The Accidental Sorcerer

by K. E. Mills

  'Three thousand six hundred and forty seven,' Reg said glumly. When they stared at her she added, 'I've always been good at maths. And birds have excellent eyesight.'

  'Huh,' said Melissande. 'How the hell did they get here so quickly? Lord, look at all those swords! And those camels—those are war camels, they're trained to rip out a man's throat with one bite and disembowel with a kick!' Her fingers were bloodless on the magnifier's handle. 'Gerald, I can't see their faces properly! Beef this thing up for me!'

  'Certainly' he said. 'If you want your eyes to pop like overripe plums.'

  'Not really' She lunged over the parapet, trying to get a better look at the approaching army. As one, he and Monk grabbed her by the shirt tails before she overbalanced and plunged headfirst to the ground. 'Damn. I'm sure their leader looks familiar. Who is that?'

  'Trouble, that's who,' said Reg. 'With his best friend Disaster come to keep him company'

  Melissande gasped. 'Oh, Saint Snodgrass save us! It's Sultan Zazoor!'

  Gerald stared at her. 'Zazoor? Are you sure?'

  'She's sure,' said Reg. 'He's riding a black camel. Sultan's privilege, that is. And guess who's at his left hand?'

  His heart sank. 'Shugat. Who else?' He took another look down the carriageway. The Kallarapi army was much closer now. Sunshine gleamed on the unsheathed scimitars at their sides, and the ominous drumbeat of padded camel feet on the gravel was now just audible.

  'Who's Shugat?' said Monk.

  'Trust me,' he said, still staring at the approaching army. 'Nobody you want to meet.'

  I don't know,' said Reg. 'Might not be such a bad thing, him turning up. That ratty old holy man's got power to burn. Maybe if you two worked together, Gerald…'

  Oh yes, that was likely. If Shugat had come all this way to make friends with the wizard responsible for Tavistock and the dragon he'd eat Melissande's parasol, with mustard. 'You'd best get down there to meet them, Your Highness,' he said to Melissande. 'Once you've explained the situation there's no chance Shugat and the Sultan will blame you for what's happened. With any luck they'll be able to protect you from Lional.'

  'We'd all best get down there,' said Reg, with an anxious glance at the cloudless sky. if that dragon comes back it'll pick us off like pigeons up here.' She looked at him, eyes narrowed. 'And as for what we were discussing—'

  Before he could answer, Melissande said, 'Reg is right, Gerald. As your de facto employer I forbid you going anywhere near black magic. If Pomodoro Uffitzi's books are what made my brother—' She stiffened her spine. '— what he's become, then you can't risk using what's in them. I know we have to… stop… Lional. But not like that. It's out of the question.'

  'You heard her,' said Reg. 'And rumour has it she's the prime minister.'

  'It's not worth the risk, mate,' Monk said unhappily. 'It's obvious you're something extraordinary, but even so. You'd be mad to try it.'

  One by one Gerald looked at them, all so anxious on his behalf. 'You don't understand, any of you. You don't understand what Lional—'

  'We understand what might happen if you use that bloody Lexicon!' said Monk, and shoved him. 'Just—pull your head in, Gerald. You're not throwing your life away if you don't have to!'

  I don't deserve him. I don't deserve any of them. 'And if I have to?' he asked gently.

  Monk stepped back. 'We can cross that bridge when—if— we come to it. But we're not there yet, mate, so for now you'll do as you're told. Right?'

  Definitely I don't deserve them. He nodded. 'Right.'

  'Wonderful!' said Reg, shaking her wings. 'So now that's settled, can we please go and greet the Kallarapi before their ratty old holy man leaves a calling card we'll never forget?'

  By the time they'd flapped and run down and along and through the deserted palace staircases and corridors and out onto the forecourt, Zazoor and his slow-marching army were just a stone's throw away. Panting, sweating, they skidded to a halt on the gravel. Down here the smell of death and destruction was thick enough to turn the stomach; up close the charred bodies were sickening. Gerald watched Melissande's expression harden as she stared at them. Watched her make a conscious decision not to react, not to give way. To be royal… whatever that meant.

  Back on his shoulder, Reg breathed, 'Good girl, ducky. That's the way a princess does things.'

  I knew them all,' she said bleakly. 'But Rupert's not one of them.' Letting out a hard breath she shoved loose hair pins back in her bun, then blotted her face on her grubby sleeve. 'Right. You lot wait here. I'm the prime minister, I'll take care of this.'

