《Thralls of a Tyrant God: A Grimdark Sword and Sorcery Epic (ALSO ON AMAZON)》


 Chapter 0

    I didn''t choose my god. He chose me.


    The rough wind that pushed Senn around didn''t make the plains any less scorching. It provided no relief from the heat, nor did it warm the cold nights. It never brought anything different; it was as if the breeze didn''t come from beyond, rather, it hung above the plains, circling it. As he looked up, hoping for rain or at least a cloud to cover him, a thought crossed his mind. Not even the winds can escape this place.


    He lifted his hoe and struck again, driving its point into the ground. The dirt held little value and nothing grew on the plains, but below it, there were the roots that the Leashed were forced to take. You couldn''t uproot them, since they seemed to stretch below the plains like a massive ant nest, never breaching the surface and extending deeper than any man could dig. The roots only thrived in the darkness, so when they got them out into the daylight, the roots shriveled and grew shorter. The only way to avoid that was working by night, and no one dared work by starlight.


    Senn brought his hoe down again, and it hit true. Something squirmed underneath the metal and the sun, and Senn dropped to the ground and grabbed it. He pulled with all the strength he could muster. He looked around, but the others were far away. They would hear the yelling, but too many of them would come and Senn''s bounty would diminish until they gave it to him to hold in one hand. Senn was tired of being given scraps. He wanted to hold something with both hands outstretched and have it be so bountiful he wouldn''t be able to hold it.


    He dug his ankles into the overturned soil and pulled. His frame was still small, but he knew that with good leverage, he could hold his own. The root would give way. It had to.


    The sweat fell in a trickle from his chin and he felt his back muscles spasm. But he would not let go. The roots resisted as if something held them back: fear of the sun, or maybe a giant hand under the earth. But they were just plants, and had no smarts, unlike Senn. They knew nothing of effort, of strength, of true fear. The gnawing in the nights, the hunger that filled him constantly, that made him walk farther away each day only to find a root to chew on, to become stronger and let the hunger subside for a while.


    With a final push, something ripped, and Senn fell backward. He hit his head agains a rock and his back flared so much that he held still. The fear came back. If I''m left here without being able to move, they''ll eat me instead of the roots. Senn knew people held more nutrients than plants, and more than once he had been filled with that joy. I''m no one''s root to gnaw on.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    He rolled on his back until he could gather himself up. His back hurt, but it was the muscles and not the bones. They would hurt for a while, but nothing more than a minor strain. He touched his metal collar where he had hit it against the ground. The metal had a small crack from the impact.


    He''d had worse.


    He looked toward the overturned soil. The root lay there, writhing under the sun. It had shrunk, but wouldn''t shrink anymore now. It was a good ten-palm slice, thick as an arm. Senn crawled toward it anxiously, looking around, but the others were far away still. He held it and cradled it. Now that it was out, he was able to cut it. Those things seemed like rocks when one pulled, but when you stabbed them they opened up easily. Thick, red juice oozed out of the wound, and Senn put his lips to it. The juice was barely nutritious, but it was cool from the ground beneath. The rest he would have to cook over a fire, watching his back. Someone bigger would likely end up stealing a part of it, but Senn would hide most, wrapping it and burying it in a shallow pit. But no one was stealing his juice.


    The heat grew stronger as he sucked on it. A lone cloud had shaded him for the last few minutes and he hadn''t even noticed until the full weight of the sunlight fell on him. He looked up and cursed. What have you ever given us but grief?


    Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned quickly on his backside and held his knife up. No one is taking it.


    He thought he would see someone approaching from far away. But the figure in front of him was a lot larger than his shadow had led him to believe. He wasn''t tall enough or close enough to blot out the sun, but the sun seemed to wane all the same.


    "You''ll get nothing from me," said Senn.


    "Really?" said the man in shadow. "How would you stop me, little boy? Are you strong enough?"


    "Come and see if I am."


    The stranger seemed amused, though it had to have been Senn''s imagination. He couldn''t see his face, so how could he be sure?


    "You are stronger than some," he said finally, "and weaker than most. That will be true all your life."


    "Not me," said Senn. "I''ll be the strongest anywhere."


    "What for? Why do it? Why the effort? Making yourself strong to live another day? Only until you''re too strong and the others stab you in the back while you sleep? It''s easier to lie down and die."


    "I don''t care. I''ll be the strongest."


    The man knelt before him. He was still shaded as if he had his own cloud above him, his face partly obscured by it. But it was a noble face, and Senn could see his clothes, unsullied and smooth, as well as a metal stick or blade by his side.


    "Why be stronger? Why not be weaker? It''s the same. Everyone dies here in the midlands sooner or later. Weakness means less energy to spend, less work."


    "Because... I''m. not. weak."


    Senn sliced with his knife at the kneeling man. He caught him across the neck. He looked down. A few red drops had stained the ground, but he traced them back to the root held in his other hand. The man had not bled. He hadn''t even flinched.


    "You are," said the man. "But maybe you''ll grow out of it."


    The man walked away, but just a few steps from him the heat made the air wavy and he vanished.


    As I said¡­I didn''t choose my god. He chose me.

 Chapter 1 - Years Later

    "Are they in place?" asked Senn.


    "Yes. As well as they can ever be. They''re disposable."


    "Even trash has a purpose. They''d better achieve it, or the Lord will be angry at them."


    "At us."


    Senn smiled and turned to look at the other man. His grin made Izal uneasy and he looked away. Senn knew his general as well as any man, but that didn''t mean he trusted him.


    "At you," said Senn. "The Lord looks upon me as his Herald. I''ve gotten us this far. No matter how much you want it, you should remember that everyone hungers, but the Lord of Greed ranks his men not for their ambition but for their ability to get things done as well."


    The second-in-command frowned. What Senn was saying was true, but it was Senn who would cast the fault upon him, not the Lord. Their God was prone to disappear for long stretches and wouldn''t stay still long enough to pass judgment, so the Herald''s voice was the God''s own for all intents and purposes.


    Senn took one step sideways, turned toward Izal, and walked away. No one in the Lord of Greed''s army would simply turn his back on a rival. They always slipped away far enough to avoid a dagger in the back, which made them seem courteous people unless you knew the movements for what they were.


    He climbed down. In front and around him, a ring of mountains circled a kind of bay, a tongue of water that came from beyond the plains and lapped the feet of the mountains, holding a flat sliver of an island over it. The water barely moved, and the isle itself was ringed by steep buffs that made it seem inhospitable. But it was Senn who had learned it was anything but lifeless. It held dangers far worse than any the midlands themselves or their inhabitants could claim. What they could be hiding was enough to frighten Senn and make him angry as well.


    He had fought that enemy for years and years. It was his oldest enemy, even before he knew about it or recognized it for what it was. He had seen it in multiple faces, hiding amongst men who should have known better, whom he had thought were above it. But his enemy was insidious like no other and wouldn''t cease to assault the men of the plains. He had fought them openly and under cover of darkness, and they had turned some of his own men against him. A few had swelled their ranks, but Senn didn''t fear being outnumbered again. This was but a trickle of water evaporating in the windswept plains. It was nothing but a plague, and some men couldn''t be touched by it. Like Senn, they had been inoculated before they ever really caught the disease. But it had a way of spreading that could make even the immune pause and consider it.


    He had tracked the disease to that isle. There were other places that were harder to reach, but the fugitives gave more weight to being close to their victims than to safety. They were probably right. There is no safe place anywhere. Damned pretenders. They could have picked a better place to make their last stand. The walls won''t hold anyway, so why stall?


    But Senn''s dichotomy persisted. There were no inroads to the isle, no bridge to close the gap. And no man of the midlands had walked over water or sunk in it as long as he could remember. He didn''t know how they had gotten there. But they had done so for sure since he had captured a fugitive in the surrounding mountains and made him talk in ways in which no man could hold a lie for long. The Lord of Greed''s interrogators were eager and precise in their work, as if they extracted pleasure from each new emotion or fact unearthed from their subjects. There was more than sadism in it, for those who excelled at cruelty were drawn to the Forever King''s host instead. The hunger was what characterized the All Eater, and his men followed suit in a myriad of ways, be it hunger for power or knowledge, or even pettier things.


    Senn''s battalion had set up camp in the inner circle of mountains, in the broad crystallized expanse that separated them from the water. The crystal on the floor was a strange sight still, and the sun''s reflection on it forced everyone to walk with their faces covered in bandages or clothes. They had learned quickly to avoid the brightness. Some men were still suffering from debilitating headaches because of it, and one had been blinded. The ground was also unyielding: no stake or shovel could penetrate the outer crystal surface. So the camp was an even more ramshackle affair than what was usual in the midlands, as the tents were held up by poles protruding from bags or tied up to rocks brought from above.


    Needless to say, the men were less than comfortable and complained constantly. But among the whole thousand of the lot there were enough of the Sparked ¡ªabout two dozen¡ª to hold them in line and remind them that the only way to the god''s grace was by following their Herald in this mission. At the best of times, Senn thought, the whole army remembered that the way to fill their hunger was through succeeding in their joint mission; at the worst, each Sparked tugged in his own direction and the whole battalion risked succumbing to infighting before even catching a glimpse of any enemies. Senn had made his peace with it all, though: no man could lead the Lord of Greed''s army without dealing with the inherent nature of the men under his command, nor could he fault them for it. After all, even in that, they were following their god.


    Senn reached the shimmering bank with a thud after slipping the last couple of feet. The crystal grew into the mountainside and was often covered in dirt, so you didn''t realize you were stepping on smooth glass until your feet slipped. Once he recovered his balance, he covered his head with the white scarf he wore around his neck and set out to inspect the rest of the camp. The scarf was so thin he could see through it, though only blurred images, but that was better than being blinded by the light or by a dark cloth.


    The men sat, squatted, or lay everywhere, but no one rose to greet him or even straightened up. Some of his men had done so in the past, but the habit was quickly bred out of them in favor of more useful attitudes, like watching attentively for any weakness he might show in hopes of catching him off guard. The Lord of Greed encouraged killing only when one''s own status or material wealth could improve by doing so, not at all times like many of the more ignorant men of the plains thought. But that was enough motive for a third of the men in the camp to want to kill Senn. The other two-thirds were so far below him that killing him would grant them nothing. At most, they would be thanked by someone in a position to take advantage of the power vacuum and then likely stomped on just to make sure they didn''t threaten the new leader.


    The main army was mostly rabble, there to swell the ranks and bear the brunt of the damage, to lift and push. What worried him was holding his Sparked in check and making sure they stood in position to help them achieve their goal. That''s why he had brought the carts. The midlands were bereft of trees, so every pole and cart was a luxury. There was no way he could build enough rafts for his army, so his strategy was to keep his army back in position to surround the enemy and stop any escape attempt once his attack started. But he still needed a way across.


    The Sparked were all gathered in one place, near the water. As he approached, he felt a growing apprehension. Being around so many of them always made him uneasy, and there were good reasons for that. He had faced half a dozen assassination attempts since he was the Herald, and would face more. The Sparked were the next in line to succeed him, and while their ambition roared in their stomachs, it would only take one of them flaring the hunger in another man enough to push him toward killing Senn. The attacks he had suffered had been like that, though he had no way of proving who had been behind them. He held no illusions about finding the culprit: most probably, all of them had tried it at some point. And that was the way of things.


    As he stood before them, they all turned to face him, two dozen men with burning eyes and twitchy fingers. That was the hunger showing, and Senn knew it better than anyone, though it sometimes surprised him to see the effects in others, for he could not see that in himself.


    In the midst of the Sparked, there was a triple row of Husks. They were not guilty like the men they were chasing, but they were Leashed anyway, so that made their lives forfeit. They were tied with ropes made out of roots, their arms outstretched and tied to the backs of the men in front. There had to be a few women and children among them, but Senn didn''t bother to check. His men would have been conscious to use mostly men for the task since women had to be kept for breeding and children would be useless for the task.


    "Are we ready?" he asked.


    "Yes," said Mirai, foremost among the Sparked. Senn still remembered when he was a boy and he had taken it upon himself to guide him and turn him into the believer he was now. Mirai had always called him ''Lord Senn'', but not in the last year or so. He would not be surprised to find him driving a dagger into him some time. In a way, he would be proud.


    "All right. Then do it. What are you waiting for?"


    ¡°We thought you''d want to watch.¡±


    "Greed. You should have taken your glory when you could. Now it''s mine."Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Mirai bowed a little and hissed, his reproach aimed mostly at himself.


    "Do it," he said, but the others hadn''t waited for him. Each one was already pushing since they had heard Senn''s words.


    Don''t expect them to follow, boy. Lead, and make them run to keep up.


    The push was anything but physical. Each Sparked stood still, concentrating on the Husks. Sweat stained their scarves and bandages as they increased the hunger in the captive men. There were no complaints, not even a grunt. The Husks knew their station. They recognized the hunger for what it was, not an ailment of the body but a desire that raged in their stomachs until it burned all through their bodies. The Lord of Greed inhabiting their every cell. And with it, a little voice that came from within, but which every Sparked used to their advantage.


    Maybe this is not death. I can survive it. If I do, I''ll be raised to be a follower. Maybe even a Sparked!


    They were all like that. Even the lowliest of the Husks held the Lord''s Gift. Senn looked at the captives¡¯ advance and beamed with pride. Only the Lord of Greed could do this. Some men didn''t even hold cruelty in their hearts until it was put there, but all of them felt the touch of hunger, real hunger that taught them that greed was necessary to survive.


    Now, their greed was driving them forward into the waters. The first men had already disappeared beneath the waters, and the rest followed without flinching. Not one of them tried to swim or escape. They went on walking until they couldn''t reach the ground and then kept walking underwater until they couldn''t breathe anymore. Senn watched them disappear and frowned. They hadn''t even made it halfway to the isle. The water was deeper than they thought. It would take longer.


    "Stop!" he yelled. The Sparked ceased their pushing, and the men who were still above water stopped walking. "We''ll have to wait until the drowned resurface. If we keep pushing ahead, they''ll pile up where they are. Once the dead are floating, the ones behind can keep pushing them."


    It would take one or two more days to do it that way, but there wasn''t a faster way. Senn slipped away and turned back to the camp. A gust of wind shook his scarf off and made it fly away. Without thinking, Senn reacted and used his speed to catch it in flight, faster than the wind. The god''s gifts were many, some more subtle than others.


    Before putting his scarf back on, he caught a glimpse of himself in the crystallized ground. He hadn''t looked at his own face in a glass in a long while. He was older than he thought. Older than Mirai, a lot older than the little boy that scavenged for roots. He had come a long way since he was Leashed himself. A few locks of gray hair betrayed his age, though he wasn''t sure how old he truly was. He hadn''t kept count and when he was young he had had no one to ask. There was no point wondering about it, though. Everything was the same in the world day after day. It only grew harder until you weren''t around anymore. Until the world caught up to you and your strength wasn''t enough to offset your weakness. Senn had seen it happen time and time again, to men whom he had thought would live long lives due to their qualities. So why linger in the world if death was all there was to it? Why not walk to the water?


    Senn shook his head, stunned. He wasn''t prone to those thoughts, and getting caught up in them was a sure enough way to forsake his life. Any follower, Sparked or not, could see that hesitation in his eyes and that would be the end of it. Anything less than the fire of hunger in your eyes, and you could lose it all. Senn had seen it. He had been on the other side of that proposition.


    He tied his scarf back on and walked toward his tent. It was less than grand, just a little bit bigger than the others, but he didn''t have to share it like the rest of the followers. The Sparked and the Herald always slept alone, and not due to their rank. While they were away from Lordstown, not one of them risked sharing their tent even with women or whores of either sex. Some were said to take Leashed women who were too afraid to resist and posed no danger, but to Senn that was foolish. The leash could be long or short, but he knew firsthand that every captive, man or woman, harbored thoughts of revenge. Not freedom, for the only way to get that was through strength or through death, and most couldn''t reach the first or risk the latter. But revenge was always close at hand yet desperately far away, until it wasn''t and someone died and a Leashed one broke his bindings.


    He lay down in his tent over a leather bedroll, taking out his twin daggers and holding them in his outstretched arms. He was a light sleeper, and that had saved his life more than once. A weakness came over him whenever he was about to sleep, telling him to relax, to wind down. But that road only led to death. Maybe after he got rid of the last fugitives... but that was a fool''s thought. After that, there would be something else to fight, lust for, achieve. The God demanded so.


    * * *


    He knew it for a dream as soon as he saw himself in front of that fire. His body was his present, adult one, but the setting was not in his memories. He had been a child back then, some time after meeting the god for the first time. It wasn''t just any fire he was sitting in front of; he recognized something about that night, the way the fire pulsed against the darkness. Or maybe he was wrong and he only thought he remembered it. Truth was, there was no other night that he remembered as vividly as that one. Most nights had been a haze of hunger, fear, and cold. Not that night.


    In the dream, he sat in front of the fire, and across from it was Naial. She was a timid little thing, and that was a good and a bad thing in the plains. She didn''t catch anyone''s attention, but she also had no one to look out for her. Senn wanted to be the one to do that. She was small for her age, which he thought was around his own. She wouldn''t blossom for a while yet, and that kept her safe. But once she did, once she started drawing glances, she would need someone to protect her. She hadn''t said anything to him yet, but he had seen her looks and thought they held budding promises.


    She had been abandoned like him. There was no attachment possible in the plains. Most parents only fed their children until they could fend for themselves. Senn didn''t blame them for that. He wouldn''t share his food or fire either until he met Naial, and even then he always hid things from her. Life was like that, and no one felt guilty for surviving. Guilt didn''t last long when the other option was starvation.


    He got up and walked to her side of the fire. It was a small one, burning off the thick outer part of the edible roots of the plains. But it was all that kept them from the cold that would otherwise make them sick. Sickness led to weakness, and then to hunger. But at night, sometimes it was more than just a source of heat. For a brief few moments that night, something else burned in the fire, an emotion that Senn didn''t recognize, and wouldn''t do so for half a lifetime.


    His dream started to diverge from his memories, but he didn''t stop it. He had wanted to kiss Naial and he never had, and in the dream, she was his and only his.


    * * *


    The next day, the bridge was almost done. It wasn''t steady and it didn''t allow for more than one man across at a time, but it was enough for Senn''s purpose. His army had already positioned itself all around the lake, cutting off all escape routes. The men they were chasing always seemed to be able to escape miraculously or to stay out of their reach by a hair''s width. Senn planned to make them need a true miracle this time.


    When he reached the bank, the Sparked were almost ready. A few stragglers were running from their tents, sheathing weapons or stopping to tie bootlaces as they approached. All were expectant, and for the first time in weeks, Senn was glad for the hunger they showed. This time, he could make something of it, directing it against their enemies and not have it squandered in musings of treason.


    "Let''s go," he said. "One man at a time, give yourselves a few paces'' breadth. We don''t know how steady it will be. Once you reach the other shore, spread out in a wide defensive formation. Archers first, just in case, and swordsmen at the back. Mirai, go with the first archers and secure that beach for me."


    Mirai nodded, uncertain whether he should be glad he was chosen, annoyed that he was given that treatment instead of him taking the role for himself, or angry at being put in harm''s way on purpose. But he led the men anyway, taking their first steps in the water up to where the bridge started. The bodies had bloated and lay limp on the surface, but the ropes held them. A few soldiers had gone over them before, retying the corpses together so the bridge wouldn''t fall apart just as the Sparked crossed it. But even from Senn''s vantage point, it was a horrible sight. It wasn''t a true bridge, just something made up on the run, but Senn worked with the tools he was given. The bodies drifted apart and closer together at different points, so the people crossing the bridge had to stumble from one body to the other, being mindful of their footing. The bridge was tied to poles on the near shore so it wouldn''t move, but on the other side it was loose, so the whole structure swayed noticeably.


    Still, it worked. Mirai and the other four Sparked reached the shore and fanned out. The next group was already halfway through, their steps more confident now that they had ascertained the bridge''s stability. Senn fondled his daggers and stepped into the water slowly. The first part was difficult, climbing onto the first bodies and finding his balance. It grew easier after that, but he started dreading the trip back, after he was done with the fugitives. There had to be a better way. They didn''t have to do this to reach the isle. He repeated those words until the meaning of them became muddled. Was he talking about the fugitives, or about himself?


    He reached the far shore at last, barely staying ahead of the last few Sparked. He stumbled onto the beach and found his men already climbing the buffs at a place where the erosion had formed a natural staircase. It was a hard climb, but he regained his poise upon reaching the top and spoke before anyone could question him.


    "Did you see anything?"


    "No," said one of the archers before Mirai could speak, glancing at him with hatred. "Not even a rustle in the trees."


    Senn looked to the center of the island, and as the ground descended toward a small depression or valley, it was all covered by trees. They couldn''t be seen from the other side, but there were far more trees on the island than he had seen in his entire life, which he could count with just one hand. All clumped together, some of them much taller than the squat pathetic things that clung to the mountainsides on the edges of the midlands. These were straight, tall, green-covered things, and Senn was taken aback by them. How had they missed that? Why had no one dared reach the isle before them? Another thought crossed his mind but he banished it. Maybe they had dared, but something stopped them.


    In any case, the center of the isle seemed to be full of the green things. They had no choice but to venture under the trees. There was no other place for the fugitives to be hiding in unless they had buried themselves in the sand.


    "Come on," he said. "Fan out, but keep within sight of each other. Call out with your whistles if you see anything."


    The Sparked drew their weapons; curved daggers and swords, bows and throwing spears, glass arrowheads and chained spikes. It was the sound of the Lord''s banner unfurling, his frustration being given free rein. The Herald watched them slowly fade among the trees, and used his hunger to flare their own.


    The Hunt was on.

 Chapter 2 - SENN

    The trees rose higher overhead than it had appeared to when they first set foot in the forest. The underbrush was thick, full of remnants of old, crumbling trees and the bushes and moss that grew over them. Each of the Sparked walked slowly and with caution. Senn hadn''t warned them about traps, but he didn''t need to. Even the younger ones were wizened men when it came to paranoia. But it was different to expect an attack from a man you knew, than a trap in the environment from an enemy you didn''t know.


    Senn walked through the middle of the open half-circle of Sparked, quietly leading them forward. His plan was to move in a spiral pattern, bordering the shore and getting closer to the center of the island with each turn, so as to make sure he swept most of the island. The fugitives could be anywhere, but it made sense that they would stick to places farther from the shore to avoid being seen. Still, he couldn''t give those men the benefit of believing them rational. What kind of men would renounce their god, he who ensured they were made strong enough to survive, and start spewing words from a new, made-up deity? For all Senn knew, they could have realized their foolishness and drowned themselves, or one of them could have gone back to his faith in the Lord and killed the rest to gain reprieve and hopefully his favor. That would have been the tidiest solution, but Senn didn''t expect it. He put no faith in men, only in his Lord. Even so...


    No, don''t even think about it.


    He moved like a wraith, and so did his men. His enemies would have a hard time hearing them come, but they could do nothing about being spotted. He could hear the grumbling of the man at his side and he could read his face as it betrayed his thoughts. We should be doing it with speed, it said. Why linger? Is the old man afraid? Senn gave the man a harsh stare and the grumbles ceased, though the man still looked at him askew from time to time. He didn''t want to use their speed to do a sweep of the island because of fear, that much was true. But he had to fear for the men under him, even if they had no sense themselves. If they wasted strength running around, they wouldn''t have much strength left to fight the fugitives they were chasing, if and when they found them. But he had no fear for himself. He was the strongest among them, and could probably do both things. But being the leader meant being so much more and so much less than a Sparked. He couldn''t do as he pleased and act like a bullhead. When he led, it was as if he was Leashed again, forced to do things he didn''t want to. That was part of the problem of being the Herald. The other problem was that keeping up his Hunger was getting increasingly difficult. What could he hunger for, since he was the second to a god? He had talked to him about it more than once, and he had said that there was much more to do in his name, and in seeking to appease the Lord''s greed he would climb to new heights.


