Durge let out a snort. "But they would not have won regardless. Xemeth betrayed the sorcerers. The only reason this sorcerer survived to follow us was because you destroyed the demon Xemeth unleashed."

"That's true." Travis put the pieces together in his mind. "But there's no way the sorcerer could know about Xemeth's betrayal. In the Etherion, he was under the spell of the demon. And we never talked about Xemeth those times he was listening to us."

Durge tugged on the reins, and the wagon veered around a bend. "I see it now. The sorcerer believes you are the reason things went wrong with his brethren in the Etherion. He thinks it was because of you and the Great Stone that he and the other Scirathi were defeated."

"But now he wants to change that," Travis said, "by making sure it never happens at all."

They had reached the outskirts of town; the streets were deserted. The wagon clattered around a corner onto Grant Street, and Durge pulled hard on the reins. The wagon lurched to a stop.

"It looks quiet," Travis said. No lights shone in the windows of the boardinghouse. The front door was shut.

"I would prefer noise," Durge said, as they climbed down from the bench.

"I need to stay with him," Lirith said, her hands still pressed to Sareth's temples, her face haunted in the moonlight. The Mournish man's eyes were closed.

Travis glanced at Tanner. "Sheriff, can you keep watch over them?"

Tanner patted the shotgun resting across his knees. "I'll make sure no one comes near the wagon. Here, you'd better take this. I've reloaded it." He held out the Peacemaker.

The gun shone like liquid silver in the moonlight. He started to reach out, then pulled his hand back. This duel wouldn't be won with a six-shooter.

"Take care, Sheriff," Travis said, and started toward the boardinghouse. Durge jogged up beside him, his greatsword in his hands. Travis knew better than to tell the knight to stay in the wagon.

"Durge, I want you to find Maudie and Liza and make sure they're safe. And all of the boarders, too."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to find Jack."

"And will not the sorcerer be with him?"

Travis took a deep breath. "That's what I'm counting on."

Together, they walked up the steps to the front porch. Travis was keenly aware of every squeak of the boards beneath his boots. Did the sorcerer know he was there?

No, he thinks you're still at the Bar L Ranch. That was his plan all along. The sorcerer probably didn't believe for a minute that Locke and the Crusade could get the scarab from you. He was just using them to distract you, to get you away from Jack so he could make his move. Getting the scarab doesn't matter to him. He only stole the gate to make sure we didn't leave. Once he kills Jack, the future will change, and none of you will even be here anymore.

Travis moved his hand to his pocket, feeling the warmth of the living jewel within. Then he opened the door. There was only darkness beyond. He met Durge's eyes, then he and the knight moved into the hallway.

Something white shot through the dark like a ghost, hurtling toward Durge's chest. Durge swore, transferring his sword to one hand, using the other to fend off the attacker.

The ghost let out a meow of protest. Travis's heart started beating again. Durge let out a sigh and coiled his arm around the little calico cat. She must have jumped from the landing of the stairs above.

"You stay here, Miss Guenivere," Durge whispered, setting the cat on the floor. She purred, rubbing against his leg.

They stood in the hallway for a minute. Travis could see clearly in the gloom, but he knew Durge's eyes would need to adjust to the dim light of the moon spilling through the windows. Durge nodded, and they moved through the parlor door, then into the dining room, the kitchen, and Maudie's bedroom. All were empty. In moments they were back at the foot of the stairs. Miss Guenivere had vanished.

Durge gestured with his sword. Up. Travis started up the stairs, Durge right behind him. His hand started to move to his pocket-not the left where he kept the scarab, but the right, which contained Sinfathisar. By force of will he pulled his hand back; it was still bleeding from the shallow gunshot wound.

They met only shadows as they ascended the stairs. When they reached the second-floor landing, they halted. Silence. They moved down the hallway, opening doors, peering into the bedrooms on either side. All were empty. They reached the last door. Durge tried the knob. It was locked.

Durge knelt to peer through the keyhole. The knight sucked in a breath. "Lady Maudie!"

"What do you see?" Travis whispered. Is she all right? he started to ask, but then he heard a small, frightened sound come through the door.

"Lady Maudie," Durge called softly through the keyhole.

There was a scrabbling sound, then a weak cough. "Mr. Dirk? Is that really you?"

"It is. And Travis is with me."

A sobbing noise. "Oh, Mr. Caine. You have to stop him. He's going to do something horrible to Mr. Graystone."

"Who, Maudie?" Travis whispered, but he already knew.

"The man in the gold mask," Maudie's voice came wavering through the keyhole. "Is he a member of the Crusade for Purity?"

Travis didn't know how to answer that one. "Maudie, can you unlock the door?"

"It won't open," said her muffled voice. "I think he did something to it, something that keeps it from budging."

A spell. The sorcerer had bound it with magic.

"Maudie," Durge said, "what happened? And where are the others?"

