The Accidental Sorcerer

by K. E. Mills

  It was beautiful.

  It was a monster.

  It looked at him, eyes blinking lazily.

  Gerald stepped back. Oh God. What have I done?

  Lional laughed then raised his right hand, fingers pointing. 'Manifesti asbsolutum. Tantigliani sympathetica obedientium singularum mi! Nux nullimia.'

  The dragon froze. Deep in each dark eye a crimson flame flared to life, burned sun-bright then subsided into a glowing ember like a coal at the heart of a banked fire.

  'Did it work?' Gerald croaked. 'Can you control it?'

  'Let's see,' said Lional. Throwing his head back he slowly, slowly extended his arms out to each side. Slowly, slowly, obedient as a reflection in a mirror, the dragon unfolded its wings and stretched them until their tips brushed the sides of the cave. Lional smiled. His eyes drifted shut. He lowered his outstretched arms and the dragon's wings echoed him. 'What an extraordinary feeling!' he whispered, his face alight with wonder. 'I'm in her mind. Such a hot and hungry place… and beautiful. So beautiful. It's like coming home. Ah, my love, my lovely. The things we'll do together, you and I…'

  Gerald risked a sideways shuffle. When neither Lional nor the dragon objected, he retreated all the way to the nearest bit of wall and collapsed against it, the staff slipping from his fingers to the ground. All its gold filigree had melted, the oak beneath it charred and spoiled. His legs were trembling and his heart hurt with pounding.

  I made a dragon. I made a dragon.

  Lional was crooning to the creature, a song of welcome and delight. His hand pressed against one crimson-scaled cheek. The dragon's tail lashed lazily across the cave's dirt floor and its enormous eyes blinked as it drank Lional's worship like wine.

  'And now, my darling…' Lional whispered. 'Let us explore the limits of our power.' His voice was dreamy and in his half-lidded eyes Gerald thought he saw a glimpse of something… inhuman. Lional drifted towards the rear of the cave, fingers caressing the dragon's hide as he passed, and came to a halt before the rough-hewn back wall. 'Revellati!

  The rock rippled… and disappeared.

  Gerald swallowed his shock. Beyond the vanished cave wall was a dawn-kissed valley; in the burgeoning light he saw fields and flowers and trees but no hint of human habitation.

  He breathed in the fresh air. Freedom. It was just scant steps away.

  'Gerald…' said Lional. 'Please don't. We would hate to hurt you.'

  He turned away from the dawn. 'I thought you were going to kill me now you've got your dragon.'

  Lional smiled, and the dragon bared its teeth, I was. But then I thought—what if one dragon isn't enough? She might like a mate. A squadron. An armada. Until I've decided, I think you'd better live.'

  Was that good or bad? He had no idea. I made a dragon. I'm going to hell. A sweet breeze was teasing the nape of his neck. He tried to ignore it. 'So. Lional. What now?'

  'Now?' Lional looked into the rising sun. 'Now we spread our wings, Gerald. We survey our kingdom… and we taste the new day. Come. You won't want to miss this.'

  He stared. 'Come where?'

  'Where do you think?' said Lional, eyebrows lifted. 'Into the sky, with us.'

  For a moment he couldn't grasp what Lional meant. Then he looked at the dragon and choked. 'You're going to fly on that thing?' He took a step back. 'Not with me.'

  'Corne!' said Lional. His eyes flickered crimson. 'Don't make me chastise you, Gerald.'

  So he was going to die after all. Smash himself to pieces falling off the dragon he'd so cleverly created.

  Some might call that poetic justice.

  He watched as Lional called the dragon to him; the creature went eagerly, tame as a kitten. Then he stepped out of the cave after it, treading with care. The sunlight was warm against his chilled skin.

  'Come closer,' said Lional. 'She won't bite you. Not until I tell her to.'

  Reluctantly he approached the dragon.

  With a combination of oiled muscle and metaphysical suggestion, Lional tossed him onto the monster's back. He landed with a thud behind the massive juncture of wing and body. The heat radiating from its hide was fierce; he could feel it like a furnace though his trousers.

