The Accidental sorcerer ra-1

by K. E. Mills

  More swiftly than he could believe, the palace and its problems had become his whole world, swallowing him alive. He felt like a sailor whose ship had been shrunk and forced into a bottle, its confines so close he could reach out and touch them with his fingertips.

  And with the wide world beyond the bottle unattainable, the narrow world within it became… everything. Far ahead, Lional drew rein and beckoned impatiently. His voice floated back on the damp morning breeze.'Hurry up, Professor!'

  'Aye, aye, Captain,' he muttered. Gritting his teeth, he clapped his heels to Dorcas's unenthusiastic sides and hurried.

  Seven rabbits and two foxes later, he swore he'd never go hunting again.

  Lional had let the hounds devour the rabbits and the foxes but their latest prize, a deer, he forbade them. By this time they were plunged deep into the Crown Forest, according to Lional an exclusive royal hunting preserve. The mist had cleared and the sky was a patchwork of blue and green, with golden columns of sunlight shafting cathedral-like between the lacework branches overhead. The only sounds as they rode further and further in were the muffled thudding of the horses' hooves, the panting and padding of the hounds, the jingling of harness, the occasional startled cries of invisible birds… and the last desperate gasps of the doomed creatures who could run no more.

  Lional looked up from wiping his hunting knife on the flank of the slain doe. 'Ah, Professor! There is nothing to match the taste of freshly roasted venison. Particularly when the kill is your own. We shall dine like kings tonight!'

  The deer had been brought down in a small clearing littered with leaf mould and pocked with poisonous-looking mushrooms. Gerald, who couldn't bear to watch Reg humanely despatch a fieldmouse, swallowed nausea. He'd be dreaming of dagger teeth snarling and brown eyes glazed crimson with terror for the rest of his life. He slid down from happily dozing Dorcas and tied her reins to the nearest tree branch. Demon, trained to a hairsbreadth, stood like a statue with his reins still trailing. 'Well, Your Majesty, one of us will, anyway.'

  Lional laughed. 'You're a witty man, Professor. I like witty men.'

  He nodded. / wonder if he also likes men who vomit at the sight of blood? He snuck a glance at his watch. Four hours they'd been out here, charging across the countryside, and all he had to show for it was blisters on his backside. In four hours the only thing he'd gotten Lional to discuss was how much he enjoyed killing things.

  Good thing he wasn't a government secret agent. After a dismal performance like this one he'd be fired from that job, too.

  Lional slid his knife back into its sheath and rose to his feet with smooth, athletic grace. 'Yes,' he mused, leaning his shoulder against the mossy trunk of a convenient tree. '1 do like you, Gerald. Far more than the other tedious fellows I hired.'

  And is that supposed to reassure me? Gerald bowed. 'A compliment indeed, Your Majesty.Thank you.' Lional smiled.'You're welcome.'

  'Speaking of those other wizards…' He throttled any sign of eagerness, kept his tone casual, uncaring. 'Do you mind if I ask, sir, why none of them suited?'

  'Not at all,' said Lional. 'I'll even answer you. Professor. In short they were dullards.'

  Well, that was a big help. 'Dullards, Your Majesty?'

  'Yes. Each time I had such hopes… and each time, alas, my hopes were dashed,' said Lional, regretful. 'You see, Gerald, I was searching for a man like myself, a man of vision. A man who understands the world and how it works. Who appreciates that timidity is the refuge o± cowards. I sought for that rare man amongst the world's premier ranks of wizardry and had come to think I'd never find him. And then, just as I was about to surrender to despair… you came along.' He laughed. 'What a pity Melissande didn't ignore my hiring instructions long ago. Then I needn't have wasted so much time.' His amusement faded and he frowned. 'She's being difficult about the wedding, you know. Tiresome wench. As if she's ever going to get a better offer. As if she's going to get any offer apart from this one.'

  Condescending, patronising bastard. 'It's just shock, Your Majesty,' he said carefully. 'Once it passes I'm sure she'll be eager to marry Sultan Zazoor. As you know, women don't possess the most powerful of intellects. They find it almost impossible to see the big picture.'

  Lional's eyebrows lifted. 'And what big picture would that be, Professor?'