    These idiots had better give me a good challenge, or I''ll have to aim for a much harder goal sooner than he planned.


    They kept walking for what seemed like a few hours. As they walked, the man in the outer arm of the circle made a mark with chalk every few trees. That way, when their circular path took them back close to that spot, they knew to turn inward, and so they made sure they got ever closer to the center of the island. They had seen no signs of life so far, but then again, they didn''t know of any animals that could live in such a place. How would they have reached the island, anyway? Not even birds seemed to fly overhead since they preferred the inner plains for the chance of carrion, or Lordstown because of the spoils of men. But this was different. Eery, even. Senn had a hard time adjusting to life in Lordstown because of all the cramped space. Here, the trees were so close together that the sunlight barely got through. For the plainsmen, that was disconcerting, and he could see his men''s eyes shifting around more than usual.


    Focus. Look ahead, not back.


    Senn went ahead of the group and forced himself to a quicker pace. The rest followed. It was better to get it over as soon as possible before they started sniping at each other due to the tension. The enemy had better be close, or Senn wouldn''t be able to hold his men back. He didn''t fear them, but if the hunt proved useless and they found themselves alone in this secluded place, it wouldn''t take long for one or more of them to seize the opportunity and attack him. Senn had been so focused on tracking his enemies that he hadn''t realized he was walking into a trap of his own devising. He couldn''t show his nervousness. He stepped even faster. If the worst came to happen, he could take the strongest of his men out and thus regain his superiority. Maybe the rest would surrender.


    Would you have surrendered?


    Senn didn''t have to answer his question, for at that point he spotted something moving in the treetop and without thinking, slung his arm forward and shot a speed-infused arrowhead at it. His god-given grace made the arrowhead fly faster than any bow could have thrown it, but even so, the arrowhead missed its target. He frowned. He never missed at that distance and speed, but the missile thumped against a tree trunk more than three arms-length away from his target. It didn''t even move. Then Senn realized he had been using the speed reflexively for the last few heartbeats, and released it. He needed to keep his strength. His perception and the world synced up again and his target jumped from the branch he was holding onto to another branch. It was indeed a man dressed in a blue woolen shirt, and he was sailing through the air, stumbling from treetop to treetop. He wasn''t agile so much as lucky: he caught branches he should have missed and barely avoided falling to his death. But it was an amazing sight anyway. Senn smiled broadly and whistled in a high pitch. His men would follow. He didn''t look back.


    He vaulted ahead, running underneath the man. He didn''t need to use his speed yet. The man above advanced at a good rate but not as fast as Senn did on level ground and with his conditioning. He was able to keep the man on sight just ahead, though he had to strain his neck to do so. Then something hit him straight in the face. He had seen it coming with a sliver of speed-enhanced perception he always kept on, but it still hit him. He fell backward from the impact but regained his balance immediately and rolled forward to avoid another unseen attack. His instinct was right, as the man in blue flew toward him and hit the ground just a step away from him. Senn kept the momentum from his roll and turned around, crouching with his daggers out. The man in blue threw his arm backward. He didn''t have the complexion of a fighter. He threw something at Senn, and the Herald swept with his dagger to deflect it without even flinching. But the missile hit him in the face, again.


    What in the Lord''s name...?


    He swore he shouldn''t have been hit the first time. He had seen it coming and moved aside, and he had parried the second missile. He could discount a fluke, but two in a row? Even if his speed was failing, his skill alone should have been enough. It was a lucky thing the missile was just the size of a small rock and not a dagger, or he would be dead already. His mind had switched on his speed perception instinctively upon being hit, and he used the breadth of a heartbeat to inspect his enemy while he seemed to stand still. He was moving, though he did so slowly. But Senn''s first assessment had been right. He was no fighter, only a boy fugitive who barely had any fat on him. But his eyes were bright and different from all the other boys Senn knew. Something in them that was unlike Senn at that age, or anyone else for that matter. It was a lack of hunger. Not the regular crushing apathy of the Leashed either, something apart from those feelings, as if he had come from another world. But Senn knew that was impossible. That kid had escaped from the slums of Lordstown, from among the Lord''s followers. He should have displayed the hunger, but in its stead there was that strange expression.


    Senn released his hold on his speed and jumped forward. The world sped back up to normal, but he didn''t need to use his strength to get rid of that kid. He had been lucky twice, and he wouldn''t allow any man to get lucky three times at his expense. He jumped forward to attack, and then his feet struck a root and he fell face-first.


    What??


    The kid was already running away. There were only two options now. Either his abilities were crumbling, which meant his strength was gone and he wouldn''t survive long, or the kid had a power not unlike his own. A god''s grace. But that was impossible. There was only one God, his. Still, it was the only explanation he could cling to. That was why the fugitives had escaped by a hair''s breadth, that''s why they were always one step ahead and hadn''t been caught. They had something that made them extremely lucky, to the point of sidestepping Senn''s men and his own skills. He thought he had been chasing mere rebels all those years, but what if these men were more than that? What if they had found another god for themselves? The thought almost paralyzed him. How could anyone reject the Lord of Greed? He was the only thing keeping them alive in the plains, away from the reach of the Forever King. And these men rejected that gift?


    Senn built up his anger and ran after the kid. He could hear the yelling of his men behind him. They must have come upon an ambush. They might need his help. If there were others like this boy... but no, their skills, luck or not, wouldn''t be enough against Senn''s men. They had training and hunger. None could stand against them for long, luck or not. He ran onward, using his speed sparingly to not miss anything that could happen around him. He didn''t want to fall into a trap, and the kid could hide anywhere in that place. He caught a glimpse of blue and ran in that direction, then he saw something out of the corner of his eye and went that way. They could be playing games with him. It didn''t matter. He always won, in the end.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    But he fell. There was a ditch he hadn''t seen until he was over it, and he hit the side of it before hitting the ground. The trap. He had to get out before they could swarm him. Then he saw the tunnel going down, and realized this was the hideout. The stupid kid had led him straight to it instead of away. He extinguished his speed and crouched to go through the tunnel. It was cold and wet and led downwards at a steady decline. There was no light ahead. He should go back and see if his men were still fighting, then lead them here.


    Screw them. Let them get out of the fire themselves. I''ll finish this on my own.


    He had no fire to see by, but that was better. His eyes would get used to the dark anyway. He ran in a careful crouch, wary of the outcroppings and where he put his feet. The tunnel went on and on, longer than he thought possible. If it went on any longer, it was bound to hit the water around the island, unless it burrowed under that too. Then it hit him: the fugitives couldn''t have built the tunnel. This was preexisting. It wasn''t impossible that someone had lived on that isle, but for some reason, they had left and no one had even dared to set foot on it until a pack of desperate men thought of it. Did they know about the tunnels beforehand? Unlikely, since the isle was on the disputed stretch of land between the two gods and only an army would dare approach it. Maybe it was their luck, again. It had found them a hiding place, but it hadn''t accounted for Senn''s determination.


    The tunnel leveled out abruptly and Senn had to grab the walls to stop his momentum. He skidded, sending gravel down the tunnel. The noise he made would have alerted anyone nearby. But the tunnel, now leading straight ahead, was dark and empty. He went ahead. It wasn''t long until he couldn''t feel the tunnel walls around him and realized he was now in a large chamber. He couldn''t see how large, but he backtracked to where the tunnel opened up into the chamber and followed along one of the walls. It ran in a circle, and judging by the wide circumference it made, it had to be a huge cavern, carved out of stone by efficient men. It was smooth, not crystal-smooth but still a lot smoother than should be expected this far underground. If it was just a refuge, no one in their right mind would smooth out the rock, and if it had been part of a mining system, it would bear the jagged edges of the pickaxes. So Senn reasoned it had to be something entirely different. But what could it be?


    He followed the wall, not trusting the darkness. There could be a gap there in the middle, for all he knew, and he would have no way of knowing. Then he heard a voice, a whisper, then a ruffle of clothing. Someone was sneaking on him, or rather, past him. He flared his speed and reached out to catch whoever it was, but he missed. Then he saw a face right next to him and stumbled back. A strange light allowed him to see the cavern now, but he couldn''t see the light source, only that it was bluish. And in front of him was another man, not the same kid he had been chasing. This one had a sword. He saw the swing and dodged it by jumping backward, but hit the wall hard. His head spun around. The blue light turned into sparks in front of him, and he couldn''t see straight, but he sensed the air ripple with another swing. He jump-started his speed perception and rolled to the side awkwardly. He could only focus on staying ahead of the swordsman. He grabbed one of the arrowheads from his vest and threw it in the direction he had last seen his attacker. He heard it hit the far wall half a heartbeat later. Even with his speed and in broad daylight, he had missed the boy. Now he was in a more dangerous position. He risked it, using his speed to run around the room. He still saw the sparks in his eyes, but they subsided a little. He saw the man again, he was now across the room, near the opposite wall. The cavern was big, indeed. His fingers ached and bled from the friction of touching the wall while running. But he would have no need of it anymore. Now the light was enough for him to see. It seemed to be growing more intense. He heard a shout.


    "No!"


    He was startled and speed-dodged toward the wall. The boy he had been following was there, right next to him, swinging a short sword. The shout had come from the elder man. He must have been protecting this one. Senn crouched and rolled toward the center of the room. He saw now that the ground was even and there were no obstacles around. He ran back to the entrance at normal speed. He needed to keep moving to avoid being surrounded, or else run back out through the tunnel and fight them there, where two against one meant a disadvantage for the superior force. But the other man saw his intent and managed to reach the tunnel before him. He didn''t use his speed to try to get there. He would rather use it fighting than running around. The boy closed the gap between them while the man kept to the tunnel entrance. Senn was in the middle of the room, straight below the source of light. He made sure his enemies were still far enough and risked looking up.


    There was a giant cauldron there, a black metal pot hanging from horizontal chains protruding from the stone walls. And the light came from the cauldron as if something was burning there. It was a kind of torch or lantern, and the light was blue. Like the boy''s clothes, and the other man''s.


    "What is this?" he asked in awe.


    The boy at his back seemed surprised and stopped his approach, but still held his sword pointed at him.


    "This is why we''ve come," he said.


    "Eliard, stop talking. It won''t make a difference, and you''ll betray us," said the other man.


    "We''re doomed anyway, father. Let him understand."


    "He understands nothing. He''s one of them. Worse, I think he''s the one. The Herald. He''s evil like the rest of them, or worse."


    "Are you evil?" asked the boy, looking at Senn with those blue eyes of his now shining brightly.


    "Are you?" Senn asked back. "I''m a survivor."


    "You kill people," said the boy.


    "So did you when you fled Lordstown."


    "We defended ourselves," said the man.


    "You attacked my guards. That''s not defense."


    "We would have been killed. And for what? For not praising your ''god''?"


    "That should be enough. You don''t renounce the Lord of Greed just like that. He gave you everything. I gave it to you."


    "You gave us what, exactly?" said the man. "Another tyrant to replace the Forever King? We''d rather die than bow again and wear the Leash."


    "I gave you no leashes, you stupid little man," said Senn. "We gave you freedom."


    "Of sorts. Freedom to worship a blind god who doesn''t look out for anyone. Freedom to die at one another''s hands for a piece of hard bread. Freedom to be killed for just about anything."


    "Freedom needs strength. You should have been stronger to be able to bear it."


    The boy''s sword dropped for a second. He wasn''t even strong enough to hold it.


    "Listen," said Senn, looking directly at the boy''s father. "This boy can''t be guilty of killing anyone. Surrender, both of you, and the boy will be spared. You brought him into this. He can still be saved."


    The boy lunged at him, and Senn barely dodged him sideways. The boy kept slashing at him.


    "I''d rather die than go back!"


    "Then you''ll do exactly that."


    The boy''s father ran toward him, but Senn had already pulled out both his daggers. He dodged one swing, then feinted one way. The boy parried his dagger, but the dagger was already moving to the other side. The boy reacted with a new parry, but the dagger wasn''t there either. Both of Senn''s daggers were now lodged in the boy''s neck. No luck could make him miss that close.


    The man yelled like a beast at Senn and lunged forward. Senn dodged, using his speed sparingly to get out of the way. This one was a skilled swordsman. He had training. The only place he could have gotten it was in the Lord''s army. He was a deserter, not just a leashed rebel. A follower, someone who had at some point believed in the Lord of Greed. Believed in his Herald, too.


    "This is on you. You killed your boy. You killed your people by coming here, by refusing the god''s grace. Why? Tell me why? Was it worth it?"


    His words were meant to distract the man, to make his anger fuel his muscles, making the swings heavier and less agile. To blind him. Then he used his hunger on him. Senn was subtle in his touch. He used it to make the man anxious to get at him, make him greedy, wanting each swing to be the one that got him. That made people worse fighters, and it was a skill Senn had perfected over the years. With that and his speed, he was virtually untouchable.


    Except the man had his own Grace to fight it. He was using something, that had to be the same luck the boy had, to chip away at Senn''s skills. Even with his speed and the man''s carelessness, the tip of his sword still managed to hit Senn half a dozen times, ripping his vest, and drawing a trickle of blood on his scalp and thighs. The light flickered above them while they fought, and Senn stopped dodging and drew closer with his daggers. He needed to get so close the other man''s luck wouldn''t matter, just as he had done with the kid. He crouched and spun past one of the man''s broad swings. He stood up and raised his dagger to the man''s back, ready to deliver the killing blow. And then he slipped on the boy''s blood and fell to the ground, hitting his hip against a rock. He muffled a shout and rolled on his back, away from the man''s downward swing. Even in death, the boy fights me, he thought. He glanced at the boy''s body out of curiosity. His eyes were still open, and his neck spurted blood. Those eyes... they were blue, like the clothes and the light above. What did it all mean? He felt something inside, something in the place where he normally felt hunger, but completely different. Could they be doing something to him, just as he did to them by flaring their hunger? No, it had to be his own squeamishness, only that. He had killed boys his age before. It wasn''t that...


    He managed to stand up again and threw a speed-launched arrowhead at the swordsman. The man''s tears streamed down his face but didn''t hamper him.


    "You''re weak," said Senn, trying to make the man angrier still, to unbalance him. "You couldn''t be strong enough to rise in the Lord''s army, so you took the easy way out."


    He dodged another swing and brought his dagger up to push the sword away, adding momentum to it and throwing his adversary off balance. But the man adjusted quickly. He had been well trained. That, too, was Senn''s fault.


    "You''re weak. You stopped fighting, stopped struggling, and fell into the wallowing. You started hoping, didn''t you? You gave up fighting and hoped instead."


    The man swung his sword wildly, but this time Senn dodged against the swing instead of rolling with it. He lunged at the man''s back and plunged his dagger through his heart. He held him up like that until the sword fell from the man''s hands, and only then did he let him go. The man dropped awkwardly to the ground and Senn stepped back. He had fallen right next to his son. Looking at them, they almost seemed peaceful, the boy''s arm trying to reach his father. Senn fell to the ground, exhausted. He sat with his arms on his knees and looked up at the cauldron. The light was slowly dimming, dying. He sat there until the darkness swallowed him, and asked the corpses:


    "Was it worth it?"

 Chapter 3 - BRAND

    "Get up", said the man with the whip, and the boy didn''t dare look up. He wanted to look at the man and let him know how much he hated him, but he knew no amount of stares would change things. They would only get him beaten, or worse. He stood up, trying to relax his back muscles. If the whip came down, it would be worse for him if he resisted it. He had seen men torn to shreds in minutes with those lead-tipped whips. Afterward, they would lie among the rocks, backs open like a goat''s belly at the butcher''s, and the carrion flocked to them. Too many times had he witnessed it to not know fear.


    The boy had forgotten his name, if he had ever had one at all. He was no exception. All the children around him had been taken early on from their mother''s arms. Some weren''t taken at all but given up willingly. A mother''s stomach didn''t fill itself with love, and neither did their child''s. Some women learned that lesson quickly, and they were healthier afterward. The ones who didn''t ended up frail, sickly, or beaten. In the end, the child was taken anyway, so most women took the easier path. The boy didn''t know how quickly or willingly his mother had given him up. He had stopped caring. He was alone.


    He got up and rejoined the others. They were involved in a strange game that the Chainkeepers had come up with, but hadn''t bothered to share the rules with them. It consisted of a series of obstacles. They had to run in a straight line, one after the other, and jump over crates and rocks in succession. If you were fast, jumped high, or dodged enough, at some point of the run someone ¡ªa Chainkeeper or one of their lackeys¡ª would wave a key in front of you. They were Leash-keys, ones that could open any one of the kingsmetal collars around their necks. No one had seen anyone use one of those, but everyone knew about them, from fireside rumors to atavistic regressions that old women and wise men fell into, in which they foresaw or brought old memories back to life. They all knew what it was when they saw it, out of something that wasn''t quite recognition but worked just as well. Each twilight, one of the fifty children would have the chance to grab it, but no one ever managed to do it. The key would melt into their hands, or remain just out of reach until the one holding it kicked the child away, or a brave child would manage to hold onto it for just a second before he was surrounded and taken away into darkness for days. Still, the children kept trying to reach it. No Chainkeeper had promised anything or said that if they caught it they would be given their freedom. No one had explained why they kept on torturing them so. But the game was played every day, like a wheel that spun them into ever finer threads, until at some point they would be worn so thin no one would be able to recognize them as human.


    Even so, knowing all of that and having ran the circuit day after day, he had attempted to jump up from an outcropping to reach the key, hanging from the rock ceiling on a thread-like chain. He had fallen short and landed awkwardly, rolling as he had been taught by the endless repetitions to avoid a bone bruise. Still, he had bumped his shoulder and the skin was raw in patches. After getting up, he turned his head to survey the damage, but it looked worse than it hurt. And thea, beneath the scratches, was that thing.


    The other children, the ones he huddled with at night, had taken to calling him Brand, on account of the strange sign burned into his shoulder, shaped like a bush. Rill, a girl half his size, said it had to be a gift from the Forever King, marking him for some great destiny. Brand couldn''t understand how such a small child could have such strange thoughts in her head. Most of the others thought it was a birthmark and didn''t give it much thought, but Brand didn''t know the origin of it. One of his earliest memories was the stinging of the skin as it scabbed over, so he knew he hadn''t been born with it. He just wished he hadn''t gotten it, for anything that made you distinctive among the crowds in the Forever King''s Castle was bad. In there, tall men hunched, and short men hunched even further, hoping to avoid the steely stare of the Chainkeepers. The whipmen were blunt and stupid, but they could be swayed out of beating you to death by boredom or fatigue. The Chainkeepers knew neither, as far as Brand knew. They weren''t as brutal as the whipmen, but they were far more effective. Brand had seen a loudmouth child hang by his ankle for two straight days from a chain in the ceiling. He only avoided death by blood drain by swinging and hanging on with his hands for hours on end, until fatigue sent him head-down again. After that ordeal, he was the most invisible boy in the castle, keeping his gaze down constantly and never uttering more than coarse whispers.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    No one else saw the key that day, or at least no one broke out from the line to attempt to catch it. He knew some of the other children wouldn''t even try anymore. After a while, you stopped trying. It took some a dozen tries, for others, it was closer to thirty, Brand guessed. No one would speak of it. They would nurse their wounds or pride in silence, never speaking of the just-out-of-reach key. Brand didn''t know either if the Chainkeepers looked closely at them and counted who was still trying. He hoped they wouldn''t. He had tried to get it nearly seventy times, but he had never gotten to hold onto it. He thought that if they would just let him hold it for a moment, even if they chained him for days afterward with no water or company, he would grow out of it, and he would stop trying. But he could never seem to get it, so he couldn''t stop himself from trying.


    In the last lap, everyone was panting, and Brand himself was at the back of the line, having fallen behind little by little. He reached the exit gate of the round room just as the last Chainkeeper turned toward him to spur him on. He slouched and tried his best to avoid looking weak. Chainkeepers were angered by such displays, more so by the children they were overseeing. He walked into the pitch-black corridor and the Chainkeeper shut the gate down after him. It was a long tunnel that led to the cave in which they lived, barely more than a pit on the side of the Castle. A Chainkeeper waited ahead to count the children. In that darkness, he was alone for the first time in a long while. He cherished the silence and the darkness. His barely-shod feet ached, and he walked slowly. He would probably be beaten a bit, but it would be worth it for that short respite.


    Just then, he heard a voice right next to him and his heart sank. He couldn''t even shriek.


    "Who''s there?" he managed to say as he stumbled ahead, looking back into the darkness to the place he had been walking past a moment before.


    "The key," said the voice in a calm tone. It wasn''t a children''s voice. It was an adult''s, but not like any adult Brand had ever heard. It seemed... free of worry or haste. He forced his feet to stop.


    "What about the key?" he asked.


    "You won''t ever get it."


    Brand paused and counted his heartbeats before replying.


    "I was getting that idea myself."


    "It doesn''t matter. Those fools don''t know what they''re doing. They think they''re driving it out of you, but it''s not like that for all of you. For some, it can have the opposite effect."


    "I don''t understand what you''re saying... mister."


    "Don''t worry about not getting it. That key is just an idea, it''s not an actual key... it won''t get you out of your Leash. But the fools have already given it to you."


    "Given me what, exactly?"


    "The idea of it. They should never have encouraged it."


    "Why?"


    "Because, in your chest, you already feel that key beating there, don''t you?"


    Brand concentrated on his heart. He could feel nothing different.


    "I don''t know what you mean. I''ll just go ahead. I can''t very well explain to the ''keeper how a voice in the darkness was selling me something."


    The voice didn''t reply. Brand felt a slight chill as if someone had passed right next to him, but in the narrow corridor he would have bumped into them. There was no other way out of it, and by the time he reached the outer gate and felt the whip for the first time that day, he realized he had to have been talking to a ghost.

 Chapter 4- SENN

    The trip back to Lordstown was grim. It wasn''t a conquering army that came back. To Senn''s mind, they were just a big shoe used to stamp a bug. There was nothing celebratory about it. They had lost three of the Sparked in the ambush under the trees. There were rumblings among the men about Senn''s role in the fight. He overheard two of them saying he was a coward who ran away in the thick of it. But they were just two. All of them had seen him return with clothes tattered and face bloodied, and he hadn''t given them time to question him or finish exploring the island. The corpses of their enemies were before them, and that was what they had come for. They went back on their wobbly bridge and got out of there. Senn gave orders to dismantle the camp immediately. He didn''t want to risk spending any more time in the disputed lands for the meager reward those deaths had meant to them.


    When they finally approached Lordstown a few nights later, there was no one to greet them. The army quietly disbanded, some of them going back to the garrison just outside the city, most of them on leave and back in town to take their pleasures before going back to work the next day. The Sparked disappeared too, quietly mingling with the crowds. Senn could have forced them all back to the Fort, but those men were safer on their own. After any fight there were recriminations, and it was better to sleep where no one had a dagger and a motive to kill you.


    Mirai didn''t salute him when he left. Senn didn''t expect him to. He had seemed sour since the fight, not questioning him outright, but somehow disappointed. If it was because of Senn or because the whole enterprise had been short and barely worth it, he did not know.


