The motley remnants of the Lord of Greed's army walked into Lordstown in the dead of night. They had known they were close and Mirai had pushed them as far as he dared. He wanted them to sleep with a roof over their heads for once. He wanted to sleep within walls, not fearing a chase anymore. As soon as he saw the torches in the walls of the Fort, he relaxed. He had done it. He had brought them home. He would worry about facing the Lord the next day. He would grovel or do anything he asked to earn his favor again. But first, he would sleep and eat and be bathed. He had earned that by pulling his men out of the carnage and saving at least a part of their army. If he had failed to do even that, Lordstown would have been waiting for the chain to bind itself around them.

The sentinels spotted them as soon as their figures became shadows against the diffuse glow of the farthest torches. He had sent one boy ahead, a nimble lad who had remained unscathed, to warn them of their approach and to make sure the barracks were ready to receive and tend to them. A small detail went to them and led them to the barracks, but none of those guards offered to help carry the wounded. Mirai was given a couple of stern looks from men who wouldn't have dared to stare above his knees at any other time. He smiled and retained the memory of their faces for later reckoning. They must be wondering why I'm the only one who survived out of our Sparked vanguard. They must think I'm a coward. The thought fazed him very little. They hadn't endured what he had. He would assert himself again, and no one would dare look at him that way anymore. Graal and Morit were no more, and the old man Izal was as dead as Senn ought to be. There were no more Sparked in Lordstown. Their Lord would correct that soon, but Mirai would be the more experienced one. If he didn't say anything that prompted his Lord to bury him, then he would be poised to get everything he had wanted to achieve. It had only cost him a third of their strength and the man who had been like a father to him. Or more, since Mirai had been born in the Hub and progenitors were an afterthought in there. But they had become the people of Lordstown, and there Mirai had found a bond stronger than blood. He had repaid him with a loyalty that waned when the sun had started to set on Senn, when his men had started to whisper. When he ought to have stood up for him, Mirai had joined the chorus of hunched figures plotting in darkness.

He was led to his house as soon as he rid himself of the wounded. He brought some of his own men, those who had been quickest to follow him in their escape, so they would be tended by his Husks and attending women. He would regain some of their loyalty with that, if not their full respect. He had time for that later. He stepped into his mud-walled garden and into the arms of two of his women. He let himself go, feeling the exhaustion of the body and of the mind that had been forced to stay alert and keep sparking his men's hunger to keep them alive. The women carried him to a ceramic tub sunk into the floor of the bath, and there he fell asleep, his head barely above the warm, delicious water.

The thought came when he was too tired to fight it, as a voice from outside his own mind. You don't deserve any glory. You won't reap anything out of the treason you sowed.

* * *

He slept through one dream after the other, in a seemingly endless parade. Part of his mind awoke eventually and knew the world outside had to keep going, and that it would eventually catch up to him. But he still didn't rise from bed. When he was needed, he would be summoned. He was vaguely aware of the danger he was in but assumed his women and the few men that followed him would protect him. Only when he opened his eyes and saw he was alone in his room did he realize that he could have been killed and disposed of in the night. It wasn't a strange feeling, after all, it was not unusual for one of the Sparked to kill a competitor. But he was now the only one, removed from under Senn's patronage and the protection that the diverse plots he was involved in had conferred him. Now there was no plot, no competition. Only a reckoning. And it was not long since he had opened his eyes that he heard a shout outside, some guard calling out over the garden wall for his presence. It could only be his Lord summoning him.

He woke up and called out for a girl to bring his clothes and a washbasin. It wouldn't do to keep his Lord waiting or to appear overly dressed in front of him. He had come back in defeat, but not defeated. He would stand his ground, with no half-truths. The God would see right through them to the hunger that he carried.

A girl brought the water basin, a flask, and a loaf of ricebread with some cold meat. He ate quickly and washed it down with water while the girl struggled to get his jacket on. He pushed her aside gently and finished getting dressed on his own. He was utterly calm. He hadn't expected that at all.

A head appeared on the windowsill. It was Root, the man he had helped walk on their way back. He had followed him and seemed a different man now that he had experienced a full night's sleep, a bath, and a full stomach. And he owed Mirai his life, which sometimes bred a type of loyalty the Lord of Greed couldn't understand.