"Liza and I were in the kitchen, cleaning up after supper. The boarders had all headed out to the saloons. Then we heard the front door bang open. I thought maybe it was the wind. Only when I went into the hallway, I saw him instead. He spoke in the most terrible voice-just like a snake-and he said, 'Where is Graystone?' I shouted for Liza to run out the back, then I turned and headed upstairs, thinking he'd follow me and stay away from Liza, and he did."

Another fit of coughing sounded through the door, harsher this time. She shouldn't have been climbing stairs.

"I ran into this room and shut the door," Maudie said.

"I thought for sure the door would burst to splinters, but it didn't. The place got real quiet after that, and I decided to try to come out, only I couldn't open the door. Nor the window."

Travis swallowed. "Maudie, do you know where Jack is?"

"He went to his room after supper. That was the last I saw him."

Jack's room was there on the second floor, and all of the rooms were empty except the one Maudie was hiding in. There was only one more floor of the boardinghouse: the attic floor.

Another sob drifted through the keyhole. "Oh, Mr. Caine, Mr. Dirk, he was so horrible. That mask-it looked like the face of death. I thought he had come for me, that my time was up. I feel so weak. My heart is beating all wrong. And I haven't gotten to tell Bart...and I'm so frightened I won't-" Her words were lost in another fit of coughing.

Travis put a hand on Durge's shoulder. "Get this door open, Durge. Be with her."

"What of you?" the knight said.

"I'm going up."

Travis couldn't get out any more words, so he turned and headed for the stairs. Behind him, he heard Durge say, "Move away from the door, Lady Maudie." Then Travis was climbing the stairs.

He reached the landing. The third floor was as quiet as the rest of the boardinghouse. Maybe you're too late. Maybe the sorcerer has finished his work and Jack is already dead.

Except if Jack were dead, then Travis couldn't still be here because the path of the future would have changed. Somehow there must still be time.

Travis started down the hallway. He looked in the first door: an empty storeroom. Next was the door to Lirith's room, but there was nothing inside. Another empty room, and then there was only one more door, to the room Travis had shared with Durge these past weeks. Travis gripped the knob, supposing it would be locked by a spell.

It wasn't. He turned the knob, the door opened. Travis stepped inside, and terror gripped him.

"Jack!" he shouted.

Jack was on his knees on the floor, his left hand clutched to his chest. His skin was gray, his hair tangled, his face lined with anguish. Above him stood the sorcerer. The Scirathi's gold mask was wrought into the serene smile of death; his black robe sucked in the moonlight. The sorcerer's hand-the skin covered with a webwork of scars-stretched toward Jack's chest. Travis had felt the terrible effects of that spell once before. The sorcerer was stopping Jack's heart.

"No," Travis cried out. He didn't know what to do, only that he had to distract the sorcerer, that he had to break his spell. "Get away! It's me you want, not him!"

The sorcerer didn't move. His body was rigid, his arm stiff, as if his whole body-and not just the gold mask-were wrought of metal. Jack wasn't moving either. His eyes stared without blinking, his mouth hung open in a silent cry of pain.

"I said get away from him!" Travis lunged, grabbing for the sorcerer.

It was a queer sensation, like moving through thick syrup. The closer Travis's hand got to the sorcerer, the harder it was to move. He clenched his teeth, struggling, but when his right hand was an inch from the Scirathi's robe, he could move it no farther. At last, with a grunt, Travis pulled his hand back. It tingled fiercely, and for a moment the rune of runes shone on his palm.

Still neither Jack nor the sorcerer moved. Something was wrong. The Scirathi's black robe seemed to billow out behind him, as it would if he were in the act of striding swiftly across the room. Only he was standing still. And Jack was in a precarious position. There was no way he should be able to remain on his knees, not leaning back at the angle he was. He should have been falling.

Then Travis understood. Jack was falling. The sorcerer was striding across the room, hand outstretched, killing Jack. Only somehow the two of them had been frozen in the act.

Fresh fear replaced old. Travis circled around the two motionless figures, gazing at them from all angles. He tried to touch Jack, but it was just as impossible as trying to lay a hand on the sorcerer. Whatever had caused them to cease moving, it affected Travis if he got too close. Only what was it? Some spell cast by the Scirathi?

A spell, yes. But not one of blood sorcery.

On the bed lay an open book. Travis recognized it; it was the book Jack had given him to read. Travis picked up the book, careful not to turn the page. He scanned the lines in the dim light, forcing the words to arrange themselves in an order that made sense.

Only they didn't make sense. It was something about a runelord, and how he had fought a dragon alone in the Barrens. In the end, the runelord had realized it was impossible, that there was no way he could win the battle.

This wasn't helping; Travis needed to know how he could win an impossible battle. He started to put down the book- then halted as the last few lines on the page caught his eye.

...and knowing he could not win, Handerul spoke the rune of time, and time was his to command, and he told it, 'Cease!' And it is said, if one could but discover the secret vale in which the two struggled long ago, he would discover the wizard Handerul and the dragon Grash still locked in mortal combat, just as they were a thousand- Travis dropped the book on the bed and turned around. Jack and the sorcerer still hadn't moved, as if they were caught in a moment of time.