    He took a dozen plain soldiers with him back to the Fort. He rode upon a canid while they ran alongside him, but as soon as they reached the main road their advance was slowed by the crowds. Lordstown was a place that truly lived during the night. During the day, most of the unleashed worked the fields or mills, while the merchants slept to avoid the harsh sun and the army stayed in their garrisons or on patrol routes around the city. But when night fell, the workers trickled down until they filled the city to the brim, drinking and selling and buying whatever one could think to buy and sell. Whores lined the streets, looking to earn the money they needed to avoid the fields by day. The Lord''s army was paid in coins, and so were the people who worked the fields. No one took anything for themselves except what the Lord chose to give them, and even the merchants couldn''t grow fat with profit, as the Lord''s Numbers counted their revenue and gave them an allowance. This was all lubricated by everyone''s greed, which meant a lot of bribes and short-selling. But the Lord of Greed didn''t frown upon it, though he did sometimes show some of the greedier lot that it was all right to swindle each other, but you couldn''t con the god who ruled the game. That was usually shown specifically by flaying an offender alive every fortnight, but it was an accepted risk of the game they all played willingly.


    The buildings they passed on their way to the Fort were made of stone and thatched with dried algae bricks from the Great Well. The rocks were hard to find, though, so some of the newer houses or shops on the outskirts were barely more than tents. But here, near the heart of the city, were the relatively older, sturdier buildings, and the road was so worn down by the feet of the townspeople that it seemed to have been pressed by a giant rock. The smell of oil was pungent, as all the torches were mere sticks of reeds drenched in algae oil, and it made the air thick when there was no wind from the east. But that smell was dear to Senn. He had grown so accustomed to it that he only noticed it when he came back from beyond the city, so it had gained the meaning of homecoming. Senn smiled at some children that passed in front of his mount and dropped a few coins for them. The kids were thin and hard like reeds, but they were different from how he had been as a child. These kids were unleashed, and that made all the difference in the world. Their lives wouldn''t be bereft of hardship, but they would be their own. They would never truly know whom to thank for it, but Senn didn''t want that attention either. His greed was not that of attention, like so many of the Lord''s followers. That was a baser kind of hunger, that of those who weren''t strong and would like to pretend to the world that they were. Senn''s hunger was of a different sort altogether.


    He saw a boy in the crowd who caught his attention. He stood apart from the others, apart from all the passersby. His face wasn''t distinctive enough, and Senn couldn''t recall any of his features afterward. But his eyes were like that of the boy he had slain in the cavern, that of the purest blue, one not found even in the skies before sunset. There was something in them, and he thought the boy''s stare was accusing him of something. But he was far younger than the murdered boy, barely knee-high, and muddied. He couldn''t know what Senn had done nor cared. It was something different. Like he was waiting for him to do something.


    Senn slipped down from his canid and walked toward the boy, but a swarm of kids ran in front of him and the boy vanished in the tumult. Senn''s guards approached quickly, wary of every shadow.


    "Is everything okay, Lord Herald?" asked one of the men.


    "Yes. I just wanted to stretch my legs... too much time on that mount is hurting my balls."


    The man chuckled. Senn always got along better with his regular soldiers than with the Sparked.


    "Bring the beast along. I''ll go on foot the rest of the way."


    The Fort was already looming within sight. It wasn''t a tall building, since there wasn''t enough rock to spare in the surrounding area, and some parts of the actual wall had been pilfered to provide stone for the buildings in the area. But it wouldn''t do much good in case the Forever King''s army attacked. They would all just scurry somewhere else or fight in the plains. The Fort was just a name for it. The other name was the Lord''s Manor, but Senn had never been sure if it was a joke or not.


    He approached the Fort''s entrance and his men followed warily. Senn was the only one who dared sleep in that place: the god''s influence was too strong, and the Sparked were too distrustful of each other and too attached to their possessions. Most of them had taken houses in the town or the surrounding area. There wasn''t much to hoard, but they still did it: some hoarded coins, others relics and kingsmetal, all of them saved food and kept women for their own. They surrounded their houses with soldiers to guard them, but their nature was always distrustful. Senn couldn''t fault them for that, he had taught many of them to distrust even themselves. That was one of the Lord''s first lessons, one taught with words and fists. Some said the signs engraved over the Fort were one of those lessons, one that the Lord saved only for those who could decipher them. But no one Senn knew had learned any writing, and the Fort was said to be very old. The Lord of Greed had led Senn to it a long time ago, before their revolt, and he had said it had long been his home, throughout the ages of the world. It was truly his home now, but as Senn stepped inside, what he felt, besides the Lord''s touch, was melancholy. He missed the years he had spent fighting, hiding, running, when all he could rely on was his god. He had been everywhere, following him in the form he had first met him, lending him strength when he couldn''t find any within. Now...


    Now, the Lord of Greed ruled over half the midlands, so he didn''t need to be everywhere at once, nor was it proper for him to appear to his Herald all the time. He was the All-Eater now, not just a shade of a god who couldn''t affect the world, but instead a force unto himself, with his own arms and legs and a hunger to surpass that of his entire army. Even from the entrance corridor, Senn could hear the echoes of his Lord''s pacing. He was ever restless, walking around his throne room and thrashing about. In madness, some whispered. But he was a god incarnated, Senn always replied. He doesn''t need rest, he knows no weakness. Anybody would be crazy if they couldn''t give themselves a respite, even for an hour.


    Still, it unsettled him, though he tried not to show it to his god or his men. He had never betrayed his god, nor his god him. He was the only one he knew he could trust.


    He approached the double doors that led to the throne room and opened them. He didn''t need to knock, and no one stood outside the door. Who would dare to interrupt a God, except for his Herald?


    "My Lord," said Senn.


    The All-Eater stopped his pacing and turned to face him. Senn could see his face clearly, lit as it was by the reflection of the stars on the pools of water that filled the throne room on every side. There was no roof anymore, not since the god himself had brought it down. He had wanted to capture the stars'' light for himself and get every drop of water he could gather from the rains. Tables filled with half-eaten goats and kumis gave the room an even more neglected aspect. The servants didn''t dare come in to clean up except when the god left on one of his strange trance-like walks through the plains. Those usually took days, but he hadn''t been on one for a while. The God didn''t mind. Where the food was putrefied, the flies followed, and he had told Senn once how the flies were some of his favorite creations. Now, one of the insects buzzed around his head as he moved closer to Senn, his massive, twelve-foot frame making ripples in the pools.


    "Senn!" he exclaimed. "I''m glad you''re here. Where have you been?"


    Senn dropped to one knee and held his face low as he replied, out of respect but also to avoid his Lord''s breath.


    "I was chasing some rebels. I didn''t see fit to tell you about such a little thing, but it took longer than expected."


    "Ah... the non-believers again, weren''t they?"Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Yes, they...were."


    "Tell me, Senn, is it too much to ask for me to want everyone to come to me?"


    Senn''s heart started pounding a little faster. The Lord''s questions were always full of tricks, and talking to him was a danger, even after all those years.


    "No, my lord. We have done much already, but..."


    "Then why aren''t more men coming to worship me?"


    "There aren''t many worthy men in the world, my lord. You wouldn''t want me to drag the Leashed refuse to your doorstep, would you?"


    Senn knew his every word risked angering the God, but being meek and cowardly didn''t please the Lord at all. He had killed men for those reasons and still did, frequently.


    The All-Eater scratched his beard, thinking about Senn''s words. He had seemed more focused, more intelligent before he had taken that body. When he was just a shade and a voice in the plains. He finally sighed and turned around.


    "I tire of this world," he said. "The ''King'' still keeps his Leashed and brings nothing new to the world for me to play with, to achieve, to hoard. And now, even some of my people refuse me. I have given them too much. I should take it all back and kill them all. I should raze everything and eat every child."


    Senn kept his gaze down, hoping the God wouldn''t turn around and focus on him. He could sense when one''s dominant emotion wasn''t the hunger, and he hated when that happened and his men showed him other allegiances. He hated fear most of all, maybe because it was related to the Forever King, in a way.


    "Then you would be even more bored, my lord, once the initial frenzy passed. And your power would diminish without your followers."


    The God turned toward him again and eyed him suspiciously. He weighed him up and down, but finally relented and went back to his throne, a ragged mishmash of couches and poles to support them in a precarious balance. He sat on it and slumped, visibly bored.


    "You are right, Senn. For now. But be aware that I need more. You need to do more for me. I can''t do it all myself, you know?"


    "Of course, my lord. I''ll find a way to get us past this deadlock."


    The God turned his glance upward, toward the stars, and sighed. Senn realized his audience was over. The god''s meditative mood could last for days, and he had been lucky he had even paid attention to him. But the Lord wasn''t aloof. He needed to be kept aware of all that transpired in his domain, for one of the things he lusted after was knowledge. If he felt he didn''t get enough of it, he would turn his... appetites elsewhere. Despite the fear and the tension he always felt when faced with his god, Senn found himself marveling at his god''s every move and thought. He felt pride, which he knew he shouldn''t, but in a way, as much as his God had saved him and turned him into the man he was, he had also made him into the God he was now. He had helped him gain the power he needed to inhabit a body, to rule over men. That bond was stronger than what any father could feel toward his child, and Senn felt he was both sometimes.


    He left the throne room and walked up the stairs to the second floor. Half of it had fallen apart when the All-Eater had decided to tear down the roof of his room, so only the front part of the second floor survived, and that''s where Senn''s rooms were. He nodded to the guard outside his door and went in, getting rid of his weapons and vest as he walked. The room was spare, considering he was the Lord of Greed''s Herald. But Senn''s hunger wasn''t aimed at material possessions, which is what the Sparked couldn''t understand and why they wouldn''t rise higher even if they somehow got rid of him. The room was spare and wide, almost like a tent in the plains. He could hear his Lord mumbling something to himself even from there. He washed his face in a basin and sat on his bed, his bare torso bearing the mark of a lifetime of fighting. He thought about the promise he had made to the Lord. Did he have the hunger to keep pushing ahead? He had always fought, but... his hunger didn''t seem enough to take on the Forever King head-on. A sizable part of his greed related to the things he had managed to build, rather, to scrape out of the unforgiving plains. Could he sacrifice all of that, his army, his town, maybe even his God, in a fight with no promise of victory? It was against his every intuition to do so, and a struggle even within his God, as he knew. Fight on and risk losing all he had achieved, or wait while the fire in his heart diminished?


    He lay on his back as he pondered that dilemma, punctuated by the God''s murmurs below. He would somehow find the answer. He had God on his side.


    * * *


    "You should come see this, Lord Herald."


    The Mediator was wringing his hands anxiously as he spoke. He had interrupted Senn''s breakfast and eyed the food constantly. Senn couldn''t stand it anymore and motioned for him to grab a seat and eat with him. The balding man sat and grabbed a loaf of ricebread and dipped it in an egg yolk. Senn was sure the man had already had an even more lavish breakfast on his own. But this one can''t watch someone''s possessions without wanting to put his grubby hands all over them.


    "What is it that I ''should'' see?" asked Senn.


    "It''s actually funny how I phrased it, given the situation."


    Senn frowned. He didn''t find the man humorous at all.


    "Why?" he asked.


    "The problem has to do with sight."


    Senn stopped chewing and stared at the Mediator.


    "Quit it with the puzzles and word games. What is it?"


    "I''ll wait for you to finish and then we''ll go see it together. It''s no fun to spoil the guessing, is it? And I want your fresh take on it."


    Senn gave the man a stare that would have sent another of the Lord''s followers stumbling over himself out of the room. But the Mediator thought himself above everyone, even Senn, though he wouldn''t say so outright. He had no authority nor did he have the grace of the God. But he had somehow positioned himself over the years in a hole that had needed filling, namely, the role of peacemaker. The All-Eater wasn''t one for making rules or laws, and Senn''s men were more concerned with the borders and the constant harassing of the Forever King''s armies than with keeping the peace in the town. So, for anything from a dispute over stolen goods to cold and hot-blooded murder, the Mediator had offered the townspeople a solution: pay him to mediate and avoid the repercussions, so if you killed someone over a squabble and you wanted protection from avenging relatives or friends, you paid the mediator and he would give a cut to the grievers and to the All-Eater before taking his commission. Or, if merchants fought over prices, the Mediator would take the excess profit from one of them for himself and the God. It wasn''t a great system, but solved an inordinate amount of problems, at least those that didn''t sort themselves out. That freed Senn''s men from having to stop petty thefts and murders, which none of them were inclined to condemn, anyway. And the Mediator made an incalculable profit for himself while feeding the God''s greed. Even though the God was the source of all currency and could, if he wanted, seize back all the coins, he rather liked being paid and hoarding his own visage in kingsmetal. One of the quirks of Godhood, Senn thought.


    He finished eating, stuffing his mouth as fast as he could to get rid of the Mediator.


    "Let''s go," he said. "If you''re going to waste my time, let''s make it fast."


    "Why, you seem like you already want to go back into the plains. There are a lot of interesting things going on in town, Lord Herald. You should stick around some more. You could learn some valuable things."


    One of the reasons Senn didn''t like the man was that he could never be sure if he was being mocked; and if he was, whether it was subtle or he just didn''t get the joke. He went ahead, trying to outpace the Mediator even though he didn''t know where he was going.


    "This way," said the Mediator as they left the Fort. He led Senn to a place not far from it, a small square with a well, where the beggars leaned against the well''s rock wall and wailed all day long. No one paid them much attention, since only brain-addled men could hope to get a handover in a city ruled by the god of greed. Still, once in a while a merchant or a soldier got so irritated at their wails that they tossed them a coin to shut them up, usually aiming at their heads or crotches. It was a dangerous occupation. Only one out of twenty or so were coins: most often, the most the beggars could expect was a rock or a kick. Still, they endured, five or so at most at each well. The youngest of them would even help others by retrieving the buckets and carrying them in exchange for the smallest coin or food, but that in itself was a respectful occupation compared to the elder beggars. They were universally hated, but it was very rare that one of them got offed.


    "This is what you brought me to see? The weak and the foolish?" said Senn as they approached the well and the Mediator reduced his speed.


    "Yes, but not exactly what you think. Here, come closer."


    The Mediator knelt beside one of the beggars, an old man with a haggard beard and tattered clothing. He was crying out the same thing over and over, but his lack of teeth made it hard for his words to be understood.


    "What''s he saying?" asked Senn.


    "He''s saying I''m blind, I''m blind."


    "So? It''s not unusual. Though you''d think he would have gotten used to it by now. Only the weak waddle in their pity like that."


    "Normally, I''d agree with you. But he''s not used to it yet. He just turned blind yesterday."


    Senn knelt beside the Mediator and looked into the old man''s pupils.


    "He hasn''t been blinded by a weapon or acid. An injury, maybe? One too many knocks to the head?"


    "You are perceptive, and you could even be right. But, come over here," said the Mediator and motioned to the side, toward another beggar. He was younger, and kept his head down, hidden between his knees, though they could still see his aimless gaze.


    "He''s not used to it either, right?" asked Senn.


    "No. He''s also newly blind. When was it, boy?"


    "Three nights ago," said the boy in a whisper.


    Senn sighed. One thing was for a man to be weak of ambition, but ailments were one thing he couldn''t put entirely on the sufferer''s shoulders. If only he had suffered from some malady, he wouldn''t have been able to grow strong. In the midlands, health was a coin toss, and if you weren''t lucky, your game wouldn''t last very long. That''s why Senn took it as a rule to kill any man or woman who couldn''t walk and work on his own. They would only suffer and make the others weak. But this was different, somehow.


    "What did this to you?" he asked. "Did you have a fever, any sickness at all?"


    The boy raised his head as if he were attempting to see again. He couldn''t know it was the Lord''s Herald who spoke in a voice that was not unkind, a rarity in Lordstown.


    "I don''t know," he said. "I felt all right, a bit weak in the stomach, but I was starving. I''m used to it. But..."


    ''What? Speak up,'' asked the Mediator.


    "After I couldn''t... see... anymore... I stopped feeling the hunger."


    "Well, that could be anything."


    Senn shushed him and spoke to the boy again.


    "He didn''t mean what you think. You meant the hunger, right boy?"


    The blind boy shed new tears and nodded.


    "That''s impossible," said the Mediator. "We''re inside the town, and close to the Fort. That means..."


    Senn stared at the Mediator until he realized what he was about to say. The god''s power over his followers couldn''t be weakening. Senn had felt his pull on his emotions just the day before, and it was as strong as usual. To even suggest he was weakening was treason. If the other man had spoken those words, Senn would have had him killed. But that didn''t make the matter less true. A thought began to form in Senn''s mind until he could suppress it no longer.


    If it''s not our God''s weakness... then it has to be another one''s strength.

 Chapter 5 - SENN

    Senn didn''t get to ponder long on what the blind men signified. There were twenty afflicted men that the Mediator had found, all of them beggars. But Lordstown held many more people, so many no one had bothered to count. Senn''s army was twenty thousand strong, and there had to be many times that number of workers and merchants. Sheer numbers made Senn turn his focus away from the needs of those few. The Lord''s hunger weighed heavily on him, and he could feel his pull. He had promised to achieve more, to find a way out of the deadlock that had stifled them for so long. So he set out to do the only thing he could think of.


    It hadn''t been two full days after their arrival, but he ordered two full battalions to ready themselves. That would amount to almost half his strength, a bold move if he drove them westward. He had taken half that number in the chase for the fugitives, and even he had considered that too much, a move on the verge of foolishness. Now he would do even worse. But the God had to be right. If they gambled nothing, what good was it getting things in the first place? A sword had no use apart from killing, and a soldier that sat around was a waste. The Lord would rather they die accomplishing something than due to infighting.


    So on the third morning, he gave the order and led the men west. He didn''t fear his enemies learning of his movements. There was no contact, no stream of information between Lordstown and the Hub, and he had killed the only men to dare flee Lordstown in a long while. He had left a handful of scouts at the mid mountains after their retreat and was sure that the Chainkeepers wouldn''t learn of his moves at least until he reached that far. His chase of the fugitives had also been a test: he had wandered into the disputed lands with a whole battalion and no one had moved against Lordstown. He would be wrong to trust his good fortune, but maybe the Chainkeepers wouldn''t be wise to his strategies. Or they were too incompetent to get an army up and on its way to Lordstown while its main defender was away.


    After a week of marching, they saw the mid mountains. Senn ordered the camp to be set while still far from their shadow, but rested uneasily nonetheless. The next day, he sent a quarter of his force onward, a half-day ahead, with orders to retreat to the mountains if they spotted enemies. He hoped that if somehow the Forever King''s men saw their approach, they would follow them toward the mountains, while Senn''s larger force remained in the back to crush them or slip past their line. He wasn''t sure yet how far he was willing to take it. But he could give the Chainkeepers a scare without sacrificing a large force.


    They camped at the northern end of the mid mountains, near a well. Before long, two of Senn''s scouts stationed in the mountains came to meet their army. Senn sat cross-legged in his tent, drinking root tea. Mirai was sitting next to him, on a sudden change of winds from the distance he had kept lately. He was probably attempting to catch a glimpse of Senn''s plans, but for what purpose, Senn couldn''t guess. Maybe he wanted to help, or learn from his strategies. Most probably, find a weakness or betray him. Still, Senn had to admit he was glad to have him there, whatever the purpose. When not around the other Sparked, Mirai could be talkative, even funny. There was still a part of the street urchin Senn had found long ago in there.


    "Sit and talk," said Senn. "Any news? Is my advance party where they should be?"


    The scouts sat and remained stiff.


    "Well"''


    "Ah... umm... my lord, I don''t know where it should be. But it''s a full day ahead of you, near the northwestern tip of the mountains."


    "Why so far ahead? I didn''t order them so."


    "We don''t know"'' said the other scout. "But we thought we should let you know."


    Senn grumbled and waved the men away. They rose hurriedly and strode out of the tent. Senn was left alone with Mirai and a serving girl who stood motionless at the back of the tent.


    "What do you make of it?" said Senn.


    "I don''t know," said Mirai. "Too eager?"


    "Even you aren''t that dense, boy. I gave an order. Why would they go further ahead?"


    "Do you want me to tell you some truths, old man?"


    "Don''t play with me. I want to know who''s guilty of defying me. Worse, who''s putting my men at risk needlessly."


    "Who among the Sparked, you mean?"


    "Yes. You know your fellows better than me. You have to know who would dare do this. If their balls are big enough to make them do it, then they''re ballsy enough to talk loudly against me at any one of your drinking spots or parties."


    Senn paused and then leaned forward.


    "Tell me who."


    "I''m tempted to do so, but what would be the point? If I give you a name, you would get rid of him, and I gain nothing. There would come others whom I''d have to cajole or kill. These, I know how to hold at bay. And you wouldn''t trust what I said, because I would give anyone up, not just the guilty. So you''d be no closer to finding out who defies you, and I''d be labeled a snitch and get myself an unhealthy stab in the back just for the principle of it. No one wins, so it''s better I stay silent."


    Senn growled but didn''t press the point. Mirai was probably right. He would gain nothing from singling out one traitor. He needed to address all of the Sparked at once and remind them who among them had the god''s favor. And he knew just the way to do it.


    "If you won''t tell me, then you will be the one to ride out to the vanguard and tell them to come back."


    Mirai frowned and leaned forward.


    "Why would they listen to me, if they don''t listen to you?"


    "They can claim they didn''t realize they were that far ahead. I didn''t tell them not to get so far ahead. Now, I''m giving them a direct order, but I won''t send a soldier who can be ignored or killed. And I''m not going myself because it would be a sign of weakness. So the correct option is to send one of the Sparked. I could send anyone else, but if I send you, it will further solidify you as my second. I thought you''d want that. You always liked the meaningless words."


    "It''s not meaningless," said Mirai. "I''m surprised you even say so. Our words are the only things with meaning."


    Senn didn''t reply. Mirai sighed but stood up, trying to hide his satisfaction.


    "I''ll go. I''ll make them obey me, if not you. Can I do it by any means necessary?"


    Senn nodded.


    When Mirai left, Senn smiled. The boy had manipulated him into sending him, and Senn had given him what he wanted. Had he done it out of exhaustion at his constant prodding, or because he favored him? Because he reminded him of his past self? In any case, if Mirai killed another of the Sparked, the god would grant his gifts to someone else. And if Mirai died... that would be a shame, but the kid was always walking that fine line. Better to see if he had what it takes to succeed him. At some point, someone would get lucky or Senn would die of old age. Someone had to serve the god in his stead.


    But the boy is wrong. Words are a poor substitute for action.


    He called for another of the Sparked, Izal. When the grizzled, scarred man came, Senn motioned for him to sit next to him.


    "I have another errand for you."


    * * *


    He still wasn''t sure what the plan was, but he would be prepared. He had given Mirai the perfect chance to make his grab. If Mirai wasn''t good or fast enough, the others would grab it instead. Graal and Morit were the strongest Sparked in the vanguard. If they weren''t allied with Mirai, they were the traitors he wanted to surface. Still, he had to dispel the word from his mind. This was no treason. Just his God''s hunger manifesting in expected ways.


    But it was a moot point anyway. They could rebel, but would the vanguard follow them, even as they fought against themselves? And if they did, would they fight Senn''s army? A stronger, larger force made up of their own men? That''s what Senn couldn''t figure out, the point of it all. He knew he wasn''t being paranoid. He knew he was being tested. But what could they hope to gain, except a hangman''s noose to decorate their necks?


    Just in case, Senn had made sure that the noose caught whomever it was intended to, or better yet, everyone. The best outcome against a mutiny wasn''t a hanging of the offenders. The best outcome would be to reassert his dominion without having to do that. If he could just brush it off, and at the same time not be forced to get rid of his most ambitious men, he would truly be doing the god''s work. But the only way to appease his men and ensure they didn''t try this again would be to give them partly what they wanted. They wanted more power, more of everything. Then he had to take it from someone. He had to do what his God had asked of him.


