking. This Mags woman seemed confident enough, and she was Level 15, but she also seemed more than half-crazy. How good of a combination was Artisan-Entertainer for fighting anyway? Ratcatcher had been an Artisan, and he''d done quite well for himself with his traps and trickery, but he''d definitely been fighting the odds in those bouts. Mags didn''t strike her as the brainy type, either.


    "Today, Darling," Sheriff Tawney prompted, forefingers tapping his thighs.


    "Um, okay?" Sam said, mostly reflexively. "Yeah. Okay. Yes. Mags can represent us."


    Mags sprang up with a drunken cheer, teetering on one heel before tipping down onto both feet. "That''s the spirit!"


    Sheriff Tawney brought a hand to his beard, ran his fingers through it as he let out a sharp breath through his nostrils. "So be it."


    "Got any ideas about who I''ll be fighting?" Mags asked, a smug cockiness in her tone.


    "You''ll be fighting me," he replied flatly. "Vadim was my friend. I can''t think of anyone better than me to make sure justice is served."


    The woman''s grin widened. "You know sheriff, that''s exactly what I hoped you''d say."

 Chapter 99 - Its Hiiigh Noon

    Sam


    After the sheriff left, Sam and Mags were forced to wait in their holding cell for a nerve-wracking amount of time. Though some person poked her head into the room every so often, she ignored all of Sam''s increasingly urgent requests to speak with her friends.


    Mags was no more helpful, treating the situation like it was all one big joke. Sam was not one to worry unnecessarily, but being on trial for murder was no small thing, and she still had no assurances at all that Mags was even any good at fighting. The other woman just kept telling Sam to ''relax'' and ''trust her'', which did not make her feel any better at all.


    Around midday, as evidenced not only by the sunlight coming through the window but also the strength of the nervous growling in Sam''s stomach, Sheriff Tawney returned with a pair of strong Builders. Sam and Mags were ushered out of their cell and escorted through a large building before being taken outside. Though Sam''s hangover had pretty much faded away at this point, Mags hissed and threw a hand over her eyes at the sudden influx of sunshine, Builders holding her up as she swayed on the spot.


    Sam watched the other woman with a worried frown. Nothing about her exaggeratedly curvaceous and distractingly sloppy appearance suggested any real fighting prowess. The curly mess of black and white hair, the badly done-up and barely covering clothes, the clicking jewelry, all made her look more like a¡­ washed-up rockstar, or something. Which sort of checked out, given the woman''s branch specialization into Entertainer.


    Sam did not see herself as a particularly judgmental person, but if she got to choose from a lineup, ''hungover, past-her-prime musician'' was not exactly her first pick for someone to fight on her behalf.


    But the decision had been made, and Sam had to admit that she was not particularly confident in her own ability to beat a Level 17 opponent, so all she could do now was pray that at least some of Mags''s confidence was more than delusional bravado.


    As they exited the building where they had been held, Mags had her shoes, a pair of ugly, lacquered, floral-patterned clogs returned to her. They entered out onto the large central platform that appeared to serve as Talltop''s town square. The hanged criminals had been removed, presumably to tidy the place up a bit for the occasion. Folk were gathered all around on surrounding platforms, crowded along rope bridges, some daring acrobats even hanging from the branches of the grandfather trees overhead.


    There were hundreds of spectators. Maybe even over the thousand mark. Apparently, a good portion of the town''s population found duels to the death a delightful source of entertainment. Sam was not surprised.


    Sheriff Tawney walked up to the edge of the middle platform to address the crowd, ushering silence by raising his hands. He read out the charges brought against Sam and Mags, as well as the method by which justice would be done.


    Then came the rule set the duel would be fought under. Pistols. Skill use permitted. Semblance use permitted. To the death.


    It appeared this information was already general knowledge, but the sheriff''s announcement brought a renewed wave of cheering and yelling regardless. Folk were fired up, ready to see some blood.


    One of the Builders let Mags out of her collar and handed her a belt with a revolver holstered to it, as well as a pouch of loose bullets to reload with. A temporary platform floated up to the edge of the town square, which Sam gathered would serve as the fighting ring. Roughly circular, about twenty feet across, and with a surface that was all one piece, it appeared to be a horizontal slice of a grandfather tree log. It was suspended in the air entirely through skill use, a small group of intently focused Scholars dotted around the square appearing to be responsible for its miraculous flight.


    Sheriff Tawney stepped onto the platform, and Mags followed after. The platform then drifted gently away from the main square like a boat casting off shore, coming to a stop in the empty air between all the surrounding platforms. This gave everyone a good view of the spectacle and ensured the fighters had no opportunity to bail out.


    Joining in with the Scholars, a larger group of Builders manifested a great bubble Barrier running in a huge sphere around the fighting circle, so large as to nearly touch the edges of surrounding platforms and giving the fighters two dozen feet of empty space beyond their platform on all sides to work with, whatever they might need that for.


    Sam, for her part, was stuck wearing her collar, closely supervised by the Builders who had brought her out. She spotted her friends lined up at the edge of a platform opposite¡ªthe chimps were all back, she noticed¡ªbut she received a hard cuff to the back of the head when she tried to wave at them.


    Not long after, Sam felt something prodding at the back of her mind, like a spider skittering across her scalp. It scared her at first, had her patting her head until her captors started giving her strange looks, but after a few moments she realized that the sensation was quite familiar, and hesitantly opened herself to it.


    <Hello, Best Friend John-Sam,> said a voice inside her head. <This is Gug.>


    It''s just Sam, remember? she thought, keeping her face neutral to avoid revealing any hint of the fact that she was having a conversation inside her head.


    <Okay,> Gug replied in that bland, flat way of his that suggested he didn''t really understand. <Friend Matt asked me to tell you something.>


    All right, shoot.


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    <He says you are a bleeping bleep bleep idiot, and when we get out of here he''s going to bleeping bleep you. I redacted the cursing.>


    That''s very thoughtful of you, Gug.


    <Heh.>


    What else did he say?


    <That if the bleeping weirdo bleep doesn''t get the job done, you should be ready to break away from the bleepers holding your leash so we can all ''do a runner'', quote unquote.>


    Got it. Tell him I''ll be ready.


    <Okay. Did I do good?>


    You did great, Gug. Thank you.


    <Hehe.>


    Anything else?


    <Friend Matt says I should stop talking now in case someone is looking at skill usage and gets mad at me.>


    She hadn''t thought about that. That would probably be best, yeah. Talk to you soon, Gug.


    <Talk to you soon, Best Friend Sam.>


    Huh. Maybe he''d understood after all.


    Standing at one end of the floating platform, Sheriff Tawney began to address the people once again, but no sound came out even though his lips were moving and he was gesturing with his hands. It went on like that for a few seconds until the Builders on Barrier duty managed to subtly tweak the composition of their bluish glass bubble to let sound through.


    "Okay, here it is!" the sheriff said, starting over, and folk quieted down to listen. "Deputy Spick, you count down from ten!"


    "Righto, boss!" called a woman close to Sam¡ªthe one who had been checking on them in the cell earlier.


    "On ''draw'', we draw our weapons! Simple enough, Magpie?"


    The woman on the opposite end of the circular arena was still struggling to buckle her pistol belt. She mumbled out something that Sam could not catch that sounded at least vaguely affirmative.


    Sam received an elbow from the Builder on the right, and found him wearing a smug grin when she looked over.


