"The inherent goodness of your endowed blood, wizard, such as it may be. Your blood signature was verified as right-leaning by the Woman of Stone before you were allowed entry to this place, was it not?"

She turned to face the far wall of the chamber. Then she raised her wooden staff. "Behold," she said.

The air before them started to take on the azure glow of the craft. Then the gleaming began to coalesce, forming into a very large, shimmering cube that began to spin slowly.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Tell me, wizard, what is your greatest regret?" she asked, ignoring his question. "And remember, you must answer truthfully."

Wigg stared at the revolving cube as he considered her question. There had been a great many regrets in his long life. But one stood head and shoulders above all the others. He looked back at the faceless watchwoman.

"My greatest regret is having banished the Coven of sorceresses to the Sea of Whispers, rather than killing them outright," he said softly. "Had I followed my heart that night and drowned all four of them in the ocean as I was tempted to do, I would have undoubtedly been forced from the Directorate for violating their mandate. But that would have been a very small price to pay. For the Coven eventually returned and laid waste to the land, killing as they went. Thousands of innocents died, including most of the royal family and all of the remaining wizards of the Directorate. It was entirely my fault, for I alone could have prevented it, but did not. It was a mistake for which I shall never forgive myself." For a long moment, Wigg lowered his head and closed his eyes.

"Very well," she replied.

He opened his eyes to see that the gleaming cube was still revolving in the air.

"What I say to you now is for your ears alone, and never to be repeated, do you understand?" she asked. Wigg nodded.

"The greatest tragedy of regret is not what one did or did not do to cause it," she said. "Nor is it what we did or did not experience at the time. It is therefore neither the doing nor the omission of some act that causes the greatest pain and suffering, but rather its aftermath that burns longest in our hearts, and eventually in the hearts of others. The aftermath of your regret spirals down through the years like a plague, infecting everyone and everything it touches. It has always been this way, just as it always shall be. It is therefore this part of that aftermath that you shall now see, for that night in the Sea of Whispers was only the catalyst, not the result. You just said so yourself, did you not? That is truly what the Chamber of Penitence is about, wizard. We are here to observe a small part of the results of what you caused, not simply the lone act that caused them. And may your endowed blood and your wizard's soul possess enough inherent goodness to survive what you shall witness, for it is only that same goodness, as it struggles within you against the aftermath of your error, that can keep you alive."

Then the watchwoman turned toward the gleaming, spinning cube and raised her staff. As she did, shapes began to form within it. Then the shapes came into greater focus, forming an all-too-familiar scene.

As the drama unfolded, Wigg was stricken with an intense, excruciating pain that shot through not only his entire nervous system, but cleaved into his very soul, as well. Though transfixed by the view, his pain took him to his knees. Sobbing, he found himself screaming at the watchwoman, begging her to make it stop. But it didn't.

In truth, it had only just begun.

The scene was of Tristan's coronation night-the night that everything in the wizard's world so irrevocably changed. Through his tears, Wigg could see the royal family standing proudly on the dais. Nicholas… Morganna… Frederick… the Chosen Ones… And the other members of the Directorate were also there, waiting for him to place the Paragon around Tristan's neck, sealing the prince's reign for the next thirty years.

Then came the smashing of the glass dome high above, its sharp, glass shards raining down as the first of the Minions dropped into the great hall and began slaughtering the defenseless guests.

Blood, screaming, severed body parts, and yet more blood… always, endlessly. The blood flowed until it seemed there was an entire sea of it, sweeping across the once-beautiful white-and-black checkerboard floor.

And then, suddenly, he was watching the struggle that had gone on outside of the palace-the one that until now he had never witnessed. The Minions descended on the gathered citizens like madmen, cutting them down as they went. Men, women, and children fell easy prey to the winged monsters wielding the strangely curved swords. By now some of the Royal Guard had begun to fight back, but the Minion army was too strong, and too large.

Some of the monsters picked up severed human body parts and began using their bloody, ragged ends as paintbrushes with which to scrawl obscenities and warnings across the walls. Raising one hand, Wigg tried to summon his gift and stop the vision, but nothing happened. He found himself forced to watch as it went on and on.

Just as had happened the first time, he found himself experiencing the cruel helplessness of not being able to stop any of it.

Then, quite unexpectedly, his mental and physical pain multiplied, searing through his system even more viciously than before. As each Minion sword came flashing down to cut through sinew and bone, as each woman was thrown to the ground and brutally abused, as each husband, wife, sister, and brother bent over slaughtered loved ones and screamed into the night, Wigg was forced to feel their physical and mental agony. His body convulsed with it, his mind was seared by it, and his heart pounded with it.

Crying madly, the exquisite agony wracking every iota of his being, Wigg fell facedown onto the cold stone floor. Nonetheless, some unseen force lifted his face back up so that he had no choice but to continue taking in the horrifying carnival of blood, gore, rape, and death.

And then he heard the beating of his own heart.

As the agony of the victims continued to flood into his being, the beating grew more insistent. Ever louder, ever faster, it became so overpowering that he thought it might burst his eardrums. Blood, pain, the frantic screaming of the innocents, and the pounding of his heart all combined into a massive, unrelenting crescendo that he knew would soon kill him unless it stopped.

But it didn't. It just kept on going and going, seemingly without end.

Then suddenly it was too much for even the endowed blood and the inherent goodness of the lead wizard to bear.

With the watchwoman standing over him, Wigg's face hit the unforgiving stone floor, and the light went out of his eyes.

CHAPTER

Thirty-nine

A s Krassus walked into the weapons forge, he could feel the intense heat from the hearths blast him in the face. He could hear the constant hissing of the steam as the slaves lowered the red-hot, partially constructed weapons into the vats of brackish water to temper them. The sound of their hammers banging down on the hot metal rang out endlessly. Smoke and soot hung darkly in the air, infusing the entire place with a hot, charred odor.

As he breathed it in, he was overcome by the urge to cough. Quickly pulling the bloodied rag from his blue-and-gray robe, he placed it over his mouth and involuntarily let go several deep, convulsive hacks. Taking the rag away, he looked down to see his familiar blood signature twisting its way across the fabric.

His disease was advancing; he had been coughing even more of late. It was becoming increasingly evident that he must hurry in his work if he was to successfully complete Nicholas' mission before he died. And to be certain of his victory, he needed to acquire the Scroll of the Vigors, the only piece of the puzzle still missing.