“We did it,” Larose exclaimed. “By the Lady, we did it.”

The officers started to applaud. Edeard gave them a grateful nod.

“You should be very satisfied with your men,” Edeard told him, loud enough for the other commanders to hear, especially those of the country regiments. “They behaved impeccably.”

“That they did.” Larose grinned around generously. “All of them.”

“And you,” Edeard told the Colonel. “You should stand for election when we return. The residents of Lillylight would appreciate a man representing them who’s actually accomplished something outside the city.”

Larose gave a shrug that was close to bashful. “That would cause my family’s senior members some surprise and satisfaction, I imagine.”

Edeard gave him a warm smile. “You were never a black sheep.”

“No. Not like you, at any rate. But I like to think I had my moments.”

“Indeed you did. But I hope you’ll give the idea some thought.”

“It’s never as far away as we believe, is it, Makkathran?”

“No.” Edeard let out a sigh. “Is he behaving himself?”

“So far.” Larose gestured to a flap at the back of the tent, and they went through. An encircling wall of tents and fences had produced a small secure area at the rear. Right at the center, a tall narrow tent was standing all alone. Two guards stood at attention outside, older seasoned militiamen whom Larose trusted implicitly, their ge-wolves pulling on the leash. Both animals gave Edeard a suspicious sniff as he approached.

“You know something odd?” Larose said. “For years the bandits have terrorized communities with impunity. Every survivor told stories of fearsome weapons. Yet throughout this whole campaign, we haven’t found one of the bastards armed with anything other than a standard pistol.”

“That’s good,” Edeard said, staring straight ahead. “Would you want a new weapon to exist? One powerful enough to kill entire platoons in less than a minute?”

“No. No, I don’t suppose I would.”

“Me, neither.”

“I don’t suppose anybody could build anything like that, not really. Not even the Weapons Guild.”

“No,” Edeard agreed. “They can’t. Those weapons are just a fable that people used to tell each other about in times gone by.”

“Like the exiles. You know, nowadays I find it hard to picture what Owain looked like. He and his fellows must have traveled a long way from Makkathran. Nobody ever found them.”

“Losing an election can demoralize you like that. Nobody wants to dwell on what has been, not now that we all have a future.”

“We do?”

“It’s unknown, as always, but it’s there, all right.”

Colonel Larose pursed his lips and walked on.

The Gilmorn was standing in the middle of the tent with Dinlay and Marcol in attendance. Of all the aspects that resulted from Edeard’s ability to reset time, he always found this the strangest-seeing someone alive whom he’d previously watched die. And this Gilmorn was one he’d killed himself in a fashion that didn’t withstand too much sober examination.

Inevitably, the man was unchanged. Not that Edeard had ever seen him at his best before. Last time, his round face with the idiosyncratic nose had been suffused with pain and anguish as his legs were ruined by the boulder. Now he simply looked tired and sullenly resentful. Not defeated, though. There was still defiance burning behind his mental shield, mostly fueled by good old Grand Family arrogance, Edeard suspected.

The blacksmith was just leaving. He’d taken an hour to shackle the Gilmorn securely, with big iron rings around his wrists and ankles, linked together with tough chains. This way there were no fancy locks for his telekinesis to pick away at. The metal had to be broken apart by another blacksmith or simple brute strength; Edeard could do it, and probably Marcol, but few others on Querencia would be capable.

“Finitan’s pet,” the Gilmorn said contemptuously. “I might have guessed.”

“Sorry I missed our earlier appointment at the valley beyond Mount Alvice,” Edeard replied casually.

The Gilmorn gave him a startled glance.

“So who are you?” Edeard asked. “Not that it really matters, but you never did tell me your name back at Ashwell.”

“Got your forms to fill out, have you?”

“You do understand this is over now, don’t you? You are the last of them. Even if One Nation has any supporters left back in Makkathran, they’ll deny everything, especially you. The family Gilmorn has lost considerable status among the city’s Grand Families since Tannarl’s exile; they’re desperate to regain it. You won’t be accepted back, not by them. Of course you could try to throw in with Buate’s surviving lieutenants, the ones I banished. Though they, too, seem incapable of adapting; over a dozen have been sentenced to the Trampello mines in the last two years. At least they’ll have company; my old friend Arminel is still incarcerated there. Mayor Finitan changed the mine governor from Owain’s crony to someone who’s a little stricter.”

The Gilmorn held his hands up, the chain clanking as he did so. “Is this what you’re reduced to, Waterwalker, gloating over your victims?”

“And you? Goading someone whose village you destroyed?”

“Touche.”

“You set me on the path that led to this day. I enjoy that.”

“As Ranalee and others enjoy Salrana. I’ve heard she’s very popular. Fetches quite a high price in the right circles, so I understand.”

Dinlay’s hand fell on Edeard’s shoulder. “Let me deal with him.”

“You?” The Gilmorn sneered. “A eunuch does the Waterwalker’s dirty work? How amusing.”

Dinlay’s face reddened behind his glasses. “I am not-”

“Enough of this,” Larose said. “Waterwalker, do you have any serious questions for this bastard? Some of my men can get answers out of him. It might take a while, but they’ll persist.”

“No,” Edeard said. “He has nothing vital for me. I just wondered why he kept on fighting, but now I know.”

“Really?” the Gilmorn said. “And that is?”

“Because I have taken everything else away from you. There is nothing else for you to do. Without your masters you are nothing. You are so pitiful, you cannot even think of anything else to devote yourself to. When the time comes for your life to end, you will have achieved nothing, you will leave no legacy, your soul will never find the Heart. Soon this universe will forget you ever even existed.”

“So that is what you have come here for, to kill me. The Waterwalker’s revenge. You’re no better than me. Owain never went into exile. I know you murdered him and the others. Don’t set yourself up as some aloof judge of morals. You’re wrong to say I leave nothing behind. I leave you. I created you. Without me, you would be a countryside peasant with a fat wife and a dozen screaming children, scrabbling in the mud for food. But not now. Not anymore. I forged a true ruler, one who is every bit as ruthless as Owain. You say I can do nothing else? Take a look at yourself. Do you tolerate anyone who doesn’t comply? Is that not me, the very ethos you claim to despise?”

“I enforce the law equally and impartially for all. I abide by the results of elections.”

“Words words words. A true Makkathran politician. May the Lady help your enemies when you become Mayor.”

“That’s a long time in the future, if I ever do stand.”

“You will. Because I would.”

Edeard’s cloak flowed aside with the smoothness of jamolar oil. He reached into a pocket and took out the warrant. “This is the proclamation signed by the Mayor of Makkathran and notarized by the provincial governors of the militia alliance. Given the scale of the atrocities you have perpetrated for years, you will not be returned to civilization for trial.”

“Ha, a death warrant. You are nothing more than the tribal savages we enlisted.”

“You will be taken to the port of Solbeach, where a ship will sail eastward. When the captain has voyaged as far as the seas will allow him, he will search for an island with fresh water and vegetation. There you will be abandoned with seed stock and tools sufficient for your survival. You will live out your life there alone to contemplate the enormity of your crimes. You will not attempt to return to civilization. If you are found within the boundary of civilization, you will immediately be put to death. May the Lady bless your soul.” Edeard rolled up the scroll. “Constables Felax and Marcol will accompany you on the journey to ensure the sentence is carried out. I’d advise you not to annoy them.”