    "You better start saying your prayers," he said. "That lady was done for the minute she let the sheriff pick weapons." He laughed, and his friend standing on her left joined in.


    "Why''s that?" Sam asked, at least halfway sure she didn''t really want to know the answer.


    "Our sheriff is the best gunfighter in Octant Six," the second Builder said proudly.


    "And his Soulbound revolver, Justice, is all kinds of special," the first one added.


    "Yeup," said the second one with a nod of agreement.


    "A duel with the sheriff is as good as an execution already. Funny enough, that drunk cunt is probably getting off easier than you. At least she''ll die quick, bullet ''tween the eyes. But you¡­"


    "We''ll make sure your neck don''t snap when we hang you," the second one said.


    "You''ll die slow, choking for air," the first said.


    "Yeup," the second agreed.


    Sam did her best to ignore them and keep her eyes on the duel about to take place. It wasn''t easy.


    The deputy stepped up to the edge of the town square and began counting down in a clear, loud voice.


    [10¡­]


    Mags was still fiddling with her belt buckle, repeatedly blowing stray bits of hair out of her face as she craned her neck to see past her own ballooned-out chest.


    [9¡­]


    The sheriff worked the fingers of his lead hand, which hovered a ways above the grip of his large, rugged revolver.


    [8¡­]


    [7¡­]


    The buckle slipped again. Mags had her tongue out so it nearly touched her nose, eyes narrowed in hard concentration.


    [6¡­]


    Someone coughed.


    [5¡­]


    [4¡­]


    [3¡­]


    The belt slipped out of Mags''s hands and fell to the worn-smooth wooden floor of the platform.


    [2¡­]


    [1¡­]


    Mags got ahold of her belt off the ground and finally buckled it to hang loosely off her hips with a triumphant ''Aha!''. A marvelous achievement, except she was looking down at herself with seemingly no attention directed at her enemy.


    [DRAW!]


    But the sheriff didn''t draw his revolver. It simply vanished from his holster, appearing a fraction of a second later in his waiting hand. Sam recognized the maneuver from the tournament. He thumbed the hammer back and pulled the trigger in lightning-quick succession, and the heavy revolver jumped back as a thunderclap roar echoed across the town of Talltop.


    Mags finally looked up, eyebrows raised in surprise as though she had forgotten all about the duel until this very moment.


    Curiously, the bloody hole Sam had expected to see somewhere on her body was nowhere in evidence. In fact, she looked completely unharmed. The fat bullet had come to a stop maybe three feet from her head, spinning angrily in place with the loud buzz of a power drill being run on full blast, then jittered violently as it spent the last of its kinetic energy and finally came to a complete stop, suspended mid-air.


    The crowd was quiet. The sheriff, too, said nothing.


    "Pretty good, man," Mags said, nodding appreciatively. "Really blew my hair back with that one."


    Sheriff Tawney fanned the hammer of his revolver as he fired three more times in rapid sequence. Sam could feel the power in that gun, each shot instinctively making her flinch even though she was nowhere near the line of fire, the sound hitting her like a punch in the gut.


    These bullets ended up just like the first, caught in a rough array of useless spent metal that drifted in a lazy orbit about each other, not one ever getting close to actually hitting their target.


    Mags stuck a hand under her tunic to scratch at her sweaty underboob. "Do you take notes?" she asked, no particular urgency in her voice. "Because you might need to try a little harder than that. I don''t mean to backseat you, I just¡­" She made a vaguely apologetic gesture with her free hand. "Sorry, sorry. I''ll let you do your thing."

 Chapter 100 - Its Hiiigh Noon [2]

    Sam


    "Your defense is impressive," Sheriff Tawney admitted. His stance was low and sprawled, ready to dodge left or right if his opponent decided to return fire. "But if you thought that''d be enough to scare me, think again."


    "Oh, good," Mags replied. She had removed one of her clogs and was wobbling on one foot while trying to pluck a pebble or something off the sole of her foot. "Go on then, sheriff¡ªhit me with that big-dick shit."


    The sheriff obliged. He raised his heavy revolver, took aim at the woman''s head. "Here''s the thing," he said. "I''ve fought defensive types like you before. And the key to a strong defense is focus."


    "If you say so." Having cleared whatever lint that had been annoying her, Mags dropped her leg back down and kicked her foot back into its loose wooden shoe.


    "Of course," he went on, "focusing on one thing means neglecting another. Bubbles (Four)."


    With the last words spoken, the bullets caught in Mags''s invisible shield began to seethe and exude a thick froth whose countless minuscule bubbles rapidly expanded and detached into a floating cloud. Myriad wobbly, shiny spheres obscured the immediate area around the woman, forming a strange sort of smokescreen.


    Sam had to imagine that Mags wouldn''t be able to see much of anything in there.


    Tawney''s revolver sounded twice, and the shroud of bubbles whirled as it was upset by two racing projectiles, though they were of course too quick for Sam to catch with the naked eye.


    "You catch that?" the first Builder said in Sam''s ear. "Sheriff just curved the bullets."


    "Yeup," the second one agreed, nodding along.


    "The thing is," Tawney continued, "you focus on strengthening the front of your shield, which leaves the sides exposed."


    The bubbles gradually popped or drifted away, the concealment they offered thinning until, after several excruciating seconds, Mags was visible once again. Drifts of foam still flitted about the ground in little eddies, but ended abruptly in a perfect circle around the woman as her shield did not allow them through.


    Two new bullets were lodged in the air at about ear height, one on her left and one on her right, still spinning wildly as they struggled in vain to break through whatever skill magic was holding them in place.


    If they had gotten any closer than the first three attempts, Sam could not see it.


    The beginnings of a general cheer from the crowd died almost instantly, replaced by a perturbed silence.


    "Huh¡­"  Tawney grunted in numb puzzlement. He flipped open the cylinder of his gun, dumped the spent casings, and began thumbing in new bullets plucked from his bandolier. Calmly, but Sam thought it looked like a studied calm, strictly enforced as to not give in to a creeping doubt.


    Mags gave a lazy applause, her limp claps cutting through the silence of the airborne town. "Good one!" she laughed. "You''re tricky, sheriff. I like that."


    "Take this seriously!" Tawney barked in reply, losing his cool for a moment. "You''re on trial for murder. At least try to act like that means something to you."


    "Right you are, sheriff. Hold on, let me just¡ª" Mags trailed off as her lips parted in a wide yawn. She put her knuckles to her mouth to cover it, and once she was done she raised her hands in a frantically apologetic gesture. "Oh my god, I''m so sorry! I didn''t mean to make it seem like I was bored, I swear. Gosh, that''s so embarrassing, just ignore me." Then she yawned again. "Shit man, I''m sooo sorry. Please just do your thing, I''ll be good, I promise."


    Tawney flicked shut the cylinder of his revolver, then aimed down the sights. "Amp (Four): Accelerate," he growled, followed by, "Repel." His gun began to shake and a terrible whine filled the air from what Sam guessed was the chambered bullet spinning in place, building up speed until smoke was escaping the gaps in the metal assembly and the barrel was glowing orange with heat.


    Pulling the trigger, he was sent stumbling back even though he had braced himself firmly, the butt of the gun nearly knocked up into his chin before he could control the recoil. A molten streak crossed Sam''s vision for an instant, leaving a bright line on her retina, and tore right into Mags.


    Or not.


    The red-hot slug spun angrily in front of Mags''s face, a firework throwing off sparks that were themselves caught up in her shield and settled into slow-moving whorls spreading out in hypnotic spiral patterns. This bullet had gotten maybe half a foot further than the previous attempts, but was still nowhere close to finding its mark.


