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here,” Sareth said.
    Travis shrugged. “Maybe. Or it could be months before he comes. Either way, we need to find out. I suppose I’ll have to go into town tomorrow and ask around.”
    “There is a way we could find out tonight,” Lirith said softly.
    The others stared at the witch.
    Lirith went on. “If I knew this Graystone, perhaps I could sense the presence of his life thread. I imagine a wizard’s thread would shine brightly in the Weirding.”
    Sareth was studying her. “Can you do that,
beshala
?” It was not doubt in his voice, simply quiet wonder.
    “I think so. The Weirding is weaker on this world than on Eldh. But I think it is strong enough to work this magic. Although there’s something wrong as well. It’s as if the land cries out in pain.”
    Travis thought he understood. In modern Denver, where Grace had tried to work magic, the natural world to which the Weirding was connected had been all but smothered beneath concrete, steel, and asphalt. But in the mountains, in 1883, the land was still mostly wilderness. Only it had been wounded: mines gouged into its flesh, railroads sliced across its skin.
    “Forgive me, my lady, but there seems to be a problem,” Durge said, making a clear effort not to look queasy. The knight never had seemed to care for witchcraft. “You said you could see the wizard Graystone’s thread if you knew him. But you have never met him.”
    Lirith looked up. “Travis could help me.”
    Travis knelt beside her and held out his left hand. Lirith took it between both of her own. Durge’s eyes widened in an expression of horror, and he quickly moved away. Travis wondered what had caused the knight’s strong reaction, but before he could ask, Lirith shut her eyes and a voice spoke in his mind.
    Picture your friend Jack.
    Travis shut his eyes and did as Lirith’s voice instructed. He visualized Jack as he always remembered him: a handsome and professorial older gentleman, clad in a rumpled gray suit and green waistcoat, his wispy hair flying about his head and his blue eyes sparkling.
    Travis felt a tingle in his hand, then Lirith let go. He opened his eyes, but the witch’s were still shut. The three men watched her, holding their breath.
    “I don’t think he’s come here yet,” Lirith murmured after a minute. “The vision you gave me was clear, Travis, and his thread should be easy to see. But it’s nowhere in sight. He must still be in—oh!”
    Lirith’s eyes fluttered open. Sareth hurried to kneel beside her. “What is it,
beshala
?”
    “I saw something,” she whispered. “A shadow. Close.”
    Durge was already on his feet. He gripped his greatsword in two hands and stalked to the door. There was a long moment of silence, then all of them heard it: the sound of a small pebble skittering over rock.
    In one swift motion, Durge jerked open the door and lunged outside, sword at the ready. Travis was right behind him, Malachorian stiletto in hand.
    Cold wind swept through the empty night. The moon shone down from the cloudless sky, revealing bare rock and nothing more.
    Durge lowered his greatsword. “It must have been an animal. One of those little striped
chippucks
, as you called them.”
    Travis started to answer the knight, then a glint of crimson caught his eye. He glanced down at his stiletto just in time to see the ruby set into its hilt flicker dimly, then go dark.

6.
    Travis woke to the boom of thunder.
    Grit sifted down from the rafters of the cabin, falling onto his face. He rubbed the stuff from his eyes and sat up. Sunlight shafted between the planks of the door, carving hot slices out of the dusty air. Morning.
    Another report shook the cabin.
    Next to Travis, Durge sat up, eyes wild, sand in his tangled hair. “We must hurry!” the knight sputtered. “The dragonsfire is spreading. The castle is going to collapse!”
    “Wake up, Durge,” Travis said, shaking the knight’s shoulder. “There’s no dragon. And believe me, this is no