There was a brief silence, broken only by the snap of resin in the fire, and then Jack spoke. “How did you know?” he asked his aunt.

“It was in her obituary. Her body was found by Lee Hastens, Hastings to us. They weren't so fussy about spelling in those days. She had a chest wound, but I am sure it was not difficult for a wizard to plant a story about a fall from a horse. Will and Fitch had it partly figured out.”

“But that was a hundred years ago,” Jack repeated stubbornly.

There was a faint smile on Hastings's face. “I am much older than you think I am, Jack. We wizards are long-lived and have long memories. Why do you think this barbaric tournament system has gone on as long as it has?”

“What about Susannah's son?” Jack was slowly putting the story together. ”What happened to him?"

“His name was Andrew,” Hastings replied. “Your great-grandfather. I helped him escape with his father after Susannah's death. I kept track of him, kept the Roses away from him, but chose not to interfere with him after Susannah died.” There was a century of pain in his voice.

The man in the mirror had wept, rocking the young woman in his arms. “You were in love with Susannah,” Jack said. “And you're the one who tends her grave.” The words came back to him. Wizards have long memories.

Hastings did not dispute it. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and stared moodily into the fire.

After a moment, Linda said in a voice that would cut diamonds, “So, Jack, it appears that Mr. Hastings is working his way down through the Downey women. First your great-great grandmother, then me. Perhaps your mother is next.”

"Just stop it!” Jack said it loudly enough to shut them both up. He felt that he was getting way too much information, but still not enough to understand. He'd never seen his aunt in such a state, ever, and he hoped he never would again. There was a raw, primitive edge to her anger that was bewildering. Now they were both staring at him.

“Becka is my mother,” Jack went on, more quietly. “She's a great lawyer and a civil libertarian, and she'll always back the underdog in a fight. She loves medieval literature, and she makes her students love it, too. She likes to garden and take in strays. And she has nothing at all to do with this.”

“That's what wizards do, Jack,” Linda said evenly. “They go after whatever they want, and run over other people in the process. And it looks like you're on course to be the next sacrifice in Mr. Hastings's quest for revenge.”

Hastings spread his fingers. “I didn't ask for this job. You asked me to save him, and I'm doing the best I can.” He smiled bitterly. “Don't you see? I've failed. More than a hundred years I've been fighting the Roses, trying to organize a rebellion against this system, training warriors to defend themselves, pulling off daring raids and rescues. And for what? The Warrior Guild has been wiped out, for all intents and purposes.” His voice softened. “I'm not telling you anything you don't know. You've been fighting this war since you were Jack's age. From what I've heard, you're still fighting. Just not with me.” He held her gaze for a long moment, and then looked away, toward the fire.

Linda looked stricken. “Lee, I—”

“Even that's not enough for them,” Hastings growled. “Now Jessamine Longbranch is trying to figure out how to create new warriors. Next they'll be digging up the bodies of those they've murdered and cutting them apart.” He touched the ring on his finger self-consciously.

“So it's time to change strategies. I've been cutting off the arms of the beast, and it's done no good. This time I'm going after the heart.”

“You're going to try to gain control of the council,” Linda whispered. “And the artifacts.”

Hastings nodded. “If I play Jack, and win, I'll own the Wizard Council and all their cache of magical weapons under their damned rules, at least until the next tournament. And there won't be another, if I can prevent it.” He looked at Jack. “As I told you, I had hoped neither House would be able to come up with a player. They would forfeit, and you wouldn't have to fight.”

“Well, maybe you can find the Red Rose player and eliminate him,” Linda said acidly, mimicking Dr. Longbranch. “That would be perfect.”

Hastings slammed his fist against the table, rattling the crockery. “Do you have a better suggestion? I wouldn't have done this if I didn't think it was Jack's best chance. It's too late. What do you think his future is going to be like? Where are you planning to hide? They're going to butcher him sooner or later, just like the rest of the Weirlind, and there's nothing you or I can do about it. And if they take him to play, you know what they'll do to him, don't you? At least if I sponsor him, that won't happen.”

“Mr. Hastings told me that both the Red and the White Rose will be hunting for me now,” Jack said with little emotion. “He said they would go after my family in order to get to me. Is that true?”

