The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “Where’s Hastings? Let him tell me himself.”

  Leicester looked steadily at her, saying nothing.

  “Show me Seph’s body,” she said. “Then I’ll believe you.” “It’s in the lake.” “Then we have nothing to talk about.” And she pushed past him into the hallway.

  *** Back in her room, Linda threw herself onto her bed and lay on her back in the dark, staring up at the thicker dark-ness that was the canopy over her head. She felt hollow and cold, like a vessel that had been emptied too many times. She had been crying all week. And now, when the truth was worse than she had ever anticipated, her eyes were dry.

  Could she believe Leicester when he said that Seph was dead at Hastings’s hands? There was no question that Hastings was capable of killing. But could he take the life of his own son? Perhaps. To save him from Leicester.

  She didn’t want to think about the second possibility. The possibility that Hastings wanted to make sure that Linda didn’t make a deal of her own.

  Either way, Leicester was a fool. He had played right into Hastings’s hands. He should have kept her guessing and hoping, right through the conference. Because now she had nothing left to lose.

  Madison came up on her knees when Seph entered the cave, but slumped back against the wall when she saw who it was. “Oh, it’s you. I didn’t expect you back so soon.” Shivering, she wrapped her blanket more closely around her shoulders. It was cold in the cave, and she didn’t have a jacket. “What did your father say?”

  “I didn’t see him.” He dropped onto the floor of the cave, sliding his hips backward until he was leaning against the wall opposite Madison. It was pouring down rain. He was soaked through, water draining off his hair and down his neck.

  Jason emerged from the shadows at the back of the cave and handed Seph a towel. “What happened?”

  “I couldn’t get in. They’ve spun a web clear around the winery, enclosing the grounds. If we breach it, they’ll know we’re here.”

  Jason swore softly. “If they find out we’re here, there won’t be a hole deep enough to hide in on this rock.”

  Seph pushed wet hair out of his face. “But why would they put up a wall? Who are they keeping out, if they don’t know we’re here?”

  “They must be trying to keep everybody in,” Madison suggested, digging glumly through Jason’s sparse food supplies.

  “Meanwhile, we don’t have a clue what’s going on inside. And my father will be dead in four days.”

  Jason sat down in the doorway to the cave and lit a cigarette. “Hastings thinks Leicester will wait and see what happens at the conference sessions tomorrow. They may first try to get their way through their usual tactics: bullying and subtle mind magic. The entire Wizard Council will be here, supposedly to make sure everything’s on the up and up. So they may be in on the plot. Whatever it is.”

  “Did you and Hastings have a plan for the conference?”

  Jason gazed out at the lake. “My plan was to lurk in the conference hall. When the badness goes down, I’ll distract everyone with a glamour and kill Leicester and D’Orsay.”

  “That sounds more like suicide than a plan. You told me yourself there was no way to beat him as long as he’s linked up with the alumni.”

  “Well, it’s the best I can do, all right?” Jason took a drag on the cigarette, released a stream of smoke. “I’ll scare the hell out of them, anyway.”

  Seph realized that, all along he’d been counting on Jason or Hastings to come up with a plan, a way out of this mess. Some way that he could help without assuming responsibility for its success or failure.

  But Hastings was chained in the winery, his power dwindling away. Since Seph’s summer with Snowbeard, he’d surpassed Jason’s skills in wizardry, both in native power and the learned use of charms. Jason’s glamours were more than convincing, but it was just smoke and mirrors. They posed no physical threat. All Leicester had to do was identify the source and destroy him.

  More and more, it looked like Leicester would win, unless Seph could come up with a way to stop him. Their only hope was to take them by surprise, and now, that wasn’t going to happen.

  “We’re not going to be able to sneak into the conference unnoticed,” Seph said. “We can’t get through Barber’s Weirweb without their knowing.”

  “I can.”

  Seph and Jason both swiveled to look at Madison. She had opened a box of canned goods and was rooting through the contents.

  “What are you talking about?” Seph said.

