The Wizard Heir (36 page)

“I'm surprised you would allow yourself to be
directed and interrogated by an enchanter,” Leicester said acidly.
“This is wizard business, as I said.”

“But Hastings is a member of the Wizard
Council,” Ravenstock pointed out. “And deserves as much protection
under the rules as any of the rest of us.”

“Leander Hastings is a murderer, a schemer, and a
traitor to his kind,” Adam Sedgwick said.

“Like any other wizard,” Jason muttered.

Seph recalled that Sedgwick was an ally of
Leicester's, who had supported him at the Legends meeting. He was a tall,
aristocratic-looking man, probably the youngest wizard on the council.

“He's encouraged this rebellion of the servant
guilds by serving as their spokesperson and instigator,” Sedgwick went on.
“Do you think they would have succeeded to this degree on their own,
without the support of wizards?”

“Then where is he?” Geoffrey Wylie asked,
looking about pointedly. “If this is his scheme, where is the
schemer?”

“If this is his triumph, then why isn't he here
to enjoy it?” Ravenstock added, warming to the subject. “As council
member or participant, he should be here.”

“Perhaps we should search the premises,”
Linda suggested. “Perhaps the Council of Wizards would like to ask Dr.
Leicester why he has recruited, tortured, and enslaved more than a dozen young
wizards at the school he calls the Havens. Perhaps the council would like to
know what Leicester and D'Orsay plan to do with that kind of power. Do you
really believe he plans to use it against enchanters, warriors, sorcerers, and
seers?”

The low buzz from the sidelines increased to a rumble.
Seph stirred. “I'm going to tell them where Hastings is,” he said.

Jason gripped his arm. “Something's coming down.
Let them show their hand, first.”

Bruce Hays returned and handed Gregory Leicester a
rolled parchment. Leicester cleared his throat. “We'll address these
issues in a moment. But before we hare off on a tangent, why don't we finish
what we started? We have a new constitution to sign.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Jason said.
“He can't be anxious to sign off on the new constitution.”

In answer, Seph looked up toward the gallery. Unnoticed
by the rest of the conference participants, the alumni were lining up along the
rail, looking down at them, everyone but Warren Barber, who lay immobile in the
garden.

Leicester was speaking again. “We'll need one
representative from each guild to sign it. You can decide among yourselves who
will have that honor.” He paused. “We'll start with the Seers
Guild.”

Blaise Highbourne and Aaron Bryan were seated together
on one side of the table. Hays brought the parchment around to their side and
put it before them. Bryan picked up the pen, but Blaise was reading it. He put
his finger to the page, reread a passage.

Seph was watching his face, saw it change. Blaise
looked up at Leicester. “This is not the document we voted on.”

Leicester shrugged. “The document is different
than the ones we considered previously.” His voice hardened. “But you
will all sign it, nevertheless.”

Jeremy Ravenstock stood. “We have already chosen
a constitution,” he said coldly. “We are not signing any other.”

Leicester looked up at the alumni in the gallery, then
back at Ravenstock. He extended his hand, and a bolt of blue flame erupted from
his fingertips. For a moment, Ravenstock was a silhouette, spinning from the
force of the blow, outlined in flames. And the next moment he lay, unmoving, on
the floor, the stone scorched under him. A wisp of smoke spiraled upward, and
the air was filled with the stench of burning flesh. There was a shocked
silence.

“I only need one wizard,” said Leicester.
“And I will sign. Everyone else is expendable. Our experiment in
representative government has come to its conclusion.”

At a gesture from D'Orsay, every door into the hall
slammed shut.

Several members of the council came to their feet.
“What do you think you're doing?” Wylie demanded furiously.

“This.” Drawing on the strength of the
alumni in the gallery, Leicester cast an immobilization charm that smashed down
on everyone in the room, paralyzing them and pinning them to their seats. Save
Claude D'Orsay and Adam Sedgwick and a woman Seph didn't know, who had thrown
up shields prior to the launch of the charm. And Seph and Jason, who had
retreated deep into the fireplace.

D'Orsay took his place next to Leicester. Sedgwick and
the woman wizard joined them, smiling.

“Who's the woman next to Sedgwick?” Seph
asked Jason.

“Nora Whitehead. Bad news,” Jason replied.

D'Orsay spoke. “Esteemed colleagues, members of
the Council of Wizards, I would like to thank you all for attending this little
gathering. It has made our task that much easier.”

