The Wizard Heir

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Seph retreated into the butler’s pantry, desperately trying to conceive of a plan. And backed into somebody who grabbed him around the waist.

  “Witch Boy! Sounds like all hell’s broken loose. Why didn’t you come get me?”

  It was Madison.

  Seph didn’t waste words. “Doors were blocked. And now I’ve been spotted.”

  Leicester continued his assault on his hiding place. Seph shoved Madison up against the wall and covered her body with his as masonry pelted him on the head and shoulders. A large chunk smashed into his right elbow with stunning force, and his arm went numb. “Look, you’d better get out of here. You might be resistant to wizardry, but if a wall falls on you, you’re dead.”

  She shook her head. Bits of debris were caught in her hair, and her face was powdered with plaster dust. “No. We have to work the plan.”

  “Right. Like that’s possible.”

  Seph moved cautiously forward with Madison just behind him. Just as he reached the entrance into the hall, Leicester called out to him.

  “Joseph! Stop this foolishness and come out. Your mother wishes to speak with you.”

  Throwing up a shield, Seph stepped into the doorway and looked out into the conference room.

  Leicester stood amid the ruins, one arm around Linda Downey, the other gripping her by the throat. “Surrender and I’ll let her live.”

  Seph hesitated, glancing back at Madison. “You’ll set her free?”

  Leicester smiled, showing his teeth. “Of course. I have no quarrel with enchanters.”

  Linda screamed, “Seph! Don’t you dare!” before Leicester silenced her.

  “What about her?” Seph pointed over his shoulder at Madison, who was shaking her head. “You’ll leave my friend alone, too?”

  If Leicester was surprised to see Madison, he didn’t show it. “You have my word on it.”

  “All right.” Seph stepped from the pantry, and taking a deep breath, he dropped his shield.

  Leicester waited until he was clear of the doorway. Still using Linda as a shield, he raised the staff. A cataract of flame streaked toward Seph, an attack that should have reduced him to cinders. In what was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done, Seph stepped behind Madison Moss, allowing her to take the full brunt of the assault.

  Seph watched Leicester. At first, the wizard smiled, eyes glittering, smug and triumphant. Then his face changed as doubt and then horror crept in. He staggered backward, hands still extended, bound to Madison by the force of the charm. He struggled to free himself, to let go of the staff, twisting and turning as power flowed from the alumni into him, then out of his body and into Madison.

  All around the room, the alumni staggered and fell as they were drained, much the way Seph had collapsed that day on the beach. Then Leicester went down on his back, shaking violently, eyes wide, throwing off sparks like a broken power line. The link with the alumni was broken. Seph circled Madison and charged toward him.

  But Jason was quicker. He vaulted over the railing of the gallery, hung a moment, then dropped to the floor next to Leicester. Kneeling next to the wizard’s thrashing body, he reached for him, but Seph yanked him back.

  “Don’t touch him directly unless you want to be wrung out yourself.”

  Glancing around for a weapon, Jason bent and gripped a huge chunk of stone that had fallen from the fireplace. Between the two of them, Jason and Seph managed to lift it.

  They smashed the stone down on Leicester’s head. His heels drummed on the pavement for a long minute, and then he went still.

  “That’s for my father, John Haley,” Jason gasped.

  “And for my father, Leander Hastings, and for Trevor Hill, and for every alumnus of the Havens, gifted or not,” Seph added. He turned his face away and shuddered. Jason sank to the floor amid the rubble and put his face in his hands.

  Seph knew he should finish what he’d started, that he should determine the intentions of the alumni, find Claude D’Orsay, and do something about Warren Barber in the garden. But he did none of those things.

  He felt too weary to take another step, but he forced himself to stagger across the room to where Madison stood braced against the wall, eyes wide, fists clenched, as if in shock. He was covered with blood, his elbow was swollen and misshapen where it had been hit by falling debris. He pulled her close. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, her quick, shallow breaths.

  He kept saying, “It’s all right,” and “I’m sorry,” over and over. Then she was sobbing into his shoulder and he was patting her back, making little circles with his hand.

  Finally, he pulled away and took her hand, leading her over to where his mother cradled his father in her arms. He knelt next to her, full of regret, but empty of words to express it.

  She greeted him with a brilliant smile, though tears ran down her face. “You’re alive!” she said, shifting Hastings so she could grip Seph’s hand.

  Seph blinked back his own tears. “Mother,” he said, the word large and awkward in his mouth. Then his voice broke. “I’m sorry,” he said huskily.

  But she was still smiling, rather damply. “When I said you were alive, I meant both of you.”

  It was impossible. Leaning forward, Seph looked down at his father and reached out and touched his cheek. It was warm, suffused with blood. Hastings frowned and shifted away, groaning. His eyelids fluttered, then opened, focused on his face.

