Travis sighed, running a hand over his shaved head. "I probably shouldn't have bothered staying. The place was almost empty. Not even old Ezekial Frost came by."

"Perhaps people decided it was a good night to stay in," Durge said, holding his littlest finger out as he lifted one of the fragile coffee cups with exaggerated care.

Lirith imagined Durge was right. Once word of what had happened to Lord Barrett spread through town, people had quickly gone back to their homes. Travis had told her the message pinned to Barrett was from a list of ten such commandments made long ago by a god of this world. And who in this town had not broken at least one of those commandments?

Lirith set down her cup. "I am not certain I have done everything for Lord Barrett that can be done. Do you think we should send for the town's doctor?"

"No, Miss Lily," Maudie said from the door of the parlor. She moved to the table and set down a fresh pot of coffee. "Better that you see to Mr. Barrett than Dr. Svensson."

Durge gave her a sharp look. "Why should we not send for the doctor, Lady Maudie?"

"This is why, Mr. Dirk." She tossed down a copy of the Castle City Clarion next to the coffeepot. "Dr. Svensson is married to Bertha Hale Svensson. Mortimer Hale's sister."

Lirith understood Maudie's meaning. Mortimer Hale was the publisher of the Clarion, and Travis believed it might be Hale who was behind the vigilance committee-or the Crusade for Purity, as it had named itself last night. Of course, what had happened to Lord Barrett bore the violent mark of Lionel Gentry. But Gentry could be working for Hale. And, given his connection by marriage, so could Dr. Svensson.

Travis gazed at the paper. "I thought you had forbidden the Clarion in your house, Maudie."

"That I did. I cleaned this out of one of the boarder's rooms upstairs. And it's going right to the incinerator."

She swept up the paper before they could read the story on the front page, but Lirith caught the headline: AT LAST, JUSTICE IS COME.

Durge stood and put on his hat. It was time for him to head over to the jail to relieve Sheriff Tanner. Travis yawned-evidently he hadn't slept the previous night either-and went up to their rooms to rest. Lirith supposed she should do the same; she was exhausted. However, the coffee had done its work, and she felt abuzz with energy. Better to put it to use. She picked up the empty cups and headed to the kitchen to help Maudie with the breakfast dishes.

Maudie greeted her with a smile as Lirith put on an apron, and the two women worked in that busy, pleasant sort of silence that comes from simple work and comfortable companionship. When everything was clean, Maudie toasted slices of bread on the top of the stove and set them on the table with a jar of wild strawberry jam.

"Early mornings need two breakfasts," she said.

Lirith's stomach was growling, and she didn't disagree.

"It's a shame what they did to poor Mr. Barrett," Maudie said with a sigh. "And after all he's suffered in his life."

Lirith raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"He was banished to America, you know." Maudie turned her gaze toward Lirith. "His father is an English earl, and Niles is the eldest son. But some years ago, his father stripped away all of Niles's right to his inheritance and put him on a ship to New York, telling him never to come back."

Lirith thought of the notice that had been pinned to Barrett's coat. Thou shalt honor thy father and thy mother. "Why did his father banish him?"

"I suppose there aren't many in town who know the whole story. Of course, most everyone knows Barrett isn't a ladies' man. He used to come into the Bluebell, but just to have a drink and talk, never to engage one of my girls." Maudie let out a fond laugh. "He said he liked the ambiance."

Lirith smiled. She reached across the table and took Maudie's hand.

"He told me about it late one night," Maudie went on. "We were swapping sad stories after drinking too much gin. I told him the tale of every one of my husbands. And then..." She lifted her shoulders in a sigh. "He was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. Niles showed me a picture, and he was the handsomest young man you could imagine. Eyes as deep and calm as the sea. Only then the elder Lord Barrett found the letters they had exchanged. Niles's officer was stripped of his rank and sent to a post in Australia. And Niles was sent here."

"I don't understand," Lirith said. "Why were Niles Barrett and his lieutenant made to part?"

