“Guess we’d better go along, then,” Madison said. “Time’s a-wasting.”
A relieved smile broke onto Jason’s face. “Great,” he said. “Great. Um, could we take your truck? I kind of borrowed a car without asking. I’d rather not be driving around in it.”
Madison had planned to propose that she follow him in the truck so she could leave when she’d finished in Trinity.
But there was a wired intensity in Jason’s movements that told her this was nonnegotiable.
“Oh. Okay.” She scooped up her keys from the table and slung the duffle bag over her shoulder.
But he gripped her wrist and took the keys from her hand. “I’ll drive,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-three
Weirstorm
Before dawn, the Roses woke the remaining residents of Trinity with a fusillade of magical projectiles—cannisters of ligfyr—launched from atop the wizard barrier. They burst against the rebels’ elaborate inner wall with bone-rattling force, drenching the territory between with wizard fire. Toxic smoke boiled up from the fires between the walls, bloodying the underbelly of the lowering clouds. Defenders toppled from the inner wall like rotten fruit, clutching their throats.
The rebels answered with withering fire of their own, raking over the top of the outer wall, clearing it of wizards and weapons. Jessamine leaned forward, squinting into the murk, gripping the parapet. A tall, spare figure strode to the battlement at the front of the barbican over the rebel gate, ignoring the shells exploding all around him. McCauley. Again. He raised both arms, and the smoke roiled back, away from the rebels, enveloping the Rose fortifications in a cloud of poison.
Jess charged out of her bastion and attempted to drive the smoke back where it belonged, then dove for cover as a blast of fire slammed into the wall just beneath her.
Peering over the edge, she surveyed the damage:a huge bite had been taken out of the smooth surface of the wizard wall, and great chunks of stone lay scattered on the ground beneath. Much more of that, and the wall would be porous as a sieve.
How did he do it? Their barrier was built to withstand magical assault—that was the whole point. She stormed back along the wall, sweeping past the wizards flinging flaming ligfyr stones against the rebels from heavy cover.
“Send a patrol down to repair the wall immediately,” she ordered. “And kill McCauley,” she added, as an afterthought.
Outside the gate, the army of the Roses sprawled across farm fields and littered the wooded groves. Wizards, mostly, with a few sullen sorcerers stirring cauldrons of magically enhanced ligfyr. Others beat out throwing stars of glowing metal, infused with deadly enchantments.
D’Orsay’s famous hoard had been disappointing to say the least. Jess couldn’t help wondering if he was holding back—if he had a secret stash someplace. They’d been forced to use the weapons sparingly—more to inspire panic among the defenders than anything else. Some were delightfully horrible—like the glass spheres that broke open on impact, releasing hundred of deadly naedercynn vipers within the sanctuary. Or the gliwdream pipes whose high-pitched music drove the defenders insane.
Jessamine stopped to question her operatives at the gate. Still no sign of Haley.
Out on the drilling field, Geoffrey Wylie struggled to bludgeon hordes of wizards into order. Wizards were not terribly good at teamwork. It hadn’t been considered a virtue up to now. When he saw Jess, he broke off his harangue and turned the command over to a handsome young wizard in Red Rose garb. Hays was his name, if she remembered right.
“I don’t like this dual-wall system,” Wylie said, brushing ice from his shoulders (the latest Weirstorm had overshot its mark a bit). “We could be trapped in between and annihilated. We’d better take the outer wall down when the time comes to attack.”
Jessamine brushed away the suggestion. “And have them scatter like quail and regroup somewhere else? I think not. We need to teach them a lesson. Besides, we can’t risk the possibility of losing the Dragonheart.”
“You’re not the one who has to lead the charge through the gate against an unknown weapon.”
Jessamine twitched with irritation. Wylie had been chosen as commander because he’d attended West Point a century ago. And he looked the part, certainly, being tall and commanding.
But Wylie belonged to the wrong house. The second worse thing to losing the Dragonheart to the rebels would be to have it fall into the hands of the Red Rose.