  Then Lional vaulted lightly behind him and all he could think of was that he was sitting on a beast created from myth and magic and there was nothing to hold onto and the enormous wings were lifting… lifting… and Lional was laughing…

  ... and then the ground fell away in a sickening swoop as the impossible beast leapt into the blushing sky, a hissing shriek bursting from its throat even as Lional, still laughing, cried aloud in glee.

  Desperately Gerald clutched at the knobbly protrusions at the base of the dragon's wings and concentrated on breathing, just breathing, because fear was a fire in his chest, consuming oxygen. Consuming him. He closed his eyes.

  Lional's merciless hand clasped his shoulder. 'Don't be afraid, Gerald! We won't let you fall. Look! Look!'

  Reluctantly, he obeyed. Rising before him was the dragon's crimson and emerald neck, round as a tree trunk and just as solid. The crested spines lay flat to its hide, their poison quiescent. On either side ol him the giant wings rose and fell, rose and fell; he could feel the slick slide of bone and muscle between his wide-stretched legs as the dragon's rib cage expanded and contracted, each stroke cleaving the air with a crack like thunder. The cold air streamed into his eyes and all his exposed flesh chilled.

  And then he looked down… and the fear returned, roaring, to burn his churning insides to ashes.

  They'd left the hidden valley far behind. Beneath them unrolled field after field of grain, of grazing cattle and somnolent sheep. Farmers toiled, slaves to the rhythms of the natural world. As the dragon passed overhead, roaring and lashing its tail, they looked up… Heart breaking, he saw terror and disbelief contort all their faces, human and animal alike. Plough horses screamed and bolted, cows stampeded, the sheep huddled shoulder to shoulder and bleated their distress.

  Then he cried out as the dragon dived lower, neck outstretched, mouth wide and gaping. Behind him, Lional was breathless with laughter. 'Not yet, my lovely, hold your hunger at bay! We shall feed soon, I promise you sweet one! We shall feed till our belly bursts with blood!'

  The dragon wheeled away, head swinging from side to side in grumbling resentment. Gerald wanted to turn back, to shout his warnings and his regrets to the tiny fleeing figures on the ground far below. Fresh guilt seared him, churned his guts and spasmed his legs about the dragon's heaving sides.

  Now in New Ottosland there'd be widespread panic… running and screaming and lives plunged into terrified chaos… and it was all his fault.

  I should've made him kill me. I slwuld'vc found a way.

  Then, as he continued to clutch at the base of the beast's wings, he thought he felt something. Or heard it. Two voices whispering on the far edge of reason. One human, one not. Closing his eyes again he strained to hear what the voices were saying.

  Behind him Lional was crooning again, a ceaseless, sibilant, disconcerting song. Startled, he recognised it as the human voice he could feel through his contact with the dragon's hot hide.

  Which meant the other voice belonged to the dragon. No words, there. Just a burning stream of thought and feeling, like lava flowing down a mountainside.

  As the countryside unrolled beneath them like a map unfurling, as fields surrendered to houses and paved roads, he tried to see and hear more clearly… and was startled almost into falling to his death.

  Lional and the dragon's voices—their minds—were twining like two separate cords, crimson and black, weaving and counterweaving through and about each other to form one dissoluble thread. Soon there would be no unravelling one from the other. They would be a single entity, a unified intelligence. A man-dragon. A dragon-man.

  Despite the seething fear and the pain as he blistered his fingers on the dragon's wings, Gerald turned around. Lional's face was frozen in an expression of bliss, lips soundlessly framing the w
ords he could still hear as faint echoes in his reeling mind.

  'Stop it, Lional!' he shouted. 'You're losing yourself! The sympathetica — it's backfiring! Break free of the dragon while you still—'

  And then he cried out in terror, because Lional's hand was anchored to his shirt collar and Lional's inhumanly strong arm was lifting him off the dragon's back—was dragging him over the dragon's side—was dangling him above the roofs of the houses passing beneath them. His shirt collar was strangling him, his bare flailing feet kicked at thin air. Then Lional hauled him back again and settled him safely behind the dragon's wings.