    Lead them forward. An army can''t stay still. You knew that.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    That''s why he had sent Izal with the rest of the Sparked to join up with the vanguard. Mirai could get the allegiance of a few of them with the promise of power, but if there were more of them there, they would fight among themselves. Twenty evenly matched men couldn''t agree on anything quickly. And Senn would swoop down on them at that time, bringing them a promise. And they would all fall in line again behind him, their hunger fueled by missing their goal ever so slightly. It was the God''s will indeed. Senn smirked. His Lord was a devious one, but always got what he wanted, even if Senn couldn''t see beyond the first turns in the road. He had faith, instead.


    He got ready to move as soon as a scout told him Izal and the rest of the Sparked had gone over the horizon. He gave the order for the whole army to advance, even as nighttime approached. There was no danger in the plains at night that wasn''t there in the daytime. They could see by the light of the stars, and they would advance without torches, as fast as they could. They would reach the stray vanguard by midday. Senn''s ploy would stall them. First Mirai, then Izal, would throw them further into doubt, giving him the time he needed.


    He had another card left to ensure his plan went smoothly. The main host of the army was big, around eight thousand strong. It would move slowly if he let them, each man holding back to wait for the others. But as he climbed on his canid and trotted ahead, he closed his eyes and extended his field of influence all around him. The Sparked could use their hunger on others, a few dozen men at a time. Enough to command a squad. But the Herald could influence thousands at a time, a whole army. In their other gift, the speed, he was stronger than the Sparked but not by much. That''s because the speed was fueled by each Sparked''s hunger, and he was the stronger one. But the projected hunger was the God''s power all the way through, and Senn only channeled it.


    It didn''t take long, and the effects were noticeable. Tired men sprang up, legs nimble again, or at least oblivious to the pain. Eyes alert even in the dusk. A tingling of anticipation in the air, as the collected breaths of thousands awaited their release. The men knew the touch of the hunger on them, and they realized the difference in power between a Sparked''s touch and their Herald''s. Senn didn''t use his power often, but when he did, men followed eagerly.


    He bolted ahead on his mount and an entire army ran behind him, trampling tents and barrels, following without thinking of anything except their own glory.


    * * *


    As the sun rose, Senn had to use more of his power to keep up the army''s hunger. They still ran, but some of the pack canids were dying or resisting their drivers. No man complained. Senn kept their attention focused on their goal. It was a gamble to use his influence in such a way. He had to feed their hunger, telling them there was glory and riches ahead, but when they reached their vanguard, he would have to shift their hunger elsewhere or risk them focusing on the vanguard and ripping them to shreds. The hunger was blinding, and he couldn''t just turn it off. Once inflamed, tempers needed a long time to subside. He would have to switch it to a farther goal, one that was only a few days ahead.


    The Hub. It will be a fine target.


    The city was large. Senn didn''t know how large it was at the time. He hadn''t seen it in ages. But his scouts had made their measurements and were sure it was now at least ten times bigger than Lordstown. That should have made Senn pause before thinking to attack, and any other general wouldn''t risk it. Senn didn''t, because he knew his enemy. Even if the city was large, most of the Hub was slums, easily burned down. Most of their men were Leashed, which meant they wouldn''t resist. The Hub had no free men. The ignorant few who had debated this point with Senn had claimed the Chainkeepers were free at the expense of the Leashed. But it was a false proposition. Underneath the Forever King''s rule, there were only different degrees of servitude. No one was free, and free men fought twice as hard because they had to fight to remain free. Senn could take his ten thousand and expect to give a good blow to the King even if his army was bigger. They wouldn''t expect it, and they wouldn''t have the time to organize.


    They first saw the vanguard at mid-morning. The sun was obscured by large clouds, but the heat was overwhelming as always in the plains. The rough, warm winds carried the promise of rain, but if it came, it would be warm and not more than a drizzle. As it were, the rain would only annoy them and make it harder to fight in their cuirasses. And it would also keep the planned fires from spreading out.


    Worry about your army first. Worry about the Hub once you have a firm grip on your men again.


    Some more men stumbled and stopped running. There were few in his army without the required endurance, but there were always a few who thought they could hide their weaknesses. It was stupid of them. That only meant they would be left behind when they fell and given no assistance. If they had remained in Lordstown, they would still be alive. Senn didn''t stop, even when one of his stewards fell and was trampled. He had been too young and infirm. He would only have been a nuisance on a battlefield.


    By the time they were an arrow flight away from the vanguard, Senn''s army was a scattered bunch of nervous men with shaky legs. The hunger flared in their eyes. Senn turned his influence down just a little. Any more, and they would start feeling the exhaustion. The vanguard, in contrast, was lax. The tents were still up and most men were sitting around them. Only about a hundred of them were standing up in a circle, with an air of tense expectation. Senn could feel the hunger that one of the Sparked was projecting over them. He could feel it but do nothing to smother it. He could only advance with his army and try to envelop that hunger with a stronger one, his own. So he did just that.


    The vanguard soldiers were staring at them with curiosity, but not the ones in the huddle. All of the Sparked had to be there, jostling for position or influence. It wasn''t Mirai who was rioting the men''s hunger. Senn could sense the subtle differences in influence each of his men projected. A sliver of each man''s ambition was there, and all men desired different things. This one was not just about power. It also held revenge.


    Strange. Who is it?


    As he reached the first lines of men, he began spreading his own power, and the men who were sitting down began shifting in their places, uneasy. A bit more and they would be ready to follow. He spread out his power even more, right up to the edge of the other Sparked''s influence. Just a few more steps and he would give his war speech. Then they would all be his again.


    Except the other''s influence resisted his vehemently. Senn was taken aback by the sudden jolt and stopped his mount The other Sparked''s influence was spreading. Like a candle thrown in a stack, it was spreading outward.


    It''s impossible. He''s stronger than me.


    But then he realized there were differences in the field that extended toward him. It held a variety of powers. It wasn''t one of the Sparked.


    It was all of them.


    He flared his power and invoked his God. He pushed outward, trying to recapture his army. That made the men behind him twitch and start looking ahead with bloodshot eyes. The men in front of him were already standing up, some looking toward him, others to the west, where the Hub lay. One more push and he would have them again. The Sparked''s power was waning. They stood immobile just as he did, concentrating on their hunger. Only the pulsing veins in their arms and Senn''s forehead betrayed their tension. Senn reared his canid and jumped ahead with one last, bright push of hunger. And then he yelled.


    "I won''t be denied!"


    The power spread through all the army at last, bringing the last men of the vanguard up on their feet, hands on hilts, jaws squared, eyes shot.


    And then they all turned against him.


    It wasn''t his power that had won them over. He realized at that moment that his own hunger had disappeared, and it was the Sparked''s own power that had gotten the upper hand. They had made it seem it was waning and then had pushed against him with all their might. But Senn''s hunger couldn''t just disappear. His influence came from the God, not from his own power. That meant...


    He has left me.


    The sudden realization hurt more than the disappearance of his power. Then, something else hurt him too, but it wasn''t emotional. It was a dagger pushing against his back.


    His cuirass had stopped the blade just barely above his shoulder blades. Someone had jumped on his canid''s back and pulled him down. They threw him to the ground, which ended up saving him because the impact made the dagger dislodge itself.


    He struck the ground hard and cursed, but knew he didn''t even have time for that. The God could have taken his influence, but he knew his other power didn''t depend on his Lord''s will. It was his own power after all. He had earned it, and as long as he still felt hunger inside, he couldn''t take it from him.


    You stupid old fool. You gave me power, but now you can''t take it all back.


    He stood up using his speed and roared, clutching the first traitor, the one who had struck him in the back, by the throat. He snapped it, his speed making his enemy''s resistance inconsequential. He was just a soldier. He regretted killing him, for it wasn''t his fault. It was the Sparked''s betrayal, and the entire army was a pawn.


    He saw with his speed-sight that all the surrounding men were running toward him. They meant to rush him, for they knew that if they piled on him, no speed power would help him. They thought he was like them. He was not. There was a reason he was the Lord''s Herald and not them. And this was the time he would show them, once and for all. It had to be the Lord''s ambition guiding him. He was giving him this chance to quell the resistance, to assert himself once and for all. To reach an even higher understanding of his greed.


    You may have forsaken me, my lord. But I haven''t forsaken you.


    He lashed out with his bare hands, speeding toward the incoming soldiers, hitting them once each, in thighs and collarbones and ribs. He knew where to hit and how to do it to inflict as much pain as possible without killing or disabling them. He needed them still, to grab what he wanted. He needed them to assault the Hub, and a disabled army was no good. He kept speeding and hitting, running in circles from one man to the other, creating an expanding circle beyond which none could enter. And when the men started stumbling and their hunger waned just a bit to make them hesitate to attack, he rushed out of the circle, running around the men to reach the place where the Sparked were still intent on stealing his army. He took out his dagger and struck before they could react. Izal fell first.


    Betrayer!


    The second Sparked reacted when Izal''s blood splashed on him. He flared his speed and just barely dodged Senn''s blade. The others were beginning to move their speed starting up. Senn launched arrowheads at the distracted ones, and three of them fell, one of them struck in the eye. The others would recover with their speed-healing. But he was just getting started. He ducked underneath his next rival''s blade and slit his hamstrings. That would take a few days to heal. He dodged another man''s dagger and tripped him up, driving his face into the ground. He might heal, or not. A few dead would be a better reminder than just a few broken bones. He grabbed another Sparked''s arrow in mid-flight and turned, letting it fly with the same impulse toward the shooter. He caught him in the throat, just to the side, missing an artery. Still, he would probably die. What a waste.


    He kept fighting, finally coming up against Graal. He dodged and spun, jumped backward, and covered the man in arrowheads before driving a dagger into his groin and pulling up, disemboweling him. Then came Morit, almost as a shadow to Graal, and cut the straps that held Senn''s cuirass in place. He kept dodging and sneaking, trying to stay out of the way of the rest. One or two were hesitant, but the rest couldn''t afford to. They feared his wrath, and they were too committed. He spun and suddenly came against Mirai. His dagger wasn''t as fast then and barely missed him.


    Then a sudden burst of wind blew against him, blinding him. He wasn''t the only one, for Mirai didn''t counterattack. Looking westward, he saw a massive cloud rolling toward them, a sandstorm that had snuck up on them, seemingly coming out of nowhere. With his speed, he could see the individual gusts spinning out of the cloud. And just as it was about to hit them full force, he saw within it the silhouettes of the men charging toward them.

 Chapter 6 - SENN

    Chaos erupted around Senn like never before. He had raided in pitch-black night, escaped from a burning temple, and been in more fights than he could count. But the dust storm made what followed much worse than any ambush. The dust choked the men up, blinded them, and made them look away. Strength or will were of no use. But their enemies didn''t seem affected as much. Senn only managed to dodge an axe blow to the head thanks to his speed-reflexes, a product of instinct more than sight. He could barely see two paces in front of him or to his sides, and the screams and the clash of metal and flesh were muted as if it were all happening an arrow''s flight away and not right next to him. He managed to dodge another blow as he felt the vibration in the air that betrayed the swing of a weapon. He wouldn''t be able to keep it up for long. He was a goat amid famished canids, and all his speed could avail him was a moment''s respite. He couldn''t run ahead and risk impaling himself against a weapon. He didn''t know how many enemies were there, but he knew who they were, and they would travel in force.


    The Chainkeepers had to be the ones leading the attack, but the rest of the army would be Leashed men. There was no other force that would have dared attack them like that, but how were they able to avoid the storm''s effects? Were they just lucky and had been following the storm eastward?


    A chain appeared right in front of him, lashing out toward him. He grabbed it and dodged the hook on its end, throwing it in what appeared to be the direction it had come from. He recognized the sound of flesh ripping and felt the chain stiffen. He pulled slowly to avoid ripping the hook free, but there was little resistance. His attacker came into view barely an arm''s length away. The hook had sunk into the flesh just below his collarbone and he was trying his best not to let it go. The hooks the Chainkeepers used were vicious, tearing huge chunks of flesh and bone if you tried to get them out by force. The man''s face showed he knew what it would do to him if Senn yanked the chain free. He was applying pressure to the entry wound, his hands steady. He wasn''t afraid, not in a stupid, careless way like that of a drunk man, but in a way that showed a certainty he held. What could be strong enough to keep him from fearing death?


    Senn loosed his hold just a bit and surrounded the man, tying his arms close to his chest with his own chain. He then grabbed him in a chokehold with one arm, while holding the chain around his body with the other hand. Now subdued, the man''s muscles seemed to relax, strangely.


    "You seem to be able to see better than me," growled Senn close to his enemy''s ear. "Lead me out of the storm so I can see what''s happening, or I pull."


    The man seemed to understand, and he started walking, then running, in one direction. He dodged to the side once or twice but otherwise kept a straight line. They couldn''t be right in the thick of battle, or they would have struggled to move more than a few paces without clashing with the throngs of men.


    "Can we run straight ahead?" he asked.


    The man nodded.


    I have to risk it, thought Senn. Or there won''t be anything left of my army by the time I get control of them again.


    He used his speed to run blindly ahead, charging with the Chainkeeper in front of him as a shield. If they ran into something, his enemy would pay for lying to him. But sooner than he thought, they were out of it, out of the dust storm and the fight, and witnessing the collapse of Senn''s army.


    Seen from the side, the storm was just a hundred paces wide, enough to obscure the vanguard of the Chainkeepers'' army. Behind it, and moving fast around the storm to surround Senn''s men, were the Leashed, in a number that was more than enough for the task, even if they weren''t fighters. But they advanced as they did everything in their pitiful lives: with fear of retribution, and if the fear was strong enough, it could drive men to greater lengths than you would guess. Senn knew, for he had been one of them once.


    His army was backing down, the men in front trying to trample the men in the middle and the ones in the back pushing to keep the whole army in place. The hunger that Senn and his betrayers had been pushing was now hard to extinguish among those not in the middle of the carnage, and they were keeping the men in front from dispersing and regrouping. The dust storm advanced slowly now, not like it had done when it rushed up on them, but as if it was controlled by someone with a stake in the fight.


    He had to get back there, run up to the core of his army and force them to disperse. Now, or they would be overrun. He let go of the chain, not wanting to waste time on someone who would bleed to death in a few more minutes. He broke into a run, but the world turned and he fell on his back. Above him there was only a clear sky, but as he raised his hand to his face, he saw the chain around his forearm and the burns it had caused as he ran away and the chain drove deeper into his skin. He tried to get up, but he was flung in the air before he could get to his feet. He saw the Chainkeeper as he sailed over him, and there was a calm smile on his face. No fear, no hatred. Just clarity of purpose.


    He realized why this Chainkeeper, and the ones he had met before, didn''t fear death. They feared their king more. But no man could be feared thus, not when another man was right in front of you holding a knife to your throat. The only thing that could inspire such fear was a God. The same god that had given him the strength to stop Senn in mid-run and to make him fly through the air. The god that was giving that man the strength to rip free of his chains, when no muscles should allow him to do so, and to withstand the wound above the heart that would have felled a less inspired man. He, like everyone else in the Hub, had always believed the Forever King to be part man, part myth. A King that was never seen but always mentioned in whispers. If he ever died or was replaced by a successor, that was impossible to know. But he had believed it was a man, or a line of men holding their iron grip on the Hub since before memory.


    Lord, prayed Senn wordlessly, why didn''t you warn me? Why didn''t you tell me you were not the only one?


    Just then, Senn heard a voice in his head. Not his Lord''s voice, as he had heard it so many times before his Lord had breached the Veil. No, it was a voice he didn''t know.


    Senn, it said, You don''t know me yet, but you will. But now, fight!


    The Chainkeeper jumped straight toward him, swinging the remains of the chain that still pierced his flesh. His muscles bulged as if inflated by the same wind that was ravaging the plains. Senn dodged, using a small part of his speed to stay out of reach. The Chainkeepers'' gift seemed to have given him strength in his muscles, but would it help him against Senn''s speed? He would have to find out the hard way. He threw an arrowhead at the Chainkeeper, but instead of ripping the flesh, it barely broke the skin. The Chainkeeper had ripped his shirt free, and he wore no armor. His muscles, though, were so strong they seemed to resist just as well as a boiled leather armor.


    What other gifts has your... God... given you?


    Senn hoped he wouldn''t have to find out. He circled the Chainkeeper slowly, and the other man barely acknowledged him by rotating slightly. Senn had no swords, as those had been stuck in his saddle as he fell, but he did have two long, curved daggers, which were just as good. The problem was range. If the other man caught him in a chokehold, he wouldn''t be able to resist hands that had broken chains. And if he used his speed to take him head-on, he risked getting caught in the chain itself, which the ''keeper was holding in front of him in a cascade.


    What''s his weakness? He kept circling his enemy, looking hard at him to figure it out. Watch him. Really watch him. His posture is all wrong. He''s too straight, muscles tense even as he fakes being at ease. He''s never fought on equal grounds. He''s had his strength for a long time. He didn''t need to adapt to fight. He just overwhelmed his enemies with strength and fear. He''s no fighter. He''s just strong.


    Senn had always hated those who relied only on their physical strength, as if that was enough to survive.


    He lunged forward with speed. As the chain loomed in front of him, he threw his legs first and slid beneath it, his knees grazing the dust, and then slashed with both daggers. Metal cut flesh above the thighs, but he didn''t manage to hit a vein, and the cuts were shallow and didn''t elicit even a grunt. Before he could get caught in the Chainkeepers'' arms or chains, he rolled to one side and threw an arrowhead at his enemy''s ankle. It didn''t bounce off, and it managed to lodge itself in the space between muscle and bone. But it didn''t seem to bother the muscled man as he swung his chain toward Senn. He dodged without needing to use speed, but he misjudged the move and somehow an end of the chain whipped back and struck him with force in his shoulder blades.


    Don''t underestimate him. You''re older and shaken up. You have to end this fast and get back to your men.


    He couldn''t spare a glance for his army. Watching wouldn''t help them. The screams, though, were still carried in the air and he couldn''t escape them. Fight, you bastards!


    Senn dashed forward at normal speed, feinting a knife thrust with his right hand, only to spin over his left foot and attack from the Chainkeepers'' weak side, driving the dagger on his left hand up between his enemy''s ribs. The dagger slid right in and lodged itself against a bone. Senn tried to drive it even deeper, but it wouldn''t budge. He let go of that dagger and raise his right hand toward the man''s throat. The Chainkeeper guessed where he would hit, so Senn''s speed didn''t help him avoid the larger man''s clutch. His wrist broke, and then another hand grabbed his forearm and made it crunch. Senn spewed bile but managed to regain control. He jumped up and contorted his body with the help of the Chainkeeper''s hold on him, rolling into a ball and then thrusting his legs outward toward the Chainkeeper''s throat. At full speed, the Chainkeeper couldn''t avoid it, and only his enhanced musculature prevented his trachea from being crushed. Still, the man fell back, the smirk he had maintained all along gone. He clutched his throat, and only then did he become fully aware of the knife on his side. His face turned pale, then red again, and then turned into a grimace. He lunged forward, his muscles bulging even more. His hands grabbed Senn''s throat and started pushing. It was too much. Senn couldn''t raise his right arm at all, having dislodged it somehow with his aerial move, on top of the broken bones. His left hand didn''t hold the dagger anymore, and he couldn''t reach the one protruding from the Chainkeeper''s side any longer.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Stupid... not like this...


    And then it all stopped. The hands were still holding him, but there was no strength behind them. The Chainkeeper''s eyes had turned opaque and, in a sudden move, he fell on top of Senn. Luckily, the man''s muscles deflated as he expired, and the extra weight he had drawn from them dropped exponentially. Still, he was larger than Senn, and he got pushed under the corpse as it fell. Senn pushed him away just enough to breathe. He inhaled and exhaled slowly three times, then pushed him away with his good hand. He had won but at great expense. And this didn''t seem to be a distinguished fighter, just one more in the vanguard. He leaned on his left hand and then rose slowly. He dared to look in his army''s direction, and his speed flared unconsciously. He wanted to run toward them. And he did, though his speed was halved. He never had an inexhaustible supply of power, and he had used too much of it so far that day. He would only get a few more minutes of speed, and it wouldn''t be enough.


    Don''t be a coward, he thought, You were powerless for much of your life, and still you fought on. Are you so weak now that you can only fight if you have an advantage?


    Deep down, he didn''t even need to chastise himself. He would always fight, no doubt about it. Even if his God wasn''t as loyal to him as he had been to him all along.


    He used what little he could spare of speed to avoid tiring himself while trying to reach the battle again. Using speed didn''t make his muscles ache less, but something in the use of the power gave him extra resistance for moves that would have torn muscle from bone.


    He reached the side of the army just as the Leashed finished their pincer move: now the army was surrounded except at the far back, where Senn''s men still fought unrestrained. But up in the vanguard, crushed between their own men and the Chainkeepers'' bludgeon, men were falling at an alarming rate. He couldn''t see them, but Senn knew his men should have been able to fight better. There had to be more Chainkeepers that were using the power to make them stronger, for the dust storm was lifting now, and there just weren''t so many enemies to justify the butchery they were inflicting on Senn''s army if not for an advantage like that. He could see three or four blurs among the vanguard, where the able-bodied Sparked still fought on. Senn had taken out a few of them, but there should still be more...


    No. They''re dead. You left broken men in the field, and they were trampled.


    He thought he heard Mirai yelling.


    He grabbed a wooden shield and, using a quarter of his speed, launched himself forward toward the right side of the encroaching army. He struck a handful of the Leashed, who quickly moved out of the way. They were poor soldiers, more concerned about staying alive than anything else. He couldn''t blame them, even if he despised them. He was the stupid one, charging into an army all by himself. He had to kick past a few obstinate men who wouldn''t get out of the way and let go of his shield to slash a few of them up, but he broke through and suddenly found himself among his own men. It was hard to push through, as they were all packed neatly together, but he pushed anyway. Some of his men recognized him and made way, others were too stunned or afraid by the deathtrap they had fallen into. Up ahead, the Chainkeepers were advancing, slowly but steadily, an impending doom they wouldn''t be able to escape. Senn couldn''t see the blurry figures of the Sparked fighting in the front lines. Had they fallen, or fled? Senn knew what he would choose if it came to that. His body ached all over, and blood dripped down his side. Was it his own?


    He was near the center now. He had just one chance to do it, and he prayed over and over for his God to return his gift to him.


    Please, just this once. I don''t ask this for me, it''s for them. Don''t let them be slaughtered. I''ve fought and bled to free each and every one of them. Don''t let it go to waste.


    He looked inside to where he used to feel his god''s hunger, trying desperately to find just an inkling. But there was nothing.


    Why?


    There was no response, neither in deeds nor words. Not even from that other voice he had heard before. If his god wouldn''t help him, he would have to find another way.


    "Push to the back!" he yelled. "Fight toward the back! First battalion, break through that Leashed scum! Fight, you sons of whores!"


    His men shook awake. Some reacted faster, others had to watch the rest spring into action before committing to the fight. But soon, his army was fighting back, not out of induced hunger but out of a reborn hope, a feeling they were no stranger to, in spite of what they were used to spouting. Senn had felt that same way the first few times he fought back and resisted the Chainkeepers, in the first raids to free his fellow men. It had been mostly a ravenous need for freedom that had driven him, a will to seize the world for himself and out of the hands of the men he hated. But there had been an undercurrent of hope, inevitably. If he hadn''t had an illogical belief that things could turn out all right despite the overwhelming odds against him, he would have never been able to do all the things he had done.


