Brooks writhed on the ground, still trying to stick the wizard leaning over him. Jack heard an immobilization charm uncoiling, as if in slow motion, and he shouldered into the source, slashing blindly with his belt knife. The wizard fell.

Jack knelt next to Brooks in one of those tiny bubbles of time that probably last a half second, but seem to go on forever. “Come on, Brooks. Up. Let's get you to Mercedes.”

Blood dribbled from the warrior's mouth. “I'm done, Jack. But I took ten of the bloody bastards wi' me, and that's something.” He gripped Jack's hand, as if looking for confirmation. Jack could only nod. “All the tournaments I won, all the poor warriors I put down…not half so … satisfying.”

Jack could scarcely speak. “Up you go,” he whispered, brushing away tears with his gauntlet. “Quit malingering.”

“Tell the girl, when you find her…she has talent,” Brooks gasped. “She's a fine fighter. Always was.” And the warrior closed his eyes.

Jack remembered a sunny morning in Cumbria, Brooks charging at him across the grass, beaded hair flying, his moccasins wet with the dew, a tomahawk in each hand. More alive than any ghost had a right to be.

He stood, looked around. The center of the battle had moved a hundred yards off. Ellen. He had to find her. He cut a path through the mayhem, swinging his sword with deadly efficiency.

Eventually, he extracted himself long enough to note a clutch of White Rose wizards hard by the gate, seemingly in a furious pitched battle against some Red Rose wizards. And in the midst of it all, he spotted Ellen and what was left of her patrol—maybe twenty bloodied warriors fighting for their lives.

Ellen was her usual army of one, laying about her with Waymaker, smashing blows aside with her shield, rallying her depleted troops, making life miserable for anyone who came within her reach.

Jack bulled his way toward them, wondering why warriors would insert themselves into a battle among enemy wizards. Then he saw someone familiar among the White Rose wizards against the wall. Her studded denim jacket splattered with blood, blue eyes wide with fright, she was secured behind a phalanx of wizards and warriors.

Madison?

So focused were the Red Rose attackers on their intended that Jack cut down a half dozen before they noticed he was there. Even when he could no longer be ignored, only a few wizards turned to deal with him while the majority continued their relentless assault against the White Rose. They cut down one of the wizard defenders and stepped through the gap, only to be driven back by Ellen's fierce counterattack.

They're after Madison, Jack thought, his mind grappling sluggishly with the evidence before him. And the White Rose is defending her?

Perhaps the Red Rose had been instructed to take her alive, or maybe they were well aware of the consequences of attacking Madison with magic. For whatever reason, they were all doing their best to kill everyone around her while leaving her untouched.

Wizards poured onto the field in a seeming unending supply. There were wizards behind them. Wizards on all sides. Red and White Rose wizards. Unlabeled wizards. It was as if all the repressed fury of the past centuries had been unleashed in this single battle. If there hadn't been so much confusion on the field, Jack would've been dead long before he ever got close to Ellen.

One by one, the small party of White Rose wizards was eliminated, until it was just Ellen standing between the Red Rose and Madison Moss. She was already bleeding from several wounds, but she wore that familiar stubborn “Try me!” expression as she faced down a half-dozen wizards. She reached back behind and extended a dagger to Madison, hilt-first.

Jack's throwing star caught one of the wizards behind the left ear, and he pitched forward. Ellen's sword took out another. Now it was four to one, even odds where Ellen was concerned.

She looked up at Jack, scowling through the blood and dirt on her face. “Will you tell them to open up the bloody gate long enough to poke her through?”

Jack realized that she'd been maneuvering closer to the Weirgate, and now it was just behind them. But the defenders would never open it with hundreds of wizards just outside. They'd have no idea who Madison was.

“Mick! Go tell them to open the gate.” He jerked his head, directing the warrior that way. Then, jostling past several wizards, Jack took his place by Ellen's left side, where his southpaw swordplay would cover her nondominant side. He could tell she was injured by the way she moved, and her tunic was stained dark with sweat or blood, he couldn't tell.

“Take Madison in,” he suggested. “You're all beat up.”

She shook her head and drew herself up. Jack caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned. A wizard had somehow slipped in behind them and was closing on Madison, who was trying to hold him off with Ellen's dagger. It was young Devereaux D'Orsay.

“Devereaux! Come away from there!” A tall wizard sprinted toward them, trying to get between the two warriors and the boy. Claude D'Orsay.

While Madison was distracted by D'Orsay, Devereaux made a grab for her.

Jack took two steps, but Ellen was there ahead of him. “Hey!” She shouldered the young wizard out of the way. The boy turned, grinned, raised his hands. Too close to miss.

