The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III

by Cinda Williams Chima

  His only warning was a slight sound behind him. Then a hot grip on his shoulder and the words, driving him down, down into the soggy leaves. He lay flat on his face in the wet muck, but couldn’t turn his head to clear his mouth and nose. In a moment of panic, he thought he might suffocate, but hot hands shoved him over onto his back. He lay there, helpless, blinking against the raindrops that spiraled down on him from the canopy above.

  Leesha knelt next to him. She pressed her bare knee against his windpipe until spots swam before his eyes. Finally, she released the pressure, and he sucked in great lungfuls of air. She sat down on the wet ground next to him with a sigh.

  “I never liked you very much, Harmon,” she said. She pulled a lipstick from her pink purse and reapplied it. Then drew her knees up until her skirt nearly disappeared. “Always telling Jack he should break up with me.”

  She came up on her knees again, leaning over him. She gripped the heavy chain around his neck and yanked him half upright. The metal heated, burned into his flesh. “What the hell do you think you are, with your grungy Salvation Army clothes, living in that dump over on Madison like a bunch of cockroaches? Nothing, that’s what.” She spat in his face, then released him. He fell backward like a rag doll, bouncing a little.

  “We’re going to go see Jack. Would you like that?” She smoothed the wet hair away from his forehead, noticed the hoop in his right ear, and tugged at it experimentally. Tugged again, harder, until blood trickled into his ear. Fitch took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Oh, Harmon,” she whispered. “You should see your face! You scare so easily.”

  She stood, brushing wet leaves off her skirt. “You sit tight. I’m going to go get Will.”

  The hearing on the suits was to be held the next morning at ten A.M. in the great hall of the castle. Only “interested” parties were permitted to attend. That didn’t include the thousands of spectators who collected outside. Rumors were flying in the Ghyll. The oddsmakers in the colorful blue-and-white striped betting tents along the midway were in a quandary. A huge crowd of people was gathered outside of the cottage when Jack and Hastings left for the hall. “Jack! Jack!” they chanted.

  As they pressed through the crowd, Jack felt a hot wizard hand fasten around his arm, and not gently. He turned to face an athletic-looking man with stick-straight black hair, dressed in the livery of the Red Rose. He had a thin, cruel mouth and a shadow of beard along his jaw.

  “Hello, Jack. I’m Simon Paige, Ellen’s trainer. I’ve been working with her for years. I just wanted you to know that I can’t wait to see your blood spilled tomorrow.” His lips drew back from his teeth in a parody of a smile. “Don’t worry. I told her to take her time. We want to make sure we give these people their money’s worth.”

  Angrily, Jack shook off the wizard’s hand. Simon Paige was laughing as he turned away.

  The guild had set up a makeshift court in one end of the great hall. D’Orsay and the other judges were sitting on a raised dais and rows of chairs were drawn up around the platform.

  Hastings’s hand on Jack’s shoulder kept him moving to the front of the hall. “Most of these people are members of the Council of Wizards, the guild’s governing body,” the wizard explained. Jack and Hastings were directed to chairs just in front of the dais, where the judges could look down on them.

  Jack spotted Linda sitting at one end of the front row, surrounded by several of the Jefferson Street neighbors. What were they doing here? Jack caught Linda’s eye, and she nodded to him, managing a smile. Iris and Blaise lifted their hands in greeting.

  Hastings frowned at Linda. “She should have sent a proxy. This is no place for an enchanter.” Jack wondered what he meant.

  Jessamine Longbranch and several wizards of the White Rose were also seated together at the front. The surgeon smiled at Jack as if he were chocolate.

  Geoffrey Wylie swept up the center aisle, into a swarm of red wizards. Before he sat down, he surveyed the crowd. When his gaze lit on Linda, he flinched as if startled. Lifting his hand to his scarred cheek, he scowled at some unpleasant memory. He continued to watch her after he sat down, running his tongue over his damaged lips. Jack looked for Ellen, but didn’t see her.

