The Heir Chronicles Omnibus

by Cinda Williams Chima

  He threw up a shield in time to turn an immobilization charm and a gout of flame. Pinned her hands to keep her from scratching his eyes out, then sent a little disciplinary flame through the collar. She screamed and thrashed around, trying to rip her hands free.

  “You scheming little double-crossing trader,” Warren muttered. “What did you hope to accomplish?” And then, understanding flooded in. “Who are you working for now? D’Orsay? Longbranch? McCauley?” He could’ve gone down a whole long list, but just then the front door shattered, spraying them both with wood splinters and hardware.

  Two tall figures stood in the empty doorframe. One had a wicked sword in his hand. The other didn’t need one. A warrior and a wizard side by side.

  It was Jack Swift, looking like a muscle-bound action hero. Except for the Trinity Soccer T-shirt and blue jeans.

  And Seph McCauley. Leesha was right when she said he was scary. He was scarcely recognizable as the naive blue-blood who’d arrived at the Havens. He was taller than Warren remembered, thin and angular and intense, as if he’d outgrown his weight. He wore a black hoodie and jeans, and his pale face and green eyes were framed in a tangle of curls. You could see Hastings’s blood in him—distilled down and concentrated. Leicester had been an idiot not to spot it at the Havens.

  Warren rolled to his feet. He reached down and grabbed Leesha by the arm and hauled her up in front of him, pressing his fingers into her carotid, where a whisper of power could stop the flow of blood.

  “They made me!” Leesha said, flinching at the sting of his fingers.

  “Sure they did,” he muttered. He followed that with the classic, “Back off or the girl dies!” Wondering if they’d care.

  Swift scanned the room for other enemies, then focused back on Warren. “I guessed that we’d run into each other again, sooner or later. I should’ve killed you the last time I saw you.”

  Right. He should’ve. But Jack Swift had been too noble to cut the throat of a helpless enemy. Which was why Barber was totally going to win.

  McCauley extended a hand and muttered a charm, and Leesha went limp in Warren’s arms. Immobilized.

  Clever. Warren could still choose to kill her, but he’d have to drag her body around with him if he wanted to keep using her as a shield and hostage.

  He tried the countercharm but it went nowhere. McCauley’s magic was wicked strong. Warren was getting sick of it. How many times was he going to have to face off with him?

  “Put her down, Barber, and let’s talk,” McCauley said. “We want the Covenant, and we want to know what happened to Jason.”

  The Covenant. Jason Haley. You couldn’t trust a trader with any kind of secret if someone else made a better offer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Leesha asked me to meet her here. Said she had a proposition. Then she attacked me.”

  “Right.” Swift feinted with the sword, and Warren turned, keeping Leesha between himself and the warrior’s blade. But it was an exhausting business, and Warren wasn’t exactly fast on his feet.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Warren said. “She’s a trader, remember? She’ll say anything if she thinks she can turn a profit.”

  “Lucky you’re here to set us straight.” McCauley fired an immobilization charm, and Warren lunged sideways to avoid it. Swift rolled fireballs off the tip of his sword, spinning them past Warren’s ears. Leesha just wasn’t big enough to provide good cover. Warren countered with a wizard graffe that barely missed nailing McCauley, but then the boy wonder whipped off three charms in answer, and Warren knew this was a battle he couldn’t win.

  His only advantage was that they probably wanted him healthy enough to interrogate.

  Lifting Leesha’s limp body, Warren pitched her into Swift and McCauley. He spun a razorwire net, gathering it up and sending it spiraling over them. Limp Leesha, Swift, and McCauley ended up tangled together on the floor in a kind of giant bleeding cocoon, the wire cutting into their flesh. Swift struggled to maneuver his massive sword into position so he could cut through the net without decapitating anyone. Warren sent cascades of wizard flame boiling into their midst until McCauley put up a makeshift shield.

  Warren didn’t wait to see the outcome. Swiveling, he sprayed the perimeter of the room with flame. It went up with a whoosh.

  What do you know? he thought. This warehouse is a firetrap.

