Tristan slowly came to all fours. He looked up to see Traax, Shailiha, and Ox come running. As his vision cleared, they helped him to his feet. Traax handed him his sword.

“Are you all right?” Shailiha asked anxiously.

Tristan ran one hand through his dark hair. “I…believe so,” he answered. But as his mind cleared, a terrible foreboding took him.

“Wigg…,” he breathed. As fast as his legs could carry him, he again started running toward the inferno.

Soon the heat was too much, forcing him to a skidding stop. Trying to enter the crumbling cottage was unthinkable. The last timber suddenly fell in, leveling the dwelling for good.

Shailiha came to stand with Tristan, and she took him by the hand. His body was shaking with hate, and tears filled his eyes.

“What happened?” she asked quietly as she sheathed her sword.

Tristan angrily slid his dreggan into the scabbard lying across his back. He looked down at the ground.

“Whoever was inside that cottage chose to die, rather than be captured,” he answered grimly. “Did you see those azure streaks come tearing out of the windows? That explosion was generated by the craft. Despite their amazing gifts, our friends never stood a chance.” His hands balling up into fists, theJin’Sai closed his eyes.

“Oh ye of little faith!” a gravelly voice suddenly called out from the darkness. A familiar cackle followed.

Everyone spun around to see Faegan approaching. He was again levitating his wooden chair. In the light of the burning cottage they saw that he was dirty from head to toe, but smiling broadly. Wigg and Jessamay-each equally filthy-were following along behind.