The Dragon Heir (29 page)

Warren Barber was hungry for
news, stuck on the periphery, and running out of options. After lying low for a
while, he'd returned to Trinity, hoping he could get word on the outcome of the
fire at the waterfront tavern. To his surprise, the town was surrounded by a
forty-foot Weirwall much more elaborate than anything he'd ever built. And who
was guarding the gate? Jack Swift and Ellen Stephenson, who'd somehow escaped
the trap he'd put them in.

Leesha was certainly dead. No
one but him could've taken off that collar. But Leesha dead was not necessarily
a good thing. Because there was no way he'd get past the guards at the gate on
his own.

He felt like a kid locked out
of the circus—convinced it was all
happening inside. He wandered back to the perimeter, again and again. Ripples
of power emanated from the town—like someone had thrown a rock into the center
of a magical pool. The whole town was juiced and he just wanted to soak in it.

Well, he never claimed to be a
poet.

Warren wasn't the only one
killing time on the wrong side of the wall. There was a virtual encampment of
wizards in the countryside and lake resorts surrounding the town. He'd had to
duck out of sight when he spotted his erstwhile ally Claude D'Orsay with
Geoffrey Wylie of the Red Rose. They were inspecting the wall, testing it with
cautious bits of magic. Looking for weaknesses, no doubt.

What was up with that? Since
when were they all chummy? D'Orsay was supposed to be working with him, against
the Roses. Of course, there'd been no communication between them except
through Leesha, and D'Orsay wasn't supposed to know who her partner was. Like
Leesha hadn't betrayed him immediately.

Warren was beginning to feel
irrelevant. It had been weeks since anyone had even tried to kill him. As long
as someone was trying to kill you, you knew you were important.

He had the Covenant, but it
was seeming more and more like a worthless piece of paper, since he didn't have
the means to consecrate it. It hadn't drawn anyone useful to him.

It was a class thing. Warren
might be a wizard, ruler over the Anaweir and the servant guilds, but the
aristocrats who lorded over the Houses would never give him a seat at the table.

After a few days, he grew
tired of basking in reflected rays. What he needed was a new partner. Or,
preferably, a servant. He could have his pick of the Anaweir, but he wanted
someone who could contribute more.

Someone like Madison Moss.

As far as he knew, Madison had
left Trinity. He'd found no clues as to where she'd gone when he searched her
room. But if she wasn't in Trinity, she was somewhere.

It was pathetically easy. He
grabbed a car from a nearby parking lot and drove into Cleveland, found a public
library branch and got online. His search on Madison Moss turned up a number of
hits from art shows in Coalton County, Ohio.

Coalton County. He'd followed
Jason Haley south to Coalton County. Warren had never been able to find out why
he was down there.

Now he knew. And now that he
had a name and a place, it shouldn't be hard to find her.

Brice Roper was beginning to
think that being a wizard was overrated. Yes, he could have almost any
girl, get almost anything, burn up almost anything he wanted.

But it had been that way all
his life. He was rich, he was spoiled, and ever since he could remember, he'd
focused on what he didn't have. And what he didn't have was the ability to get
what he wanted from Madison Moss. That was linked to a lot of other things,
like impressing his father, which was important because he couldn't recall that
ever happening. Those were his goals—impressing
his old man and then getting out of Coalton County for good.

It gnawed at him, even though
he knew he should just leave and forget about Roper Coal and his father and
being humiliated on Booker Mountain.

It was on his mind when he
woke up, and it was on his mind when he went to bed, and it contaminated his
dreams. He brooded on it in class, and snapped at those brave enough to sit
down at his lunch table. All the charms of being king to a court of
high-school seniors were wearing thin.

It didn't help that his father
became more and more of a pain as he traveled further down the road to
financial ruin. Bryson Roper, Sr. had formally approached Madison Moss about
selling Booker Mountain, and she'd formally refused. The only good thing was,
Bryson, Sr. was out of town a lot, trying to line up financing, cut some deals,
find a partner, something.

