"Okay, I'll do it. What else can I say."

A pandemonium of applause and relief filled the Rearing Eagle. The munchkin was pumping his hand and some other demon was slapping him on the back. Tom Enni-Ya was clapping his hands for the serving women and announcing drinks on the house. A load had obviously been taken off the minds of the idimmu and placed squarely on Gibson. For the moment, though, working on the principle that you might as well enjoy yourself while you can, he allowed himself to be carried along by the general euphoria. While an all but naked demon woman was kissing him, and, in the process, smearing Day-Glo green body paint all over his clothes, a full jug of corn was set in front of him along with a jar of ale with which to wash it down. It was almost like being a.rock star all over again. He did, however, wonder how long all this was going to last, how long he would be the hero of the hour before they'd expect him to go and face the waking Necrom.

He glanced round to Slide. "So when am I…"

He found that Slide had gone and that he was talking to an empty seat. He looked at the munchkin. "What happened to Yancey Slide?"

"He left. He didn't look too happy."

Gibson was immediately alarmed. Why had Slide suddenly vanished when he'd just got what he wanted? Was there something more that he wasn't telling? Gibson disengaged himself from the woman in the Day-Glo body paint and moved quickly to the door. A few of the demons, thinking that he was running out on the party, called after him, but he hurried on. Outside on the street, it continued to be dark. Slide stood by himself, head thrown back, staring up at the pseudo night sky.

Gibson halted, suddenly unwilling to approach him. "Yancey, are you all right?"

Slide didn't appear to either see or hear him. His mouth suddenly opened and a stream of words came out. "Eli ameri-ia amru-usanaku! Imdkula salalu musha urra!" It was like the cry of a wounded animal, plaintive and desperate.

Gibson moved quickly toward him, but, before he reached where Slide was standing, Yop Boy stepped out of the shadows. "Leave him be, Gibson."

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's just contemplating his fate, his mortality."

"But I thought that everything was settled. I agreed to go through the Portal."

"That may not be enough to save him. Remember that he was the leader of the escape. He may not be forgiven for that, whatever you do."

The terrible cry came again. "Eli ameri-ia amru-usanaku! Imdkula salalu musha urra!"

"Is there anything we can do for him?"

Yop Boy shook his head. "Just leave him alone. Go back inside and leave him alone,"

"But…"

"Just go back inside."

Gibson took a last look at Yancey Slide and then did as he was told.

Back inside the Rearing Eagle, the party was still in full swing, and no one else seemed to be suffering the same soul torture as Slide. The booth where Gibson had been sitting had been taken over by other revelers, so he made his way to the bar, where he was greeted like a long-lost friend even though he had only been gone for a couple of minutes. Once again he was congratulated for his courage in deciding to brave the Portal, more drinks were pressed on him, and women smiled into his face. Borne along by a company who, at least for that night, seemed to be determined to adore him, he found that it was all too easy to turn his back on Yancey Slide's angst and bask in his own moment of glory. Over in the corner, the woman with the guitarlike instrument had struck up a lively dance tune and was singing in a husky voice.

Slide was speared by a pang of guilt. The words of the song sounded very close to the same language in which Slide had been screaming, the same hissing sibilants and guttural vowel sounds.

He couldn't, however, make Slide his problem. Slide had Yop Boy to look after him, and Gibson was essentially on his own.

As it turned out, though, he wasn't alone for very long. A woman moved along the bar and stood next to him. She was dressed tough, in stained leather jeans and a loose white, Greek-cut shirt with embroidery on the collar and cuffs. A belt of silver chain was slung around her hips, and a dagger hung from it in an ornamental scabbard. A brooch in the shape of a small green lizard, decorated with rubies, was pinned to the shoulder of her shirt, or that's what Gibson thought until the brooch turned its head and looked at him, at which point he realized that it was an extraordinarily tame ornamental pet. The woman's skin was deathly pale, and her tawny Nordic hair hung dead straight, clear to her waist. Even though there were some demon beauties in the tavern, this one was something special, a cool blond warrior maiden who probably gave no quarter.

"I'm Thief Lanier."

"I'm Joe Gibson."

"I know that."

Gibson, well aware that the idimmu tended to take a superior attitude around humans, ignored her somewhat snotty tone and continued to play it pleasant. "Thief is a strange name."

"It's what I do."

"Oh, yeah? And what do you steal?"

She suddenly laughed. "Practically anything that isn't nailed down. Do you know I saw you perform once?"

"I hope you liked it."

" You were okay." Her tone seemed to indicate that she considered she was doing him a favor by even attending one of his shows.

Gibson didn't have much to say after that shutdown so he went for the obvious. "Would you like a drink?"

Thief Lanier nodded. "Yes, but none of that god-awful corn that you're swilling," She gestured to Tom Enni-Ya. "Hey, Tom. Get out one of my private bottles, will you?"

The private bottle carried no label and was thick with dust. Thief Lanier blew the worst of the dust from it and removed the cork herself. When she poured her first drink, Gibson saw that it was a pale-golden liquid that actually seemed to shimmer and move in the glass.

"What is that stuff?"

Thief Lanier swallowed the first glass in one gulp and closed her eyes for a moment as though in ecstasy. "Very rare."

"Could I try some?"

Thief Lanier shook her head. "Not now. Maybe later, though. You wouldn't feel it after all that rotgut corn you've been pouring down your throat."

"What happens later?"

Thief Lanier smiled. "I figured that I'd take you off somewhere. There's something about a man who knows he's only got a few hours."

Gibson blinked. "What?"

"I said that there's something about a man who's only got a few hours."

Gibson was alarmed. "Who said I only had a few hours?"

"You're going to the Portal as soon as the celebrating stops. Even if you come back this way, you're going to be changed by the experience. It's your last hours as you are now."

"I'm not sure I like the idea of changing."

"You're so perfect as you are?"

"No, but I've grown accustomed to myself."

"Well, there ain't a damned thing you can do about it, but why worry? You humans change all the time, so you ought to be used to it. It's because you're so short-lived. You have a lot to get in."

Gibson was more concerned with the idea of his last few hours. "I also didn't realize that I was going to the Portal so soon."

"Nobody here wants to wait around."