Travis sat in a rickety chair on the front porch of the Bluebell, Miss Guenivere curled up on his lap, and watched dark clouds roll in from the west.

Summer laid claim to the mountains now. The Fourth of July had come and gone, and just about every afternoon thunder-heads built up on the shoulders of Castle Peak, filling the valley with the distant booming of Indian war drums. Most days the clouds kept close to the old mountain, but sometimes, as the afternoon wore on, the clouds would reach out over the valley and-with a crack like a dynamite blast-down would come a torrent of raindrops so big and so cold, each one made you think of snowmelt lakes under lonely skies.

For ten minutes the rain would pound against the tin roofs of Castle City, loud as a herd of mule deer, turning gritty avenues into red, rushing creeks. Then, as suddenly as it started, the rain would cease. The clouds would roll down the valley; the sun's rays would reach through thin mountain air, lapping at the puddles. And both earth and sky were left as green and vivid blue as the flowers that grew in the shade next to the boardinghouse, and from which the establishment took its name.

Sometimes, as he sat there on the porch, Travis wished the rain could wash away all of his worries, just like it washed the dust from Grant Street, and give him a clean beginning.

And what would you do with a new start, Travis? Stay here in Castle City, in this century?

In a way it was tempting. He liked living at Maudie's, and he had his job at the Mine Shaft. What was more, Jack Graystone would be arriving in town soon. He imagined Jack coming to see him as he worked at the saloon, wanting help carrying brass lamps or moth-eaten chairs or whatever unwieldy load of antiques he had just bought. It would be like old times.

Too old, Travis. You don't belong here. You don't own the Mine Shaft. You can't stay at Maudie's because she's going to die soon. And they're going to hang Sareth.

He waited all afternoon, but the rain never came that day. Just the clouds and the thunder, filling the air with a buzzing energy, like lightning about to strike.

At five o'clock, the smell of frying fish drifted out the front door of the Bluebell. Guenivere yawned and hopped down from Travis's lap, no doubt in search of Maudie and a few morsels of rainbow trout. Travis reached into his pocket and pulled out the scarab.

The spider jewel crawled across his palm, probing with delicate gold legs. The ruby set into its abdomen glistened, as red as the single drop of blood he knew remained inside the scarab. That blood could transport them back to Eldh using the gate artifact safely hidden in the rafters up in their room. But what other wonders might be worked with it? Sareth said a single drop of blood from the god-king Oru was as powerful as the blood of a thousand sorcerers. And Travis had witnessed the transformation that consuming the blood of the scarab had wrought upon the Mournish man, Xemeth.

But what good had that power done him? The demon had drawn Xemeth in, consuming him. Oru himself was shackled by his own priests. Despite his power-or perhaps because of it-Oru had fallen into an endless slumber, and his priests had preyed upon him, drinking his blood to gain magic, storing the crimson fluid in scarabs like this one. Maybe, in the end, power was simply a prison. Or a death sentence.

His right hand tingled as the scarab crawled across it; he could feel the symbol embedded in his skin. It was invisible now, but the moment he spoke a rune it would glow bright silver.

And what about your power, Travis? Will it be your own undoing in the end? Or a world's?

Before he could answer that question, a stoop-shouldered figure approached along Grant Street and walked up the steps of the front porch. It was Durge, and he was bleeding.

Travis jumped to his feet and slipped the scarab into his pocket. "Durge, are you all right?"

There were small cuts on the left side of Durge's craggy face, and a bruise was forming along his cheekbone.

"It's nothing," the knight said in his somber voice. "A bottle thrown by some troublemaker, that's all. It struck me as I was returning to the jail with food for Sareth, and it was my own fault I was not quick enough to duck. I told Sir Tanner there was no reason I could not continue my day's work, but he ordered me to return here, and I am bound by my oath to obey him."

Travis knew the stoic knight would never admit he was hurt, and no doubt Tanner had known the same. "The sheriff was right," Travis said, taking Durge's arm and steering him toward the door. "We'd better have Lirith look at you."