  “I can go through the Weirweb. I can help you.” She came up with a can of soup, popped the top, and handed it to Seph. “Here, Witch Boy. Heat this up.”

  Seph heated the soup between his hands and handed it back to her.

  “I don’t like it,” Jason said. “It’s not just a matter of magical power. If they get hold of you . . .”

  “Then I won’t let them get hold of me.” She sipped the hot soup. “It’s better than your plan.”

  “She has a point,” Seph said.

  “What?” Jason demanded. “Do you really want her to walk in there alone?”

  Seph shook his head. “Look. Everyone I care about is here on this island. I’m guessing there’s going to be a bloodbath if we don’t do something. If the worst happens, we can’t hide out in this cave forever. Sooner or later we’ll be caught. We have talent here and the element of surprise. We’ve got to think of a way to make it work against them.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The Interguild Council

  Jack surveyed the conference room critically. It was a large, three-storied hall with a gallery that ran along three sides on the second level. A long, polished table stood in the center of the room, surrounded by chairs. Other chairs lined the walls. The table had flat monitors set into the surface at each seat, with pullout keyboards underneath. At one end of the room was a fireplace so massive, a tall man could walk straight into it. At the other end, someone had laid out coffee, juices, and pastry.

  Jack hadn’t had the chance to talk to Aunt Linda since their arrival. He’d tried her room, but either she wasn’t in, or wasn’t answering her door. She’d been closeted up with Nick all morning.

  Jack glanced down at the nearest monitor. It said, “Jackson Swift, Warrior Guild.” He circled the table, noting names and guilds, verifying what he’d learned the night before. The subcommittee had chosen two representatives from each guild. The Soothsayers were represented by Blaise Highbourne of Trinity and Aaron Bryan, of Staffordshire, England. The sorcerers were Mercedes Foster of Trinity and Kip McKenzie, from Scotland. The warriors, of course, were Jack and Ellen. In addition to Linda, the other enchanter was a tall, black woman— Akana Moon—whom Jack had met the night before.

  Two representatives for each of the five guilds, except wizards. There were four of those: Leicester, D’Orsay, Ravenstock, and Nick. Plus the entire Wizard Council, present as observers. Members of the other guilds were invited as well, but none had dared show. Memories of the Trade still lingered among the members of the so-called “servant” guilds.

  Wizards, Jack thought sourly. Just what we need less of. And only one that he knew could be trusted.

  Ellen laid a hand on his arm. “They still only get one vote, Jack.”

  He wished Hastings were there. He wished he knew where Hastings was. And Seph and Madison. He wanted to be optimistic, for Ellen’s sake if nothing else. She was still beating herself up about the attack at the park.

  “Do you think they’re here somewhere?” Ellen said, as if she could read his mind. “Seph and Madison?”

  “Who knows?” Jack took the loss of his passengers very personally. He’d take the place apart if he thought he could find them.

  A tall, bald man in a bulky gray sweater and black jeans emerged from a side door and took his place at the head of the table. Jack studied him with interest, knowing this must be the infamous Gregory Leicester. Seph’s former headmaster. The wizard looked around the table, smiling,
lingering for a long moment on Linda. She lifted her head and met his gaze directly. He flinched a little at whatever was in her eyes.

  “If we can all take our seats, we had best get underway,” Leicester said. “We are already running a little late.” The low murmur of voices ceased.

  Jack and Ellen moved reluctantly to their seats. Linda ignored the video display and sat next to Nick. She was pale, and there were purple shadows under her eyes. Still, she looked grim and determined, and rather corporate in a pinstripe suit. Jack and Ellen sat next to Nick, and Akana Moon next to Linda.

  The seats against the wall were filling up with members of the Wizard Council. Jack noticed some familiar faces. Geoffrey Wylie, the wizard who had played Ellen in the tournament, and had tried to kidnap him in Trinity the summer before. Jessamine Longbranch, the wizard surgeon who had implanted Jack’s stone, saving his life in order to sacrifice him in the Game. Others he didn’t know.