Carlene was no help. She
claimed she'd talked to Madison until she was blue in the face, and it made no
difference.

Brice still couldn't figure
out where Madison fit into the magical scheme of things. He'd asked around, and
nobody had heard of a Witch Guild. Nobody but wizards ever displayed that kind
of power.

What he wouldn't admit was
that his insides turned to water at the thought of confronting her again.

So he spent his days
sleepwalking through classes, avoiding his father, and dreaming of revenge.

One Saturday he'd just
finished a long ride and handed his horse off to Mike. He was walking up to the
house to take a much-needed shower when someone rattled up the drive in a Jeep
and pulled up in front of the barn.

They didn't get many
unannounced visitors, so Brice waited, leaning against the split-rail fence
that enclosed the paddock.

It was a boy, a stranger of
medium height, maybe a little older than Brice, with shaggy white-blond hair
and pale blue eyes that were somehow startling. He walked with a smooth gait,
flowing across the ground like a predator. Brice felt both intense interest and
prickling unease. He glanced back to see whether Mike was still in sight, but
he had led Annie into the barn.

“Can I help you?”
Brice asked, aiming for a nonchalance he didn't feel.

“Maybe,” the boy
said, smiling. “I guess I'm lost. I'm looking for Madison Moss.” His
voice was soft, but, like his gait, it got your attention. “I heard she
lived up this road. Is this the place?”

No, Brice wanted to say. It's
not. Now get the hell out of here.

But he didn't. This guy was
looking for Madison. Could he be a witch, too? Was that why he was so
intimidating?

“You are lost,”
Brice said, forcing a smile. “What do you want with Madison?”

“We met last summer and
I've been looking for her ever since,” the stranger said. “I wanted
to surprise her.”

It was an odd thing to say—kind of stalkerish—but Brice had the sense this guy
didn't care what Brice made of it. Like what he thought didn't matter.

“Maybe she's mentioned
you,” Brice said, again looking over his shoulder for Mike, who had not
reappeared. “What's your name?”

“That's not
important,” the pale-haired boy said. “How do I get to her
house?”

“Well,” Brice said,
aiming for dismissive. “I don't want to send you up there if I don't know
who you are.”

The stranger struck quick as a
snake, shoving Brice back against the fence. He gripped Brice by the shoulders
and sent a flood of Persuasion into him. Brice's reflexive magical defense was
feeble by comparison, but it got the other boy's attention.

“You're a wizard!”
he said, letting go of Brice. He sounded surprised and looked a little wary,
but not particularly impressed.

“Y-you, too?” Brice
stammered.

The wizard kept his hands
raised to waist level, as if ready to defend himself. “Well, well,”
the boy said. “Who knew?” He studied Brice, then looked around, as if
other, more powerful wizards might come out of the woodwork. “What House
are you with?”

“Um,” Brice said,
feeling an unaccustomed social inferiority, “I'm…um…unaffiliated at
present.”

“What do you know? Me,
too,” the other boy said. “What's your name?”

“Brice Roper.”

“You a friend of
Madison's or what?”

“Not really,” Brice
said, assuming that was the safest answer. The other wizard still hadn't
supplied his own name. It was more like an interrogation than a conversation.
“I know her, is all. I went to school with her.”

“You're not going out,
then, or anything?” The boy's tone was faintly mocking.

“Not hardly!” Brice
couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

The boy smiled. “Then you
won't mind if I pay her a visit, will you?”

Brice felt flattered. It was a
kind of wizard-to-wizard thing, like the boy was seeking his permission to come
into his territory.

“Well, I guess I'd like
to know what you want with her.” Not that Brice was worried about Madison,
but by now his curiosity was aroused.

“Don't worry,” the
boy said. “I don't mean her any harm.” He smiled, eyes glittering.
“Not if she cooperates.”

