"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."
"I live to serve," Ox replied, and shouted Tristan's orders to his warriors. The litter began to tilt downward. Faegan's manner suddenly became even more serious.
"It was only after much discussion that Wigg and I agreed to let you come here," he said. "In truth, I doubt we could have stopped you, anyway, short of using a wizard's warp on you both. But that doesn't mean that we think this is a good idea. If it is to be done, it will be done our way. I have not visited Farpoint for many years, but I remember it as an exceedingly rough place. Eutracian fishing towns always are. Tristan, I want you to push my chair for me. If questioned, you are to say that you are my bodyguard, and my ward. Shailiha, you are to pretend to be my nurse. Remember, we are here only to observe, not to participate." He pursed his lips.
"One other thing," he said, sounding solemn. "Tristan, should anything untoward happen, I want you to employ your skills to protect us, rather than my resorting to the use of the craft. I don't want anyone here to know I am a wizard unless it becomes absolutely necessary. For all we know, Krassus may even be here. He has already sworn to kill Wigg and me. At the very least he is probably expecting us to take the bait by simply coming here. Therefore, I will be cloaking our endowed blood-a job that, because of the combined, exceedingly high quality of our blood, shall take a great deal of effort. Only in the direst of circumstances will I drop the cloak and employ the craft. Otherwise, it is your duty to protect us. And let me do the talking. The first thing I want to do is to find a carriage for hire. It will be faster and safer than walking the streets. Do you understand?"
Both the Chosen Ones nodded.
Faegan sighed and shook his head. "Then may the Afterlife watch over us."
The six Minion warriors gently landed the litter in a small glade surrounded by fir trees. Then the other six landed, dreggans drawn, and formed a protective ring. The four occupants descended from the litter and onto the soft grass of the forest, the Minions handling the wizard's chair for him.
"Stay here, out of sight," Tristan ordered Ox. It was plain to see by the look on the warrior's face that he was severely disappointed not to be coming along.
"Sorry, my friend," the prince said with a smile. "But your presence in Farpoint would cause a commotion, to say the least! Light no fires. And send no sentries into the sky, as you normally would. Do, however, post guards in the woods. If you are found and must defend your lives, do so. But if your attackers are simple townsfolk, try to subdue them, rather than kill them. I do not know how long we may be gone, but wait for us. There is food and water stored in the litter."
Ox clicked the heels of his boots together. "I live to serve."
Tristan nodded back. With that he and Shailiha grasped Faegan's chair and began wheeling him out of the forest.
Pushing the wooden chair through the thick undergrowth was very difficult. Faegan could have levitated it, of course, but they could not risk being spotted using the craft. At last they came upon a hardscrabble road, which was smooth enough that Tristan could manage the chair without Shailiha's help. Tristan longed to have Pilgrim, his dappled gray-and-white stallion, beneath him, but it was also good to stretch his legs, especially after the hours aboard the flying litter.
The prince had made several official visits to Farpoint when his father and mother were alive, and he had to agree with Faegan that the fishing town was a rough-and-tumble place. The seafaring folk were a stern, tough, and uncompromising lot. They worked hard. And when they returned to town with their clothes full of the stink of fish and their pockets full of gold coins, they drank too much, gambled too much, and fought too much.