  They watched her march forward to meet the Supreme Ruler of Kallarap, his holy man and his army.

  'You know,' said Monk, after a moment. 'That's a lot of camels.'

  Reg snorted. 'And warriors. And swords. And spears.'

  'That holy man.' Monk shuddered. 'I see what you mean, Gerald.'

  Power roiled off Shugat like heat from the sun. Gerald nodded. 'He's something, all right.'

  'Every last one of them stinks of magic,' said Monk. 'Explains how they got here so fast. They must have used some kind of accelerando incant. I wonder if—'

  'Shut up, Monk,' he said, as Shugat's power crawled like fire ants over his skin. 'I want to hear what they're saying.'

  Monk started to object, changed his mind, and shut up.

  Standing alone and stiff-backed in the wide gravel driveway, Melissande looked small and vulnerable as Zazoor drew his jet-black camel to a complaining halt before her and inclined his head in greeting. From his unadorned turban to his curly-toed boots he was dressed in shimmering white. His face was clean shaven, lean and hard and unreadable. He looked pristine and cool and frighteningly unapproachable. All his attention was focused on the princess.

  Gerald felt sweat trickle the length of his spine. The rest of us might as well be rocks. Or rose bushes.

  Defiant in her ghastly shirt and trousers and sensible shoes, Melissande bobbed a kind of curtseying bow. 'Welcome to New Ottosland, Sultan Zazoor.'

  'Princess Melissande,' Zazoor replied politely. 'My gods-betrothed wife… or so I am given to understand by your esteemed brother the king.'

  The breeze had stilled. Nothing stirred. Their voices carried clearly through the warm, death-tainted air.

  'Yes. And your gods, Magnificence?' countered Melissande. 'Do they agree with my brother?'

  Zazoor flicked a glance at Shugat, silently menacing to his left on a camel so white it was hard to look at. 'No. They say your brother the king is… mistaken.'

  'Alas, Magnificence,' said Melissande, her chin lifting. 'My brother the king is mad.'

  Zazoor pressed a flat palm to his heart. 'So my holy man Shugat has also told me. You have my sympathies, Highness.'

  She nodded graciously then looked at Shugat. I did not look to see you again so soon, Holy Shugat. Such a short time has passed since you left us.'

  Shugat's look was inscrutable. 'The gods give us wings, Princess, when desiring us to fly towards… justice.'

  'Ouch,' Monk muttered. 'Think that was a threat?'

  I don't know,' Gerald muttered back. 'Is your brother a pillock?'

  'Shhhh!' hissed Reg, and thumped him with her wing.

  Zazoor was gazing around the eerily hushed and deserted palace grounds. At the burned bodies. The blackened vegetation. At the plumes of smoke still rising in the distance. 'Calamity has come upon your kingdom, it seems, Highness. The city streets we rode through on our way here were sadly damaged and as empty as this grand royal residence. Tell me, if you can: where are all your people?'

  Indoors. Underground. Run away' said Melissande. 'They're hiding from the dragon, Magnificence.'

  'Well there's no point pretending,' said Reg as Gerald cursed under his breath. 'The wretched thing could land on our heads any moment.'

  Zazoor's eyebrows lifted. 'Dragon?'

  It's… an internal matter. Nothing for you to worry about, Magnificence.' Melissande looked at the army ranged at Zazoor and S
hugat's backs. Silent. Disciplined. Waiting for a signal. 'Let us instead address your uninvited presence. You've come for the monies owed to you by our kingdom. With an army, to use force if we don't willingly part with them. Sultan Zazoor, if I had those monies to hand I would give them to you gladly. I don't… therefore I can't.'

  Waving a fly away from his face Zazoor said, 'It saddens me to hear you say so.'

  'And I'm not happy to say it,' she replied. 'But good neighbours are honest with each other.'

  'Honest?' Zazoor smiled. 'A strange word in these strange times. Highness, it is not your debt that brings me here. Kallarap will not starve without your pennies. I am sent to you by my gods, who would have me speak with you of sacrilege. And treachery. And yes, indeed: of honesty!

  Damn. This was where things went from bad to worse really fast. Gerald grabbed Reg off his shoulder, shoved her at Markham and threw himself into the fray.

  'Sultan Zazoor, your quarrel is with me,' he said, ignoring Melissande's furious protest. 'Her Royal Highness is—'

  Zazoor raised a silencing hand and looked at Shugat. 'This is he?'

  Shugat nodded. 'This is he.'

