"But why would a partial's gifts be limited to only certain aspects of the craft?" Shailiha asked. "That doesn't make sense to me."

"I can understand your confusion," Faegan replied. "As is true with so many things of magic, the answer has to do with the Paragon." He held the square-cut, bloodred stone up for inspection.

"If you were to count the facets of the surface of the Paragon, you would find there to be twenty-five in all," he told her. "Just as there are twenty-five major facets of the craft, such as the Kinetic, the Sympathetic, and the Formative. The facet, for example, allows the practitioner certain dynamic uses of the craft, such as the throwing of azure bolts. The Sympathetic facet allows the user certain gifts associated with sound, touch, and vibration. And as you might well guess, the Formative facet has to do with the conjuring and altering of things-or their disappearance. These are but three of the twenty-five."

Neither Tristan nor Shailiha had ever heard this, and it put the Paragon in an entirely new light.

"How do you know all of this?" Shailiha asked.

"This information came to us from the preface to the Tome," Faegan answered. "The Ones Who Came Before constructed the jewel as the living passageway between endowed blood and the orbs of the Vigors and the Vagaries-the two fountainheads of all that is the craft. The twenty-five facets that the Ones cut into the stone represent what they considered to be the most important disciplines of the craft."

"But that still doesn't explain why a partial adept's gifts are limited, and vice versa," Tristan pressed.

"That is because the Ones granted those of fully endowed blood sole access to all of the facets save for one," Faegan told them. "The arts of that one facet are divided between those of fully endowed blood, and the partials."

"What is that facet called?" Tristan asked.

"The Organic," Faegan answered.

"And what aspects of the craft does the Organic facet control?" Shailiha asked.

"Those arts that are made possible only through the use of such organics as herbs, oils, plants, water, and so on," Faegan explained. "These arts have the greatest effect of all on the plant life, water, and air of the world. The Ones Who Came Before channeled some of the arts of the Organic into the weaker blood signatures of the partials, and the rest into the blood of the fully endowed. A wizard has access to a far greater number of skills, and has much greater power, but partial adepts have access to some Organic skills that we do not."

"But why would the Ones do that?" Tristan asked. "Wouldn't they want the fully endowed to have all the gifts, so that they could be used to their greatest advantage?"

"Enabling one group to employ all of the arts of the Organic discipline to their utmost was precisely what the Ones were trying to avoid," the wizard said.

"But you still haven't answered why," Shailiha pressed.

"It seems that what the Ones wanted most, second only to the preservation of the craft, was to prevent any future recurrence of their war with the Heretics of the Guild. The preface to the Tome tells us that during their War of Attrition, as they called it, vast areas of the world became scorched and lifeless. If they couldn't preserve the land, air, and sea for future generations, humankind ran the risk of becoming extinct." He paused for a moment in thought.

"People are replaceable, I suppose, should one care to characterize things in such a manner," he went on, as their litter continued to bounce along through the air. "But the earth we walk upon, the water we drink, and the air we breathe is not. And without them we would soon perish, taking the craft with us. For in the final analysis, our endowed blood is the ultimate resting place of the craft, and our lives the instruments by which it is passed down through the generations, thereby making it timeless. That is why the Ones devised the Organic facet of the Paragon the way they did: gifting some of the most dangerous of these arts only to those of partial blood. That way, they hoped, no one would ever be able to use them again in a manner that was so destructive."

"But if these Organic gifts are so potentially destructive, why allow them to be used at all?" Shailiha asked.

"Because their potential to be used for good is just as strong," Faegan answered. "If all these aspects of the craft had not been preserved, knowledge of them would have died with the Ones. Even now we have no way of knowing how many of their arts may have vanished with the Ones' passing from the world."

Suddenly something Faegan had said earlier began gnawing at the back of the prince's mind. "What is a blaze-gazer?" he asked.

Faegan pursed his lips. "A blaze-gazer is a partial adept who is able to use herbs to see events that are occurring some distance away. Or so goes the myth. That art is said to be very rare, and almost always the province of women, rather than men."

"Can you blaze-gaze?" Shailiha asked.

"No," Faegan answered testily. True to form, he was becoming irritable at the questioning of his abilities. "Nor can any other wizard I have ever known-including Wigg. I would love to learn to blaze-gaze, but it is doubtful that a partial adept would ever share such knowledge with an outsider, or even that the Paragon would allow me that skill."

"And Krassus now travels with a partial adept," Tristan mused. "Or at least he claims to."

"Yes," Faegan agreed. "If what he said is true, that does not bode well for any of us."

"Krassus said that Wigg knows one," Shailiha commented. "And the lead wizard became very defensive when we asked him about it. Could it be true?"

Faegan raised an eyebrow. "First of all, it is Wigg's nature to be defensive," he said. "You know how secretive he can be. When he does not wish to speak about a subject, even wild mules can't pull the words out of him." A bit more somber now, Faegan looked out the window again.

"You know, part of what Krassus said is quite valid," he mused.

"What part?" Tristan asked.

"He said that although I am the greatest keeper of the craft, Wigg is the greatest keeper of secrets," Faegan said softly. "That is so true. When thinking of Wigg, always remember that he has survived over three centuries in the maze of politics and magic that is Eutracia. The things he has seen and the secrets he still keeps may well be uncountable."

Tristan sat back in the seat, thinking. Something Wigg had told them that day still haunted him.

"Is it true?" he asked the ancient wizard. "Would Wigg have really done it? Would he do it still?"

"Do what?" Faegan asked.

"Would he truly kill Wulfgar, should our brother be found and his left-leaning blood signature induce him to the Vagaries?"

Faegan's expression darkened. Removing his hands from the opposite sleeves of his robes, he leaned forward. "Would Wigg obey the orders of a dead queen, and kill your half sibling in order to protect the craft? Or for that matter, would I? And even more importantly, would the two of you let us? Or could you stop us, should you choose to try?" His gray-green eyes narrowed.

"Those very thoughts have consumed my mind ever since Krassus revealed himself to us," the wizard said. "All I know right now is that we must find Wulfgar before he does, or none of it will matter. Not to mention these scrolls he searches for."

Suddenly there came a harsh, insistent pounding upon the side of the litter. Ox stuck his head out the window.

"Speak!" he ordered the Minion officer flying close by.

"Farpoint approaches, sir!" the Minion shouted. "You ordered us to let you know when we neared!"

Ox looked back questioningly at Tristan.

"Tell him they should land us about one quarter league from the outskirts of the city," the prince ordered. "Place us down in the woods, if possible. We must not be seen."