The Heir Chronicles Omnibus

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “Good.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, but he could still feel the pressure of her gaze.

  “If you feel up to it, why don’t you tell me what happened at the Havens.”

  He kept his eyes closed. “I really don’t feel up to it.”

  She fell silent. She had secrets, so did he. Gregory Leicester’s threat lingered in the back of his mind. It might be that the only person to tell this story to would be the Dragon. Someone powerful enough to put it to use.

  Linda Downey had saved his life, and for that he was grateful. If she wanted more than that, she’d have to earn his trust.

  Late that evening, Gregory Leicester sat at the end of the dock, leaning against the cold metal of the boatlift. Not even the loveliness of the spring evening could soothe him. He was drinking Courvoisier again, and more than usual.

  The boy had made a fool of him. First he’d broken into his office and sent the e-mails. Then he had actually dared to attack him. And he’d walked away with hardly a scratch. Not a good lesson for the alumni who were there to see it.

  He consoled himself with the anticipation of the summer to come. There would be a meeting of the Council the next week. He wondered if he could use the information about Ravenstock’s bastard to direct his vote on the constitutional issue.

  Once the other students were gone, he’d need time to work with the alumni. In truth, he could do without the distraction of trying to break the boy, and then train him. Even with the loss of his two latest prospects, he had fifteen wizards linked to him. That should be plenty, assuming the Dragon and the others could be kept in the dark a little longer.

  He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, feeling better. The cell phone at his belt buzzed and he considered ignoring it. But the number had been given only to a chosen few. So he pulled it from its clip. “Leicester.”

  It was Claude D’Orsay. His voice was tight with excitement, unusual for the reserved Master of the Games. “You have a student by the name of Joseph McCauley.” It wasn’t a question.

  Joseph McCauley again. “What about him?” Leicester drained his glass. “I’m coming to Maine tomorrow. Confine him until I arrive.” “What are you talking about?”

  “Do you know who the boy is?” Oh, that. Leicester snorted. “I heard about it today. He’s Jeremy Ravenstock’s bastard. Apparently, Ravenstock’s trying to keep it a secret. Not very successfully, I’m afraid.”

  “Ravenstock? Not unless Ravenstock is the Dragon, which is absurd. We both know the Dragon’s true identity. We think the boy’s his son.”

  For a long moment, Leicester could say nothing at all. “Are you sure?”

  “We found his name in some files at the Dragon’s hideout in London when we raided it a few months ago. We searched all of our databases, Social Security records, and so on, but it took a while to find him. The boy was born in Canada. The birth certificate is a phony. His parents never existed. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to hide who he really is.”

  It had definitely not been a good day for Gregory Leicester, and now the cognac was no longer working. Joseph McCauley’s face was before him again, and he saw the resemblance immediately. It was unmistakable. The imprint of the devil was clearly on his offspring. It confirmed both the father as the Dragon and the son as his blood. “He’s gone, Claude,” he whispered, unable to believe it himself.

  “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

  “He left this morning. His guardian picked him up.”

  “His guardian? Who?”

  “A lawyer named Linda Downey. She said she was representing Ravenstock. The boy acted like he’d never laid eyes on her before.”

  “Linda Downey,” D’Orsay repeated. “I remember her. She was at the tournament last summer. An enchanter.”

  “An enchanter!” The glass shattered in Leicester’s hand and he stared down at the blood that ran across his palm. It was suddenly clear to him why she had been so hard to resist.

  D’Orsay was still going on about Linda Downey. “She was unforgettable. Bewitching, really. I wonder what her connection is to the Dragon.” He was quiet for a moment. “So she charmed you into giving up the boy?”

  “Never mind how she did it. How was I supposed to know who he was?” But looking back, he had trouble remembering how she’d persuaded him to relinquish something he wanted to keep so badly.

  So young. So powerful. So resistant to persuasion. He should have suspected from the beginning that the boy was a spy. But why would the Dragon have risked his son in such a scheme when he had gone to so much trouble to hide his identity?

