Sweat running down his face, Worth nodded.

Janus let Worth go, and he and the shopkeeper wrestled the heavy moneybags outside and onto the waiting horse.

M arcus looked out from the darkness of the alleyway. Right on time, Worth was leading a bay mare over toward the bird booth. Three bulging bags were tied to the saddle.

Marcus forced himself to wait for a few moments before going out with the wheelbarrow. Let the artifacts dealer sweat a bit, he thought. Might make him easier to deal with, should he have suddenly acquired any new ideas.

Slowly, carefully, Marcus picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow and pushed it out into the light.

As Marcus approached, the shopkeeper seemed almost overjoyed to see him. Marcus carefully put down the wheelbarrow and looked around. Then he trained his skeptical eyes on Worth. "Is it all there?" he asked simply.

"Uh, er, yes-yes, of course," Worth stammered, as if he didn't know what else to say. "All thirteen thousand."

Reluctantly leaving the scroll for a moment, Marcus walked over to the mare. Uncinching the first of the three bags, he pulled it open and worked one hand all the way to the bottom to pull out a coin at random.

After carefully examining it in the sun, he bit down into it, testing its worth. Then he repeated the procedure with the other two bags. Finally satisfied, he tied them back up and looked at the sweaty shopkeeper.

"Now it's your turn," he said quietly.

No one had to tell Worth what the young man meant. Walking to the wheelbarrow, he unrolled part of the rug to expose a large section of the magnificent scroll. As he did, Marcus winced. Whether out of greed, stupidity, or some other foolish reason, the idiot was exposing far too much of his newly acquired treasure to the world. But that wasn't Marcus' problem any more.

Sensing victory, he looked back into Worth's eyes.

I t is here, Mistress. Where?

In the center of the plaza, near the booth with the captive birds. It is hidden in a wheelbarrow. You must hurry.

Well done.

Gathering up her robes, Shailiha quickly looked around. Then she started to make her way toward the booth.

At the same time, a strangely dressed man with a painted face, and a grizzled old woman in rags began moving in the same direction.

T ristan didn't hesitate. As soon as he saw his sister move, he walked Pilgrim out into the busy plaza. Looking around, he saw that Faegan, Wigg, and Celeste were already converging on her. Tristan saw Shailiha come to a stop near a wooden vendor's stand, and watched as she looked around, searching for the scroll.

Then the prince finally saw it. The scroll seemed to be partially wrapped in something-a rug, perhaps-and it was lying in an old, dilapidated wheelbarrow. A fat, red-faced man was bending over and about to make off with the scroll, barrow and all. Knowing he had to hurry, Tristan spurred Pilgrim into a gallop across the cobblestoned yard.

That was when everything started to unravel.

Faegan had also seen the scroll and was quickly nearing the man with the wheelbarrow. As he did, the fellow seemed to suspect something and began to run, pushing the barrow as fast as he could. Raising one arm, Faegan sent a bolt of the craft toward him, forcing him to drop the barrow. Amazed, all Worth could do was to look up with horror as the prize he so coveted literally floated away on the air.

Citizens standing nearby began to scream and point. Then they began to scatter, running away from the frightening azure bolts of the craft.

As he charged toward the center of the plaza, something else suddenly caught Tristan's attention. He saw a young man, eyes wide with terror, mounting a bay horse. His saddle was loaded down with what looked to be heavy canvas bags. The boy whipped his mount in an attempt to get away.

Turning Pilgrim hard, Tristan raced to catch the boy, who was just passing a wooden booth laden with birdcages.

Then the boy's overloaded mount slipped on the cobblestones and went down hard, sliding directly into the side of the wooden booth. With a great noise the spindly booth shattered, sending pieces of wood flying everywhere. Many of the birdcages were destroyed, and the larks inside them flew out in every direction in a maelstrom of fluttering wings.

Surprised by the birds, Pilgrim reared. As he had done so many times before, Tristan automatically shifted his weight forward in his saddle and confidently rose with his horse. But he hadn't seen the spinning orbs that were already flashing their way across the plaza. Nor did he realize that the stallion he loved so much was about to save his life.

The orbs Janus had thrown were meant to take the prince's head from his shoulders, and if Pilgrim had not reared up at the last moment that is exactly what would have happened. Instead of the orbs finding the prince, they found the stallion.

Winding their connecting cord around Pilgrim's raised forelegs, the orbs viciously drew them together and cracked them in two as if they had been matchsticks. As he came back down to land on his front legs again, the sharply fractured bones ruptured the skin. Screaming insanely, Pilgrim went down hard on his left side, trapping Tristan's leg beneath him.

Still unsure of what had just happened, Tristan tried desperately to free himself but couldn't. He instinctively reached back for his weapons, but to his horror he found them gone. With his fall they had all scattered and lay just beyond his reach.

That was when he first saw the painted face leering down at him.

The man was dressed like a bizarre harlequin, and he held a shiny dagger in one hand. Saying nothing, he calmly walked around Pilgrim to come and stand over the helpless prince. He smiled as he raised his dagger, its blade twinkling in the midday sun.

The wizards would later say that the azure bolt that tore across the plaza was among the brightest they had ever seen. It tore into Janus' back and exploded with a force so great that it nearly killed Tristan, as well. Janus literally blew apart, organs and bones flying for meters in every direction. Then what was left of him dropped sloppily to the ground next to the prince.

Opening his eyes, Tristan found himself littered with blood and offal. The dagger that had nearly killed him lay nearby, still clutched in the harlequin's severed hand.

Then he felt a strong pair of hands beneath his arms, pulling him free. Finally rising up on shaky legs and still dazed, Tristan steadied himself and looked around.

The plaza was almost completely deserted. Celeste stood a short distance away. The fingertips of her right hand were scorched and red, and smoke rose from them softly, curling its way into the sky. Next to her stood Shailiha, who wore a tragic look on her face. On her outstretched arm sat Caprice, the giant butterfly gently opening and closing her wide, diaphanous wings.

Wigg stood near Tristan. In his craft-strengthened grip the wizard held the collar of the young man Tristan had seen trying to escape on horseback. The three canvas bags floated beside him in the air. A young clubfooted girl was also with him, desperately clutching the young man Wigg held and sobbing hysterically.

Next to Shailiha stood Grizelda, Krassus' herbmistress. Held prisoner inside a wizard's warp, she was angrily waving her arms and shouting vile curses at them. With a wave of one hand, Wigg promptly took away her powers of speech.

Looking further, Tristan saw that the fat man who had tried to make off with the scroll lay dead, facedown on the cobblestones, a knife sticking out of his back. Then the prince felt a comforting hand on the back of his shoulder.

He looked up to see Faegan. The wizard was still atop his horse. In his arms he cradled the Scroll of the Vigors. But, like everyone else, the wizard looked upset, not triumphant.