    "Geez," Mags said as she scratched at her big black-and-white mane, then reached out and stopped the racing bullet between two fingers, the thing skidding to a stop in her light grip and slowly darkening from red to brown as the heat began to dissipate. "I''m starting to feel a little bit bad here. Do you want me to, like, turn it down or something? Because I could do that if you want. Maybe make things a little bit more¡­" She flicked away the compacted slug, sent it plink plink plink bouncing across the platform before disappearing over the edge. "...fair."


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    The sheriff was down to 7 AP. Meanwhile, a full fifteen crystals sparkled cheerily on Mags''s arm. She hadn''t spent a single AP through all this. How could that be possible? What was she doing?


    Tawney''s calm was beginning to crack. He stood speechless for a moment, then looked down at his gun, as though unsure what to do next. Then he appeared to find some resolve within himself, and raised Justice high, opening the cylinder and letting it spin rapidly.


    "Amp (Six): Accelerate," he said, and the last of his AP crystals went dark. Then, he continued¡­


    "Semblance Art: Death by Disco."


    The one remaining gem on Tawney''s arm, the orange SP one, went out with a bright electric snarl. Bubbles began to emerge from the top of the six-way cylinder as though blown from a bubble wand, but they were nothing like the ones he had produced before. These were metallic and reflective and perfectly spherical, multiplying in their hundreds. As they grew to somewhere around basketball size, it felt unnatural to see them still floating around and bumping into each other. It felt as though they ought to be heavy, immovable things, not soaring gracefully like helium balloons.


    As the metal spheres spread outward, so did a clear, barely perceptible ripple in the air, a dome that expanded from Tawney in all directions. It grew and grew until at last it settled right up against the inside of the spherical Barrier that surrounded the fighting area. This second layer was similar to the bluish glass of the Barrier, except it was somewhat less distinguishable.


    Sam had only heard Will briefly explain the point of semblances¡ªthis was her first time actually seeing one. Watching the area between and around the two fighters slowly fill up with glittering ''disco balls'' until they were bumping off each other like an odd 4D game of pool and partially obscuring the fighters from each other, she wasn''t quite sure what to think.


    Mags clapped her hands and laughed with delight as she looked this way and that to take in the whole spectacle. "There we go, sheriff! All in¡ªthat''s more like it!"


    "Shut your mouth," Tawney barked, and punctuated his statement by snapping the revolver cylinder shut. Then he shut his eyes, and took a deep breath to still himself, and gently touched the eight-pointed star on his chest. Almost too quietly to be heard, he murmured: "Goddess, guide my aim."


    Mags seemed to find that unreasonably funny, her snort of laughter coming so sudden that she nearly snotted on herself.


    Tawney abruptly turned his aim away from his target, pointing his revolver off to the side at a random angle, and fired. A series of warm metallic pings followed, like a wind chime briefly stirred by a breeze except much, much louder, and one, two, three, four of the disco balls were knocked around, sent wobbling through the air in different trajectories.


    At last, a bullet lodged itself in Mags''s shield from up high. This one ended up less than two feet from her, and had a strange liquid mercury-like coating around it that made the spent projectile look bigger than it really was.


    "Ho-ho!" Mags exclaimed, eyeing the big gob of vibrating, semi-molten metal. "Nice one, sheriff. Your semblance is kinda funky. Honestly, all due respect? I was sorta expecting a guy like you to have something boring for a semblance."


    Tawney switched up his aim, taking several moments to line up another shot at a seemingly nonsensical angle, then fired. Again the disco balls went knocking around, and another great big molten slug ended up caught in the shield.


    "You''re not going to be a gentleman and explain how this thing works?" Mags asked.


    Tawney said nothing.


    "I''ll take a stab at it then. Let me know if I get close." She spoke as the sheriff continued to fire off shots, each one coming with a longer series of ringing before hitting, each one just an inch or two nearer to reaching its target. "Well, it''s obviously a field semblance. You left a clear field boundary too, which is a nice touch¡ªvery considerate of our spectators and all. And, oh here we go," she held up a finger to track the trajectory of the next bullet fired, "ping, pong, ping, pong, ping, and¡­" She pointed just over her shoulder, and the same instant a slug was suddenly trying to drill its way through that exact spot.


    Having gone through another six, the sheriff popped open his gun to reload.


    "It looks to me like it''s all about ricochets," Mags continued. "Your bullets will bounce off the bubbles and even the inside boundary of the semblance field, but instead of sapping away kinetic energy like you''d expect, each ricochet imparts extra power to that bullet, maybe even adds some sort of virtual mass to it.


    "So the name of the game is plotting out a trajectory that allows for as many bounces as possible before hitting me. That last one was five. Not bad, sheriff¡ªI guess they weren''t lying when they said you were a good shot."


    Tawney was breathing heavy now, hand shaking as he slowly inserted fresh rounds, sometimes needing multiple tries to get one in right. The skill fatigue was starting to build up on him. Maybe the strain of casting his semblance, too.


    "You haven''t even seen me shoot, Magpie," he worked out through gritted teeth; then, without warning, snapped the cylinder shut and turned in a wide half-circle as he fanned out three shots from the hip, sending the rounds bouncing with a mad cacophony of orchestral tones. Their arcs seemed to frequently intersect as they ricocheted off the suspended spheres and skidded along the inside walls, shuffling over and over like a huckster''s shell game.


    Sam could barely perceive, let alone track even one of the things. With three at once, she gave up any attempt at understanding their trajectories.


    Mags''s eyes suddenly widened in surprise, and she lifted one foot off the platform with an undignified yelp. The first two bullets hit her shield from opposite sides, burying themselves less than a foot from each ear.


    [Five bounces x2]


    An instant later, the third one came up through the floor, punching a hole in the ancient wood the size of a dinner plate in the very spot where Mags''s foot had just been. A nearly fist-sized clump of furious sizzling metal, it moved molasses-slow before coming to a stop near the center of the woman''s sphere of safety, lodged fast in the air right between her breasts.


    [Seven bounces]


    "Woah," Mags breathed, teetering on one high-soled clog. She waved at the air and the huge slug went spinning over the edge of the platform without her touching it, allowing her to go back down on both feet again. "That was actually kinda close."

 Chapter 101 - Its Hiiigh Noon [3]

    Sam


    "Well, now that we''re all good and warmed up," Mags said, "I think it''s about time for me to start giving back a little."


    She fished her own revolver out of its holster and let it dangle off one finger by the trigger guard, eyeing the loaded weapon as though not quite sure what to make of it. Flipping the revolver with a flick of the wrist, she caught the grip in a firm hold. "This thing got a safety or something I should worry about?" she asked, turning the weapon every which way to inspect it. "Wait, no. Revolvers don''t have those, do they? Is that right?"


    No one gave her an answer. That didn''t seem to bother her.


    Tawney was drooping, stance sprawled to keep him upright, the sheriff laid low by his own heavy skill use. He aimed another shot, fired. It went bouncing across the fighting area, but veered wrong at some point and struck the platform several feet short of Mags''s shield, throwing up chips of dense hardwood.


    "This game looks fun," Mags said. She aimed her gun at one of the floating metal bubbles above and to her right. "You mind if I try, sheriff?"


    She didn''t wait for an answer.