  Seph shook his head, still unable to believe it. “I don’t get it. Leicester blasted you. No one could have survived that.” He reached out and touched the collar around his father’s neck. “Not in the shape you were in.”

  “It was Martin Hall.” Hastings’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “He removed the collar and reversed the charm before we came into the hall.” He paused, took a breath. “I was still weak, but I’d managed to throw up a shield. I expected he might attack your mother or me.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. “I must say, I was surprised when the dragon came to call. I had no idea where Jason was going with that.” He struggled to sit upright, with Linda’s help. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Trinity?”

  Jason spoke from behind him. “Dude ain’t so easy to bully anymore. Some fool’s been training him in wizardry.”

  Seph turned to look at him, and Jason managed a creditable courtly bow. “It’s been my dream to meet the Dragon,” he said, grinning at Linda. “But somehow, I always pictured him as a wizard with a long, gray beard. I think I like this better.”

  With the death of Leicester, a number of spells were broken. The immobilization charms dissolved, and the Interguild representatives and the Wizard Council collected into two distinct groups that eyed each other warily. Some organized themselves into an impromptu fire brigade and began putting out the fires that still smoldered throughout the room.

  Ellen retrieved Leicester’s staff and held it close by her side. Jack produced a wicked-looking knife from somewhere and was very obviously honing it against a stone pillar.

  Nick Snowbeard came to look after Hastings, and Seph immediately felt more confident.

  Madison still seemed to be in shock, a ghost with watercolor eyes, shivering and teeth chattering. Seph sat her down in one of the chairs by the conference table, wishing he knew what to do for her.

  Wylie and Longbranch broke away from the rest of the Council and came toward them. “Where is D’Orsay?” they demanded, glaring at Seph.

  Good question. “How should I know?” Seph replied. “I’ve been kind of busy.”

  “The constitution is missing, too. If he manages to get it to Raven’s Ghyll, it will be a disaster.” Wylie looked as if this were somehow Seph’s fault.

  “Then you’d better go after him, don’t you think?” Seph said. “Maybe you can catch him at the dock.”

  “First we’ll deal with his associates,” Longbranch said.

  The council conspirators were nowhere to be seen, but the alumni still lay where
they’d fallen, as helpless as Seph had been on the beach. But they were alive, at least. Their link with Leicester had been broken when Maddie drained his power away.

  Before Seph knew what she was about, Longbranch strode over to Ashton Rice, knelt, and shoved her fingers under his chin.

  “Hey!” Seph gripped the wizard’s wrist with his good hand and wrenched it away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She looked up at him in surprise and annoyance. “These young men are collaborators. Allies of D’Orsay and Leicester. Best to destroy them while we can.”

  “I wouldn’t call them allies, exactly,” Seph said. “More like victims, most of them.”

  “Don’t you understand what’s happening?” Longbranch spoke as one might to the mentally impaired. “This is war. The truce between wizards is over. Which side are you on?”

  Suddenly Jack and Ellen flanked him. Jason and Madison drifted in from behind.

  “I’m not on your side. Or D’Orsay’s. You’re going to have to have your war without me,” Seph said.

  “We’ll see,” Longbranch said. She extended her hand, and he took a step back, out of range of those long, red nails. “You’re powerful, I’ll give you that. You take after your father in that regard. You’re going to have to decide whether to follow after him in other ways.”

  She looked over at Madison, studying her as if she were an especially interesting specimen. “What’s your girl’s name?” she asked, toying with a large emerald that hung from a chain around her neck.

  Seph didn’t honor that question with an answer.

  Longbranch tch’ed. “Are you going to waste your life as a nursemaid to the servant guilds or learn to navigate the world of wizards, where the real power lies? Think about it.”

  “I don’t have to think about it,” Seph said, but Longbranch had already turned away.

  Jack and Ellen were looking curiously at Jason. With the death of Gregory Leicester, some of Jason’s intensity and spirit seemed to have drained away. He leaned against a stone pillar, looking tired and thin, almost ill. It reminded Seph of his first day in Trinity, when he was the outsider.

  “Jack Swift and Ellen Stephenson, this is Jason Haley,” Seph said. “He’s a friend from the Havens. He saved my life.”

  Leicester still lay on the floor where he had fallen. Seph felt no joy at the way he had died, only intense relief and the conviction that the death of the wizard was a matter of survival for him and the people he cared about.

  Up in the gallery, the newly freed Warren Barber looked down on the survivors of the battle in the conference room. He felt an incredible joy. He was on his own again, no longer answerable to any authority. Up until a short while ago, Leicester had seemed like the horse to back. But he’d died like anyone else. The rest of the alumni lay on the floor like so many carcasses. They deserved to be ruled, he thought. But not Warren Barber. He would not let that happen, ever again.