  Wizard fire was notoriously hard to extinguish. The place was history, and three of his major problems would go up with it.

  Though in Leesha’s case, there was no need to trust to luck. Regretfully, he dismissed thoughts of Slave Leesha and muttered a charm that activated the torc. Would she burn to death, or strangle first?

  He sprinted toward the rear door, pausing in the back hallway long enough to weave a web over the doorway. Even if they freed themselves from the net, the web would slow them down long enough to allow the flame and smoke to do their work.

  As he turned to make his exit, he heard a sound behind him and instinctively dodged aside. Something crashed down on his head. If it hadn’t caught him off center, he would’ve been done for sure.

  He stumbled, almost went down. Blood streamed into his eyes. He staggered backward, spewing flames in all directions. There followed a massive blow to his shoulder, and he screamed in pain, his left arm rendered almost useless.

  He turned, mopping blood from his eyes to clear his vision.

  A girl, with a mother of a big sword. Familiar, somehow. The girl, not the sword. Then he remembered. Ellen Stephenson, the warrior he’d encountered the first time he’d gone to Trinity in search of Seph McCauley.

  If she’d wanted to kill him, she could have taken his head off with that blade. She’d hit him with the flat of it, so she was trying to take him alive. That was good to know.

  He flung out a charm, but before he could finish he had to pitch himself backward as the blade slashed past his midsection, slicing through his shirt and the top layer of skin. Damn, she was good. He didn’t even know he’d been cut until the blood came.

  Smoke boiled into the corridor, stinging his eyes. He drew a breath, coughing, spinning out flame like an out-of-control firework to keep Stephenson at a distance. She easily parried his scattered attack with her sword, then advanced toward him.

  “Your friends are burning to death in there!” Warren gasped, nodding toward the main storeroom. “Make a choice!” He turned and zigzagged down the hallway. Bursting through the exit door, he stopped long enough to barricade it with another web.

  Warren ran down the alley, then cut between several rows of warehouses and descended into the Flats along the river. He tried to support his injured arm, gritting his teeth when he jostled it. He threaded his way around the great concrete feet of a lift bridge, then slowed to a brisk walk, following the river, trying to blend in with the late nighters headed to the bars. Those that were still sober cut a wide circle around him, furtively checking out his blood-matted hair and clothing. It was all he could do to resist the urge to pitch them over the side into the water. He was several blocks from the warehouse before he heard sirens.

  Good luck, he thought.

  Warren was pissed. His arm hurt like hell. Apparently, everyone in Trinity knew he held the Covenant. Just a few more thousand people to jump into the hunt.

  Worse, Leesha had been his go-between. Killing her might bring him some small satisfaction, but now he needed someone else to serve as his proxy. But who?

  The only thing that cheered him was the notion that he’d left Jack Swift, Joseph McCauley, and Leesha Middleton in the burning building. With any luck, Stephenson would go down, too.

  In the end, it wasn’t a difficult choice, just a frustrating one. Ellen gave up on Barber and groped her way back through the smoke. The door into the other room was scorching hot. She stood to one side, extended Waymaker, and cut through the door, releasing a blast of heat and smoke.

  The doorway was woven over with a labyrinth of translucent cords. Barber’s work. The interior of t
he room was an inferno. Ellen’s entire front was immediately roasted. The skin tightened on her face and hands. No, she thought. Oh, no.

  “Seph! Jack!”

  A faint answering call came from somewhere beyond the web.

  Ellen swung her blade and slashed through the cords. It took four strong strokes to hack out an opening she could get through. She bulled her way forward, pushing through a wall of smoke and flame.

  “Where are you?” she shouted, and flinched when the reply came almost from under her feet. She nearly stumbled over a pile of bleeding bodies. The razorweb had done its work. Jack, Seph, and Leesha were cut in dozens of places, coughing and choking as they breathed in smoke. Leesha flailed about, struggling to get free, which only increased the damage done by the web to all three prisoners.

  “Lay still, Leesha, or I’ll leave you here to fry,” Ellen said.

  Leesh blinked up at her in surprise, and then, to Ellen’s amazement, obeyed.