    Face scrunched and one eye squeezed shut, Mags pulled the trigger, flinching at the kickback and loud gunpowder bark. The ball she''d aimed at, however, did not budge, and it let out a single sour note as the bullet shattered against it in a small shower of metal shards.


    "That''s got some kick to it," Mags said with a laugh, hefting the revolver appreciatively, "but it didn''t quite do the trick, it seems. Maybe your semblance isn''t symmetrical after all, sheriff. Maybe only projectiles you send out benefit from the ricochet effect. Or, maybe¡­" She let her gun hand drop. "Maybe, more specifically, it''s bullets fired from your gun that get the benefit. Why don''t we put that to the test, shall we?"


    She looked around at the slow-moving cloud of metal spheres around her, plotting out a path. Then she raised her free hand and gently flicked at one  of the bullets lodged in her shield. The little bit of metal streaked off, hit a bubble, ricocheted with a resonant tone that was quickly followed by others, bubbles sent knocking around all over the place. The projectile grew until it was a raging superheated fist, big enough that even Sam could make it out as it sketched a crazy zig-zag path across the fighting area.


    Tawney staggered back, tripped over his feet, and fell on his back. A split second later, the ''bullet''¡ªappearing closer to something fired out of a tank, long as a man''s forearm¡ªbounced one last time off the inside dome above the sheriff''s head and plunged directly downward with a dragon''s roar. It tore an enormous hole through the floating platform where the sheriff had just been standing before finally shattering against the bottom surface of the semblance field with a brilliant fireworks shower of red-hot metal.


    [Ten bounces]


    The impact with the platform was so powerful that the whole thing went careening, tilted sharply to one side. Scholars shouted at one another as they struggled to regain control of the fighters'' only footing.


    Mags leaned into the gradual incline and put a hand on the sloping floor to support herself, while the sheriff scrambled on all fours to get up before he could start sliding toward the bottom. He caught the edge of the ragged hole that Mags''s attack had punched through the platform and used that as a handhold to hang onto.


    Mags gradually straightened out until she was standing perfectly straight off the platform even though it was tilting at more than a 45 degree angle, leaving her looking like her feet were magnetized to the floor. She wandered up the side of the acutely veering platform until she reached its edge, where she stood balanced with her arms outstretched like an acrobat waiting for applause.


    Juxtapositioned against her supreme disregard for the laws of nature, the sheriff''s struggles appeared almost comical. The platform hung perfectly vertical for one long moment, then tipped over toward the other end, like a coin flipping in ultra-slow motion.


    Tawney hung off the bottom side of the platform with one hand, pistol in the other. His grip slipping, he aimed Justice down, fired, sent metal bubbles in a billiards cascade below him. One came to a stop right at his feet, and he stepped onto it just as his grip was about to give away. The bubble stayed in place, holding his weight without sinking. It appeared only bullets fired from his gun could coax them into moving.


    The bullet he''d fired went bouncing, hit off the semblance''s inside surface, looped back around, and would have hit Mags in the back of the head if her shield hadn''t stopped it less than a foot off its mark.


    [Eight bounces]


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    An inspired shot, it seemed to Sam¡ªsecuring his footing and attacking his enemy all in one stroke. Of course, compared to whatever power Mags wielded, it looked just about as ineffectual as the rest.


    As the platform began to even out again, Tawney kicked off his spherical foothold and became a streak of rapid movement, coming up through the large hole in the wood and coming down on its surface. He landed badly, rolling his ankle as he touched down, and went staggering until he could catch himself with one hand. He straightened slowly with a long groan of exertion, the strain evident on his tight features.


    He tried to aim his gun once more, but his arm shook, then wavered. A second later, the reflective bubbles around the two fighters began to shake. They produced an odd sound like metal groaning under stress, then began vibrating themselves to pieces. Shards scattered and faded into nothing in a reaction that spread outward from the center, spheres breaking apart everywhere at an increasingly frantic pace. At last there were only a few floating about at the edges. Then they too shattered, and the inside dome of the semblance collapsed inward, leaving no visible sign that it had ever existed.


    [Death by Disco ends.]


    "Good job! That was fun!" Mags said in a patronizingly sweet tone, like an adult giving encouragement to a small child. "You hung in there for quite a while, huh? But I think it''s about to wrap this up, don''t you?"


    Tawney had nothing to say. He looked like he had enough on his mind just trying to stay upright, swaying on his heels.


    "It''s all right, sheriff. I''ll let you live if you just say you give up."


    Silence. Tawney glared at her, lips peeled back in a twitchy snarl.


    "How about it, sheriff? ''I give up''¡ªthat''s all you gotta say." She folded her ear toward him with the barrel of her gun. "C''mon, let''s hear it."


    Tawney raised his weapon.


    Mags sighed. She shot her revolver at him off the hip, not really bothering to take aim. The sheriff blurred as he slid unnaturally out of the way, ending up on his knees when he came to a stop.


    "Oh, come on," Mags said with another dramatic sigh. "I''m trying to be nice here, but you''re making this very annoying. I get you want to preserve your pride, so just let me kneecap you or something and then we can both part happily."


    She fired off a second shot. Again, Tawney evaded, rolled clumsily to a stop, struggled to get up; supporting himself with one hand while trying to raise his gun in the other.


    "For fuck''s sake," Mags said, her jovial tone replaced with one that was cold and dull. "Fine¡ªif that''s how you want it, suit your fucking self." With that, she tossed the revolver over her shoulder, let it clatter and fall off the end of the platform. Then she made a gun with two fingers instead, tongue tenting her cheek as she took aim at the sheriff.


    "Bang," she said calmly.


    There was a brief flicker in the air, a whooshing as of the world sucking in a breath.


    Then Sheriff Tawney exploded, and his limbs flew in all directions amid a rain of wet gore.


    The ripple that spread through the air following the explosion sent the platform careening again, tore through the Barrier and shattered it into a thousand pieces, then reached the peopled platforms with a shrill howl and a violent rattling in the floor. The branches shook overhead, a confetti of great leaves coming down. At least one man fell off his treetop perch, tumbling until he caught himself on a suspended rope at the last moment and swung to safety.


    Mags kept her footing on the ragged platform as it tipped and began to fall, the Scholars responsible for holding it up mostly sprawled on the floor and unable to pay it any mind even if they had wanted to. Mags turned her head to follow the arc of Tawney''s right arm as it soared through the air, Justice still clutched in one stiff fist. Holding out her hand, the big chunky revolver tore itself free from its master''s dead grasp and came spinning until it landed snugly in hers.


    "Suppose you''ll need a new sheriff," she said absent-mindedly. "Sorry about that." She held up the blood-spotted gun, turning it over for folk to see. "Anyone mind if I take this as a souvenir?"


    No one objected.


    Satisfied, Mags kicked off the platform as gravity began to pull it toward the earth in earnest. She soared effortlessly in a wide, lazy arc, easily crossing the twenty or so feet between her and the town square platform and landing with a sharp click clack of her clogs. Her newly pilfered revolver was too big to fit the old holster, so she had simply stuck it through her belt instead.


    The platform hit the ground way below with a dull boom.


    Folk scrambled away from Mags as soon as their legs would carry, hurrying across bridges and into buildings and even clambering up onto rooftops to get as far as possible from that woman. If she was aware of the effect she produced, she did not show it.


    Stunned, Sam found herself fixed in place, not a single coherent thought entering her head. All she could think about was the fact that fifteen gems still shone bright on Mags''s arm. She hadn''t spent a single AP throughout that whole fight.


