"You're saying this sort of thing has happened before?"

Guerrand nodded. He told Justarius what he'd revealed to Zagarus earlier in the day about the ambush in the hills and the incident in the alley. "I didn't mention it to you," he added quickly "because nothing ever seemed to happen at the villa, and-"

"You were afraid I would throw you out," supplied Justarius.

Guerrand looked sheepish. "The thought had occurred to me." He paused before whispering, "Will you, Justarius? Ask me to leave, that is?"

The archmage gave Guerrand a sidelong glance. "Young man, you underestimate me if you think me so easily threatened or distressed."

He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Do you honestly think your brother or this Berwick fellow would go so far as to harm you over this collapsed betrothal?"

"I don't know Anton Berwick," said Guerrand, "so I can't guess at his response."

Pondering Cormac's attitudes, he grimaced. "My brother is given to deep, emotional extremes, especially when he's been drinking. And his wife is definitely the vengeful sort. I could believe that she would suggest this sort of retribution, and he would comply. Cormac probably would regret it when he sobered up, but by then it might be too late."

Justarius gave a shrug. "We can fashion all manner of guesses, or we can conjure the truth in a heartbeat," said Justarius, taking a last sip of his lemon water. "Would you like to see what's happening back at your… Thonvil, is it?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Guerrand, jumping to his feet. He knocked over his chair in his haste.

Frowning slightly, the distinguished mage waved his apprentice forward, around the chair. "Then come with me now. Do exactly as I say, and make no untoward step or gesture. Few have seen the elaborate magical ritual that I am about to reveal to you."

Scarcely breathing, Guerrand followed Justarius in silent wonder to the narrow velvet curtain Guerrand had assumed covered an alcove or bookshelf. The master's hands swept back the heavy fabric, revealing a simple, seamless birchwood door. There was no handle. knob, or knocker. Instead, at eye-height hung a recessed carving of a hideous face, very like a gargoyle's, about the size of an ogre's fist. Suddenly the eyes of the carving snapped to life.

Passage to the crystal device

Demands that entrants pay the price.

Bring the guard its sacrifice:

Fish of gold, once, twice, thrice!

While Guerrand watched, Justarius reached into his robe and withdrew three live, wiggling goldfish. The archmage popped the little orange creatures into the door guard's open, waiting mouth. Chewing noisily, with much slurping and splashing, it gulped one last time, burped loudly, then gave a delicious, sated, though still hideous, grin. The face disappeared entirely from view as the birchwood door slid into a pocket in the left wall, granting the mages passage to whatever lay behind it.

Guerrand took two steps into darkness behind Justarius before the archmage stopped them both. Slowly Guerrand's eyes adjusted, and he determined that the room was circular and exceedingly small, no wider than three men abreast. Justarius was so close to him that he obscured most of the view.

A dim light filtered down from high above. Looking up, the apprentice mage caught his breath at the sight of the most intricately pieced pane of stained glass he had ever seen. The narrow chamber felt like a life-size kaleidoscope. At first Guerrand thought it a colorful model of the lacy petals of the wild carrot flower, but the pattern was not that random. In fact, it was somehow familiar.

"The constellations," supplied Justarius, following his gaze to the colored glass some two stories above them. "See Gilean, there in the middle?" Justarius tried to raise his arm to point, a difficult move in the cramped silo. "He's the book-shaped constellation.

Gilean is the patriarch of maintaining a balance in the universe. That's why he's between Paladine and the Black Queen. Gilean holds the Book of Tobril, which contains all the knowledge possessed by the gods.

"Of course, you can see Solinari, of Good magic. By now your magical skills should be developed enough to easily reveal the red moon, Lunitari, to you, as well. We can only hope that you'll never have the sight for the black moon, evil Nuitari."

"But if I'm to be truly neutral, shouldn't I be able to see both sides, Evil and Good?"

"Seeing both sides of an issue and viewing the gods are two different things," explained Justarius. "Only mages who wear the black robes can see Nuitari in the night sky." Justarius hitched up his robes, sat down, and slid around a half-circle bench that followed the curve of the far wall. Jerking his head, Justarius indicated Guerrand should follow him. The apprentice quickly complied.

Guerrand could now see a murky glass ball of enormous proportion cradled between the points of an odd pedestal of antlers. He estimated the diameter of the globe to be nearly the length of his arm.

"Before the Cataclysm," said Justarius, "crystal balls were to mages what picklocks are to thieves. But, like most things of great value, the Cataclysm reduced nearly all of them to rubble. In the years shortly after my own apprenticeship, I rescued this one from the flower garden of a nymph. She obviously had no idea of its value, calling it her 'gazing ball' She was just as happy to gaze at the steel piece I gave her in exchange."

"What do you have to do to make it work?" breathed Guerrand, staring wide-eyed into the pastel mists that roiled within the large glass ball.

"I don't have to do anything this time. You do."

Guerrand's blue eyes snapped away from the mesmerizing mist. "I know nothing of crystal balls!"

"But you know everything about your brother Cormac and the castle in which you were raised. That's all the ball requires of you."

Noting Guerrand's skeptical look, Justarius continued. "To use the ball, simply peer into it with open eyes and concentrate on that which you want to see. It can be a person, place, or thing, but places are usually easier for beginners. With some practice, you'll be able to look for whatever you want."

Justarius held up two fingers. "Keep in mind several things, Guerrand. The more familiar the sought thing is, the easier it is to locate. It's even more important to remember that the globe feeds on your energy. If you are skeptical or fearful or distracted, it won't respond to you as well as it otherwise might."

Eager to succeed in Justarius's eyes and learn what he could of his own family, Guerrand closed his eyes briefly to chase away all distractions. Opening them again, he rubbed the orb and stared into its depths. He envisioned Cormac's study as he'd last seen it, floor-to-ceiling shelves of books, the path of worn carpeting from the door to Cormac's cluttered desk, the bright windows that overlooked the sea.

Gradually, within the mists, Guerrand caught glimpses of the image he sought, hazy at first, but slowly clearing. Anxious, he squeezed his eyes shut to concentrate as he did when spellcasting. Instantly he knew his mistake.

"You lose the image when you close your eyes," said Justarius, confirming Guerrand's suspicion. "You'll have to start all over."

Heaving a disheartened sigh, Guerrand chased away his frustration and tried again with open eyes. To his delight, the image of Cormac's study blinked into sight almost instantly. He was getting the hang of it! Unfortunately, the study was empty.

"I don't understand," muttered Guerrand. "Cormac is almost always holed up in his study."

"Try focusing on Cormac himself," suggested Justarius. "I think you can do it."

Guerrand nodded once and then tried to summon a mental picture of his brother. He was surprised to realize that, despite having lived his entire life with him, he could recall few details of Cormac's face. When he remembered their encounters in recent years, Guerrand saw his own feet, or the bottom of a port glass. It had probably been years since Guerrand had been able to meet his brother's gaze. Was Cormac's nose long or short? Eyes close- or wide-set? Guerrand had no answers. In the end, he focused his thoughts on memories of Cormac's size and stance, of his disapproving stare, of the clothing he was prone to wear.