He smiled. “Did you really think I would go to
such lengths to appease the servant class?” He shook his head.
"However, it was a perfect excuse to assemble the most powerful members of
the Wizard Guild in one place.

“We wizards can no longer afford to debate
endlessly and fight among ourselves. You see, we've grown weak over the years.
Toothless. How else to explain this rebellion of the underguilds? It should
have been put down immediately and ruthlessly. We believe it's time to unite
under a new and simpler covenant with clear rules of succession.”

Leicester unrolled the parchment, flattened it against
the walnut surface of the podium, cleared his throat, and began to read to his
captive audience.

It was all there. Reinstatement of the guild
hierarchy. Codification of the subservient status of what Leicester called the
lesser guilds. Abolition of the Sanctuary. Implementation of a warrior-breeding
program with eventual resumption of the tournaments.

However, under the new regime, the tournaments would
be held for tradition's sake, for entertainment purposes only. Their role in
allocating power would no longer be necessary. Gregory Leicester and Claude
D'Orsay would be established guildmasters for life with control over the
magical artifacts of both wizard houses and lineal descent to their male
children. The alumni would form the core of a disciplinary force bound to
Leicester and D'Orsay. They would adjudicate any wizard disputes and mete out
discipline to other wizards as they saw fit.

When Leicester finished reading, he looked around the
room. “Are there any questions?”

One of the council wizards spoke, an older man wearing
a coat embroidered with red roses, someone Seph didn't know. “Yes. I have
a question. Are you two out of your minds?”

D'Orsay nodded to Leicester, and Leicester incinerated
the old man on the spot. There were no more questions.

“So,” Leicester said. “Let's proceed
with the signing.” He returned his attention to the seers, Aaron Bryan and
Blaise Highbourne.
“Mr           
Bryan, is it? I see you have the pen in your hand. Mr. Hays?” Bruce Hays
shoved the parchment in front of him.

Bryan dropped the pen on the table and shook his head
stubbornly, looking around at the others at the table for support. Hays gripped
his shoulder, pushed power through his hand. The soothsayer gasped with pain,
the blood leaving his face. Hays leaned down and spoke softly into his ear. It
only took a few minutes. The seer signed.

Leicester smiled. “That wasn't difficult, and it
doesn't have to be painful. It's up to you.”

They moved on to the Sorcerers' Guild, and Hays
focused his powers of persuasion on Kip McKenzie rather than Mercedes. Trinity
had been a focus of rebellion for a long time. Leicester and D'Orsay apparently
hoped the other representatives would be easier to intimidate.

Kip didn't hold out for much longer than Aaron Bryan.
Anyone could see it was a hopeless cause. The illusion of power that they had
all enjoyed so briefly was dissipating like the soft breath of the lake. It was
just wizards, once again, making all the rules, pushing people around.

Hays carried the parchment to Akana Moon. But
Leicester shook his head. He walked back along the table until he stood behind
Linda Downey. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, as if formally
taking possession.

“Perhaps Linda Downey would like the
honor,” Leicester suggested, emphasizing the name. “Since she's
played such an important role in today's proceedings.”

Linda stared straight ahead, her face a mask of
indifference.

She'll die before she signs Leicester's document, Seph
thought. He glanced around the room. All the doors were magically welded shut.
There was no way to put their plan into motion.

“We've got to reach Madison,” he said to
Jason.

“We can't walk through walls.”

Seth peered up into the chimney and shook his head.
Not even Jason's slender body would fit through.

At the table, Akana Moon looked from Leicester to
Linda. She pulled the parchment toward her. “I'll sign,” she said
quickly. And did.

And then there was just Jack and Ellen, the two
warriors, both of the Trinity faction.

“Who'll it be?” Hays asked, grinning. Ellen
and Jack looked at each other, as if establishing a pact of resistance between
them.

Hays looked from Jack to Ellen, debating. After a
moment's indecision, he chose Ellen and put his hands on her shoulders. Power
crackled into her. She went rigid, gasping a little, eyes wide, but saying
nothing. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. Jack, watching, looked like he
might jump out of his own skin, but Ellen stubbornly shook her head.

“Ellen,” Linda said tonelessly.
“Please. There's no point. You might as well sign.”

Ellen shook her head, and Hays sent the flame in
again. All the blood drained from Ellen's face. She bit her lip until it bled,
still saying nothing. It seemed to go on forever, and then he released her, and
her head drooped forward, sweat dripping from her face onto the table. Jack let
out his breath in a long hiss.

Hays looked at Leicester, shrugging helplessly.
“I'm afraid … if I do more, it might kill her.”