    Who was she?


    Looking around, Sam found that her two minders had abandoned her and melted into the throng with all the left, which left her standing there like an idiot in the middle of the rapidly emptying square.


    "Hello again, little Darling," Mags said with a lazy grin, hands in the pockets of her ragged cutoff trousers as she came swaggering over. "Let''s get that nasty thing off you, shall we?" She took out a hand to wave one finger in the air, before sticking it back in her pocket.


    With a loud clang and a whoosh of air, the collar around Sam''s neck broke open and fell apart, clattering to the floor. She stood blinking at the scrap metal around her feet until the other woman had closed the distance and placed a clammy hand on Sam''s shoulder.


    "Now, with that out of the way, we''re all confident that me and my buddy here are innocent of all charges, aren''t we?" she announced to the town, even though it was clear that no one was in much of a mood to listen. "And no one is going to give us any trouble moving forward, isn''t that right?"


    She seemed to take the panicked yells of the retreating crowds as confirmation, giving a satisfied nod.

 Chapter 102 - Truth or Dare

    Sam


    As the commotion began to die down, Sam broke away from Mags to connect up with the rest of her group one platform over.


    Mongrel met her as she stepped off the connecting rope bridge, and seized her by the collar to pin her in place while he looked her up, down, and spun her around.


    "You look fine, for the most part," he said begrudgingly as he took a step back. That confirmation didn''t lessen his dark frown at all, however. "Now, explain yourself! What got into your head, going off and making this much trouble for the rest of us?"


    "I''m sorry," Sam replied, chewing on her lip. "I didn''t mean to. I don''t even really know what happened last night¡ªI''ve only heard snippets myself."


    "What''s that supposed to mean?"


    "Um," Oatmeal squeaked, standing a ways off.


    "Shut it, grinner bait!" Mongrel snapped his fingers sharply in the youth''s general direction.


    "Yes, but¡ª"


    "I said be quiet, or I''m halving your rations!"


    "I might be able to explain a little of what happened," Mags said as she vaulted over the handrail ringing the platform, having appeared seemingly out of nowhere.


    Click, clack went her clogs.


    "You!" went Mongrel.


    "Me!" went Mags with a bright laugh. "My reputation precedes me, I see. Has my little Darling been telling you about me already?"


    "I don''t need to hear a word to know you''re nothing but trouble with tits glued on. Let me guess¡ªyou''re somehow the cause of all this, are you?" He crossed his arms, and several of his chimps did the same, forming a sort of forbidding line between her and the rest of the group.


    Mags''s lazy grin didn''t slip a hair. "I do have a knack for getting myself into bother, it''s true. Whether this particular little misadventure was my fault, I suppose I''ll let you fine upstanding frontiersmen decide for yourselves."


    She went on to briefly recount the events of the night prior, giving mostly the same details as she had when telling Sam about it. They''d gotten drunk together in The Hole, then were attacked by Vadim, and Mags had protected the both of them in self-defense.


    Sam wasn''t sure how much of it she believed, herself. She would have liked for it to be true, if for no other reason than the fact that it definitively acquitted her of killing a man. Whether justified or not, that just wasn''t a line she wanted to cross. She suspected her nightmares were already going to be populated with dead grumplings for the foreseeable future¡ªshe didn''t need any more guilt added on top of that.


    Mongrel tapped his foot impatiently while listening to the woman''s story. The fact that he kept his gaze on her face rather than her well-stuffed shirt top showed exactly the kind of regard he held her in. Sam had never known him to forgo an opportunity to ogle a woman¡ªever, really.


    "There you have it," Mags said in conclusion with an airy flourish of her hands. "So, as you can tell, I am innocent as a lamb."


    "Mmhmm," Mongrel grunted, not sounding particularly impressed. "I suppose it doesn''t matter now. We''re off the hook, so we''ll find ourselves a guide and get quit of this town as soon as our feet''ll carry us."


    "About that," Sam said with a sigh, "we might be in a bit more trouble than we thought. I was trying to look into the names Vivi gave us when, uh, all this happened. She gave us three leads¡ªtwo of them were already dead when I was asking around, and Vadim was the last. If he attacked us, I suppose that means he must have been working for Brimstone or something.


    "But, well, with him gone I don''t know how else we''re going to find a guide to Freetown, and I don''t think the locals are going to be all that stoked to help us considering¡­ recent events."


    "Motherfucker," Mongrel muttered, rubbing the bridge of his crooked nose. "Then we''ll¡­ Aw, fuck. I guess we have no choice but to keep shaking trees around here, hope something falls out before these inbreds talk themselves into a grudge over the bodies you''ve left behind."


    "In that case, it will have proven a short search indeed," Mags said with a supremely smug look. "You''re Freetown bound, is that it? It just so happens I know the way¡ªspent some time there just a couple months back."


    "Convenient," Mongrel replied dully.


    Mags laughed, hands on broad hips. "Isn''t it just! As it happens, I don''t have anything in particular filling up my schedule at the moment, and since I''ve become simply besotted with my little Darling here, I''m willing to take you free of charge." Arms outstretched, she looked around at the group. "Well, how about it? Not to brag, but I daresay you won''t stumble on a better pathfinder south of Stormfront."


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    Sam didn''t really like the idea. There was something about Mags that rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe it was because of her ridiculous strength, or her general demeanor, or the odd timing of her appearance coupled with all the other guides having been eliminated. Maybe all of the above.


    Then again¡­


    "It''s not like we have any other options," she said. "Either we take her along, or we''re stuck here."


    "I know, kid," Mongrel replied with a weary sigh. "I know. That doesn''t mean I have to be happy about it."


    "Glad to be on the team!" Mags said, laughing as she ruffled Sam''s hair, then went and stuck her hand out toward Mongrel. "I''m Magpie, but my friends call me Mags, or Maggie. And you must be the famous Mongrel, am I right?"


    "That''s right." The old man reluctantly shook her hand, the black bead bracelet on her wrist clicking with the up-and-down motion. "And you know about me because¡­?"


    "Sam told me all about you, of course."


    Mongrel glanced at Sam, one eyebrow raised. She just shrugged¡ªdidn''t remember enough about the previous night to confirm or deny. "Fair enough," he said, taking a step back from her. "You know the others, too?"


    Mags scanned over the group; chipped, black-painted nails clicking along the frame of her new revolver. "Bits and pieces. I can fill in the gaps while we''re on the move, if you''d prefer. Your idea of a quick getaway sounds like a good one¡ªwe ought to put it into practice."


    That sounded good to everyone. They returned to Icarus''s clinic to gather their things, and Mongrel got Zero out of the stall where she had been stabled in a building set aside for the beasts of merchants and such. Luckily, the fungus that had infested them seemed to have left the mule alone, so she was in good health. After that they headed straight for the elevators, not even bothering to stock up on supplies.


    The sooner they could put Talltop behind them, the better.


    It appeared that the large cargo elevators needed several attendants to man the crank-operated pulleys. They were abandoned now, but Mags assured them that it would be fine. As soon as everyone was standing on one of the rectangular platforms, Mags waved her hand in the direction of the large crank sitting on the edge of the main platform. It began to spin of its own accord, as though operated by invisible workmen, and down they went at an almost frightening speed.


    They reached ground level with a heavy thud that had the less physically inclined members of the group staggering. Sam caught Oatmeal by his collar before the lad could fall flat on his nose, and he offered breathless thanks.


