He heard no voices filtering down the hallway, no one calling his name. Curious, he crept to the door of the library and looked up and down the hall. Empty. Could it have been the wind? He thought it was unlikely any breeze could have moved the heavy wooden doors in that place. An intruder? Perhaps the wizards of the Red or White Rose had tracked them there.
Shadowslayer was in the Great Hall, where he’d left it after practice. He slipped noiselessly down the hall to the huge, two-story entry and scanned the room beyond. It was dimly illuminated by the fading light that leaked through the gallery windows. There was no sign of anyone or anything moving on the main floor or on the gallery above. His sword still leaned against the corner of the hearth. He took a deep breath and sprinted across the flagstones that separated him from his weapon. He had reached the apron of the huge fireplace when he heard a noise behind him. He seized his sword and spun around in a half crouch and came face-to-face with Linda Downey.
“Jack!” She grabbed him and held him tight, careful to avoid the blade as she did so. “I knew you couldn’t be too far from your sword.” She patted his sword arm, then released him and looked him over carefully. “Are you all right? Is your shoulder healed?”
Jack nodded, completely undone by this turn of events. He carefully set his sword back on the hearth and retreated until his back was against the masonry. His mind was spinning madly. What now?
Linda didn’t give him much time to think about it. She seemed to be in a considerable hurry. “Where’s Hastings?” she demanded.
Jack found his voice. “He’s out for a walk, I think.”
“Good. We’ve got to get out of here before he gets back.” She picked up the case and the sword, and handed them both back to Jack.
“H-how did you find us?” Jack stammered.
“I knew he owned property up here. It just took me a while to trace it. Come on, Jack,” she said urgently. “You’re in danger here.”
“I can’t just leave,” Jack protested.
“We’ll write him a note when we’re far away,” Linda replied grimly. “With no return address.”
“Mom is here,” Jack said finally.
“Becka?” Linda exclaimed. “I’ve been worried sick about her. Has she been here all this time? Thank God she’s all right.” And, then, after a pause, “But, what is she doing here?”
“Hastings thought it was best if she weren’t searching the town for me, asking questions, perhaps going back to Dr. Longbranch.” Jack shrugged unconvincingly.
“Is she in the house?” Linda asked quickly.
Jack shook his head. “She’s out walking with him.”
Linda stared at him for a moment, then appeared to come to a decision. “Never mind. I need to get you to safety, then I’ll come back for Becka. Nick’s waiting for us in Oxford. From there, we’ll find a safer place.” There was a mixture of enchantment and desperation in her voice. “Please, Jack. You’ve got to come with me now.”
“Can’t you at least stay for a cup of tea?” The voice came from the doorway. “Or a glass of wine for old times’ sake?” It was Hastings, with an armload of kindling, Becka just behind him. “I was just about to light a fire.” He turned to Becka. “Look, Becka, your sister has come to visit.”
“Linda!” Becka embraced her sister. “How did you find us? I wanted to call you, but there’s no phone up here. You’ve seen Jack? He’s much better.”
Linda withdrew enough from Becka’s embrace to glare at Hastings. “Lee, this is just like you.”
Becka stared at them, looking from one to the other. “Do you two know each other?”
Hastings looked up from the hearth, resting his forearms on his knees. “Becka, forgive me. Would you mind fetching us some wine?”
Becka nodded, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Let me see if I can find us something in the kitchen.” She disappeared.
“So you’ve left the Chaucerian Society behind,” Hastings said, standing up. He pointed at the kindling and it burst into flame. “I hope they’re in good hands.” He was studiously avoiding looking at the enchanter, which wouldn’t have been easy for any man.
“They are safe enough,” she replied. “Will’s parents are with them. They’re leaving for their tour to Scotland and Ireland. Which you should know, since you set it up.”
Hastings nodded. “So perhaps ...perhaps you can stay a few days?” He looked at her quickly, then away. To Jack’s surprise, he sounded hopeful, almost eager.