“No!” It was like one of those dreams where you're frozen, unable to run. Only a few yards divided them, but Jack couldn't cross the distance in time. Flame rippled from Devereaux's hands and slammed into Ellen, lifting her off her feet before she toppled backward onto the ground.

“That's one!” the boy crowed, then reached toward Jack, a greedy smile on his baby face, his pale eyes alive with delight behind round glasses. “Who would've known that warriors die so easi…”

Shadowslayer ended it. The boy died with a smile on his face.

Someone screamed “Devereaux!”

Jack turned. It was Claude D'Orsay, his face twisted in grief and rage. It was the icy Master of the Games as Jack had never seen him.

“You killed him! You cross-whelped barbarian, you've killed my son!” D'Orsay came grimly forward, driving a vast wall of flame across the battlefield toward Jack, apparently unconcerned who else he incinerated as long as Jack was numbered among them.

Jack stepped in front of Ellen's prone body, knowing there was no way he could stop what was coming. He raised Shadowslayer, said a prayer.

D'Orsay was so focused on his intended victim that he didn't see the person that materialized behind him. Jack blinked in disbelief. It was Jason Haley, with a dagger in his manacled hands.

Jason charged into D'Orsay, knocking him off his feet. They rolled across the ground, trailing a wake of flame. Jason came up on top. He gripped the hilt of the dagger with both hands and drove it home. D'Orsay screamed, a high, keening note, then sent flame ripping into Jason, nearly cutting him in two. D'Orsay pushed Jason's body aside, tried to rise, then fell flat on his face and lay still.

The onrushing flames hesitated, piling higher and higher, like a giant breaker hitting a reef, then collapsed and dissipated. D'Orsay was dead.

“Jason!” Madison screamed, and tried to push past Jack to where Jason lay next to D'Orsay.

Jack threw out a gauntleted arm, blocking her path, and thrust her behind him. “No! Please, Madison.”

Ellen lay where she'd fallen, but Jack could not get to her. Wizards kept coming after Madison and dying on Jack's sword as fast as they came. Mick shouted at them from the Weirwall gate, gesturing at them to come ahead. But there was a sea of wizards between them. Madison stood frozen, eyes closed, fists clenched, as if to shut out the horror all around.

Jack saw movement on the battlefield, a kind of rippling, as if a snake were furrowing through the tall grass of humanity.

It was Seph, all smoky-eyed and dripping power, clearing the path to the gate. Ignoring the enemy wizards who did their best to kill him, he gripped Madison's hands, leaning close and speaking into her ear. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he turned her toward the gate. He looked back at Jack. “Come on, Jack. Leave it. Bring Ellen.”

Jack's throat was raw with grief and smoke. “Seph. Jason's down.” He pointed.

“Jason?” Seph's head came up and he went very still. “But he isn't even…” He turned and handed Madison off to Mick. “Take her in for me. Now.”

Madison screamed and tried to twist free and return to where Jason lay, but Mick picked her up and carried her toward the gate. Seph went and stood over Jason, head bowed, like a great black bird with drooping wings. Crossing himself, he removed his coat and wrapped his friend in it. He squatted, rolled Jason into his arms, and stood. He looked back at Jack, his eyes like great bruises in his pale face. “Let's go.” And he walked toward the gate, back straight, shrugging off a hundred flaming attacks from the Roses.

Wizards swarmed into the gap behind him. Jack knew there was no way he could carry Ellen and keep Shadowslayer in play. He'd be down before he went a dozen yards. But he had to try.

Mick had just reached the gate with Madison. Jack saw someone slip through the narrow opening and run toward him, nimbly dodging bodies and debris. A small wizard, but powerfully lit, in a pink sweater and blue jeans. Flame erupted from her fingertips, roaring convincingly across the field into the phalanx of Roses that threatened to engulf Jack. The charge faltered, slid back.

She came up beside him. It was Alicia Anne Middleton.

She sent a concussion of air into the oncoming wizards, bowling them back like tenpins, and put up a barrier to turn their fire. “Jackson. Are you going to take her in or what?” Her voice broke over the words, and she blinked back tears.

Jack thrust Shadowslayer into his baldric. Inclined his head to Leesha. Then knelt and slid his arms under Ellen. And stood, cradling her close, breathing her in. Her clothes still smoked from the wizard's assault. But to him, she always smelled of flowers.

He walked toward the gate, with Leesha covering him. This was the scene he'd seen in his mirror, all those many times. He was the last warrior standing, carrying his fallen comrade.