    We''re still alive. I''m still alive. We can do it.


    At last, somehow, a small group broke the circle of enemies at the rear and forced the gap open. They streamed out in a widening torrent, but once they were through, no one looked back for the others. Each man for himself, so the ones after them had to fight again, and the gap started to close again. Senn was in the midst of it, pushing men in front of him to get them to fight until at some point he found himself alone. What was left of his vanguard had passed him by and he was alone in a strip of land facing enemies on every side. He could run after his men. He should have done so. But every instinct he had ever thought he had was wrong. He had never fought for survival alone. If he had, there would have been no more free men, no Lord of Greed incarnated and towering above him, and no hope for anyone else. Ambition, hunger, and greed had driven him far, but it wasn''t the only fuel he was burning. Then, in the middle of the field, among the approaching throng of Chainkeepers in leathers and chains, he saw a small figure. A child, dressed in tatters, with sparkling blue eyes that he had seen before. The child faded into dust as the Chainkeepers gained speed and raised their hooked chains.


    Of course. The men I killed on that island had a god of their own.


    The realization brought him little comfort. In just a few minutes, he had found out his beliefs were short-sighted. There were other powers in the world, but still, none that could help him now. He was utterly, unmistakably alone.


    The first enemy smashed his chain into the ground. Senn dodged and grabbed a flailing end, running around the keeper to bind him. He knew it wouldn''t hold him for long, but he could think of nothing else. He grabbed another end and ran around and between the next group of enemies, tripping them by tying their ankles together. He couldn''t stop himself. If you stop, you die, simple as that. He had to give his men more time to run out of reach. The Leashed would not follow if the Chainkeepers weren''t howling at their backs. Do this one thing, and then you can rest, old man. They''ll remember you as a hero, in the end. They''d better do. You''ve given it all for them.


    Senn smiled. Even now, at the end of his rope, he had a greedy thought to give him warmth. He grabbed another chain and tied it to another, and yet another until he had knotted a net to hold his enemies. Their muscles were already straining to break them, but he just needed a few more moments. He grabbed fallen hooks and arrows and short swords and threw them at full speed at his enemies. He felled four, but there were dozens still. His strength waned, and his speed faltered. He had almost nothing left. He dared to glance back. His men were out of sight, and the Leashed just stood there, confused, uncertain whether following or standing still would earn them a greater punishment.


    This is not the end, said the same voice that had spoken to him before, a whisper that sounded like drumming in Senn''s chest.


    It certainly seems like it, thought Senn.


    Trust me, said the voice.


    Who are you? Why should I trust you?


    You''ve known me your whole life. I''m your true Lord.


    Before Senn could dodge, a chain flew toward him. The hook was aiming for his throat, but at the time the only thing he could register was the sense of an ending.


    The hook struck him but there was no pain. No skin was ripped, no blood spurting, no severed neck. The chain fell limp as if struck down. He had been spared. A miracle, or something like it. If someone was looking out for him, then it wasn''t the end. He had to find out why. He had to run.


    He gathered all of his remaining speed and concentrated. The Chainkeepers were mostly free now, and two of them were throwing their weapons at him. The men turned into statues, their chains hanging awkwardly in the air, moving slightly.


    He ran.


    He would remember it later. Running past his attackers, wasting no more time on them, running and running even more. He had never needed to strain himself so much. The land flew below him until he grew dizzy and could look no more. And then his speed just... waned. It saved him, for if he had lost it suddenly, the momentum shift would have thrown him skittering across the plains, breaking his bones and ripping his flesh. As it was, he slowed down in spurts, until he was running on wobbly knees and finally fell.


    He wanted to slip into unconsciousness. A dark horizon loomed just beyond his half-closed eyelids. If that was death, then he would take it. He just wanted to rest, at any price. He waited for the darkness to come, but it was neither death nor night. A passing cloud covered the sun and soft, warm drops started falling on his face. He was sure he was getting wet all over, but he could only feel it in his cheeks. The rain soothed him, not quite washing away his blood and aches, but it did cover him in a strange comfort. An unexpected embrace at the end of his hope. He had known that warmth before. Just once, long ago. Would that he could feel that again, just for a moment. It would make it all worthwhile again.


    He slipped into the dark of sleep. He knew now it was not death that awaited him. Not yet. But for now, all he had to do was sleep, dream, and live all over again.

 Chapter 7 - NAIAL

    The Hub was in an uproar the likes of which she had seldom seen. She remembered when years ago, during the Bleeding, the agitation in the streets and hovels threatened to turn into full-blown chaos. But it had never gone that far. The Chainkeepers were always around to stifle it. It hadn''t even been rebellion. It had just been a mass confusion. No one in the Hub harbored sedition. They just couldn''t.


    There were days when it seemed inconceivable to her that anyone could think to escape. Why? What good could it bring? They would just be chased and killed, or killed in another way they couldn''t even imagine. She hadn''t always been like that, but the memory of times when she felt and thought and acted differently was fading and she didn''t trust her memories anymore. Not when the present was so overwhelming and the lessons it taught were much clearer than what the past could summon up.


    She left the side street as a group of Leashed ran back into the city. They had been watching a small army leave under the cover of dust storm. It had been a marvel to some of them, but after it had passed it was just a reminder of their hopelessness. If the Chainkeepers could do such things, it just went to show that some greater power favored them. No dust storm had come to cloak the rebels who had trickled out of the city and into the plains years before. No dust storm had brought them back in anger to free their brethren. Their fights were with the Chainkeepers over lands or food or wealth. They seemed to have forgotten where they had come from.


    She finally reached her destination. Inside the hovel, a blind man coughed into a bowl. The darkness inside was a precious gift after the heat of the outside, but the company, though at no fault of their own, didn''t do much to lift her spirits. There was another one, a boy, sitting in the dark. He was mute or had never cared to talk. Maybe he had realized something the others didn''t know. That words weren''t much help to anyone.


    "Cough it all up," she said. "You need to clear your lungs. Light up the fire again, kid. Help him inhale the steam."


    The kid got up slowly and blew into the coals. The ash disappeared, replaced by a red ember, and after a while, the water in the pot started to boil again. The old man inhaled and then coughed up abruptly into the bowl. She wanted to be alone, but couldn''t manage to do so. A hovel was a hovel, not a house, and she had no claim to it except for her daily use of a broom to keep it mostly refuse-free. She felt as little attachment to the place as she did to the other frequent occupants. The boy worked in the fields with her, so he had followed her once and stuck to her as a goat to its mother. The old man had been working right until the end, when he went blind and couldn''t work the fields anymore. Now she brought him reeds from the riverbank so he could tie them into complicated knots and weave baskets out of them. Then she went out and exchanged them for food at the Chainkeepers'' house of wares. They always needed more baskets to haul food from one place to the other. She shared that with the old man to keep him alive and took a bite for herself whenever she could. She did it out of pity, not kindness. If the man had refused to do even that small task, she would have left the hovel and let him die on his own. No one in her place would have done otherwise. No one she knew would do as much as she was already doing, and most would do far less.


    She sat down in the darkness and fell half asleep. The day''s work had tired her. Even if her calluses kept the pain away, working in the fields was always tiresome. Muscles ached, bones creaked, but most of all, the exhaustion was in her head. The heat and the boredom were enough to make some people turn crazy. Every fortnight, someone struck another person with a shovel, beat them into pieces, or strangled them. It was strange. Some people bore the same crux for years and then turned into killers without warning. As if an accounting had been done and they had reached a certain amount of... whatever it was. Self-hate, hatred for others, irritation. Something bubbled inside them, like water left on the stove for too long, heated and left to grow cold and inflamed again, but always balancing out just a tiny bit hotter, until it started boiling one day and you half-expected it though it seemed it would never come. She was feeling like water dangerously approaching its boiling point. But for now she just felt exhausted.


    At some point in the night, she woke up. Someone was sitting just inside the hovel, next to the curtain that covered the entrance. Whomever the intruder was, he had the sense not to go near her. She always slept with a bone dagger in her hand, in case someone got lusty and forgot himself. She couldn''t throw him out if he had decided to sleep there, but beyond the Chainkeepers'' laws there were manners and ways which the Leashed followed to avoid conflict. One was that you didn''t set foot inside a hovel you didn''t dwell in before asking permission from the current occupants. She didn''t think this man would have bothered with that even if he hadn''t found them all asleep.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The stranger wore a hood, which was highly unusual. The Chainkeepers wanted to be able to see the leashes around their necks clearly, so anything that covered them up was forbidden and downright dangerous to be caught wearing. And going out at night was punishable too unless you were on a night detail or were just moving from one adjoining hovel to another.


    Here''s a dangerous man. But is he a troublemaker or just stupid enough to endanger those around him?


    She rose slowly but rustled her tunic so the stranger would notice. He didn''t move or acknowledge her, but she saw he was awake because the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest stopped for a second. She approached with her dagger out of sight but close at hand in her sleeves. She knelt a few paces away and whispered over the crackling of the coals.


    "Why did you come here? Go back to your own hovel and take off that hood, before they punish all of us because of you."


    The stranger turned his face toward her, but even with the light of the fire flooding him, it remained under the shadow of the hood. Only his mouth was clearly visible, and his lips moved slowly but strangely seductively.


    "I came for you, woman."


    She clutched her bone dagger tighter and held it up in front of her so the man could see.


    "I''m not any man''s plaything. Go away. There are willing or weak women everywhere else, but not here. It will cost you dearly."


    The man smiled, but in a way she hadn''t seen in a lifetime. It seemed slow and deliberate, not the product of cynicism or cruelty, but something else instead.


    "I didn''t come for you in that sense, woman. I''m sorry that your life has led you to think that way of everyone you meet."


    "Not everyone. Just men."


    "I''m not sure I still qualify as one."


    "Are you a eunuch?"


    "In a way. Not in the usual ghastly way, though."


    "I''ve never met a man whose parts didn''t boss him around."


    "Well, then, hello there," he said with a smile. "You''re also something new to me."


    "What?"


    "A woman with balls."


    She smiled unwittingly and managed to repress it fast.


    "There are more of us than ballsy men. Most of them, you just kick them in the groin and they fall and don''t want to get back up. With us, we hurt just as much but we get on living."


    "Yes, it''s a marvel. Women are a wonder to me."


    The stranger raised a knee and rested his arms on it. He seemed unduly relaxed, but she didn''t trust that demeanor either. Some men could uncoil like a snake and attack from what just a moment ago seemed a calm and quiet disposition.


    "So why did you come? To talk with a stranger?" she asked.


    "No. You''re not a complete stranger to me. I know the part of you that makes you special."


    "I''m pretty sure you don''t know that part, mister. If you had known it, I''d recognize your face. I haven''t had that many."


    "Your mind just goes back to all of that, but I know it''s just a defense posture. You know what really makes you special, and it ain''t the space between your legs."


    She frowned, unsure of where the man was getting at. She wished just for a moment that he was just another would-be rapist and she could deal with him the usual way. As it was, the situation was more unsettling and unfamiliar.


    "So what makes me ''special'' in your opinion? And how do you know about it if we''ve never met?"


    "Oh, I''ve been around. You just haven''t acknowledged me, but I''ve been around. I''ve watched you. I know of your kindness."


    "What kindness? I just try to scrape by like everyone else. There''s no misguided weeper in me."


    "You underestimate yourself, and you underestimate many more like you. You''re special, but you''re not the only special one. Kindness is more prevalent than you think, even amid all this tyranny and cruelty."


    "First I''m special, then I''m not? Funny way to try to get me in the sack."


    "I already told you I won''t and am not able to do any of that to you. I just came to talk to you."


    "Talk me into something, you mean."


    "In a way. But no goat was ever convinced of climbing a mountain by mere words. Actions are more effective. So I''ll show you, and the next time we talk, you''ll be sure of who I am... and who you are, too."


    "I''m sure of both accounts now. You''re crazy and I''m the same sane person I''ve always been."


    "Maybe. You''ll find out. Watch out for the ripples, and think about them. There are always ripples whenever you do something, whether it''s violence or kindness. They ripple in different ways, one is abrupt, the other subtle. But a ripple in one shore turns into a wave that breaks into distant lands."


    "You''re one crazy son of a whore."


    "That''s just you denying words you understand deep within. Think of them. And watch out for the ripples of your actions. Then you''ll know of what I speak."


    He got up slowly but gracefully and ducked under the hovel''s entrance. He left, and she sat back down with the dagger in her hands. She looked at it, and it seemed useless to her now.

 Chapter 8 - SENN

    He woke up to a torrid heat. He wondered for a moment why he was out of the Fort, then realized he should have been in his campaign tent. Something had to have happened to blow the tent''s roof. Then he realized he was lying on the floor, with caked blood over his body and a variety of aches he couldn''t even count, and started to remember what had happened the day before.


    God... he thought, before he remembered his god''s betrayal. He had forsaken him twice that day. But why? What was there to gain with the chaos caused in his army, among his men, the death and the fearful flight they had to endure? What could make his god betray not only him, but all of his men? Had he miscalculated, attempted to rob Senn of his power and bestow it upon someone else, and then had his plan spoiled by the Chainkeepers? Or was it worse? He was a god, after all, and there were things he knew that happened far away and he had no way of knowing. Had he not foreseen the Forever King''s men encroaching on his army? Or had he, in some way, made a bargain with the Forever King, who Senn now suspected was another god, a bargain to give his army up to his enemy in exchange for something?


    Senn was sure of one thing, and it was that his God was infallible. He had never made a mistake or committed a blunder in all their years of rebellion. At least, while he wasn''t incarnated, before he had crossed the Veil and taken that gigantic form. His reach and his knowledge had dimmed just as much as his power and influence had risen. But there was only one thing that could have led the All-Eater to betray his followers, and that was his Hunger. When he was just the shadow of a man beyond the Veil, his Hunger had been an inspiration to others, but not something that clouded his god-thoughts. Now, as he gained power in the world, his Hunger grew as well. What if he realized he would never get something he wanted even with his army and influence, and had decided bargaining with the enemy was best? After all, he had never promised his followers he would protect them, he had just convinced them to follow with the promise of riches. But he would not hold himself to any allegiance to those beneath him. He was a God. Why would he care about honor and the bonds between men?


    It was disheartening to have to start thinking like that. Here was his entire life, upended due to one calamitous day. He sat up and looked around. The deserted plains greeted him silently, like an old friend who doesn''t need to speak to make his meanings understood. It had been a long time since he was utterly alone like that morning. He had grown used to his guard, to the Sparked watching warily, to the people of Lordstown watching in awe.


    He rose unsteadily and stretched. The sun was low in the east, barely above the mountains that were invisible from that distance. But west and north, there were the mountains, closer than he had seen them in a long while. He could be anywhere west of Lordstown and to the north of the Hub, but there was nothing to guide him. He had ridden and scouted far when he was first looking for the haven that would become Lordstown, the place that would hold his army of fugitives and freemen. He had gone north and south and then westward before finally finding the Well, the lake that would give life to his people. He remembered his Lord being silent the whole time, even as he pleaded for him to guide him to the right place. He had often thought of those moments, but always ascribed his Lord''s reticence to some godly attribute or a way of teaching him a lesson he hadn''t asked for. But now he dared himself to wonder if his God had even known about the place he was seeking. He would rather believe he lacked knowledge or wisdom than believe him a traitor or the petty deity that he was rapidly becoming in his mind. If he was no longer the only God of the land, then he couldn''t be omnipotent. If something was beyond him, then what use was he?


    He caught himself before sinking deeper into that thought hole. His god gave him clarity of purpose, speed, hunger. Power. He wouldn''t renege on that. He knew his God couldn''t listen to his thoughts directly as he once had, but he''d rather not risk it just in case. He would find out the truth. But he had to get back to Lordstown first. His army wouldn''t arrive for days, but if he could catch up to them while they were still regrouping he might be able to avoid the war between factions that he had been fearing all along. There had to be some Sparked left, and if not, his God would uplift more of them. And then, without Senn''s influence as Herald and the difference in power he held over the others, they would be evenly matched and eager to start killing each other to gain their Lord''s favor. And Lordstown would burn and be nothing but ashes when the Chainkeepers came riding.


    He started walking east. He reckoned the mountains would start veering south at some point, and when he saw that turn in the horizon, he could go straight south along the plains and reach Lordstown. He remembered the map he had drawn long ago as if he were walking over the canvas and not on dirt. But he wasn''t sure how long he would have to walk. He felt weak and extremely tired. Every step was accompanied by a stabbing pain in a joint, a muscle, or a sore bone. He didn''t dare try his speed. He would stumble after a few seconds and fall to the ground. He would need to regain his strength first, but there were no prospects of food or water nearby.


    Have you forgotten? There was a time in which you did what you needed to survive. When you ate roots and drank plant-blood.


    He could do it. He could walk along the plains for endless days and nights and somehow make it. He realized that.


    Then he stopped.


    What is there for me back there?


    He had never lacked ambition, or other thoughts to drive him. Now, he doubted himself for the first time in years. Could he even regain his power? Gather his men, bring them under his rule again, regain his God''s trust? Did he even want to? Or was it better to run away and leave them to their misery as punishment for betraying him, for spurning all he had done for them?


    He gazed at the sun. He hadn''t looked up in a long time. Since he was a boy, all he had done was cower from it, slump his shoulders, and hide from the burning eye in the sky. And in the height of his power, he had dared ignore it, pretending it didn''t burn as much, that it didn''t matter if it was hot or cold outside because he was above such things. But he realized he wasn''t, and painfully so. Tears started streaming down his cheeks. He cursed himself. He would burn his eyelids if he kept acting like a blockhead. He averted his gaze and looked down. In the ground, straight ahead of him, was a long slender shadow slowly extending toward him. He raised his head a little to see what was approaching. He hadn''t seen anything a few moments before. Had he been staring at the sun for hours and hadn''t realized it? No, the sun was in the same place. But the shadow extending toward him came from the east, and he couldn''t pinpoint the origin of it because his eyes were still watery. There was no mountain to project that shadow, and a few more moments of observing it confirmed it was moving, bobbing up and down like a person walking toward him. So it had to be.


    Well, I''m not going to wait here for one of the Chainfuckers to come and finish me off. Come on then.


    And Senn did what he had done his entire life. He put one foot ahead of the other, whatever might come.


    Thirty paces away, the man stopped. Senn stopped too, gathering what was left of his strength. His feet wobbled and his knuckles turned white with the stress. He didn''t have any weapons. He didn''t have any stamina either But he damn well wasn''t going down without shoving that chain up the son of a whore''s ass.


    "What are you waiting for?" he yelled coarsely. "Come and finish it. You followed me all the way out here, so come and try, leashed cub."


    The man didn''t reply. He was outlined in black against the sun. He raised his arms to his side and held them there. He had a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other.


    It''s an execution, then.


    "I''ll give you a better sight. We wouldn''t want you to miss," he said and started walking toward the man.


    The bowman nocked the arrow, pulled back the bow, and let the arrow fly. It whizzed past Senn, barely a foot away from his head. He was a damned bad archer to miss at that distance. Senn didn''t want to give him another chance. He could risk using his speed now. He looked inside for what little power he could gather and launched himself ahead. Another arrow whizzed past his left arm. He didn''t have any weapons, so his best chance was to grab the next arrow and use it to stab his enemy. He was slow, though, and the archer nocked another arrow and fired while he was still thinking about his move. He reacted when he saw the arrow coming but not fast enough. Not fast enough at all.


    The arrow should have struck him in the head, but somehow it didn''t. He couldn''t manage to avoid it, and no way he could have stopped it. But it didn''t hit him, somehow whizzing past him when it should have killed him. But what stopped him in his tracks wasn''t that, but the realization that his speed was utterly gone. Not just spent for a while or weakened. Gone.


    Even when the Lord of Greed had seemingly betrayed him, he still had his power. He had gotten his speed as a gift from the God when he had breached the Veil, but it wasn''t the kind of gift that could be taken back. It wasn''t an expression of the god''s power, it was an expression of Senn''s own ambition. The god himself had explained it to him: One power comes from within you, the other emanates from me. I have unleashed one and given the other freely. As long as the hunger burns inside you, you''ll keep your power. But don''t betray me or you''ll lose the other.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Funny how things turn out," said Senn out loud and just stood there, waiting for the next arrow.


    "Are you so weak that you''ll just wait there for death?" asked the bowman.


    Senn laughed. "You just caught me at the worst possible time."


    "Then I''ll just have to spare you," said the bowman, and slung the bow over his shoulder.


    "What are you doing?"


    The bowman stopped.


    "Oh, are you so eager for me to kill you that you''ll plead? That''s disgusting. Just so you know, I wasn''t even planning on killing you. You were just in my way, acting all threatening. I thought you had gone mad from the dehydration. Well, I''m not convinced you aren''t, really."


    Senn dropped to the ground, tired of pretending to have any strength left Anyway, the man could kill him no matter what he did, and he had seemed to talk himself out of it. Maybe he could even be helpful.


    "I could use some water," he said, staring at the man''s water skin.


    "I bet you could. I could use some, too. Luckily, I know an underground stream that runs not far from here, a little to the west, from whence you just came."


    "I have my heart set on going east. Do you know any water that way?"


    "No. I passed the last sinkhole two days ago. You won''t make it that far without water, old man."


    Senn looked up at the man. He had approached slowly and wasn''t a silhouette anymore, or a shadow. His clothes were dust-colored, not unlike any of Senn''s free men, or the Leashed even. Grey leathers turned filthy vest, brown woolen-woven leather pants, a dark-brown hood and a cloak rolled up to his shoulders and tied in such a way that it became a kind of bag or bedroll. Senn''s clothes seemed rags in contrast. His rich woolen undershirt had been torn just after losing his cuirass, the pants slashed in so many parts that they looked like a many-hemmed skirt. He looked like a recently escaped Leashed, like in the old days of the Bleeding. He laughed again. Just one day was all it took to turn the mighty into the weak, the free man into a Leashed one.


    "So... What are you going to do?" asked the bowman. "I''d rather not waste a good arrow, but if you''re intent on dying here, I could do you a favor and spare you. The vultures like to eat them still writhing, you know..."


    Senn sighed, letting some dust out of his lungs he didn''t even know was there.


    "All right. Let''s go. One step back before going ahead, I guess."


    "Or it seems to be a step back but it''s one ahead. You never know."


    Great. I got myself a thinking man for a travel mate, thought Senn.


    * * *


    The bowman, though, didn''t say anything else the rest of the way. He just stopped at a seemingly random point and dropped to his knees. There was a meandering line of flat bushes running across the plains, spaced out unevenly. The bowman had knelt beside one.


    "What are you doing?" asked Senn.


    "These are not regular bushes feeding on rainwater," said the bowman. "These are growing from the moisture of an underground current that resurfaces somewhere to the south, feeding the Hub''s Well."


    "Have you been here often?"


    "Enough to recognize it. Here. Dig here, two feet down should be enough, and filter the water with your shirt before drinking."


    "Do you have an extra water skin?"


    "No. I''ll fill it after you drink."


    "Just in case I die from poisoning?"


    "There''s no poison in these bushes'' roots that I know of. And I''ve already offered you a swift death. It''s still there in case you fall sick."


    Senn grumbled but saw no other choice. He was parched and he felt lightheaded. The sun in your head all day and no water was a recipe that had felled more men than the whips and chains of the ''Keepers. He dug with his belt buckle and, once the surface was broken, clawed the dirt with his fingers until he found the moist earth below. He dug a little deeper and hurried to pull his tattered kerchief out of his pocket. He had forgotten it was there. Stupid. Always keep the sun out of your brow. He put the piece of cloth over the small hole and managed to filter some water, then drank it before it slipped through the cloth again. He did it over and over again until he felt his stomach grumble. He drank some more just in case and then tied the wet kerchief around his mouth to keep his lips moist for a while. Once the rag was dry, he would tie it over his head to keep the sun from frying his head, but putting something moist over his head would just boil it instead.