Brice  stared at the other
wizard. Hope crowded out surprise. Maybe he'd found the solution to his
problem. A way to get back at Madison.

But then he thought of the
episode on Booker Mountain. Did this arrogant wizard know what she could do?

“Well,” Brice said.
“She's…um…not been that cooperative in the past,” he said. “I'd
be careful, if I were you.”

“Really?” the boy
said, appraising him with sudden intensity. “Tell me more.”

“Why don't we go on up to
the house,” Brice suggested. “And I'll tell you all about her.”
He turned toward the house, then paused, recovering a little confidence.
“What did you say your name was?”

Annoyance flashed across the
boy's face, and Brice thought he'd made a mistake. Then the wizard smiled and
extended his hand. “Actually, I didn't. I'm Warren Barber.”

Jason spoke the unnoticeable charm
and slipped through the Weirgate, hearing the whisper of magical locks as one
of the ghost warriors, Mick, pulled it shut behind him. It was after midnight,
but the moon had not risen. Beyond the wall, the dark pressed down, and a
steady rain swallowed the light. But Jason walked this path nearly every night
in his role as spy. He'd had plenty of practice, slipping around unnoticed back
at the Havens. Now he slid between the trees like a vapor.

He was well-suited to the role
of spy, since it required little in the way of magical power. Still, the
perimeter was difficult to navigate these days. You could hardly move without
tripping over wizards. Everywhere he looked, wizard fire sparkled in the
darkness like stars fallen to earth. Wizard voices in multiple languages
collided under the canopy of trees.

They'd come from all over,
more and more every day. The Red Rose. The White Rose. Traders. The
unaffiliated. Drawn to Trinity by the thrum of power within its walls.

Wizards fricking camping. Roughing
it in the forest. Like a Wizard Woodstock. It was almost funny.

But not quite.

And all the while, the Anaweir
came and went, oblivious to the gathering horde, unaware of the growing tension
on either side of Mercedes's wall.

Dodging around several warded
campsites, Jason crossed a rocky streambed and climbed the ridge beyond. From
there he could monitor the comings and goings from the wizard camps and take a
rough count of the Weir on the perimeter. But this time, as he crested the
rise, he saw that the view had changed dramatically. The landscape was obscured
by an ominous shadow that extended as far as he could see in both directions.
It took him a moment to fathom what it was. And when he did, he swore and
pounded his fist into his open palm.

The Roses were building their
own wall, a few hundred yards from Mercedes's fortification. It was tall and
slick and menacing, iced with razorwire, lacking the grace and style of
Mercedes's barrier. A poisonous green light reflected back from it, like an oil
slick on black water.

It was a nightmarish kind of
wall—the kind the witch builds to keep
the prince out. Or in. The kind that surrounds the dark lord's castle. It was a
wall that would trap both Weir and Anaweir. And from the looks of things, it
was nearly finished.

They must've used glamours to
hide their progress. Even if they'd waited to begin construction until after
dark, they would  have had more hands to share in the work than Mercedes and
her crews. Not to mention unlimited magical firepower. It was a testament to
the forces arrayed against them.

Jason descended the ridge on
the far side, slipping and sliding on the loose shale. He knew who to credit
for this latest play.

Wylie and Longbranch and
D'Orsay's elaborate, heavily warded pavilions now stood just outside the
half-built wall. There they hatched schemes and fought with each other, from
what Jason had gleaned over the previous days.

As he approached the
pavilions, Jason moved with exquisite caution, alert for traps and alarms. He'd
be way better off dead than to be caught out here on his own. Ahead he could
see the glowing silk walls of the tents, enchanted to turn the rain. Above the
peaks flew the banners of the Red and White Rose, and a black raven on white
that was D'Orsay's new signia.

Geoffrey Wylie stood outside
the tents, issuing orders to a huge crowd of eager young wizards clad in damp
camouflage. Among them was Bruce Hays, an alumnus of the Havens, holding
Gregory Leicester's glass and metal wizard staff, and looking damn proud of it.

