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.

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"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."