Accidental Sorcerer (28 page)

'AH the training in the world won't help you if you lack raw talent.'

'Careful, Gerald.' Eyes narrowed, Lional shifted in the chair. 'Pomodoro considered himself the world's foremost thaumaturgical scholar. He had an extraordinary library of magical texts - but he refused to let me see it, can you imagine? Claimed there were books no eyes but his own were fit to look upon. But, like you, Uffitzi underestimated my ... dedication.'

He hated giving Lional the satisfaction but he had to know. 'What books, Your Majesty? What didn't he want you to see?'

Lional gazed thoughtfully at the cave's ceiling. 'Well ... there was
Pygram's Pestilences
- that one's fun. Lots of interesting plagues and things to play with in that one. Then there was
The Ebony Staff.
Some fabulous curses in there, Gerald, you'd be amazed. Hands turning into hooves. Noses falling off, not to mention other bits. Oh yes. Perfectly ingenious. Now, what else? Ah ... of course. The most important book of all. The one that changed my life.' He released a slow, ecstatic sigh.'
Grummen's Lexicon!

Gerald bit his tongue so hard he drew blood. 'That's impossible. There are only two copies of that book in existence, neither of them intact. They've been split into seventeen sections and dispersed between six different countries, held in separate secret locations, bound by curse and key. You can't have one.'

Lional smiled. 'I'm afraid whoever told you that was a trifle misinformed, Gerald. There are
three
copies of
Grummen's Lexicon
in existence. And I keep mine on the bedside table.'

For New Ottosland?
he wanted to shout.
For yourself, you murdering madman]
The more he heard, the more he realised just how dangerous Lional truly was. Powerful, ruthless ... and armed with magics so foul, so evil, no sane wizard had ever risked the using of them.

Except Lional's not sane, is he? And he's been studying
Grummen's Lexicon.
How the hell am I supposed to beat him?

He took a deep steadying breath. 'So you killed Uffitzi and the others,' he said, careful not to sound accusing. 'Took their
potentias.
Then why try and take mine? You can't need it, you're already more powerful than any wizard in history'

Lional shrugged. 'You'd think so, wouldn't you? Alas. All I can do is what
they
could do, Gerald. Better, admittedly. With more force, to be sure. But not
one
of them had the ability to turn Tavistock into a lion. Don't you
know
how rare that is? How
special?'

I do now. And I curse the day I ever thought of becoming a wizard.'I
never thought about it .. .Your Majesty.'

Leaning forward, face alight, Lional said, 'It's incredible. I tried to take your
potentia
three times. The third attempt nearly finished me.
Why?
What makes you impervious?'

Gerald shook his head. 'I've no idea.'
And even if I did I wouldn't tell you.

Lional sat back, eyes glittering. 'I heard that, Gerald. I'll bet you would, you know. Eventually'

It took everything he had but he didn't drop his gaze from Lional's face. 'You still haven't told me what's so important about Kallarap's desert.'

'No. I haven't. And why do you care? Unless ...' Lional thought for a moment then gasped. 'No!
Surely
you don't think you're going to escape and raise the alarm? Save the day? Be a
hero?
Oh,
GeraldV

He let Lional's mocking laughter wash over him. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but buying more time.

'You're right, Your Majesty' he said, striving to sound hollow and beaten. 'You've won. I can't escape ... and I'm no-one's idea of a hero.'

'But you'd like to know what it's all about? Of course,' said Lional, mockingly sympathetic. 'And I'll tell you. I'm not an unreasonable man. If one is to die, one at least should know what one is dying for. That's only fair.'

If one is to die
...'If I'm dead I can't make you a dragon, Your Majesty.'

Lional's smile was lethal. 'I meant afterwards, naturally'

Naturally. 'In which case what incentive do I have to obey you?'

Again, the lethal smile. 'Trust me, Gerald. I can provide all the incentive you require. But we can discuss that later. You wanted to know about Kallarap s desert?'

If he let himself think too closely about what Lional was implying he'd lose the last of his dwindling courage.'Yes, Your Majesty'

Lional resettled himself comfortably in the incongruous armchair. 'The Kallarapi Desert, Gerald, far from being a barren, desolate wasteland, is chock-full of gemstones that will fetch untold millions on the international market. Millions that will pave the way to New Ottosland's glorious future.'

He stared.
'Gemstones?

'Yes. Gemstones.' Lional rolled his eyes. 'Cast your scattered wits back to our little meeting with the Kallarapi delegation. Do you recall that undistinguished lump of dull grey rock embedded in Shugat's forehead?'

How could he forget? 'Yes.'

