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?"

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"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.