    "You know, you won''t get far anyway. We''re too many days away from Lordstown."


    So he''s one of my men. But doesn''t he know me? And why is he out here? ''How do you know I''m going that way?''


    "Where else would you be going?" asked the bowman.


    "You hail from there?"


    "Aye. Are there free men elsewhere that I do not know of?"


    Senn''s suspicions grew at the man''s snark. ''And why are you out here? Were you part of the army?''


    "No. I''m just a free man. I always go where I please. Were you in the army?"


    "Yes. I got... left behind."


    The bowman didn''t seem to believe his explanation but didn''t pry. A free man was used to keeping to himself.


    "I know why I''m going east," said Senn, "But why are you going west?"


    "I''m looking for something."


    "There''s nothing north of the Hub. I don''t believe you would go back to the Hub willingly."


    The bowman looked at him as if gauging how much he should tell. He sighed and stretched his back, letting the hood drop backward, revealing more of his face. He was sun-kissed, with lines crossing his face, not unlike Senn''s. He had to be around his age, too, though it was hard to guess. He had gray eyes and hair that was brownish-red and unruly. He had the face of a soldier, and he carried his bow like one, too. It made no sense for him to be a deserter. There was nowhere to desert to. The Chainkeepers had never tried to bribe or subvert men from the Lord of Greed''s army. They didn''t have reasons for it either, they had always known where Lordstown was since it was founded. They must have known they couldn''t sow dissent among free people when the other choice was their tyranny. At most, they could splinter them, but that would make it more difficult for them to squash them. And most of all, they would never allow a rebel to go free again, even if he served them in any way. Their pride wouldn''t let them.


    So the man couldn''t be a traitor. He had to be a crazy man, one of those who went out into the midlands from time to time, looking for death, knowingly or not.


    "Are you looking for death?"


    Senn''s question made the man laugh. Senn didn''t. He had seen many men give up but not have the courage to kill themselves, instead waiting for an enemy knife or for the dangers of the plains to do them in. For a moment, even if he would deny it now, he had thought likewise.


    "No, I''m looking for something more useful. Power."


    That stirred Senn''s thoughts and made his heartbeat spike.


    "What kind of power is there to be found out here? More power than a bow in your hand, or an army at your back?"


    "You know of what I speak."


    Senn looked at the man intently. Did he know who he was, after all?


    "Power like that of the Sparked," said the man finally, after hearing no reply from Senn.


    "You''re going the wrong way, then. That power comes from our god, back in Lordstown."


    "There are other powers in the world. I''m sure of it."


    "How can you know that?"


    "Because one of them appeared to me and told me to seek him out."


    Senn pondered the words. The crazy man seemed less crazy every minute and his thoughts seemed an echo of his own. Or did that mean he was going mad, too?


    "You mean he appeared to you like our Lord did, back before the Bleeding?"


    "Aye. In-person, but not in the flesh."


    "What did he look like?"


    "It was a fair child with the bluest eyes."


    Damn. Then he hadn''t been crazy or imagined it. He had seen him too, in Lordstown and then during the battle. He hadn''t talked to him, for some reason, but he had talked to this man.


    "Did he tell you to seek him out here? Why?" he asked with impatience.


    The bowman looked away, westward. "That''s between me and him, I guess. I should get going, and you too."


    "I''ve... I''ve seen him too."


    The bowman turned his face toward Senn and studied him.


    "It''s true," said Senn, feeling the need for the other man to believe his words, "I saw him back at Lordstown, in the crowd after... the Herald''s army came back a few weeks ago. And then I saw him during the battle. He was just standing there both times, staring at me."


    "But he didn''t talk to you?"


    "No. I thought it was just a boy when I saw him in Lordstown, but then I saw him on the battlefield and saw him fade away."


    "Aye. He does disappear just like that. I saw him three times, but I talked to him only the last time. Seeing him twice before made me believe in what he had to say once he spoke."


    "And it told you to come here?"


    "To go northwest, and gave pretty specific directions. I still have a long way to go."


    Senn pondered what it all meant. If there were other powers in the world, and the child was one of them, why hadn''t he spoken to him like he had to this lowly bowman? He didn''t appear before the entire army, just him apparently. Why? Just to show him his Lord wasn''t the only God? If this ''god-child'' had spoken to the bowman and not to him, maybe he had chosen a Herald, like the Lord of Greed had done years before when he spoke to Senn before anyone else. But there was something else gnawing at Senn.


    "Why did you say you were looking for power? Did he promise it?"


    "Not in so many words. He said I would find the power I needed to do what I hoped. Does that make sense? I don''t know. But if something otherworldly takes an interest in you, you should at least hear what he has to say, right? That''s what the Lord of Greed''s Herald did, all those years ago, and that turned out rather well, all in all."


    "But you are betraying our god," replied Senn, but hidden in his words was a condemnation, not of the other man, but of himself.


    "No, I''m not. I''m loyal to my fellow free men, and even to the Herald, to some degree. But I never knelt before the All-Eater nor made any vows. He helped us be free, and we gave him power, wasn''t that the bargain? I figure we''re even by now."


    Senn couldn''t help smiling. If the God had been hearing that, he would smash that man like an ant. In his eyes, they would never be even, and Senn, despite his mounting resentment, knew he still owed his Lord a debt that would take the rest of his life to pay. Even if his Lord had forfeited his pay and taken his gifts back.


    His gifts...


    "So you say this ''god-child'' could lead you to a power not unlike what the Sparked, or the Herald himself, have?"


    The bowman looked away, gazing west again.


    "I don''t know. Maybe. What else could he mean?"


    "Not knowing should give you pause."


    "Did you doubt when your God talked to you and told you to go back for your people?"


    So he knew. Maybe from the start, or maybe he pieced it together as I talked too much.


    "No. I didn''t doubt it. Not for a second."


    "Then you understand."


    "Maybe. We''ll see," said Senn, and sighed. "Lead on."

 Chapter 9 - MIRAI

    What have I done?


    Mirai looked back even as he ran forward, tripping over discarded weapons and armor, over the already dead and the dying, always looking back, fearing the crashing wave of men that tried to roll over them. The Chainkeepers had been held back by Senn long enough to give the rest of the Lord''s Army a head start, but it wasn''t nearly enough to let them escape the onslaught. The Chainkeepers were spurring their Leashed ahead, and the terrified men struck down the stragglers or just trampled them. Mirai was in the middle of the main body of the army, which had coalesced again after the initial disarray. A small group had fled earlier, taking the officers'' mounts and the ones from the carts, leaving their supplies behind. Cowards, he thought, but cursed himself at the same time. I''m just as big a coward. I left him to die. The small matter of his betrayal of Senn had nothing to do with it. I should have stayed and helped him. That realization hurt him more than the defeat and the dashing of his hopes to take Senn''s place. It had been a fool''s plot from the start. The Sparked''s ambition had been used against Senn, and no one was sure who had been spurring it. It seemed like they all had the same idea, and by the time it was too late to turn back, they had all been thinking they''d use the opportunity of having Senn out of the game to gain the upper hand on the rest of them. No one was sure who had started it, so no one was to blame now except their foolish ambition. I was right to do it. If I hadn''t, I would have been left behind. They would have betrayed him anyway. He taught me to be like that. Like him.


    Stop it, he thought. You need to get the army back under your control. The rest of the Sparked were gone, or if someone else was alive, he couldn''t feel their presence. No one was using the hunger. So it was up to him. His men were falling behind, losing strength, but the Chainkeepers kept running after them. He had to give them fire in their hearts to go with the fire in their feet. Come on, do it. Don''t be a coward. They''ll follow you if you prove strong. That''s all there is to it. The words echoed in his head, but even if it was his own voice, they were Senn''s words. He found the furnace inside him and blew onto it without missing a step. He pushed that hunger outside, to embrace all the men he could, and into that mist he put only one word.


    RUN.


    The remains of the army pulled closer and started to run without stumbling, thinking not of the enemy behind but of the home ahead. Their enemies might be stronger, but they would tire. Mirai''s men would run until their knees turned to dust if he willed them to and they found it within themselves to follow. The day turned into night, and still they ran, even when they couldn''t see ahead. The plains would not impede them, and they kept going. Their enemies lit no torches, so Mirai couldn''t tell how far away they were. So he didn''t dare stop. They ran well into the noon of the next day, and only then, glancing back to help a boy who had tripped with one of the blood roots, did he stop. There was nothing to be seen except the endless plains. No enemies behind them for as far as he could see. He extinguished his hunger, and he felt his stomach sink like it had been hit with a sack full of grain. His muscles shook without control, and so did those of the men around him. They looked pale and glistened with caked sweat and dust.


    You ran, said the voice that used Senn''s words, but you didn''t run away. He realized he hadn''t even thought of using his speed all along. He could have been halfway back to Lordstown already if he had run in spurts. But he would have arrived alone and defeated, and what good would that have done him? Leaving as a conqueror and a conspirator and returning whipped and broken, without even half an army? Even if there were no more Sparked left, the town would eat him up. Or his God would.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    He shuddered when he thought of the All-Eater learning of their defeat and the loss of his Herald. Even if he knew or found out about the Sparked''s betrayal of Senn, he would have seen it as a good thing. What could be better than his men fighting amongst themselves for supremacy? But even as he thought of it, he started doubting his logic. The Lord of Greed spurred competition and lived off the hunger for power. But would he take that over the loss of half the army, the army he had raised with much care and invested so much time to use as a tool of his own greed, to use them against the Forever King? Ideals would bow to reality, and the All-Eater would have Mirai''s head as an appetizer if and when he found out about it. He could only hope some other Sparked fool got to Lordstown before he did and could bear the brunt of the punishment, leaving to Mirai the sweet gratitude of the God for saving what was left of his army. That was the plan forming in his mind and being turned into words to please the God''s ears.


    He instructed the men to keep walking, and some did, but most fell to their knees or on their backs. If they slept now, they would never run again, even if the Chainkeepers weren''t still in pursuit. Their muscles would tighten and tear. He had to keep them moving.


    "Come on, you losers! Barely unleashed scum! Are you Husks, or men? You can wait for death in Lordstown if you want to, for your God will pursue anyone that fails to get back. He''ll come for you in the desert and eat you bone by bone. You''re not your own to let die. You''re his property, you may be free men because of him, but you''re his in the end. Get up!"


    Some of the men refused to get up, or couldn''t. But most of them got up, surprising even Mirai. There were a few from his squad, and they reacted first to his tirade, and once a few men rose, it was hard for men used to following orders since their first memories to resist. He got them going, kicking a few in the back to help them get rolling, and lifted a man by his outstretched arm.


    "I can''t," said the man, a little older than Senn, a thin man with thinning hair. "I can''t walk even if the God comes for me," he said, choking on spit. He looked to the side, away from the Sun and Mirai''s even hotter gaze. "Maybe he''ll carry me."


    "He won''t carry anyone. He''ll curse you for your weakness. Who carried you out of the Hub? You did. Who made you a man? You did. They just set you free. You owe th..." He stopped. He was talking of Senn in the same way as of the Lord of Greed. "You owe Him a lot. You owe him your life, and you''re giving it back to him now."


    "You can''t make me. What are you going to do? Kill me? Do it, please. I''d rather have that than walk another step."


    "What''s your name?"


    "Why do you care?" asked the man, looking at Mirai out of the corner of his eye.


    "So I can curse you from here to Lordstown for holding me back," said Mirai as he lifted the man and put one of his arms under his. He rose unsteadily and took a few steps, kicking the other man''s feet to make him move.


    "Stop it," said the man.


    "What''s your name?"


    "..."


    "What''s your name?"


    "They call me Root."


    "How creative of them, whomever they are. Now, Root, try to move faster than your namesake, or I''ll start running the other way and give you to the Chainkeepers."


    Root''s feet started to move on their own. But what surprised Mirai was that a few of his men, just a handful, did as he had done and pulled one of the fallen men upright. The ones who didn''t looked at him askance, as if they were the God himself, judging him for letting the weak thrive. Let him judge us when we give him his men back. This is not weakness. This is salvage.

 Chapter 10 - SENN

    "You said we would reach the mountain by nightfall."


    "What do I know?" said the bowman. "Do you see a map around here? Am I counting every step and measuring it against shadows in the ground?"


    Senn had to bite his tongue to avoid slapping the man or reaching for the knife that hung from the man''s belt. At night, he not only hungered for food and drink. The knife''s blade gleamed just enough in the moonlight for him to want it. He wasn''t sure if he would slash the man''s throat if he got hold of it. Perhaps. The idea was lodged in his head along with the need to feel a weapon between his fingers. He had found a couple of bones half-buried in the dust, and a small black rock of the kind that peppered the midlands as if a great rain of stones had fallen and the wind had scattered them. He spent the evenings next to the bushfires, hacking away at the bones with the pointed rock. By the fourth night, he had fashioned four arrowheads. They weren''t specially weighted like those he normally used in battle, more balanced than an actual arrowhead. It would probably be nothing more than a nuisance to an attacker. Without his speed, he couldn''t throw fast enough to pierce the skin. He tried it on the fifth day, against one of the burrowing lizards, but its hide was too tough and it was too fast altogether. The bone arrowhead had bounced off its scales like water off a leather coat.


    They were on an upward slope that led to the mountains. Senn had never paid that much attention to them since none that dared venture away from the midlands had returned. Some said there were perils there, great beasts that fed on them. Others said that if no one came back it had to be because life on the other side of the mountains was better, and why would they bother to go back at all? But Senn hadn''t even speculated about it. His life had been a struggle, he didn''t need to think of any more dangers or hope for otherworldly lands of plenty. If no one had come back, the cold or the heat or both had probably killed them.


    The night was already falling, and they had stopped for a rest. The sky was purple and pink, and flaming tongues of heat licked the tops of the mountains. The nearer mountains were bare, but way beyond them there were white-capped peaks that stood even taller. The tales of the hovels said the whiteness that covered them were the remains of dead clouds, those that would no longer move. As they came closer every day, he wondered if their journey would take them that far and if he could learn the truth about the mountains. He had even stopped worrying about what was happening with his army, with Lordstown, the lot of it. Strange how the important things become less so when you''re licking the moisture off rocks and covering yourself in thorny bushes by night to keep the cold away. In a sense, he felt like he had when he first left the Hub. Helpless but powerful. In the Hub, he had only been helpless. As the Herald, he had only been powerful. It was a strange combination to be both at the same time.


    "I don''t get how you''ll know when we''re there, or if we''re going off-mark," said Senn.


    "You whine like a Leashed man, Herald."


    Senn lunged at him, holding the arrowheads between his knuckles like impromptu claws. The bowman just sidestepped him, and Senn tripped and fell on his knees.


    "And you''ve been relying on your speed too much. No wonder you''re aching for this power I told you about."


    Senn panted and growled something.


    "You''re liking this, aren''t you? You''ve always been nothing at all, and now you''re the one with the knowledge and the weapons and the vigor, and I''m like this."


    "No, I don''t like it," said the bowman. "But I think it''s good for you to be reminded that you were just blessed by a God, not anointed one yourself."


    "I never entertained those thoughts. And if I had, my Lord would have had me flayed. He likes greed in others, but he''s selfish and doesn''t share what is his."


    "He thinks the whole world is his. He made you believe he''s the only God out there."


    "He is. I''ve seen nothing but ghosts and tricks of the eye to think otherwise."


    "The Lord of Greed was just a ''ghost'' when you first met him, too."


    "He hadn''t breached the Barrier yet, he hadn''t been incarnated. But I knew I stood before something greater than me."


    "So you''d know it if you saw something like that again?"


    "Yes."


    The bowman chuckled.


    "Then maybe it''s you who will know when we are close to our destination," said the bowman.


    "You''ve seen the ''god-child'' too. You said you felt its power."


    "Not exactly. I knew it was no ghost like those that are talked about in hushed tones in the hovels. It''s something else, and I believe it was a God. But we won''t know until we find where he''s leading us."


    "Let''s hope your ''hunch'' is correct. For all we know, our people are being slaughtered by the Chainkeepers as we speak or fighting among themselves until they''re easy pickings. If we''re wrong and this leads us nowhere..."


    "What? You''ll kill me? You chose this yourself, you gambled on me being right. If I''m a crazy man, it''s your fault for following me."


    Senn grumbled something.


    "Are you so used to having things go your way that you can''t bear not being in control?" asked the bowman.


    Senn sat on the ground, looked at the sun disappearing, and started tearing branches off a nearby bush to make kindling. When he spoke, his tone had changed from outraged and tense to quiet and grave.


    "You don''t know me. You don''t know the things I''ve had to do, what I''ve sacrificed. You don''t know me, archer. You should be more grateful. You''re a free man because of what I started."


    The bowman sat down and raised his hood to cover his ears from the cold that was already spreading.


    "I am. But you''re just a man. You didn''t change things yourself. It took others. I bled, too, just as much. You don''t know me, either."


    Senn didn''t answer, but his head moved slowly up and down while he finished making a bed of twigs for the rest of the bush. He grabbed two of the black pebbles he had gathered and struck them together over the dry twigs. It took no more than a few tries to have a weak spark light up a dried flower on one of the twigs. Senn blew softly on the spark and by the time the stars had overcome the sun''s brightness, the fire was steadied. The bowman got closer to the fire and warmed his hands.


    "You never told me your name," said Senn.


    "You never told me yours either."


    "But you guessed it."


    "Aye. But I have no name to give."


    "That can''t be."


    "I was never named. No one bothered. You need a relative or someone in a hovel who cares enough to name you. I was always ''boy'' or ''man'' or the number on my chain. I remember it still. But since I became a free man, people call me by my occupation. Hunter."


    "Hunter of what? Lizards and scrawny birds?"


    "Keeps me fed, and I''ve managed to feed others too. Don''t attempt to slight me. I''m at peace with what I am. Can you say the same?"


    "I''m getting tired of you."


    "You''ve made that point already. But you are coming with me anyway, right?"


    "Until I find out if you''re mad or we get to where we''re going. But if you are mad, I''ll kill you for wasting my time and putting my men at risk by dragging me into this."


    "Then let''s hope I''m not mad, for both our sakes."


    * * *


    Soon after dawn came the clouds, obscuring the sun but providing little relief from the heat. The moisture in the air increased as they began to climb the gentle slope of the nearest mountain. There were no trails that could be seen, and little hope there was one. Getting to the other side of the rim of the mountains -as the bowman said they needed to- would be hard, and Senn''s feet hurt. His boots had turned into a few straps clinging to thin and battered soles, and his blisters seemed to have blisters of their own. He hadn''t walked that much in years, relying on his canid every time he had to get across Lordstown or out of town. The bowman, in contrast, had boots that showed wear but seemed infinitely more comfortable than his.


    "Hey," he said after a particularly rough patch of terrain. "Give me your boots."


    The bowman stopped and looked back at Senn panting behind him.


    "No."Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Senn lunged forward to grab the man''s ankles, but the bowman jumped to the side and managed to avoid him.


    "Stop it," he said.


    "I need those," said Senn while struggling to get up.


    "You need to shut up and walk. Be a man."


    Senn''s face turned red, but it was more anger than shame that had driven the blood to his face. He got up and walked toward the bowman, stopping barely a feet away from his face. He held the bone arrowheads between his fingers. The bowman put his hand on his belt knife. Senn moved forward abruptly, sidestepping the other man, and starting up the mountain again. The man who called himself Hunter let his hands drop and followed Senn up the slope.


    "Be glad that your men can''t see you now," said Hunter.


    Senn didn''t even look back when he replied, and his voice was barely above a whisper.


    "The Sparked would have killed me already. And I''d be ashamed of the rest of my army if they didn''t try to do the same."


    "Aren''t you always talking about how much we owe you?" asked the bowman.


    "Greed is greed. You should have done the same. But you have no spine."


    "Oh, I have a spine. It''s just that you''re not worth the arrow."


    Senn chuckled. "You have a knife, too."


    "Aye, but I''m not that good with it. You''d turn it against me."


    "You can try. I''m weak enough."


    "Stop it and shut up. Keep walking."


    They eventually reached a small plateau in their ascent. Ahead of them, the mountains dominated the landscape completely. The brown hues of the plains had given way to darker shades of grey and black mottled with the muted dark red flowers of the bushes on the slopes. It was a surprising sight for someone who had never gotten that close to them, and a sudden change from the sights of his entire life. What else is there beyond the world I knew? For the next hundred steps, Senn didn''t even need to remind himself to put one foot ahead of the other. What if the men who had disappeared beyond the mountains were right, and they had found a new life there? Stop it, you cowardly fool. Your life, or the ruins of it, is back there. Ahead there are only mirages. But the pull was strong.


    "We''ll have to find a way that''s closer to the ground," said Hunter. "There has to be a pass or corridor between these hills. The slopes are too steep to keep climbing."


    They circled the mountain directly in front of them, moving west and north while scanning the ground for an easier way up.


    "Are you sure it''s this way?" asked Senn.


    "No. But we have to get through somehow, so keep looking."


    Senn stopped and sat down.


    "What are you doing?" asked Hunter. "Get up."


    "I''m doing two things at once," said Senn. "Resting, and finding out how to get up there. See? Look."


    The bowman stood still and looked in the same direction as Senn. On the next slope, a skinny goat was coming down their way. It skidded the last few feet and moved on to the slope they were studying. The goat jumped and steadied itself on the black slope. Then it ascended slowly but surely on an unseen trail.


    "Come on," said Senn finally. "Let''s follow it."


    They got up and went after it, keeping their distance. They were downwind, so it wouldn''t catch a whiff of them, but they had to be cautious anyway, otherwise the goat would bolt. The first steps were harder, but once they steadied themselves on the grainy slope, they felt the goat trail under their feet. The soil didn''t break under their feet, stamped as it was by what was probably years of pasturing. If they strayed just a few feet away, the soil crumbled and they struggled to regain their footing.


    "Don''t lose sight of it," said Hunter. "Or we''re in trouble."


    When Senn looked back, he could almost see the trail. The deviations where they had strayed marked the contours of the goat trail, though he wasn''t sure he could find it again on the way back. Thinking ahead. Focus on your steps or you''ll roll down the mountain.


    It took them until noon to get halfway up the mountain, and it was a laborious trek. They sat panting under the partial shade of a boulder. It had to have fallen from up above in recent times, as there was a skid trail of gray dust that led through the black expanse up to the summit. It wasn''t likely, but if a rock like that fell on them... there were risks in the mountains they hadn''t thought of. He could break an ankle and be left there for the vultures. Senn looked up from his swollen and blistered feet and gazed at the seemingly unending mountains. They were already standing higher than Senn had ever been, and even though the next mountains obstructed his sight, the black landscape beyond scared him in a way the plains never had. He looked back at the midlands and saw them as if it was the first time. As a god would, though he certainly didn''t feel like one now.


    "How much farther do you think we''ll have to go until you find the ''sign'' you''re looking for?" asked Senn.


    "Full of questions you can''t stand not having the answer to, aren''t you?" said Hunter.


    "You should worry too. We don''t know exactly where we''re going, and there could be anything this side of the mountains."


    "You mean, like the giants they used to talk about in the hovels? Hah! I''d like to see one of them."


    "You''re a crazy son of a whore."


