“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 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.
Seph had made an impression, just the same. As far as the alumni were concerned, Leicester’s harmless “construct” had just spewed flame clear across the hall. Pushing and shoving, they fled toward the back of the room.
If wizard fire made no impression, perhaps something else would. An enormous candelabra hung from the ceiling at the front of the room. Seph flamed the cable, focusing white-hot heat on the metal fittings. It finally parted, sending the fixture crashing to the floor. Leicester just managed to sidestep out of the way.
The flames in the sconces along the walls flared up and ran across the ceiling, charring the ceiling beams. Next, Seph collected armloads of air, hardened it, and smashed through the gallery windows. Shards of glass pinged on the stone floor. The roar of the storm was suddenly amplified, and rain poured down on them.
The Dragon spoke again. “Leicester’s wizard slaves! It is time to reclaim what has been stolen from you. You are more powerful than any wizard, if you work together, as you have been taught. You believe you are owned by another, but you belong to me, before all else!”
Seph wasn’t so sure that was true, but it was enough to enrage Leicester. He screamed at the cowering alumni. “This is wizardry, you idiots! It’s a wizard behind all of this! I’ll show you.” Spinning, he thrust forward the staff. Flame gouted from the crystalline tip and slammed into Hastings, throwing him backward onto the stone floor, where he lay still, his clothes smoldering.
There was a dead silence, save the shriek of the wind and clatter of the rain.
Linda knelt next to Hastings and cradled his head in her lap.
Leicester turned to look at the dragon. It hung over them mournfully for a long moment, wingtips drooping a little, then reared up, drawing its lips back to reveal stalactite-size teeth.
Flame gushed forth, enveloping Leicester. The hot breath of the dragon extended to the far end of the hall, blackening the walnut paneling around the doorway and setting the papers on the conference table aflame. Smoke and confusion filled the chamber. People were screaming, shouting orders, demanding to be released.
But when the flames died away, Leicester was still on his feet, though noticeably singed and unsettled.
“Cut us loose before we’re incinerated where we sit!” Wylie demanded from the sidelines. “This is obviously not Hastings’s work unless the man can conjure from the grave.”
Now Leicester focused his attention on the dragon, extending the staff, sending bolt after bolt of wizard fire into the beast. The dragon remained unharmed, but the wall of the conference room began to disintegrate under the assault. Seph ducked back into the butler’s pantry to avoid falling masonry. The huge stone fireplace was reduced to heaps of rubble and he could see into the corridors beyond the conference room.
Seph looked for other targets. Claude D’Orsay had taken cover when the fireworks started. Sedgwick and Whitehead were nowhere to be seen.
Seph slammed his fist against the wall in frustration and pain. His father lay dead on the conference room floor. He and Jason were taking the winery apart, but it would do no good if they couldn’t take down Leicester. Sooner or later, the headmaster would figure out what was going on and nail them. The only thing he could think of was to go after the alumni, try and pick them off one by one, diminishing Leicester’s power.
But he knew that at least some, if not all, of the alumni were unwilling participants in Leicester’s schemes. He thought of nervous Peter Conroy with his inhaler and Martin Hall, the principled viniculturist. Wayne Eggars, the physician, and little Ashton Rice, the music teacher. He forced himself to make a list in his mind, putting them in priority order. Barber would be first, of course, but he was out in the garden. Then Bruce Hays, who’d seemed to enjoy torturing Ellen and the others.
All the while, he maintained a constant assault on Gregory Leicester, keeping him and the others occupied, directing his fire to make it appear it was coming from Jason’s dragon. Cautiously, he leaned out from his hiding place, looking for Bruce Hays, and was met with a blast of wizard fire that he only just turned by throwing up a shield and ducking back into hiding.
“Ah,” said Leicester, sounding relieved. “I think we’ve discovered the guilty party.”
Seph retreated into the butler’s pantry, desperately trying to conceive of a plan. And backed into somebody who grabbed him around the waist.
“Witch Boy! Sounds like all h
ell’s broken loose. Why didn’t you come get me?”
It was Madison.
Seph didn’t waste words. “Doors were blocked. And now I’ve been spotted.”