With Wylie were Jessamine
Longbranch, dressed in couture camouflage. And Claude D'Orsay.

D'Orsay's patrician features
were clearly revealed in the light that leaked from the pavilion. The tall
wizard stood in the midst of his enemies, seemingly at ease, expending bits of
power to keep the rain off him. He wore rings on both hands—powerful sefas, if Jason was any judge.
So D'Orsay had come well armed to this meeting.

Devereaux stood next to his
father, eyes wide, taking it all in.

“We'll begin
immediately,” Wylie said. “The Anaweir are … er … unaware of the
rebels' Weirwall, since they can pass freely through it. However, anyone
leaving the sanctuary will be trapped inside our wall. You'll capture
them—Weir and Anaweir—and bring them to
the retention area for processing and identification. As word gets out,
panicked townspeople will no doubt come flooding through the inner wall. We'll
have hundreds of hostages, some of them with strong ties to the rebels.”

“What are we going to do
with them?” Hays asked.

“When we go to breach the
inner wall, we'll pack the area between with immobilized hostages. That way,
the rebels won't be able to use their arsenal against us.”

This was, apparently, Wylie s
plan, because Longbranch rolled her eyes. “Do you really think wizards
will negotiate for Anaweir hostages?”

Wylie shrugged. “Who
knows? They've seemed unaccountably attached to them in the past.”

“Strange.”
Longbranch turned back to the soldiers. “You must immobilize the prisoners
as quickly as possible, so there's no outcry. Particularly the Weir.” She
distributed leather pouches to the soldiers. “This is Gemynd bana. Mind-Slayer.
It will knock them out without being detectable by those inside the walls. Just
be careful with it, or you'll end up flat on your back yourselves.”

Jason stood frozen. Panic
constricted his throat, making it difficult to breathe.

Crap, he thought. It's
beginning. It's really happening. When you're scared, why is it that your mouth
goes dry while your hands get sweaty?

“If there's  any 
question,” Longbranch went  on, “use an immobilization charm. Try not
to muck things up. Now, go.”

The wizard soldiers dispersed,
leaving the three wizards and the boy alone.

“It would help if we knew
more about the weapons you've supplied us, Claude,” Longbranch said.

“Hmmm?” D'Orsay
seemed distracted, gazing wistfully past Longbranch and Wylie to the sanctuary
walls.

Forget it, Jason thought.
You'll never get your hands on the Dragonheart.

D'Orsay wrenched himself away
from his study of the Sanctuary, turning to Longbranch. “You know as much
as I do, Jessamine. We'll have to take a bit of a chance.”

“It appears to me that we're
taking the chance, since it's our wizards who'll be involved in the
attack.”

“I'd be more than happy
to contribute,” D'Orsay replied, “but I'm afraid I'm a bit short on
armies at the moment. I had to leave my guard behind to secure the ghyll.”

“I can fight,
Father,” Devereaux said eagerly. “I'm only one person, but…”

“No, Dev,” D'Orsay
said, scowling. “Not this time.” He turned to the Roses. “How do
you propose to find the Dragonheart once we're inside?”

Longbranch and Wylie glanced
at each other, then looked toward the sanctuary. “Do you really think it
will be hard to find?” Wylie said.

Jason studied the odds,
considered and discarded several options. He might hear more if he stayed, but
wizards already lay waiting for anyone who passed beyond the barrier. There was
no time to lose.

He backed away from the wizard
pavilions, placing his feet carefully so as not to betray himself, though he
felt like his heart was pounding loud enough to be heard on its own.

As soon as he was away, Jason
turned and ran back the way he'd come.

As he neared the inner wall,
his pace slowed. The moon had risen, and shafts of light penetrated the canopy
of trees and bathed the trail in silvery light. The way seemed clear ahead.