"Good morning, my lord. I gather you've heard the summons," he said.

"Yes, Root. I'm just about ready. But look at you. You look as if you've been reborn."

"Not yet, my lord. But I'll get there. Thank you. You've had a lot to do with that."

"You'll find a way to repay it, I'm sure. But don't go around calling me lord. Or our true Lord will get mad."

"But you're our Lord Herald now, aren't you?"

Mirai looked at him with eyes wide open. He hadn't even thought of that. He had pushed it back in his mind. One thing was to take Senn's place, his title was another thing. Even in death, Senn had been the Lord of Greed's Herald, his first follower, the breaker of chains. Mirai could become their God's favorite, but he would never be Senn.

"We don't know that yet. I'd better not risk presuming to know our Lord's mind on these matters. He'll speak and we'll obey."

"Well, I hope he speaks the right words. We could do much worse than you... Mirai."

Mirai nodded, and Root went away. Even in the man's compliment there seeped a current of truth that spoiled it. Even if his Lord accepted him, and the armies followed suit, he was still 'the best there was at hand'. Damn you, Senn. Will I always walk in shadow, even if the one that cast it is long gone?

He walked out of his room and into the garden. Four of the men who had come with him awaited. Only one had been from his battalion. The other three, including Root, had followed other Sparked. They were now leaderless, and casting their lot with him was a risk. No one would blame them for stepping aside. The soldiers weren't responsible for their generals' folly. But when Mirai opened the latch on the door, they followed, wearing their bloodied, sweat-crusted clothes that crackled in the morning air. Just like the men, they were clean now, but not unsullied. Mirai smiled. Maybe they're just curious and want to see my head on a pike.

They were escorted by a small retinue and though they made their best attempt to make it seem as if they were leading Mirai, they kept looking at him as if he were prone to escape. Mirai relaxed and assumed a leisurely pace, not stalling but not hurrying up either. A man recognized him from across the street and Mirai walked up to him and took the time to haggle over the price of a saddle that he had ordered some time before. The looks of his guards changed from anxiety to anger and Mirai sped away just as nonchalantly as he had interrupted their march. The guards hurried after him, afraid of losing him, only to find him talking to a blind man sitting by a well. The blind man was an old soldier that had carried Mirai for a long stretch back when he was just a boy and they were fleeing the Hub. The guards arrived just in time to catch the end of the conversation.

"It's strange, my boy... I had never suffered any ailment, and now this... I'll starve if I don't fall on my spear before that."

"I'll get you sorted out, Duster... and then I'll see what I can dig up on this plague," said Mirai with a hand on the other man's shoulder.

Root walked up to Mirai and stood before him, shielding him from the guards.

"We should move, my lord Mirai. Before they tie you up and bring you on a stretcher."

"I'm seeing to my people. Anyway, I'm done, let's go."

"You don't want to make our Lord angry."

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"Maybe I do. I'm a little angry at him too. Let's go. I won't go meekly now, I've made up my mind."

The guards surrounded them but Mirai walked onward and ahead, pushing their spears aside as if they weren't implying anything by their postures. He looked back toward Root and nodded. The men followed him, even the senior guard that was supposed to lead the way. He seemed flustered and struggled to keep pace, but Mirai just smiled. Once they reached the Fort and they passed the outer gate, though, his smile vanished and was replaced by a frown and a throbbing vein in his forehead. If he went in like a goat to slaughter, he would be slaughtered. Senn had taught him that, though he had almost forgotten it. A God had no need for goats. They needed canids that didn't hesitate to bite when their barking didn't suffice. He went past the inner guards, who didn't react in time to stop him. He wouldn't insult his Lord, but he had to make him acknowledge his arrival amidst his courtiers, if there were any. He pushed the doors to the Lord of Greed's Hall with a fast, light movement.

The Hall was empty, the throne vacant and the pools dried up. Someone had taken the job of tidying up the piles of objects the Lord of Greed hoarded so that at least the floor wasn't strewn with baubles and leftover food. One of the stacks turned out to be a man.