“They’re as good as they’re going to be,” Wylie persisted. “If we’re going to breach the walls, we should do it soon.” Wylie tilted his head toward his magical army. “If we keep this many wizards together much longer, they’ll be killing each other.”
“Why don’t you assign troublemakers to repairing the wall? McCauley is ripping holes in it, God knows how.”
Jess preferred to wait for Haley for a number of reasons. Anything could happen during a melee inside the fortress walls. Anyone could come up with the Dragonheart. Wylie, for instance. That would be a disaster.
But she knew she couldn’t stall much longer.
Ellen couldn’t help tensing and squinching her eyes shut as she heard the familiar whistle of incoming. Followed by the boom of impact. Another one had gotten by her.
She twisted round, gazing over the park and up Library Street. A column of ruddy flame and smoke rose from the town center. That one must have landed somewhere on the commons. There wasn’t much left on the green to destroy, save a spectacularly ugly fountain that would no doubt survive the entire war.
The Roses fired canisters of wizard fire that exploded into wildfires. Squads of sorcerers were kept busy all day and night, putting out blazes, else the town would have long since burned to the ground.
But some of the missiles were booby-trapped, spewing gemynd bana and worse when approached by the fire teams. Those who weren’t killed were disabled for days. And they couldn’t afford the loss of a single hand.
Ellen preferred to face her enemies sword-to-sword, on the ground. This faceless assault from the air was unnerving. She took a deep breath and forced herself to look across the black abyss of no-man’s-land, to where spots of light moved like fireflies atop the wizard wall. Wizards readying the next onslaught. It was her third night in a row on the perimeter, and she was exhausted enough to make mistakes. But the work she and Jack did on the wall kept the bombardment somewhat in check.
Across the way, one of the fireflies brightened—a wizard gathering power, preparing to fire. Ellen fished a throwing star from the pouch under her arm and sent it whistling off into the dark, then rolled sideways, banging her elbow into the wall as a blast of fire came toward her.
Across the way, someone screamed. The firefly launched awkwardly from the wall, spiraling down into the darkness to be extinguished at the base of the wall.
“Catch a falling star,” Ellen muttered, blotting blood from her elbow and looking for another target.
Off to her left, an enormous gout of flame and smoke signified that Seph was at work. Several times during the night, he’d spun past her, the hot ripple of magic in his wake identifying him. He was constantly on the move, scouring the wizard wall clean of bombardiers, providing cover for the warrior patrols between the walls. Blasting ruinous holes in the wizard wall opposite.
Ellen and Jack and Iris Bolingame and some of the other wizards helped, but Ellen had to admit that so far it was Seph that kept the Roses at bay. They’d soon be forced to make repairs to their wall, which was beginning to resemble sinister black Swiss cheese.
Let them try, Ellen thought, peering through the embrasure to the ground below, judging the firing distance to the base of the wall. They’d be ducks on a pond.
Why don’t they try to breach the walls? she thought. We’re totally outnumbered. What are they waiting for? How long could this bombardment go on? How long would the Anaweir stay on the Sisters before the Roses became aware of them? Before they ran out of food?
A slight sound behind her
caused her to swivel, gripping the hilt of her knife.
“Whoa. Don’t stab the messenger.” It was Fitch, still in his Resistance garb. He shoved a parcel into her hands. “More stars.” And another. “Midnight snack.”
The Weir had laid a scaffolding over their wall on the sanctuary side, to allow the Anaweir to navigate it. The wall itself was still invisible to them.
Ellen ripped open the package of throwing stars and poured them into her pouch. “Tell Mercedes thanks.” And turned back to her work. She wouldn’t let another one past her, not if she could help it.
Fitch put his hand on her arm. “Jack says he’s got the wall, so take ten to eat.”
Ellen looked down the curtain wall to where Jack must be. She missed his solid presence at her side. It would’ve been great to have him next to her, but this way, if her position was hit, only one of them would go down.
Fighting always made her ravenous. She slid into a sitting position and unwrapped her dinner, resting it on her knees.
Fitch held out a water bottle filled with green liquid.