  'Hush, Gerald,' he whispered. 'Didn't your mother tell you? It's rude to interrupt.'

  Speechless, Gerald clung to the dragon and stared at the ground beneath the creature's belly. At the horse-drawn carriages milling in disarray on every street of the capital. At the pointing, shouting people of New Ottosland whose lives were being torn to pieces even as they clutched one another, weeping, or ran away as though running could save them.

  The dragon swooped down on them, its terrible jaws open, fire and poison falling like rain. Gerald stared, sick with horror.

  Fire? Fire? How can there he fire? It was only a lizard, it couldn't breathe flames.'

  Except that everyone knew dragons breathed fire. In every story ever written about dragons, in every painting ever put on canvas, there was the dragon… and there were the flames.

  I did this. I changed the lizard to fit my imagination. I didn't know I could do that. I can't believe I made things worse…

  He heard the screaming, smelled the smoke of carriages burning, horses burning, people… burning. Saw them burning, silhouettes of flame.

  'Lional, no! What are you doing? Those are your subjects, you took an oath to protect them!'

  Lional said nothing, he was communing with his dragon. The beast swooped lower, almost skimming the ground. Its massive tail lashed side to side, smashing the nearest buildings to rubble, splintering trees like so much kindling, tossing men and women and carriage horses through the air as though they were made of paper.

  Perhaps they were. They burned like paper.

  Gerald hid from the sight behind one blistered hand, overwhelmed by annihilating grief.

  It's my fault. It's my fault. I was right. I'm a murderer.

  With a last roaring cry the dragon wheeled away from the city and headed back to the hidden valley. As they left the chaotic streets and the broken buildings and the dead and those mourning them far behind Lional fell silent, along with the dragon. Because they had nothing further to say, or because they no longer needed speech, Gerald didn't know.

  He didn't want to know.

  The dragon landed like thistledown at the mouth of the cave. Lional pushed Gerald to the ground and stared down at him disdainfully from the dragon's high back.

  Shivering like a man with fever he staggered to his feet. 'Lional, why did you do that? Why did you attack your sovereign subjects?'

  Lional shrugged. The dragon shrugged with him. 'Because we wanted to. Because it amused us. Because we are their king and they are ours to play with.'

  We. Us. He didn't want to think about that… . 'It was wrong. They were innocent. And they're not yours, you don't own them.'

  Lional and his dragon sighed. 'Ah, Gerald. We hoped you would see. We hoped at last you would understand. But you do not. Your thoughts to us are clear as glass, and empty. No greatness in you for all your powers. You are puny and your purpose is served. Crawl into your cage and wait for us, little man. We will return when you are required.'

  I could refuse. I could defy him. The dragon would kill me and this would be over.

  Except he couldn't. That would be taking the coward's way out. As long as he lived there was a chance… no matter how remote… of somehow finding a way to stop Lional. To undo the damage. To make good, in part at least, his terrible mistakes.

  He backed up slowly till he stood once more in his rocky prison. 'When will that be? When will I be… required… again?'

  'We do not know.' As Lional smiled, poison dripped smoking from the dragon's open mouth. 'But we do have news for you. We saved it for this moment.'

  'What news?'

  'The bird has returned.'

  Reg. Disbelieving joy surged through him, momentarily banishing grief. 'She came back? She's all right? Can I see her?'

  Lional's smile widened; the dragon hissed. 'If you like.' He snapped his fingers and a moment later was holding something limp. Feathered. Dangling. Lional tossed it. There was a thud as it landed in the dirt at Gerald's feet.

  He couldn't look at it.

  Lional stroked the dragon's crimson and emerald hide. All its spines stood upright, glistening. 'Yes, my friend, the bird came back,' he said dreamily. 'And it was rude. So Lional killed it.'

  Gerald staggered sideways, groping for the solidity of the cave wall. He still couldn't bring himself to look at the thing at his feet.

  Lional snapped his fingers.' Vanishati!

  The air before Gerald's eyes rippled. Solidified. Became rock. Once more he was imprisoned inside the cave, with a few bobbing lights to alleviate the dark. Only this time he wasn't alone. After a long, long moment he lowered his gaze to the floor.