  Ellen’s hand crept over and covered his under the table. She had insisted on coming, though she had good reason to be wary of wizards. She’d spent most of her life under their control. If she could deal with it, he could, too. And, to be honest, he was glad to have her strength at his right hand.

  The joint council participants were each introduced, and Leicester read out the agenda. There were only two items, the two different constitutional proposals: one that Hastings had pushed through the Wizard Council, and one that Leicester and D’Orsay had favored. Leicester asked for approval of the agenda and Nick raised his hand.

  “First, I move that we select a chairperson and a scribe,” the old wizard suggested. The bear’s head mounted on his staff gleamed softly.

  They’d tried to take his staff away from him at the door of the conference room. He’d said he would have to sit in the hallway, then, because he was an old man of 465 years and needed its support. The alumnus at the door was no match for him, and Nick retained his staff.

  Leicester shrugged. He had automatically assumed the role of chair. “Perhaps one of our council observers would be willing?” He looked at the wizards in the gallery.

  “I move that the chair be a non-wizard,” Nick said quickly. “I think it would help reassure some of our Anawizard participants that this is a fair process.”

  “I second the motion,” said Aaron Bryan, the seer, without waiting for an invitation. Nick had done considerable networking the night before.

  “Which motion?” Leicester looked confused.

  “It’s one motion,” Nick explained, “In several parts.”

  Immediately, Jack could sense an almost physical pressure from the wizards in the spectator seats. The Anawizard Weir looked around uneasily. Wizards were not accustomed to democracy. It made them edgy.

  “There is a motion on the floor,” Leicester said. “Is there discussion?”

  “It’s a good idea,” said Jeremy Ravenstock, one of the wizard representatives. “And it might make all of us more comfortable.” He frowned at Leicester and scanned the gallery. So far, Jack noticed, wizards were doing most of the talking.

  There was no further discussion. The Interguild Council took a vote, and the motion carried. Even the wizards voted for it.

  Leicester sighed. “Are there any nominations or volunteers for chairperson?”

  Blaise Highbourne rose to his feet, his trademark silver cuffs and neckpiece glittering in the light from the wall sconces. “I nominate Linda Downey.”

  “An enchanter?” Leicester raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

  “I second the nomination.” The enchanter Akana Moon didn’t rise from her chair. She looked nervous, and her voice shook, but she said it just the same.

  “We don’t even know if the girl is willing to serve,” Leicester said. “After all, it’s a lot to ask of a . . .”

  “I’ll do it,” Linda said. “As long as the ground rules are understood. I promise to be impartial as chair of the meeting. But I want to make it clear that I will participate as an advocate on those issues I feel strongly about.”

  “Of course,” said Leicester, amused. “All in favor?” The motion carried. “It’s settled then. The enchanter is chair.”

  “My name is Linda Downey,” Linda said in a clear voice. “Make a note of it, Dr. Leicester.”

  Leicester looked up, startled, his smile fading. Linda turned to the rest of the participants. “Are there any volunteers for scribe?” There was another long pause during which no one volunteered. None of the wizards wanted to be secretary, and none of the Anawizard representatives dared to. “Jack, you’re good at keyboarding. Help me out here.”

  “Okay.” Jack slid the tray out from under the table, glad to be doing something he had some skill at.

  Linda nodded. “Thanks, Jack. Now, let’s take another look at our agenda. Are there any changes in the items?” There were none. “Well, I have something to add,” she said “Before we vote on the constitutions that are before us, I suggest that we discuss the issue that drove this constitutional effort in the first place: that of wizard aggression against the Anawizard Weir.”

  There was a shocked silence. Then Claude D’Orsay rose to his feet. “I don’t think that would be constructive, Linda Downey,” he said pointedly. “Our time is limited, and, after all, we have come together here as peacemakers. Why bring up old issues that are bound to cause hard feelings?”

  “Some of the issues are very new,” Linda said evenly. “Some of them are downright current.” She spat out the word. “Those of us who are not students of history are condemned to repeat it.”

  The magical pressure from the sidelines was increasing. Linda staggered a bit, as if from a physical blow. She inclined her head and said something to Nick. He stood and put his arm around her, steadying her, and his staff flared up brightly.

