“Well, sonny, you and I are going to steal the knowledge of an entire species. If that’s what it takes to find this goddamn mechanism, then that’s what we’re going to do. Nobody will remember Ozzie’s legend then, so screw him.”

I didn’t know it anyway, the Delivery Man complained silently. He had no idea how Gore was planning to circumvent the Anomine AIs, but he suspected it wouldn’t be a quiet method.

“We can visit any place on your world where we sense those who are fulfilled gathering in readiness for our guidance to the Heart,” the Skylord had said in answer to Edeard’s question.

“So the towers of this city where you have come today play no part in guidance?”

“Those who inhabited this world before you built them to bid their kind farewell. They are where we came before; therefore, they are where we come now. You use them as they did.”

“Then we can call you to gather us from anywhere?”

“Of course. My kindred welcome all those who have reached fulfillment. It is our purpose.”

Edeard kept dreaming that single crucial event over and over. It was one of the few natural dreams he ever had. Though even that faded after a few years in his personal time scale.

The two Skylords had been visible on the horizon every morning for eight days, moving slowly across the pantheon of the Void’s nebulae as they approached Querencia. Edeard stood on the highest balcony in the Orchard Palace, staring up into the pale sky as a cool breeze wafted in off the Lyot Sea. If he really stretched his farsight, he could just sense the placid thoughts of the massive creatures.

Two, where every time before it has been four. Why? Why should that be? The whole city is a unified society. I have made sure we’ve achieved contentment within ourselves this time. That makes us better people. So why have only two come?

He didn’t like how much that disturbed him. Even on the occasion two times past, when Oberford’s Great Tower of Guidance was being built and the whole economy was falling apart as if Honious were establishing its very own kingdom of bedlam across Querencia, four Skylords had come. It was the start of autumn on the fifth year after Finitan’s death. One of the few constants linking his attempts to change the world for the better.

Ladydamnit, four always come now!

The breeze played over his bare skin, and he rubbed his arms absently at the chill. Those two gauzy stars were still too far away for him to talk with them directly. But when they were within his range, he would be asking. Yes, indeed.

High above the compact streets and pointed roofs of Jeavons, a couple of ge-eagles were floating lazily on the updrafts. They weren’t any he was familiar with, and their long circling flight meant that one of them was always turned toward the palace. He scowled up at them but resisted hauling them down out of the sky. Someone was interested in him. Hardly news. Though none of the independent provinces were a direct threat to Makkathran. That I know of. Perhaps they’re just running scared and want to spy on me to satisfy their paranoia. Knowing the provinces and the trouble they’d caused this time around, it wouldn’t surprise him. But still, the brazenness: watching the Waterwalker, the absolute Mayor of Makkathran, in his own city. That took some gall. That in itself narrowed it down to three provinces-or, rather, their governors: Mallux in Obershire, Kiborne in Plaxshire, or more likely Devroul in Licshills. Yes, any one of them would dare; they were all busy establishing their claims as unifiers to rival him. Each was fierce in his independence, greedy in his desire to absorb his neighbor. Exactly the opposite of what the world should be, what he was trying to make it.

He went back into the master bedchamber. Kanseen had always enjoyed the Orchard Palace’s state rooms. It was what all the city buildings should be like, she’d claimed, a blend of old Makkathran architecture and more practical human adaptations. Theirs had been a pleasant two years together, though in truth, after Kristabel’s increasing sourness, anyone else would have been a relief. But in parallel to the breakdown of his own marriage, Macsen had become intolerable for Kanseen, so the two of them finally winding up with each other was almost inevitable.

Since he’d moved out of the Sampalok mansion, Macsen’s downfall had continued at a rate that upset even Edeard. Not that there was anything he could do to help-not yet. Macsen cut himself off from everyone: his old friends, his children, political allies, anyone who might stand between him and his food and drink and miserable self-pity. He also completely rejected Edeard’s unity. Not for him the growing solidarity of the city, an extended family whose open minds would sympathize and care for him and help him regain his dignity and purpose in life.

The last time Edeard had farsighted him three weeks ago, the former master of Sampalok made a woeful figure, living in some squalid room in a Cobara household by himself, spending his coinage in nearby taverns whose forte was cheap beer and cheaper food. His reaction to the intrusion had been a viciously personal diatribe that went on for almost an hour before it finally sputtered away when he succumbed to a drunken slumber.

Edeard had withdrawn then, guilty and angry in equal measure. Macsen was one of his oldest friends; he ought to have been able to do something. Yet he despised the way Macsen had just let go and given in to whatever Honious-born spirits that now possessed him; he was stronger than that, Edeard knew. Yet Macsen in his alcohol-and-kestric-derived state blamed Edeard for the way his life had tumbled into the abyss, with his rejection of unification at the heart of it. Edeard knew that the trust and understanding he’d brought to Makkathran was the true way forward. He couldn’t stop now, not for one person, no matter how much his friendship used to mean.

Edeard’s relationship with Kanseen hadn’t helped Macsen’s condition. That was just the most personal way to wound Macsen there could be. It ensured there would be no reconciliation now, Edeard knew, no last-minute mellowing and putting aside of pride-not on either side. So his own triumph in establishing the unification of the city had come at the cost of his friend and, if he wasn’t careful, his friend’s soul, for in the end what Skylord would ever guide Macsen’s embittered, unfulfilled soul to the Heart? He had no choice, he knew. Each day now was simply spent putting off the inevitable. Soon a subtle domination would have to be applied, gently guiding Macsen back into the embrace of those who loved him.

Edeard padded over to the wide circular bed and pushed aside the gauzy curtains that surrounded it. A hazy patch on the ceiling above the soft mattress radiated a warm copper light, its dusky illumination just enough to reveal the outlines of her body as she slept. The sheet had slipped down past her shoulders, exposing skin that still gleamed from the oils the two younger girls had massaged in at the start of the evening. It was a pleasurable entertainment, variants of which he enjoyed most nights now. Proof, as if he needed it, that the city was now on the right course to provide fulfillment for everyone. Nobody censured anymore, nobody criticized or fought or complained. They cooperated and helped one another succeed in their individual endeavors. He had brought them liberation of themselves, the sure route to the kind of fulfillment the Skylords sought.

Edeard bent over and kissed her gently on the lips. Hilitte stirred, stretching herself with indolent grace, not fully awake yet smiling when she saw him. “What time is it?” she mumbled.