  Ellen tried to ignore the heat and flames rushing toward them. She gripped Waymaker’s hilt with both hands and slid the tip into the razorweb, delicately slicing through the strands without pulling on the net. She focused on freeing Jack, who practically reverberated with impatience.

  Finally, Jack shook free of the last tendrils of razorwire and erupted to his feet. Seizing Shadowslayer, he helped Ellen cut Seph and Leesha loose. Seph pushed himself upright and extended his bleeding hands, pushing back the wall of flame that threatened to engulf them. It grew increasingly difficult to breathe. Leesha, especially, kept coughing and choking and ripping at her throat.

  When Seph and Leesha were free, Jack hauled them to their feet. Leesha fell again when he released her, so he slid his arms under her and slung her over his shoulder.

  That girl will do anything to get next to Jack, Ellen thought crossly.

  Holding hands to keep from losing each other in the oily smoke, they groped their way to the back of the room, out the door, and into the fresh air.

  Seph looked back at the burning warehouse. By now, flames had broken through the roof and were shooting into the air. Usually so calm in times of crisis, he seemed jumpy and agitated. “Go on,” Seph said, pulling his hood over his head. “Get as far away as you can. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Seph! Wait!” Ellen made a grab for him, but he sidestepped her and disappeared into the burning building.

  Shaking her head, Ellen drew in lungfuls of cool air, but Leesha was still choking. Jack carried her to the far side of the parking lot and laid her down on the asphalt. “Take it easy, will you?” he said. “Relax. We’re out.”

  Leesha gasped something that sounded like, “Barber!” and “Get it off!” She tore open her neckline to expose a gold collar biting into her flesh. The skin around it was mottled purple and red, covered with angry blisters.

  “What the . . . ?” Jack tried to take hold of the collar with his hands, but yanked them back, swearing. “It’s blazing hot!”

  “Barber did this?” Ellen asked.

  Leesha nodded. Tears ran down her face and her entire body shook with silent sobs. Ellen and Jack gripped her arms and pulled her upright, hoping to find a clasp, an opening, something, but no luck. It was solid and seamless all the way around.

  Ellen pulled out her belt dagger and tried to slide the point under the collar, but it was already too tight.

  Jack tried some countercharms from his repertoire, but they had no apparent effect.

  “Remember when Leicester used a torc on Leander Hastings?” Ellen muttered. “The collar could only be removed by the wizard who placed it.”

  And that would be Warren Barber.

  By now Leesha’s face was blue and her struggles were growing weaker, less organized. She’s going to die, Ellen thought, feeling totally helpless.

  “Hey! What do you kids think you’re doing?” A burly firefighter confronted them in full regalia, his features scrunched down with suspicion. “Nobody’s supposed to be back here.” Beyond him, a half dozen firefighters poured from the alley, dragging giant hoses and equipment into the lot.

  Ellen slid Waymaker back into its baldric, smothering the flames that ran along the blade. Shadowslayer was slung over Jack’s back, but the hilt stuck up over his shoulder. That’d be tough to explain if the firefighter noticed it. She moved in closer to Jack. He had some wizardry. Maybe he could . . .

  “You can’t stay back here,” the firefighter growled. “What with the onshore breeze and all these old warehouses, there’s a good chance the fire will spread to the whole block.” He pointed them toward the cross street. “Get back behind the police line.”

  Then he squinted at them suspiciously. “What happened to you? You’re all cut up and covered in soot. Were you kids in the building?”

  “We saw the smoke,” Ellen said. “And, um, we came to see the fire.” She was a terrible liar.

  But the firefighter was distracted by Leesha. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Jack knelt next to her, furiously tearing off pieces of his shirt. He wrapped the cloth around his hands and tried again to get a grip on the collar. Leesha didn’t seem to be breathing any more.

  “Our friend got hurt,” Ellen said, not knowing what else to say. “She’s not breathing.”

