The Accidental Sorcerer

by K. E. Mills

  'Ow! That's my face!'

  'Sorry Melissande. Gerald, are you in here? Um, Your Highness, not to complain or anything but your elbow's in a very precarious part of my anato—'

  I'm dreaming. I must be. 'Monk?' he said tentatively, is that you?'

  'Oh, yes, fine, ask about Markham first why don't you?' demanded an impossible voice. 'When I'm the one sitting here faded to a mere shadow of my former glory after flying and hitching from here to Ottosland, then convincing Markham and his idiot colleagues that your life was in danger and then risking my life again to get back to this ether-forsaken kingdom using Markham's highly illegal and practically untested portable portal! And why is it so dark in here? Why doesn't somebody turn on the lights?'

  For a moment Gerald thought he'd finally gone mad. Because that was Reg's voice, being Reg, in the Reggiest way it knew how.

  And then somebody snapped their fingers and said illuminate and he was blinking, half-blinded by the sudden light, and there on the cave floor shaking dirt out of her feathers was—

  'Reg.' he cried, and fell to his knees. 'Oh my God, Reg, you're alive.'

  She glared at him. 'Well if I am it's no thanks to your friend the Mad Scientist!' She swung her beak towards Markham and chattered it. 'What kind of a portal exit do you call that? Flinging us out at speed and miles above terra firma, I think I've bent a tail feather, you stupid boy! Do you know how long it takes to grow in a tail feather, you—awwwk.'

  'Reg!' he shouted, clutching her to his chest. 'Lional said you were dead, he said he'd killed you! He did kill you, look, there's your body! Over there!'

  Melissande, grubby and harassed and getting to her feet, stared where he pointed at the forlorn draggle of feathers in the dirt. 'Eww What's that?'

  'It's Reg,' he said, dizzy with relief. 'At least, I thought it was Reg. Lional told me it was Reg.'

  Wriggling free of his embrace, Reg flapped over to the corpse on the cave floor and inspected it. 'That's not me,' she said. 'That's—' She took a closer look. 'That's a dead chicken hexed to look like me. And it's not even a very good likeness.' She fixed him with a gimlet eye. 'Gerald Dunwoody, are you saving you couldn't tell the difference between me and a hexed dead chook? Please don't tell me you couldn't tell the difference between me and hexed dead chook! Look at it! The beak's all wrong and the eyes are crossed and it's missing a claw on the right foot! And it s fat. How could you possibly think that was me?'

  He didn't care that she was scolding, I'm sorry,' he said, getting up. I was a bit… distracted… at the time.' He stared at them, breathless, I can't believe you found me. How—'

  'Locator incant and a portable portal,' said Monk.

  'A portable por—?'

  'Monk invented it,' said Reg.

  'Of course Monk did,' he said, dazed. 'But how could it work, Lional set a lodestone, it—'

  'What?' said Reg. 'Gerald, what are you talking about?'

  Oh, hell. The lodestone. 'Lional hid a lodestone in here so I couldn't escape via magic,' he whispered, nauseous. 'He deactivated it so I could make the dragon… and then he lost himself inside the damn thing's mind. He never turned the lodestone back on. And I've been so busy feeling sorry for myself I—'

  I don't know what you're bleating about and I don't care!' said Melissande. 'What the hell were you thinking, Gerald? Making a dragon?'

  I'm sorry' he whispered.

  'How did you do it?' she demanded, hands fists on her hips. 'Transmog a lizard? What kind? The only exotic lizards we have live in the zoo, and none of them look like that flying monstrosity you've set loose!'

  He could barely look her in the face, it was a Bearded Spitting Lizard from Lower Limpopo. Lional said Bondaningo Greenfeather got it for him.'

  'That's a lie.' Her eyes were hot with anger and betrayal. Glittering with tears. 'Bondaningo was a good man. He would never bring something like that into the country!'

  I'm afraid he did. Your brother can be… very persuasive.'

  'I'll bet!' she said, contemptuous. 'So what did he promise you in return for his dragon? Gold? Jewels? Land? Wlrat did he promise you?'

  He made himself meet her furious gaze. 'You don't want to know what he promised me, Melissande.'

  With a subdued flutter of feathers Reg flew from the floor to his shoulder. 'She may not want to, Gerald, but she needs to. It's the only way she'll understand what has to be done.'

