The Warrior Heir

The chamber was virtually bare, as if carved from rock, with stone walls and a stone floor, a fireplace, and a single, unadorned window. There was an arched wooden door at the far end of the room. Apart from the bed, the only furnishings were a stand with a basin and pitcher on it, a small bedside table with sorcerer's bottles lined up on it, two plain wooden chairs, and a rocker drawn up next to the bed. A jeweled case stood propped against the hearth. It was Shadowslayer, his sword, and next to it, on the hearthstone, lay Blaise's mirror in its leather wrapping. How did those get here? He'd left them at the hotel, under charms of protection.

He desperately tried to remember what had happened at the end of the long afternoon in the church. There was no twinge or tenderness in his shoulder, no remnant of the wizard's graffe. Had Hastings arrived in time, or was he in the hands of the White Rose? That thought made him get up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. He meant to retrieve his sword. If they were foolish enough to leave him a weapon, he intended to take advantage of it.

Just then, the door opened, and his mother came in. Becka was wearing jeans and a bulky sweater, barefoot despite the chill of the stone floor. She carried a tray with a pot of tea and a generous breakfast.

“Mom!” Jack was amazed and overjoyed to see her. Becka carefully set the tray down on the bedside table and then pulled him into her arms. They sat there on the edge of the bed for a long minute.

Finally Becka sat down and looked at him. “You seem much better, Jack. I was so worried when Leander came to get me. You looked terrible.”

There was toast and marmalade, bacon and eggs, and some kind of smoked fish. Jack spread the marmalade onto his toast, stalling for time while he conjured up a question. Jack wasn't sure how his condition would have been explained.

“Did Mr. Hastings tell you what happened?”

She frowned, as if she were trying hard to remember. “He said you had caught a … a virus, and what you needed was some rest and peace and quiet. So we came up here.” She stroked the hair away from his forehead. “Would you like me to get you something to read? There's a wonderful library downstairs.”

Jack stopped chewing and stared at his mother. This was not at all the response he had anticipated. He expected a thousand questions he couldn't answer. He wondered how Hastings had handled her, why she had not insisted on his going to a hospital.Though, perhaps he already knew the answer to that question.

“Where are we?” he asked, looking about the room. “And how long have I been … sick?”

“This is Leander's house. We've been here three days.”

Jack glanced around the room again. It was as spare as the man himself. The only color was from the sorcerer's bottles on the table. Hastings had never mentioned any connection to England, let alone that he had a house here. But it made sense, if Hastings knew Aunt Linda. “Are we still in London?” Something about the quality of the light and the stillness outside told him they were not.

“This is Cumbria. In the north of England. We're in the mountains, actually, not far from Scotland.”

Jack wondered how recent events would affect the rest of their time in England, wondered if wizards would soon be chasing him all over Britain. “What about Oxford? Aren't they expecting you?”

“I have all summer to get to Oxford.” She spoke languidly, as if there were no longer any urgency about getting there. She sat down in the rocker. “Jack, eat your breakfast before it gets cold. You haven't eaten for three days, and you need to get your strength back.”

Why had Hastings brought his mother up here? Perhaps to help care for him, but it certainly made matters awkward. He didn't see how they could hope to keep his problems secret much longer anyway. He felt like his whole life was unraveling, and threatening to shred his family in the bargain.

He pushed his breakfast aside for the moment and slid out of bed. It was unexpectedly high, and his feet hit the stone floor with a smack. The shutters over the window stood open, and the morning air was chilly. His clothes were nowhere in sight.

The view through the window caught his eye. They were perhaps three stories up, looking out to a beautiful landscape of mountains and green hillsides, the foothills shrouded in mist.

And then the door opened and Leander Hastings walked in. He too was dressed in a heavy sweater against the cool morning. He seemed surprised to see Jack up and walking around. “Becka!” he said, smiling. “It looks like your son is definitely on the mend.” He came and stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. There was an ownership about the gesture that set Jack's teeth on edge.

“He looks much better,” Becka agreed, half turning to look up into the wizard's face. “But I can't get him to eat much breakfast.”

Hastings crossed to the window and looked over Jack's shoulder. “Beautiful, isn't it? I feel renewed each time I come here.”

