"Begging your pardon, Lead Wizard," he said, "but Master Faegan and Abbey have asked that you and the ladies join them in the Hall of Blood Records." Smoke billowed from the corncob pipe held between his teeth.

Wigg took in the gnome's red hair, matching beard, and dark eyes. Shannon was dressed, as always, in his red shirt, blue bibs, and upturned shoes. A black watch cap sat atop his head, and his ever-present ale jug was firmly clamped in one hand. Shannon took a deep, irreverent slug of his brew, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Despite his outward courtesy, there was always a hint of comic disrespect on the little one's face-especially where Wigg was concerned. Ever since the lead wizard had met Shannon, there had never been any question that the gnome accepted none but Faegan as his master.

Wigg had never been fond of the gnomes, but he had to admit grudgingly that they had become trusted allies. Their courage had impressed even the lead wizard when they had helped defeat Nicholas' birds of prey in the invisible valley that guarded Shadowood, the home they had shared with Faegan for more than three centuries.

Shannon cleared his throat. "They say it's important," he said.

Wigg raised an eyebrow. Faegan and Abbey had been meeting almost nonstop for the last several days. Much of that time had been spent with Abbey showing Faegan her resource materials and explaining what she would need in the way of herbs, blossoms, and roots, while the crippled wizard tried to ascertain whether they were immediately available.

Wigg sighed. They needed Abbey's abilities desperately just now. He hoped with all his heart that they were about to hear good news.

W hen they reached the Hall of Blood Records, they found Abbey and Faegan engrossed in fervent conversation. Both looked tired; neither noticed the arrival of the others.

Faegan was sitting in a newly constructed chair on wheels at the magnificent mahogany table in the center of the room. Abbey stood by his side, looking over his shoulder at a document. Every inch of the huge table was covered with Abbey's parchments, scrolls, and ledgers. Numerous blood signature documents had also been pulled, their storage left open, drawers yawning rudely before the imposing majesty of the room. Dozens of bottles of dried herbs sat on the table, many of them also open. Their combined odors spoke both of magic and of the ephemeral hope of success.

Scowling, Wigg looked first at the argumentative Abbey and Faegan, then back to Shailiha and Celeste. Shaking his head slightly, he rolled his eyes.

For three centuries he had wondered what might happen if the proud partial adept and the eccentric wizard in the chair ever met. He realized he was about to get his answer.

While Abbey's and Faegan's voices continued to rise, Wigg sat down at the table and cleared his throat loudly.

It didn't help.

"And I'm telling you that blossom of sintrinium is no substitute for nectar of oleaster!" Abbey shouted. She threw her hands into the air. "It just won't work, no matter how much you'd like it to! If any substitutions are made, then either the gazing flame will burn too hot, thereby clouding the view, or there will be nothing to see at all! Trust me; I know what I'm talking about! These are time-honored formulas, and they must be respected! Half of the palace could go up with your tinkering!"

"And I say you're wrong!" Faegan countered angrily, slapping one hand down on the arm of his chair.

Looking at them, Wigg was absolutely certain that this had been going on for some time now, and it showed no signs of stopping.

"If your charts of similars say sintrinium will work, then why won't it?" Faegan's jaw stuck out like the prow of a ship.

"Because 'similar' does not mean 'equal'!" Abbey exclaimed. "This is a delicate process, not a parlor trick! We're trying to ignite a gazing flame, you old fool, not make rabbits scurry out from under your robes!" Exasperated, she ran one hand through her dark, gray-streaked hair.

"Why don't you come and sit down?" Wigg asked Abbey. Startled, she glanced at him at last, and he pulled out the chair next to him.

With a loud sigh, Abbey relented and walked over. Just before she sat down, she placed her lips next to Wigg's ear.

"And I used to think that you could be difficult," she whispered.

Fighting back a smile, the lead wizard turned his eyes to Faegan. "Is there a problem?" he asked politely.

"Indeed," Faegan answered. "It seems your herbmistress is being uncooperative regarding my proposed substitution of certain ingredients needed for igniting her gazing flame. After careful review, it seems we do not possess all of the required elements. I was only trying to save us a trip back to Shadowood, where my selection of such goods is far greater. And I need remind none of you that time is not on our side."

"Is he right?" Wigg asked Abbey. "Can we make substitutions to save time?"

Abbey's attitude softened a bit. "At first glance, I can understand how Faegan might jump to that conclusion," she said. Leaning forward, she placed her forearms on the table. "But what both of you must realize is that the ingredients don't just help create the flame-they also serve as its ongoing fuel. The formula must be perfect. In addition, if you wish me to perform the ritual more than once, I shall need quite a lot of these substances. If substitutes are allowed, it simply will not work."

Leaning back in her chair, she looked at the group. "It seems someone must go to Shadowood, wherever that is," she said simply.

"This means that we must wait even longer before Abbey can use her gift to find Tristan, doesn't it?" Shailiha asked. Her lovely face had grown hard with frustration and anger. She was sick of waiting, and she was willing to do anything, risk anything, to bring her brother back.

Wigg looked at her. Shailiha had always been strong-willed, but until the recent past there had been very little reason for her to display that trait. Now, especially with Tristan missing, things were vastly different.

First had come the awakening of her Forestallment allowing her to communicate with the fliers of the fields. Then she had accompanied Tristan and Faegan to Farpoint, fighting alongside them as well as any man could have. She had taken her first lives, and Wigg suspected sadly that they would not be her last.

Shailiha tossed back long, blond hair and turned her determined eyes to Faegan. "I'm tired of hearing you blather on about herbs and roots," she countered. "If you and Abbey must go to Shadowood, then do so, and quickly. But first I have questions, and I want the answers now."

"As always, Princess, I will do my best," Faegan answered respectfully.

"First of all," she began, "that night at the docks. I know the slaves were being branded, but why? What did the two branding irons say?"

Pursing his lips, Faegan laced his gnarled fingers and tried to think of where to begin. "Wigg and I think we have part of the puzzle pieced together. But certainly not all of it," he said.

"Please go on," the princess said.

"One of the branding irons-the one that was used most often-said Talis. That is the Old Eutracian word for 'unendowed.' The other one read R'talis, or 'endowed.' The men in the blue robes sitting at the table were no doubt consuls of the Redoubt; some of those who were turned by Nicholas and swore allegiance to him. They are now unquestionably under the leadership of Krassus. We also believe that the person with Krassus that night was his partial adept-the one he bragged about the day he infiltrated the palace and attacked Wigg. When I described her to Abbey, she agreed that the woman sounded like the one who helped Krassus ransack her cottage."

"What were the consuls at the table doing?" Shailiha asked.

"Testing the blood of the slaves," Faegan answered. "If he or she was unendowed, as most of them would be, they were branded accordingly. If they were endowed, they were branded with the other iron."