  D’Orsay called the court to order. “This is an informal hearing called to rule on two suits that have been filed relative to the participation of the warrior representing the Silver Dragon in the tournament scheduled for tomorrow.” He spread several papers out in front of him. “It appears these two claims are closely related. We will take testimony relative to them both, and then rule in the order that makes the most sense to the court. First, we must rule whether Jackson Swift is indeed a warrior, despite the fact that he seems to meet the usual criteria. I would like to ask the plaintiff in the matter to explain herself.”

  Linda Downey rose to her feet. She was dressed for court in a loose black tunic and trousers, and her hair was uncharacteristically subdued. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, her lips a bruised purple-red. She moved with an unconscious grace, like the progress of light across the stage.

  Her presence was having an effect on the judges. They leaned forward to get a better look at the enchanter.

  “Thank you, Master D’Orsay. I will be brief. The details of the matter are in my deposition. I am the aunt of the player in question, and am also his godmother. His mother is my sister, and Anaweir. His father is also Anaweir. Jack was born a wizard, Weirflesh without a stone.” She paused, and a murmur ran through the gallery.

  “I asked Dr. Longbranch if she could replace his Weirstone. She took that opportunity to implant a warrior’s stone into my nephew instead of the wizard stone he needed. Apparently by so doing she hoped to create a warrior from a wizard.”

  Linda motioned to Jack. “If you examine him, you will find the surgical scar from the implantation. There is no provision for created warriors under the rules. It was a nasty and inappropriate experiment on another wizard. What we have here is a boy who, under the Rules of Engagement, should never have qualified for a tournament, although it is easy to see why he seemed to meet the criteria.”

  Jack was surprised to see that Linda seemed comfortable in this role, despite the audience of wizards. Perhaps my mother is not the only lawyer in the family.

  “What proof do you have that the boy was a wizard?” D’Orsay asked. “Rather than a warrior born without a stone?”

  “Jack’s Weirbook identifies him as a wizard, and includes the usual chapter on charms and incantations. It’s the same Weirbook that Leander Hastings used to present him on the field.”

  “Is this true?” D’Orsay looked at Hastings. Jack’s Weirbook lay on the table in front of him.

  “It is true. The Weirbook identifies Jack as a wizard.” Hastings handed the book to D’Orsay and looked over at Linda. She avoided his gaze.

  Once again, a murmur ran through the crowd. Did Hastings mean to disqualify his own player?

  The judges looked thoughtful. Jack closed his eyes. It was a bold move. He wondered if it could work. He felt like someone with a terminal illness who had been given news of a possible cure.

  “I have several of Jack’s neighbors here to testify as well, if need be. They know the history of his case, what was done to Jack.” Linda crossed in front of the crowd again, ending in front of the judges. “In rendering a decision, it’s important to consider the long-term consequences. Dr. Longbranch has transformed a wizard into a warrior. Acceptance of this procedure could put other wizards at risk in the future and subvert the intent of the Rules of Engagement. After all, the rules were meant to prevent direct combat between wizards.”

  D’Orsay turned to Hastings. “Mr. Hastings, you are the boy’s sponsor. Do you have any response to this?”

  Hastings shrugged. “Jack carries a warrior stone, and I have trained him as such. However, I’ll not contest the judge’s ruling. I have no desire to play a wizard in a tournament, if the ruling goes that way.” He put his hot hand on Jack’s shoulder, but it felt
somehow reassuring.

  He’s going to save me from this if he can, Jack thought with surprise. No matter what it does to his own plans. Jack looked up at his aunt, who was staring at Hastings with an unreadable expression.

  D’Orsay turned to Jessamine Longbranch. “Dr. Longbranch?”

  The doctor rose to her feet. She faced the judges, turning her back on Linda. “First of all, you should all be aware that you are being charmed by an enchanter and beguiled by a renegade. They’ve conspired to prevent the tournament from going forward. We should have all stopped our ears before they began speaking.” The judges smiled.

  “The enchanter called me in the first place because her nephew was Weirflesh born without a stone, and so was dying. She was desperate. Because I am a cardiothoracic surgeon, I thought I could save the boy. As it happened, a warrior stone . . . ah . . . became available when a warrior I was training suffered an accident. I implanted the crystal with Ms. Downey’s full knowledge and consent. The stone restored him. I did it with the intent of raising the child to fight for the White Rose. That was our bargain from the beginning.”