  Bent and broken feathers. Brown, with a tracing of black. Creamy flecks on breast and face. A brown band across the glazed unseeing eyes.

  Reg.

  Without warning all the little lights still clustered against the roof went out and the cave was plunged into utter darkness.

  Gerald fell to his knees. Fell further. Lay face down in the dirt, and wept.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Sultan of Kallarap s palace was a modest, single-level, twenty-room affair built of mysteriously acquired blue and grey marble slabs. Located in the middle of a small but fertile oasis, it basked in shade provided by groves of date palms. The desert's dry air tinkled with the music of fountains and songbirds, thrummed with the rushing eagerness of cunningly designed miniature waterfalls. Gentle breezes stirred perfume from lovingly tended flowerbeds. Peace; tranquility; reverent calm: all surrounded the sultan's home, drowsy in the sunshine.

  Mid-morning's hush roused briefly as a camel barked from the comfort of its bed in the stable yard beyond the gardens, where the sultan's peerless racing team lived in luxury.

  Moments later all the camels were barking as a train of their brethren returned from a long hot journey beneath the burning sun, across daunting miles of sparkling sand and treacherous, shifting dunes.

  As camel boys tipped out of their hammocks and raced to succour their weary charges, Shugat slid creakily from his saddle and blessed his beast, for it had carried him well and the gods liked their children to be appreciated. Then he turned to the sultan's regrettable brother and said curtly, 'You will wait in the gods' room while I seek their guidance. Once the will of the Three is revealed we will report to the sultan, may he live forever, the outcome of our mission.'

  Nerim slid off his camel in such a rush that he nearly sprawled on the mud brick ground. 'But Shugat, the gods have already spoken! Zazoor must—'

  He stepped close to the prince and glared. 'Be silent!' he hissed, with a quick glance to make sure the camel boys weren't listening, it is not for you to say what was seen and heard in the court of New Ottosland's oath-breaker king. Remain silent or I shall petition the gods to shrivel your tongue and your manhood both! Now do as I bid you, Blood of the Sultan, may he live forever. I will join you presently'

  Chastened, with the whites of his eyes showing his proper fear, Nerim clasped his dirty hands palm to palm before his chest and bowed. 'I hear and obey, Holy One.'

  Shaking his head, Shugat glared after Zazoor's foolish brother as he hobbled away, then collected his staff from his camel's saddle, silenced the protests from his aged muscles and turned his back on the chattering camel boys to seek the solitude and wisdom of his gods.

  Surely they would speak to him here in holy Kallarap.


  He lived in a dwelling apart from the palace, but still within its grounds. No elegant marble edifice, his, but a squat and simple mud brick box, its roof a thatching of dried palm fronds plastered against the infrequent rain with cured camel dung. It was part of the arrangement the most senior holy men of Kallarap had made with the Three from the dawn of time: an austere life without adornment, accolades or the trappings of position, with simple clothes of undyed linen, plain meals of dates, camel milk and goat flesh, and every day of their allotted span spent in selfless service; in return they were gifted the glory of the gods' words and power enough to pluck a star from the sky should a single candle fail in the dark of night.

  At the first touch of his gods' vast and fiery minds, all those years ago, he knew he had by far the better part of the bargain.

  He knelt before their shrine now, still stinking and smudged with the grime and sweat of his long ride home. Devoutly carved into the precious wood, rare mahogany from a distant unknown land, inlaid with crafted and polished andaleya, the Tears of the Gods, they bent their ruby eyes upon him, the Dragon, the Lion and the Bird, waiting with their infinite patience for him to open his heart to their desires.

  So he did. And after the long silence that had frightened him as he had never felt fear in his life… the Three heard his prayers and spoke to him.

  He wept.

  When at last they had imparted their desires, he levered himself to his feet with his staff and went frowningly about the business of preparing for an audience with the sultan, who had no chance at all of living forever and moreover, unlike some of his forbears, knew so full well and was at peace with the knowledge.

  Which was but one among many reasons why he liked Zazoor and had vowed to protect him and his honour to the last drop of blood and breath in his aged and wasting body.