Jack turned away rudely. “Mom, I think I'd like to do some reading after breakfast after all. Do you think you could go down and find me a couple of books?”

Becka actually looked at Hastings for an answer. The wizard nodded. “That's a good idea,” he said. “Jack and I need to talk anyway. I'll come get you in a little while.”

Becka rose from the rocker and kissed Jack on his forehead. “Try and eat a little more,” she said, and left the room. Hastings gazed after her until the door shut behind her.

Jack broadened his stance, resting his fists on his hips. “What's wrong with her?”

Hastings sat down in the rocker next to the bed. “There's nothing wrong with your mother. She's fine.” He might have smiled, but didn't when he saw the expression on Jack's face.

“You've put a spell on her,” Jack persisted. “She's not acting like herself.”

“I haven't used any charms on her unnecessarily,” Hastings replied, shrugging like an innocent man. “Though I may have to … direct her a bit more now that you're up and about.”

“You should never have brought her up here.”

“I see.” Hastings toyed with an unusual ring on his left ring finger. It was a beautifully faceted stone set in an ornate gold setting, and it spun out light in a thousand colors. “I've kept your mother safe,” he said. “By now, the Roses are certainly looking for her. I don't know what more you want from me.”

Jack didn't know what else to say to the man who had once again saved his life. So he said nothing.

“Sit down, Jack.” Hastings motioned to the other chair, looking like a man with an unpleasant job to do. Reluctantly, Jack sat. Hastings waved a hand at the breakfast tray. “Better eat.” Jack surveyed the tray, then grudgingly picked up a piece of toast. “How are you feeling?” the wizard asked.

“I'm feeling good,” Jack admitted. ”It's like I had a bad dream."

“A very bad dream,” Hastings agreed. “Your shoulder should be fine, with no stiffness at all. As long as the charm is destroyed in time, all is mended.”

“I don't really remember what happened.” He finished the slice of toast and started in on his eggs.

“After the charm was broken, I carried you to my car. Linda stayed behind to distract Dr. Longbranch and the others. I thought it best to stop and retrieve your mother. I knew she would be worried about you when you and Linda didn't return, and I was afraid she might go to see Dr. Longbranch. So I brought her up here.”

“I didn't know you had a house here.”

“This house is the ancestral home of my family, though I acquired it only a few years ago. This is the Lake District, the land of the poets, one of the magical places in Britain.” Jack looked up to see Hastings still watching him, as if sizing him up. It made him uneasy.

“Why don't you tell me what's going on?” Jack sat back a bit from his breakfast. “What do you want from me?”

“Had you heard that there is a tournament scheduled for Midsummer's Day?” Hastings's face was expressionless.

“Dr. Longbranch told us about it.” Jack thought hard. A lot had happened since his visit to Longbranch's office. “She said the Red Rose had issued a challenge, that they had a champion. She wants me to fight.”

Hastings nodded. “She does. And so do I.” The words hung heavily in the air between them.

Understanding came slowly, like the change in light that comes with the onset of bad weather. Their eyes locked briefly, and Jack's breath was stolen from him. So many puzzles, so many inconsistencies, and now it all made sense. And then he was angry, at Hastings and at his own stupidity.

“That was your plan all along, wasn't it?” His voice trembled, despite his efforts to keep it steady. He shoved his breakfast tray away and leaned forward. “That's what you were preparing me for, all the formal training, the bouts in the meadow, everything!”

Hastings nodded. “Yes.” He didn't look up, still focused on the ring.

“This trip to England: was that your idea also?” His mother had decided this on her own, hadn't she? He tried to remember.

The wizard spread his fingers in a gesture of confession. “I would have arranged for you to come to England this summer one way or another. I thought perhaps with the Chaucerian Society, but as it happened, you traveled with Becka.”

“So you lied to Aunt Linda,” Jack continued. “Making her think she could keep me out of this.”

“Yes. I lied.” Hastings was unapologetic. “Your aunt handed me the rather challenging task of keeping you alive. We simply disagree on strategy.”

“Well, you've chosen the wrong person. You can't make me fight for you. If it comes to that, I'll throw the match.”

“There is no 'throwing' of the tournament. It's a fight to the death.”

“Then you'll have to find someone else to sacrifice.”

“Make no mistake. Either way, you will be sacrificed.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">