Mouse would have none of it. She stared glumly at the plate of roasted quatrail and fenay roots as though it were covered with the red sand of the border lands. Bleakly, she stood sentry, her eyes hollow with fear.

"Little one, you should rest," Anadir said, and pressed her down into a chair.

Mouse did not have the spirit to resist. She dozed a bit, dreams haunted by images of Ciaran floating through ages, lost forever. A flash like lighting forced her eyes open. The Cube was afire again, casting gleaming light in glowing trails along the walls. By the crucible, vague images were taking form again, vague shapes that slowly resolved into the figures of Ciaran and Jodayn.

"Kiri! Thank the G.o.ds!"

Mouse threw herself at the pale-faced harpist. He almost collapsed in her arms.

Leaning on her shoulder, as heavy as a full grain sack, he winked and swatted her rear gently.

"I'm all right, Mousie. I'm fine." Jodayn seemed less sapped, although he had his arm around Anadir's waist.

"We did it," he crowed. "Right blast back into that granary. Harpist, your aim was true!"

He swept Anadir up and swung her around until her long, silvery skirts fluttered like birds' wings beating for home. "We've done it, dear one," he said. "And next, I will go to meet the G.o.d awake. I'll meet Bas the Immortal. And learn his secrets."

"When, my lord?" Anadir asked, staring adoringly into his eyes.

"When? Now!"

Jodayn set her down and turned to the Cube.

"Stand back," he ordered the others brusquely. "I will go alone."

"Lord Jodayn, wouldn't it be wiser for you to rest first?" Ciaran said. The dark lord shook off the warning.

"No. I must go there while the place is still clear in my memory. All I need to do is arrive three years earlier. I know I can do it. Now." He gripped the sides of the crucible tightly and closed his eyes. His knuckles whitened. Veins stood out on his neck.

A sudden tremor moved through his arms, jarring the crucible. Just as Mouse was certain that the entire strange contraption would be jarred loose and smash into glittering shards on the floor, the Cube quickened. It enveloped Jodayn in a light sobright the thieves' eyes leaked tears. For a moment, the dark lord stood as if blazing within the conflagration. Then he vanished. But the cold flames remained. And spread. Anadir froze, one hand lifted before her face. The blaze caught her up, engulfed her, and she was gone. Still the light moved across the room. Mouse opened her mouth to scream, to beg, but the eerie fires had stolen her voice. She felt the quick touch of Ciaran's hand on her arm. Then he disappeared into the coruscating gale. A moment later it had her also. Wailing silently, Mouse followed right behind the harpist, heading into-somewhere-on a nightmare ride.

Frigid gusts of wind tore at her hair, at her tunic. Great icicles formed on her fingers and toes. Tiny particles of ice cut her skin. She was being flayed alive by time's cold storm. Glittering particles resolved into a dizzying mix of images swirling around her.

Faces of women screaming, men snarling, children waiting. They held out beseeching hands to her. She tried to reach for them, but they were swept past and away into the maelstrom. Shrieking and bellowing like a steam organ gone mad, the wind tossed Mouse upward through the cacophonic symphony of the ages. Voices wove together in a terrifying chorus of anguish never meant for human ears.

Just as suddenly, the choir halted, as though a giant hand had been clapped over the collected mouths. Their cries died into fading echoes and were gone. In eerie silence, Mouse floated on an updraft, her red tunic billowing like a sail on a sea wind.

A familiar city plaza sprang up before her: why, it had to be the green cobblestones of Thieves' Quarter, filled with shouting merchants, bustling gamers, playful children, and bright flowers.

Mouse felt a pang of nostalgia. Oh, how she'd give most anything in her life, even the Cube, to be back in that close, squalid, seamy, noisy, dear, familiar place.

Almost at once, the scene changed. Wavering before her eyes, it seemed to contract upon its own green stones. With a ghostly sigh, Thieves' Quarter began to dwindle.

Mouse's stomach knotted. Thieves' Quarter was shrinking, people rushing desperately through its narrow streets, clutching parcels and belongings in a blur of changing faces and clothing, a frantic diaspora. And then, brick by brick, the sector came down, demolished by squads of black-coated workmen who swarmed over its walls like Phrygian rock ants, stripping away the last stones to lay bare the red beneath its streets.

Tears filled Mouse's eyes, dripped out, and froze.

The wind picked up, and she spun, end over end, above the shifting sands of the open plain where Bergamel had been-or would be. She didn't know which.

As she watched, a splendid city took form beneath her, much finer than Bergamel.

Lofty towers sprang up, joined by high walls of pink stone. A wide highway streamed with traffic leading to the great doors of the citadel. In the shadow of the palace, families built humble shelters, domed ovens, and deep cisterns. Within the sheltering walls, children were born, grew up, grew old, died in a quick procession of generations. Birth, life, death. In each face Mouse saw a skeleton grinning under the skin.