They found the witch with Maudie in the kitchen.

"Lord above!" Maudie cried when she caught sight of Durge. "Mr. Dirk, what's happened to you?"

Lirith moved swiftly to the knight. She reached her hands toward him, then hesitated. Durge gave a stiff nod, and Lirith touched his cheek, examining him with gentle fingers.

The witch opened her eyes. "No bones are broken, so that is well. But there is glass in some of the cuts. We must get it out, or the wounds will not heal."

They seated Durge at the kitchen table. Maudie boiled a pair of tweezers, and once they cooled, Lirith used them to pluck slivers of glass out of Durge's cuts. Her motions were deft, and it was not in the knight's character to complain, but all the same he flinched each time she drew out a sliver.

"There are going to be scars," Lirith said, dabbing at the wounds with a cloth, cleaning them.

Durge winced. "Perhaps it will result in some improvement in the character of my countenance."

"Forgive my language," Maudie said, "but that's a bunch of bull droppings, Mr. Dirk. You have a fine face. It's strong and thoughtful. Why, I'd even daresay it's noble. And that's a long sight better than handsome any day. I bet you have a sweet woman waiting for you somewhere-don't tell me you don't. And you'll be a damn fool if you keep her waiting much longer just because you think she deserves someone better-looking."

Durge turned away, but not before crimson colored his cheeks along with the deepening bruise.

After that, Travis and Lirith helped Maudie set supper on the table while Durge went upstairs to change out of his bloodstained shirt. They talked little during the meal; Travis was keenly aware of the trio of miners who sat at the table. But once the men were gone-off to the saloons-Maudie made it clear she wanted to hear the full story of what had happened to Durge.

There wasn't much more to tell. Durge hadn't seen who threw the bottle, and if anyone else had glimpsed the perpetrator, they hadn't volunteered the information. Not that this surprised Travis. The furor over what had happened in the Mine Shaft on the Fourth of July had quieted in the week since, like a pond after a rock is thrown in, but a current of anger still flowed beneath the surface. The people of Castle City had been denied a lynching, and that didn't sit well with them. Even so, it might all have been forgotten if it hadn't been for those who kept dredging it back up, making sure the people remembered their outrage.

"Have you seen the Castle City Clarion today?" Travis said to Durge. The knight shook his head.

Maudie banged a hand on the table. "I've told you, I won't tolerate that dirt in my house!"

A few days ago, Maudie had collected all of the newspapers in the Bluebell and burned them out back. However, one of the miners had left that day's paper in the parlor, and Travis had found it before Maudie. He ran up to their room, retrieved the newspaper, and returned, unfolding it on the table. Maudie turned away, refusing even to look at it, but the others leaned close, reading the top story.

SHERIFF CONTINUES TO HARBOR MURDERER.

Further proving Justice has no provenance in this town-at least not within the office of the Law-our own Sheriff, bound by an oath to serve and protect us, instead serves and protects a known fugitive within the very jailhouse the citizens of this town built with gold from their own pockets. This fugitive-one Mr. Samson of unknown and dubious extraction-was seen by many on the Fourth of July murdering one of our town's finest young men, Mr. Calvin Murray, in cold blood.

Even if the laws of Colorado require that this murderer be held until the arrival of the circuit judge two weeks hence-and by no means is it clear the laws do indeed demand this in such an extraordinary and egregious working of malice-certainly the laws do not require that the prisoner be kept in such a grand state, as would better befit a mining baron in the Silver Palace Hotel than a drifter and a man-killer.

Yet witnesses of the highest reliability report the prisoner sleeps on a soft bed, drinks fine whiskey, and has only to snap his fingers to be brought expensive meals of steak and potatoes by the town's own Deputies. Tell us, citizens, if you are eating so well yourself these days. -The Editors.

Travis sighed. "I think we know now why someone threw a bottle at you, Durge. Didn't you say you were taking Sareth his supper when it happened?"

