The Accidental sorcerer ra-1

by K. E. Mills

  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.

  Tears of shame and misery rolled down his face. He wept until he was exhausted then fell asleep again. When he woke a second time it was to find fresh clothes folded neatly by his head, a jug of sweet water and some ripe peaches. His skin was whole. No fissures. No blisters. No blood, bile, pus or seepage of any kind and his nerves, so recently ablaze, were quiet once more. His hair and fingernails had all grown back.

  He found a note from Lional, written in a grandiose hand. There now, Gerald. Doesn't that feel better? How silly you were to defy me for so long.

  Starving, thirsty, he ate the peaches and drank the jug dry. Pulled on the clean shirt and trousers then sat in the armchair Lional had left behind. He wondered how long he'd been down here, and discovered he had no idea. With no sunrise and sunset to guide him, just the constant illumination from Lional's magical lights, he was adrift in time. The whole world might have ended and he'd never know it.

  Did Reg ever come back? Did she even make it home in one piece? I guess I'll never know now. Reg, I'm sorry. I failed you.

  The thought of her dead was almost unbearable. The thought of her thinking him dead just as bad.

  If she did make it back would Lional tell me? He says he needs her. Does that mean she's safe, if she's here? If he's got her, would he hurt her to keep me in line? Would he hurt me again to make her do his will?

  Yes he would. Lional would do anything to get what he wanted. He had no conscience. He had no soul.

  If Reg came back, did she bring Monk with her? Is he a prisoner somewhere too, tortured as I was? Corrupted as I was? Or is he dead? If he's dead… if they're both dead…

  He had no way of knowing. Not until Lional came back and he asked. Even then, Lional might lie. Would probably lie.

  How did this happen? How did I let it happen? Wiry didn't I stop it? He knew the answers. They made him sick.

  Because I was stubborn. Because I was greedy. Because all I cared about was being the great wizard. Yeah. Well. He wasn't so great now, was he?

  Desperate for a distraction from his self-loathing thoughts he tried casting a spell, a simple colour change to make his blue shirt green. It didn't work. Clearly Lional's lodestone remained in operation. He looked and looked, but couldn't find it. Nor could he find the door out of the cave. Lional must have masked that too.

  Lional, who wielded the power of five First Grade wizards and had read Grummen's Lexicon and wanted a dragon. He returned to the chair, despairing.

  Once upon a time there lived a wizard named Gerald, who'd truly believed the worst thing that could ever happen to him was accidentally destroying a staff factory. What an idiot. A gullible, naive, ignorant idiot.

  Well. That Gerald was dead. Burned to ashes in the crucible of Lional's cave. He'd been replaced by someone who might look like him and sound like him but in reality was hollow inside except for the things he knew and the memories that mocked him. Cruel, terrible memories…

  He tried to go back to sleep but no matter what he did, how hard he pounded his fists against his forehead or ground the heels of his hands into his tightly shut eyes, he couldn't escape.

  It was a relief when the door in the cave wall opened and Lional reappeared.'Gerald!' he cried as he sealed the door behind him. 'You're awake! How splendid. Did you sleep well?' What do you think?'

  Lional chose not to notice his surly tone. He smiled. 'Excellent!

  With a grunt of effort he stood. 'What time is it? How long have I been here?'

  'It's six o'clock in the morning and you've been here for nearly nine days.'

  Nine days. 'Reg? Has she come back? Is she all right?'

  Lional sighed. 'Regrettably, no. She hasn't come back, which doubtless means that she's dead. Now that's enough small talk. We've an enormous amount of work to do and we've already wasted a lot of time, so I'd like to get started straight away'

  Gerald felt his heart thud dully against his ribs. Dead? No. Not Reg. Not after so long, after everything she's survived. I won't believe it. Not until I see her body with my own eyes. Reg is not dead.

  'Gerald?' said Lional, eyebrows raised. 'Is something the matter? You've such a look on your face…'

  For a moment he was so choked with disbelief he couldn't speak. Who was this man? What was he, that he could stand there after every hideous thing he'd done, stand there with his perfect grooming and his exquisite clothes and an actual look of concern on his face and ask, quite genuinely, Is something the matter?

  Dazed, he backed up until he bumped into the cave wall. What was he thinking? Was he mad? How could he even consider helping Lional? Lional was a monster. A perversion. If I help Lional what docs that make me?

  Lional frowned. 'Oh dear.' Step by deliberate step the king closed the distance between them until only scant inches separated their bodies. Rested a hand against the rock on either side of his face and leaned close. His breath smelled of peppermint. 'Now Gerald, I do hope you're not thinking of changing your mind. That would make me very disappointed. And if you believe nothing else I say, believe this. Disappointing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.'

  Gerald closed his eyes. This was it. His last chance to reclaim his dignity, his self-respect, his honour. What was the point of living if your life was paid for with a broken oath? In his hands rested the fate of two nations, of thousands upon thousands of innocent lives. How could he buy his own comfort with such precious coin? I can't. Stomach churning, he opened his eyes.

  'Think before you speak, Gerald,' Lional advised.'For you must know by now the true heart beating in my breast. If you defy me I will hurt you in w
ays no man could tell.'

  'I don't care,' he whispered. 'There's nothing you can do that could be worse than knowing I'm forsworn.'

  Lional sighed. 'Ah. Well, Gerald, I'm afraid that's where you're wrong.' A heartbeat later he was holding an oval-shaped hand mirror, bright as a full moon. His mirror, from the dresser in his palace suite.'Let me show you.'

  Against his will Gerald looked at his reflection and saw the dreadful changes that had been wrought in his face. Then his hollow-cheeked, haunted-eyed image faded and instead he was looking at a different self. Hanging in midair, spread-eagled and held fast by invisible chains. His head was thrown back, the great tendons of his neck distorted, distended, and his mouth gaped wide in a soundless scream. His shirt hung in rags and the skin and muscle covering the left side of his chest was missing. Through the gleaming cage of his ribs he could see his heart frantically beating, pumping his blood in a scarlet river from the mouths of countless wounds hacked into his prisoned flesh. Some kind of serpent, green and glistening, was wrapped around his right leg. Another clasped his right arm. They were eating him. Tearing great bloody mouthfuls of him from the bone. And as they chewed and swallowed and hissed, his ravaged flesh grew back again, swift as blizzarding snow. The serpents bared their razor teeth, bent their bright-scaled heads, and filled their bellies again. And again. And again. Against all possibility he felt the pain.

  Bones melting with horror he turned away, cheek pressed hard to the rough cave wall.

  Lional's remorseless finger beneath his chin turned him back to the nightmare. 'There is no mercy in me and I won't be denied. My kingdom has suffered ignominy for seven centuries and if you don't make me a dragon, Gerald, you will suffer for even longer.' He raised the mirror. 'Defy me and this will be your reward, forever and ever unto the end of time. And nobody will come to save you. I promise. So, Gerald. Do you defy me? Do you?'

  He dragged his eyes away from that unspeakable image of suffering and forced himself to meet Lional's pitiless gaze. Forever and ever unto the end of time. Courage died, brief and blazing as a falling star.