    Price had decided to stay on with them for the time being, since she reckoned she couldn''t exactly stay in Talltop due to her unfortunate association with their group, and would likely have a hard time making it back to Timbryhall on her own. Neither she nor Oatmeal looked particularly pleased to be headed straight back into monster-infested wilderness¡ªbut for better or worse, they were along for the ride at this point.


    The grandfather trees were even more impressive from ground level, towering above them like nature-wrought skyscrapers. Hardly any forestation grew around their feet, as though lesser trees did not dare encroach on their magnificence. Sam wondered if they had sprung up sometime in the fifty years since humans first settled these lands, or if they were older, a remnant from some primordial prototype of the Frontier.


    Will would probably have had a lot to say on the matter. She resolved to ask him once she got back to Sheerhome. Only a few more days now. Regardless of how much time they had lost, she refused to entertain the notion that she would not make her fourteen-day deadline. She had made a promise, after all.


    They followed Mags west¡ªout of the grove of grandfather trees and into the more mundane wood that bordered it. She walked with unerring confidence, taking them along narrow game trails and breaks in the undergrowth. The terrain was rough, but Mags did seem to have a good sense for picking out the path of least resistance, however invisible it might be to the untrained eye. It helped inspire some confidence in Sam that the woman might know what she was doing.


    In general, it felt good just to be making some kind of progress again. At times they heard strange cries in the distance¡ªmonsters, no doubt¡ªbut nothing came close enough to prove an impediment. Mags''s talent allowed them to carry on well into the evening, past the point where the failing light ordinarily would have made pathfinding a treacherous endeavor indeed, before they finally stopped to make camp for the night.


    Having only made two brief stops during the day to eat and rest their legs, most everyone was tired and sore and fed up and hungry. Sam herself could only really identify with the last one, as she was moderately exerted at best from the day''s journey, but she thought it best not to mention that to the others.


    Apparently, Oatmeal had reached Level 4 at some point during the day.


    "You''ve got interesting friends, little Darling," Mags said around a bite of food, washing it down with a swallow of vodka from a flask she had more or less coerced from Mongrel. The woman''s eyes glittered in the light of the cook fire between them. She had tied her black-and-white hair back in a big, messy bun. "It''s been a while since I found myself in company quite this eccentric."


    She spared a glance at Gug, who sat cross-legged with an open book on one knee and a bowl of food on the other. Then she looked at the chimps, who were off in their own little huddle playing cards. Then, finally, she looked back at Sam, her winsome grin widening.


    "You have to admit you''re not so normal yourself," Sam replied, having finished her own portion and started in on Oatmeal''s leftovers. "I wouldn''t mind knowing a bit more about you."


    "Oh, I''m not all that interesting."


    "I''m not sure I believe that."


    Mags let out an exclamatory grunt as she took another swallow of vodka, then tossed the flask back to Mongrel. "I know!" she said, and reclined on her elbows, setting her breasts wobbling atop her torso. "Let''s make a game of it!"


    "A game?" Sam asked, skeptical.


    "Yeah! Truth or dare¡ªwho''s in?"


    Maybe it would have been smarter to excuse herself, but Sam had always had a hard time backing down from a challenge.


    "Sure," she said. "I''ll play."

 Chapter 103 - Truth or Dare [2]

    Sam


    In the end, everyone but the chimps agreed to play.


    "Does anyone actually remember the rules to this game?" Sam asked, "because it''s kind of fuzzy for me. I haven''t played truth or dare since I was a kid back on Earth, so most of it has gone right out of my head."


    "I suppose it might be best if we go over it thoroughly," Mags replied, "especially for the benefit of our resident troll."


    Sam nodded.


    Mags took it upon herself to do the explaining. "All right Gug, here''s the deal. Truth or dare is a sort of party game where you take turns doing what someone else asks you to. So at the start of the game, one person is ''it''¡ªthe one who has to do something¡ªand another person is the asker. The ''it'' person picks either truth or dare. If they pick truth, the asker will pose one question to the ''it'' person, and they have to answer honestly.


    "If they pick dare, the asker gets to choose one challenge for the ''it'' person to carry out. Both the questions and the dares can be anything the asker wants, really, as long as it''s not too extreme, but typically it would be something a bit embarrassing or saucy."


    "This is a game for good friends?" Gug asked.


    Mags nodded, smiling. "That''s exactly right, Gug. It''s a game that helps people get closer to each other."


    Gug hastily set his things aside so he could draw his huge legs up to his chest. He scooted a bit closer to the fire, eyes huge. "I think I will like this game very much," he said.


    "Glad to hear it," Mags replied. "Now, if the ''it'' person can''t or doesn''t want to do what they''ve been asked, they have to do a punishment game. Like a slap on the wrist for not playing by the rules."


    "Rules are important," Gug agreed, nodding sagely.


    "Very true, Gug. To continue, once the ''it'' person has answered their question or completed their challenge, they now become the asker. Typically, that person then spins a bottle on the ground, and whoever the bottle is pointing to when it stops becomes ''it''. And you go on and on like that until you''re sick of playing."


    "I don''t think we should go with the bottle rule," Mongrel said, propped up against a mossy rock and picking at a bit of gristle between his crooked teeth. "No offense, lady, but I''ve seen you move shit without touching it, and I don''t trust you not to cheat."


    "A prudent precaution," Mags said. "I am an absolutely incorrigible cheater, after all. In that case, the asker can just pick who becomes ''it'', though I think we should add the stipulation that you can''t pick the person who went just before you, so that the whole group gets more chances to play. More fun that way."


    "Sounds good," Sam agreed.


    Mongrel nodded.


    No one had any objections, so those were the rules they went with.


    "I can be ''it'' to start with," Mags offered, wiggling her shoulders contentedly. "Sam, why don''t you start as the asker? I''ll go with truth, please."


    "All right," Sam said, clearing her throat. She had a lot of questions she wanted to ask this woman. "How was it that you managed to beat the sheriff without using any AP?"


    The older woman watched Sam silently from across the fire for several moments, chewing on her answer. "I used several skills," she eventually replied, "but I suppose you could say the main one was a skill called Compress. As for how I could do it without spending any AP, that was thanks to an Entertainer passive called Perfect Rhythm. I think that''s enough of an explanation for now."


    "Right." All that meant nothing to Sam. She glanced over at Mongrel. The old man shrugged. He didn''t know either.


    "My turn!" Mags exclaimed happily. She pointed a foot at Gug, bright-lacquered clog hanging off her toes. "I choose you, big guy."


    "Yes!" the troll shouted, practically bouncing up and down. "I want¡­ hmm¡­ how to choose¡­? Dare! No, truth! Yes, most indubitably truth!"


    "Good choice." Mags kicked her foot lightly in the air, wooden shoe swinging back and forth. "Given the minor miracle of your very existence, I''m going to take a stab and assume that you''re from the Sanctuary. That being said, how''s your father doing?"


    Gug''s glee all seemed to leak out of him at that. "Dunno," he said, hugging his legs tighter. "I ran away from home."


    "I see. What a shame."


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    "What does that mean?" Sam asked. "What''s the Sanctuary?" She looked between Mags and the troll. "Do you know Gug''s father?"


    Mags shrugged. "That''s his story to tell, I think, not mine."


    Sam looked up at Gug, but the troll shrank further into himself, hiding half his face behind his knees and peeking furtively over them. It didn''t seem like he wanted to talk about his past. Maybe he felt guilty about running away. It was a shame¡ªshe really would have liked to know where Gug came from¡ªbut it couldn''t be helped.