"A man must eat," Durge said. "There is no kitchen at the jail, so we buy his meals from Mrs. Vickery's restaurant, as she gives us a good price. But by any estimation, Mrs. Vickery is not a skilled cook. I don't believe she knows how to prepare aught save beef and potatoes."

Travis glanced at Maudie. "And didn't you send a feather bed to the jail?"

"It's old, and it's lost half its feathers," Maudie said. "But I was worried about Mr. Samson sleeping on those bare wooden benches. He isn't well."

"And you gave Durge whiskey for him, didn't you, Lirith?" The witch's brown eyes flashed. "It was not for Sareth's amusement. It is a distillation of herbs to ease his breathing. The alcohol provides a base for the elixir, nothing more."

"So it's all true, then." Travis folded the paper, hiding the article. "And it's all right here."

Lirith clenched her hands into fists. "How can they make the truth sound so...so horrible?"

"They're good at their job," Travis said. "And their job is selling papers."

Durge stroked his mustaches. "What I wonder is how the writer of these words learned all of these things. I believe I should like to talk to the owner of this newspaper."

"No, Mr. Dirk!" Maudie said, eyes going wide. "Mortimer Hale owns nearly half this town. He's the most powerful man in Castle City, and he's one of the hardest. I know that firsthand. Don't you go near him. Promise me you won't."

But Durge stayed silent and did not meet her eyes. Maudie clamped a hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp, and hurried into the kitchen.

"I want to go see him," Lirith said, rising from the table. "I want to go see Sareth. Now."

Durge shook his head. "Perhaps tomorrow, if there isn't another newspaper story. It isn't safe right now, my lady."

"And what about Sareth?" Lirith was trembling. "Is it safe for him?"

"Sir Tanner is watching him. And Deputy Wilson is at the jail as well. Sareth is safer there than anywhere else, my lady."

Lirith let out a shuddering breath. "I know, Durge." Her voice was low now. "I know he is. Thank you."

The knight nodded, then picked up a load of dishes and carried them into the kitchen after Maudie.

Travis stood and touched Lirith's shoulder. "We should be getting to the Mine Shaft now."

"Let me just wash my face."

While he waited, Travis sat again at the table and flipped through the newspaper. Besides the story about Sareth, there was little else of interest. "Morning Mayhem" reported that there must be wolves in the vicinity, as two head of cattle had been found mauled at a ranch just south of town. However, it wasn't the predators outside of Castle City Travis was worried about.

Lirith returned, face freshly scrubbed and wearing a brave expression. Travis took her arm, and together they headed out, cutting over to Elk Street, then walking along the boardwalk to the saloon.

Travis was aware of the occasional glance in their direction. But that was hardly unusual; both he and Lirith had a tendency to stand out in a crowd. As far as he knew, it still wasn't widely known that Sareth was their friend.

Or more than a friend to some, Travis.

"You love him, don't you?" he said as they walked. "Sareth."

Lirith missed a step, then kept walking, her gaze fixed forward. "It doesn't matter whether or not I love him. We can never be together. It is forbidden for a man of the Mournish to marry outside of his clan."

Travis felt a hot spark of anger. He hated things like that: arbitrary rules prescribed by a society, forcing you to live your life a particular way for no reason at all, save that that was how others wanted you to live it.

"Why doesn't he leave his clan, then?"

"And if he was not Mournish, would he still be Sareth?" She shook her head. "It's possible he might give that up for me. And if he did, I would never forgive myself. I would never be able to look at him without seeing in his eyes that I made him sacrifice everything he was, everything that was in his blood, just to be with me."

"Maybe that's what he wants."

"I suppose he might even believe that. For a time, at least. But in the end it would eat at his heart like a serpent." She let out a heavy breath. "No, I love him too much to be the one who destroys him."

"But his clan is a world away, Lirith."

"And does that change what he is? Better still, does it change what I am? It is more than his clan that keeps us apart. There are-"

She pressed her lips shut and held a hand to her stomach. What had she been about to say? Travis couldn't bring himself to ask. He tightened his grip on her arm, and she leaned against him as they kept walking.

