"Geldon, I would be very thankful if you would escort our two new guests to their rooms, where they might finally get some rest," he half asked, half ordered. "Faegan and I must speak to the prince in private now."

Geldon, Tyranny, and Scars all stood.

Wigg looked up at them and smiled. "Sleep well," he told them. "Tomorrow there will be much more to discuss."

An ear-to-ear grin on her face, Tyranny walked over to Wigg and bent down to kiss his cheek. The lead wizard turned red. Then she turned and followed Geldon and Scars to the door. But before going through, she stopped and walked back to where Tristan was sitting.

Raising her right hand to her face, she spat into her palm. Understanding, the prince stood and did the same. He then slapped his palm into hers. "Done," he said.

"And done," she answered back. "And thank you." Turning on her heel, she walked out the door.

With Tyranny and Scars finally gone, Wigg turned his aquamarine eyes toward the prince. He didn't waste any time getting started.

"Much has happened while you were away," he said solemnly, "and very little of it has been good."

Tristan listened intently, and for the next two hours the people he cared for so much told him of all that had happened in his absence. When they were done, Tristan slumped back into his chair, stunned. There was so much new information to absorb, his mind didn't know where to begin. Then Faegan gave him the most recent piece of news.

"The Minion patrols have informed us that no demonslaver activity seems to be taking place anywhere in the kingdom," the ancient wizard said. "None of their slave ships have been spotted within the Minions' flying range from the coast. For the time being, at least, we seem to be free of them." Thinking for a moment, he gave Nicodemus another stroke on the head. "But that can only mean one thing."

No one had to tell Tristan what that was. "If they have given up taking slaves, that means they have finally found Wulfgar," he said softly, sadly. He looked over at Shailiha and clasped her outstretched hand. "And if Krassus now has both the Scroll of the Vagaries and Wulfgar, our futures will be very dark indeed."

For a moment his thoughts went to the half brother he had never seen, had never even known existed until only a short time ago. What was Wulfgar suffering at the hands of the wizard Krassus? Tristan wondered. Were they soon to become mortal enemies? Finding his reflections too painful to cling to, his mind sheered away.

"What about the Isle of Sanctuary?" he finally asked. "Tyranny says that there were papers left behind that seem to indicate the Directorate's involvement. And there are some extraordinarily beautiful buildings there. Some of which, I'm sorry to say, have been desecrated by the pirates. How is it that we have never heard of this place until now?"

Sighing, Wigg looked over at Faegan and waited for the inevitable reaction. It wasn't long in coming.

"Yes, please do explain," Faegan said with a frown. It was suddenly clear to everyone that even he did not know about Sanctuary. And if there was one thing Faegan couldn't abide, it was being left in the dark-especially when the subject had to do with the craft.

"The Isle of Sanctuary was not 'created' by the Directorate," Wigg explained. "At least not in the sense that we could cause an entire land mass to suddenly rise up out of the Sea of Whispers. We do not possess such gifts, I'm sorry to say. The island already existed. It was uninhabited, of sufficient size for our needs, and had not yet been charted. It therefore seemed perfect. Faegan had already been taken prisoner by the Coven at that time, so he had no knowledge of it."

"But why would you require such an island, Father?" Celeste asked.

"The Tome ordered us to create a secret place of the craft," Wigg answered softly. "A 'sanctuary' for the Vigors, as it were-hence the name. It was to be a place far away from prying eyes. It was to be a sacred place, to be used only by the Chosen Ones who would eventually come into our world. Given that description, this site couldn't very well be the Redoubt, now, could it? As I said, the island seemed perfect for our needs. The buildings were constructed soon after the formation of the Directorate. The moment the buildings were completed, a strange, immovable fog bank surrounded the island. To this day I neither know how, nor why."

"Yes, I remember now," Faegan said to himself as he reached back into his amazing memory. "There is such a command in the Tome. But as far as I knew, it had never been carried out."

He leaned back in his wheeled chair, thinking further. "Sanctuary must be the sacred place from which the Chosen One finally combines the two sides of the craft," he finally exclaimed. He trained his gray-green eyes on Wigg. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Faegan's words suddenly, painfully reminded Tristan of the fact that the wizards still refused to train him in the craft or allow him to wear the Paragon, because of the unknown nature of his azure blood. He thought of the savage whipping he had suffered, and how the strangely colored blood dripping down onto the filthy deck had caused fear and distrust among the other slaves.

"I believe you are," Wigg told Faegan. "But as yet, there is no way to validate this hypothesis. Now, given what we have learned here today, where does this knowledge lead us?" He sat back in his chair, patiently awaiting the answer.

Silence reigned again until Morganna, tired of her toys, fussed for Shailiha to pick her up. As Shailiha lifted her daughter into her arms she grasped the implications of Wigg's riddle.

"Krassus' fortress," she said, so softly that the others could barely hear. "It is meant to be the direct antithesis of Sanctuary, isn't it? The secret asylum of the Vagaries. The place from which the Heretics of the Guild mean to have their servants stop us from attempting to combine the two sides of the craft." She hugged Morganna closer to her chest in a protective embrace.

"The Citadel," Tristan breathed to himself.

"What?" Wigg asked curiously.

"The Citadel," Tristan repeated. "That's what it is called. We know this because Scars was able to force it from one of Tyranny's captured demonslavers."

"Yes, of course," Faegan said to himself. "I understand now. Sanctuary-a sacred place of the Vigors, where Tristan's process of combining the two opposing arts might go forward in peace. And the Citadel-an equally sacred place of the Vagaries-a place of darkness, from which the process shall be killed."

"Indeed," Wigg replied. "And now Wulfgar and the Scroll of the Vagaries presumably reside there, both of them under Krassus' control. If all that we have just deduced is in fact true, it now seems that the crisis before us is of even greater magnitude than we first thought."

Tristan looked back down at the piece of vellum he had risked life and limb to bring home. "We have to find the Scroll of the Vigors," he said thoughtfully. "It seems the only chance we have of unraveling what this is all about." He looked tiredly over at the herbmistress. "Can you really use your gifts to find it?" he asked her.

"If the sample you brought back is genuine, then yes, we have a chance," she answered. "But it will not be simple, and it will require all of my powers to accomplish."

Turning to Wigg, she placed one of her hands over his. "But I'm tired, and I need to rest before I try." She rubbed her brow. "If you like, we could all reassemble at midday, in the courtyard. Then we shall see what we shall see."

"And what about the herbs you said Abbey needs?" Tristan asked Faegan. "Have they been separated again? Will they work this time, or blow us all sky high?"

His fatigue also beginning to show, Faegan closed his eyes and shook his head. "The plants and roots Wigg and I brought back from the Chambers of Penitence finally dried out, and we were able to use them to separate and categorize my other stores," he answered. "It was a long, amazing process to behold. But whether they will work properly is still anybody's guess. I suppose at midday, we'll find out."