  “I asked you to place a wizard stone,” Linda replied. “I never agreed to this. I didn’t know what you’d done until afterward. The fact is, he’s still a wizard, and always has been. He doesn’t belong here.”

  “A verdict in my favor in this case has few implications for wizards,” Dr. Longbranch went on, as if Linda hadn’t spoken. “It’s not as if I removed a wizard’s stone and replaced it with another. The boy was for all intents and purposes Anaweir, a nothing, and I made him into something by placing a stone. He should be grateful for it.”

  She was about to continue, but then looked off to the right, where there was something of a commotion. “I believe I have a witness to present. Ms. Middleton?”

  Leesha Middleton came into the room, pushing someone ahead of her. Two someones. Will Childers and Harmon Fitch.

  His friends were walking under their own power, looking back over their shoulders at Leesha as if eager to keep a certain distance between them and her. Jack swore under his breath. Hastings was right. No one was safe. The wizards of the Roses were never going to leave his family and friends alone. Not unless he managed to get himself killed or disqualified.

  He was surprised to see that Leesha was still working for Longbranch after the double cross with the traders. But then, Longbranch would have had no way of knowing any of that. The traders were dead and gone, thanks to Hastings.

  Jessamine Longbranch frowned at Leesha. “I told you to bring the boy’s mother,” she hissed. “Who is this?”

  Leesha shrugged. “I couldn’t get to her. The old man has her hidden away.” Jack looked at Aunt Linda, and she mouthed the word, “Snowbeard.”

  “This is Will Childers and Harmon Fitch.” She gave each of them a little push in turn. Will looked like he wanted to push back, but thought better of it. “They are Jack’s childhood friends. They’ll do.” Leesha and Longbranch exchanged a look, and Jack sat up straighter, wondering what this was about.

  “Well, they’ll have to do, now, won’t they?” Dr. Longbranch snapped. She paused, composed herself, and turned to the boys, who stood bewildered in front of the judges. “Which one of you is Will? Ah. Let’s start with you, Will. We were having a discussion about Jack’s surgery years ago, and we were hoping you could help.” Longbranch’s voice was soothing. “What has Jack told you about it?”

  Will looked at Jack. “I ... I don’t know much about it. Why don’t you ask Jack?” he added, nodding to his friend.

  “We’re asking you,” Dr. Longbranch said, a dangerous edge to her voice.

  Will swallowed audibly. “All right, then. When Jack was born, he had a heart problem. This Dr. Longbranch—I guess that’s you—fixed it. That’s what I know.” The words came out in a rush.

  “So I saved his life, based on what you know?” Longbranch asked.

  Will nodded.

  “No one is disputing that,” Linda said.

  “You’ve known Jack all his life, is that right?” Longbranch went on.

  Will nodded. “Pretty much. As long as I can remember.”

  “Have you ever known Jack as a young boy to demonstrate any signs of special powers. Something you might call wizardry?”

  Will frowned. “Uh, no, not really.”

  She turned to Fitch. “Have you ever seen any signs of wizardry in Jackson Swift?”

  Fitch cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you mean by wizardry,” he replied, hunching his shoulders as if for protection.

  “No? Let me demonstrate.” Longbranch put a hand on Fitch’s shoulder. He stiffened, cried out, tried to twist away, then sank to his knees, his face going gray with pain and shock. Will took three long steps and launched himself at the wizard. She extended her other hand, palm outward, and Will dropped as if axed.

  Jack tried to push up out of his chair, but Hastings shoved him back. “It won’t help. Believe me.”

  “She’s abusing her own witnesses!” Linda appealed to D’Orsay, spreading her hands in frustration. The Master shrugged, as if to say that Longbranch could do whatever she wanted. They were her witnesses, after all, and Anaweir at that.

  “Now then, Harmon,” Dr. Longbranch murmured, finally releasing him. “Don’t waste our time.”

  “I never noticed anything until recently,” Fitch gasped, ducking away from the doctor’s hand. “In March. When he blew Garrett Lobeck across a soccer field. And then there was the fight in the graveyard, with . . . with flames and all. But maybe that was because of the magical sword,” he added lamely.