Linda was having none of it. “Look, I appreciate all you’ve done, but I think it’s time Jack and Becka went to Oxford,” she said evenly. “My car is not far away, and I’ve come to drive them there.”
Hastings folded his arms, making an exasperated sound. “D’you really think Jack can go down to Oxford? With every wizard in the United Kingdom hunting him?”
“Well, they can’t stay up here!” Linda muttered, balling her hands into fists.
“Who are you worried about? Jack or Becka?” He raised a hand to prevent an onslaught of words. “Don’t you see? Jessamine knows who he is. So does Geoffrey. It’s over.”
Jack could stand the game playing no longer. “I’ve decided to fight in the tournament, Aunt Linda,” he said.
“Jack!” She turned on Hastings. “You were supposed to prevent this! What kind of charm have you laid on him?” she demanded.
Hastings sighed. “Had I wanted to force him into it, I could have taken him a long time ago and saved myself considerable trouble.”
Becka returned with a bottle of wine and some glasses. She scanned the angry faces and poured a glass for Linda first. “Maybe you’ll feel better after you’ve had some wine,” Becka suggested calmly, handing it to her.
“There’s more than one way to spellbind a person,” Linda said darkly, then caught herself, sliding a glance at her sister. “Becka, I need to talk to Leander in private.”
Becka handed a glass of wine to Hastings and laid a hand on his arm, a gesture of support. “Linda, I want to know why you’re being so rude to him. He saved Jack’s life back in Trinity. When Jack was taken ill in London, he invited us to come up here so he could recover. He’s been nothing but kind to Jack and me. Then you show up here unannounced and treat him like a villain in his own house.”
“Leander!” Linda vibrated with anger.
“Oh, all right!” Reluctantly, Hastings set his wine down on the table. He put an arm around Becka and muttered a few words under his breath. Becka froze where she stood, eyes open, lips parted, as if she were about to say something. Hastings lifted her and settled her gently on the couch. Then he picked up his glass again, holding it in front of him like a shield. “Speak your piece, if you feel you must.”
Linda swung around to face Jack. “Jack, if you participate in this barbaric system, you will just perpetuate it.”
Hastings drained his glass quickly and refilled it from the bottle on the table. “Linda, you will not be allowed to interfere with this,” he said softly.
“So now you’ve taken to using sixteen-year-old boys to get your revenge, is that it?”
“If I could do it myself, don’t you think I would? You know me better than that.”
Jack was absolutely lost. “What are you two talking about?” he demanded. He dropped wearily into a chair.
Linda’s voice was brittle and cold. “Didn’t you tell me once that Mr. Hastings always chooses what he wants to talk about? I assume he didn’t choose to tell you about his family.”
Jack shook his head, already depressed. He knew he was about to hear another old story. He felt like his life had been entirely ruined by events that had occurred long before he was born.
“Leander’s older sister, Carrie, was born a warrior. Lee’s childhood was spent moving from place to place, as his family tried to avoid the Roses.” Linda took a sip of wine. Hastings was staring into the fire. “It didn’t help. Geoffrey Wylie found her when she was eighteen, and claimed her for the Red Rose.” Her voice softened. “
She never even made it to a tournament, because the White Rose got to her first. His father and brother were killed, and his mother was never the same. Leander was ten at the time.”
“Wylie?” Jack repeated.
She glanced at Jack. “It’s a story that has been played out a thousand times in our family. Only, Leander has been obsessed with fighting Wylie and the Roses ever since. So when I was looking for someone to help me protect you from the Roses, I thought of him. I never thought he would choose to embrace the system that killed his sister.” She threw what remained of her wine in Hastings’s face.
Hastings caught Linda’s wrist with one hand and shook the wine glass from it. It shattered on the flagstones, scattering drops of wine like blood on the hearth. He wiped wine out of his eyes with the other hand. “Don’t make me lose my temper, Linda.” His voice was deceptively gentle.
Linda didn’t back away, but leaned in to him, standing on tiptoe to get close to his face. “Why? Is that what happened to Susannah?”