  “I think we can assume that by now the Dragon knows all about the Havens,” D’Orsay said. “You’re going to have to vacate.”

  “I’ll reinforce the perimeter. We were leaving soon, anyway. There’s no reason to change our plans. The boy declined to link to me, so he doesn’t know much. And if we can find him, we can use him to lure the Dragon out of hiding.”

  “Did they say where they were going?” D’Orsay asked.

  “No.” Probably not Portland, Maine. “Where is she from?”

  “I don’t know where she lives, but I could find out. She has some connection with the Sanctuary that was established after that disaster at the tournament last spring. Some little town in the Midwest. It might be a place to start.”

  “Let me look for them. I’ll try to intercept them before they get into the Sanctuary.” Leicester had his own, personal reasons for doing so. “I have video of Joseph, and I may have some still pictures. I’ll e-mail them to you.”

  And so it was agreed.

  Chapter Ten

  The Weirweb

  Seph alternately watched the scenery and dozed in the brief, intensive catnaps that had become his custom at the Havens. He was like an animal for whom a moment of inattention could be the difference between life and death.

  Linda watched him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

  They followed the long circle of I-95 around Boston before taking the turnpike west across Massachusetts.

  They stopped at one of the plazas on the turnpike where the restless traveling public can buy whatever they need. He picked out two Toronto Maple Leafs T-shirts and a Blue Jays sweatshirt, two pairs of sweatpants, underwear, and a toothbrush. The sum total of his possessions at the moment. He changed his ruined shirt and carefully cleaned the blood from his face in the washroom, his skin stinging from the nasty dispenser soap. They left the highway at Stockbridge, Massachusetts, just across the border from New York. Linda drove into the hills, high above the town to an inn she knew. They ate dinner in a small dining room overlooking a tumbling stream, and took two rooms under the name of O’Herron, because she happened to have identification in that name. He didn’t question that, nor did he bother to call Denis Houghton to verify Linda Downey’s story. There didn’t seem to be any point.

  Seph didn’t use the portal stone when he climbed between the sheets that night. He was apprehensive, though, wondering if Gregory Leicester could still reach out to him over the distance between them. He slept restlessly, but his dreams were the natural kind.

  The next morning, they left before the sun rose, while the inn was still clothed in the shadows of the mountains. They struck out across the state line into the long corridor of New York State, crossed the Hudson, and joined the New York Thruway near Albany.

  Linda could tell from the way Seph moved that he was stiff and sore. He kept his elbows down, close to his sides, as if guarding his midsection. His lip was cracked and swollen, and the entire right side of his face was bruised. He didn’t complain, though, and shook off Linda’s questions.

  Linda liked being able to look over at him after so many years of watching him from a distance. She studied the dark curls, which were longer than usual, and ungelled; the eyebrows that would be heavy when he grew to be a man, the bones of his face as the light changed. He needed healing, she knew, but she didn’t know the remedy for what ailed him. She would ask Nick Snowbeard
about it when they reached Trinity.

  She wondered how she could keep the gathering darkness away from him. The Sanctuary would be safer than anywhere else, but it might also bring him to the attention of those who had overlooked him up to now.

  Hastings would know the news from the Wizard Council, but she would have to be careful with him, what she asked and how she asked it.

  Leander Hastings didn’t need to know about Seph McCauley.

  They left I-90 west of Cleveland. By now it was after seven, and Seph’s stomach was reminding him that they hadn’t eaten lunch. Linda glanced over at him. “We’re close,” she said. “Do you want to stop and eat, or wait till we get to town?”

  Seph shrugged. “Let’s just get there.”

  They were driving close to the lakeshore now. Seph saw signs for wineries, bed and breakfasts, and Trinity College. When they rounded a curve, he saw the town itself, across a small bay, like a scene from a postcard. Quaint storefronts and Victorian houses clustered along the water, the stark white steeples of churches rising behind, a picturesque harbor and marina lined with boats. More sailboats were anchored just off shore.

