Looking up from the scroll he was reading, Faegan wearily rubbed his eyes. "Have you found anything?" he asked.
Wigg, Abbey, Adrian, and Celeste all glumly shook their heads. They had been deep into research for two days, but the secret they were searching for had yet to reveal itself. Frowning, Faegan let go a sigh as he watched his companions go back to their studies.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he took a moment's respite to look around the great room. Nicodemus sat contentedly in his lap. Without looking down, Faegan scratched the cat under the chin.
The five of them sat at a table in the Archives-the great library of the craft, located deep beneath the palace.
The square chamber measured at least two hundred meters on each side, and was seven stories deep. Seven levels of bookshelves lined the walls, each level bordered by a walkway and railing and accessed by a magnificent set of curved mahogany stairs.
The floor and ceiling of the Archives were of dark green marble shot through with traces of gray and magenta. Several hundred finely carved desks, reading tables, and beautifully upholstered chairs were tastefully arranged on the bottom floor. Golden light was supplied by a combination of oil-lamp chandeliers, wall sconces, and table lamps, all enchanted to burn eternally and without smoke. The room smelled pleasantly of must and old parchment.
Faegan had asked the others here because they were the only other members of the Conclave of the Vigors who could read Old Eutracian, the lost language in which the Tome of the Paragon, the Scroll of the Vigors, and many of the other works housed in this room were written.
Having already read the first two volumes of the Tome, Wigg and Faegan knew that only the Jin'Sai would be able to save the damaged orb. But to do that, Tristan had to be trained in the craft, and that could not be accomplished without first finding the way to turn his incredible blood back to its proper red color.
And so had come the mind-numbing work of trying to find the answer. Both of the wizards were convinced that it lay here, hidden away somewhere in the Archives of the Redoubt. But with thousands of documents to pore over, Faegan realized that it would be akin to finding a thimble in a sneezeweed stack, as Abbey was so fond of saying. With the orb destroying everything in its path, time was of the essence.
Faegan was convinced that the answer they sought lay somewhere within the Tome of the Paragon. He could recall countless references in the Tome to Tristan's blood, including mentions of it turning azure, should the prince ever successfully employ his gifts without first having been trained. Still, the wizard had yet to recall any outright mention of how to reverse what Tristan had unwittingly done to himself.
Adding to their frustration was the fact that each of them wanted to be out in the countryside, trying to do something about containing and healing the damaged orb. Tristan was especially eager to leave the palace. But he agreed that little could be gained by going until they knew more about the disaster they faced.
By now Geldon and his party of warriors would have tracked the orb down and sent back a report. Faegan was eager to read whatever Geldon might have to say, and to learn where the orb had traveled. But there was nothing any of them could do until they had found and grasped the loose thread of knowledge they needed and pulled upon it to unravel the mystery of Tristan's blood.
Faegan gently picked the cat up off his lap and placed him on the floor. After a luxurious stretch, Nicodemus walked over to Wigg and rubbed the length of his body up against the wizard's leg.
Scowling, the First Wizard did his best to pretend he hadn't noticed. Other than whenever one of them turned over a page of crinkled text or rolled some dusty scroll open or closed, the dense silence in the room went on unabated.
Faegan finally abandoned the disappointing scroll he had been reading and wheeled himself over to a nearby table. He took up his violin and bow, placed the instrument under his chin, and began to play. When he heard the sweet, sorrowful refrain begin, Wigg raised a critical eyebrow but did not look up.
Faegan often took up his ancient instrument when he was under great mental stress. Sometimes he would simply leave it on a table and allow the craft to select the notes and seesaw the resin-laden bow. Today he preferred to play it himself, and to let his mind soar freely with the music. Wigg shook his head and sighed.
After a half hour or so, Faegan abruptly stopped what he was doing and lowered his instrument. Wigg looked up to see that a strange expression had suddenly crossed his friend's face.
"What is it?"
Faegan quickly held up one arm, indicating that he wanted silence. The others looked up to see him suddenly begin wheeling his chair about the room, much the way they themselves might pace about while trying to think. Then he abruptly stopped and quickly swiveled his chair back toward the others. He looked directly at Wigg.
"We have been going about this all wrong," he said.
Wigg raised himself up in his chair. "How so?"
Letting go a great cackle, Faegan happily clapped his palms together. "Don't you see? We've all been thinking in exactly the opposite way we should have been!"
A skeptical look on her face, Abbey leaned over and whispered to Wigg, "What's he blathering about this time?"
"What I'm blathering about, dear lady, is the route to the solution of our problem," Faegan replied happily, his wizard's ears having heard every word.
Wigg folded his arms over his chest. "Pray tell us, then."
"It's all so simple, yet at the same time so complex," Faegan answered. He wheeled himself back to the table. "If any of you commanded the gift of Consummate Recollection, you would understand."
Celeste gave her father a wry look, then turned back to Faegan. "Understand what?"
"We have been searching for references to Tristan's blood," Faegan answered. "At first glance that would seem the correct thing to do. But we were looking for a way to go forward to solve our problem. What we should have been looking for was an act of reversal."
"There are many references to acts of reversal in the Tome," Wigg countered. "The reversal of spells and incantations has long been one of the subdivisions of the craft. There are likely to be as many references to them as there are to anything else-perhaps even more. I understand your line of reasoning, but I fail to see how this will narrow our search."
"All of what you say is true," Faegan agreed. The self-satisfied smile crossed his face again. "But tell me, how many references could there possibly be to the supposed reversal of endowed blood? The Tome states that only the Jin'Sai will ever be able to make use of the craft without first having been trained. And that if and when he does, his blood will turn azure. That has of course already occurred. So it would logically follow that if I use my gift to search for the phrase 'blood reversal,' the Tome will direct us to what we are searching for." His smile surfaced again. "Or at the very least take us much closer."
Wigg rubbed his chin. He had to admit that what Faegan was saying made sense. "Then I suggest you get started," he said.
Faegan nodded. Turning his chair around, he looked over at the black pedestal that held the Tome of the Paragon. He called upon the craft, and the white leather-bound book rose hauntingly from its place. It glided across the room to land before him on the table.
Faegan then looked over at Adrian. "Please take up a quill and parchment," he said, "and write down each of the page numbers as I dictate them. It is vitally important that you leave none of them out. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Adrian said. She carefully dipped the quill into the waiting ink bottle. "I am ready."
Faegan closed his eyes. After a few moments he began to speak haltingly, naming specific volumes and page numbers. When he finished, he opened his eyes. Adrian had recorded six different references.
Faegan eagerly grabbed up the parchment and made a mental note of the numbers. He closed his eyes again. The Tome opened itself, and its pages began turning over until they stopped at the first of Adrian's references. Faegan opened his eyes.
"And now we shall see what we shall see," he said, rubbing his hands together like a schoolboy in a candy shop.
Faegan looked down at the first of the referenced pages. As his eyes ran across them, the words duplicated themselves in gleaming azure and rose into the air. One by one they joined to form paragraphs, the paragraphs forming a completed page.
As the five of them sat there reading the glowing page and the others that followed, they were astounded by what they learned.