"How did you get the scroll to Tammerland?" Tristan asked.

"In the rowboat we always used to fish out of. It was my father's. On the way down the Sippora we fished, so as to eat. Kept us alive."

"And was it always your intention to sell the scroll?" Tristan asked, his admiration for Marcus also growing.

"Of course. What would I want to keep the damned thing for?"

Tristan smiled. "And how did you find the artifacts dealer?"

"I asked around. It wasn't hard. I had an appointment with him today, to finally exchange the scroll for the kisa. He was the only one I trusted. But he won't be doing any more business, will he? From that point on, you know the rest." Then Marcus' face darkened. "I'm sorry about your horse," he added.

"Thank you," Tristan replied. "So am I."

Wigg had apparently heard all he needed. He stood and walked over to one side of the kitchens, to give a tug on a velvet pull cord. In a few moments, a Minion warrior appeared.

"Take this young man to the princess' quarters so that he may rejoin his sister," Wigg ordered. "See to it that he is cleaned up and given some decent clothes. I want one of you to keep an eye on him and his sister at all times. They seem to have an unusually high predilection for larceny."

The warrior clicked his heels together. "As you wish."

Wide-eyed at his first glimpse of a Minion, Marcus was slow to rise from the table. Before leaving, he turned around and looked back at Wigg.

"I'll make a deal with you," he said.

Sighing, Wigg shook his head again. "I am the lead wizard of the Directorate," he answered. "And I am not in the habit of dealing with pickpockets. Especially young ones."

"Can you cure 'Becca's clubfoot?" Marcus asked. "For as long as I can remember, it has been her dream to come into your Chamber of Supplication and request an audience for your help. If you cure her, I'll even let you keep the bags of kisa."

"As I remember, you no longer have the money," Wigg answered. "It rests with us now. But leave it to you to bargain with something you don't have. However, I did notice Rebecca's foot. If it is within our powers to help, we will. But right now I want you to go, Marcus. We have urgent business to attend to." Wigg then nodded to the Minion, and Marcus was escorted from the room.

"I'm assuming our urgent business is now with Grizelda," Faegan said.

"Indeed," Wigg answered. "And it should prove most interesting."

The three of them stood from the table and headed for the Redoubt.

O n the way Tristan requested that they go by the Great Hall, the room into which Faegan's warp and Krassus' destructive beams of light had been tossed. He was very curious about how much damage had been done. As they approached the room and walked in, the sight before them was disheartening, to say the least.

Krassus' powerful light shards had caused the walls to crack and tumble in many places, and the ceiling was torn by a number of great, ragged holes through which the encroaching night sky could be seen. Glass, dust, and smashed furniture lay everywhere. A work party of male and female Minions was already going about the business of trying to return the room to its former glory, but that would take time, Tristan realized, if it ever came about at all.

Wigg walked slowly through the rubble, bits of glass crunching beneath his boots. With a great sigh, he shook his head and turned back to Faegan and the prince.

"Such a shame," he said. "But at the time it was all I could think of to contain the lights. Even then I had no way of knowing whether Krassus' enchantments might take the entire palace down. In a way, we were very lucky."

"The power behind his spell was great indeed," Faegan added thoughtfully. "And very cleverly wrought. Your solution worked. Had the shards impacted anything softer than stone, the results would have been catastrophic." After a last look around, the three of them finally proceeded to the Redoubt.

As they came to stand before the doors, Faegan called the craft and unlocked them. Inside, Grizelda was still trapped within the azure wizard's warp. When she saw them enter, her lips turned up into a sneer.

Tristan looked at the herbmistress. She had changed little since that day on Krassus' flagship. He took in the long, dry, gray hair that hung haphazardly down around her weather-beaten face; her long, hooked nose; and the tattered, dirty brown robe wrapped around the gaunt body. She glared back at the prince with venom in her eyes.

"Good evening," Tristan said politely. "I hope you find the accommodations to your liking. At least here we don't force anyone to row. But should you prove uncooperative, I'm sure something like it could be arranged."

"So you escaped after all." Grizelda sneered. "My compliments. But your capture of me won't do you any good, Chosen One. I will never give up the things you so desperately need to know. I have a new lord now, and I won't betray him. Your days are numbered, and are dwindling rapidly. Soon I shall be free again, and you are in wizards' warps." To emphasize her point, she spat wetly against the inside of her cage.

"Your manners leave something to be desired," Tristan answered back. He turned around to face the wizards for a moment. "Charming, isn't she?"

Faegan and Wigg came the short distance to Tristan's side. "Is Krassus holding Wulfgar prisoner at the Citadel?" Faegan asked her bluntly. "Has the lost brother of the Chosen Ones been turned to the Vagaries?"

Grizelda smiled again. "That much I will answer, because of the joy I shall feel when I see the looks on your faces. Besides, it does not matter, for you can never stop him now." Obviously relishing her next words, she paused for a moment.

"You are quite wrong in assuming that Wulfgar is a prisoner of the Citadel," she answered at last. "By now he is most certainly its master-as well as the master of all the demonslavers and the other creatures of the Vagaries that have been newly conjured for his use." Raising one of her long, thin arms, she pointed an accusatory finger at the three of them.

"Blasphemers!" she whispered ominously. "Would-be destroyers of the sacred side of the craft! You can never defeat Wulfgar, for he already possesses powers that you could only dream of! He will soon set things right, just as they should have been eons ago. Things have been set into motion that you, in your feeble, exclusive practice of the Vigors, couldn't possibly begin to understand. Things that even Nicholas himself left undone. Wulfgar is coming for you, of that you may be assured. And no power on earth can stop him."

"Why is it that you follow the Vagaries?" Wigg asked.

Grizelda smiled. "You are familiar with the concept of Forestallments?"

Wigg nodded.

"Krassus imbued my partial signature with the Forestallments that finally brought my blood and mind to the light," she answered proudly. "Just as I am sure he has also done for Wulfgar by now. And Wulfgar may do the same for you." Pausing, she smiled again. "Assuming he doesn't kill you outright, of course."

She looked at the prince, and her smile widened. "It seems we shall soon see whether endowed blood is truly thicker than water."

"Who was the Harlequin?" Tristan asked. "I had never seen him before."

"Merely an unendowed servant of Krassus'," Grizelda replied. "He had his uses, but was of no real consequence. In truth, I cannot say I am sorry he is dead."

"What purposes do the Scrolls of the Ancients serve?" Wigg asked urgently.

Grizelda shook her head adamantly. Then she smiled again and made a clucking sound with her tongue. "Clearly, you haven't been listening," she answered. "No more questions."

Wigg looked over at Faegan.

"Would you like to do the honors, or should I?" Faegan asked.

"I will," Wigg answered. "Because she is only of partial blood, it shouldn't prove too difficult."