The boardwalk was crowded with people, as was typical for a Friday evening, but the throng seemed quieter than usual, faces longer and more subdued. Maybe it was anger that had stolen the life out of the air-anger over Sareth and Sheriff Tanner.

Or maybe it was fear.

At first all Travis saw was a tight knot of people on the boardwalk. A buzz of conversation rose on the air, along with a number of jeers. There was a stifled scream, and a man hastily led a woman away, her hand clamped to her mouth.

"What's going on up there?" Lirith said.

Travis felt dread trickle into his stomach. "I don't know. I'm going to go look."

He released Lirith's arm and pressed forward, aware that the witch followed after him. The crowd was gathered around the mouth of an alley. Something was there in the space between buildings. It dangled like a bunch of rags caught on a fence.

"Serves him right!" a man called out.

"Sinner!" hissed the woman next to him, her expression exultant.

The pair turned and moved away. Travis and Lirith jostled their way forward, then saw what the crowd was gawking at. In the alley, draped on a pair of crossed timbers that had been planted in the dirt, was Niles Barrett.

The Englishman's arms were spread wide, lashed to the crosspiece with rope, and he was slumped forward, so that Travis couldn't fully see his face. He wasn't moving. Blood stained his forehead, and several of his fingers splayed out at crooked angles, broken.

"Who did this?" Travis said, choking on the words. The man next to him pointed at Barrett's suit coat. On it was pinned a piece of paper bearing neatly lettered words.

THY SHALT HONOR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER.

And below that, in smaller lettering.

THERE IS A NEW LAW IN THIS TOWN. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO THOSE WHO DEFY THE CRUSADE FOR PURITY.

"Travis!" Lirith clutched his arm. "He's still alive."

Barrett's head shifted to one side. A moan escaped his bloodied lips. The man next to Travis let out a laugh. Travis turned and glared at him.

"Get Sheriff Tanner," he growled. "Now!"

There must have been some authority in Travis's tone, for the man's laughter fell short. He stared for a moment, then turned and ran down the boardwalk, calling for the sheriff.

"All of you, get out of here," Travis said, his voice rising. "I said get out!"

A crack of thunder shook the air, and Travis wasn't so certain it was from the clouds in the sky. He could feel his right hand tingling. Startled, the people hurried away. Although some didn't go far, and they stood on the boardwalk, watching with hard eyes. Energy sizzled inside Travis, straining to leap out. All he had to do was speak a rune.

No, he wouldn't hurt others; he wasn't like them. He clenched his jaw, and together he and Lirith began to untie Barrett.

Lirith shut the bedroom door-softly, even though Lord Barrett could not have heard it-and headed downstairs. Would that she possessed Grace's abilities as a healer, or even Aryn's untamed but depthless strength. It was in the art of the Sight where Lirith's greatest talents lay. However, even she could not see whether he would live or die. She had done all she could; now they could only wait.

She found the others in the parlor of the Bluebell.

"How is he?" Travis said, setting down a chipped porcelain coffee cup.

Lirith opened her mouth to speak and yawned instead. It was just after dawn; she hadn't slept all night. "His wounds are no longer bleeding, and I've set the fingers that were broken. I believe he comes close to waking at times. He'll mutter a few words, as if in a dream, before sinking again into slumber. I caught one word. I think it was gold."

Durge gave a grim nod. "Likely the men who did this to him took his gold."

Travis glanced at the knight. "Do you really think they were just common thieves, Durge?"

The knight blew a breath through his mustaches.

Lirith sat and accepted the cup of coffee Travis poured for her. Coffee wasn't maddok-it was more bitter, and it lacked the other drink's characteristic hint of spice-but she couldn't deny its power was considerable. After a few sips she felt a welcome tingling in her chest.

"How was your work at the saloon last night?" she asked Travis.

After they had brought Niles Barrett back to the boardinghouse with the help of the sheriff and Deputy Wilson-Durge had been keeping watch over Sareth at the jail-Travis had headed for the Mine Shaft to tell Manypenny what had happened and that Lirith wouldn't be in that night.