  “Thank you,” the doctor said. “We all know wizardry manifests at a very young age. One would expect the wizard Jack to have shown some signs of it, something even Anaweir would notice.” She waved her hand at Will and Fitch. Will was struggling to sit up, and Fitch was helping. “On the other hand, the warrior trait comes on after puberty, which was when Jack began to display his . . . talents.”

  “He was suppressed, and you know it,” Linda said tightly. “He was taking Weirsbane. He didn’t manifest until he stopped taking it.”

  “The woman is a liar.” Dr. Longbranch spread her fingers. “The medication was a placebo. I prescribed it in order to keep track of him, so his parents would have to come back to me for more. That was Linda Downey’s suggestion also, that I leave him with his parents instead of taking him when he was a baby. She promised to give him up when he was ready for training.”

  Now, for the first time, Longbranch faced Linda. “This enchanter has never understood her appropriate role. She has been rude and uncooperative from the very beginning. She should not be up here telling wizards what to do. In my opinion, someone on the council should volunteer to take charge of her. The girl needs a guarantor who can provide some discipline.”

  Hastings swore softly. When Jack looked around the room, he could see several male council members leaning forward eagerly. It seemed there would be no shortage of volunteers willing to take on the problem of Linda Downey. Geoffrey Wylie stood, and his hand opened, revealing something metallic that caught the light, a hinged silver piece, like a collar.

  “I’ll accept responsibility for the enchanter,” he said hoarsely.

  Now Hastings half rose out of his chair, but Iris Bolingame was already standing.

  “She already has a guarantor, Master D’Orsay,” Iris said, “I am her friend, and I stand for the enchanter.” She glared around at the other wizards, as if daring them to dispute her. Linda stood, cheeks flaming, eyes downcast, and saying nothing. Now it was clear to Jack why Linda had brought the neighbors along. He remembered the Rules of Engagement, and the description of the enchanter role he had assumed was archaic. No matter how articulate, an enchanter needed a sponsor in a gathering of wizards.

  Wylie shrugged as if he didn’t really care, and sat down again. The collar disappeared.

  Longbranch seemed a little taken aback by Iris, but recovered quickly. “Perhaps yo
u should teach her some manners, then,” she snapped. She walked back along the front of the dais, stopping just in front of Jack.

  “The fact is, it is the Weirstone, and nothing else, that determines the nature of an Heir. It doesn’t matter what Jack Swift was to begin with. He is a warrior now, and so qualified to play in the tournament. He would be dead if not for me. In that sense, I created him, so I own him.” She reached out and slid her hand to the back of his neck, pulling his face in close to hers. His flesh burned under her touch. “And you’d better play well, my mongrel, or your two friends will pay the price,” she breathed, just loud enough for him to hear. Jack stared at her, horrified, then pushed her hand away. Her nails left long scratches on his skin.

  And then he understood: Longbranch already knew what the outcome of the suit would be, was confident he would be back under her control in time for the Game. That was why his friends had been brought to the Ghyll. Longbranch had been given no opportunity to bring out the killer in him, as she’d promised back in London, so she planned to use Will and Fitch to force him to play. To “motivate” him, as she put it. He looked from Jessamine Longbranch to Claude D’Orsay, and knew the fix was in. Will and Fitch sat huddled together on the steps, as if for mutual protection. As if that would make any difference. Jack shivered.

  “Jack Swift would be dead if not for me,” Leander Hastings announced.

  Longbranch’s head snapped up. “Leander Hastings has been a thorn in our sides for years. He has done everything in his power to sabotage the Game. Why would he try to field a player if he didn’t have an ulterior motive?”

  Hastings stood. “Dr. Longbranch has told you it was her intent to play Jack in the Game. How do we know what was intended, or agreed upon seventeen years ago? There was no contract. The stone was placed under false pretenses. The White Rose has had minimal contact with Jack ever since. Whatever training he has received, I have provided. Two weeks ago, Dr. Longbranch tried to murder him with a graffe, and almost succeeded. It is through my efforts that he is still alive. If only for that reason, I say the boy is mine.