"Our Lord is not here, I'm sorry to disappoint you," said the Mediator. "But you should be happy. I know he wouldn't be if he had seen you storm in like that after the disaster you lorded over."

Mirai snorted, then smiled.

"It seems you misunderstood what your informants told you. The remnants of the force that we departed with are only here because of my intervention. The disaster wasn't my own."

"That's what it would appear to be to anyone else, but I know more and I know better, don't I? You can't claim to be entirely innocent. It wouldn't have happened without your timely intervention."

"Your tongue-twisting may serve you well when you're trying to take a man's earnings for yourself, but they won't do with me. I do my talking with my fists and my legs."

"A strange language it is, then. In any case, you're fortunate. Our Lord departed shortly after the Herald's force did and I'm not sure he's aware of what happened."

"Doesn't he know everything that happens?" asked Mirai.

"Oh, then he wouldn't need any of us, would he?"

Mirai looked at the Mediator quizzically. That kind of open heresy was unnatural, at least inside the Fort. Outside and in the barracks, men would speak ill of whatever fancied them, but no one of any importance would dare do that for fear of being outed and brought in front of the All-Eater. And the Mediator had spoken the words that had felled more than a couple of men.

"Why are you here, Mediator? You should be squabbling over rice sacks."

"I have my Lord's best interests in mind. And since we're lacking a Herald, it seems I'm the best suited to interpret his needs. Until he returns, you are stripped of rank and the army will be under my command. What happened can't be repeated or we'll be at the whim of our enemies."

Mirai seethed under his mask of pale imperviousness. The other man would never have dared do this to Senn. He refrained from his urge to attack him in any way, even verbally. His opponent was dangerous and Senn had always talked of him highly, not in esteem but respecting him for his intelligence. He would be one step ahead of Mirai for sure. He had set up this summons and would doubtless have men waiting to kill or at least imprison him in case he rebelled against his coup. So there remained only one course of action for Mirai.

"I'll only follow our Lord's words," he said. "And you are no Herald. But I won't tear our city apart resisting you".

The Mediator smiled.

"Good," he said. "I see Senn has brought you up well. Then you will retain your position as second in command of our army. You are dismissed. I have preparations to undertake and grave errors to correct. Let's hope our enemies were content with making you flee and are not approaching our town with burning torches."

Mirai nodded and turned to leave.

"You forgot something," said the Mediator offhandedly.

Mirai turned toward him and avoided his stare as he fell to one knee and put his fist against the floor. He gripped a handful of sand in his fist. It seemed to him he would need to shove it down his mouth to stifle the fire that raged in his heart.

* * *

Mirai wrestled with the idea of killing the Mediator but ultimately decided against it. Lordstown had a fragile equilibrium and the Mediator was at the center of it, for better or worse. He would get what was coming to him when his Lord returned.

He spent the rest of that day inspecting the garrison and checking on the wounded he had dragged away from the battle. Some had died and some others he had expected to were still alive, miraculously. Some looked at him with gratitude. Others seemed to blame him for their misfortune. Whether or not they knew of his role in the plot against Senn, he couldn’t know. They probably didn’t and it was just his guilt playing games with him.

Whatever the Mediator was playing at, with Senn’s absence, the army would look up to Mirai. The townspeople would not know him or fear him as they did Senn, but Mirai didn’t want that either. He wanted to lead his men in battle and destroy the Chainkeepers. He didn’t care about politics.

He was walking briskly through the main thoroughfare when he noticed a group of beggars sitting in the middle of the road, talking among themselves. People and carts were going around them, some even stepping over them. But no one was there to kick them out. The garrison was holed up at Mirai’s insistence in case there was an attack from the Forever King’s army. So Mirai took it upon himself.

“What are you doing, fools?” he asked. “You’ll get trampled out here. This is not a place to beg.”

Some of the men turned toward him and interrupted their conversation. Others stopped talking but didn’t look his way. But from the ones he locked eyes with, Mirai realized they were all blind.

“We are waiting for our god to arrive,” said one of the men, an old man with a long speckled beard and rags that seemed to have been an army uniform from a few years back.

“I’m waiting for him too. He should be here soon. He will want revenge for our rout.”

“Your god is not our god,” said a second man, a younger man with a reddish beard.