  The surrounding forest had fallen deeply silent. Even the bright shafts of sunlight had faded, dimmed by incoming rain clouds high overhead. The hounds' panting as they lay sprawled around the carcass of the deer sounded even louder, impatient and foreboding. Gerald glanced at them uneasily and they stared back, eyes shining. Here was his chance. It was now or never.

  'The one you are painting, sir, with breathtaking brushstrokes. Your Majesty, I owe you a humble apology. I spoke hastily and without thought yesterday after the Kallarapi departed.'

  'You certainly did, Gerald,' said the king, his guarded gaze sharp and watchful. 'Indeed, I was brought to the brink of doubting you.'

  'Your Majesty, it shames me to hear you say so,' he said, and lowered his head in what he hoped looked like heartfelt contrition. 'In my defence, allow me to say that your actions took me by surprise.' 'I'll allow it,' said Lional, after a moment.

  So far, so good. He risked lifting his head. 'It also shames me, Your Majesty, to recall my childish response to your bold attack upon the Kallarapi's rapacious demands. It is clear to me these are a rudely primitive people, desperately in need of New Ottosland's civilising influence.' 'They certainly are.'

  'To be frank, Your Majesty, after my ill-judged actions yesterday I wouldn't blame you if you chose to dispense with my services and sent me packing.'

  Even though Lional appeared relaxed as he leaned against the tree trunk, there was about him the air of a nocked arrow, quivering and ready for flight. He smiled. 'Oh, no, Professor. That would be quite the over-reaction. You are young, and allowances must be made for youth.' Gerald pressed his hand to his heart. 'Your Majesty is graciousness personified.' 'Yes, I am, aren't I?' said Lional. 'Then… I am forgiven?' 'Of course you are.'

  But only because you want something from me. What is it, you smarmy sanctimonius maniac? What else do you want me to do for you? 'Thank you, Your Majesty. How can I repay such generosity?'

  'Oh…' Lional waved a careless hand. 'I'm sure I'll think of something.' Pushing away from the tree, he began a casual circumnavigation of the clearing. The hounds watched him, ears pricked, tongues lolling. 'See here, Gerald, this dead deer,' he said, and kicked it casually in passing. 'It's dead because I killed it. Because tonight I will be hungry and require sustenance. There was no malice in my action. Certainly I committed no crime. I merely obeyed an immutable law of nature: the strong devour the weak in order to survive and prosper.'

  As Lional circled, Gerald found himself turning too so the king never managed to get behind him. Suddenly it was very important Lional not get behind him. His mouth was dry. 'As you intend to devour Kallarap, Your Majesty?' 'Is that what you think?'

  He nodded. 'Of course. Marrying Melissande to Zazoor is but the first… mouthful of the meal, is it not?'

  Lional laughed, a soft whisper of amusement. 'You disapprove?'

  Yes, yes, yesl 'Not at all, Your Majesty. The strong must always overpower the weak. As you say, it's the law of nature.'

  'But you are curious, CTerald. I see the question in your eyes. Why bother with conquering Kallarap? That barren wasteland of sand and sun. What use can it be to lush delicious New Ottosland?'

  'I assume for access to the trade routes, Your Majesty,' he replied. 'They represent significant financial value to New Ottosland, after all.'

  'Yes,' agreed Lional. 'But they are merely the beginning.'

  Deep in his eyes burned a fervid, greedy flame. Seeing it, Gerald felt his chest tighten. Here it comes… here it comes… 'Princess Melissande has told me Kallarap possesses a formidable army, Your Majesty, while New Ottosland stands defenceless. If they should resist…'

  'New Ottosland defencel
ess?' Again Lional laughed. 'Not at all, Professor. New Ottosland has you.'

  Me? Wliat the hell? The tightness in his chest increased almost to suffocation point. 'Forgive me, Your Majesty. I'm afraid I don't follow you. I am but one man. I can't defeat an army.'

  Lional stopped walking and skewered him with a stare.'But you're not a man, Gerald. You're a wizard]

  Oh… bugger. Of course. Of course. 'Actually, Your Majesty, I'm both.'

  A heartbeat's pause, then Lional started circling again. 'I'm only interested in the wizard. Take my advice, Gerald: put the man in a box, lock it and throw away the key. He'll only get in our way'

  He took a deep, painful breath and let it out slowly.' Our way, sir?' 'Yes, Gerald. I'm asking you to join me.' 'Join you? In… conquering Kallarap?'