Linda sighed. “That has been the pattern,” she admitted.

“No matter where I go, they'll track me down. I can never go home.” Jack shook his head. ”I'm already tired of this, and it's only been a few months. I can't do this for a lifetime. At least this is clean and simple."

There was a brief silence. “Where are they holding the tournament?” Linda asked.

Hastings shrugged. “At Raven's Ghyll, perhaps.”

Linda drew in a quick breath. “What makes you think you would get out of there alive? The members of the council will draw lots to choose who has the honor of cutting your throat.”

Hastings smiled. “As a sponsor, I will be protected.”

“Until someone gets you alone. Wizard's rules are meant to be broken,” Linda said. To Jack's surprise, there were tears in her eyes. “Leander, maybe you are determined to get yourself killed, but leave Jack out of it.”

“I'm already in it, Aunt Linda,” Jack said quietly. Maybe it was the effect of the merger with Brooks, but there was some part of him that was no longer a child.

Linda seemed to sense it, too. “You're different,” she whispered. “First your body, and now …” The tears had escaped and were now sliding down her cheeks. “You're sixteen years old,” she said softly. “You're too young for this fight.”

“I never picked it,” Jack said. He turned to Hastings, feeling unusually calm and resolute. “You need to let my mother go now. Aunt Linda can take her back. Whatever you two can cook up between you to keep her from worrying is fine. I'll be at your bout. But I don't want her involved with this or with you. I think I deserve that much.”

“Jack, I'm sorry. I'll send your mother back with Linda,” Hastings said. He knelt beside Becka and took her hands. He spoke quietly, and although Jack was listening intently, he couldn't make out most of the charm. Becka blinked and sat up, looking confused.

“Becka, Linda is here to drive you down to Oxford. Jack's going to stay on with me for a few days.We're going camping in Langdale Pikes. I'll drive him down to you next week.” Jack was beginning to recognize the sound of wizardry.

Becka stared at him a moment, then nodded. “I suppose I knew we couldn't stay here forever,” she said. “But thank you for your … hospitality. I know you'll have fun, sweetheart,” she said to Jack, managing a smile. “It will just take a minute to get my things.” She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but then lost the train of it. She stood, wrapping her arms about herself, then turned and fled up the stairs.

Hastings looked after her for a long moment, then turned to Linda. “She'll sleep all the way home, and when she wakes up, she won't remember much about her stay here. She'll not worry, though, because she'll know Jack is camping with me.”

“I'm not leaving you here, Jack,” Aunt Linda said stubbornly. “Don't you think your mother will catch on when you're dead?”

“There's nothing you can do,” Jack replied. “I'll be fine,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “Besides, I might win.”

Becka returned with her bag. Linda gave Jack a fierce hug, her face wet with tears. Becka gave him a considerably drier one. And then they were out the door.

With the women gone, the manor had the feel of a dead place. The wizard and the warrior stood awkwardly for a moment, at a loss for words. At some level Jack had known it would come to this, from the first time he'd seen Hastings in Trinity. Even then, he'd seen the deadliness in him, and somehow sensed his tragic history as well. More and more, there were no revelations, but simply the uncovering of truths long known but dimly remembered. Everything had been written long ago. Their destinies were linked.

As for Hastings, the wizard seemed more vulnerable than before, flawed, somehow eminently human. A man who considered himself a failure at his life's work. Who was, perhaps, heading to his death in Raven's Ghyll, and bringing Jack along.

Chapter Fifteen

Raven's Ghyll

Fells. It was a fit name for these mountains, Jack decided. They were full of old magic, lost souls, and melancholy. And on this day they were full of rain and mist as well. He and Hastings had left their car in a parking lot some distance outside of Keswick. As they climbed higher and higher, the weather grew more brutal. Summer in the Lake District felt like November in Ohio. Jack wore a heavy jacket he had borrowed from Hastings, climbing pants, a thick sweater, and sturdy hiking boots. He carried his other clothes in a backpack, and his sword was slung across his back to leave his hands free for scrambling over the unforgiving terrain.

Hastings set an unrelenting pace, always upward, following a path that Jack could barely pick out on the treacherous rock.

The peak loomed up before them. Ravenshead, Hastings called it. But its stark melancholy suited Jack in his present mood.