His sword proved useless against the thick door over his head. Frantically looking around the dimly lit cellar, he spied a tiny window. It proved far too small for him to crawl through. Using his fine steel sword as a digging tool, he slowly, painstakingly slowly, widened the window, pulling down handfuls of dirt until his face was caked with sweat and grime.

After what seemed hours of digging, Lan scrambled out, sword swinging wildly. No one was in sight. Cautiously peering into the nowquiet cabin, he sucked in his breath at the sight. Suzarra lay naked on the floor. The soldiers had used her repeatedly, then murdered her.

Just as Kyn- alLyk- Surepta had done to Zarella.

" This shall not go unavenged!" Lan muttered. Silent tears of rage and sorrow cut through the dirt on his face. " I shall feel my blade in your slimy guts, Lyk Surepta! I shall!"

Without another word, he turned and melted into the denseness of the forest.

Lan sneaked back into town. It was a dangerous thing to do, but he had to know the evidence against him. The sheriff wouldn' t needlessly arrest him; the old man was cagey. He' d be certain of the criminal and the guilt before acting.

Lan heard the few citizens gathered along the wooden walkways buzzing with excitement. A crime always brightened their lackluster lives. This was one of the things he found so repugnant about city life. The people no longer thrilled to nature. They had to have more sophisticated entertainment, such as murder and those coughing mechanical cars that seemed all the rage at the moment.

": so there' s no question about it in our minds," the sheriff was saying to a news- crier.

" How can you be so sure, Honor?" the news- crier asked, his eyes shining brightly like twin black buttons in the sun.

" The usual spells were cast. The three of us saw Dar- elLanMartak' s image in Zarella' s room."

A cold chill raced up and down Lan' s spine. Zarella! He edged closer to hear the entire story.

" He wore a leather jerkin and forest boots, and we' ve found the murder weapon. There is no doubt that it' s Lan' s. I saw him with that same knife earlier in the evening."

" Why do you think he killed Zarella?"

The sheriff shrugged. " I can' t begin to guess. He loved the woman. Perhaps she spurned him. I know he wanted her to leave with him. That caused a fight earlier on with Kyn- alLyk- Surepta."

" What was Surepta' s comment?"

" Nothing. The man didn' t know about Zarella' s death. I am certain Lan is the murderer. My deputies are hunting for him. It won' t be easy for us to track him down, either. He' s wilderness- wise, and if he wants to lead us a long chase, he' s capable of it. But assure everyone that Dar- elLan- Martak will not escape justice. He' ll be caught, tried, convicted, and reduced."

Lan thought there was a tiny catch in the old man' s voice. The sheriff wouldn' t like to summarily reduce him- but he would. Duty required it.

He saw no way to convince the sheriff of his innocence. The magical conjurations had shown his clothing present. That it was probably Surepta wearing the leather jerkin and deerskin boots was something he couldn' t prove. It might have been anyone. Lan knew he had many enemies, and Zarella might have even more. Denying her favors to the wrong man could have produced this diabolical scheme to even the score before consigning her to Hell.

But it was Lyk Surepta' s doing. Lan knew it. And it was Surepta and his grey- clad soldiers who had killed Suzarra, too. Cold hate began to spread like a polar icecap in the man' s innards. His hand trembled on the hilt of his sword, but he was powerless to act, a leaf tossed on a high wind and nothing more. That helplessness more than anything else rankled.

Lan noticed the sheriffs office door slightly ajar. Boldly, he pushed his way inside. The tiny room was deserted. He crossed to the rack of weapons. The lock on the case yielded to slight pressure from his sword blade. First he took out a knife to replace the one he' d lost. Then he took out two clockwork mechanism pistols.

He' d seen these fired many times. While they were noisy and produced a choking cloud of smoke, they killed at a distance far greater than any mage could hope to accurately conjure a spell. He wound up the mechanisms and primed them with a firing cap, powder, and a lead slug. Thrusting them into his belt, Lan went out the rear door of the office. It wouldn' t do to be seen on the city streets now.

In the alley loomed one of the oil- reeking, demon- powered cars. This wasn' t what he' d hoped to find, but it would suffice. A horse suited him better, but a fugitive had to take what he found and not complain about bad luck.

" Demon! Are you in there?" he called to a tiny iron chamber set next to a heat exchange coil.

" Of course I am, you silly human! Where else would I be?" The demon sounded petulant. Lan couldn' t blame him. Being locked up inside the iron prison and choosing only hot air molecules and discarding the cold ones seemed like tedious work.

" Begin your selection," Lan ordered. " I wish to leave town."

“ You’ re not the owner of this machine,” accused the demon. “ I know his voice. Are you stealing me?”

Lan didn' t see any reason to deny it.

" Good!" exclaimed the demon, thumping loudly against the iron walls of the cylinder. " I' ll take you far from here if you' ll promise to release me when you' re done."

Lan considered the bargain. If the demon got him far enough away before the sheriff zeroed in on the thefts, he might yet escape the clutches of the law.

" Very well. But you' ll have to perform to the best of your ability. I won' t accept anything less," he cautioned the spellbound demon.

" You' ll get it!"

The boiler began to turn a dull, cherry red. In a few minutes, a full head of steam built up. Hissing and slewing from side to side, he maneuvered the car out of town.

He hadn' t been on the road twenty minutes when the demon shouted, " How much longer? My fingers are blistering! And my feet are turning cold from all the discarded molecules!"

" A little farther, that' s all." Lan was frantic. He' d hoped the demon would be able to work at top efficiency longer than this.

" Forget it, thief! I don' t care if I rot in this metal coffin. I' m not killing myself for any human."

The car began to lose power at the boiler cooled. Lan let the auto coast until it stopped. Looking behind, he saw frost appearing on the engine. The demon worked frantically in reverse now. He selected the slow- moving molecules and discarded the faster ones in way of protest for what he considered Lan' s abuse.

Lan shouted, " How do I let you out?" He was willing to keep his bargain in spite of the demon' s obstinance.

" Never mind. Just leave me alone."

So Lan did. He knew the sheriff would be after him both for murder and car theft. Lan wasn' t sure but thought it might be easier following him now because of the demon. Magic attracted magic in some unknown and unknowable fashion. Lan' s expertise was limited, but he was able to sense the use of magic. The sheriff was well trained and better able to follow the broad magical path caused by the demon.

Proceeding on foot now through the forest provided the best way of muddling his trail.

Looking around, Lan realized he was but a few hours' hike from the Old Place. With the distance- devouring pace of a frontiersman, he began striding in the general direction of the shrine. It would provide shelter and protection from magical spells and perhaps even grant him the information he needed to clear his good name.

After less than ten minutes of travel, Lan stumbled. He dropped to his knee, then rubbed his eyes. He felt sleepy. The incongruity of it struck him. He was filled with energy and the need to flee. Falling asleep at a time like this was sheer folly.