Maudie let out a gasp. "You must come from another world, Miss Lily, if you don't know. Society is hard to those who live outside the borders drawn by those within. I suppose I know it as well as Mr. Barrett does. I've given up inviting the town's best ladies over to dinner. I suppose they think you can take the woman out of the brothel, but you can't take the brothel out of the woman."

Lirith went stiff, and Maudie regarded her with a gentle understanding. But how could Maudie know about those years Lirith had spent dancing in Gulthas's house? No one knew. Only somehow she did.

Lirith started to pull away, but Maudie held her hand tight. "Don't you believe them who say such things, Miss Lily. You're a good woman through and through. I can see it. Mr. Samson is lucky to have you."

"Is he?"

Maudie let her hand go. Lirith pressed it to her stomach. She could feel it: the dark space inside her that would never be filled with life. What did she have to give Sareth besides what she had given all the men who came to Gulthas's house?

But maybe that was the answer. Sareth could not take a wife outside his clan. But what about a mistress? As Maudie had said, there were those who lived their lives outside the circle drawn by proper men and woman. Did not Lirith already dwell beyond those boundaries?

She stood up, flushed with an energy that came not only from the coffee. "I have to go see Sareth now."

Concern filled Maudie's eyes. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Miss Lily? Mr. Dirk says it isn't safe for you to go to the jail. You know folk are still calling for Mr. Samson's hanging. You don't want to make matters worse by drawing attention."

But Lirith hardly heard her. She untied the apron and threw it down. "Good-bye, Lady Maudie," she said, then without waiting for a reply she rushed out the kitchen door.

Lirith hurried down Grant Street. The jail lay at the far end of town, a mile away. She ran until her lungs burned, walked until she caught her breath, than ran again. She felt eyes watching her in curiosity, but she didn't care. Grant Street dead-ended at the livery. She turned down a narrow side street to cut over to Elk Street.

And collided with Ezekial Frost.

"Whoa there, missy. Where are yeh going in such a hurry?"

Bony but strong hands caught her, keeping her from falling. She found herself face-to-face with the old mountain man. Scraps of white hair jutted out from beneath a cap of mangy animal fur. Tobacco had stained his beard and teeth, and his eyes were yellow with jaundice-no doubt caused by too much drink.

"Well, now, so it's purdy Miss Lily from the Mine Shaft who's run into me."

"Excuse me," she said, extricating herself from his tenacious grasp. "I have to be going."

A canny look stole into his eyes. "I'm going to be going, too, Miss Lily. Going back."

Some of her urgency was replaced by puzzlement. The old man's words seemed important somehow. "What do you mean?"

He let out a cackle of laughter and slapped his thigh. "Yeh be a smart one, Miss Lily, to play dumb like that. But I know yeh know all about them Seven Cities just like I do."

"What Seven Cities?"

"Why, the Cities of Cibola. Them cities of gold that men have hunted fer five hundred years, first the Spaniards, then them who came after. Only it weren't them who found the way, it were me. I been there once, and I never should have left." His eyes locked on hers. "I know yeh've been there, too, Miss Lily. I seen yeh come on through, just like the gold man. I got to know the likes of him there. He'll be looking for a way back. Only when he opens it up, I'm gonna scamper on through before he does, quick as a jackrabbit." The old man reached for her arm. "I'll take yeh with me, Miss Lily, if that's what yeh want."

Frost's breath reeked of corn liquor and decay. She pulled away from him. "I have to go," she said, and this time she ran down the street before the mountain man could say anything more.

When she reached the sheriff's office, she expected to find Durge or young Deputy Wilson sitting behind the battered desk, but instead it was Sheriff Tanner himself. His eyebrows rose as he took her in.

Lirith supposed she was a mess. She did her best to straighten her dress. "I've come to see Sareth."

"All right, Miss Lily," the sheriff said in his calm drawl. "He's allowed a visitor. But just for ten minutes, and you're not to reach through the bars or give him anything. That's the law, and I know as a good woman you'll respect it."

She gave a curt nod. Anything to see Sareth.

