As Marcus looked down at 'Becca's tattered plaid dress, grimy face, and clubfoot, his heart ached. Their parents were dead; all they had was each other. He did not enjoy stealing, but they had no money, and the way to Tammerland had been hard. That was why he was so determined to hold on to the amazing thing they had found. If there was any place in Eutracia where it might have value, he reasoned, it would be where the wizards had once lived, and where the craft was said to flourish. Even if he found no buyers for the object itself, he could at least sell off the gold.

They had actually found two of the things, but had been forced to leave one behind. 'Becca had not been strong enough to carry off the other by herself, and he had not possessed the stamina to handle both at the same time. They had returned later to try to take the twin, but by then it was already gone.

At first he had stolen it just for the gold. But when it had started glowing, he had immediately become convinced of its potentially greater value. As for what purpose of the craft it supposedly served, he had absolutely no idea. But if he could find someone who would pay enough for it, he might be able to secure a healer to help with 'Becca's foot. And perhaps even have enough left over to help them start a new life here, in the capital.

But they were strangers in Tammerland, and in the absence of the royal guard, the city had become a very dangerous place. That lesson had been abundantly proven today, when he had wandered into the wrong part of town. Being no fool, he understood all too well that he needed to be supremely careful, for what they had buried beneath the cot could just as easily get them killed as set them free.

"Is there food in the bag?" Rebecca suddenly asked, taking him away from his thoughts.

"Yes," he answered. "This time I was able to get enough to last us for two days. Chicken stolen from a store, and bread taken from a windowsill."

"Can we eat now?" she asked eagerly. "I'm so hungry, Marcus!"

He smiled. "You go ahead. I have something to do first. Just be sure you leave me some! I know what a piglet you can be!" Then his eyes turned again to the blue light beneath the cot.

Rebecca's face fell. He was going to dig it up again. He did so every time it glowed, to make sure nothing had happened to it. And every time he did-which seemed to be happening more and more frequently-it made her nervous. But her hunger was greater than her anxiety, and the lure of the bag on the table was too great, so she turned her back on her brother and went to eat.

Marcus knelt and peered under the cot at the narrow rays of light shooting up and out of the loose dirt. This was the seventh time it had glowed since he had stolen it, and each time its illumination had increased in strength. That was a large part of why he had decided to bury it, but clearly that was no longer working.

Even before uncovering it, he could tell that this time would be the brightest yet. Narrowing his eyes against the azure light, he began slowly moving the dirt aside. Soon their treasure was exposed, filling the room with its brilliance.

He did not touch it, but instead examined the scroll as it lay there. About a meter long and half a meter wide, it was secured in the middle with a gold band. The rod running through it was gold as well, as were each of the fluted end knobs. The writing on the parchment was in a beautiful script that looked utterly unfamiliar to him, which added to the mystery. The scroll appeared to be unharmed. He sat back on his heels, thinking.

One thing was certain. He needed to find a buyer soon, for the glow was becoming too difficult to hide. He had no money to purchase any kind of container for it, and he'd buried it as deep as possible before hitting bedrock beneath the shack. As far as he was concerned, the sooner he turned it into kisa, the better.

Quickly, he covered the scroll back up. As he did the glow began to extinguish itself of its own accord, just as it always did. He did not know why the glow came and went, but was glad to see it die for the time being. When it was completely covered, he stood and walked to the table.

Her mouth and fingers covered with chicken grease, 'Becca beamed up at him and handed him a piece of bread.

S tanding on the mizzen deck of the Sojourner, behind Grizelda, Krassus was greatly encouraged by what he was seeing. It was a clear, starry night; and the three moons were out, bathing the ship and the sea in their familiar, rose-colored light. Though there was little wind, the Sojourner continued to make good time as she plowed her way east through the restless waves. The lights of the other two ships running alongside them twinkled in the night. Thinking of the Chosen One pulling on an oar, Krassus smiled.

Grizelda selected some herbs from her bag and tossed them into the gazing flame. Hissing, the fire shot higher, and the viewing window in its center grew just a bit clearer. In his desperation to find the other scroll, Krassus had been forcing her to perform the ritual often, and by now both Grizelda's stores of herbs and her own energy were running very low. But finally this time she had been more successful.

The view was cloudy, but for the first time she actually had something to look at. Holding up a small piece of vellum taken from the Scroll of the Vagaries, she tried to make the scene unfolding before her clearer.

The Scroll of the Vigors came into view. It was glowing with azure light, and a pair of hands were starting to cover it over with dirt. Then the hands pulled away, and all that remained in the viewing window was a dirt floor that could have been anywhere. She dropped her arms to her sides, and the flame lowered accordingly.

"We have done it, my lord," she said with a smile. The sea wind snatched at her long, gray hair, and she hooked a portion of it behind one ear.

"I now know why we have had such trouble trying to view the scroll," she went on. "Whoever took it is hiding it, burying it in the dirt. Only when it is exposed may we view it-which may not be often. Whoever is in possession of the scroll knows nothing of the craft-of that much I am certain. If it were with the wizards of the Redoubt, they would be busy trying to decipher its secrets, rather than burying it."

For a moment she looked perturbed, but then she smiled again. "When the herbs and oils you promised me arrive at the Citadel, I will be able to do much better-even from that far away."

Krassus looked down at her. "You may retire now," he said simply. With a short bow, Grizelda picked up her bag and started for her cabin.

Turning, the wizard in the gray-and-blue robe walked to the gunwale and leaned his forearms on it as he looked out to the ever-shifting sea. The wind had picked up a bit more, and the waves were frothy and whitecapped.

Soon, he assured himself. Soon he would have the Scroll of the Vigors, and there would be nothing the wizards in the Redoubt could do to stop him. And once he had Wulfgar, the world would see wonders of the craft that had not been witnessed for eons.