“What’s this?” she asked suspiciously, turning it in her hand.
“Some kind of power-ade potion Mercedes whipped up.”
“No dope,” Ellen said, trying to hand the bottle back to Fitch.
“I don’t think it’s dope, exactly,” Fitch said, with a what-do-I-know shrug. “Just like—you know—an energy drink.”
“Hmpf.” She took an experimental sip. And then another. It tasted like fresh air in some unsullied part of the world.
She drained half the bottle, set it down, and bit into her sandwich.
Fitch still hung on the scaffolding and pulled out a digital camera. He took several photographs of Ellen.
“You’re photographing me eating my dinner?” She waved a chicken leg at him. “That’s exciting. What for?”
“Somebody has to do it,” he said, gazing out at the fires beyond the walls, his face solemn and ruddy in the sanguineous light. “Like there was this photographer during the Civil War. Mathew Brady. He was assigned by the U.S. government to document the war.”
“Fitch, you are such a nerd.”
He said nothing.
She finished the sandwich and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You think we’re going to lose, don’t you?”
“What makes you say that?” he said.
Ellen noticed he didn’t deny it. “Because the winners always write the history. You want to make sure something survives. Of us.”
He smiled at that, looking a little embarrassed. “Even if it’s only digital.”
Chapter Thirty-four
Through Enemy Lines
It was that breathless hour before sunrise. Up on Booker Mountain, Maddie might be preparing for the breaking of light to the east, for the reliable hills shouldering forward out of the dark.
But Maddie was not on Booker Mountain. She was creeping through the underbrush of Perry Park, following Jason Haley, wondering what kind of fool’s errand she was on.
For a city boy, he was sure-footed in the woods. Maddie had only to follow his illuminated form, like a cloud that had passed in front of the sun.
Now she could see lights bleeding through the trees up ahead. Jason paused, waiting for her to catch up. “Camps of the Rose armies,” he whispered in her ear.
Here the underbrush thinned as they entered a decimated grove of old-growth forest. Ancient oaks lay toppled—wizards had knocked down trees, creating scattered clearings where they could raise their pavilions and post wards and guards against their brethren.
A great bulking mass rose above the trees beyond the camps, blotting out the dying stars. “What is that?” Madison whispered, conscious of the surrounding wizards.
“That’s the wizard wall,” Jason muttered.
“I don’t get it. Why can I see it?” She was familiar with Weirnets, which captured the Weir, but were invisible to anyone else—the Anaweir and elicitors.
Jason shook his head. “I was hoping you could just walk through it. It’s not a Weirnet, it’s a wizard wall. It’s built by wizard magic, but constructed of stone, like any fortress. This complicates things. We’ll have to go in through the gate,” he said, glancing at her, then away. He’d been doing a lot of that slide-away looking, lately.
She said nothing, waiting for him to go on.
“So there’s a chance we’ll be caught. If that happens, can you just trust me?”
“What?” Her voice rose, and Jason flinched, putting a finger to his lips to shush her. She continued, in a hoarse whisper, “What kind of a question is that?”
“I’ll get you through, I promise, but . . . just . . . play along, okay? Can you not ask questions?” He actually looked embarrassed.
“Um. Okay.”
And so they went on, Madison turning over what he’d said and wondering just what she’d committed herself to.
The closer they got to the barrier, the more difficult it became to remain undiscovered. They had to stop a hundred yards from the gate. Their cover was gone—trees had been cleared close in to the wall. Wizards massed around the gate, seemingly in preparation for imminent battle.
Munitions masters passed out backpacks, armor, and supplies to the gathered troops. Flaming missiles arced overhead, disappearing behind the sanctuary wall. The ground shook as they struck their targets. Smoke and flame roiled into the sky. Trinity had been transformed into a fortress during her absence.
She could feel the seductive pull of the Dragonheart from within the walls. Her own heart beat faster—fear and dread warring with excitement.
Jason danced restlessly in place. “We’re running out of time. Guess we have to take the direct approach.” He grabbed Madison’s hand and bulldozed through the jostling crowds of wizard soldiers and support staff.
