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even more importantly, you would be entitled to a share of
the spoils—a share of that godhood. It would make you fat
and drunk with power, power you could use however you
decide. Why, you would be so much more of a threat to me
with such potency. Of course, you would certainly be less of
a threat to me than would be the Shepherd, if he should be
left alive to continue with his wretched tournaments. Either
way, it’s a chance I’m willing to take for an immediate,
appreciable result. How say you, artist?”
I turned to leave for the second time.
“The second of my plans,” the Queen continued quickly,
“the least preferable of them, in fact, is to force the issue
and have my son join the Game at your expense. It’s a little
clumsier than my previously outlined scheme, but it should
do the trick. I assure you, this latest plan will hurt, artist.
Why not take the easy road for a change?”
Her proposals were absurd, and my sisters were eager
to supply them with the raucous laughter they so richly
deserved. The Eater of Idols began to stir, sensing my
decision. The creature was of the most bizarre cocktail of
mismatched limbs, eyes, maws, and horns. I was shocked to
know that such a fantastic thing could have originated with
the White Mother. Yet there was an ordinariness beneath its
demonic extravagance, as if it had been made demonical for
mostly superficial reasons. Though I must confess, I was at a
loss to even guess at such motives.
The beast’s ungainly form made me take its sloth as a
given, and for the most part I was right to do so. However,
at one point, as I dashed beyond a darting wave of barbed
tentacles, the creature proved a bit faster than I had
anticipated. A few of the graceless extrusions lashed my
back, causing some of the worst pain I had ever known.
I had to keep in mind that what I fought was only slightly
removed from godhood, and because of that status, my
victory against it would be hard gained. To make matters
much worse, it seemed the Red Dream was unable to fortify
268 | Mark Anzalone