  Zazoor's camel curled back its upper lip, lavishly fringed eyes glinting with displeasure, and stepped forward until it could blow its hot stinking breath into Gerald's upturned face.

  'You are the foreign wizard who would presume to usurp our gods,' Zazoor said pleasantly. 'Why shouldn't my holy man strike you dead where you stand?'

  As Melissande gasped, Gerald forced himself to meet the sultan's pitiless gaze. 'Your holy man can do whatever he likes to me. I won't stop him. I'll even agree I deserve it. Just not before he helps me kill a dragon. Or a man. Whichever comes first… or easiest.'

  Zazoor's cold expression did not alter. 'Both you and the princess speak of a dragon. But dragons do not live in the world, wizard. Unless you wish to claim that Grimthak, Holiest of the Holy, greatest god of Kallarap, has clothed himself in form and flame to anoint the kingdom of New Ottosland?'

  He shook his head. 'No, Magnificence. This is an unholy dragon. A monster of flesh and blood and magic'

  'I see,' Zazoor said thoughtfully. 'And how does it come here?'

  His hands fisted, then relaxed. 'Magnificence, I made it.'

  The briefest spark of surprise showed in the sultan's hooded eyes. 'For what purpose, wizard?'

  Tell him, Dunnywood. You've got nothing left to lose. 'For the enslavement of your people and the pillaging of your desert's Tears.'

  Again Zazoor looked to Shugat. His handsome face was grim. '"Evil", you said, my holy man. And so has evil come to pass.'

  Shugat nodded, equally grim. 'The gods do not lie, Magnificence.'

  'Tell me, wizard,' said Zazoor. 'By whose order did you bring forth this unholy dragon, that my people might be made to suffer?'

  'I made it for Lional, Forty-third King of New Ottosland.'

  Zazoor's eyes closed as though he were pierced by a terrible pain. 'You did this knowing the dragon was an abomination? Knowing how Lional intended to use it?'

  I did. Hell, I did. 'Yes.'

  Now Zazoor's eyes opened. His face was terrible.' Why?'

  'Don't answer that, Gerald,' Melissande said quickly. 'You're not on trial here, this isn't a court of law. He—'

  'Magnificence,' he said, touching her hand so she fell silent. 'I made the dragon because I'm weak.'

  From behind him came a cackling shriek of fury. Then Reg landed in a flurry of feathers on his shoulder.

  'Weak my granny's bunions! Now you listen to me, Zazoor! If you knew what that bastard Lional did to my Gerald to get that dragon, you'd—'

  'The bird?' Zazoor said to Shugat.

  Shugat nodded. 'The bird.'

  Zazoor considered her. 'Not, I think, trained.'

  'Trained?' screeched Reg. 'What do you think I am, a bloody circus act?'

  The smallest of smiles touched Zazoor's lips. 'What you are is a mystery'

  'And I can stay a bloody mystery, all right?' retorted Reg. 'Let's just stick to the point. In case you'd forgotten there's an overgrown handbag with wings around here somewhere and we've got to take care of it before this little gathering becomes the biggest outdoor barbecue in the history of New Ottosland!'

  Gerald sighed. 'Reg…'

  She whacked him on the head. 'You shut up. What's the matter with you, telling Mr Turban-head here you're weak?' She rounded on Zazoor again. 'This boy's just come out of a dark, dank cave where he spent nine days being hideously tortured by that maniac Lional! Suffering things that'd make your camel turn white! And if he hadn't given in, nine days would've turned into forever! Could you endure being tortured forever? No. Could you endure being tortured for nine days? Hah! I'll bet you wouldn't last nine minutes! So don't you dare sit up there on your mangy sinking ship of the desert and presume to call Gerald evil or weak or anything like it, or you'll have me to answer to! Do I make myself clear?'

  If Zazoor was offended by the outburst nothing in his expression hinted at it. Instead he glanced at Shugat, who tapped his camel on the knee with his staff, waited for it to fold its legs then climbed down, staff in hand, to stand before him, his deep-sunk eyes half lidded and his thin-lipped mouth pursed.

  Gerald waited, barely breathing. Is this it? Is that wrinkled old face the last thing in this world my living eyes will see? He flinched, then braced himself as Shugat pressed one palm over his heart hard enough to bruise. He felt an immense wave of power flow through him like a river unleashed. Grunting, he held his ground. Just.

  Shugat's eyes closed. A nimbus of light exploded from his forehead. After a moment he stiffened, his face spasming. Then he sighed, a long slow exhalation of pent-up air, stepped back and looked at Zazoor.