    "Probably. I told you I don''t remember meeting my parents. A whore is a good bet, though I tend to judge women less harshly than you seem to. Life in the Hub was hard, and even when not being forced night after night, I saw a lot of women find their only solace in between a man''s legs. Mothers whose children had been taken from them... they either withered and died or gained strength from someone or somewhere else."


    "And you never took advantage? A ''hunter'' like you?" asked Senn.


    "Men need solace too. When I did it, it was truthful. But love is harder to find than a bunkmate, right?".


    Senn didn''t reply. A cloud that was moving west was about to pass over them.


    "We should get going," he said. "Let''s use whatever respite from the sun we can get."


    He got up and the Hunter followed.


    * * *


    Food was even scarcer than in the plains. The roots Senn had found and the lizards Hunter had caught before were nowhere to be found. The red bushes that grew on the slopes had only those red flowers that the goat ate, but nothing else. So they ended up killing the poor goat that had led them all the way through the first mountain''s unseen trail. They had to chase it halfway down the mountain again, but Senn managed to catch it and dropped a rock on its head.


    "Thank the Lord for his gifts," he said without thinking, as he had done many times before. The thing was, he wasn''t sure whom he was thanking, his Lord of Greed, or Hunter''s godchild.


    "A gift, indeed, given twice. Once to lead, twice to survive," said Hunter, and bowed.


    "You weren''t so full of faith before," said Senn.


    "I was. Why else would I be walking around here half-starved? I have faith, but it''s easier to be full of it when you actually get a good roll of the dice once in a while."


    They rested at dusk over a black boulder that looked like a bowl. Senn gathered a branches from a nearby bush and after a while managed to light a fire. He skinned and staked the goat, putting the meat over the fire and smoking the leather. He could fashion it into new soles for his ragged boots if given enough time.


    "You''ve finally remembered your outlaw days," said Hunter.


    "It comes easier now, with no one around to serve."


    "Free men do not serve."


    "Why, aren''t you ignorant... a lot of ''free men'' were all too eager to get under someone''s thumb again. That''s why there are so many soldiers in my army and rich men in Lordstown. It''s just that there''s quite a difference between serving others out of your own free will than with a Leash. There''s no shame in that, as you like to say. I stopped serving the King and started serving the Lord of Greed. I''ve served all my life."


    "Hah! Then I''m a freer man than you," said Hunter with a grin.


    "And is that a good thing? You''re free from constraints, but also free of responsibility to others. You speak highly of our ''free men'', but I''ve done more to help them by serving, as they do every day too, than you."


    "You seem to have recovered your spirit along with your previous ways."


    "I never lost anything," said Senn, burning the other man with his gaze. "I''ve had two moments of weakness, half my life apart! Will I have to measure everything by those few moments, and judge my entire life as a failure because my knees have buckled once or twice? Go shove a Chainkeepers'' hook up your ass if you think that."


    The Hunter stared at the goat roasting over the fire. Senn looked at it too, and then shuffled closer and moved the sticks that held the carcass up, to distribute the heat evenly on its surface.


    "Good deeds aren''t often repaid, are they?" asked Hunter, nodding in the direction of the dead goat.


    "He didn''t know he was doing us a kindness," said Senn. "It doesn''t count."


    "It counts if you''re the goat, I guess."


    Senn smiled, in spite of himself, and the Hunter chuckled.


    "What kind of power are you hoping to get?" asked Senn abruptly.


    The Hunter crossed his arms and leaned back.


    "I don''t know. Something useful, I guess. Something like the gifts of the Sparked."


    "And what would you use them for?" asked Senn.


    "Are you worried about what I could do? One lowly, lonely free man?"


    "What will you use them for?"


    The hunter''s smile wore off, and he leaned forward, arms still crossed but no longer joking.


    "For whatever I will."


    Senn tensed and looked at the hunter again. A sudden thought came into his mind. Be more careful with this man. He has killed, and not only for food. But as soon as it came, he waved it away. He wasn''t about to be afraid of anyone, not even without his powers. Even if he could kill him with ease while he slept or walked in front of him. He averted his gaze and grabbed a piece of meat to taste it.


    "Fair enough. I guess we''ll find out when we find out," he said before putting the piece of meat in his mouth and chewing.


    "I know what you''ll do," said Hunter. "And I''m not going to stop you even knowing it."


    "Why would you wish to stop me? I''m going to help our people."


    "Your way of helping might differ from mine."


    "So now you''re going to tell me how you would have done things differently?" asked Senn with a smirk back on his face.


    "No. What''s done is done, ain''t no point discussing what-ifs and whatnots. But from now on, I would do things differently, that''s all. Why wouldn''t you? This could be a second chance for you."


    "How would you fight tyrants ''differently''?" asked Senn. "How would you keep your people safe otherwise? How would you keep everyone mostly off each other''s throats doing things another way?"


    "I don''t know. I''d look for a way," said Hunter with a shrug.


    "Hah! Keep looking. Do you think I wouldn''t have made things even better by now if I could have? That I wouldn''t have freed all of the Leashed men and women and children?"


    "So why didn''t you?"


    "Because it would have made no difference, and we would''ve lost all our ''free men'' attempting it. You must remember being a Leashed one. But at some point, you started believing you could be free. We''re the chosen ones of our Lord. The other three-quarters of the Leashed never believed it. Never dared to. I tried to drag people out of a burning hovel during one of our raids. I grabbed a woman by her hair and told her to get out. I put her on a cart and turned back to the hovel. The woman ran back to the burning building out of fear. She feared the Chainkeepers more than she feared her imminent death. How do you fight that? Tell me. Tell me, please. Teach me how you force people to change their minds."


    Hunter looked down at his hands.


    "There have to be ways to do it."


    "Then find them for me. I''m too tired to bump against the same stones on the road."


    "Then..."


    "Oh, shut up and eat," said Senn while grabbing another piece of meat.


    The stars started to appear. They were easier to see from the mountain and seemed to exert more influence over the world below.


    "Do you remember?" asked Hunter. "What they used to say about the stars?"


    "Yeah. But people told different stories."


    "Most of them were pretty much the same."


    "That they''re eyes from above. Yeah, I remember."


    "That the sun watches all day and..."


    "The stars watch at night, so we can sleep but not escape their sight."


    Hunter laughed. "Old women''s tales! But why did they think that? Did they start to suspect there was a God watching over them?"


    "They must have been thinking of another God. The Lord of Greed isn''t all-knowing, and I don''t think he has anything to do with the stars or the sun."


    "Still, it makes me wonder..."


    "What?" asked Senn.


    "Why didn''t they have hope when they saw a star shooting down or disappearing? It would mean even those eyes could be blinded somehow."


    Senn sat back and ate, looking at the stars. It was quickly becoming dark, and under the starlight, he saw something, too low in the distance to be a star, too bright to be a fire.


    "What is that?" he asked.


    "That, lord Herald..." said Hunter, leaning forward to better see where Senn was pointing. "That is our sign."

 Chapter 11 - BRAND

    Brand felt the air snap with the sound of the whip coiling backward, and that alerted him enough to roll to one side without looking to see where the blow was coming from. He was in training, of a different sort than the usual ''keeper games. He was being tested for fighting attitude. It was a double-edged axe. If he showed too much spirit, he would be beaten hard. If he didn''t show enough, he would still be beaten, but also forced to study harder, and Brand didn''t like studying at all. He didn''t know why they wanted him to learn things that didn''t have any bearing on the world outside. At least, fighting was useful. Fighting, he knew about.


    The elder children''s nighttime whispers told of these tests. They would run them again and again, until almost all of them showed some fighting spirit, and then they would train them harder at it. Only those too infirm or cowardly but smart enough would be kept in training for other purposes. Not all future Chainkeepers would be guards or warriors, a good amount of them would be grain counters and Leashed birthers or farming heads. Those too stupid and weak would be sent back to the Hub, though a few would maybe be kept as servants in the castle. There was nothing under the sun that couldn''t be used one way or another, as one of his mentors liked to say.


    The man with the whip was behind him. Brand''s roll had been lucky: he had rolled against the blow, so the whip had passed above him and he was now on the whipman''s weak side. The man would have to turn, step back, then raise his whip and strike again. That was too many moves. Brand could attack in just one move. He raised his arm upward, aiming for the man''s armpit. He struck without thinking of the repercussions, of the beating he would get later for showing ''too much'' resistance, but mostly, he forgot of the second whipman, the one who he had been trying to avoid when he rolled to escape the sneak attack of the man he was about to hit. But his fist didn''t strike the flesh, for the other whip caught him across the legs and curled around him, dragging him to the ground. He smiled. It was the perfect result: attack, but not harm, be attacked, but not be harmed. The sweet spot.


    But the man in front of him didn''t seem to think so and kicked him in the face.


    Blood spurted from his nose and he fell back, hitting his head against the ground. His sight was wobbly, but he could see his mentor standing to one side, looking at him with no emotion in his vacant eyes or stone-gray face. The man just watched as he was whipped across the stomach, and only when he rolled on the ground to protect his stomach from the whip and his back from the kicks did the man do something. He coughed a little.


    The men hitting him stopped. A beating was okay, some blood and a broken bone acceptable. But if they weren''t contained, they could kill him. It was more common than unheard of. They weren''t full Chainkeepers. They were rejects, too stupid or not strong enough to be mentors or guards, and too violent to be a servant again. The sewage of the training process.


    Down on the polished-rock ground, on all fours and bleeding from the nose, Brand heard the strange voice that had spoken to him in the corridor weeks before. Don''t resist. Make them think you''re weak. Bury that ember deep, make it so it doesn''t shine through your eyes. But you know it. You are free, no matter what they do to you. They can''t own all of you.


    It couldn''t be coming from anyone around him, and he glanced both ways to see if he was the only one who could hear it. No one else seemed to have heard it. What is this? Why am I hearing it? He remembered seeing an old man years ago, a castle servant, who fell into odd dreams in the middle of the day. He spent one out of ten days in that reverie, and no amount of whipping could snap him out of it. When he eventually came to, the ''keepers hanged him from the ceiling for one full day. So the poor man was useless and wretched and spent the other days bemoaning his luck, blaming the spirits of the Leashed dead. One time, Brand had seen him as he was waking up from his fugue state, and he heard the words the man was uttering, in a low, humming voice. He could still recall the words: I can''t do it. I''m not your man.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Will I become like him? A crazed old man speaking to imaginary voices?


    He got up and relaxed his muscles. Even though he didn''t know why, he did as the voice counseled. He buried everything where no one could find it and showed his torturers the same kind of face his mentor showed. Emotionless, dry, resilient. The face of a man who knew his place. He let his nose keep bleeding on his shirt. It would stop eventually. He savored the metallic taste of it on his upper lip, and a thought overcame him. He imagined it was another''s blood he tasted, a mingling of the whipman''s blood mixing with his as he stabbed the man in the neck. He grabbed that thought and buried it too, and none of the men who watched him suspected the crime he had cherished.


    The voice is right, he thought, whatever or whomever it is. They can''t take anything away anymore.


    One of the whipmen pushed him down the hall to the line of children waiting for their chance to be beaten mercilessly for one reason or another. Even when you were done, you still had to stay and watch. A lesson is learned when inscribed on the flesh, his mentor frequently said, but it''s reinforced and taken as law when witnessed enough times. So it wasn''t enough to be beaten, you had to be beaten over and over again in your mind, reliving the blows as you saw the other kids being beaten. So the only way to endure it was to not care about the person standing next to you. The cruelty was like the water that fell on the small creek in the courtyard: a steady trickle, not enough to drown yourself in it, but enough so you couldn''t ignore it, the dripping a constant reminder that evil, like water, flowed endlessly from multiple sources, and it inevitably ended up pouring on you.


    The boy next to him was also beaten hard, the next one, not so much. Even the whipmen had tired of beating him, it was a small, cowardly boy who put up his arms to protect his face at the slightest provocation. He would make a fine, cowardly mentor, or a regular, hunched Leashed servant. Brand couldn''t help thinking. The voice can''t be speaking to them too. They would listen to it as I did, and they would hide their pain deeper. So I''m the only one who hears it. The question is, why me, out of all? Brand couldn''t see why anyone would care about him specifically. He wasn''t stronger or brighter or better than any of the other boys. He had never risen above or fallen far below the rest. He remembered nothing that could make his life special. He didn''t remember anything beyond the castle walls. He couldn''t remember what had brought him to the world. He knew from the mentors that he must have had a mother and a progenitor, but that was theoretical to him. His only memory was the searing pain from the brand that had given him his only name. Maybe that was it. Maybe Rill was right, and he was marked for something greater. Maybe everyone knew except the mentors and the whipmen, and they were keeping him from something that was his, a gift of transcendence.


    Don''t be stupid, said the voice again. You''re not special, at least not yet, and it won''t be because someone else made you that way. It will be because of what you do.


    That night, when he went to bed, he dreamt of things he had never seen or imagined before: an endless plain covered in green, a tree that grew to the heavens, and people milling about with no one watching over them. Things he had never dared to wish for when awake. And the most marvelous part of the dream was that no one in it had a torque around their necks.

 Chapter 12 - SENN

    Senn woke up when the sunlight''s warmth kissed his cheek. As he regained consciousness, with it came the feeling of chills in his body. He opened one eye. The fire had died out at some point, even though Hunter was supposed to keep it lit. Senn had taken the first watch and then the other man was supposed to be up. He looked around but didn''t see his companion. He sat up with difficulty. His bones felt creaky and the muscles that surrounded them ached. He had spent all the previous nights out in the open, but the cold in the mountains was much worse than in the plains. He reached out to the goat skin by the fire, where they had saved the remaining food, and grabbed a bite. He rose, extending his legs and feeling the stiffness in them. He looked around again, up the mountain and down, but saw no trace of the other man. Maybe he''s hunting, or taking a piss.


    The other option would be that the man had left him there, but Senn found it highly unlikely. Why would he lead him there only to abandon him? It made no sense. Still, he looked ahead toward the place where they had seen the light the night before. It was difficult to make out the exact place because of the difficulty in judging distances at night, with almost no references. But it had to have been in the next mountain westward. If it was any further, it would have been too far away for a light to be visible from where they had been sitting. He was almost sure of it. Still, he decided to wait. Hunter could confirm what they had seen, and the direction.


    By noon, the bowman was still absent. Why am I waiting? He could have been eaten by... something. I don''t need him to go on. But his words rang hollow. He was following the other man''s lead, as much as it hurt his pride to admit it. What if the sign they had seen the previous night was for his companion, and wouldn''t appear to him on his own? Maybe the hunter had gone ahead, afraid to share a newfound power with him. He might have never intended to share it with him. But then, why bring him along? He could have shot that arrow into his chest days before with little effort.


    He had to make a decision. Night would fall again, and if Hunter had been killed by some kind of beast, Senn needed to get away and find a new place to hide before nightfall. If he had been otherwise delayed, the bowman would eventually find his way to where Senn was going. He had to remember the light as Senn did. And if he had gone on ahead without him... then Senn would strangle the man, bow or no bow.


    He had to go halfway down the mountain before reaching a crag that connected to the next mountain, and then climb for a while before reaching a kind of staggered plateau. He kept looking up, searching for another goat trail or at least a path that wasn''t so sheer or covered in black dust. He had to watch his step as whole sections came sliding down if he set his weight on false rocks, little more than accrued grains of sand that fell away at the slightest contact. He rested for a while and ate a bit of dried goat. He chewed it trying to get some moisture into his mouth, but there was no use. He saw no water anywhere, no creek or anything that betrayed the presence of water in the area. He tried not to think about it. He had gone on without food lots of times, but he knew thirst was something you couldn''t ignore for long.


    Without a better option, he headed to a section of the mountain that was covered in bushes. At least that indicated that the soil below could hold some weight. He started climbing by grabbing the roots of the bushes, going from one to the next. He slipped and fell twice, and had to regain his lost footing and the distance he had gained. His hands started bleeding. The roots had some kind of hooks that sank into the ground, and he tore his skin multiple times. Still, he went ahead. He saw no other choice now. As the sun started the last leg of its daily journey, he reached a small plateau, a place where part of the mountain had collapsed and created a depression. He rested there, trying not to focus on his bleeding hands and shaky legs.


    "It''s an awful climb, I know."


    The voice startled him, and he sat up awkwardly, trying to grab one of his bone arrowheads at the same time, and dropping it down the mountainside. He looked up and saw a man standing on a rock nearby. He was tall and lean, with a bald head and dark skin, darker than even the worst sunburned man. He was also completely naked and bore no weapons. Senn stood straighter and dropped his guard somewhat. He''s even less dangerous than me.


    "You startled me. It''s a bad idea to startle a man,"he said.


    "I''m sorry," said the naked stranger. "I''m not used to having visitors. It''s been... an eternity, truly."


    "Visitors? You mean you live here? Then why are your balls bouncing around with no clothes to tuck them in?"


    "Ah. I forget about those things. It''s not necessary when you''re not around people often."


    "Must get chilly at night."


    "I wouldn''t know."


    Senn eyed him with increasing suspicion at each of the man''s replies.


    "I saw a... light, or fire, last night. It came from somewhere near this place, I guess."


    "Yes. I don''t normally light one, but something told me I should this time."


    "So you have a home up here?"


    "I wouldn''t call it home. It''s just a place to wait."


    "Wait for what?"


    "Ah. That is the whole of the matter, isn''t it? Come, let''s talk. There''s some water in a pool nearby, you can clean yourself there."


    Senn followed the dark-skinned man warily. They turned a corner and ascended a short flight of steps Senn hadn''t seen from below. They were roughly cut out of the black rock as if hit by a shovel or pike without much care, and the steps were of uneven height. They climbed that way until they reached another plateau, and there was a small pool there in the ground, filled with what had to be rainwater. The man motioned to Senn to get into the pool, and sat on his haunches nearby, but far enough to give him some small amount of privacy. Senn looked at the clearwater pool and caved. He got out of his rags and stretched his bare toes over the black sand. He grabbed the pool''s edge and lowered himself onto it slowly. The pool was deep, at least waist high, and he could spread his arms and barely touch the edges. It was cold in the deeper part, but the sun had heated the surface somewhat. Senn relaxed for the first time since he had left Lordstown, and let all his thoughts sink into the water and disappear in the deep until there was nothing in his mind but the feeling of numbness the cold water brought him.


    "My lord," he muttered, not realizing his heresy.


    "Have you missed the small pleasures, mister wanderer?"


    Senn turned his neck toward the other man, who talked with something in his mouth. He was chewing something distractedly. Senn sighed. His calmness wasn''t bound to last.


    "I''ve missed them, yes. It''s been weeks since I''ve had a bath."


    "And you''re an important man, yes? An important man who can''t even bathe? Rainwater is free. I don''t have anything, but even I am entitled to a bath every morning."


    "What can I tell you?'' Senn grumbled. ''Do you bring many people here and lecture them about cleanliness?"


    "No. I just wonder about things sometimes. I have a lot of time to do so."


    "You said you were waiting for something."


    "Ah. Yes."


    "And what is it?"


    "I don''t know."


    "So how will you know when you come across it?"


    "I don''t know. I suppose I''ll know when I see it. I''ve seen many things in my life. I guess it has to be something that will catch my attention."


    "How long have you been here?"


    "I don''t know that either. But it was a different world beyond the mountains when I first sat here to wait."


    "What do you mean?"


    "That it was a long time ago."


    "You aren''t older than me."


    "Oh, I''m not what I seem, I assure you."


    Senn felt unusually calm around this stranger. Maybe it was the water or the realization that he feared nothing from the man. He hadn''t been afraid of the Hunter, either. Maybe he was past all kinds of fear.


    "Have you seen another man walking toward this mountain?" he asked. "I was with a... companion, and he disappeared before dawn. I fear it was a predator."


    "What was your friend like?"


    "Have you seen so many men around here this day that you need to ask that?"If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    "No," said the man calmly. He didn''t seem to mind Senn''s sarcasm or notice his tone at all. "But knowing what he was like may tell me what befell him."


    Senn gathered his thoughts before speaking.


    "I don''t know him very well. He''s a hunter I met on the road, and he comes from the same place as me."


    "And you had never met him before?"


    "No."


    "Did anyone else come along with you?"


    "No."


    The dark man smiled, and then his grin broadened until he erupted in laughter.


    "Why do you laugh? I haven''t said anything for you to mock me."


    "I''m sorry. I''m used to laughing alone. I forgot some people could take offense erroneously."


    "That doesn''t answer my question," said Senn. His calmness was beginning to evaporate.


    "I was reminded of a thing that happened to me a long time ago. I met a stranger on a lonely road that led nowhere. I was tired and naked, not much different from what I am now, I guess. I had survived a terrible ordeal and thought the world was done with me, and I was done with it. I was looking for a place to die, and I couldn''t even find that. I''m ashamed of it now, but if I had found a knife, or even a sharp enough rock, I would have cut my veins and let the red paint the land. But then I found him. I still think of him as a man, but it''s just a convention that says more about me than about him... her, it, whatever it may be. But he spoke, let''s say, and his words were like a balm that enveloped me and made me forget every one of my aches and sorrows. And I had many, more than enough for two lifetimes. But even so... I still can''t put it into words easily. But I think you understand, don''t you? This has happened to you before, yes?"


    Senn turned his head toward the man again, and the naked stranger turned and looked into his eyes.


    "You know of what I speak, don''t deny it. You''ve found your god."


    "Yes, I did. A long time ago. I was... lost, too."


    "And then something happened. Because you look like a man in doubt. Have you lost your belief, then?"


    "No. I... something did happen. But it was my fault. I was weak, and my Lord doesn''t abide weakness."


    "I know. Even though he''s full of weaknesses, he can''t stand them in others."


    "Why do you say that? How can you claim to know him?"


    "Oh..." said the man, getting up and starting to walk toward Senn in a deliberate, slow way. "I know all of them. I know them by name, I''ve seen their face, I''ve heard their voice, felt their touch on my mind. I''m the only one alive who knows them, and who can claim to have withstood them."


    Senn raised himself above the water and started to climb out.


    "You speak madness. Stop! Don''t get any closer."


    The dark-skinned man shrugged at Senn''s warning.


    "I meant nothing by it. Just wanted to be sure you heard me. I know your ''god'', your Lord of Greed. I know him and can sense his taint on you as easily as I can feel the ground beneath me. I felt the others, too. The ones you know, and those you haven''t met." He gazed into Senn''s eyes before going on. "You''re not stupid. When you''ve felt the touch of one of them, you''re able to recognize them on some level. You''ve seen others and started to doubt. Then your ''god'' abandoned you, didn''t he? It was bound to happen, as soon as you started entertaining others, or became subject to the others'' power. In your case, it had to be one of the strong ones. You''d never be touched by my God, would you?"


    Senn was perspiring, even though he had been slowly sinking again up to his chest without being aware of it.


    "Who is your God?" he asked in a low hush. "And who are you to know or invent such things?"


    "I am He Who Waits. My god is the sleeping giant that bears the world. He endures, and so do I, and he was the only one that didn''t fade. He lived on while the others were in turmoil, and looks upon the world with patience. He knows it is all for nothing, an illusion signifying nothing, all the cares and struggles and everything else men suffer, kill and maim for. He gives strength to the weak, without blinding them or making them see what is not there."


    "Then what good is your god"'' asked Senn.


    "He''s not good or good for anything. He''s a God to me, and that''s enough."


    Senn shivered and drank a gulp of water. He had forgotten how thirsty he was.


    "You mentioned others. I want to know them."


    "What for? Do you plan on getting a new god like you would a new pair of trousers? You can''t find what isn''t already there, and be warned, the gods are inside you more than they are outside. You should know that. You had to be there when your ''god'' breached the Veil and got himself a body, didn''t you?"