Jason left the path and cut
through the trees, approaching the gate from the east. He scanned the smudged
border of forest across the clearing and saw movement in the shadows there.
Then, startlingly close at hand, someone slapped a mosquito. It was all Jason
could do not to flail backward into the underbrush.

The trap was already laid for
the residents of Trinity. Jason was determined not to fall into it.
Unnoticeable or not, Mick would still need to open the gate to let him in.

Half-holding his breath, Jason
crossed the open meadow toward the gate. The back of his neck prickled. At any
moment, he expected to be slammed with an immobilization charm.

When he reached the wall, he
pressed his palm against the gate. “Mick,” he muttered. “Open
up.”

There was no response.

“Mick,” Jason
repeated, a little louder. “It's Jase. Let me in. Get a move on.” He
glanced over his shoulder and saw three wizards step out of the trees, peering
toward the gate. Jason recognized Bruce Hays, packing his fancy staff.

Jason pounded on the gate with
the heel of his hand. “Come on, Mick. Open the fricking gate!”

Finally, he heard movement
within, the unfortunately loud rumble of Mick's voice spewing Irish profanity
from another age. “Can't a man take a bluidy leak in the middle of the
bluidy night 'athout you getting your bollocks in a bluidy…”

Jason looked back at the
wizards. Hays raised his staff and pointed it directly at Jason.

“Aetywan!” Hays shouted. Mist spewed from the tip of the staff
and enveloped Jason in a cloud of vapor.

Unable to respond in his
unnoticeable state, Jason held his breath to avoid breathing in the fumes,
crouched to make a small target, and struggled to remember his sparse
Anglo-Saxon.

Aetywan. That would mean…reveal?

“It's Haley!” Shouts
reverberated across the clearing.

Jason looked down at himself.
The formerly unnoticeable Jason was indeed revealed. It was like being stripped
naked in the middle of Main Street during a block party thrown by your worst enemies.

“Get him!” Hays
shouted. “Grab him! Take him alive!” They charged toward him, baying
like hounds on a scent. More wizards poured out of the woods.

“Mick!” Jason threw
up a pathetic shield, braced his feet against the wall, gripped the edge of the
gate, and yanked. “Open up now or you might as well forget it!”

He was surrounded by wizards,
a kaleidoscope of excited faces, many flinging mind-slayer at him. Lame as it
was, his shield repelled the powder. A wizard staggered and went down, a victim
of friendly fire.

The gate was moving now,
excruciatingly slowly, with Mick's litany of oaths continuing on the other
side, though now with a certain sense of urgency. Jason heard running feet inside the
double-gated barbican, a thud of bodies against the gate, and it slammed open,
spilling Jason and a handful of warriors into the no-man's-land between the
barriers.

Jason scrambled to his feet as
Mick bolted past him, gleefully swinging his axe, bellowing a Gaelic battle
cry. Jack and Ellen and Jeremiah followed, weapons blazing, driving the wizards
back toward the outer wall. Wizard fire spewed into the air, setting the
treetops ablaze.

How long before the fireworks
and sounds of battle drew Anaweir past the inner barrier and into the hands of
the Roses?

Weaponless, Jason sprinted
after the warriors as two wizards closed in on them from behind. Jason tackled
one of the wizards and disabled him by wizard's grip, thrusting his fingers
under his chin and applying power directly to that vulnerable place. Ellen leveled
the other one with the flat of her blade.

“What is going on?”
Jack demanded, smashing back a bolt from Hays's fancy staff. “It looks
like all hell's broken loose.”

“Big trouble,” Jason
gasped “There's an army waiting out there. They've put up their own wall.
They're planning to trap people and take hostages. We've got to go back.”

Reluctantly, the warriors left
off chasing wizards and retreated, spraying flame in their wake to discourage
pursuit. Once inside the gate, Jason helped slam the locks into place while the
walls shuddered under the wizards' assault.

“Where's Seph?”
Jason gasped. “We can't wait any longer. We've got to do something about
the Anaweir. Right now.”