Along the broad highway, a large contingent of armored men approached the city. A troop of defenders swelled at the base of the high walls. In noisy confusion the armies clashed. Men died horribly in flashing explosions, in black clouds of dust andpoison. Weeping, the women gathered bodies, buried their dead. Those who could escape the city's sackers abandoned their lives and memories, running for the sake of their children, for the sake of the future, onward. Behind them, the city crumbled into the red dust and disappeared from memory.

Out of the void, a small group of brown tents appeared. The encampment grew into a small brick village. The village spread into a town. Golden towers sprouted and once again a fine citadel emerged, the stones of its walls glistening in the brilliant midday light. Children played in the sheltered streets. Merchants sold their wares.

Then, on the high road r.i.m.m.i.n.g the red horizon, a line of black dots appeared. Came closer. An army. Closer. A wall of grim faces-the flash of weapons-the cries of the fallen. Explosions. Flames. Destruction. The towers fell. But this time the dead lay unburied.

No more, Mouse thought. Please, no more. I'm so tired of all this killing. Of cities rising and falling. I'm so cold. I miss Kiri. Stop. Please. I'm so cold I want to die.

A sweet, quiet voice answered her.

No. It is not your time.

She did not so much hear the words as feel them in her mind. The spinning slowed, halted. A warm gust of air stopped Mouse's shivering. She was floating now, drifting suspended in a calm, white s.p.a.ce where the whole universe seemed to be at peace.

This journey should not have been attempted. But I see it was not your choice.

"No," Mouse said. "Where's Kiri? And the others?"

The others?

A pause.

Yes. I see them. I will save them if I can. But you I will send back, first. And be warned, little one. Some things are too powerful to risk stealing. Or using. Return the Cube or perish all. Past cannot mix with future.

"I promise," Mouse said, and meant it. "But who are you? Where are you?"

For answer, she heard lilting laughter and distant music. The image of a graceful, young boy, pale, with smiling, dark eyes and curling black hair danced briefly in her mind. The softness of childhood just past lent roundness to his cheeks. Despite his youth, the boy radiated power in waves that were almost palpable. He seemed supremely confident. Almost omnipotent.

"I think I know who you are ..." The youth laughed again.

You will forget. You must.

"I don't want to forget."

Even so. All such travelers must forget. Else, life such as yours cannot be maintained. Will not be. So forget, small one. Forget and live.

Out of nowhere and all time, a wind began to whisper in Mouse's ear. The whisper began to grow, grew to a bellow and beyond, until, howling, the wind swept away the youth's voice, his very image. And before she could protest, Mouse was s.n.a.t.c.hed up by the gale, tumbled head over heels into the yawning darkness.

When Mouse lifted her head, she was lying on the floor of a stone room, Nearby, Ciaran lay sprawled on a gray rug, white-faced, his eyes closed as though in sleep.

Or death. "Kiri!"

She scrambled over the hard stones to him, searching for a pulsebeat. The harpist shuddered, blinked, looked up. He stared at Mouse as though he had never before seen her. But after a moment, recognition blazed in his eyes. He smiled. She buried her head in his shoulder and felt his arms come around her. In all her short life, little else had ever felt as good.

"Mousie," he whispered. "Thank the Sods, Mousie." Their lips met, and for a long time, they said nothing more. A low sob broke into their embrace. Ciaran frowned.

Mouse looked up in alarm. A tall, auburn-haired woman sat, crumpled and disheveled, by a gla.s.s crucible, trembling and clutching one hammered leg of it. She wept bitterly, with such force that it seemed her head was in danger of flying free of her shoulders.

"Who is she, Kiri?"

"d.a.m.ned if I know," Ciaran muttered.

The weeping continued until Mouse could stand it no longer. Leaping up, she hurried over to the woman and took her hand.

"What's wrong? Please, ma'am, tell me." Wildly, the woman shook her head, sobbing harder.

"He'll never come back," she said. Her voice was thick and leaden. "He's dead.

My love is dead. He went too far."

"Who?"

"Jodayn. My lord. You must remember." She stared up at Mouse, blue eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g. "I am Anadir. The Cube. Remember the Cube?"

Mouse shook her head in confusion, then stopped. She remembered the Portal Cube. Where was it? A nudge from Ciaran pulled her attention away from the woman.

"The Cube," he whispered. "There, in that contraption."

Indeed, the relic sat in a spun gla.s.s nest in the center of the crucible. But its color was ashen. No bright spectrum flowed along its faceted surface. It seemed extinguished. Lifeless. Anadir stopped sobbing and stood up.

"That's how I knew he must be dead," she said bitterly. "Or as good as dead-lost to me forever. Now that the Cube is powerless, how can he ever return?"

