As soon as Fitch stepped outside, the rain slammed against his face so hard he could barely see. He found himself in the castle garden, looking down on Raven’s Ghyll Field.
At first it looked as if the ground itself were on the march, in ghostly gray waves across the valley. Then he could see it was an army of sorts, a motley army whose soldiers seemed drawn from many lands and many times. There were men and women, and some were mere children. Some were armored, others lightly clad, and they carried a variety of weapons. Here and there were splashes of red-gold: warriors with hair the color of Jack’s.
Fitch could hear drums and the wild scream of bagpipes. The warriors had overrun the midway, tents, and trailers at the other end of the valley. The structures were burning, the smoke from the flames adding to the gloom.
“No way,” Fitch breathed. The cottage no longer seemed like a sanctuary, with its walls falling down around them.
Spectators from the galleries fled past them. Others appeared frozen in their seats. Fitch scanned the chaotic scene, looking for Jack. Finally he spotted what looked like a private war going on before the galleries. Hastings, Linda, and some of the neighbors from Jefferson Street were in a tight circle, under siege by a group of wizards who were attacking relentlessly in what looked like a spectacular light show. He could see Jack and Ellen at the center of the circle, sitting on the ground, holding each other tightly. Fitch shook his head. None of this was making sense.
The long arms of the shadow army reached out to enclose the battle on the field. The warriors swung axes and broadswords, slaughtering any wizards who got in their way. Few of the wizards had time to respond, and those that did were impossibly outnumbered. Hastings and the Silver Dragon group, facing outward, stopped and stared in disbelief, but the tournament judges did not see their peril until a muscular Celtic warrior with bright red-gold hair seized one of them and ran him through with his sword. He tossed the dead man to the ground, the blood running from his blade in the rain. The battle came to a swift halt after that. D’Orsay and the four remaining judges formed a tight circle of their own.
There was a breathless pause as warriors and wizards faced one another, though small groups of warriors continued their work at the fringes of the crowd. The ranks of the army parted, and two women walked toward them. One was quite young, not much older than Jack, and she had a head of dark curls. She was dressed in a white linen shirt and trousers from another century, and moved with an elegant, athletic grace. The other was somewhat older, taller than the other woman, with bright, strawberry-blond hair. She wore a long dress that seemed to float over the grass. They stopped in front of the Silver Dragon partisans, and the older one spoke. “The Game is over,” she announced. “Where are the warriors?”
Her voice was eerily familiar. Jack had heard it once before, one night in a graveyard. In another age, it seemed. Ellen helped him to his feet, and they moved awkwardly to the front of the circle, he limping, she supporting him. As he approached the woman who had called for him, he was startled again by her resemblance to his mother. He had seen her before only in pictures.
“Hello, Jack,” she said, smiling. “I see you’ve taken good care of my sword.” She gestured at Shadowslayer. “I think you’ve had more use of it than I ever did.”
“Susannah,” Jack whispered. He was aware of tightly controlled energy, the presence of Hastings just behind him. He turned. The wizard stared at the two women as if he had seen a ghost, which in truth he had.
The younger woman spoke. “Lee, what a man you have become.” She ran forward and threw her arms around Hastings, and he held her tightly, the joy on his face overlaid with wonder.
“Carrie,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I can’t believe it. You look the same.”
Carrie smiled at him, and Jack could see the resemblance between the two: strong noses, high cheekbones, dark curls plastered to their heads. “I’ve been dead for more than a hundred years, and you’ve been living. Living marks a person. That is the difference.” She released him and stepped back.
It was all Jack could do to stay upright, even with Ellen’s support. The earthquake might be over, but his head was spinning. Every part of his body competed for attention.
Susannah noticed. “Can someone get the boy a chair?” she asked. “I think he has been through enough today. Get two chairs,” she added, looking at Ellen.
Two warriors pulled down chairs from the judges’ box and set them in the grass. Jack was startled to see that both warriors looked familiar. One of them was Jeremiah Brooks, and the other was the young knight he had fought at the meadow, in the first bout he’d won.
