Abbey's heart skipped a beat. My gazing flame! she thought anxiously. Is it still burning, or did they destroy that, too?

She put her teacup down and bolted from the cottage.

Outside, she hiked up her skirt and began running as fast as she could through the woods. Even though the sun had set, the path before her shone clearly by the light of the three red Eutracian moons.

With huge relief, she saw that the smooth, flat rock was still in place. Chest heaving, she stood before it. She breathed deeply to calm herself, and closed her eyes. Silently, slowly, the rock began to slide to one side across the dewy grass. Opening her eyes, she held her breath.

Almost immediately a high, golden plume of flame erupted, casting a magnificent light into the dark of the night. Letting out a great sigh, she stood there silently for a moment, blessing her good fortune.

The single, golden flame coming from the earth was approximately one meter wide, and three meters tall. It was flat and broad. The glade surrounding it had long ago been cleared of all trees and shrubs, and Abbey lovingly saw to it that it remained that way.

Abbey of the House of Lindstrom was many things, but first and foremost she was a blaze-gazer.

Reaching into one of the pockets of her dress, she produced a very small bottle. Its contents were so rare and precious that she always carried it on her person, no matter the circumstances. Thankfully, that very habit had kept it safe from the intruders.

But they had known exactly what to take, and her remaining supply of herbs needed to sustain the flame had gone with them. What was contained in her locket would provide just enough for one more viewing, and no more. When she finished, her flame would slowly die, because she would have no more herbs to replenish it. Even so, she could think of no better time than now to use them up. After what the man in the two-colored robe had told her about the lead wizard, she simply had to know.

Opening the top, she emptied the bottle into the palm of her hand. Carefully, she walked closer to the roaring fire.

Raising one arm, she commanded the flame to split into two branches, one far larger than the other. As she curled the index finger of her outstretched hand, the smaller of the branches obediently approached her. As always, the searing heat of the gazer's flame threatened to scorch her face and dress.

Quickly, she pointed her hand to the right. The flame flattened out and began to flow horizontally. Its edges licked dangerously close to her outstretched hand. With great discipline she dropped the herbs into the waiting flame.

The effect was immediate.

The two branches suddenly rejoined and shot back up toward the sky. Abbey backed away from the searing heat. As she did, she reached for the pendant she wore around her neck. Opening it, she withdrew a short braid of brown hair and held it high. Then she looked back at the flame.

Midway up the body of the flame, a rectangular, azure window began to form. Closing her eyes, she concentrated intently. Opening them again, she gazed deeply into the chasm surrounded by the roaring flame.

Her eyes widened. She was not at all pleased with what she saw.

Five

F aegan sat in his chair by Wigg's bed, eyes closed, a concerned frown on his face. His ancient hand gently covered the lead wizard's forehead. Tristan, Shailiha, and Celeste stood behind him, equally concerned. Caprice perched on Shailiha's arm, slowly opening and closing her wings. Morganna, Shailiha's baby daughter, had been given over to the care of one of the gnome wives.

"Will he be all right?" Celeste asked nervously.

When the wizard didn't answer, Tristan touched Celeste on the arm. When she looked at him, he placed an index finger to his lips, telling her to remain quiet. From prior experience the prince knew that whatever Faegan was doing, he would be far more effective if silence reigned. Understanding, Celeste nodded.

Faegan remained that way for some time, his only movement the occasional touch of his palm on a different area of Wigg's skull. After what seemed an eternity, he removed his hand and opened his eyes.

"He has been through a great deal," the old wizard said sadly. "The endowed physical blows were bad enough. When the spell attacking his mind was enacted, he fought it with everything he had. The mental and physical beating together proved more than Wigg could bear, and he went unconscious, his mind shutting down as a protective mechanism. In many respects, it was probably for the best."

Tristan looked down at his friend and mentor of so many years. His hands balled into fists, and his knuckles went white with anger at the one called Krassus. So many questions had been purposely, cruelly left unanswered by the consul. But one thing was clearly certain: The lead wizard alone held the answers to many of them.

"How bad is it?" Tristan asked anxiously.

"He will recover," Faegan said with certainty. "But it may take several days for him to regain his strength completely."

At that, he replaced his hand on Wigg's forehead, and the room went silent. Faegan closed his eyes. After a time Wigg's lids began to flutter; then his eyes slowly opened.

Opening his own eyes, Faegan peered down at Wigg. He then turned to Tristan and smiled.

"I still say you cheat at cards," Wigg said weakly, frowning up into Faegan's face.

Faegan smiled. "I never actually denied it," he answered softly. "Someday I'll show you how it is done."

Bending over, Celeste hugged her father and gave him a kiss. "I was so worried," she whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Do you think you are strong enough to answer a few questions?" Faegan asked, his usual curiosity returning. "There is much for us to discuss."

Wigg nodded. Then, quite unexpectedly, he began to cry.

Taken aback, Tristan realized that there was much more to Krassus' visit than he had imagined.

"I can see that this is difficult for you, old friend," Faegan began with uncharacteristic tact. "But the question simply must be asked." He paused for a moment, then inquired, abruptly, "Who is Wulfgar?"

Gathering his resolve, Wigg looked at Tristan and Shailiha. He lowered his eyes for a moment, then slowly raised them again.

"Wulfgar is your lost half brother," he whispered to them.

Tristan's eyes went wide, his jaw slack. Shailiha gasped. Even the usually unflappable Faegan was taken by surprise.

It was a moment before anyone spoke. Then Faegan broke the silence.

"You said half brother," he murmured. "Do you mean to say-"

"That's right," the lead wizard interrupted, wanting to approach it in a gentler way than the more analytical Faegan might. "Wulfgar is illegitimate," he continued. "He is Morganna's first child, four years older than the Chosen Ones, and also of very highly endowed blood. Wulfgar's father was named Eric. Upon discovering Morganna was with child, Eric refused to marry her. He disappeared, leaving her heartbroken. Morganna gave the baby up for adoption at one of the wizards' orphanages scattered throughout the realm.

"Despite the deep secret Morganna always carried, Nicholas loved his queen unconditionally," he finally added. "They were two of the most amazing people it has ever been my pleasure to know."

Tristan looked at Shailiha. As if touching his sister could somehow ease their mutual shock, he took her hand. "But why would Mother give her baby up?" he finally asked, his voice cracking.

The lead wizard sighed. "Because she heard voices," he said quietly. "Voices telling her to destroy the child before it came to term."

"Do you mean to tell us that our mother was mad?" Tristan whispered.

"No," Wigg answered adamantly. "And I wish to make that point abundantly clear. But at the time, you can understand how she might have believed herself to be. The voices grew even stronger after the birth, this time telling Morganna that she must kill her child."