Leicester continued his assault on his hiding place. Seph shoved Madison up against the wall and covered her body with his as masonry pelted him on the head and shoulders. A large chunk smashed into his right elbow with stunning force, and his arm went numb. “Look, you’d better get out of here. You might be resistant to wizardry, but if a wall falls on you, you’re dead.”
She shook her head. Bits of debris were caught in her hair, and her face was powdered with plaster dust. “No. We have to work the plan.”
“Right. Like that’s possible.”
Seph moved cautiously forward with Madison just behind him. Just as he reached the entrance into the hall, Leicester called out to him.
“Joseph! Stop this foolishness and come out. Your mother wishes to speak with you.”
Throwing up a shield, Seph stepped into the doorway and looked out into the conference room.
Leicester stood amid the ruins, one arm around Linda Downey, the other gripping her by the throat. “Surrender and I’ll let her live.”
Seph hesitated, glancing back at Madison. “You’ll set her free?”
Leicester smiled, showing his teeth. “Of course. I have no quarrel with enchanters.”
Linda screamed, “Seph! Don’t you dare!” before Leicester silenced her.
“What about her?” Seph pointed over his shoulder at Madison, who was shaking her head. “You’ll leave my friend alone, too?”
If Leicester was surprised to see Madison, he didn’t show it. “You have my word on it.”
“All right.” Seph stepped from the pantry, and taking a deep breath, he dropped his shield.
Leicester waited until he was clear of the doorway. Still using Linda as a shield, he raised the staff. A cataract of flame streaked toward Seph, an attack that should have reduced him to cinders. In what was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done, Seph stepped behind Madison Moss, allowing her to take the full brunt of the assault.
Seph watched Leicester. At first, the wizard smiled, eyes glittering, smug and triumphant. Then his face changed as doubt and then horror crept in. He staggered backward, hands still extended, bound to Madison by the force of the charm. He struggled to free himself, to let go of the staff, twisting and turning as power flowed from the alumni into him, then out of his body and into Madison.
All around the room, the alumni staggered and fell as they were drained, much the way Seph had collapsed that day on the beach. Then Leicester went down on his back, shaking violently, eyes wide, throwing off sparks like a broken power line. The link with the alumni was broken. Seph circled Madison and charged toward him.
But Jason was quicker. He vaulted over the railing of the gallery, hung a moment, then dropped to the floor next to Leicester. Kneeling next to the wizard’s thrashing body, he reached for him, but Seph yanked him back.
“Don’t touch him directly unless you want to be wrung out yourself.”
Glancing around for a weapon, Jason bent and gripped a huge chunk of stone that had fallen from the fireplace. Between the two of them, Jason and Seph managed to lift it.
They smashed the stone down on Leicester’s head. His heels drummed on the pavement for a long minute, and then he went still.
“That’s for my father, John Haley,” Jason gasped.
“And for my father, Leander Hastings, and for Trevor Hill, and for every alumnus of the Havens, gifted or not,” Seph added. He turned his face away and shuddered. Jason sank to the floor amid the rubble and put his face in his hands.
Seph knew he should finish what he’d started, that he should determine the intentions of the alumni, find Claude D’Orsay, and do something about Warren Barber in the garden. But he did none of those things.
He felt too weary to take another step, but he forced himself to stagger across the room to where Madison stood braced against the wall, eyes wide, fists clenched, as if in shock. He was covered with blood, his elbow was swollen and misshapen where it had been hit by falling debris. He pulled her close. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, her quick, shallow breaths.
He kept saying, “It’s all right,” and “I’m sorry,” over and over. Then she was sobbing into his shoulder and he was patting her back, making little circles with his hand.
Finally, he pulled away and took her hand, leading her over to where his mother cradled his father in her arms. He knelt next to her, full of regret, but empty of words to express it.
She greeted him with a brilliant smile, though tears ran down her face. “You’re alive!” she said, shifting Hastings so she could grip Seph’s hand.
Seph blinked back his own tears. “Mother,” he said, the word large and awkward in his mouth. Then his voice broke. “I’m sorry,” he said huskily.
But she was still smiling, rather damply. “When I said you were alive, I meant both of you.”
It was impossible. Leaning forward, Seph looked down at his father and reached out and touched his cheek. It was warm, suffused with blood. Hastings frowned and shifted away, groaning. His eyelids fluttered, then opened, focused on his face.
