“I don’t believe there’s a good behavior requirement to go and live in the universe outside,” Edeard said flatly.

“You’re probably right,” Finitan said. He shuddered, as if gripped by a sudden chill.

Edeard could see the sweat slick on his friend’s brow. “Did you take the painkiller potion before we left?”

“Of course not,” Finitan snapped irritably. “You think I want to be dozing when my very own Skylord comes looking for me?”

Edeard said nothing.

“And you can wipe that smirk off your face.”

“Yes, master.”

They finally emerged out onto the platform. As always, a strong wind whistled across the shallow curving floor. Seven giant spikes rose up from the edges, angled steeply back over the platform, their jagged tips almost touching high above the stairwell entrance.

Edeard placed Finitan gently on the floor and squatted down beside him. “How are you doing?” he asked.

“For someone who’s dying? Not bad. Actually, I feel quite relieved. It’s not many who are given such clear knowledge about the exact moment of their death. Such knowledge is refreshing. It means I have nothing to worry about.”

Edeard’s fingers carefully brushed the loose strands of pale hair from the man’s damp forehead. Finitan’s skin felt unpleasantly cold, giving Edeard a fair indication of what his deteriorating body was going through.

The number of people farsighting them now that they were out of the stairwell and in the open was almost oppressive. Edeard could sense that the city had virtually come to a halt to focus its full attention on him and the tower. Everyone was waiting expectantly. Even Yrance’s agitators were silent now that the promised moment was approaching.

Edeard felt the unknown watcher’s farsight sweep across him, even pervading the tower structure around him, probing and questing. It was coming from Cobara district, as usual.

“Today is hardly secret,” he shot back.

The farsight ended.

“Who was that?” Finitan asked.

“I don’t know. But I expect I’ll be finding out before too long. You know Makkathran: always trouble brewing somewhere.”

“That was more than the usual trouble. They had an ability equal to yours.”

“Greater, I suspect.”

“Have you sensed them before?”

“I’ve had indications that there are people of my stature emerging, yes. But that doesn’t affect today.”

“Edeard-”

“No.” Edeard closed his finger around Finitan’s frail hand. “This is about you and the Skylord. You have to prove once and for all that what you did was right. After that, all our troubles will be minor. That is what I ask of you today.”

Finitan’s head fell back onto the cushion of his cloak hood. “Stubborn to the very end-well, my end. You know, that day you arrived in my office, I was worried you might just decide to be an apprentice in the Blue Tower for seven years. What a waste that would have been. What a loss to the world.”

“I always thought you were overemphasizing the bad points.”

“One of my smaller crimes. I’m sure the Lady will want to discuss it at length if I ever catch up with her, along with all the others.”

“You will. What a meeting that’s going to be.”

“Ha! I don’t think she …” Finitan trailed off, an expression of outright surprise manifesting on his face. “Oh, my. Edeard?”

Edeard turned to face the Lyot Sea. Right on the horizon a peculiar haze patch was rising above the water to expand across the sky. “It comes,” he said with simple happiness.

Finitan’s hand grasped his tightly. “Thank you, Edeard, for everything.”

“I owe you so much.” He could sense the startled longtalk starting down on the streets and canals below as those with the most powerful farsight became aware of what was approaching Makkathran. The gifted visions were spreading wide. Surprise and delight blossomed among the startled citizens.

“And I you,” Finitan said. “Now it’s time for you to leave me here so that I might start that final journey. Soon I will have answers. So soon, Edeard. Imagine that.”

“Yes.” Edeard stood and looked at the thick pillar that was the start of the stairwell, then glanced across to the edge of the platform.

“Go on.” Finitan chuckled. “Be the Waterwalker, today of all days. Beat that little oaf Yrance. But don’t stop there, you are greater than all of them; never forget that. And at the end, I’ll be waiting. We will have such a reunion in the Heart, Edeard. Even down here they will know our joy.”

“Goodbye.” Edeard smiled. There was so much more he wanted to say, but as always, there was no time. He turned and ran across the platform. When he reached the edge, he leaped off with a jubilant cry.

On the ground so far below, there was a horrified gasp as the faces of the crowd turned up to watch him. Laughing defiantly, he held his arms wide, allowing his black cloak to flap madly around him as he streaked downward.

That powerful farsight played over him as he fell. Then, a hundred feet from the ground, the city took hold of him and slowed his wild flight, lowering him softly onto the pavement at the foot of the tower. The crowd exclaimed in admiration. Several people applauded; more cheered.

He saw Macsen’s derisory sneer. Dinlay gave him a disapproving frown. But it was Kristabel whose face was pure anger. He shrugged an apology, which clearly wasn’t anywhere near good enough. She was still scowling as he walked over and put his arm around her.

“Daddy,” Marilee scolded.

“That was so bad.”

“Teach us how to do that.”

He winked at the twins. “The Skylord comes,” he said solemnly.

The crowd was excited now, chattering wildly as they all turned to the east. There was nothing to see at first; the towers of Eyrie blocked any view into the sky directly over the sea. Then the astonished residents of Myco and Neph gifted their sight to the rest of the city.

The Skylord had risen above the horizon. Now it was flying directly over the choppy sea. Edeard didn’t appreciate the size at first. From the city’s Port district it simply looked like a shiny white moon skimming over the waves, slowly getting bigger as it dipped down again. Its actual surface was hard to make out; it had the same shimmer as a pool of water rippling under a noonday sun, a bright distortion that could never stay still long enough to focus on. Then he realized the Skylord wasn’t losing altitude; it was simply getting closer. The curving underside was already at least a mile above the sea, which was impossible because that would make it miles across. Yet there it was. The shadow it cast turned the gray-blue water nearly black across a vast area. The fine white sails of ships that were eclipsed beneath it turned gray and billowed energetically as the turbulence it created roiled against them.

Finally the leading edge of that colossal circle slid across the city skyline. Like everyone else standing in Eyrie, Edeard felt awed and worshipful. Its size was beyond intimidating; it was utterly overwhelming and not a little frightening. It must have been almost half the size of the city itself. And it flew!

“Oh, great Lady,” he whispered as Kristabel and the twins clung to him. His arms went around them, offering nowhere near enough comfort. He wanted to scream to the city’s mind to protect them. Some wretched primitive aspect wanted him to flee, to cower before such majesty. Instead he laughed hysterically; to think, only minutes ago he and Finitan had been doubting the Skylords and the purpose of the Heart.

Around him people were flinging themselves to the ground, screaming in terror as they wrapped their arms over their heads. When Edeard glanced at the Pythia, he saw great tears of joy streaming down her cheeks as she held her arms upward in greeting. Her mind shone bright as she poured her welcoming thoughts up into the sky.

Dazzling slivers of pure sunlight shimmered across Makkathran’s rooftops and streets. Now that Edeard could see it directly, the Skylord seemed to be made of some crystalline substance, a million thin sheets of the stuff folded into bizarre twisting geometries that somehow never seemed to intersect as they should. Sunlight foamed through the core, bending and shifting erratically. He could never be sure if it was the light that fluctuated or if the crystalline sheets themselves were in constant motion. The Skylord’s composition defied logic as the creature itself defied gravity.