What’s going on here? Mirai wondered and ordered a couple of merchants who were setting up shop along the road to encircle the blind men with their carts so they wouldn’t be trampled. Mirai needed to think.

He had suspected something when the Chainkeepers tore through their army. Some of the Chainkeepers seemed to have power beyond normal men, like the Lord of Greed’s Sparked, but with different powers.

“Do you worship the Forever King?” asked Mirai to the blind men.

“No. We don’t worship anyone,” said a young boy with eyes cast down and a voice barely above a whisper. “There’s no point doing so.”

“Why?”

“Because the Dark Pit is all there is,” said the boy, lifting his gaze so Mirai could see into eyes that looked like holes that led into the night.

Mirai took a step back. A feeling of despair washed over him, and he averted his eyes.

He didn’t know what he was doing there anyway. Trying to replace Senn? There was no point doing so. All he had ever wanted was to be him and now he realized he couldn’t be Senn. He was just the same scared boy who didn’t want to be left alone in a hovel with her dead mother and had jumped onto the back of a canid to be free of the numbing loneliness. He had never stopped being that boy who would close his eyes and see his mother’s corpse again. Who would hurt others to keep the pain away.

He pushed away the carts and stumbled back toward his home, to drink his memory away.

* * *

He awoke during the night to the sound of drums. He fell face-first onto the floor and nearly broke his nose.

The Chainkeeper army. They’re here.

He balanced himself against the bed and managed to put his head into the water basin by his bed. He then slapped himself until he could feel the burn in his cheeks. He wasted no time getting dressed, only stopping long enough to pick up his leather cuirass and his daggers. He didn’t dare use his speed yet, lest he ran himself into a wall in his still half-drunk state or puke from the fast motion. Running at normal speed would clear his head.

He jogged toward the garrison while buckling his cuirass. His house was inside the town proper, surrounded by other officers houses and in the shadow of the garrison, so he was joined by other soldiers going in the same direction. No Sparked running ahead of him, though. No one stopped him to ask him what to do, they just ran ahead of him.

The drums sounded strange, too rhythmic to be warning of an attack. But what could it be, then?

When he reached the garrison, he saw by the torchlight that the archers were on the wall, but standing at rest. He climbed up the stairs until he reached the outer wall, facing south into the midlands.

“What are we looking at?” he asked the soldier who was signaling the drummers to resume their beat.

“I wasn’t sure until a moment ago, Commander. But see for yourself. We’re on the second throw.”

He looked in the direction the man was pointing and saw a small catapult throw a bundle of glass vials tied together by reed netting. He had only seen them use it once or twice. He lost sight of the bundle in the darkness until it hit the ground about seventy paces away. The ground erupted in light as the liquid in them spread on a wide arc and caught fire. The combustion would only last for a few moments, but it was enough to set fire to a group of invaders or to light up the battleground for long enough to see by. This was the latter case, and by its light Mirai saw a ragged group of survivors, followed by the long limbs of his Lord.

He risked using his speed as he jumped down the stairs, and got to the fire when it started to diminish in size.

“Welcome, my Lord” he shouted. “Your new Herald awaits you. Where have you come from and what news do you bring?”

The men, still a stone’s throw away from him, stopped. The Lord of Greed kept advancing, pushing them aside. He stopped in front of Mirai and loomed over him, burning him with inhuman eyes.

“I left when I felt my Sparked waning,” he said in a slow and calculating manner. “I gathered these sorry remnants of my army, the ones you left behind their lines to be captured by the enemy. The chain men made the mistake of letting me get close. I fed their hunger until they massacred each other for the riches I promised. Then I set my captive army free. It seems I have to do my Herald’s work for them, both old and new alike.”

“Thank you, my Lord. I had led the survivors and wounded back here but we had thought them all lost.”

“Not thanks to you,” said a miraculously alive Morit, wearing a blood-soaked cloth around his neck and shoulders. Senn had stabbed him more than once. Mirai ignored him. If he didn’t feel he could measure up to Senn, then Morit had even less of a chance.

“What do we do now, my Lord?” he asked.

The Lord of Greed opened his enormous mouth wide open and smiled.

“Now I take what I want.”