Taking a deep breath, Jessamay made up her mind to stay. Someone would come to read the message-of that much she was sure. The only question was how long it might take for Vivian's contact to arrive. Settling back against the unforgiving bench, Jessamay prepared for what could be a very long wait.

Hoping against hope that she was doing the right thing, she watched Vivian round the next street corner and vanish into the crowd. Taking a deep breath, Jessamay shifted her weight on the bench. Two hours had passed and she was beginning to wonder whether she had made the right decision. But there was little she could do about it now.

She was about to go buy a cool drink from one of the street vendors when she saw a man approach the fountain. Dressed in a peasant shirt, dark trousers, and scuffed knee boots, he was unremarkable. He looked around furtively and sat down on the edge of the fountain in the exact spot that Vivian had vacated.

Her interest piqued, Jessamay took a chance and strolled out into the roundabout. She stopped to stand directly behind the man on the opposite side of the fountain. Unless he turned all the way around, chances were he wouldn't notice her. If she was right about him, he would soon be too engrossed with the craft to bother. And if she wasn't, then it didn't matter.

From where she stood she could just see over the edge of the fountain and into the pool of swirling water. At the moment no one else was around. If he's going to do it, now's the perfect time, she thought.

As if he were cooling himself, the man casually placed one hand down into the water. Jessamay saw no evidence of azure. As if by its own accord, however, the water in the pool quickly stilled. The man looked down for a few moments and then withdrew his hand. Soon the water moved again. The entire procedure had been smooth and silent, but that hadn't fooled the experienced sorceress. She had her man and she knew it.

The fellow stood and walked purposefully across the square. Determined not to lose him, she followed. Suddenly he picked up the pace and rounded the next corner. Lengthening her stride, Jessamay went after him.

As she came around the corner, she nearly panicked when she saw that he had a carriage waiting. After shouting something up to the driver, the man climbed in and closed the door after him. The driver cracked his whip and the carriage-of-four charged up the street.

Frantic, Jessamay looked up and down the thoroughfare. Finally she saw a lone carriage about twenty meters up, its three passengers disembarking. She hiked up her skirts and ran to it as fast as she could.

"Take me up the street!" she shouted. "I'm in a great hurry!"

The grizzled driver looked down at her with distaste.

"That was my last fare for the day. I'm off duty. Find yourself another ride."

"But yours is the only one here!" Jessamay protested. Looking up the street, her heart sank when she saw the other carriage vanishing in the distance.

"I'll pay you anything!" she shouted. "You simply have to take me!"

"What are you, some kind of a crazy woman?" he shouted back at her. But greed and curiosity got the better of him. "How much ya got, anyway?"

Jessamay conjured high denomination kisa in her pockets as quickly as she could and began literally throwing the money up at him. His eyes grew as big as saucers.

"Get in!" he shouted.

"No!" Jessamay shouted back.

Using the craft to augment her strength, she jumped straight from the ground into the seat alongside the driver. His mouth agape, all the stunned man could do was to look at her.

Narrowing her eyes, she looked up the street again. She could just make out the other carriage rounding a far corner. She ripped the reins and whip away from him.

"I'll be the one driving!" she shouted. "I used to be pretty good at this, but it's been a while. I suggest you find something to hang on to!"

Jessamay snapped the whip, and the carriage charged up the street, the bewildered driver holding on for dear life. Keeping a reasonable distance behind the other carriage, Jessamay followed her quarry until it came to an abrupt stop in front of a tavern. When she watched the man jump from his carriage, run across the street, and enter the archery shop there, she knew that this was the place the Conclave had been searching for.

CHAPTER LXVII

Faegan lifted his eyes from the page he was reading and shook his head in wonder. He had been sitting alone in the Archives of the Redoubt for most of last night and all of this morning. The half-eaten remains of the breakfast Shawna had insisted on bringing him rested near one elbow. Nicodemus padded about on the floor, purring and winding his way around the wizard's useless legs.

Faegan took another sip of tea, only to find that it had gone cold. Narrowing his eyes, he called the craft and heated the brew until it steamed again. This time it felt warm going down. Placing the cup down upon its saucer, he turned his attention back to the handwritten pages.

The book he was studying was Failee's grimoire. As he had anticipated, it was fascinating. Failee's elegant script was very stylized and she had written in dark green ink in a handwriting that was difficult to decipher, making the reading slow going. Worse yet, parts of the text were written in a code that Faegan had yet to unravel. But what he had been able to make out so far already had the wheels of his ever-curious mind turning.

The First Wizard, his daughter, and the Jin'Sai would be leaving within the hour. Late last night Faegan had granted Wigg's blood the calculations that would draw the First Wizard to the Well of the Forestallments, but the two wizards had not spoken since.

As he thought about the odds building against the Conclave, Faegan shook his head tiredly. He would have been far more comfortable about all of this if everyone were staying at the palace. Wigg's gifts in the craft were second only to his own, and he was sure that the Minions placed far more confidence in the prince than they did in him. He felt a deep need for Celeste to stay so that he could watch over her. But he also knew that Tristan was right. With Celeste accompanying them, they had a much greater chance of saving her life.

It was imperative that they find the Scroll Master. Absolutely nothing could be allowed to interfere with returning Tristan's blood to normal. Then the Jin'Sai might-somehow-repair the rent in the Orb of the Vigors and, everyone fervently hoped, save Celeste's life. But succeeding in these trials would be nearly impossible and the wizard knew it. As he looked back down at the grimoire, he couldn't help but think back to those days before the Sorceresses' War, when their world was still at peace and their early discoveries in the craft all seemed so wondrous and new.

Wigg and Failee had been married then, and at first they had seemed happy. For a long time Faegan had secretly envied Wigg's relationship with Failee. Not only was she beautiful, but her intelligence and skill in the craft were nearly without equal. That was why he and Wigg were both so stunned when she began to dabble in the Vagaries and to recruit others to follow her in her new cause.

But her imperfect use of the dark side of the craft had driven her mad. The result had been the Sorceresses' War, which had nearly torn both the nation and the craft asunder. Two centuries later, the Directorate learned that each blood signature had a discernible lean, and that Failee's angled far to the left. Such a trait inspired in her not only a desire to practice the Vagaries but a compulsion to do so-probably one beyond her ability to control. Had her crimes not been so heinous, one might even have been compelled to forgive her. We fought hard to survive those dark days, Faegan thought. But how will we survive the ones that lie ahead?