  Gently he prised Reg free. 'No,' he said, thrusting her blindly into Monk's unready hands. 'And don't ask me again.'

  Monk cleared his throat. 'Look, mate…'

  'Are you deaf? I said no!' he shouted, and turned away.

  'He tortured you, didn't he?' said Monk. He always was a stubborn bastard.

  'Tortured him?' said Melissande. 'Don't be ridiculous. He looks fine to me, there's not a scratch on him.'

  Her fresh contempt was like acid. Gerald spun around, shaking, and whatever she saw in his face drove her backwards till she struck the cave wall.

  'I'm sorry, all right, Melissande? Sorry I wasn't strong enough, sorry I gave in to him, sorry I made his bloody dragon!'

  Her chin lifted. In so many ways she was her brother's sister. 'Sorry doesn't help the people it's killed. Did you know that, Gerald? Did you know that it's killed people?'

  'Yes. I know.' He saw them whenever he closed his eyes.

  'Then how could you do it? How could you make such a monstrous creature? Why weren't you strong enough? You're a wizard, you swore an oath. You as good as killed those people yourself.'

  'You think I don't know that?' he demanded, his voice ragged. 'You think I don't know I've got their blood on my hands? I tried to resist your damned brother, Melissande! I did resist him, at least for a while. But in the end… in the end…' Helpless, he stared at her. 'In the end I wasn't good enough. I broke. I failed.'

  'That's not fair,' Monk said quickly. 'We know what Lional's been up to, Gerald. The stolen potentias. We know he had access to illegal grimoires, the kind of filthy magic he's got at his fingertips.'

  Melissande turned on him. 'How dare you make excuses for him, Mister Markham? Haven't you been listening? People have died because Gerald made that dragon. He's an oath-sworn wizard, he should have died before—'

  'Do you think I didn't try?' Gerald said, grabbing her elbow and hauling her around. 'He wouldn't let me, all right? Everything he did was designed to keep me alive. Alive and—and—'

  'And what?' she said. Her tone was scathing.

  He opened his mouth and the memories poured out. By the time he was finished she was crying, Monk looked like a ghost and Reg was stamping to and fro across the cave's dirt floor swearing a blue streak.

  'There's something else you should know,' he said tiredly, as Reg finally ran out of curses. 'Lional's controlling the dragon using the Tantigliani sympathetica!

  Melissande smeared a dirty sleeve across her wet face. 'What does that mean?' she said unsteadily.

  It means your brother and the dragon are two bodies with one mind. He sees through its eyes, it breathes with his lungs. It's got all his cunning, his intelligence, his knowledge. And he's got its… savagery'

  Shaken, Monk said, 'Bloody hell. Every wizard who's ever tried that incant has gone mad. Even Tantigliani in the end.' He frowned. 'You said he'd lost himself inside the dragon's mind? Does that mean…'

  Gerald looked at Melissande. Despite everything he could have wept for her. 'Yes.' In his memory, Lional and the dragon whispering. 'I'm pretty sure it's too late for Lional.'

  Reg rattled her tail feathers. 'Then the only way to stop the dragon is by capturing the king.'

  'How can we capture him, Reg?' said Monk. 'He's as good as half a dragon himself now!'

  'Fine,' she said, shrugging. 'Then we don't capture the bastard. We kill him.'

  'Kill him?' Melissande stared. 'You can't! I can't! He's my brother!'

  'He was your brother,' Gerald said gently. 'What he is now… is anybody's guess.'

  'It's a simpl
e equation,' said Reg. 'Kill Lional and we kill the dragon.'

  'And if we kill the dragon instead?' demanded Melissande, folding her arms.

  Monk put his hand on her shoulder. 'Lional still dies. But the chances of us killing that dragon…'

  'Are non-existent and none,' Reg said briskly. 'Sorry, ducky. Lional's got to go.'

  Melissande dissolved into tears again. As Monk put his arms around her, cradling her against his chest, Gerald picked up Reg. 'Can't you even try to be tactful?'

  'Who cares about tact in a crisis?' she retorted. 'And after what she said to you—'

  He sighed. 'Forget about what she said to me. It doesn't matter. She didn't understand.'

