The Wizard Heir (34 page)

Linda looked around the room. Bookshelves lined the
walls, and there was a desk with computer equipment to one side. Someone had
built a fire in the stone fireplace, and expensive rugs lay scattered on the
floors. The scene looked familiar.

She dug in the portfolio and pulled out the
photographs of Seph that Leicester had sent to Hastings. Yes. They'd been taken
here, in the library. So Seph had been here recently, perhaps just a day or two
ago. She studied the pictures. He stood near the door, looking vulnerable and
cold, his hair wet and plastered against his head.

“Welcome to Second Sister.” Linda jumped
when she heard the voice behind her. She swung around to see Gregory Leicester
framed in the doorway, wearing a sweater and jeans, deck shoes and no socks. He
made no attempt to hide the fact that he was very much at home. Instinctively,
she moved out toward the center of the room, where there was more room to
maneuver, less chance of being trapped against the wall. He moved to the
sideboard, chose a bottle, uncorked it with a practiced hand, and poured two
glasses. He handed one to Linda.

“Try this. It's a Sauvignon Blanc. Something new
for us.”

She sipped at it. “A little sweet for me.”
This is your son's kidnapper, she thought. This is the torturer of children.

“I'll have Martin pour something drier tomorrow
night,” Leicester said. He paused. “I was glad to hear you were
corning.”

“I expect you would be, since you engineered
it,” she said. She turned the wineglass in her hands. “Where is
Seph?”

There was a flicker in the flat-gray eyes, but he said
nothing, and waited for her to go on. It was meant to intimidate, but in fact
it had the opposite effect. If she'd had a gun, she would have shot him.
Instead, she drained her glass and set it down.

“You kidnapped him. You asked Hastings to meet
you, said you wanted to make a deal. I want to know where he is.”

Another flicker in the eyes. Amusement. Anticipation.
And suddenly she knew what he was about to say. She didn't want to hear it,
couldn't look him in the face to hear it, so she turned away.

He stood just behind her, very close. She could feel
his breath on her neck. “Joseph is dead,” he said softly.
“Hastings killed him.”

She spun away from him, turned to face him again.

“You're a liar.”

“Not this time.” A pause. “Don't you
want to know how he did it?”

“No.”

“He strangled him.”

An image arose of those strong hands around Seph's
throat, knuckles white, squeezing.

“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 darkness 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.”

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 proceedings, 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 Jessamine
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?”

The conference participants rumbled with anger.

“I have a story, too,” Linda said, ignoring
D'Orsay. She gazed around the room, pausing until she had everyone's attention.
“There are actually many stories I could tell, but I would like to tell
you about my son.”

Madison hesitated at the edge of the trees, scanning
the grounds of the winery. No one was around. Naturally, Leicester and the
others would be focused on the proceedings in the conference room. Besides, it
was a cold, dismal rainy day. A good day to be inside.

“Do you see it?” Seph whispered. “It
goes all around the clearing.” He extended a hand, then drew it back as if
he were afraid of touching something.

“I'll take your word for it.”

“You know who you're looking for?”

She nodded. “The blond guy from the picnic with
the back-combed hair.”