The Warrior Heir (41 page)

But she was not to be deterred. "Don't worry about that," she said grimly. She picked up his sword and placed it in his left hand. Then she moved to his right side, seized his wrist and pulled him to his feet, draping his right arm over her shoulders and throwing her arm around his waist so she carried most of his weight. His nose was full of the scent of her next to him, an intoxicating mixture of flowers and sweat. Not like any soldier Brooks had ever encountered. She was amazingly strong. She half pushed, half lifted him up the slope.

The two warriors emerged from the ravine, clinging to each other. Jack of the Silver Dragon was limping badly, one boot gone, carrying his sword in the wrong hand.

The Warrior of the Red Rose gasped, "There is no winner."

D'Orsay was speechless for a moment. And then he snapped, "Approach the judges, warriors."

Jack gathered all his strength and tried to help Ellen maneuver them forward. Hastings and Wylie were standing below the judges' box. Hastings looked amazed, his eyes traveling from Jack to Ellen, while Wylie looked furious, as usual.

"Explain this," D'Orsay demanded, for once addressing the warriors directly.

Ellen looked the Master of Games in the eye. "The match is over. There is no winner. It is a draw." An unhappy rumble rolled through the crowd.

"There can be no draw," D'Orsay replied. "Under the rules it is a fight to the death."

"Not this time," Ellen said boldly. "The fight is over, and nobody is dead. I think you've had your money's worth. You can all go home now!" she shouted to the crowd.

D'Orsay's voice was cold. "Sponsors, control your warriors."

Hastings gave an almost imperceptible shrug. His warrior was upright only through the grace of his opponent. Wylie, on the other hand, was in Ellen's face immediately.

"What's the matter with you?" he hissed. "Finish him off, and let's be done with this." He made as if to grab her sword arm, as if he intended to settle the matter himself, but she threw him off hard. He landed in the grass. "You're a killer, Ellen!" he shouted. "You've trained for this for a lifetime. Now do what comes naturally!"

Ellen pointed her sword at Wylie and flame ran along the blade. "Be careful what you wish for," she said coldly. A shudder ran through the crowd. Warriors threatening wizards. It was against the laws of nature. As if to commemorate it, there was a blaze of lightning, a crash of thunder, and the first fat drops of rain splattered down.

D'Orsay came to his feet, his calm disinterest shattered. He pointed at Jack and Ellen. "For violations of the Rules of Engagement, your lives are hereby forfeit!" The other judges stood as well, and the death sentence was mirrored in their eyes.

"No!" Hastings stepped between the judges and the two warriors. "This tournament has been flawed from the start. Do you really mean to sacrifice the last remaining warriors for a set of rules you can't even adhere to yourself? What rules have they violated? The loser in the tournament dies, but there is no loser here. The rules do not speak to this."

The two wizards glared at each other. "For someone who has never played by the rules, you've become quite an expert, haven't you? If the rules don't speak to this," D'Orsay said softly, "we'll just change the rules again." He pointed at Hastings. "We have made our decision. Get out of the way."

"No," Hastings said again. He flung out his arm, and light exploded from his fingertips. A shimmering enclosure descended around Ellen and Jack, like a house spun of glass. Suddenly, the sound of the crowd was blunted, and the rain no longer touched them.

All five judges pointed at the barrier, speaking a dissolving charm. The wall fell away, but Hastings threw up another in time to turn a blizzard of blue wizard flame that ricocheted and exploded over the field like fireworks.

The crowd shifted uneasily, some of the spectators throwing up their arms to shield their faces against the rain and the flames arcing over them. The sun had disappeared entirely, and the Ghyll was shrouded in a dim twilight, although it was just after four in the afternoon. There was a low rumble that might have been thunder, but it was more persistent, as if the hills were speaking with a thousand voices. The din surrounded them, growing louder and louder. The fells glowed eerily in the darkness, as if lit from an unseen source. High up on the slope of Ravenshead, the Weirstone stood out against the black shoulder of the mountain like a blue flame.