Leicester sighed. “You're handling it all wrong.
Give the pen to the boy. Kill the girl if he won't sign.” Hays seemed
intrigued by the idea, but didn't go very far with it, because Jack scribbled his
name on the document and shoved it back to Hays. Ellen glared at him but he
wouldn't meet her eyes. And it was done.

By now, Seph and Jason had walked the length of the
hall, trying all the doors, just to be sure. All were secured. Leicester and
D'Orsay meant to make sure no one slipped away from the party early. But when
Seph looked up at the alumni in the gallery, he noticed that some of them were
missing.

After the constitution was “approved,” there
was a brief pause while Leicester looked it over and then signed it with a
flourish on behalf of the wizards.

“Now, all that remains is to carry this new
constitution to Raven's Ghyll and have it consecrated,” Leicester said.
“But first we have a matter of discipline to attend to.”

Wizard
Discipline

Time passed slowly in the cellar room behind the
fermentation chamber. There was no clear evidence of its progress, no clues as
to weather, or events in the world outside. Martin had brought breakfast to
Hastings the day before, but hadn't appeared since. So Jason hadn't been able
to get to him.

Hastings wasn't hungry anyway. He was sleeping more
and more, his body conserving its resources, resisting the draining of power
from his stone.

It took some getting used to, walking into traps. He'd
spent a lifetime avoiding them. Still, Seph was safely out of harm's way, for
the time being at least. By now he would be back in Trinity. Hastings consoled
himself with that. His was an ancient line, and it would continue through Seph.
Throughout more than a hundred years of risk and intrigue, that had never
seemed important. Until now.

A slight sound at the door alerted him that someone
was coming. The bolt slid back, and then he was blinded as the switch was
thrown and the bare bulb kindled. Someone came and stood over him, backlit by
the fixture.

“Mr. Hastings.”

“Martin? What a pleasant surprise.” Those
few words seemed to claim all his breath.

Martin dropped to his knees beside him. “They're
coming for you. We only have a few minutes.”

“They're coming for me?” Hastings tried to
show a spark of interest. “What for?”

“To kill you. There's two wizards dead already.
And I think we're going to kill some more people after you.” Martin stared
at the floor.

“Who's dead?”

“Ravenstock. And Hadrian Brennan, from the Wizard
Council.”

“From the Wizard Council?” Hastings's
sluggish mind tried to fit that into some scheme. “Why are you attacking
them? What's going on?”

Martin's eyes slid away. “Dr. Leicester wrote up
a new constitution. Everybody just signed it. He and D'Orsay are kings for
life. Something like that.”

“I see. So, Martin. Why are you here?”

“I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for
everything that's happened.”

Hastings sighed. “If you've come to make
confession, I can scarcely offer absolution.”

But Martin rolled on. “I understand why you
killed Joseph. It was a brave thing to do. Dr. Leicester was … was torturing
him. Leicester is a coward. He was afraid of Joseph. Even … even with our help.
That's why he kept him doped up on Weirsbane. And he's afraid of you. That's
why he had me place the torc.”

And then, unexpectedly he smiled, the brown eyes
lighting behind his glasses. “Only the wizard who places a gefyllan de
sefa can remove it,” he said. He reached for the collar.

Hastings held up a hand. “Are you sure you want
to do this? It probably won't make any difference in the end.”

“It does to me.”

“Leicester will kill you.”

“I don't really care.” Again, Martin reached
toward Hastings, took hold of the collar around his neck, and manipulated the
catch. The torc fell away, landing with a clang on the stone floor. It was
sooty black, tarnished, and unrecognizable as the jeweled collar Martin had
placed three days before.

The immediate effect was anything but pleasant. The
little power that was left in Hastings slammed back into his stone, protecting
the source over everything else. For a moment, Hastings thought he might vomit
all over Martin Hall. He leaned his head back against the wall, taking deep
breaths.

“It's not that I'm not grateful, but it's a pity
you couldn't have managed this a day or two ago.”

Martin picked up the collar. “Now I'll reverse
the charm. But I'm afraid it will take some time to restore your stone fully.
And …” He glanced toward the door. Hastings could hear it, too. Someone
coming.

Martin refastened the collar around Hastings's neck,
fumbling in his haste. It was all Hastings could do to submit. He would prefer
dying unencumbered. Martin muttered the countercharm as the door opened.

Leicester had sent only three of the alumni to fetch
him, a reflection of Hastings's presumed diminished powers and the need to keep
watch on those council in the chamber. The one in the lead, Bruce Hays, skidded
to a halt when he saw Martin. “What are you doing here?”

