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matched the historical except that no ambushes had been set to further humiliate those who fled.
    Only Varthlokkur, watching from Fangdred, fully appreciated what Elwas al-Souki had accomplished. Magden Norath saw only the destruction of his children, who could not be replaced. His laboratories were gone.
    For survivors on both sides the results were sufficient. There had been a winner, there had been a loser, and the loser had suffered badly. The loser would go away but the Faithful would take back nothing they had lost before. Both sides would hang up their swords for a while. Forever, if Yasmid could get her son to listen.
    ...
    One creature somewhere would be frustrated. Wars everywhere were winding down.
    He would not be seen much, though, if he understood that a lot of people were thinking about him. His great strength, over the ages, had been that people did not take notice. But that was changing.
    His hand had been too heavy lately.
    ...
    The Royalist survivors scurried back to Al Rhemish. They wasted a winter on recriminations. The old men, left behind when the “final campaign” launched, said much less than those who had ridden the salt. They had no need to say, “I told you so.”
    Was there a chance they would be consulted next time Megelin had a wild hair?
    Probably not.
    ...
    Credence Abaca summoned Kristen. The order was couched as a gracious request but the mother of the king-who-would-be knew she had no choice. While she and her friends, and the children, were guests of the Marena Dimura they were beholden and at the mercy of the forest people. They dared not put on airs. The Marena Dimura might just stop filling the extra mouths. And this would be a hard winter.
    All winters were harsh after dislocations during the benign seasons.
    Kristen did not go alone. That would not have been proper. Dahl Haas joined her trek through the cold forest. He entered the Colonel’s family cabin behind her. He was not allowed near the war chief but neither was he deprived of his weapons. He waited where he could see Kristen all the time. He was made comfortable.
    Credence Abaca was a small, dark man, famous for his vitality and energy. These days, though, he was bent and wrinkled. He had a palsy in his left hand. Not good. He was left-handed.
    “Sit with me,” Abaca said. His voice had changed subtly, too, and he had difficulty seating himself.
    “Thank you, Colonel. You’ve had news?”
    “News?” Puzzled. “No. No news.”
    “Yet you asked me here.”
    “Yes. Pardon me in advance if, on occasion, I become a little brusque. You will understand why as we proceed.”
    Abaca’s tone worried Kristen.
    “There is news, good and bad, but not of the sort you meant. From my point of view, our partisans have enjoyed considerable success against the Itaskians, who have gone to ground in Damhorst. They have to stick together in groups of a dozen or more. Also, the Nordmen who allied themselves with the Itaskians are starting to reconsider. Greyfells seems unlikely to receive outside reinforcements.”
    “That means we’ve won!”
    “No, Kristen. It means we may be able to rid Kavelin of the Itaskians, in time. But Inger has distanced herself from her cousin already. She retains the loyalty of the strongest regiments. We have an unofficial truce with them, for now. They don’t want to fight us. We don’t want to fight them. We stood shoulder to shoulder on the same battlefields too many times.” He stopped. His left hand shook badly.
    Kristen said, “I hear a big ‘But!’ Is that the bad news?”
    “After a fashion.”
    Kristen strove hard to remain respectfully patient.
    “Kristen, I am the glue that holds your support together. I am, in fact, guilty of pulling you into my politics so I could put an acceptable figurehead out in front of my ambitions for my people.”
    Kristen nodded, surprised by his bald honesty.
    “I may have done you a severe disservice.”
    “How so?”
    Abaca was quiet for a time. His