'Once properly cut and polished those rocks become rare and priceless gemstones. The sands of Kallarap are littered with them. The Kallarapi call them "The Tears of the Gods",' said Lional, his voice curdled with contempt. 'They regard them as sacrosanct. Only their holy men may touch them, and only then for arcane religious purposes. For the most part the Kallarapi just leave them lying around in the desert. They're too stupid to know the rocks' true worth.'

'Well ... isn't that their choice? These rocks belong to them, after all.'

'Not for much longer,' said Lional.

'So you think if I make you a dragon,' said Gerald, after a disbelieving moment, 'and you tell the Kallarapi it's their greatest god Grimthak, they'll hand over these rocks to you without so much as an "excuse me, but"?'

Lional laughed, a soft, shivery sound. 'It's a pleasure doing business with you, Gerald. For a moment there I thought you were going to be obtuse. Yes of course the Kallarapi will hand them over. They are a gullible and superstitious people and they'll do whatever Grimthak tells them to.'

No, no, no. Lional couldn't be serious. 'Your Majesty, I'm sorry, but your plan is flawed. I wasn't lying when I said I couldn't make an animal speak. Even if I did make you a dragon it wouldn't be able to tell the Kallarapi
anything]'

Lional shrugged. 'A minor technicality. I'll do the speaking for it. Or Reg can.'

'Reg?'
Gerald nearly laughed out loud.'Forget it. You'll never get Reg to play along with this!'

'I think I will, you know,' Lional contradicted gently.'It appears she's rather fond of you, Gerald. I wonder how many of your detached fingers it will take to persuade her that cooperation is in your best interests?'

Gerald pushed himself to his feet. 'Saying something like that only proves you don't know Reg. You could cut off my
head
and she'd never do it! You're wasting your time!'

'Let me be the judge of that,' said Lional. His eyes were narrowed, his fingers steepled. 'And now, Gerald, it seems to me our avenues for conversation are exhausted. The time has come for you to make me my dragon.'

Okay. This charade had gone on long enough.
I can't afford to wait for Reg and the cavalry. For all I know they're not even coming. Fll have to fight him myself, here and now, for as long as I can. Fll probably die. It probably serves me right.
'Get a grip, Lional! You can't seriously think I'm going to transmogrify a dragon so you can terrorise the people of Kallarap into believing that their gods want you to steal their sacred stones and
sell
them? For
money?
To make you
rich?'

Lional stood, his expression cold and severe. 'Guard your tongue, sir, lest it talk you into trouble.'

'I'm already in trouble,' Gerald retorted, feeling reckless. Feeling desperate. 'But so are you. You're crazy if you think Shugat and Zazoor are going to fall for a stunt like that. The sultan was at school with you, he knows
exactly
what you are. You may be powerful, Lional, but you're only one man. You won't stand against the sultan's army, or even against Shugat. That holy man will blast you into a million pieces!'

'Silence, idiotl You will not defy meV

'Are you kidding? To my last
breath
I'll defy you, Lional! I won't be a party to your -'

And then he was flying through the air, boneless as a rag doll. He cried aloud as he crashed into the wall on the cave's far side. Cried out again as Lional's sweeping arm hurtled him into the ceiling, and yet again as he was thrown mercilessly into the dirt at Lional's feet.

'Now
do you see who you're dealing with, Gerald?
Now
do you see that I
will
have my way?'

Dazed, bruised, his body harsh with pain, he stared up into Lional's demented face. 'And what about Melissande? Where does she come into this?'

Lional laughed. 'She's my tool, Gerald, just like you and your little friend Reg! By the will of the gods that I've created, Melissande shall marry Zazoor and bear him a son. Once that's accomplished Zazoor and his ridiculous brother will die and
I
shall rule Kallarap in her name. Kallarap will cease to exist, desert and oasis both shall be New Ottosland and New Ottosland shall be the most powerful nation in history, ruled by the greatest wizard king this world has ever known!'

Breathing hard, Gerald sat up. There was blood running down the back of his throat and trickling down his face from a cut on his cheek. He touched it with unsteady fingertips, wincing as he found the split flesh. 'Oh Lional,' he whispered. 'You really are insane.'

'All the great visionaries throughout history have been called so,' said Lional. 'We do not heed the gabbling of our inferiors.'

Well, you'd better heed this,
Your Majesty,'
he said, his jaw clenched tight. 'You might as well go ahead and kill me now because I will
never
make you a dragon.'

'Really?' said Lional. 'Are you quite sure?'

Gerald watched, uncertain, as Lional reached into a pocket, withdrew a fine silk handkerchief then dropped to one knee beside him. Flinched, as Lional dabbed the still-wet blood from his cheek.

'Dear, dear Gerald,' he said caressingly, and leaned close. His pupils were enormous, empty black pits. 'So eager for death. You have no idea ...' His hands came up, confining, restraining.