Brooks helped Jack to his seat, being careful of his ripped arm and injured leg, Ellen assisting on his other side. “Looks like you took a beating today, my friend,” he observed laconically. He nodded at Ellen. “Being as we’re almost brothers and all, I’d suggest you say yes the next time the lady asks for a tumble.” He rubbed his nose and grinned at Jack, who stared at him, too tired to be embarrassed.
The knight brought a bottle of water, turning it over curiously in his hands before handing it to Jack. “I always appreciated that you would not kill me,” he explained. “There comes a time for all of us to die, but you can’t imagine what it is like to go through that over and over.” He jerked a thumb at Ellen. “She always killed everybody.”
Ellen looked chastened. She perched uneasily on the edge of her chair, as if unsure whether she might need to fight her way out of there. Jack shared his bottle of water with her, then sat back and half closed his eyes. His leg was throbbing, and he felt nauseous. After a minute, Ellen got up and set her chair in front of him, then propped his leg up on it. “You should elevate it to keep the swelling down,” she suggested. She sat on the grass next to his seat and leaned her head against his hip, seeming oblivious to the water that ran in rivulets across the ground. The rain had slowed almost to a stop.
“Susannah,” Hastings began awkwardly. She turned to him, acknowledging him for the first time.
“Hello, Lee.”
“Susannah, I’m sorry,” he said simply.
She ran her fingers through her streaming hair. “I did not see my son grow up. That is difficult to forgive.”
“I’m not asking you to forgive me.” The wizard’s hand was extended, something shining in his palm. It was the ring with Susannah’s stone. “I think I should return this to you.”
She studied him a moment. “A hundred years is a long time to hold a grudge,” she said, “for both of us. Carrie and I are asking you to let go of yours, and I will part with mine.” She paused. “I have no use for the stone, now or ever. Keep it, and remember me by it. I believe you’ve learned something since I last saw you.”
Hastings looked as if he would say more, but D’Orsay shoved forward. “Why have you brought this army to the Ghyll?” he demanded. “You have destroyed our property and disrupted our tournament.”
Susannah turned to him. “Your tournament was already in a shambles before we arrived.” She lifted her skirts and climbed into the judges’ box.
“It is unlawful for this gang of warriors to come into the Ghyll uninvited. The Warrior Dead are not to cross unless called, according to the rules. You’ve already murdered a judge,” D’Orsay continued. “I hope you understand you will be held to account for this.”
Susannah was no longer smiling. “You never minded it when we were murdering each other.” She reached for the leather-bound volume of the Rules of Engagement. “Are you ready to write some more rules, Master D’Orsay?”
“What are you doing?” he snapped. “Leave that alone.”
“We have some amendments of our own to suggest,” she said calmly. “Now that you’ve waked the dragon.”
The look on D’Orsay’s face was a mixture of incredulity and fear.
“You see, the Rules of Engagement have held us in bondage since 1532. The covenant was written, bound in the bones of the earth—the Ravenshead ston
e—never to be changed. The rules of the tournament, the relationship between wizards and warriors. Our place in limbo, always waiting to be called to slaughter. But you’ve opened the book. First you violated the rules by playing a wizard, and then you dared change them. You are the lineal Master of the Games, and you did it here in the shadow of the stone, the lair of the dragon. They must be reconsecrated. That’s why we’re here.” She waved a hand at the assembled army.
“We are the dragon.”
“It was not our intent to open the rules to amendment. We’ll put them back the way they were,” D’Orsay said quickly.
“We’ve decided we don’t like the way they were.” Susannah slid the book across the table toward D’Orsay.
“This is wizard business,” the Gamemaster protested. “The rules cannot be changed without a vote of the council.”
Susannah surveyed the wizards present. “I think we have adequate representation here. We’ll take a voice vote. However, I must point out that some among us will be very touchy about the outcome.” She nodded at the sea of warriors. D’Orsay looked at them, then back at her. His face had lost its color. Susannah smiled. “You must understand that there is a risk associated with maintaining an army, even an army of the dead. There is always the risk of mutiny. Now, Master D’Orsay, the rules?”