“I've asked Mr. Hastings to forgive us for
everything we've done,” Martin said, without hesitation. “I wanted
him to understand we had no choice.”

“Oh, please.” Hays rolled his eyes. “Do
you realize how powerful we'll be under the new constitution? We'll be the
enforcers. We'll have all the toys at our disposal. Unlimited access to the
servant guilds.”

Hastings could feel the power returning, a faint
trickle, like good brandy into his gut. So slowly.

Hays unfastened the chains from the wall. They hauled
him to his feet and propelled him toward the door, Martin Hall following
behind. They half lifted him up the stairs, out of the cellar, and into the
fresher air above.

Hastings looked quickly about him when they entered
the hall. The Weir representatives were seated around a large table at the
center of the room, bodies locked in place. Thirty-odd members of the Wizard
Council were ranged along the wall, similarly incapacitated.

Linda was seated at the head of the table. Leicester
was standing just behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. She had her
enchanter mask on, the carefully blank expression that could mean anything at
all. Hastings could tell that it frustrated Leicester, and he smothered a
smile.

But then Linda saw Hastings, and the mask slipped a
little. Her expression was complex: surprise, pain, a question. She thinks I
killed our son, Hastings reminded himself. And realized that she might never
learn the truth.

The end of the room opposite the door was anchored by
a huge fireplace. What looked like an executioner's block had been placed just
in front of the hearth. Leicester's young wizards were milling around it. This,
then, was their destination.

Hays directed Hastings to stand just behind the block.
The alumni arranged themselves in two arcs on either side of the fireplace with
the stone at their center and the open end toward the conference table. The
wizards along the perimeter and the other Weir at the table shifted and
whispered like a class at dismissal time.

Leicester faced his audience. "Under the new
constitution, punishment for traitorous activity will be quick and direct, as
it was in centuries past. This serves all of us.

"For years, a traitorous wizard who styles
himself as the Dragon has interfered with the administration of the Rules of
Engagement and incited the servant guilds to rebellion against their lawful
lords and masters. The fact that he has survived this long speaks to our lack
of an organized enforcement entity.

“Through our efforts, we have captured the Dragon
and disabled the gift that he has dishonored and misused. We will now mete out
justice before your eyes.”

A rumble of excitement and dismay rolled through the
crowd: muted excitement from the wizards on the perimeter and dismay around the
table.

Two of the alumni advanced, bearing an elaborate
velvet robe that they settled about Leicester's shoulders. Two more came
forward carrying a long, jeweled case. They knelt before Leicester and opened
the case. He lifted from it an elaborate staff that he held aloft in his two
hands.

“Leander Hastings, known as the Dragon, you have
been convicted of treason and inciting of rebellion among the servant guilds.
Do you have anything to say before your sentencing?”

Hastings raised his brows. “I've been convicted?
Somehow that got by me. By what court?”

“You're a traitor, Hastings. You don't deserve
due process.”

Hastings looked him up and down. “You always did
like to play dress-up, Gregory. Get on with it, then.”

“And so for these crimes you are sentenced to
death. Sentence to be carried out immediately.”

“Leicester! May I speak?” It was Linda.

Hastings swore under his breath. “Linda, no. Leave
it be.”

Linda ignored him. “I have something to say
relative to this man's crimes.”

“Just get on with it, will you?” Hastings
said to Leicester. “Don't you have other murders to commit yet
tonight?” He looked over at the wizards against the wall, and they shifted
uneasily.

Leicester smiled. “No, Hastings, I think she
deserves to be heard. After all, you murdered her son.” He walked back to
where Linda was sitting, yanked her to her feet, and led her to the front of
the room, pointing her at the defendant. “Speak!”

But Linda did not speak to Hastings. Instead, she
turned and addressed the assembly. "Leicester and D'Orsay are to be
commended. God knows, they are efficient. Risking life and limb, they kidnapped
an adolescent boy so they could lure the Dragon here to Second Sister. They
captured the notorious Leander Hastings, locked him in a wine cellar, and
within hours, convicted him of a capital crime. Now they propose to summarily
execute him.

“What are the Dragon's crimes? He is known to be
in the habit of asking difficult questions. He is a spymaster who turns over
stones and exposes what's underneath. He reveals secrets. On occasion, his
followers have stolen magical objects and blown things up. Yet it seems to me
the Dragon's greatest crime has been revealing the truth about the guild
hierarchy.”

