" How should I know if he' s here, you fool? The sniffer- snakes might have got him already."

" Sure, Honor, whatever you say, but it seems a churlish thing to do, sending those snakes after him and all."

The deputy' s voice carried sincere regret, but Lan knew it wasn' t born of personal friendship. The man just hated to see anyone trailed by those vicious, carnivorous reptiles.

" Had to be done, boy. No other way of catching one as smart as Lan Martak. Trained him myself, like a son, I did. Damn fine man."

" Then why' d he kill Zarella? It was a bloody crime."

Lan imagined the sheriff shrugging thin shoulders, pulling tiredly at his scraggly white beard, and spitting. The old man' s words chilled him more than the cold stone against his spine.

" A man does strange things in the name of love. That whore Zarella twisted him up inside, maybe, and when he found out she never intended anything honorable, he killed her."

" But so bloody," persisted the deputy.

" A man changes." For a moment silence hung like a damp, suffocating fog over the cemetery; then the sheriff continued, " This place always makes me uneasy, jittery. I feel like visitors from beyond are knocking on my door."

" I know what you mean," came the frightened voice of the deputy. Lan smiled to himself. The deputy would be the most easily scared away. He took a quick look at the stars overhead, found the War Dog constellation spinning around the triad of unchanging stars, and knew he had little time left to find the proper crypt and enter it.

He peered out from behind the tombstone and saw the sheriff, his back to Lan, dealing cards to the deputy. The nervous gestures assured Lan of success in the deputy' s case. Getting rid of the sheriff without killing him would be more difficult.

Lan found several small pebbles and began flicking them behind the deputy. At first, the man glanced up, suspicious, not sure he' d really heard anything. His hand rested firmly on his sword, but he didn' t draw. Seeing nothing, he turned back to the game of magically lit cards, which provided a way of passing time without forcing him to think too much of his unwanted duty in the empty graveyard. Lan dropped another stone just behind the deputy.

This time, the man rose and pulled his sword, shouting, " Someone' s here!" He waved his blade and slashed at the darkness, killing only empty air.

" Sit down, you fool. If Lan is anywhere near, he' s heard you by now."

" A ghost brushed me. I felt it!"

Lan let the man' s imagination prey on itself for a few minutes, then rubbed his hands through some dew- laden grass. Dripping with moisture, he snapped his fingers in the deputy' s direction. The sparkling droplets arced through the air and landed on the man' s face. The deputy blanched death- pale, wiped the water away, rose on shaky legs, and let out a frightened howl.

" I felt them! I tell you, I felt them! A ghost. Hundreds of ghosts!"

The sheriff reached out and pulled hard on the man' s sleeve. Lan cursed his luck. Another few seconds and the deputy would have run into the night, leaving only the sheriff. The old man' s basic good sense prevailed over ignorant fear.

" Sit and be quiet. There are no ghosts, not around us. I cast a spell to ward them off," he lied for the man' s benefit.

" Y- you did? Wh- why didn' t you tell me?"

The old man shrugged it off.

" It' s nothing. One of these days, I' ll teach you the spell. Quite simple when dealing with ectoplasmic beings. Much easier than lighting the cards." He glanced down at the spread of softly glowing cards on the stone between them. " I see why you wanted to run, Miska. I have you beaten easily this hand."

" Your spell wards off ghosts? All types of ghosts?" persisted the deputy.

The sheriff nodded. " Let me tell you of some of the residents of this graveyard. My conjurings told me that Lan would head here, possibly to follow the Cenotaph Road."

" No!" gasped the deputy. " No man would be so foolish. To go into: into nothingness."

" Is that so silly?" mused the sheriff. " I think not. Listen good, Miska, and learn how a man might think. In Lan' s case, it' s salvation. Another world, another chance. In a way, I hope he makes it."

" H- how is the Road taken? I' ve heard of the dire results but never of the actual path."

" See yonder, monument? At the center of the cemetery?"

" Lee- Y- ett' s tomb? A brave man, from all accounts."

" Truly a brave man. He was among the first to explore the elLiot Mountains. He braved those heights, mapped the passes to allow commerce with the Boc- traders near Burning Sea, and even did some mining. That cost him his life. While mining drell- gems, a rockslide buried his body so deep it' d take the gods themselves a million years of digging to uncover the remains."

" But, Honor, yonder is his crypt. I see it. You mean he' s not in it?"

" No. The full ceremony of death was performed, but without his corpse. Respect was due him for his accomplishments, and thus it was granted. A fine monument to a man who enriched our lives. But only an empty grave yawns."

Lan circled the pair and situated himself closer to the cenotaph. He tossed another small stone so that it bounced off the deputy' s booted foot. This was all it took to send the nervous man lurching into the night.

" Stop, damn your eyes, Miska, stop! Don' t run off!" the sheriff yelled, knowing even as he said it that his deputy was beyond hearing. He squinted a bit and called out in a softer voice, " Lan? Lan Martak? I know you' re out there, boy. I don' t want to make a night of this, so why don' t you give yourself over?"

Lan had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing. All that awaited him at the old man' s hand was death. He' d rather find that along the Cenotaph Road. Be it ugly, messy death in the jaws of some vicious beast or a peaceful death in bed with a loving family at hand, he didn' t care. Either was preferable to being rendered down into a pool of molten animal fat by the sheriffs diabolical spell.

The Road beckoned. He knew not where it led, nor did anyone else. Adventure, yes. Possibly treasure and fame. He wondered why he had never considered this before. Zarella had held him back, certainly. His love for the woman had blinded him to the world- worldsstretching in all directions around him. If he couldn' t avenge her death, why not seek glory in other worlds?

He knew there' d be no returning once he laid down in the cenotaph of Lee- Y- ett, but what matter? The restless power of that brave, lost, roving spirit would whisk him away to another world, perhaps to a better world, but certainly away from this one, away from the sheriffs order of reduction, away, even, from memory.

But he knew that wasn' t possible. Zarella would remain firmly embedded in his mind until he died. And Suzarra. Even the old sheriff, who had been like a father to him.

On his belly, Lan wiggled closer and closer to the empty tomb. He knew the sheriff awaited him. Only this one gravesite provided the path he must take. But the sheriff nervously paced around the perimeter of the small stone edifice. Lan hesitated; he couldn' t kill the man. The sheriff deserved his respect. To rob an old man of the final few years of life would be a sin greater than the one with which Lan was charged.

Glancing at the wheeling stars overhead warned him that midnight approached, less than five minutes remaining before the cenotaph' s magic worked on any living being inside the crypt. Lan gathered his feet under him, then jumped out like an attacking panther. A hard fist drove for the sheriffs head and connected with a greying temple. The man uttered not a sound as he sank to the ground, unconscious.

Lan hastily checked for a pulse. It still beat strongly.

" I' m glad, Honor, really I am," Lan breathed. " I' d hate to harm one such as you. The town needs your strength, especially now." He pulled the sheriff into a more comfortable sitting position against the cold stone tomb, then confronted the task of removing the heavy marble slab over the cenotaph.