In all the chaos and confusion, no one seemed to notice them until they were within a few paces of the gate. Then a half-dozen wizards in Red Rose livery stepped out of the crowd and surrounded them, shields fully raised. Madison drew closer to Jason, remembering what he’d said.
“Haley? It is you. The famous Dragonheart thief.” The speaker, a tall, scarred wizard, looked vaguely familiar.
Jason studied him a moment, as if debating the possibility of denying it, then nodded grudgingly. “Wylie.”
Wylie grinned. “This is a surprise. Wandering through enemy lines, are you? I knew you were foolhardy, but it seems you have a death wish.” He glanced at Madison, then did a double-take. “I know you! You were the girl at Second Sister. With McCauley.”
Madison blinked at him and opened her mouth to reply, then flinched in surprise as Jason draped an arm around her and pulled her in close. He gripped her chin and turned her face up, kissing her convincingly on the lips. Still holding her tight, he said, “She’s with me now.”
The Red Rose wizards laughed, elbowing each other like high school boys bs-ing under the bleachers.
Maddie wanted to stomp on Jason’s foot, wriggle free, and ask him what he thought he was doing, but the rigidity of his body was a warning.
“What do you mean? I thought she and McCauley were going out,” Wylie said.
“Were,” Jason said, grinning.
Madison bristled. They were talking about her in front of her, like she was deaf or stupid.
Her mood must have shown on her face, because Jason looked at Madison and shook his head almost imperceptibly, then turned back to Wylie. “Anyway. Great to catch up. But we’ve got to get going.”
Two of Wylie’s companions took hold of Jason’s arms. “Oh, no,” Wylie said, getting in Jason’s face. “You’re both coming back with me. You’re going to tell me all about the Dragonheart and what’s happening in the sanctuary.” He smiled savagely and patted Jason on the cheek. “I’m really looking forward to our conversation.”
Jason jerked his head away. “Didn’t Dr. Longbranch tell you?”
Wylie’s smile faded fast. “What do you mean?”
; “Ask her. It’s all arranged. She’ll explain.”
Madison looked from Jason to Wylie. If it was a bluff, it was a good one.
Wylie went white with anger. “The hell I will. You’re my prisoners, and . . .”
Suddenly they were surrounded by a full dozen White Rose wizards.
“Mr. Wylie, sir, Dr. Longbranch is waiting for these two,” one of them said.
There was nothing to do but be hustled along toward an elaborate peaked tent flying the banner of the White Rose. Wylie and his wizards trailed unhappily behind. Jason stared straight ahead, but kept a hard hold on Madison’s elbow. Madison couldn’t help looking back at the gate. What was Jason thinking? Did he really think he’d have better luck with Longbranch?
Dr. Longbranch’s tent was guarded by a dozen more wizards in White Rose garb. One of the guards disappeared inside. He returned and nodded to Jason and Madison. “You two. Inside. The rest of you stay out here.”
Wylie watched sullenly as the guards ushered his prisoners in.
Inside, it was as much like a palace as a tent can be. Fancy rugs were spread over the ground, and velvet and satin hangings draped the walls and curtained off a sleeping area on one side. At the other end of the tent, chairs were gathered around a conference table. Wizard lights cast long shadows. Soft music floated in, somehow countering the sounds of the battle at the wall, and incense burners obscured the reek of warfare.
Madison just had time to take this all in before a tall witch-woman swept toward them, the velvet hem of her gown sliding over the carpets. She had green eyes and a long fall of pitch-dark hair. Ignoring Jason, she gripped both of Madison’s hands and looked into her eyes. Unlike most wizards, she seemed to have no fear of Maddie’s touch, but was careful not to let any Persuasion trickle through.
“Madison,” she said. “I’m so pleased you’ve come. I’m Jessamine Longbranch.”
“Hel . . . hello,” Madison stammered, while her mind raced a mile a minute. She knows who I am. She was expecting me. She glanced over at Jason, who was all stony-faced except for his eyes, which glittered in the wizard light.