Seph shook his head, still unable to believe it. “I don’t get it. Leicester blasted you. No one could have survived that.” He reached out and touched the collar around his father’s neck. “Not in the shape you were in.”
“It was Martin Hall.” Hastings’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “He removed the collar and reversed the charm before we came into the hall.” He paused, took a breath. “I was still weak, but I’d managed to throw up a shield. I expected he might attack your mother or me.”
The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. “I must say, I was surprised when the dragon came to call. I had no idea where Jason was going with that.” He struggled to sit upright, with Linda’s help. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Trinity?”
Jason spoke from behind him. “Dude ain’t so easy to bully anymore. Some fool’s been training him in wizardry.”
Seph turned to look at him, and Jason managed a creditable courtly bow. “It’s been my dream to meet the Dragon,” he said, grinning at Linda. “But somehow, I always pictured him as a wizard with a long, gray beard. I think I like this better.”
With the death of Leicester, a number of spells were broken. The immobilization charms dissolved, and the Interguild representatives and the Wizard Council collected into two distinct groups that eyed each other warily. Some organized themselves into an impromptu fire brigade and began putting out the fires that still smoldered throughout the room.
Ellen retrieved Leicester’s staff and held it close by her side. Jack produced a wicked-looking knife from somewhere and was very obviously honing it against a stone pillar.
Nick Snowbeard came to look after Hastings, and Seph immediately felt more confident.
Madison still seemed to be in shock, a ghost with watercolor eyes, shivering and teeth chattering. Seph sat her down in one of the chairs by the conference table, wishing he knew what to do for her.
Wylie and Longbranch broke away from the rest of the Council and came toward them. “Where is D’Orsay?” they demanded, glaring at Seph.
Good question. “How should I know?” Seph replied. “I’ve been kind of busy.”
“The constitution is missing, too. If he manages to get it to Raven’s Ghyll, it will be a disaster.” Wylie looked as if this were somehow Seph’s fault.
“Then you’d better go after him, don’t you think?” Seph said. “Maybe you can catch him at the dock.”
“First we’ll deal with his associates,” Longbranch said.
The council conspirators were nowhere to be seen, but the alumni still lay where they’d fallen, as helpless as Seph had been on the beach. But they were alive, at least. Their link with Leicester had been broken when Maddie drained his power away.
Before Seph knew what she
was about, Longbranch strode over to Ashton Rice, knelt, and shoved her fingers under his chin.
“Hey!” Seph gripped the wizard’s wrist with his good hand and wrenched it away. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She looked up at him in surprise and annoyance. “These young men are collaborators. Allies of D’Orsay and Leicester. Best to destroy them while we can.”
“I wouldn’t call them allies, exactly,” Seph said. “More like victims, most of them.”
“Don’t you understand what’s happening?” Longbranch spoke as one might to the mentally impaired. “This is war. The truce between wizards is over. Which side are you on?”
Suddenly Jack and Ellen flanked him. Jason and Madison drifted in from behind.
“I’m not on your side. Or D’Orsay’s. You’re going to have to have your war without me,” Seph said.
“We’ll see,” Longbranch said. She extended her hand, and he took a step back, out of range of those long, red nails. “You’re powerful, I’ll give you that. You take after your father in that regard. You’re going to have to decide whether to follow after him in other ways.”
She looked over at Madison, studying her as if she were an especially interesting specimen. “What’s your girl’s name?” she asked, toying with a large emerald that hung from a chain around her neck.
Seph didn’t honor that question with an answer.
Longbranch tch’ed. “Are you going to waste your life as a nursemaid to the servant guilds or learn to navigate the world of wizards, where the real power lies? Think about it.”
“I don’t have to think about it,” Seph said, but Longbranch had already turned away.
Jack and Ellen were looking curiously at Jason. With the death of Gregory Leicester, some of Jason’s intensity and spirit seemed to have drained away. He leaned against a stone pillar, looking tired and thin, almost ill. It reminded Seph of his first day in Trinity, when he was the outsider.
“Jack Swift and Ellen Stephenson, this is Jason Haley,” Seph said. “He’s a friend from the Havens. He saved my life.”
Leicester still lay on the floor where he had fallen. Seph felt no joy at the way he had died, only intense relief and the conviction that the death of the wizard was a matter of survival for him and the people he cared about.
The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III Page 69
