The Dragon Heir

Page 40

Nick had insisted on bringing Leesha Middleton, who sat off to one side. A small group of unfamiliar wizards sat together at the back.
Conversations in a dozen languages reverberated around the room. Shimmering ghost warriors in period dress slouched up the side aisles and peered down from the balconies.
Well, we have the votes at this point, Seph thought. What we need are sorcerers to sign onto this project. He glanced down at the notes on the scrap of paper in his hand.
“Let's begin,” Nick murmured, touching Seph on the shoulder. The old wizard shuffled to the podium and gripped it with both hands. “Guildfriends!”
Conversations died away.
“Thank you for coming,” Nick continued. “Most of you know me. I am Nicodemus Snowbeard, acting chair of the board of governors of the sanctuary in Linda Downey's absence. We've met as a board to discuss matters such as the development of emergency housing and language programs, to mediate disputes, and so on. But tonight we are here for a different purpose—to discuss a change in security procedures for the sanctuary.”
He paused, scanning the room for questions, then continued. “Recently, we have seen an unusual influx of wizards into Trinity. They may be innocent tourists, they may be spies, or they may intend to make off with our arsenal of magical weapons. We don't know. But redirecting them requires constant vigilance.”
“What magical weapons?” demanded a twitchy-looking wizard in the back. “Where are they? Why weren't we told?”
“Wizards? Innocent tourists? Bah!” a young French seer in the front row said. A rumble of assent followed. “We should expel them all before they knife us in the back.”
Ellen stood. “I've got more reason to hate wizards than most people,” she said. “But we need wizards to fight wizards, and they've got a plan. I think you should listen to it.” She glared at the crowd until the grumbling subsided, then sat down quickly.
“All right,” Nick said, taking advantage of the lull. “Seph McCauley has agreed to coordinate security matters for the sanctuary. He'll answer any questions you have.”
Seph mounted the steps to the stage and sat down in a folding chair onstage. Conversations rose on all sides, beating against his flame-sensitized ears.
“He's just a boy,” said one of the wizards in the back, looking down his long nose at Seph. “Why is he handling security? Are things that desperate?”
“He's Hastings's son,” the twitchy wizard muttered. “He's bound to be juiced.”
“Juice is one thing.” The first wizard snorted. “Experience and common sense quite another.”
A third wizard, a youngish woman with Asian features, shushed the other two. “Didn't you hear what he did at Second Sister?” she hissed. “Dueled twelve wizards at once and killed them all.”
“Like I said, Felicia, no common sense,” the first wizard said.
“He's a wizard,” Seph heard one sorcerer say to another. “And he's going to be protecting the Anaweir?”
Great, Seph thought. Everybody already has an opinion. He looked out over the crowd, making eye contact with several people he knew. Mercedes winked at him, and he relaxed a fraction.
“So,” Seph said. “As most of you know, some of us have been—um—standing guard since then, to make sure the rules written at Raven's Ghyll hold here in the sanctuary. But it's been harder, lately, because of all the intrusions.”
“They aren't intrusions,” the long-nosed wizard said. “The sanctuary is open to all.”
“We have to change that,” Seph said from his chair on the stage. “Lately wizards have been swarming in. If we leave the sanctuary open, there's a chance the balance of power will be tipped in favor of the Roses. With things as unstable as they are, we could be overwhelmed before we can mount a defense.”
“What do you have in mind?” the Asian wizard asked.
Seph straightened and met the wizard's eyes. “We're going to put up a Weirwall.”
There was an instant uproar. He'd expected it. Weirwalls were controversial. They were first used during the Wars of the Roses, to ensnare wizards. They were mostly the work of sorcerers, but some wizards (like Barber) had the skill as well. Many wizards considered them foul play.
“What kind of Weirwall?” one of the sorcerers finally asked, shouting above the hubbub. “And who's going to design and build it?”
“Great question,” Seph said, relieved it was a question he could give to someone else. “Mercedes?”
Mercedes Foster strode up to the podium and glared out at the Weir. “Give the boy a chance!” she shouted. “He didn't ask for this job. He deserves your thanks, not your criticism. He's trying to save your sorry butts.”
The noise diminished somewhat.
“Where's Hastings?” Long Nose demanded. “And Linda Downey? Seems like they created this mess, they should be here to handle it.”