  The town shimmered in the slanting sunlight, as if there were an iridescent veil draped across it, some pecu-liar trick of the light. The car slowed, and Seph glanced over at Linda. She was frowning, head tilted, as if seeing something she didn’t like. She removed her sunglasses and leaned forward, squinting through the windshield, then took a quick left at the next intersection and headed south.

  “What’s wrong?” Seph asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  They detoured south for a few miles, then cut west and back north so that they approached the town from the south. They came over a ridge, perhaps an ancient shoreline of the lake, and once again, the town lay glowing before them with the lake beyond. Indistinct, purple-pink, like a poorly printed illustration in a pulp magazine. Linda shook her head, muttering to herself, made a sudden right turn into the parking lot of a small diner, and jerked to a stop.

  “Let’s eat here,” she said. “Go in and get us a table. Get whatever you want, and order me a salad. I need to make a phone call.” She pulled out a cell phone and waved him off.

  Baffled, Seph went on into the restaurant. It was nearly empty, maybe because it was a weeknight. The only employee in evidence was wiping off glasses behind the bar. He motioned Seph to a back table, staring at his bruised face with frank curiosity, as if hoping his guest would pay for his dinner with a story about his recent beating.

  By the time Linda came in, the food had already arrived. “Who’d you call?” he asked.

  “My nephew. Jack,” Linda explained. “He’s going to meet us here. My sister, Becka, is a lawyer. She also teaches literature at Trinity College. Jack’s her son, a little older than you.”

  Seph shrugged, puzzled by the change in plans. “Okay.”

  “He’s a warrior,” Linda went on. “One of the Weirlind.”

  Seph stopped chewing and looked up. Jason had said warriors were exceedingly rare. Like an endangered species. “A warrior? Are you expecting trouble?”

  Linda shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope not. He might bring some other people along.”

  “What’s wrong?” Seph asked.

  “There’s a magical barrier around the town—a Weirweb. I want to know how long it’s been there and who put it up.”

  A Weirweb. A cold finger ran down his spine. Seph recalled the barrier around the Havens, with its smudgy, iridescent appearance. The veil over Trinity was similar. Could it be a coincidence?

  They finished their food, and Seph ordered a piece of apple pie à la mode. He was dissecting it, consuming it in a hundred small bites, when the door opened and three people walked in.

  One was an old man, very thin, with a trimmed white beard and bright black eyes. He leaned on a staff with an intricately carved bear’s head on it. Although wizards couldn’t readily recognize their own kind, he seemed to be a prototype.

  He was unlike the other wizards Seph had met. There was something kind and reassuring about his face, in the laugh lines around his eyes.

  The other two were about Seph’s age. One was a tall, athletic-looking teenager with bright red-gold hair and blue eyes that reminded Seph of Linda’s. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that revealed his broad chest and shoulders and muscular arms. He grinned when he spotted them in the corner and crossed the space between the door and the table in a few long strides.

  I’ve never seen a seventeen-year-old built like that, Seph thought. This must be Jack, the warrior. He glanced down at himself, ashamed at how gaunt he looked.

  “Aunt Linda!” The red-haired boy put his hands on her shoulders, leaned down and kissed her cheek.

  The third member of the trio was a girl, almost as tall as the boy, though her hair was chestnut brown. There was a certain physical grace and confidence about them. Their raw physical power seemed to push everyone else to the periphery. If Jack’s a warrior, Seph thought, then so is she.

  “Hullo, Aunt Linda.” The girl embraced Linda Downey also, a little more shyly. Seph was beginning to feel left out amid all the meeting and greeting. But he felt the wizard’s eyes upon him, and in a moment, the warriors noticed him too. Jack rocked back on his heels, and the girl’s right hand crept to her belt as if she might find a weapon there.

  Seph stood up. “I’m Seph,” he said, sticking out his hand to the wizard. Seph sensed well-controlled but elaborate power behind the grip. He had the feeling the old man already knew exactly who he was.

  Linda nodded toward the wizard. “I’m sorry, Seph. This is Nicodemus Snowbeard,” she said. “And my nephew, Jack Swift, and a friend, Ellen Stephenson.” She put her hand on Seph’s shoulder. “This is Seph McCauley.” She didn’t qualify him in any way.