  After a moment, Linda was able to speak. “If the council observers cannot resist intruding on the proceed-ings, we will have to clear the room.”

  “This is a joke,” the wizard Geoffrey Wylie snarled from his seat against the wall.

  “I did not recognize you, Mr. Wylie,” Linda said coldly. “You are an observer and not a participant in this process. Speak again, and you’re out of here. Think again, and you’re out of here.”

  The Anawizard Weir stared at Linda with a mixture of admiration and astonishment. Jack suspected the wizards in the room were already regretting their choice of the enchanter as chair.

  The observers settled, still fuming, but the pressure dissipated a little.

  “Is there a motion to add this issue to the agenda?” Linda asked, looking around the room.

  “I so move,” said Akana Moon, who seemed to have found her courage. She defiantly turned her eyes toward the Wizard Council.

  “I second,” said Jack. Ah, well, he thought. We may all end up dead, but we’re sticking it to them in the meantime. He was worried about his aunt, though. It almost seemed as if she were trying to pick a fight.

  The motion carried.

  Gregory Leicester spoke up. “In the interest of time, I suggest that we table this truth-finding enterprise until after we consider the constitutional issues.”

  “Is that a motion, Dr. Leicester?” Linda asked.

  Leicester sizzled with irritation. He put the suggestion forward in the form of a motion, seconded by D’Orsay. It was voted down.

  “If you’d like to make a motion, Dr. Leicester, we can also allocate time for a discussion of attacks by members of the other guilds against wizards,” Linda offered sweetly.

  “That will take two minutes,” Jack muttered to Ellen.

  Leicester shook his head, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

  “The issue is, wizard aggression against the other Weir. Is there anyone who has something to share on this topic?” Linda gazed around the table.

  Jack rose to his feet. “I’m Jackson Swift, a warrior. Actually, I should have been a wizard, but Dr. Longbranch here fraudulently planted a warrior stone in me.” He pointed toward Jessa
mine Longbranch, then Geoffrey Wylie. “Mr. Wylie tried to kidnap me, to keep me from playing in the Game. And then Dr. Longbranch tried to kill me when I wouldn’t play for her.”

  “You ungrateful mixed-blood mongrel! You wouldn’t even be alive today if it weren’t for me.” Longbranch combed crimson-painted nails through her mane of pitch-black hair. She looked like she would have said more, but stopped herself, sliding a look at Linda Downey.

  “Warriors are bred for the tournaments,” D’Orsay said coldly. “That is their purpose. It makes good use of their natural talents. I don’t know what all this whining is about.”

  “Precisely why we need to have this dialogue,” said Linda Downey. “Anyone else?”

  Almost everyone had a story, and grew more and more confident in the telling as the morning wore on. Jack was amazed at how Aunt Linda worked the group, without seeming to. She encouraged a little more detail here, asked a question there, headed off a challenge by the wizards in the room.

  She’s done this before, Jack thought. It comes naturally to her. The group was coalescing into a righteously angry body with a common grievance. One that might take a chance on a new beginning.

  Finally, Ellen Stephenson stood and cleared her throat. “I have something to say.” Her hand crept to her side, groping for a weapon that wasn’t there.

  “Go on, Ellen,” Linda said.

  Ellen lifted her chin, drew herself up, and faced Geoffrey Wylie, who did not look happy at this development. “I am Ellen Stephenson, a warrior. Wizards kidnapped me from my parents when I was a baby so I could be trained for the tournaments. They stole my childhood and turned me into a killer.” She looked at Jack, and he nodded encouragingly.

  “When I refused to kill my friend Jack, they attacked me on the tournament field and tried to murder me.” She looked over at D’Orsay. “Some of you know all about it, because some of you were directly involved,” she said softly. She sat down. The other Weir nodded and whispered among themselves.

  “Are there any questions for Ellen Stephenson?” Linda asked.

  “I have a question,” Claude D’Orsay said. “Why doesn’t this girl hire a therapist instead of wasting the committee’s time complaining about her difficult childhood?”