Tanner rose and moved to a door at the back of the room. It was wood with an iron-barred square that provided a view into the jail. Tanner took a ring of keys from his belt and chose one. Lirith noticed that it took him a long moment to fit the key in the lock. He opened the door.

"I'll come get you when your time's up."

She stepped through. Tanner shut the door behind her, and she heard the lock turn.

"Beshala," said a soft voice.

Her eyes adjusted to the dimness, and she made out three cells, each one fitted with a door made of iron bars. Two of the cells were empty, but in one stood a shadowy figure. Wasn't this how she had first glimpsed him-standing in the gloom in the grove beneath Ar-tolor?

Lirith moved to the row of bars. She had not seen him since the night of Calvin Murray's death, and she knew it was not just the dimness of the jail that caused the darkness to gather beneath his eyes and in the hollow of his cheeks.

Her chest grew tight. "Sareth, you're not well."

"I am now that I see you." He stepped closer to the bars, but as he did he winced.

"Your leg," she said. "It's hurting you, isn't it?"

"I had thought that wound healed. But I've noticed it more and more since we came through the gate to this world. Yet it's nothing, beshala. A memory of pain, that's all. And I am not capable of any feeling but joy right now."

She started to reach for him through the bars, then pulled her hand back. "The sheriff says I am not to touch you."

"And my people say I am not to touch you."

Lirith folded her arms over her chest, as if to hide her heart. The laws of his people were like the iron bars, designed to keep them apart. But Lirith knew now there was another way.

She couldn't meet his eyes. "I cannot give you marriage, Sareth. And I cannot give you a child, for no life will ever take root inside my body again, that I know. But there is one thing yet I can give you."

She felt his confusion. "What are you talking about, beshala ?"

She held her chin up, forcing herself to look at him. "I would be your whore, Sareth. I cannot give you love or life. But I can give you my body, for it is all I have left to me. And I give it freely, that you may do anything with it you wish. Even your clan's laws cannot deny that gift."

He clutched the bars, and a moan escaped him as he shook his head. Pain pierced her chest. Was he refusing this, the only gift she could give to him?

"Oh, beshala." His deep voice thrummed with anguish. "Your heart I would take gladly, if only the ways of my clan allowed it. Your love I would cherish as if it were the greatest of gems. Only I would not lock it away. I would wear it about my throat, letting it rest against my chest where it could burn bright for all to see. But your body is a treasure I cannot make my own."

No, she wouldn't accept this. "But surely the laws of your clan allow you to take a mistress."

"They do."

"Then I would follow the Mournish like a ghost, always hovering in the darkness and cold just beyond the bright circle of their fires. I care not. I would wait only for those times when you could steal away, into the shadows, to fill me with your warmth."

"And that is the one thing I cannot do, beshala."

She stared, beyond words.

He leaned his head against the bars. "It was the demon, beshala. It stole not just my leg from me. It stole my power as a man as well."

"You mean-?"

A bitter smile touched his lips. "No, beshala. All of my body is intact, save for my leg. But it might as well not be. No passion, no matter how strongly I feel it, can cause me to stir as a man should. It has been thus ever since that day Xemeth and I first found the demon, and I knew its touch."

It was too cruel. Lirith tried to laugh, but the sound came out as a sob. "So the one gift I can give you is the one that means nothing to you."

His coppery gaze found hers, held it. "No, beshala. You have given me the greatest gift I could ever have asked for. What man ever truly knows his fate? Yet here is my own fate, made manifest as you stand before me. So what if it is bitter? At least I know it, and it is mine."

She pressed her own face to the bars, so close to his she could feel the heat radiating from his cheek, touching her skin like the most intimate caress.

"I will love you forever, Sareth."

"And I love you this moment," he said.

They stayed that way until a knock sounded at the door.

"It's time, Miss Lily," came Tanner's voice through the bars.

The lock turned; the door opened. Without a word, Lirith turned and left her heart in the shadows behind her.

Durge knelt amid the sagebrush, leaning close to examine the dead lamb. The sun jabbed through the thin mountain air like a hot knife, and horseflies lurched around in drunken circles. Vermin had only just begun to discover the little white corpse. A few more hours in this heat, and Durge knew that would change.