  Jack Swift, Seph thought. Where have I heard that name before?

  “You never said he was a wizard,” Jack said, not bothering to hide his surprise. They were all three looking curiously at Seph’s cut and swollen lip, his battered face. “Since when does a wizard need sanctuary?” There was a degree of challenge behind the question.

  Seph lifted his chin and looked Jack in the eyes. He was almost of a height with the warrior, though Jack probably outweighed him by half. “Why? You the gatekeeper?”

  “Jack, you of all people should know it’s not difficult to make enemies, no matter who you are,” Linda said quickly.

  That was it. Jack Swift was the warrior who’d played in the famous tournament at Raven’s Ghyll. The rebel behind the change in the rules. And he was Linda Downey’s nephew.

  Seph remembered what she’d said in the car. My nephew was in trouble, and . . . well ... I got distracted. Seph studied Jack with new interest, like he’d suddenly discovered a celebrity sitting next to him in a movie theater.

  The newcomers pulled more chairs around the table.

  “How did you get through the barrier, Nicodemus?” Linda asked.

  Snowbeard nodded at the two warriors. “Jack and Ellen brought their blades. They were able to cut a path for us.”

  “And before we were through, we had company.” Jack stretched his long legs into the aisle. “Four wizards showed up, all excited at first, but they lost interest when they saw who we were.”

  “The wizards who put up the web can detect any disturbance in it. Rather like a spider waiting for its prey,” Snowbeard said. “Whoever did it has a real talent and an excess of power. It’s incredible that it went up that fast.”

  “What did the wizards look like?” Seph pushed aside the remains of his pie, no longer interested.

  “They were all pretty young, maybe a few years older than us,” Ellen said.

  “They asked about an enchanter and a young wizard, matching your descriptions,” Jack added, fixing Seph with a gaze that conceded nothing. “They were typical wizards—arrogant and pushy—but I guess they decided they didn’t want to get into it.” The warrior flexed his hands and rested them o
n his knees, as if he wouldn’t have minded getting into it.

  “They ordered us to leave the web alone,” Ellen added.

  “How does a Weirweb work?” Seph asked.

  The old man stroked his beard. “It’s a soft barrier that selects for Weir, for people carrying a stone. Anaweir can pass through it without even noticing. For us, it’s a very sticky trap. It will hold you fast if you touch any part of it. Given enough time, I could force an opening. But it’s made to be resistant to spellcasting.”

  Barber had put up the wizard wall at the Havens. But how could they have tracked them here so quickly? And why let him go, only to come after him here?

  “The Weirweb is an interesting choice of weapons,” Snowbeard said thoughtfully. “It was commonly used in the wizard wars back in the sixteenth century. Wizards would trap Weir from the opposing houses in the web and then pick them off at their leisure, or take them prisoner. It’s fine work. I haven’t seen anything like it in several hundred years.”

  Seph blinked at the wizard. How old could he be, anyway? Jason had said wizards lived almost forever, but Seph had thought he was exaggerating.

  “Well,” Snowbeard continued. “We’re going to have to assume that someone wants to keep you from reaching the sanctuary. Their use of the web suggests they want to take you alive. Otherwise they would have set a different kind of trap.”

  “So,” Jack said, leaning across the table, speaking directly to Seph. “Did you piss somebody off, or what?”

  “Will you relax?” Ellen said, frowning at Jack. “Can’t you see he’s had a hard time?”

  Seph shoved his chair back. “Hey, if we can’t get in, I’ll just go somewhere else. I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.”

  Linda put her hand on his arm. “No. I want you in the sanctuary.” She glared around the table, daring anyone to disagree.

  “What’s so special about the sanctuary?” Seph asked “Attack magic is not allowed within its boundaries,” Snowbeard replied. He covered Linda’s hand with his, and murmured something to her. “Now, then. It will take some time to get through the web, and I don’t think we want to have to entertain four wizards while we are doing it. So I suggest we create a distraction.”