    "Besides," Mags continued, "it''s not your turn, silly!" She waved her foot more insistently in Gug''s direction. "Who you pickin'', big fella?"


    The troll unfurled just a little. "I choose Best Friend Sam," he said in a small voice, which still sounded like a low bass rumble.


    "You got it," Sam said. "I''ll go with¡­" She bit her lip, thinking it over. "I''ll go with truth as well, I think."


    "Okay. Then I will ask the following question: who is your best friend?"


    Sam knew a leading question when she heard one, and she guessed that Gug had a specific answer in mind. Though it pained her a bit, she decided that she couldn''t lie to him. "His name is Will," she said. "You haven''t met him yet, but you will soon. He''s really smart. Maybe not as much of a genius as you, but almost."


    "Oh." Gug stared into the ground for a while with a deep frown. "I understand."


    "Me and Will are boyfriend and girlfriend. Do you know what that means?"


    Gug nodded. "It means you do hugging and kissing and stuff."


    "That''s right."


    "And sex."


    "Uh¡­ yeah."


    "Thank you for your answer. The best friend of Best Friend Sam must be a very good person. I am excited to meet him."


    "I''m sure he''s going to love you." Sam looked over the group assembled around the fire to figure out who she wanted to choose next. "I think I''ll go with you again, Mags."


    "Sweet. Give me a dare."


    "Hmm¡­" Sam had hoped she''d pick truth and give Sam the chance to learn something about her. "In that case, I dare you to arm wrestle me."


    "Ho-ho, now we''re talking!" Mags rolled to her feet in one lithe motion, one boob momentarily flopping free before she stuffed it absently back in her shirt.


    They set up on a flattish rock at the edge of the clearing that held their camp, and Sam clasped hands with the older woman. The grin Mags wore reminded Sam a lot of Nyx, which she figured couldn''t be a good sign.


    Sam won easily. The Artisan was a good enough sport about it, laughing it off as she returned to her seat, but after the power Sam had seen Mags wield, she couldn''t shake the feeling that the other woman had lost on purpose.


    Mags chose Oatmeal, and the youth instantly stiffened as attention turned on him. He went for a dare.


    "All right, all right, all right," Mags said with a sinister little laugh. "In that case¡­ I want you to go and kiss that pretty young thing over there." She waved dismissively toward Price. "With tongue, if you don''t mind."


    Even in the deep-colored firelight, Sam could tell that Oatmeal was blushing. He stammered out something incomprehensible probably meant to be an excuse, then cleared his throat, then glanced furtively over at the hard-bitten mercenary to gauge her interest.


    Price remained perfectly stone-faced as she eyed him in return. Her longsword, which she never seemed to let out of her sight, was cradled snugly in the crook of her arm.


    Sam had to commend the lad on his guts as he rose to his feet and slowly padded over to the seated woman. "Um, I, the rules say¡ªahem, the rules say I have to do this, so¡­" With that, he leaned down, eyes half-closed and lips puckered.


    The only thing he got to kiss was the pommel of Price''s sword. He went sprawling on his back, squealing in pain. Sam helped the poor lad up and brushed the dirt off his clothes.


    Mags and Mongrel were all laughs over Oatmeal''s misfortune. "Well, you did your best, and that''s what matters," Mags said. "All right, kiddo, who''re you wanting?"


    Sucking on his split upper lip, Oatmeal pointed sullenly at Mongrel. "I''ll go with you."


    "Truth," Mongrel replied with petulant confidence.


    "What''s the thing you miss most about Earth? Like a food or a place¡ªanything."


    The old man got quiet at that. "My son, I reckon," he said after a while.


    "Oh," Oatmeal said.


    Mongrel blew a limp raspberry. "His name was¡­ Eric. It was Eric. I took off on him and his mom when he was only a tiny thing. Couldn''t handle the responsibility, I guess. I tried to make amends years later, but too much time had passed by then. He didn''t come to the hospital when I lay dying. I remember that stung bad at the time, but now I''m glad he didn''t come. I hope he''s living a good life, and that he''s forgotten all about me."


    "At least you know what you did was wrong, and you learned from it," Sam said, trying to sound upbeat. "You''ve been doing a pretty good job taking care of Will, haven''t you?"


    "I kept him around ''cause he was useful," Mongrel said dismissively. "Nothing altruistic about it."


    "I don''t believe that."


    Mongrel snorted. "Believe what you want, kid. Doesn''t make it true." He sighed and looked up from examining his yellowed nails. "All right, genius, let''s do you."


    "Okay!" Gug said. "Then I will request a dare."


    Mongrel pointed to a red pepper in what was left of a skillet stir fry sitting by the fire. "Eat that."


    "But¡­ I don''t like crunchy."


    "It''s been fried, genius. It''s not crunchy."


    "But I don''t like spicy, either."


    "That''s why it''s a dare."


    Gug put a finger in the air. "A wise man once told me: ''Don''t eat your vegetables''."


    "You''re definitely misquoting that," Sam said.


    Gug was eventually forced to admit defeat. He plucked the greasy pepper off the skillet and slowly, slowly put it to his mouth, then bared his teeth and slowly, slowly bit down on it. He bit off the red part, let the green stem fall away, and slowly, slowly chewed.


    "That''s not so bad," he said thoughtfully, gazing up at the starry night sky while his muscled jaws worked. "It doesn''t really taste like much."


    Mongrel cracked an evil grin. "Give it a minute."

 Chapter 104 - Truth or Dare [3]

    Sam


    A few moments later, Gug was hacking and spitting and desperately rubbing his tongue against the back of his hand.


    "Thpithy!" he whined.


    "It''ll pass, Gug," Sam explained, giving his huge arm a pat.


    "No! I''m going to die!"


    Mongrel laughed.


    "You won''t die," Sam insisted.


    "Yeth I¡ª" He was cut off by a hiccup that rocked his whole body. He tried to finish his thought, only to hiccup again, and again, and again. He was able to wash some of the heat out of his mouth by gargling from his water flask, but was still left with a bad case of the hiccups as he mulled over who to choose next.


    "You," he said, "Friend Price."


    The mercenary rolled her shoulders uncomfortably and fussed with the sword resting against her, looking as though she regretted joining the game after all. "Fine," she eventually said. "Truth, then."


    "Okay." Gug tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Friend Price, what is your favorite book?"


    "Come on," Mongrel grumbled. "You gotta stop throwing softballs, you big oaf. Give her something difficult."


    "Mongrel," Sam said warningly. "That''s the question he chose. Now be quiet and let Price answer."


    Mongrel acted out a silent mimicry of her with an ugly grimace and exaggerated lip movements. She ignored him.


    "Well¡­" Price said. She cleared her throat. "Ahem. Well, my favorite book would be¡­ Forbidden Hatred. It''s sort of a character drama slash social commentary piece. It''s pretty complex."


    "Ooh!" Gug explained, and began rooting through the big trunk that acted as his briefcase. "I am also reading that one!" He fished a tattered square hardback out of the trunk and held it up between two fingers. "It is about a man named Bernard who becomes a slave."


    "You don''t need to explain the plot," Price said quickly.


    Gug ignored her. "His master, whose name is Richter, is very mean to him and ties him up and whips him and such. But then they fall in love and become boyfriend and boyfriend, and they do a lot of kissing and hugging and inserting of ''engorged meat rods'' et cetera, which I believe is a reference to male genitalia."