She hung her head.

"Return?" Ciaran said "From where?"

The woman named Anadir gave him a look emptied of hope, filled with sorrow.

Quietly Mouse plucked the Cube from the gla.s.s sphere and pocketed it. It was cool in her hand.

Anadir nodded. "You must take it back to the Cathedral," she said. "We should never have tried to use it."

Head bent, she rose and walked toward the door. There she paused a moment, looking back as if to say one thing more. Her eyes met Ciaran's, then moved to Mouse. Her lips curved up in a sad smile. Then she turned down the hall and was gone.

"Kiri, should we follow her?" Mouse asked.

The harpist frowned. "Leave her alone. There's nothing we can do ..."

A brief scream, ending abruptly, cut off his words. Ciaran and Mouse stared at eachother in dread. He rose to his feet, cursing, and pulled his knife.

"Come on!"

Together, they raced down the hall in the direction Anadir had taken. They found her slumped like a discarded doll on the floor, rich auburn hair rayed out around her head, limbs stretched stiffly at odd angles. Her head was thrown back and her lips, blue-stained, were twisted in a grimace of death. A shattered vial lay near her outstretched hand. Ciaran sniffed the gla.s.s fragments and pulled back, coughing.

"Cyluthin!" he exclaimed. "Sacred Bas, but there's easier ways to go then that. And what if this Jodayn, whoever he is, finally returns from wherever he is?" He spat from the side of his mouth, then squinted at the still figure on the cold stones. "Poor, lovely woman," he said. "Bas grant her rest."

Mouse shut her eyes, feeling tears stinging behind the lids.

"I don't think her man will ever come back," she said, her voice small. "She must have known it. Else, why kill herself ? What a great love they must have shared, to suffer such pain at the end."

She leaned over and with a quick touch of her fingers closed Anadir's sightless, staring eyes. Then she stood up, resolve straightening her spine. Mouth set, she turned to the harpist.

"Kiri," she said hoa.r.s.ely. "We've got to take back the Cube. Now."

They left Anadir where they had found her. Gathering up their bulging purses and Ciaran's harp, they crept from the great house. As they pa.s.sed through the meeting room, Mouse paused to stare wistfully at the golden goblets that were arrayed in glistening rows on the shelves and in the grand cabinet.

"So much for wealth and fine things," she said, and closed the door behind her.

In silence, moving briskly, they pa.s.sed through the dank, wet streets of the Fourth.

The rain had stopped, but the place was deserted. Without difficulty, Mouse found a pa.s.sage down below the gate of the Quarter. By light of glowstones, the two thieves wound their way back through the echoing tunnels toward Second Quarter and the Black Cathedral.

"I wish I knew what happened to the Cube," Mouse said.

Kiri eyed her sharply.

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "It's gone all dull and flat. Do you think it got damaged by that sad woman . .. ?"

"I don't see how," the harpist replied. He strode ahead of Mouse impatiently.

"Come on, Mousie, will you?"

She scurried after him across the wide plaza and disappeared into the alley beside the Dark Cathedral. This time, their entry was easier. The little door in the alley was unlocked and gave way as soon as Mouse leaned on it.

"Strange. Somebody must have oiled the hinges," she whispered.

"Maybe they're expecting us," Ciaran snarled. His face was bleak. Returning stolen goods sat hard upon him. Mouse knew the only reason he had agreed to return the Cube was that it seemed to be worthless now. Dead or no, the Cube still burned a hole in Mouse's pocket, and the thing frightened her. She wasn't sure to what use theCube had been put in that great house, or in days before, but she felt a powerful compulsion to get rid of it. The woman Anadir's suicide throbbed like a too-fresh wound in her memory. The sooner the d.a.m.ned relic was returned to the Cators, the better. Of course, it grated on any thief's nerves to give back a prized object. But Mouse's resolve did not waver for a moment. Beyond any question, she just knew that she had to return the Cube. And quickly.

Without a sound, they crept along the narrow, musty pa.s.sage beside the main worship hall. The m.u.f.fled, distant murmur of a service in progress halted their steps.

Mouse leaned forward and peeked between two black, spun-gla.s.s curtains. At the great altar, a somber-faced Cator wearing a flowing orange robe, his arms spread wide, droned a stream of incomprehensible words in a high, reedy voice.

"The hall is filled with Cators," Mouse said. "They're all over the place, juggling their beads and muttering their gibberish."

"Wonderful," Ciaran whispered bitterly. "Now what?"

"We wait for Mentlan. When they go home and do it all over again at their private altars."

The harpist sat down, cross-legged.

"Might as well be comfortable as possible until then," he said. Mouse did likewise, and together, they settled in behind the green draperies at the far end of the pa.s.sage.