  'In creating a kingdom the likes of which this world has never seen,' said Lional. 'In driving New Ottosland to the very pinnacle of international power and prestige where she has always deserved to be! Every king of New Ottosland before me was a weakling, a coward, a slave to tiny dreams! Not I! This Lional is a visionary. This Lional has greatness. This Lional is man to be reckoned with!'

  As his voice rose higher and louder, the panting black and tan hounds surged to their teet and howled, refusing to lie down again until he kicked them into cowering submission.

  'Well, Gerald?' he demanded, once the hounds were subdued around him. 'Will you join me? I know you possess the ambition, I can see it in your eyes! You think you hide it but you're mistaken, my friend! We're cut from the same cloth, we hunger for the same things. You're no more for a small life than I am, Professor! You have dreams too, of glory, of greatness! Don't dare to deny it for I'll know you're lying!'

  Gerald felt his face heat. Ambition wasn't a crime… so why did it sound shameful when Lional talked of it?

  Because his ambition demands the subjugation — the destruction — of anyone or anything standing in his way.

  He looked at the forest floor, afraid Lional would read the thought in his eyes, where he'd already read too much for comfort or safety.

  'Well, Gerald?' Lional said softly. 'What do you say?'

  / say you're mad, you're crazy, you're stark staring bonkers. He kept his gaze lowered, hoping Lional would take it for humility. 'Your Majesty, speech is almost beyond me. The honour — the trust — where do I begin?'

  'By saying yes, Gerald. Say yes and I'll make you the most powerful man in New Ottosland after myself. No pitiful rules. No pathetic regulations. Your word will be law. And the Scunthorpes of this world will be as dust beneath your feet.' His head snapped up. 'Scunthorpes?'

  Now Lional's smile was wicked with mischief. 'Foolish fellow. Did you think I'd grant you access to my court without knowing exactly who you are? An hour after our first meeting I knew everything about you, Gerald. Where you were born. Went to school. Qualified as a wizard. Your first job. Your second job. Your disaster at Stuttley's. None of it matters. You made me a lion]

  And see where that pride, that folly, had led him. When he could trust his voice he said, 'Your Majesty is too kind.'

  More laughter. 'Kind? Kings can't afford to be kind. Now answer my question.'

  Will you join me? How could he possibly join Lional? Help him force Melissande into an unwanted marriage — conspire with him to destroy the Kallarapi — and after that, who knew?

  But I started this, God help me, and then I kept it going. So if the only way to heat Lional is to join him…

  He bowed, so deeply his nose nearly touched his knees. 'I would be honoured to join you, Your Majesty.'

  'How honoured?' said Lional, regarding him playfully. Now what? 'Your Majesty?' 'Honoured enough to make me a dragon?'

  'A dragon,' he said blankly, after a long pause. 'Your Majesty, dragons don't exist.'

  'Ah, but Gerald, they doV replied Lional, exultant. 'They exist in our imaginations. And what can be imagined can be created. After all, you turned my cat into a lion. Now you can turn a lizard into a dragon. I have the perfect specimen, as it happens, all ready and waiting.' 'Your Majesty — '

  'Now, now, don't go getting coy on me, Gerald! And don't try telling me you can't do it, either, for I shan't believe you.' A dragon? Why the hell would Lional want a -

  Oh hell. Oh no. The third and final deity of Kallarap, mightier than the other two put together. Grimthak, whose earthly form manifested as a dragon. What have I done?

  This was his fault, all of it. If he hadn't been so desperate to stay in New Ottosland, to prove he was brilliant, if he hadn't turned Tavistock into a lion then Lional would never have hatched this plan. Or even if he did, without Tavistock-the-lion, without Reg at his fingertips, he could never put it into action. If one person dies over this I'll be a murderer.

  No matter what happened he must never give Lional what he wanted. He must never turn anything into a dragon.

  'I'm sorry, Your Majesty,' he said, pouring as much regret into his voice as he could muster. 'I'm afraid I'm not good enough for that kind of magic'

  Lional slid a hand into his breeches pocket. 'On the contrary, Gerald. I'm afraid you're far too good.'

  He frowned. There was a note in Lional's voice that he'd never heard before. Gone was the petulance. The peevishness. The volatile good humour. The handsome face was suddenly older. Grimmer. Suddenly Lional's face was frightening.