  Reg's eyes were bright. Birds couldn't cry but he could tell she was weeping on the inside. 'I never should've left you, Gerald. If I'd stayed here with you—'

  'There'd still be a dragon. And we wouldn't have Monk with his portable portal.' He kissed her beak. 'Reg, it's all right. It wasn't your fault.' He released a hard breath. 'Now, what about the Department? Are they—'

  She made a rude noise. 'We can't trust those idiots Markham works for to get here in time! They're probably still discussing the matter over crumpets and cocoa! No, Gerald, it's up to us. And if we don't act now, it could be too late! For New Ottosland, for Kallarap .… maybe even the world!'

  'She's right,' said Monk over Melissande's bowed head. 'We can't afford to wait for the Department. We have to deal with Lional ourselves. Or try to.'

  'How? He's not going to let us just walk up to him and kill him. He'll kill us first, or his dragon will.'

  Melissande pulled out of Monk's embrace. 'I'll stop him. He's my brother. He'll listen to me.'

  'No, he won't, Melissande. Haven't you been paying attention? He's not plain old Lional any more!'

  I don't care I have to try.' She turned to Monk. 'Can that portable portal of yours get us to the palace roof?'

  Monk took a nondescript rock from his pocket, I think so. Or pretty close, anyway'

  'How close is pretty close? A six foot tall onto dirt is one thing. A fifty foot fall onto brickwork is something else entirely!'

  Monk looked insulted, I said I can do it.'

  Gerald grabbed his arm. 'Wait. Send me and Reg to the palace. We'll do our best to keep Lional occupied. You and Melissande go back to the Department and kick up the biggest stink it has ever seen until those idiots get off their arses and send some help.'

  'I'm not leaving New Ottosland!' said Melissande. 'You three can go if you like, but I'm staying here. I have to be seen. The people need me. I won't be the second person in my family to let them down on the same damned day!'

  'No—Melissande—the only hope your people have is if you stay safe!' he insisted. 'Let Rupert fly the family flag, he—'

  Her expression changed. 'Oh, lord. Rupert. I forgot about Rupert! I have to find him, he'll be terrified. And if Lional finds him…' Then she rallied. 'You can take him with you when you go for help.'

  'Melissande—'

  'No! I'm the prime minister, my duty is here! She folded her arms and lifted her chin. 'So shut up, Gerald, because you're wasting your time. Monk? Get that portal thing working and take us out of here! Now.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The portable portal spat them out a mere two feet above the palace roof. The first thing they did when they regained their feet was look up, but the dragon was nowhere in sight. Neither was Lional.

  'Oh hell,' said Melissande, her voice almost a sob. I don't believe this…'

  In every direction they looked distant pillars of black smoke churned into the sky. Closer to the palace, out-buildings not reduced to mounds of rubble smouldered and burned; the greedy crackling of flames reached them in fits and starts on the erratic, smoke-laden breeze.

  She pointed. 'Over there! I think that's Rupert's butterfly house!' She ran to the nearest balustrade and leaned over it, precariously. 'Rupert! Rupert.'And then she looked down, and her next cry died in her throat.

  'What?' said Gerald. 'Melissande? What is it?'

  Passing Reg to Monk he joined her at the roof's edge and stared at the ground far below.

  There were great burned patches in the gravel and on the grass edging the palace forecourt, as though someone had upended huge barrels of acid onto them. Even at this height he could smell the acrid stench of the dragon's poison. See the remains of what once had been people. Laughing, living New Ottoslanders, reduced to charred and stinking carcasses. Palace staff, perhaps the very same servants who'd cooked him breakfast. Answered his questions. Bowed to him in passing. The servants he'd never bothered to notice, hardly, and whose names he hadn't asked. His empty stomach heaved.

  There were tears on Melissandes cheeks. 'Is one of them Rupert? One of them could be Rupert, he could be dead down there, or in his butterfly house, I have to—'

  Gerald grabbed her before she could do something stupid. 'Melissande, think. If he is dead, there's nothing you can do for him now. And if he isn't, that means he's hiding safely somewhere. If that's the case we'll find him, I promise. But like you said, you're the Prime Minister. You've got a lot more to worry about than the fate of one man. Even if that man is Rupert.'

  For a moment she resisted him, her muscles rigid under his fingers. Then she slumped. He let her go. 'This is ridiculous,' she whispered. 'Why did Lional let the dragon do this? Why didn't he stop it? I don't care what you say, Gerald. Lional's not evil. I grew up with him, for God's sake! He used to feed me my bottle, play piggyback with me all around the palace! All of this… it isn't him!

