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—the Red House—while 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—their—room, 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?

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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—not 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—mind 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.