Reluctantly, D’Orsay climbed into the judges’ box and sat down in front of the table. He slid the book over, flipped to the first blank page, and picked up his pen.
Susannah dictated, “Amendment number one. The tournament system as it has existed since 1532 is abolished.”
D’Orsay put down his pen. “That’s impossible,” he said. “You would destroy our most important tradition. This is the system that has kept us at peace.”
“Second,” Susannah continued, ignoring him. “All guilds of the Weir are equal under the rules. There are no codified superior/subordinate relationships among wizards, warriors, enchanters, sorcerers, or any other class.”
D’Orsay was still shaking his head, but he had picked up his pen and was writing.
Susannah looked out over the crowd, as if thinking. Linda Downey advanced to the edge of the judges’ box, leaned forward, and spoke urgently to her.
“Third,” Susannah said, “the town of Trinity, Ohio is established as a sanctuary. The Weir are to carry out no killings, kidnappings, mind magic, spellbindings, or other black arts within its boundaries.”
D’Orsay kept scribbling, struggling to keep up.
Susannah looked over at Carrie and then at the rest of the assembly, then turned back to D’Orsay. “Fourth. Wizards may no longer call forth the Warrior Dead at will. However, the Warrior Dead will return in force if these amendments are violated.”
D’Orsay finished writing. “Is that it?” he asked sourly.
“One more thing. Henceforth, the rules cannot be changed except by majority vote of a council in which all guilds of the Weir are equally represented, each with a single vote.”
When D’Orsay was finished, he angrily pushed the book toward Susannah. She read what was written and nodded. “Now for the vote. All in favor say aye.”
D’Orsay and the four judges looked at one another, then out at the army, and hesitated. But only for a moment. “Aye,” they mumbled.
“Opposed? No? It’s unanimous then,” Susannah said with satisfaction. She closed the book with a thud. “We like the rules better this way.” She turned and extended her hands to the Weirstone. “We are all heirs of the Weirstone, and submit these mended rules which would govern all of the magical guilds.”
The stone flared up, casting a cold blue light over the Ghyll and everyone in it. And deep beneath the star-shaped scar, Jack the wizard heir felt the warrior stone in his breast respond.
Susannah stood for a moment, her arms wrapped around herself, eyes closed. Then she sighed and opened them. “Now it is time for us to cross.” She turned and saw Nicodemus Snowbeard standing there, leaning on his staff, the wind whipping the clothes around his gaunt frame.
“That was good work, Susannah,” the wizard said, smiling. “I’m proud of you.” He embraced her carefully, as if she might break.
“It’s good to see you, too, Old Bear,” she said, throwing her arms about him in turn. They stood like that for some minutes. Hastings stood nearby, watching, his head tilted, as if trying to work a puzzle that was missing pieces.
Jack drifted into semiconsciousness, but roused himself when a small group of warriors approached him and Ellen. Brooks seemed to be in charge, but he also seemed unaccustomed to making speeches. “Look,” he said finally, scratching himself under the collar of his leather shirt, pulling at his ear. “We really appreciate what you two did here, forcing them to change the rules and all,” he said. “And if you’d ever like to call us up and have a go, we’d be up for it.” He looked at Ellen and smiled a little arrogantly. “I think I could teach your woman here a thing or two. Just for fun, you know, and perhaps a pint or two of ale, to make it interesting,” he added quickly, seeing Ellen bristle.
And Jack remembered how good a pint or two of ale could taste when a man was thirsty. Part of his varied education in the past six months. “Thank you,” Jack said, “I’d like that. But maybe not for a while.”
Carrie embraced Hastings once again. Her voice was quiet, her words for him alone. “I can’t tell you what this has meant, to see you again. It’s time for you to leave behind this obsession with revenge. You must find your own life.” She looked at Linda, then back at Hastings. “Remember me, but you’ll never find happiness if you live in the past.”