The daylight had fled completely, and the room was illuminated only by magic and the flames on the hearth. For a moment the little scene was like an engraving, the tall wizard, the tiny enchanter, both spinning out fragments of light; Jack and his mother, everyone frozen.
Then Hastings released his grip on Linda’s wrist and stepped back. The two stared at each other for a long moment. “Something like that,” he said. He sat down in a chair by the fireplace and put his face in his hands.
Jack looked from his aunt to Hastings and back again. Linda leaned wearily against the fireplace. “Jack, meet the man who murdered your great-great grandmother.”
“But that was a hundred years ago,” Jack protested. “And she fell from a horse!” None of this was making sense.
“No, she didn’t, Jack.” Hastings straightened, but did not look at him. “Susannah was a warrior, but she was a pacifist. She wouldn’t help me fight the Roses, nor would she allow me to train her son. When she learned what my purpose was, she wanted nothing more to do with me. I could not convince her that running and hiding always fail in the end.”
“So you killed her, and you took her stone,” Linda said quietly.
He flinched. “Not exactly. She killed herself because of me. There is a difference, if a small one. She offered her stone, and I took it.” Hastings extended his left hand; the stone in his ring shone brilliantly. “I use it to remind myself of what I did, and what I lost. It . . . is a source of power, but if I could take it all back, I would, in a heartbeat.”
Jack remembered the scene in Blaise’s mirror, the young, red-haired woman he’d thought was his mother, the struggle at the top of the cliff. She’d buried the dagger in her own breast. That, at least, was the truth.
There was a brief silence, broken only by the snap of resin in the fire, and then Jack spoke. “How did you know?” he asked his aunt.
“It was in her obituary. Her body was found by Lee Hastens, Hastings to us. They weren’t so fussy about spelling in those days. She had a chest wound, but I am sure it was not difficult for a wizard to plant a story about a fall from a horse. Will and Fitch had it partly figured out.”
“But that was a hundred years ago,” Jack repeated stubbornly.
There was a faint smile on Hastings’s face. “I am much older than you think I am, Jack. We wizards are long-lived and have long memories. Why do you think this barbaric tournament system has gone on as long as it has?”
“What about Susannah’s son?” Jack was slowly putting the story together. “What happened to him?”
“His name was Andrew,” Hastings replied. “Your great-grandfather. I helped him escape with his father after Susannah’s death. I kept track of him, kept the Roses away from him, but chose not to interfere with him after Susannah died.” There was a century of pain in his voice.
The man in the mirror had wept, rocking the young woman in his arms. “You were in love with Susannah,” Jack said. “And you’re the one who tends her grave.” The words came back to him. Wizards have long memories.
Hastings did not dispute it. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and stared moodily into the fire.
After a moment, Linda said in a voice that would cut diamonds, “So, Jack, it appears that Mr. Hastings is working his way down through the Downey women. First your great-great grandmother, then me. Perhaps your mother is next.”
“Just stop it!” Jack said it loudly enough to shut them both up. He felt that he was getting way too much information, but still not enough to understand. He’d never seen his aunt in such a state, ever, and he hoped he never would again. There was a raw, primitive edge to her anger that was bewildering. Now they were both staring at him.
“Becka is my mother,” Jack went on, more quietly. “She’s a great lawyer and a civil libertarian, and she’ll always back the underdog in a fight. She loves medieval literature, and she makes her students love it, too. She likes to garden and take in strays. And she has nothing at all to do with this.”
“That’s what wizards do, Jack,” Linda said evenly. “They go after whatever they want, and run over other people in the process. And it looks like you’re on course to be the next sacrifice in Mr. Hastings’s quest for revenge.”
Hastings spread his fingers. “I didn’t ask for this job. You asked me to save him, and I’m doing the best I can.” He smiled bitterly. “Don’t you see? I’ve failed. More than a hundred years I’ve been fighting the Roses, trying to organize a rebellion against this system, training warriors to defend themselves, pulling off daring raids and rescues. And for what? The Warrior Guild has been wiped out, for all intents and purposes.” His voice softened. “I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. You’ve been fighting this war since you were Jack’s age. From what I’ve heard, you’re still fighting. Just not with me.” He held her gaze for a long moment, and then looked away, toward the fire.
