Will

Now that he was forced to exercise constant effort to keep the searing pain from showing, Will thoroughly regretted showing off. His stomach was knotting in on itself, right leg quivering with displeasure at its mistreatment, head pounding like someone was banging cymbals over his ears.

The one consolation was that all the posturing seemed to have found favor with its target audience. Able to visualize her heavy breathing quite accurately with Detect [Air], he could tell that he had managed to get Sam more than a little hot and bothered. It wasn't exactly the effect he had been shooting for, but he couldn't say he was dissatisfied with the result.

Struck by a sudden jolt of inspiration, Will thought he'd try out something new. Steeling himself enough to shut out the pain and gather his focus, he mindcast Detect [Heat] and received a gradient overlay on top of the cast he already had active that gave him more detail to work with in regards to the movements and expressions of the people around him. An almost uncomfortable amount of detail, in fact, as he could clearly make out that Sam's internal temperature was spiking around her erogenous zones.

Potential privacy violations aside, he concluded that this new tool would undoubtedly prove useful in social interactions.

The major downside was that the candles burning on the table became harsh flares of sensory input that partially obscured those sitting across from him. As with Detect [Air], he would need to fiddle with the sensitivity.

The kitchen workers brought wine in decanters while the food was being prepared. Brimstone had never maintained a kitchen in the keep on account of his crippling paranoia of being poisoned, so Buck must have scraped the staff together after coming into power.

However, when Buck found out that neither Will nor Sam nor Dawn had any intention of drinking, he called the alcohol away entirely to be replaced with cool spring water.

"After all, it's no fun to be the sober guy at a party where everyone else is shitfaced," he explained. "Better then that we all abstain."

The rangers were not particularly pleased at having their wine cups taken away, but then they were already about as sour-faced as one could be, so it didn't make too much of an impact on the overall mood.

Dawn hardly spoke except in hushed whispers to Buck, and her gaze almost never met anyone else's. She had regressed to something almost infantile, a tiny presence focusing the entirety of its energy on staying attached to Buck's side like a starved lamprey desperately clinging to its host.

Broken. Misshapen. A dead thing breathing.

Will knew he had to say something, but found it difficult to find the nerve even to perceive her, let alone address her.

At last, he croaked: "Dawn."

The woman jerked violently as though struck at the sound of her own name. Her red-rimmed eyes darted all around the table, looking anywhere but at Will.

Buck touched the back of one bandaged hand, and shushed her softly back to something resembling intense anxiety rather than abject horror. Sam performed the same service for Will, her fingers entwined in his hair, thumb rubbing the top of his spine.

Conversation around the table, such as it was, slowly died down. Buck's people fixed their withering attentions on him.

"I'm sorry," Will continued, managing by some miracle to make his voice come out smooth. "For my part in what happened to you. I wish… I wish I had done more to help. That I had thought of another way."

Only then did the woman's eyes finally swivel onto him, burning with an unexpected intensity. Quick, sharp breaths hissed through the cartilaginous scraps that remained of her nostrils.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she replied in a hoarse, whispery voice ruined by long hours of screaming. "I'm only alive thanks to you, Master One-Eye. I'm truly grateful. I'm the one who should be sorry, since I can't offer you anything in return for your kindness."

Her words belied a flood of conflicting emotions that seemed to emanate from her, broken body twitching fitfully with the intensity of it. Gratitude, sure. Also fear. Anger. Despair. Disgust. Maybe even hatred behind those bloodshot, crazy-wide eyes that reminded Will far too much of her late husband.

"I'm no Physician, but I do make fairly potent medicines and healing substances of various kinds. If you'd like, I could produce some at your doctor's discretion, to relieve your pain and maybe accelerate recovery somewhat." He resisted the compulsive urge to joke that he promised not to poison her. It probably wouldn't have gone over well.

Dawn said nothing. Her cracked lips quivered.

"How generous!" Buck said with a big grin. He glanced at Dawn, then looked back at Will. "Of course, you'll understand that this is still a very sensitive subject for her. Maybe we could discuss it another time, when she feels ready?"

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Will nodded. "Of course."

Francine stared at him from across the table, and whispered something to one of her comrades. They looked like they were settling on who'd take the head and who'd take the feet once they'd slit his throat.

The fact that Sam was staring right back and looked about ready to suplex someone through the patio, while touching, did not do anything for his blood pressure.

God, I need a smoke.

He was grateful when bowls and trays of hot food started showing up, even though he was too queasy to be hungry. At least it gave him something else to pay attention to. There were cuts of lamb and pork, a salad mixed with bits of crumbled goat cheese, loaves of both dark and white bread, at least four different sauces, and potatoes. Certainly not the greatest feast he'd ever witnessed, but considering the times, it seemed shamelessly indulgent.

Still, he found a genuine appreciation for the lord's generosity as he watched Sam pile a great heaping portion onto her plate and dig in with savage ferocity, shearing and tearing and chomping with those unnaturally keen pearly whites of hers. She ate with such haste that she was hardly stopping to take in air, breaths coming only as irregular gasps and snorts. She looked like she was on the verge of throwing her cutlery away and using her hands like an animal.