"Do you think it was wolves or coyotes, Senor Dirk?" asked the man who squatted beside him. He was wiry and compact, his hair black and his skin a wind-worn brown. His name was Manuel Dominguez, and Durge guessed he came from the Dominion of Meksako, which Sir Tanner said lay to the south of Yewessay.

Durge studied the pattern of wounds that penetrated the lamb's woolly skin, exposing flesh and bone. There were long gashes on the creature's back and deeper punctures in its right side. The throat was the worst; it had been savaged so brutally the creature's head twisted backward, attached to its body by only a grisly cord of bone and sinew. The other two lambs had shown similar patterns of mutilation.

"This looks to me like the work of wolves," Durge said, pointing to the lamb's shredded neck. In Embarr, there were huge gray wolves that came out of the mountains to prowl the moors in winter, and he had seen the damage they could wreak upon sheep or kine. "But the wounds upon its back look more like those made by a great cat."

Dominguez looked up. "Would a mountain lion come so far into the valley?"

Durge rocked back on his heels and shaded his eyes. Dominguez's small sheep ranch was in the middle of the sage-covered plain that blanketed the floor of the valley; the mountains were two leagues away, perhaps three.

"One might come so far, if it were hungry," Durge said. "But it makes little sense that a lion and a wolf should work together. And I do not think these marks were made by an animal at all." He pointed to the deep wounds on the creature's side. "These look as if they were made by a knife. Did one of the men who work for you begin to butcher the creature?"

Dominguez shook his head. "I have no men who work for me, only my sons. And I was the first to find the lambs."

What he saw confounded Durge. This creature had been slain by talon, tooth, and knife-each weapon wielded seemingly by a different creature. Even stranger, why had the predator not fed upon the lamb after killing it? He brushed his fingers over the dirt around the lamb. It was hard and dry; there was no trace of blood. Perhaps the slayer had fed after all. But what creature killed only to drink blood? No animal Durge knew of behaved in such a manner.

"I will tell the sheriff what has happened here," Durge said to the rancher as they stood. "I imagine he will send men out to hunt for the animal that did this."

Dominguez nodded, his brown eyes filled with gratitude. "I thank you, Senor Dirk. My ranch is small, and so is my herd. A man offered not long ago to buy my land from me. If I lose many more sheep, I will have to take his offer."

Durge felt sympathy for the rancher. In Embarr, there was no greater shame than to be a freeman without land, save to be a serf or a beggar. "Who is this man who offered to purchase your land from you?"

"I do not know his name. He came from over there."

Dominguez pointed to the east. Durge squinted and could just see it in the distance: a split-rail fence stretching for league after league, and beyond it the shapes of barns, stables, and a gigantic house with many wings and pointed spires that made Durge think of the finer manor houses of Eldh. A local lord must live there. That made sense. It was cruel but not unusual for a nobleman to buy the land of a freeman who was in debt to him, and then allow the man to keep working the land he had once owned, thus turning him into a serf in all but name.

Durge bid the rancher farewell, then mounted the horse he had ridden from town and urged it into a canter. Sir Tanner kept three horses at the livery, and while they were fine animals, none had a fraction of the strength or heart of his own charger, Blackalock. He supposed Blackalock was still in the stables at Ar-tolor where Durge had left him. Would Durge ever return to Eldh to claim him again?

I imagine Blackalock will grow old and die waiting for you to come back, Durge.

The gloomy thought occurred to him out of habit. It was his nature always to assume the worst; that way disappointment could never be a fact. Only, for some reason, today this thought annoyed Durge. What use was it to imagine Blackalock pining in his stall? Why should Durge not get back to Eldh? From what Travis said-and Durge had never known Travis to be anything but trustworthy-his friend Jack Graystone was a runelord, and little as Durge cared for magic, it was magic that had gotten them there, and surely such a powerful wizard could help them.

You will get back to Eldh, Durge tried telling himself, and the thought felt strangely good. You will find a way back, and you will see your old friend Blackalock again.