“Looking back to the good old days, are you, Randolph?” Mercedes said acidly. “When wizards ruled the guilds?”
“It was certainly … a lot more efficient,” Randolph retorted.
“If you don't like it here, leave.” Mercedes turned away from him, waving a sheaf of papers in the air. “I've agreed to coordinate the building project, but I'd welcome input from anyone experienced with this sort of thing. I've made a map and some preliminary sketches. It's a traditional curtain wall that selects for Weir. Nobody'll get stuck in it, if that's what you're worried about. You can come and go through the gate. Anaweir can pass freely.”
“So the Anaweir can pass, and not us?” Randolph said, vainly looking around for allies. “Who's going to staff the gate?”
Jack stood. “The Warrior Guild has agreed to stand watch at the gate,” he said. “Unless you have a better idea?”
Randolph settled back, still fuming. He had nothing.
“Just so you know, Jack,” Iris said. “Some of the merchants around the square have been complaining about ghost warriors bivouacking on the green. Well, actually, the Anaweir think it's some kind of reenactment group. They've been hanging out in campus bars, playing cards, flirting with patrons, and getting into fights.”
“Well, they are soldiers,” Jack said, shrugging. “I'll check into it. I guess I can move them off the green and up into one of the more remote parks.”
“The building of the wall will require considerable magical labor,” Mercedes said, firmly turning the topic back to the matter at hand. “The board has already voted to proceed. But we need volunteers to help. Sorcerers and wizards primarily.”
“When are you planning to start this?” one of the sorcerers asked.
“Tomorrow morning,” Mercedes replied. “I have a signup sheet here. Anyone willing to help should see me.” She glanced at Nick, and he nodded. “That's it. The meetings adjourned.”
Wizards and sorcerers lined up to volunteer for wall-work. Seph was surprised to see Leesha among them. When she was finished, she walked over to where Jack, Seph, and Ellen were waiting for Nick. She looked almost cheerful.
“This is cool,” she said. “I like the idea of a wall. We don't want just anybody coming in here.”
“If you're talking about Barber, you promised you'd help us find him,” Jack reminded her. “Otherwise you might be the one on the outside.”
Leesha immediately looked less cheerful. “I know. Only, I'm still trying to figure out how to get him to come into the sanctuary.”
“He's not going to come in here,” Seph said. “Especially with the wall going up. Whatever we think about him, he's not stupid. We're going to have to go after him on the outside.”
“Well,” Leesha said, fussing with her hair. “Um…how about this? I could set up a meeting with him, and you could be waiting with a dozen wizards.”
“We don't have a dozen wizards,” Seph said. “If I went after Barber, Nick would have to stay here.”
“Besides, I think we want you right there with us,” Ellen said. “You know. Just in case there's a double cross or something.”
Leesha clasped her hands together, looking a little panicked. “But, I really … I'd really rather not leave the sanctuary,” she said in a small voice.
“If you try and back out of this, you'll be leaving the sanctuary in a hurry,” Jack said. “You said Barber knows something about Jason, and we want to know what he knows.”
“Okay,” Leesha snapped. “I said I'd do it. I'll figure something out.”
Chapter Twenty The Trader
Warren stood in the second-floor window of the warehouse and scanned the empty street. He checked his watch for the fourth time. You'd think she'd learn.
Well, she'd pay, one way or another, for being late.
Leaning against the window frame, he lit another cigarette, careful where he flicked his ashes. The place was a firetrap, for sure. Many of the old buildings in Cleveland's Warehouse District had been rehabbed into studios, restaurants, and bars. Not this one. It was decrepit, still littered with trash, abandoned industrial equipment, and barrels of God knows what. He could hear rats scurrying around when he lay down at night, and he made sure he put out wards to keep them away.
There was no sanctuary for Warren Barber. He felt twitchy, uneasy. The stench of betrayal was all around him, stinging his nostrils and crawling over his skin. Assassins had come after him, twice now. Both times, he'd escaped, but his luck couldn't hold out forever. They were sent either by Claude D'Orsay or by the servant guilds in Trinity. Either way, Leesha had talked.
So Warren had left his apartment and moved into this place three nights ago. After he met with Leesha, he'd move again, though if Leesha came through as promised, maybe he wouldn't need to.