  He thought of McCauley’s girl, and his breath came quicker. First, there was the episode at the river, when she’d put King down on his back. Then Warren had tried to spell her in the garden, and had gone down like a rock. Leicester and the alumni had done no better. Was she a wizard with a powerful stone, or was she carrying an amulet of some kind? Warren was no scholar, but he figured he could find out.

  He couldn’t resist sliding his hand inside his shirt, feeling the parchment that lay next to his skin. It had been easy enough to nick it from the desk where Hays had hidden it. He knew all the hiding places at Second Sister.

  He hadn’t decided what he would do with it, but he knew it represented power. D’Orsay would give anything to get his hands on it. So would anyone on the council. Then again, why shouldn’t Warren Barber be king?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Trinity and Cumbria

  “As you can see, we have a large family in Britain, Seph.” Hastings gestured, taking in the tumbled gravestones that broke through the wind-blasted heather. “Unfortunately, they’re all underground.”

  Seph stooped and picked up a broken piece of granite. He scraped away at the moss that obscured the inscription on the nearest marker until it was revealed. HASTYNGS. He traced the letters with his fingers and looked back toward the great stone house. It brooded in boreal grandeur amid the frowning fells, set in a valley stitched over with stone walls. The light was decaying, although it was only late afternoon. Dusk came early this far north. Cumbria. Home of his ancestors. Hastings—his father—said the house had been in the family for generations.

  As he watched, Jason emerged from the house, waved to get their attention, and disappeared back inside. “I guess dinner is ready,” Seph said. He stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets.

  “I feel like I’ve found a family and a home, and Jason lost his,” he said.

  Hastings stared off toward Scotland, his face bleak and still as the weathered hills. “I promised Jason that if he stayed in Trinity and finished school, I would get him involved in wizard politics.” Without shifting his gaze, he answered Seph’s unspoken objection. “Believe me, I know all about the cost of holding on to anger, yet I can’t talk him out of it. He still wants to go after D’Orsay.”

  The political future of the Weirguilds was still cloudy. The council that had met at Second Sister had signed off on the Hastings-Downey constitution before they disbanded, but it was unclear how to get the document consecrated. The whereabouts of the Leicester-D’Orsay constitution was unknown. And, for the first time in more than five hundred years, the wizards were officially at war.

  Linda and Hastings often held strategy sessions at the house that lasted late into the night. Sometimes Hastings was still there in the morning.

  The role of family man did not come easily to Hastings. Much of Hastings and Seph’s time together was spent in training: reviews of charms and countercharms, tutorials on the Old Magic. Seph realized his father was doing his best to hone his skills in wizardry for his own protection. That was love, delivered in Hastings’s relentless fashion.

  Madison was still working at the Legends and attending classes at Trinity. Despite her apprehension, she melded well with the upscale, grunge, art-student culture.

  Her work was even featured by one of the galleries close to campus.

  She’d been wary of Seph since the episode at Second Sister. She held back, kept secrets as if she saw a new risk in their relationship that hadn’t been there before. She was friendly enough, but he almost had the sense she was avoiding being alone with him. Linda had offered to fly her to Britain for Christmas, but she’d gone home to Coalton County instead.

  Seph had chosen a present for her, four framed sketches of cathedrals he’d found in a gallery in London.

  Hastings broke into his reverie. “We’d better go back. It won’t do to be late to dinner on Christmas Eve.”

  Dinner was served by candlelight in the great hall, roast beef and vegetables and Yorkshire puddings: a feast for four people, and they’d all had a hand in it. Afterward, they ate Stilton and pears and drank wine by the fire while the snow came down outside. Later, they would brave the weather to attend midnight mass at the Catholic church down in the village. Seph hoped it would keep snowing. Hastings had promised to bring out the sleigh.

  Brightly wrapped packages of intriguing possibility waited under the towering Douglas fir in the hearth corner.

  Hastings went first. For Seph, there were two books of spellcraft from Hastings’s private collection. For Jason, a pair of English climbing boots, suitable for winter hikes in the fells. For Linda, a pendant with the flat-gray color of a sorcerer’s piece, set with garnet.

  Linda had a barn coat for Hastings, a heavy Scots-wool sweater for Jason. And a mysterious package for Seph. When she put it into his hands and he felt the weight of it, he knew what it was before he tore the paper away. It was his Weirbook, his history between his hands.

  When Seph looked back at the events of the summer and fall, he realized his personal philosophy had cha
nged. “Don’t expect much, and you won’t be disappointed,” he’d always said, a kind of charm of self-protection.

  He had never planned on or expected parents, let alone a complicated pair like Linda Downey and Leander Hastings. As a family, they were still just a collection of strangers. Who knows what will happen? But he couldn’t help but be optimistic.

  Madison was still a mystery to him, but a mystery he hoped to solve. He would find a way to make it work, because he finally understood that sometimes you have to raise your expectations. And sometimes you need to make a claim on the world and the people you love to get what you most desire.