The beleaguered trio on the lists hardly noticed. It was only a matter of time before the five wizards in the gallery overcame the one on the field. Jack desperately tried to follow the charms that were flying back and forth. He wanted to help, but it was beyond his skill. Hastings constantly shifted position, staying between the judges and the warriors. The judges were aiming for the players, but would hardly have hesitated to blow Hastings away to get to them. The five judges descended out of the stands, clearly meaning to surround the warriors and launch an attack from all directions, which would be more difficult to defend against. Wylie screamed something, but whether he was pleading for his warrior or encouraging her would-be executioners, Jack couldn't tell.

Mercedes and Blaise, Snowbeard, Iris, and Linda joined Hastings on the field and formed a tight circle around Jack and Ellen. Snowbeard and Iris sent their own flames into the air, throwing up barriers as fast as the council could tear them down. The rain came down hard and flames flickered on the undersides of the clouds, white lightning and blue wizard fire. Now the roar of the battle competed with the howl of the storm. Many in the audience were fleeing their seats, fear of dying having overcome their love of spectacle.

Suddenly the earth itself shuddered. Jack could feel it shimmying beneath his feet, like logs rolling down a hillside. Ellen lost her hold on him, and he was pitched to the ground. Flat on his back, the cold rain in his face, and the pain renewed in his shattered leg, Jack couldn't help but think about Brooks dying on this very field. But he could still feel a vibration, an earthquake, he thought at first. Cautiously, he propped himself on his elbows. His view of the field was blocked by the rest of his party, most of whom were on their hands and knees, attempting to get back on their feet. When he looked up at the surrounding hills, he could see a vast shadow flowing down their flanks, pooling at the bottom and spreading outward across the Ghyll. A huge fissure had opened in Raven's Ghyll Field, and an army was pouring from it.

Up in the cottage, Will had grown increasingly agitated as the afternoon waned. He had tried the door and window a hundred times, had even tried to force his massive shoulders through the chimney. Fitch lay on Jack's bed as if in a trance. In fact, he was listening. Trapped in the back bedroom, he hadn't been able to see any of the tournament, but he could hear the roar of the crowd, so he knew it wasn't over. But now the sound he was hearing was more like screaming, full of panic and dismay. He'd felt the weather change and the wind come up. Now the light had gone and the building shuddered under the assault of the gale. Rain and hail crashed against the windows, and the wild, electric scent of the storm came through the walls.

It's the end of the world, Fitch thought. And we're going to die in here. Just then, the ground heaved and the floor buckled, setting the flagstones up at a crazy angle. Slate and plaster fell around them, dust filling their lungs and stinging their eyes. Part of the wall next to the fireplace shifted and split away from the masonry. There was no daylight to speak of, but now the wind and rain howled through a large gap in the wall.

"Come on!" Will shouted to Fitch over the growing din. "Let's get out of here before this place collapses!" Fitch scraped and skinned his shoulders and knees and elbows, leaving blood on some of the stones, but he managed to slide through the gap. Will squeezed through behind him.

As soon as Fitch stepped outside, the rain slammed against his face so hard he could barely see. He found himself in the castle garden, looking down on Raven's Ghyll Field.

At first it looked as if the ground itself were on the march, in ghostly gray waves across the valley. Then he could see it was an army of sorts, a motley army whose soldiers seemed drawn from many lands and many times. There were men and women, and some were mere children. Some were armored, others lightly clad, and they carried a variety of weapons. Here and there were splashes of red-gold: warriors with hair the color of Jack's.

Fitch could hear drums and the wild scream of bagpipes. The warriors had overrun the midway, tents, and trailers at the other end of the valley. The structures were burning, the smoke from the flames adding to the gloom.

"No way," Fitch breathed. The cottage no longer seemed like a sanctuary, with its walls falling down around them.

Spectators from the galleries fled past them. Others appeared frozen in their seats. Fitch scanned the chaotic scene, looking for Jack. Finally he spotted what looked like a private war going on before the galleries. Hastings, Linda, and some of the neighbors from Jefferson Street were in a tight circle, under siege by a group of wizards who were attacking relentlessly in what looked like a spectacular light show. He could see Jack and Ellen at the center of the circle, sitting on the ground, holding each other tightly. Fitch shook his head. None of this was making sense.