Hastings held on to her hands. “I’ll do as you say when this business is entirely finished.” He nodded at the wreckage around them.
“A thin promise for your sister who loves you.” She smiled, but there was already something tenuous about her, as if she were fading. “And now I have to go.”
Hastings made as if to capture her with his arms. “Will you come back? Or perhaps I could come see you . . . where you are.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps we shall travel more freely now, both ways. Only, it’s hard for me to be very long in the world,” she said wistfully.
He looked over her shoulder at Susannah, who still stood next to Snowbeard. “Good-bye, Susannah.”
Susannah smiled. “Maybe we’ll see each other again. You never know.”
The two women stepped back with their comrades. The warrior army shimmered, grew insubstantial. For a moment, it lay like a mist in the Ghyll, and then dissipated in the wind. And with them went the galleries and all the trappings of the tournaments, the crowds and banners, the buildings that had been raised for the occasion. All that remained were the castle and the cottage in the castle garden, the permanent structures of the Ghyll. Even the chairs were gone, and Jack found himself suddenly sitting on the ground.
Jack and Ellen, Hastings and Linda, Mercedes, Blaise, Snowbeard, and Iris seemed to be the only living things in the valley, save a few sheep who grazed on the hillsides. Even the weather seemed to be clearing, and the wizard’s mist no longer shrouded the sun, which blazed as it set behind Ravenshead.
“Will and Fitch!” Jack said suddenly. “I left them in the cottage.” He tried to scramble to his feet, which he found was impossible. Ellen planted a hand firmly on his chest and pushed him back down.
“I’ll go find them,” Linda said quickly. She turned to the cottage.
“They’re locked in,” Jack added.
Linda looked at him curiously. “Well, they must have found a way out.”
Two figures detached themselves from the side of the cottage and walked toward them. It was Will and Fitch. They were looking about in bewilderment. When they were close enough to be heard, Will shouted, “Where did everybody go?”
“Back home,” Linda shouted back. “The tournament’s over.”
Will spotted Jack and Ellen sitting side by side on the grass. “I don’t get it,” he said slowly. “One of you is supposed to be dead.�
�� He glared at Ellen, daring her to defend herself. She made no such attempt. She lifted her shoulders, dropped them again, and looked away.
“Ellen could have killed me,” Jack said quietly, “but she didn’t. She saved my life.”
“How come?” Fitch demanded. “After all this?”
Ellen turned scarlet and stared at the ground. “Maybe none of my opponents ever gave me flowers before,” she mumbled.
Hastings knelt next to Jack. “Would you like me to look at your leg?” he asked, “or would you rather I took you into Keswick?”
“If you can treat it, go ahead,” Jack said. “The arm, too, while you’re at it.” He lay back on the ground, closing his eyes to stop his head from spinning.
Hastings put his hand over the break and spoke his charm. It felt as though cold water were flowing over Jack’s leg, carrying the pain and swelling away. A few more minutes, and the wizard went to work on his arm. Soon all pain was gone, and he was floating, comfortable, but unbelievably weary.
Hastings turned to Ellen. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Ellen didn’t answer immediately. She untied the sling from around Jack’s leg, using her teeth to free the knots. She draped it over her shoulder and restored the knife to the sheath on her back. Then she stood and jammed her sword back into its scabbard. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m sorry about all the trouble.” She hesitated, then leaned down again and kissed Jack on the mouth, pressing him into the ground. “Good-bye, Jack. I need to get a few things from the castle, and then I’ve got to be on my way.”
“What do you mean? Where are you going?” Jack demanded, struggling to sit up. Linda was on one side of him now, helping to support him.
Ellen shrugged. “I have no idea. At least I’m on my own now. Hey, don’t worry,” she added hastily when she saw Jack’s face. “This is a way of life for me. Don’t know where I came from, don’t know where I’m going. I’ve always wanted to go back to Scotland. Maybe I’ll go there.” She glanced up at Hastings and the others warily, as if they might attempt to stop her.
The Warrior Heir Page 33