  A creak and flap of wings. Reg. Balanced carefully on the balustrade beside Melissande's white-knuckled hand she said sternly: 'That Lional's dead, ducky. He's been dead for months. What's stalking this kingdom isn't your brother. It's not even a man, it's an abomination. And abominations must be destroyed.'

  As Melissande flung herself away, and Monk went after her, Gerald closed his eyes, I should've been a tailor.' His voice broke, 'I should've died at birth.'

  'Gerald! Reg's wingtip touched his hand. 'Look at me.'

  Reluctantly he looked.

  I know it's bad,' she said, I'm not going to pretend it isn't. But you don't have the luxury of remorse right now. Lional and his dragon are still out there and they have to be stopped.'

  Stopped? Stopped? 'How?' he demanded, almost hating her. 'The bastard's five times stronger than I am and filled to the brim with black magic. He's got a copy of Grummen's Lexicon, for God's sake. How can I—'

  'What?' said Reg, and flapped her wings at him. 'Gerald, what? What are you thinking?'

  Barely breathing, he stared at her. 'Beside his bed. Uffrtzi's copy of Grummen's Lexicon. If I could get to it, if I could read it, I could—'

  'Put the same evil, poisonous muck into your head?' she said, almost snarling. 'And then what? You'll kill him?'

  'You said it yourself, Reg. He has to be destroyed. If I don't kill him, more people will die!'

  She nodded. 'I know. And probably you'd succeed, if you did what you're suggesting. But even if you managed to kill that Lional, who'd kill you? Because someone would have to, Gerald. The filth in books like Grummen's Lexicon stains your soul forever and makes you bad. It'd make you worse than bad. Let's not forget, sunshine: you're a prodigy'.

  'That's why I have to do this,' he retorted. 'Don't you understand? There's a good chance I'm the only wizard available with a hope against Lional and his stolen potentias. But only if I fight him with the same weapons he's got!'

  'No. You're the one who doesn't understand,' she said, shaking her head. 'With Lional dead, Gerald, you'd be the danger. And whoever tried to stop you, well, they'd need to read the Lexicon too. And it wouldn't end there, I promise you that. Say this hypothetical wizard succeeded and managed to kill you. All it means is there'd be another rotten wizard who'd have to die… and so the Lexicon would be used again… and again… and again. Is that what you want, sunshine? Every last good wizard in the world dead be
cause of you?'

  He turned on her. 'What else can I do? The magic I know doesn't have teeth, it doesn't have talons, it can't kill Lional or his damned dragon! I have to use the Lexicon, Reg!'

  'No.' she shouted, and with a great fluster of wings launched herself into the air to hover furiously above him. I'd rather see you dead here and now—I'd rather kill you myself than see you—' She stopped. Stared straight ahead, down the long straight carriageway leading from the palace forecourt to the distant palace gates. 'Oh blimey! That's all we need!' Dropping back to the balustrade she looked over at Melissande, sitting with Monk on the edge of a low rectangular flowerpot. She raised her voice. 'Oy! You! Madam-Queen-in-Waiting! Front and centre, ducky, New Ottosland's got visitors!'

  Melissande and Monk stared. Monk had a protective arm around her shoulders; strangely, she didn't seem to mind. Gerald sighed. So that's what arse over teakettle looks like, does it? 'Queen-in-Waiting, Reg?'

  Reg sniffed. 'Well, once we've dealt with Lional this place will have a monarching vacancy, won't it? And who in his right mind is going to put Butterfly Boy on the throne? If he hasn't been burned to a crisp, that is.'

  'What visitors?' Melissande demanded as she and Monk joined them.

  Reg pointed a wing. 'Those ones.'

  Shading her eyes, Melissande squinted down the length of the carriageway and further into the distance, I can't see them. They're too far away'

  Gerald summoned the hand-held magnifying glass from his suite's workshop then flicked it with his fingers.'Binoculari expandarium'.

  'Very nifty, mate,' said Monk, impressed.

  'Oh yes. I'm nifty all right.' He couldn't hide the bitterness.

  Monk flinched. 'Look… Gerald…'

  'No sympathy,' he said quickly. 'Not unless you want to see a grown man cry' He handed Melissande the enhanced magnifying glass. 'Here. Make sure to keep it six inches from your face or you'll hurt your eyes.'

  Clasping it gingerly she looked again. 'Oh, what? It's the Kallarapi army! Hundreds of them! Thousands.'