You could have heard the beat of a butterfly's wing in
the hall. The whisper of snow sifting into the treetops.

D'Orsay shook his head as if he couldn't believe what
he was hearing.

Linda went on. “Tyranny is the most efficient
form of government. But I would suggest that due process has a purpose. That
there is a difference between efficiency and justice. You see, Leander Hastings
is not the Dragon. I am.”

As soon as she said it, Seph knew it was true. From
the elegant way she'd gutted Leicester and D'Orsay. From the look on Leander
Hastings's face. From so many mysteries finally explained.

The solution to a puzzle seems obvious, once you know
what it is.

Jason nudged him. “So, Seph. Guess you're the son
of the Dragon after all,” he said dryly.

Leicester and D'Orsay were staring at Linda as if
they'd never really seen her before. And might never underestimate her again.

“So,” Leicester said, attempting to regain
his equilibrium. “We have here the brains and body of the rebellion. We
are most thankful that you spoke up, Ms. Downey, in time to prevent a serious
miscarriage of justice. It appears that two executions are called for, instead
of one.”

“Come, Gregory,” D'Orsay said hastily.
“Surely not. Such a waste, I mean, an enchanter? Surely she can be
rehabilitated.”

“We've got to do something” Seph
muttered. “Even if we can't do what we originally planned.”

“Let's split up and take our stations,”
Jason whispered. “I'm going up to the gallery.”

Seph concealed himself in the alcove just outside the
butler's pantry. He turned and tapped gently on the warded door, hoping Madison
might hear him and Leicester and D'Orsay would not.

“Madison!”

No answer. Seph turned back to the hall and peered out
from his hiding place next to the fireplace.

Leicester had prevailed, because Seph's parents were
being escorted to the front of the room by a crowd of nervous alumni as
Leicester stood by with the staff. It appeared to be the same one he'd used the
night at the outdoor chapel, when he'd tried to “recruit” Seph. It
seemed a decade ago.

“Perhaps, just this once, we'll forgo 'ladies
first,'” Leicester said, smiling. “So you can watch the execution of
the man who murdered your son.”

They shoved Hastings to his knees. Leicester gripped
the staff with both hands, raised it high.

Then Martin Hall said, “Look!” He was
focused on something over Leicester's shoulder. Leicester swung around to see
the shimmer in the air behind them coalesce rapidly into a terrifying presence.

It stretched from the floor nearly to the ceiling in
the great hall. Flames bled off in all directions, writhed against the ceiling
and licked the stone floor. Showers of sparks cascaded over the assembly and
exploded into the galleries. The image continually shifted shape, but it was
too bright to look at for very long, anyway. Although it was midday, the light
coming from the windows in the galleries seemed to have been extinguished. The
room was illuminated only by the fireplace, and by a Dragon whose glittering
wings reached from wall to wall.

The alumni backed away, leaving the prisoners alone at
the block. Hastings pushed to his feet and faced the dragon, shoving Linda
behind him. He was frowning, as if puzzled, but he didn't look particularly
frightened.

Leicester stared fixedly at the image before him, the
color bleached from his face by its brilliance. Seph sensed the headmaster's
mind questing out, trying to discover and destroy the wizard behind the image,
but finding nothing, no trail of magic, no stone, no flesh and blood to focus
on.

Jason Haley, the puppeteer, was safely ensconced in
the gallery above.

The dragon's voice reverberated through the hall.
“Who dares to tamper with the constitution consecrated at Raven's Ghyll
last Midsummer's Day?”

The alumni stirred and muttered, backstepping yet
again.

“Quite the pet you have there, Hastings,”
Leicester said. “Does he have a name?”

Hastings looked from the dragon to Leicester and shook
his head. “It isn't mine.”

“It takes very little power to conjure a phantom.
Apparently we haven't wrung you dry as yet. We'll see if it disappears when
you're dead.” He turned to the alumni. “It's just a construct. It
can't hurt us. Proceed.” The alumni shuffled forward unenthusiastically.

Now to give the dragon some bite. Seph disabled the
unnoticeable charm and stepped back into the partial concealment of the pantry.
He focused on Leicester, drew power in from all his extremities, collecting it
in his arms and fingers, then gave it everything he had as the dragon breathed
out. Flame slammed into Leicester, ran in hungry rivulets over his skin,
charred his elegant clothes, and scorched the floor all around him before being
drawn into the head of the staff, leaving Leicester still standing, astonished,
but unhurt. Linked as he was with the alumni, he was just too strong.