'No!' Gerald protested as Lional pressed warm lips to his open mouth and exhaled. Revolted, he shoved the madman away and rolled over, smearing a dirty sleeve across his mouth. 'What was that? What the hell did you just do?'

Smiling, Lional stood and tucked the bloodstained handkerchief back in his pocket. 'Patience, Gerald. You'll see.'

Gagging, guts roiling, he sat up. There was a foul taste in his mouth. A buzzing in his head like a rampaging swarm of wasps. Wasps with stings. And they were
stinging ...

'Now, Gerald,' said Lional as he fell sideways against the rough cave wall, retching. 'Tell me again how you won't make a dragon?'

The torment continued for hours. For days.

Lost in a sea of suffering he was dimly aware that Lional came and went at will. Countless minutes passed, each one lasting an eternity. From time to time he fainted in an attempt to escape the misery but the blessed darkness never hid him for long. Lional's clever curses always found him and dragged him, screaming, back to the light.

Every time Lional returned to the brightly lit cave he asked the same question:
'Gerald, will you make me a dragon?'
and every time he returned the same answer.
'No!

Then Lional would sigh with counterfeit sorrow and breathe another pestilence into his mouth. Boils, or carbuncles. Lesions. Rashes. A bloody flux or stones in his kidneys. Racked with pain and a kind of fascinated horror, he watched his flesh swell and fissure, watched the pus well and drip into the dirt of the cave floor where eventually he lay naked, because the torment of fabric against the open sores on his skin was impossible to bear. His body seared and sweated and convulsed in protest against the afflictions Lional visited upon it. His hair fell out in scab-encrusted clumps. His fingernails rotted softly in their beds, consumed with fungal infections. His teeth shivered in their shrinking sockets. Ulcers colonised his mouth and tongue and cataracts blurred his bloody sight. And still he
said:'No!

Eventually Lional's patience began to wear thin. 'I think you're labouring under a misapprehension, Gerald,' he hissed, his lips pressed close. 'Do you think this is a competition you can
win?
It's not. And you can't die, either. Not unless I say you can. But I won't. How will I have my dragon if you're a discarded sack of bones and bile? No, Gerald. You will live. Like this. Abandoned to a life of solitude and suffering.'

Gerald dragged open his pus-filled eyes. His gums were bleeding.'
You wouldn't ..!

Lional gently touched what was left of his filth-matted hair.'Of course I would. I will. Or, Gerald, you can make me a dragon.'

'No,'he whispered.'Never.'

Lional clicked his tongue disapprovingly. 'Never is a very long time. Would you like to know how long? I'll show you ...' And he whispered foul words into the air, and laughed, and left.

Then came pain so complete, so obliterating, that everything he had suffered before was as an overture to a symphony. The cave disappeared into roaring flame and he lost all track of who he was. Where he was. What he loved and believed in, and why. Lost track of everything except the endless sound of his screams.

The next time Lional leaned close and said,
'Gerald, will you make me a dragon?
he couldn't speak. His throat was swollen shut and his tongue refused to obey him. Nor could he remember what he was doing here or why he suffered so unspeakably. His mind was breaking, the weft and warp of his intellect unravelling, he could feel it as he now felt everything: with a keen and cruel clarity that could not be escaped. The words of his wizard's oath whirled in his giddy brain like autumn leaves, whipped to a frenzy by the wind.

'I, Gerald Dunwoody, wizard, do pledge my powers for good and good alone. Utterly and forever do I renounce the forces of darkness and ne'er will do any soul harm. So say I, unto death and whatever may come thereafter.

But there was no
thereafter.
There was only this.

'A living death, Gerald ... from now unto the end of time,' whispered Lional.'Can you endure it? Can you prevail? Your mind is going. Soon you'll be a moaning, witless beast, drooling in its piss and shit.
Is that what you want?'

He heard himself moan. Heard a sob force its way past his pulpy lips. He shook his head.

'Of course it isn't,' crooned Lional.'Poor Gerald. You've been so brave. But now it's time for the torment to stop. I can make it go away. I
will
make it go away. My word as king, how can you doubt it? All you have to do is make me my dragon. Will you, Gerald? Will you make me my dragon?'

He unbent one bloody, nail-less finger, rested its tip in the cave's dirt floor and with the dregs of his strength, wrote
No.

And then, so slowly, he wrote again.
Yes.

Lional kissed him. 'Oh,
well done,
Gerald. I
knew
you would.'

And then he left.

After that, Gerald slept. When he woke it was to a confusing absence of pain. Curled in a ball he wondered about that, teasing at his foggy memory to supply a reason. Memory obliged.

Forsworn. Forsworn. I don't believe it. I'm forsworn.