  'The bird does not lie, my sultan. The wizard has suffered. His blood still stinks of foul enchantments.'

  Zazoor tapped one elegantly tapered forefinger against his lips. Then his gaze shifted and he lifted a beckoning hand. A moment later, Monk joined them.

  'And who are you?' said Zazoor. 'Another wizard?'

  Monk cleared his throat. 'Yes, Magnificence. I'm—'

  'A friend,' said Gerald, and silenced Monk with a burning look. 'Innocent of these doings. He's not to be harmed.'

  Zazoor raised his eyebrows. 'You would stop me?'

  I'd try.'

  A flickering glance indicated Shugat and the menacing ranks of waiting warriors. 'You would fail.'

  He held the other man's gaze without flinching. 'Perhaps. But not before I'd tried.'

  Zazoor laughed. 'Holy Shugat. This wizard asks us to help him destroy the dragon. What is our answer?'

  Withered, sundried and bent beneath his weight of years, Shugat lifted his staff and struck it into the gravelled ground. Thunder rumbled from the cloudless sky. 'No!

  'No?' cried Melissande into the ringing echoes. 'Why not? What's the matter with you people? You heard Gerald! Lional and his dragon are out to destroy you! You have to help us stop them!'

  'Kallarap is in no danger from your brother or his dragon,' Zazoor said mildly. 'Kallarap is protected by the Three. Perhaps you should find your own holy men and ask them to speak to your god so he may provide protection for you.'

  She spread her arms wide. 'Look around you, Zazoor! Do you see any of our clergy rushing to my aid? No, I'm pretty sure you don't, because they've all run away just like everybody else!'

  Zazoor shook his head. 'Then your god is to be pitied, Melissande, that he is worshipped by such straw men.'

  'Magnificence, the dragon has flame!' she cried. 'And its venom is instant death! Look around you at my fallen people. You'll burn in fire and acid, just like they did! Your charred remains will stink as theirs do!'

  'We are Kallarapi. We will not burn.'

  'So—what? You'll stand by and watch the dragon kill anyone not lucky enough to be riding a camel?' she demanded bitterly. 'And when we're all dead, what then? You'll ransack our Treasury sofas for any spare coins you can find
between the cushions then go home to Kallarap secure in the knowledge of a job well done? Is that your great gods' plan, Magnificence? Is that their vaunted justice and mercy? Because if it is—' And she spat on the ground at his camel's feet.

  Gerald sighed.

  'Melissande, don't!' said Monk, alarmed.

  'Steady on, ducky,' muttered Reg. 'Does the word "outnumbered" mean anything to you?'

  Ignoring them, Melissande stared up at Zazoor, all her freckles blotchy in a face gone ivory-pale with temper. Behind Zazoor a growl as his army sat a little straighter and reached for their scimitars.

  The sultan raised a finger and they subsided, reluctantly. 'Shugat?'

  'He who made the dragon must now unmake it,' the holy man pronounced. His eyes had rolled back in his head, leaving slivered crescents of white. 'So say the Three, whose words are holy and cannot be denied.'

  Zazoor looked at Gerald. 'You have our answer.'

  He could've screamed. Hell. Were Shugat's deities deaf? 'I told you, Zazoor, I can't defeat the dragon. Not by myself. Reg, back off please.'

  With a muttered curse, she jumped from his shoulder over to Monk's. 'Gerald, what are you doing?'

  What had to be done. He stepped forward till he was close enough to touch Zazoor, then dropped to his knees and looked into the Kallarapi sultan's unforgiving face. 'Magnificence, I beg you: listen to my words. Lional knows magics far fouler than those he used on me. I have power, it is true, but I am not strong enough to defeat him or the dragon. They're no longer two creatures, but one. Help me, I implore you. And when it's done—when Lional and his dragon are dead—I'll return with you to Kallarap to face whatever judgement your gods decree I deserve.'

  'No, Gerald!'

  'Idiot boy!'

  'Dunnywood, you maniac—'

  Not turning, not shifting his gaze from Zazoor, he raised a hand and his friends fell silent. 'Magnificence, please, don't let more innocent people suffer because of me.'

  Zazoor considered him in silence. 'My gods' wrath is fearsome, wizard,' he said at last. 'They punish with fire and tooth and talon. They will show you no mercy. You understand this? You understand what will happen to you if I agree?'

  Gerald nodded. For what he'd done he wanted forgiveness… but he deserved retribution. 'Believe me, I understand. Magnificence—'