    "How can you...? Yes, I was there."


    "It was stupid of him. Before, he could be anywhere, powerful and all-knowing. And then he went and blinded himself to the world just to inhabit a filthy, stupid body. But I can''t fault him. He''s greedy, and of course he would want more than he had. Too late did he realize he had given up on much more than he had gained."


    "And those ''others''?" he asked. "Did your god breach the Veil too?"


    "No, he''s much too smart for that. The Sleeping Giant sleeps, but his dreams feed your own. How, do you think, are the people able to endure so much suffering? How do they recall things they''ve never seen? How do you know words or concepts that you''ve never been taught, speak of things you couldn''t conceive? My lord feeds your minds and keeps you from falling into nothingness. You''re all his children in many more ways than you belong to the other ''gods''. Your very thoughts take the shapes he has taught you in dreams."


    The vein in Senn''s forehead throbbed. Could it all be true? Could any of it be true?


    "I see you doubt me. But you''ve never seen a written word. The Chainkeepers don''t teach you anything except pain and work. So how come you can think, dream, and speak in words you don''t need to use to survive? Because your minds are free. My lord is your true Keeper and Maker. The Lord of Greed only set your bodies free. Your minds have been free for a long time. You just needed a push."


    Senn''s mind was racing. He had never heard another voice but his God''s in his mind. But maybe the god that the strange man worshiped had been whispering to him all along, as he claimed.


    "I''ve seen another one, too. A child with blazing blue eyes. The one that came with me saw him too, and he claims he spoke to him and told him to come here. He was looking for some kind of power."


    The dark man sat on the ground, cross-legged and staring into Senn''s eyes. He nodded.


    "I know him. The god-child. He has many other guises, but that is the one he favors, for some reason. You saw him before, too. Before he was a child, he still blazed in blue, in a lantern underneath the earth."


    Senn''s mind raced to make sense of the words.


    "You mean the one I saw on the island? How can you know that?"


    "My god speaks to me in dreams, too. I''ve seen it. I saw you kill that man and his son."


    Senn''s face went pale, and his arms could barely grip the pool''s edge.


    "I did what I had to do."


    "I''m sure your god convinced you of that. Not of that, specifically, but his influence over the years may have surpassed your own true will."


    "But how... it doesn''t make sense. What does that lantern have to do with the child with blue eyes?"


    The dark man smiled, looking at Senn as he would a dumb child.


    "Isn''t it obvious? He had breached the Veil. He was that fire burning in the darkness, and you slew him when you killed his last followers. He became a shadow again, back beyond the Veil. He was Hope, lit brightly when you freed your people from slavery. Even then, some of them had been straying from greed to hope. It was inevitable. But you managed to quench that fire. You killed your own people''s hope. Aren''t you proud of yourself?"


    He said those last words with a smirk, and Senn started to climb out of the pool to wipe that off with a blow. But when he managed to climb out and stood over the other man with his fists clenched, he realized he was about to do something he couldn''t stand. His legs wobbled and he fell to his knees. Droplets were streaming from his hair and chest to his legs and the soil below. His legs were blackened once again, and the water stained his skin even more. Saltwater fell onto his knees.


    "They''re not gods at all," said the dark man, leaning over toward Senn and soothing him with his voice. "They''re only ideas given power. And we gave some of them too much, and some too little. You were fed tyranny for many years, with just enough patience to bear it all. Then, somehow, you found the ambition you needed to set you free. You gave birth to Hope. You did it. Your god may have helped, but you were the one. You heralded Hope unknowingly, but you chose greed instead and squashed that hope until you were left blind to everything. To your own people''s suffering and your lackeys'' ambition. And now, what is left for you? Can you ignite that Hope again? You''ve seen the child, so he thinks you can still be his Herald. It may be so. He believes in you. You have some spark of it inside you. You''ve had it all along, buried deep, but you fear to own up to it, don''t you?"


    "Stop. Please, stop it," Senn muttered with eyes downcast.


    "That ambition of yours. It drove you away from your hope, slim as it was. In your case, it was love, wasn''t it? I remember her, she kept you alive and burning for a while. Then you forgot and you chose to live on greed alone. Are you strong enough to regain that?"


    "Stop. You don''t know... of what you speak."


    "Oh, I do know. I know it as if it had been me. I bled and shed tears with you, in my dreams. I''m more of a brother than you''ll ever have. I know you''ve been weak all along."


    Senn lunged at the man and hit him across the jaw. He put his arms around him as he fell backward and tried to strangle him. The other man didn''t resist. Senn frowned and brought his hands closer. The man whimpered, but his whole body was lax. He looked into Senn''s eyes and there was calm there. Calm and patience for him and his ways.


    Senn let go of the man and stumbled back. The dark man sat back up in the same cross-legged position and said nothing, as if what had transpired had been meaningless.


    "You''re weak," he said, "because you chose just one kind of strength. There are others. Hope gives you strength. Patience, too. Kindness is its own strength."


    "There are bad things in the world," said Senn, his voice barely above a whisper. "The tyrants, the cowards, the blind who hit without seeing. The ones who can''t be bothered to lift a hand to stop a whip coming down," Senn gasped. "The ones who want to have everyone under their boot."


    "Yes. There''s strength in there, too, unfortunately. You chose one of those in your hour of weakness. But what will you choose now that you are free of all of that? Greed brought you to a certain place, but it never helped you achieve what you wanted. Won''t you try another way?"


    Senn sat on the black sand. He was wet and naked and covered in black sand, and didn''t care about anything except the words that were coming out of the dark-skinned man.


    "What other way is there?" he asked. "What can hope do for me? It didn''t help the man and the boy I killed. Why wouldn''t that... child... betray me too?"


    "Hah! You''re foolish. You can lose Hope, but hope can''t lose you."


    "I have a headache full of your wordplay. Your words make sense, but that doesn''t mean anything. The world is ruled by swords and chains, not words alone."


    "Not yet, at least. The world has been ruled for too long by only one idea. The world needs more. When men allow only one idea to become supreme, then the world begins to end. You helped turn that into two competing ideas, but that''s not enough. Nothing can thrive between ideas that only aim to perpetuate themselves. We need ideas that can help remake the world."


    Senn looked up at the sky that was slowly being covered by clouds. They were different from the ones in the plains. They smelled different.


    "You said that before. Was the world ever any better?"


    "Yes," said the dark-skinned man. "It was never perfect, but compared to this wasteland, it was... it was full of life."


    "I... I don''t know what to do. Who to follow."


    "I know hope may be too much to ask of you just now. But there is another. You''ve met him. He led you here. He dressed as a Hunter, for that''s what he is. He aims and never fails. He is your true Will, bare of illusory ambitions. He''s been your true Lord all along, the only one you''re prepared to follow now."


    Something soft and wet started to fall from the sky. Something white, that threatened to wash away all the black stains.

 Chapter 13 - THE PAST

    He slept, but when he awoke it was in a different place. He had returned from his punishment in the plains and was back in the Hub. He had barely survived it this time. One more day and he would have surrendered to thirst and famine, if not for the man he had met in the desert. He had rekindled a fire in him, one that had dwindled since his birth and flared just often enough to get him into trouble. It wasn''t the first punishment he had endured. He had felt chains and whips across his back, and the torqs that chained him buried into his neck until they were too small and had to be replaced. He could count his age in his flesh. I''m fourteen neck-marks and ten lashes old. I''m too rebellious to train and too useful to kill. So they''ll just keep punishing me until I give up and die.


    The old man he had been Leashed to in his last job had put those words in his head. The man had wondered aloud why the Chainkeepers didn''t just kill them both. He had wondered that for a long time, he claimed. They hate us. Why don''t they get rid of us? He had been repeating the same thing over and over. But he was an old man. He should have figured out the answer a lot sooner, Senn thought. But it had been for Senn''s benefit. The old man had driven him mad with that question for weeks until he started changing his tune, and the answer to that question came in uninterrupted barrages, for hours on end. We''re too useful to kill. So they''ll work us to death instead.


    It was such an obvious thing to anyone in the Hub. But even so, Senn had never heard those words spoken aloud. Old women around the fires tried to put on a brave face around the younger ones and mumbled nonsense when asked innocently why the world was what it was. The middle-aged men were too tired to speak most times, and the old ones were too beaten down to even speak. They just worked mechanically until their muscles and bones didn''t allow them to go on, and then sipped their broth in silence until they fell asleep sitting down. None of them had admitted out loud what his partner had told him under the unrelenting sun. That this was it, all of it, there was nothing ''afterward'', no reward for all their hard, constant work. Maybe asking yourself that question and answering it was what drove some men mad and compelled them to walk toward the plains, to die like a stray, blind goat.


    But to Senn, having that point driven into his head so many times had been like an awakening. He had started rebelling in subtle ways, and then some overt ones until his punishments came and went like dust spirits and instead of hurting him, they reinforced his thoughts and gave him fuel for his small ember. And now another voice had blown over him and set his fire ablaze again. He had made him want to be stronger, but he had just asked the question, not given him an answer. That, he would have to find out for himself.


    It was still dark in the hovel, and only an old woman stirred inside. Senn hadn''t slept there before. It was the first place he had found upon returning from his exile in the plains, and he had huddled in a corner. Someone had thrown an old woolen blanket over him while he slept. It had to have been one of the older women. Some crone bereft of children, or who had lost them along the way. There was no one younger than him in there, and it was not unusual for some older women to feel protective, in small ways and with no words spoken. He muttered his thanks to the darkness, and the old woman by the entrance seemed to nod. She could have heard him or not, but Senn felt better for saying it. They were a wonder, words... how unimportant they were, when most things could be said without them, but still, they held so much power...


    He wrapped the blanket closer around his body, trying to keep the dawn''s chill from his bones. He made himself a cocoon, and thoughts long abandoned started to join their strands until something seemed ready to hatch. But the light broke through the burlap entrance and tore him out of his reverie. A man was standing there. A Chainkeeper.


    Senn could tell by the man''s outline. None of the Leashed could have such a powerful complexion. Constant hunger tends to turn you into a weakling, something easier to push around, not too light to get carried away by the wind but not that far from it.


    ''Get up!'' yelled the man. In unison, the huddled forms of the hovel''s dwellers sat up, and then the youngest of them rose completely, letting their blankets fall to the ground. It would be cold outside still, but none were allowed to wear anything that kept the chill at bay. By midmorning, the sun would be punishing them anyway, even when the chill winds still blew from the east.


    Senn got up like the rest of them, though he didn''t hurry. There were enough of them in front that he could take his time to walk out of the hovel. The Chainkeeper at the entrance was nothing more than muscle, barely above an ox in its understanding of the world. They were tough just as the sun or the wind or the rain were tough on you. But the dangerous one was the other one. Outside, the Counter stood with a wooden board in his hands. He held an implement that Senn had seen every day in his life, something with which he somehow kept count of who was where and with whom, who would go out to the flooded fields and who would go to the pens or the mines. Such a simple thing, Senn thought, telling people where to go and how to die. More words, with power over life and death.


    The Counter stood and watched each of them walk out of the hovel. He approached each one of them and, tilting their heads backward as he would a dog or a goat, took notice of the glyphs in the Leashed''s torqs and moved his implement over the board. Every day of his life. When Senn had returned the previous night from his punishment in the deserted plains, a Counter was waiting near the Hub''s edge, sitting on a wool-covered chair, waiting for the strays like him to come back and make a mark in his board. Some of them didn''t return. Some died on the spot, finally surrendering, while others kept walking until the desert took them in the end. Those who came back did so with downcast eyes and trembling up to their bones. The night chills and the thirst did that. Some died a few days later, from coughing fits or fevers. Senn didn''t, and no one was surprised by it. Young men usually made it. But they didn''t know why he had survived, only how.


    When the Counter approached Senn and tilted his head back, Senn couldn''t suppress his thoughts, and the man read into his eyes. He frowned at his defiance and was about to raise his other hand to slap him when another Leashed caught his eye. From the next hovel, a girl was emerging with tears in her eyes and messy hair. The Counter ran to her side, and the girl leaned on him. She must be too horrified to know what she''s doing. Why is she doing that? The Counter predictably pushed the girl aside, and she fell to her knees. The man approached her again, and keeping her at arm''s length, he grabbed her by the torq and looked at her glyphs while she sobbed and yelled intermittently. He rose and scribbled on his board, forgetting about the girl. She was still sobbing on the spot and oblivious to the orders he had given her as he walked away. The burly Chainkeeper was looking at her and would walk up to her and hit her if she didn''t get going. His eyes spoke of his intentions. The Counter had forgotten about Senn and hadn''t even given him a task for the day. He had the chance to hide somewhere and avoid working for the rest of the day. A once in a lifetime chance to rest from his ordeal. He would be the stupidest boy if he didn''t take it.


    He rushed by the girl''s side and grabbed her arm, whipping her into an upright position. He had her walking at a brisk pace before the Chainkeeper had been able to start moving toward her.


    "Stop your whining or it''ll be worse," he whispered. "He''ll hit you until you have more than just one reason to cry."


    The girl kept crying anyway. Senn had heard the Counter''s orders for the girl and half-led, half-dragged her in that direction. She had duties in the pens for the day. She was to feed the goats and oxen and the baby lizards in the artificial pond. Dragging filth around all day. But it was lighter than sowing grain or harvesting rice. At least she would work in the shade for a while, and the animals made for better company than the dust. At least Senn saw it that way, for he rarely got assigned to pen duty anymore. Since he had been big enough to stand the heat, he had been on the rice detail. But the girl didn''t see her task for the day as a boon, a rare gift. She was still crying, clutching Senn''s arm and then letting go of him, horrified by something only she could see. Luckily, no Chainkeeper noticed them scuffling as they walked toward the pens. These were very large, almost an entire town made of squawking, bleating, and manure. Senn led her inside the first building, a storage place for the grain and feed. The grain itself wasn''t as highly guarded as the animals, though. The Chainkeepers turned a blind eye to some of the grain-snatching, if only because they couldn''t be bothered to hit every single robber, especially because they didn''t repent and would do the same thing a while later, with their skin still red from the beatings. The hunger was like that. But stealing an animal or killing them to eat them was punishable by death. The meat was for the Chainkeepers. The grain and the rice, for the animals and the Leashed. In the same way, you could steal food from another Leashed and not be punished. But if you killed one, you were killing the Chainkeepers'' property, and they were tough on those who trespassed upon their rights.


    As he walked by, still dragging the sobbing girl, Senn grabbed a fistful of rice and dropped it into his pocket right in front of a guard, letting the girl''s frame and obnoxiousness obscure his actions. She can at least be useful for that. He then grabbed a basket, filled it with grain, and put it into the girl''s hands. He looked at her and nodded, prompting her to do her task. The girl didn''t stir. He snorted and grabbed another basket for himself and filled it. He walked over to the door and pushed it open with his feet. It led to the dumbbirds pen, so he went ahead and walked into the cacophony of squawking that always occurred whenever you approached the stupid beasts. They were big, half a goat high, and stupid as rocks. They only knew two things: making noise and making shit. He threw some grain toward a corner of the wooden pen and the wingless creatures flocked in that direction, trampling each other. The trick to avoiding them butchering each other was to disperse them by throwing the food constantly in different directions. So he did just that, and the throng turned into smaller clumps of jumping, noisy flesh.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The girl started sobbing again. Now that he thought about it, she hadn''t stopped at any point.


    "What is your problem?" he asked her. "Stop it! You''ll get whipped and you''ll get me whipped too."


    The girl stopped crying long enough to look into his eyes for the first time. She had small, slanted eyes, though her eyelids were puffy and red and made it seem as if she were older.


    "I can''t stop," she said. "If you had been there..."


    "What do I have to do with anything? I just used you to get away from work. It won''t happen again."


    "You helped me, but you were too late."


    "I just got you out of the way of that oxen-headed ''keeper. That''s it."


    "If you had been there..." she said and started sobbing again.


    "Stop it. I can''t stand the wailing."


    "I''m sorry."


    "But you were sobbing before the Chainkeeper tried to hit you. Why?"


    The girl didn''t answer and dropped her head. Senn couldn''t figure it out, so he focused on her clothes instead. Her torn, filthy clothes. There were some things he didn''t understand about girls, but he was at a stage where he was old enough to wonder, and notice little details. Her skin was showing under her shirt, and the pants fitted her awkwardly. But if he had noticed the bumps on her chest and her upper legs, another man, maybe older than him and wiser to the ways of lust, couldn''t help noticing them too. He probably had, and the girl hadn''t been able to stop him. In a hovel at night, no one cared if you sobbed, thrashed around in your sleep, or stopped breathing. No one would lose any sleep over a girl trapped under a bigger man''s weight and her muffled screams.


    Senn could imagine all this because he had seen it before, or rather, heard it and then elaborated the entire story in his mind while huddled in his blanket. The first time he had been afraid someone would come for him too. That feeling went away after the third or fourth time, and at some point after that, he had wandered into his fantasies and transformed the muted thumping into other, more pleasurable beatings. Now faced with someone who could have been the object of both his nighttime lustings and his daytime ogling, he felt strangely ashamed. You have done nothing wrong, he told himself, as he did when he stole or lied. He had never been ashamed of something he hadn''t done. It was unsettling.


    A dumbbird pecked his ankle and he kicked him aside. He looked both ways after doing that, suddenly aware that he could be killed for it. A guard was standing on the other side of the fence, but he seemed bored and was looking the other way and chewing something. Senn turned back toward the girl.


    "Are you all right?" he asked her.


    The girl looked at him again and Senn blushed. She was looking at him in a way that he had never been looked at. As if she expected something of him. He thought he had to say or do something else, but it wasn''t like it was with the Chainkeepers. He knew how to grovel or plead to appease them, but he had never had to find words to calm a girl. He had heard some women whispering to their children in the night, telling them lies about how things wouldn''t be so bad the next morning. Senn couldn''t stomach those words and neither could he utter them, knowing what he knew, little as it was, about the world. All he could say was:


    "Maybe I can... get you something? Look for someone to help you. I know a woman who''s not so bad, she sometimes even..."


    The girl started sobbing again.


    What did I do now? I should just stop altogether and get away from her. She''s trouble.


    But Senn''s feet wouldn''t budge. Maybe the dumbbird had paralyzed him.


    "Listen," he said, "Stop crying. Crying never helped anyone, did it? Did it stop whatever happened to you from happening? Will it stop it the next time? Will it make the Chainkeepers less of a twisted turd? The answer is no, in short. But I can do something for you now, whatever you need. If it helps you feel better for a while, I''ll do it, all right? But please, stop crying."


    Miraculously, the girl did stop crying. She looked at him as if what she had expected from him had been fulfilled, and then some more.


    Is this all it takes? Just some words? Or do I have to go through with it? I may even be able to...


    He focused on what the girl was saying, because she had started to speak without him noticing. Then she threw herself at him, and he dodged by reflex, falling against the fence. She fell on top of him and clutched his chest. He was about to push her away, but then he noticed she was shivering. He stood there, letting her wrap her arms around him, and couldn''t muster one single thought. It was a strange feeling, which brought him back to some point earlier in his life in which he had felt like that. Was that even possible? He didn''t remember feeling that his legs and arms would melt away under the sun, that his heart would beat through his chest and fall at his feet.


    The world turned upside down suddenly, and for a second he thought his heart had really fallen off, until he landed on the floor and the girl landed on top of him. Then he saw the Chainkeeper''s extended arm over the fence. He had punched him and almost taken his head clean off. His neck hurt badly, and the girl was looking at him strangely. Does she care? She dragged him up and made him sit. The Chainkeeper was staring at him, fuming. But he didn''t seem to want to bother to go over the fence. He had to be in charge of the next pen, and a Chainkeeper knew to stick to his assignment. If they went away quickly, they might avoid further punishment.


    "Go," the girl said.


    "What about you?" Senn asked.


    "I have to stay. I can''t help it. You can. Run, if you can."


    Senn thought she might start crying again, so he stood up and dashed away before she did. He didn''t look back, and when he remembered he hadn''t said goodbye, he was well on his way to the fields, to hide out for the rest of the day. He lay down on the rice field, away from the workers and the Chainkeepers. His head was barely above water, but he didn''t care. His neck still ached, but the water helped ease it somewhat. The rest of him still felt awkward, and the warm water reminded him of the girl''s touch. The whole thing was strange, something that wasn''t supposed to happen to anyone. He knew adults had needs occasionally, but this was a different thing entirely. What use could it be to feel that way? He was distracted, and if he had had to work that day, he would have been so distracted he would have been whipped thrice already. He looked through his outstretched hand. The sunlight went through it, lighting his skin red. Am I becoming like water? But it was just an illusion of light and shadows, a trick on his mind. What was not an illusion was the kingsmetal leash around his neck. It wouldn''t rust or decay like the common metal tools they used. It would never go away. When he became too thick for it, he would be given a new, wider one. But they wouldn''t take this one off until they put the new one over it. That drove the message home. He would never be free of it. He would never be free, at all. No matter his hubris when he had talked to the strange apparition in the plains. He knew, deep in his heart, that no grandstanding would get him out of it, just like it hadn''t helped the many others who came before and the ones who would come after him. Is an illusion of being free better than the truth? He had played that game that day, trying to make believe for a while that he could go where he wished if only he could find the right crack in the works. But the day was coming to a close. When he huddled for warmth in the hovel and dreamt his nightmares, would the next day be delayed? No, it would come along all the same, and he wouldn''t find a crack next time. He would keep wishing for a day in which he could go and find that girl, and the next time his arms would hold her instead of hanging uselessly at his sides. And the memory would fade, and he would resent it, just like he did the small, insignificant memories he had managed to keep from his earlier years when he was too small to work. A word of comfort, a soothing touch on his cheek. He hated it now. Hated it because he couldn''t hold on to the past, couldn''t make it come back. His mother, if that was the word, was long gone. He didn''t even know if she was alive or dead. They had just taken her away, and if she lived, he hoped she had forgotten about him too. For if the mere memory pained him so that he grew to hate her, her memories would be much greater and unbearable.


    When the sun became orange-hued, he got up. He covered his arms and legs in mud and painted a smudge on his forehead. A hundred paces away, a Chainkeeper was walking as if he hadn''t a care in the world, swinging a chain with a ball at the end with no effort at all. The metal ball swished right off the surface of the water, sprinkling the dusk with little drops that reflected the sunlight behind them. It was beautiful. How could it be so? Did the ''keeper know what he was doing? Did he like what he saw, the sound of the water and the feeling of wetness against his face as the drops hit him? Or was he oblivious to it? The thought scared Senn in more ways than he could confess to. If the other man was capable of recognizing beauty, as he did, then that was one less difference between them. His cruelty stood not far away from Senn''s own. Senn''s kindness, like he had shown the girl in the pens, wasn''t unique and limited to him. If a Chainkeeper was capable of creating beauty and seeing it for what it was, then Senn had to be capable of doing the same things he hated them for.


    The realization struck him as if the metal ball had swung right into his face. He had always thought there was an inextricable otherness in the Chainkeepers. As if they were a feature of the landscape, an elemental force thrust upon him like the sun and the chill night winds. He had forgotten they were men, or had to be, anyway. They had seemed invincible. But they were men. Only men, under the fear of ages that covered them. The sun could burn them, the water drown them, a rock bust their skulls. They were capable of great cruelty. They were good at it. They had learned how to do it, somehow. They had been shaped that way just as Senn had been shaped to bear the weight of a boot upon his back. He was just fourteen neck-marks old. Like a young sapling, he could still be shaped in other ways, take another form. Grow into something even the Chainkeepers would fear.