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.
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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?"