  Jack drew his belt dagger and leaned over Leesha, eyes squinted, mouth tight with determination. Oh, God, Ellen thought. He’s going to try to do a tracheotomy. Like on TV. Two years ago this boy couldn’t splint his own broken leg on the battlefield, and now he’s doing surgery.

  “Hey!” the fireman said when he saw the blade. “What are you doing?”

  “What’s up?” Seph materialized out of the smoke like a wraith, blood and sweat streaking through the soot on his face.

  Jack looked up, a little wild-eyed. “Barber put a torc on Leesha. It’s strangling her.”

  Strangled, more like, Ellen thought. Past tense. It was weird that she had time to think all that. It was like events had slowed down to a crawl. The firefighter was yelling something in the background, calling for police backup, maybe.

  Seph dropped to his knees next to Leesha, wrapped his hands around the torc as if oblivious to the heat, and shut his eyes. Jack stepped between Seph and Leesha and the firefighter to prevent interference.

  It’s no good, Seph, Ellen thought. Only the wizard who placed it can remove it.

  Power rippled around Seph. He tilted his head back, concentrating, muttering charms. Sweat rolled down his face, though the night was growing chilly. He swallowed once, twice, the long column of his throat jumping. Then the metal dissolved from under his hands and Leesha was free.

  A second passed. Leesha took a rasping breath.

  “What the hell?” the firefighter said, leaning sideways to peer around Jack.

  Seph remained on his knees, his hands resting on his thighs, trembling like he’d caught a chill. Then he looked up at the firefighter. “She’s breathing again, but maybe she should have some oxygen?”

  Firefighters swarmed around Leesha, unpacking equipment.

  The battalion leader stepped around Jack and clutched Seph’s sweatshirt in his fist, dragging him to his feet. “I want to know what happened to her and what you just did.”

  Seph put his hand on the firefighter’s shoulder and the Commander flinched. “Nothing happened, Commander,” Seph said softly, looking him in the eye. “Her necklace melted from the heat and burned her neck. That’s all.”

  The commander blinked at him and nodded, slowly. “Right. Well. We’ll want to get your names. As witnesses.”

  “You won’t need that,” Seph said, his hand still on the man’s arm. “It’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” the commander said.

  “Commander!” Another firefighter loped up the alley. “I think we can cancel the third hook and ladder.” He hesitated. “I ... I can’t explain it, but it looks like the fire is out.”

  “What?”

  The other man shrugged. “There’s still lots of smoke and a f
ew hot spots, but the fire is basically . . . out.”

  The fire was contained within the skin of the building, so they couldn’t see for themselves, but the heat seemed to be diminishing rather than growing.

  “Come on,” the battalion leader said. “Let’s go take a closer look.” He turned back to Ellen and the others.

  “You three—get out of here. We’ll transport the girl to the burn unit at Metro Hospital.”

  But Leesha was already fighting off the oxygen and struggling to sit up. “I’m fine,” she hissed. “What are you all making such a fuss about?” She put several firefighters down on their butts and struggled to her feet. “Leave me alone, will you?”

  Wizards were resilient, Ellen had to admit. And stubborn.

  The paramedic tried to reason with his uncooperative patient. “Uh, miss, you have second and third degree burns that need treatment,” he said.

  “They’ll be okay. I’ll just use a concealer for a while.” She also declined pain medication and a tranquilizer. “I’m leaving with my friends, understand? I’ll sign any form you want.” She looked up at Ellen and the rest. “Let’s go.”

  Despite her bravado, Ellen could tell that Leesha was shaken. She staggered along beside them until Jack and Ellen ignored her protests and each took an arm, supporting her. She kept touching her neck as if to convince herself the torc was gone, then peered over at Seph like he was some newly discovered wonder of the world.

  “Why didn’t you tell us about the torc?” Ellen asked, catching Leesha for about the fourteenth time when she stumbled.

  Leesha’s voice was low and raspy, and it sounded like it hurt to speak. “I knew . . . there was nothing you could do . . . to take it off.” She took a deep breath, as if she were still short on air. “As long as I was in the sanctuary, he couldn’t use it against me. But I knew once you knew about it, I’d be too high risk. You’d kick me out.”