  He felt himself take an unintended step backwards. His heart was beating so hard he felt sick. 'You knew all along I had no intention of joining you.'

  Lional laughed. At his feet his hunting hounds whimpered. 'Of course. It's true you have ambition — just not enough. Or the right kind. But it was amusing watching you try to pretend. A piece of advice, Gerald: don't go on the stage. I'm afraid as an actor you make a very fine wizard.'

  His heart pounded brutally against his ribs. 'Are you mad, then? Or are you evil?'

  Lional shrugged. 'I'm both. Or neither. It's not significant. They're just words, Gerald. Hot air. Blah blah blah.' 'You must know I'm oath-bound to stop you.'

  Another shrug. 'You're oath-bound to fry.' Lional's lip curled, sneering. 'You orthodox wizards, you're all the same. Cowards. Hidebound by rules and regulations. Rigidly unadventurous. Suffering from a catastrophic failure of imagination. Incapable of seeing past your oaths and your artificially imposed boundaries to what is possible. Just once I wish I could meet a wizard who — '

  Without warning and with blinding speed he pulled his hand from his pocket and threw something, very hard and very fast.

  Gerald flinched. Pure, unthinking reflex raised his hand, outstretched his fingers, curled them around the flying missile… Oh my God!

  … and he was caught, trapped in a web with strands of metaphysical steel. He could breathe, move his eyes, but that was all. He couldn't run. He felt his fingers convulse around the thrown lump of rock… and then he cried out, assaulted by a tornado of dreadful images and excruciating pain. Faces screaming. Flame-licked bodies writhing. Greasy smoke spiralling into the air. And Lional, his golden face a glowing mask of power…

  'I must say, Gerald, it's rather a pity you have to die,' said Lional, plucking the rock from his nerveless grasp. 'There are a number of incantations requiring the involvement of two wizards that I'd really like to try and you're the first wizard I've met who could manage them. Ah well. Life is full of small disappointments. I'll just have to console myself with the taking of your formidable powers.' A gentle hand reached out and patted him on the cheek. 'I expect you're wishing you'd made me that dragon now, aren't you?'

  Speech was beyond him, his mind and will held as fast as his body. But inside the confines of his skull he was screaming.

  /'// kill you… I'll kill you… you bastard, I'll kill you…

  'Useful little gadget, this, don't you think?' Lional said brightly, tossing the rock from hand to elegant hand. 'It's called a Wizard Trap. An appropriate title, don't you agree? I made it courtesy of an interesting little book I — well, let's just say I inherited it.' />
  There was sweat beading on his forehead, rolling down his face and into his eyes. Lional's a wizard? That isn't possible. This can't be happening… Lional's smile widened.'Ah, Gerald… but it is'

  And then the forest clearing was filled with power, a black seething maelstrom that boiled inside Lional's deceptively commonplace aura as though searching for a way to burst free. The hunting hounds howled and fled into the shadows. Dorcas broke her bridle and bolted. Demon, sweating, stayed where he was.

  Ignoring them, Lional stepped forward and raised his hands, eyes narrowed, face contorted into something no longer human. From between his lips hissed a stream of filthy words that burned the air to a stinking foulness… and a searing ball of power exploded from his outstretched fingertips.

  It struck Gerald over his heart. Lifted him high into the air. Flung him against a tree. The world ended. The first thing he heard as consciousness begrudgingly returned was a voice saying, 'He's not dead, is he? Please tell me he's not dead. You've no idea of the paperwork that's involved if he's dead.'

  A second voice said snippily, 'Your stupid brother almost gets him killed and all you can think of is paperwork?'

  The first voice replied, seeing the snippy and raising it a snide, 'If anybody here is stupid it's your precious wizard, falling off Dorcas for the love of Saint Snodgrass! The wretched pony's one hundred and one in the shade and can barely get out of a trot!'

  A third voice said silkily, 'Melissande? What are you doing here? Have you changed your mind about marrying Zazoor?'

  Gerald unglued his eyes. Slowly, grindingly, the world swam into fuzzy focus. He was in bed. Somebody was sitting on his aching chest. They were wearing feathers and an outraged expression. Reg. And to his left, camouflagingly trouser clad, on her feet and staring at his bedroom doorway with a mixture of hostility and apprehension, was Melissande.

  'Oh,' she said, chin lifted. 'Lional. I can explain. I was just — '