The long arms of the shadow army reached out to enclose the battle on the field. The warriors swung axes and broadswords, slaughtering any wizards who got in their way. Few of the wizards had time to respond, and those that did were impossibly outnumbered. Hastings and the Silver Dragon group, facing outward, stopped and stared in disbelief, but the tournament judges did not see their peril until a muscular Celtic warrior with bright red-gold hair seized one of them and ran him through with his sword. He tossed the dead man to the ground, the blood running from his blade in the rain. The battle came to a swift halt after that. D'Orsay and the four remaining judges formed a tight circle of their own.

There was a breathless pause as warriors and wizards faced one another, though small groups of warriors continued their work at the fringes of the crowd. The ranks of the army parted, and two women walked toward them. One was quite young, not much older than Jack, and she had a head of dark curls. She was dressed in a white linen shirt and trousers from another century, and moved with an elegant, athletic grace. The other was somewhat older, taller than the other woman, with bright, strawberry-blond hair. She wore a long dress that seemed to float over the grass. They stopped in front of the Silver Dragon partisans, and the older one spoke. "The Game is over," she announced. "Where are the warriors?"

Her voice was eerily familiar. Jack had heard it once before, one night in a graveyard. In another age, it seemed. Ellen helped him to his feet, and they moved awkwardly to the front of the circle, he limping, she supporting him. As he approached the woman who had called for him, he was startled again by her resemblance to his mother. He had seen her before only in pictures.

"Hello, Jack," she said, smiling. "I see you've taken good care of my sword." She gestured at Shadowslayer. "I think you've had more use of it than I ever did."

"Susannah," Jack whispered. He was aware of tightly controlled energy, the presence of Hastings just behind him. He turned. The wizard stared at the two women as if he had seen a ghost, which in truth he had.

The younger woman spoke. "Lee, what a man you have become." She ran forward and threw her arms around Hastings, and he held her tightly, the joy on his face overlaid with wonder.

"Carrie," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I can't believe it. You look the same."

Carrie smiled at him, and Jack could see the resemblance between the two: strong noses, high cheekbones, dark curls plastered to their heads. "I've been dead for more than a hundred years, and you've been living. Living marks a person. That is the difference." She released him and stepped back.

It was all Jack could do to stay upright, even with Ellen's support. The earthquake might be over, but his head was spinning. Every part of his body competed for attention.

Susannah noticed. "Can someone get the boy a chair?" she asked. "I think he has been through enough today. Get two chairs," she added, looking at Ellen.

Two warriors pulled down chairs from the judges' box and set them in the grass. Jack was startled to see that both warriors looked familiar. One of them was Jeremiah Brooks, and the other was the young knight he had fought at the meadow, in the first bout he'd won.

Brooks helped Jack to his seat, being careful of his ripped arm and injured leg, Ellen assisting on his other side. "Looks like you took a beating today, my friend," he observed laconically. He nodded at Ellen. "Being as we're almost brothers and all, I'd suggest you say yes the next time the lady asks for a tumble." He rubbed his nose and grinned at Jack, who stared at him, too tired to be embarrassed.

The knight brought a bottle of water, turning it over curiously in his hands before handing it to Jack. "I always appreciated that you would not kill me," he explained. "There comes a time for all of us to die, but you can't imagine what it is like to go through that over and over." He jerked a thumb at Ellen. "She always killed everybody."

Ellen looked chastened. She perched uneasily on the edge of her chair, as if unsure whether she might need to fight her way out of there. Jack shared his bottle of water with her, then sat back and half closed his eyes. His leg was throbbing, and he felt nauseous. After a minute, Ellen got up and set her chair in front of him, then propped his leg up on it. "You should elevate it to keep the swelling down," she suggested. She sat on the grass next to his seat and leaned her head against his hip, seeming oblivious to the water that ran in rivulets across the ground. The rain had slowed almost to a stop.

"Susannah," Hastings began awkwardly. She turned to him, acknowledging him for the first time.

"Hello, Lee."

"Susannah, I'm sorry," he said simply.

She ran her fingers through her streaming hair. "I did not see my son grow up. That is difficult to forgive."