"You haven't had a decent meal in a while, have you?" Will asked, a stab of guilt making the fire in his gut flare up hotter.

"Mmh," Sam grunted. She bit a big chunk of lamb in half, chewed twice, then shoved the rest in. Sauce squirted out the corner of her mouth and down her chin. "Swuwwuh," she mumbled and wiped the mess with the back of her hand, only to end up dribbling even more just seconds later.

"I… don't think I've ever seen anyone eat like that," Buck said, all wide-eyed fascination.

The rangers, too, had paused their own meals to stare.

"Wuh? Bwheve wheevh awwaw eee effuuh?" Sam worked out in a barely human-sounding series of breathy grunts and huffs, hunched defensively over her plate like a stray dog afraid to have its rotting carcass stolen.

Buck looked at Will. Will shrugged. "I guess she says she's hungry."

She jabbed her fork at him in a vaguely affirmative gesture before diving back into her heap of food.

Will's lip curled in a suppressed smile as he watched her for another half minute, then shook his head and turned to Buck. "So, my lord. How's the city these days?"

"Rather char-broiled, I'm afraid," Buck sighed, running a hand through his fashionably messy curls. We're trying to take counts of survivors from each district. So far, we think as many as a third of the city's population might have died."

"Not in the fires, surely?"

"No. Most of the casualties come from those who attempted to flee along the road to Greensby. Grinners soon flocked there in great numbers. It was a bloodbath."

"I see. How much of the city's infrastructure survived?"

"Uh, let's see. A chunk of Darkside. A few Topside neighborhoods belonging to the wealthy who could afford private security to stop the spread of the fire to their own homes. Most of Cliffside was unaffected, and only scattered sections of Seaside burned."

"I see." On the whole, that was a better outcome than he'd expected. "The rebuilding efforts are ongoing, I suppose?"

"Yes. We've got all the Builders we can get our hands on working shifts day and night to clear out ruins and construct new buildings. Most of the available militia—garrison and outriders—are helping out one way or another, either directly with construction work or by gathering timber and salvaging other useful materials."

"Good, good. I hear you promoted someone named Jawara to Sheerhome's garrison captain?"

"That's right. She's kept her men in line well enough thus far."

"And the new commander is?"

"Ahh, his name is Stahl. He was a captain in Timbryhall. He's still up there, trying to keep the peace and everything."

"What about Griff, the last Sheerhome garrison captain? Was he executed?"

"Executed?" Buck's smile slipped, replaced by a light frown. "There haven't been any executions. You know we're the good guys, right? Anyone who has surrendered and accepted me as Brimstone's replacement has received amnesty. We haven't had any trouble with holdouts. The old man didn't exactly peak in popularity when he decided to burn the whole city down. Most people are just happy to have someone slightly less batshit crazy telling 'em when to jump."

Having plated up food for Dawn and cut it into small pieces, Buck fed her by hand since hers were not in a particularly usable state. "Oh, but you were asking about Griff," Buck said absently while he waited for the bandaged woman to chew. "Quite the piece of work, that one. A not-so-small part of me wishes he really was dead. But no, he's alive. He got taken apart by Brimstone just like all the others who ended up in his path, but despite being a couple limbs down, Griff has hung on."

"Stubborn bastard."

Buck laughed. "Right?" He fed Dawn another piece of lamb, and murmured to her softly when she winced at the pain of chewing. "He's being cared for at a temporary clinic set up here on the hill. At least he was last I heard. Maybe he's finally bit it by now."

"I see."

Will tried to eat a little himself, mostly to practice using a knife with his new right hand. He got a couple bites down and drank a glass of water. In the meantime, Sam had already started on her second portion, barely any smaller than the first.

Continuing to ask questions, he found out that the harbor was more or less completely empty, that about half the fields had burned down, and that Buck had not yet given the order to begin rationing. Will convinced him to at least consider it, but even if it went into effect that very second, it was obvious that Sheerhome would be facing a food shortage very soon.

But at least for the moment, Sam could eat her fill, and that was enough to put a smile on his face.

After scarfing down a third portion to fill her stomach all the way to the brim, Sam finally settled back in her chair with a contented burp, patting the pronounced bulge of her belly. "Whew! That was… awesome…!" She looked exhausted just from the effort of all that eating, working a cramp out of her jaw.

After she'd had some time to let the food settle, she and Will thanked Buck for his generosity and excused themselves from the table. They returned to Will's apartment in the keep, and Will struggled with his stiff, uncooperative body to disrobe and crawl into bed. Sam was soon nestled up against him, a big slab of warmth and softness with one arm thrown over his waist.

He had allowed his Detect to expire, so he couldn't see her anymore, and he assumed that she couldn't see him either in the dark. Her nearness was enough to chase away some of the dread pressing down on him. Helped him forget, at least for a while, his growing suspicion.

That maybe Sheerhome had not seen the worst of its suffering yet.

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