And that was the message Jack had left for him. Jack was weak; he had known he couldn't win a battle, that the sorcerer was going to kill him. But he must have had just enough strength left to speak the rune of time, and he had left the book for Travis as a clue. That gave Travis a chance.

But how much of a chance? Once time started to move again, how long did he have before the sorcerer finished his spell and killed Jack? A second? Less? Travis had to find a way to get the sorcerer's attention, to draw it away from Jack. But what could do that?

Yes, of course.

Travis positioned himself next to Jack where the sorcerer would be sure to see him. He reached into his pocket, then lifted his hand, opening his fingers. The scarab crawled across his palm on slender gold legs. Even if the sorcerer had not intended to gain the jewel, he would not be able to resist its allure, not with it right here before him.

Now, Travis. Speak the rune of time.

Only what was it? He didn't know that rune.

Yes, you do. Jack was right-the knowledge is already in you. You just have to listen.

He heard the voices speaking in chorus: all of the runelords who had gone before Jack. As they spoke, he saw it burning against his brain as if outlined in blue fire: two triangles, one inverted above the other.

"Tel," Travis said.

And time flowed like a river undammed.

The sorcerer completed his step, coming to a halt before Jack. His black robe settled into place around him. Jack let out a strangled sound as he fell back onto the floor. The sorcerer's splayed fingers began to close into a fist.

Fear evaporated under the heat of anger. "Get away from him," Travis said in a hard voice.

The sorcerer's head snapped up. The serene expression of the gold mask didn't change, yet all the same Travis could sense confusion. There was no way the Scirathi could have known Jack's rune had stopped time. To the sorcerer, it would seem as if Travis had appeared out of thin air.

The scarab crept onto Travis's fingertips, and the sorcerer's mask tilted, his hand lowered. Yes, he had seen it.

Jack drew in a gasping breath. He rolled over, then crawled toward the corner of the room. "Travis!" he called hoarsely. "The mask..."

Jack's words were lost in a fit of coughing, but Travis understood. The mask was the key to the sorcerer's power; he had learned that much in Denver. The Scirathi glanced at Jack and hesitated. Travis could feel him making a decision. Then the sorcerer turned his gold visage toward Travis Travis knew he had only a second. He opened his mouth to speak Kel, the rune of gold, knowing he could use it to fling the mask from the sorcerer's face.

He was too slow. The sorcerer raised a hand, and Travis's heart lurched in his chest. A pounding drummed in his head, and sparks swam in front of his eyes. He staggered.

The rune, Travis. Speak the rune. Now.

But he had no breath with which to make a sound. He could feel his heart slowing, each beat a labor more terrible than the last. He couldn't take his eyes off the smiling gold face before him.

Jack was shouting something. Something about blood. Or was it the chorus of voices in his mind that was speaking? It didn't matter. Travis couldn't hear anything over the noise in his ears. Thud. An eternity seemed to pass between each beat. Thud.

The scarab, Travis. You don't need to speak, just use the blood. It's your only hope.

The thunder of his heart was fading; he could hear the words now. But how could he use the scarab? It was so hard to think; he felt his mind shrinking inward.

Travis forced his eyes from the gold mask of the sorcerer. He gazed at his hand. The scarab was dipping its slender legs into a smear of blood on his palm. It seemed excited by the fluid and began moving quickly. Maybe he didn't have to know what to do; maybe the scarab did. Maybe that was its mystery.

Thud.

Movement was agony; all the same Travis turned over his hand. The scarab scuttled from his palm to the back of his hand. A line of blood still oozed from the cut just below his knuckles. The gold spider followed it eagerly until it reached the open wound.

Thud...

The sorcerer closed his fist, and the thudding of Travis's heart ceased. His vision dimmed, and he watched as if through a veil as the scarab extended a pair of gold chelicerae toward the wound on the back of his hand. Like a tiny ruby, a single drop of crimson fluid appeared between the spider's chelicerae.

The sorcerer hissed, and the invisible hand that gripped Travis's heart let go. He reeled back as the organ shuddered painfully into motion again. With a cry, the Scirathi snaked out a hand and snatched the scarab from him. In a single motion, the sorcerer tilted his head back, poised the jewel above the mouth slit of his mask, and crushed it.

Nothing came out.

Travis lifted his hand and stared. There had been one drop of blood left in the scarab; he had seen it. Where had the drop of blood gone?

Gold fire surged through his veins, and he knew the answer.

Travis's spine arched. He threw back his head and screamed. When the fires of Krondisar consumed him, he had known a pain more terrible than any he had ever endured in his life. However, this was worse than pain. He could feel it as a chain reaction in his blood. As one cell changed, it caused those next to it to undergo the same metamorphosis. It was like a cancer, only faster than wildfire, and it blazed through arms, his chest, his legs. Then the fire burned up into his brain. The world became a cauldron of molten gold. He fell to his knees, his hands twisted into claws before him.