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—she’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—after 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—the 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—more, 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—fine 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—Walther, a Level 12 Physician—gasped 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.”

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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—I’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—I 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—I 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.