Suddenly he detected the presence of endowed blood. As it approached, he recognized that it belonged to Wigg.

The door swung open to reveal the First Wizard. Like Faegan, he looked tired and drawn. He had been this way ever since learning of Celeste's impending death. It was almost as if their lives and health were linked, one unable to survive without the other.

Wigg sat down heavily at the table. When he saw the grimoire, his brow furrowed.

"Shawna told me that I'd find you in the Archives," he said. "But what I didn't know was that you'd been laboring all night. What on earth are you trying to accomplish down here, all by yourself?"

Not entirely sure where to begin, Faegan spent the next several minutes outlining his plan. Wigg listened politely, but the more Faegan spoke the more skeptical the First Wizard looked. "What do you think of it?" Faegan asked.

Wigg pursed his lips. "A very interesting notion, I agree. But the first part of your plan is clearly impossible. I don't know how we could ever accomplish such a thing; we simply don't possess that much raw power. And as for the second part, you mean to dabble in a discipline of the craft that we really know nothing about. That's why you've locked yourself away here in the Archives, isn't it? To research Failee's grimoire and try to discover how she managed to do it. But I needn't remind you that her work in this field was only half completed. To fully implement your plan, you would also have to first complete her calculations. Who knows how long that might take, even if it's possible at all! And I'm afraid, my friend, that time is one luxury we don't have."

Faegan sighed. "I know. But this seems the only way to proceed. If you have a better idea, I'm certainly willing to listen."

Wigg shook his head. "No," he said softly. "Nor will I be able to help you in your work-at least not until Tristan, Celeste, and I return from wherever the River of Thought takes us. There's no telling how far afield we might have to go."

"Have you tried to employ the additional spell that I imparted into your blood last night?" Faegan asked.

"Yes."

"And when you activate it, what does it feel like?"

Wigg thought for a moment. "I almost feel as though part of me has become a living, breathing compass. I am inexorably drawn in a certain direction. And although I cannot say for sure, I suspect that the closer I come to the Well, the stronger the feeling will become. I must also remember what Sister Adrian said. If I try to travel too fast, I will overtake the spell and temporarily lose the sensation. But finding the Well quickly is exactly what must be done. Even though we haven't departed yet, I can't begin to tell you how maddening this restriction already seems!"

Nodding, Faegan put one hand over Wigg's. "I can only imagine," he said. "Tell me. In which direction does the spell bid you?"

"Northwest."

Faegan scowled. "I needn't remind you that the ruptured orb lies that way."

"Of course," Wigg answered.

Deciding to change the subject, Faegan leaned back and placed his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe. "Has Jessamay returned?" he asked.

"No," Wigg answered. "But she can take care of herself. She was one of the most powerful sorceresses of the Vigors that we ever knew. We are indeed fortunate to have her back."

"Are you quite sure about that?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm talking about her blood signature," Faegan replied. "You said that it now has no discernible lean. But what does that mean for us? It would seem to make her more prone to want to practice the Vagaries, would it not? And to what degree? I do not need to tell you how dangerous it would be for such a person to be privy to the Conclave's plans. In fact, she may already know too much."

"I'm aware of your concerns," Wigg answered. "I have personally examined her signature. Since it shows no appreciable lean one way or the other, I am convinced that her past devotion to the Vigors and the basic goodness of her heart will win out. Besides, what other choice do we have? To forbid such a powerful sorceress to help us in this time of need would be inexcusable."

"I suppose you're right," Faegan said.

"When she returns you must make quick use of whatever information she brings you," Wigg cautioned. "If she has unearthed any link to Wulfgar's confederates or to the assassin Satine, you must deal with them quickly. But try to take at least one of them alive. The information they might provide could prove priceless."

As he recalled Geldon and Lionel's deaths, Faegan's look became harsh. No one had to remind him about Satine. Only she and the Afterlife knew how many more she had disposed of during the course of her grisly career. And his wizard's pride was still stung over the way Reznik had outsmarted him at Valrenkium. This is far from over, he thought. But when all is said and done, I will be the one to end it. He looked back to Wigg.

"Don't worry," he said. "Taking care of them will be my pleasure."

Wigg gave him a slight smile. "I know," he said.

Wigg reached out and ran his palm over one of the pages of the grimoire. The dry green ink and the wrinkled parchment felt dead, almost alien to his touch.

"Do you miss her?" Faegan asked.

Withdrawing his hand, Wigg sighed.

"I miss what she once was," he answered. "But certainly not what she became. For the last three hundred years I have struggled against everything that she believed in. And now here we are, trying to employ her tools to help the Vigors. It's ironic, to say the least."

"Indeed," Faegan answered. "This grimoire is a revelation, Wigg. I am only beginning to understand just how brilliant your late wife really was, and what an impact she has had on us all, right up to this very day."

Wigg stood abruptly, his face unreadable. "Tristan, Celeste, and the Minions who are to accompany us await me in the courtyard. But before I go, tell me. Are you completely in agreement with our battle plans?"

"Yes. Tyranny's fleet and what remains of the Minion fleet will guard the coast as best they can. She has been ordered to simply report the appearance of the enemy vessels-though if I know her, she will engage them, even though she has little or no chance against the Black Ships. Once we have learned when and where Wulfgar is about to land, Traax and I will hit him with everything we have. I seriously doubt that it will be enough."

"And the flask that I brought back from Parthalon," Wigg said.

"You have it hidden in a safe place? If it fell into the wrong hands, it would be disastrous."

For the first time that day Faegan managed a slight smile. "Safe and sound, I promise," he said. "And by the way, I must compliment you. That was excellent thinking on your part. You will tell Tristan and Celeste about my idea?"

"Of course. It's only right that they be informed. But I must tell you again how slim your chances of success seem to be. Still, if there is anyone who can do it, it is you."

Faegan reached up to take Wigg's hand. "Even though I'm coming to see you off, I will say my goodbyes now, old friend," he said. "May you succeed in all that you are about to do."

"And you," Wigg answered.

The First Wizard released Faegan's hand, turned, and walked out the door. Leaving Failee's grimoire behind, Faegan followed along. As they traveled in silence back up to the palace, each wizard knew that he would need every bit of luck in the world. AS Tristan walked hand in hand with Celeste through the palace halls, he did his best to conceal his worry. The time enchantments that held her youth in place were clearly decaying at an accelerating rate. Her appearance had noticeably worsened.

When she rose this morning and looked into one of the mirrors in their personal chambers, her eyes had filled with fear. Taking her in his arms, Tristan had done all he could to convince her that they would soon find the Scroll Master, and that everything would be all right. But even to him his words sounded hollow.