Linda looked stricken. “Lee, I—”
“Even that’s not enough for them,” Hastings growled. “Now Jessamine Longbranch is trying to figure out how to create new warriors. Next they’ll be digging up the bodies of those they’ve murdered and cutting them apart.” He touched the ring on his finger self-consciously.
“So it’s time to change strategies. I’ve been cutting off the arms of the beast, and it’s done no good. This time I’m going after the heart.”
“You’re going to try to gain control of the council,” Linda whispered. “And the artifacts.”
Hastings nodded. “If I play Jack, and win, I’ll own the Wizard Council and all their cache of magical weapons under their damned rules, at least until the next tournament. And there won’t be another, if I can prevent it.” He looked at Jack. “As I told you, I had hoped neither House would be able to come up with a player. They would forfeit, and you wouldn’t have to fight.”
“Well, maybe you can find the Red Rose player and eliminate him,” Linda said acidly, mimicking Dr. Longbranch. “That would be perfect.”
Hastings slammed his fist against the table, rattling the crockery. “Do you have a better suggestion? I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think it was Jack’s best chance. It’s too late. What do you think his future is going to be like? Where are you planning to hide? They’re going to butcher him sooner or later, just like the rest of the Weirlind, and there’s nothing you or I can do about it. And if they take him to play, you know what they’ll do to him, don’t you? At least if I sponsor him, that won’t happen.”
“Mr. Hastings told me that both the Red and the White Rose will be hunting for me now,” Jack said with little emotion. “He said they would go after my family in order to get to me. Is that true?”
Linda sighed. “That has been the pattern,” she admitted.
“No matter where I go, they’ll track me down. I can never go home.” Jack shook his head. “I’m already tired of this, and it’s only been a few months. I can’t do this for a lifetime. At least this is clean and simple.”
T
here was a brief silence. “Where are they holding the tournament?” Linda asked.
Hastings shrugged. “At Raven’s Ghyll, perhaps.”
Linda drew in a quick breath. “What makes you think you would get out of there alive? The members of the council will draw lots to choose who has the honor of cutting your throat.”
Hastings smiled. “As a sponsor, I will be protected.”
“Until someone gets you alone. Wizard’s rules are meant to be broken,” Linda said. To Jack’s surprise, there were tears in her eyes. “Leander, maybe you are determined to get yourself killed, but leave Jack out of it.”
“I’m already in it, Aunt Linda,” Jack said quietly. Maybe it was the effect of the merger with Brooks, but there was some part of him that was no longer a child.
Linda seemed to sense it, too. “You’re different,” she whispered. “First your body, and now ...” The tears had escaped and were now sliding down her cheeks. “You’re sixteen years old,” she said softly. “You’re too young for this fight.”
“I never picked it,” Jack said. He turned to Hastings, feeling unusually calm and resolute. “You need to let my mother go now. Aunt Linda can take her back. Whatever you two can cook up between you to keep her from worrying is fine. I’ll be at your bout. But I don’t want her involved with this or with you. I think I deserve that much.”
“Jack, I’m sorry. I’ll send your mother back with Linda,” Hastings said. He knelt beside Becka and took her hands. He spoke quietly, and although Jack was listening intently, he couldn’t make out most of the charm. Becka blinked and sat up, looking confused.
“Becka, Linda is here to drive you down to Oxford. Jack’s going to stay on with me for a few days. We’re going camping in Langdale Pikes. I’ll drive him down to you next week.” Jack was beginning to recognize the sound of wizardry.
Becka stared at him a moment, then nodded. “I suppose I knew we couldn’t stay here forever,” she said. “But thank you for your . . . hospitality. I know you’ll have fun, sweetheart,” she said to Jack, managing a smile. “It will just take a minute to get my things.” She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but then lost the train of it. She stood, wrapping her arms about herself, then turned and fled up the stairs.