    "Please¡ª"


    Gug frowned in thought. "Friend Price is right, it is a very complex piece. Even though Bernard and Richter are boyfriend and boyfriend, Richter still does the beating and whipping and all the rest, which is not very nice. But when Richter offers to set Bernard free, Bernard decides against it. He chooses to stay a slave and be  whipped all the time. It really makes you think about the nature of love. Some people, I suppose, believe that love and pain are the same thing. Very curious."


    "That''s an erotica book?" Sam asked, shocked. "But I tried so hard to find ones without sex!"


    "It''s not erotica," Price insisted. "It''s just realistic. In any case, I read it for the characters, not for any stupid smut."


    "Characters," Gug agreed, nodding along.


    "It''s okay," Sam assured the mercenary, "you can read anything you like. There''s no need to feel embarrassed."


    Price threw her a withering glare, but said nothing.


    Eager to move on from that, the mercenary chose Mongrel, who wanted a dare. "Okay," she said, "since our guide seems to enjoy kissing so much, why don''t you go give her one? With tongue, if you don''t mind."


    Mags laughed as she reclined all the way down on her back, hands folded behind her head. "Now we''re getting somewhere! Go on then, sir¡ªlet us see if skill comes with age."


    Mongrel eyed her sourly for a moment. "Pass," he said.


    "Really?" Mags asked.


    "Out of the two of you, I didn''t expect you to be the one with hangups about this," Sam said.


    "As you may know," Mongrel replied in a haughty voice, "I am a firm believer in not sticking my dick in crazy, and kissing is a slippery slope that may lead to all sorts of unsavory business."


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    Mags sighed, chest heaving. "How dull." She sat up in one fluid motion and put her feet together with a wooden clack of her clogs. "In that case, you will have to take a punishment."


    "Fair enough. What''s that going to be, then?"


    "Let''s just do a quick and simple one. Here we go."


    Mags held up a finger, and Mongrel shot into the air, limbs dangling as he let out a panicked yelp. Then she twirled her finger around, and Mongrel began to spin violently, cartwheeling out of control. Around and around and around he went; faster and faster and faster he went. He was screaming, while Mags laughed good-naturedly. With a flick of her wrist, he began to spin on the other axis as well, becoming a spherical blur of speeding color.


    "Mags!" Sam shouted, and rose to her feet. "Stop it!"


    The curvaceous woman threw a surprised look Sam''s way, as though she couldn''t  comprehend what might possibly be the matter. The gleeful smile slowly drained from her face. "All right," she said, and curled her finger back into a fist.


    Mongrel came to an abrupt stop in the air, arms flailing, and fell heavily back to his seat. He leaned drunkenly, head bobbing atop his turkey neck, and he promptly bent forward to spew up his dinner. Sam sped over to him and put a hand on his chest to keep him from tipping into his own vomit.


    All the chimps except Number Three were soon at their master''s side, snarling and hooting at Mags and slapping the ground in a way that threatened violence with no room for interpretation.


    "Are you all right?" Sam asked.


    Mongrel spat bile, gray hair standing crazy about his head. He gave a slow nod. "I''m fine." He waved the chimps aside, snapped his fingers at them when they wouldn''t listen. "Off with you. I''m fine. I don''t need protecting."


    Several of the chimps looked like they wanted to go for their weapons, but Number One offered Mongrel a sober nod, and signed at the other chimps until they all reluctantly stalked off. Most likely, the old chimp understood the same thing that most of them did.


    They could not afford a fight with this woman.


    Sam knew that well enough herself¡ªthe mysterious Artisan scared her half to death. That didn''t mean she was about to stay quiet, though. "That was too far," she said, stepping away from Mongrel when he waved her off, insisting he was fine. "You could have seriously hurt him with that."


    "Oh relax, he was in good hands," Mags replied. "I wasn''t going to drop him or anything¡ªI''m not an amateur."


    "It doesn''t matter¡ªyou still went too far."


    "Relax, kid," Mongrel whispered, grabbing onto a handful of Sam''s sleeve. "We don''t want to piss her off, or we might end up the same way as that sheriff."


    Sam ignored him, staring down the Artisan. "You need to apologize," she said.


    Mags returned her gaze evenly with a secretive little smirk. A tense silence stretched out. No one spoke. There was hardly a blink between them. Oatmeal looked like he was one sudden movement away from bolting into the woods like a frightened rabbit, while Price was slowly unfurling her limbs, hand drifting toward the hilt of her blade.


    Only Mags looked completely at ease.


    "You''ve got some fire in you, little Darling," she said with a chuckle, then gave a nod toward Mongrel. "I''m sorry, man. She''s right, that was a bit much. I spend a lot of time by my lonesome, so you could say I''m not the most well-socialized person. Didn''t mean to hurt you or anything."


    "No harm done," Mongrel replied, and returned her nod.


    Sam breathed a sigh of relief, and the nervous tension slowly bled out of the camp. The game tapered off at that point, though, with no one really in the mood to continue playing.


    While Sam was cleaning the cookware, Mags stretched and rolled off the ground; arms raised, breasts bouncing. "Okay, guys," she said, "I''ve been sensing something nasty between us and Freetown, so I''m going to scout ahead a bit and see if I can head it off."


    "Will you be back by morning?" Sam asked with a worried frown.


    "Sure I will. This won''t take long."


    "What if you''re not? How will we get the rest of the way there?"


    "Your concern is touching, little Darling, but I know what I''m doing. Don''t you worry, I''ll be back to tuck you in and give you a kiss goodnight."


    It wasn''t as though they could really stop her from doing whatever she wanted to do, so they all simply watched as their guide disappeared into the night. Sam wasn''t sure whether to be concerned or relieved.


    "Should I send one of the boys to tail her?" Mongrel wondered aloud, puffing idly at an after-supper cigarette.


    "I don''t think that would be a good idea," Sam replied. "She seems to be pretty observant, and I don''t know if she''d be too stoked to find that we''re spying on her."


    "Reckon you''re right." Mongrel smoked in silence for a minute and stared into the dwindling cook fire. "You think she was telling the truth about that ''scouting ahead'' business?"


    Sam still found herself glancing at the gap between two oaks where she had last seen the Artisan. "I don''t know."


    "Think she got herself in a twist over that business back there?"


    "I don''t know," Sam repeated. "I feel like the more time I spend around that woman, the less I understand her."


    "I get you."


    "She''s bad news all around," Price said. "Best we get to this Freetown place and lose her as quick as possible."


    "Yeah," Sam reluctantly agreed. She made it a point to try and see the good in everyone whenever possible, and by all accounts Mags had helped the group a lot already.


    But even so, everything about her just rubbed Sam the wrong way.


    Sam unfurled her bedroll and prepared for bed. Mongrel said that he would take an extended first watch, covering for what was usually the chimps'' job. Apparently, they were not too happy about their treatment lately. She couldn''t blame them, with the majority of them dying twice in the last week and change, and the fact that they had been forced to sleep rough while they were on the road.


    Even with the day''s march and the firelight having faded to a pleasant glow, Sam found that sleep would not take her as she lay curled up on her bedroll, aware of every root and rock under the thin layer of padded cloth.


    Every time she closed her eyes, she saw blood and death; that of those she had failed to save, and that which she had caused by her own hand.


    She wished that Will was there to hold her, that she could listen to one of his silly tangents and forget about everything but his voice and his smell.


    But he wasn''t there.


    She slept badly.