"No." It came out hoarse and strangled. "It won't."

"So let's don't take chances in the daylight, you and I. I have my means. Let'sjust be patient, shall we? I'll take the Mistress. I'll deal with Her. You waitand see." Gently Haught patted him on the cheek and smiled again, notpleasantly. "The thing we need went back to the priest. It's not there and itis. I know how it works now. And I know where it went. Right now we need to movea little closer uptown-when it's dark, do you see?"

"Yes," Stilcho said. If Haught asked him if pigs flew he would have said yes.Anything, to make Haught go away satisfied short of what he could do, and whathe could ask.

"But in the meanwhile there's a trip for you to take."

"Oh gods, no, no, Haught-there's this thing, I see it, gods, I see it-"

Haught slapped him. The blow was faint against his cheek. The dark gateway wasmore real, the thing ripping at it was clearer, and if it looked his way-

"When it's dark. To Moria's house."

Stilcho slumped aside on his knees, rested his back against the door, his hearthammering away in his chest. And Haught grinned with white teeth.

The old stairs creaked under any step (they were set that way deliberately, formore than one Stepson used the mage-quarter stables and the room above)-andStraton trod them carelessly, which was the best way to come at the man whosesorrel horse was stabled below.

He had left the bay standing in the courtyard. It would stand. He left it justunder the stairs, out of line of the dirty window above, if Crit had come tolook, if he were wary. But perhaps he would be careless. Once.

Or perhaps Crit was waiting behind the door.

Strat reached the top landing and tried the latch. It gave. That should tell himenough. He flung the door inward, hard; it banged against the wall and reboundedhalfway.

And Crit was standing there in the center of the room with the crossbow aimed atthe middle of his chest.

The stream Janni followed ran bubbling over the rocks, among the trees, cold andclear; and a wind sighed in the leaves with a plaintive sound, like old ghosts,lost friends. The trees stood, some unnaturally straight, some twisted, like oldmonuments. Or memories. They afforded cover, and the place had a good feel toit, this shade, this shadow of green leaves.

The brook left that place and flowed into sunlit grass. The meadow beyond hummedwith the sound of bees, was dotted with wildflowers, was eerily still, no windat all moving the grass, and Janni looked out into that place with a profoundsense of terror. That meadow stretched on and on, lit in uncompromising day, andthe grass that showed so trackless now would betray every step. There was nocover out there.

If he were so foolish she could find him, Roxane could track him down inwhatever shape she chose, and he could not stand against her. He knew that hecould not. He had failed once before, and that failure gnawed at his pride, buthe was not fool enough to try it twice. Not fool enough to go out where Roxanewaited in the bright sunlight, in a center defended by such emptiness and calmthat there was no surprise possible; but he had the most terrible feeling thatthe sun which had stood overhead had at last begun to move toward its setting,and that that sunset would signal a change and a fading of life in this place.The moment he conceptualized it, that movement seemed true, though he could notsee it clearly through the trees-he saw shadows at this margin of the woods,cast out on the yellow grass, and they inclined by some degree.

"Roxane!" he called out, and Roxane-ane-ane the forest gave back behind him; orthe sky echoed it, or the silence in his heart. He felt small of a sudden andmore vulnerable than before. He had to keep moving in the woods, constantlyseeking some place of vantage, some place where the trees ran nearer to theheart of that meadow where the trouble lurked.

But wherever he went, however far he circled this place, the brook reappeared inits meanderings. He knew what it was, and that if there was a place where it didnot exist, then it would be very bad news indeed.

It ran slower than it had, and more shallow. Now and again some dead branchfloated down it, which presaged something. He was afraid to guess.

"Come in," Crit said. "Keep your hands in sight."

Strat held his hands in view and walked into the doorway of the mage-quarteroffice. He kept the door open at his back. That much chance he gave himself,which was precious little. In fact there was such an ache in him it was unlikelythat he could run. It had been anger on the way here. It had been resolutiongoing up the stairs. Right now it was outright pain, as if that bolt had alreadysped. But he cherished a little hope.

"You want to put that damn thing down, Crit? You want to talk?"

"We'll talk." But the crossbow never wavered. "Where'd she go, Strat?"

"I don't know. To hell, how should I know?"

Crit drew a deep breath and let it go. If the crossbow moved it was no more thana finger's width. "So. And what are you here for?"

"To talk."

"That's real nice."

"Dammit, Crit, put that thing down. I came here. I'm here, dammit! You want abetter target?"

"Stay where you are!" The bow centered hard and tendons stood out on Crit'shands. "Don't move. Don't."

It was as close as he had ever come to death. He knew Crit and what he knew sentsweat running on him. "Why?" he asked. "Your idea, or the Riddler's?" If it wasthe one, reason was possible; if it was the other. ... "Dammit, Crit, I've keptthis town-"

"You've tried. That much is true."

"So you try to kill me off a friggin' roof?"

The bow did move. It lifted a little. About as much as centered it on his face."What rooP"

"Over there by the warehouse. And come bloody fnggin' along with me last night,that's why I came here, dammit, this morning, to see whether you'd gone crazy orwhether you think I didn't bloody see you up there yesterday. I figured I'd giveyou a good chance. And ask you why. His orders?"

Crit shook his head slowly. "Damn, Ace, I saved your life."

"When?"

"On that roof. It was Kama, you understand me? It was Kama that was at yourback."

A little chill went through him. And a minuscule touch of relief. "I hoped. Why,Crit? Is she under his orders?"

"You think the Riddler'd do it like that?"

"You might. If he was going to. I don't know about her. You tell me."

Crit swung the bow off a little to the side, turned it back again, then aimed itaway and let it angle to the floor. He looked tired. Lines furrowed his brow ashe stared back. "She's into something of her own. Into-gods, something. That'sall. The Third's got interests here and she has, and gods know- What the bloodyhell is it about this town? Damn woman goes crazy, up on the roofs with a bow-.It's Walegrin she's after, I'm thinking; and then I'm not so sure-"

"You were following me."

"Damn right I was following you. So was she. She bends that bow,. I put a shotright across to discourage her and put the wind up you, what the hell d'youthink I'm doing? IfI'd've meant to shoot you I'd have hit you, dammit!"

Strat wanted to think that. He wanted to believe every word of it. It was alltangled, Kama with Crit-that was old business; but maybe not so old to either ofthem. And Kama the Riddler's daughter. He saw the trouble in Crit's eyes, sawthe pain which was the real Crit, behind the nothing-mask. "I guess youwould," he said hoarsely. It was not so easily patched up. There wasnothing mended but maybe the roughest of the edges. "I guess that was whatset me to thinking. It didn't feel right."