The Accidental sorcerer ra-1

by K. E. Mills

  He kept a straight face, just.'Really? That's hard to believe.'

  'Well I promise it's true,' said Rupert earnestly.'/ don't think she should marry Zazoor either, no matter what the Kallarapi gods say. Quite frankly, what business they've got making wedding plans for my little sister I'm sure I don't know. And as for Lional agreeing with them… I don't understand it. But he won't explain why. He just shouts and stamps and makes Tavistock look at me with all his teeth.' He shuddered. 'You'll have to speak to him about it, Gerald. He won't make Tavistock look at you with all his teeth.' Oh lord. He rubbed his aching head. 'Rupert…'

  'He won't,' Rupert insisted. 'He likes you. He's always liked wizards, ever since he was a boy he's been fascinated by magic and all those terribly secret and peculiar things you chaps get up to. Actually, I think he'd have liked being a wizard himself but he's got next-to-no aptitude. Very put out about that, he was. He made the men from the Department test him 5('.v times.'

  'That must have been disappointing,' he murmured.

  Rupert bleated. 'Oh, Gerald, you don't know the half of it! Anyway, the first thing Lional did when he took the throne was hire himself a court wizard. Although,' he added, frowning thoughtfully, 'as it turns out Professor Uffitzi wasn't quite what he was after. None of them were. But he thinks the world of you, Gerald. In Lional's eyes you can do no wrong. He already likes you more than he'll ever like me. In fact…' His face lit up. 'Why don't you marry Melly? That way you'll be Lional's brother-in-law, which will more than make up for me.'

  Gerald staggered to his feet. 'Marry Melissande? Me? Rupert, are you cracked?'

  Rupert got up, one hand over his head to safeguard Esmerelda. 'I expect so,' he said cheerfully. 'But that doesn't make me wrong. I mean I know she's not exactly beautiful, at least not on the outside, and she can be a bit bossy, but really that's just her being organised and goodness if she wasn't organised I don't know what would happen to the rest of us, and then of course there's Boris…' He thought for a moment then sighed. 'No. I can't think of a single nice thing to say about Boris. Still. Nobody's perfect, are they?'

  Oh, hell… 'Look,' he said helplessly. 'I'm sorry, Rupert, but I can't marry your sister. I will talk to His Majesty, though, and see if I can't convince him to reconsider her marriage to Zazoor. How about that?'

  'Well,' said Rupert, patently disappointed. 'All right. If you think it's worth a try. In fact…' A growing expression of unease spread over his gormless face. 'Why don't you go talk to him right now?'

  The unease was contagious. 'Why right now?' he said, suspicious.

  This time Rupert's smile was sickly. 'Because I've just remembered why I came looking for you. Lional wants to see you. In his private dining room. Something about lunch and state business.' 'Bloody hell, Rupert! Why didn't you sayV

  'I meant to,' Rupert said meekly. 'I got sidetracked. Sorry. Do you remember how to find the dining room?' Idiot, idiot, idiot] 'Yes,' he said, walking rapidly.

  Behind him, Rupert cleared his throat. 'And Gerald?' ' WliatT he demanded, over his shoulder. Idiot Rupert was pale and agitated. 'I think I'd run, if I were you.'

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  'Half an hourV shouted Lional, sitting bolt upright and radiating fury. 'You've kept me waiting for half an hour, Professor! It simply isn't good enough!'

  As a relieved servant closed the private dining room's door behind him, Gerald glanced warily at Tavistock, disapproving beside Lional's ornate chair, and bowed.'So sorry, Your Ma-'

  'My instructions were perfectly clear, not even a moron like Rupert could've misunderstood me!' Lional seethed. 'Which means you've kept me waiting on purpose]'

  The dining table was set for two and laden with tureens and platters and sauceboats of food. Poached fish. Roast duck. Delicately spiced gravies. Green beans and artichokes swimming in garlic butter. Their combined aromas teased and tantalised. On the sideboard a towering confection of cake, as yet untouched, with cream and chocolate and the seductive scent of coffee liqueur.

  Almost deafened by his abruptly rumbling belly, Gerald swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth. 'Please forgive me, Your Majesty. I intended no deliberate slight or disrespect. I think His Highness had some difficulty finding me.'

  Eyes narrowed, lips pinched, Lional drummed his lingers on the table, vibrating the used cutlery on his emptied plate. Then he reached for his wineglass, tossed its blood-red contents down his throat and thrust it forward. 'Well, man, don't just stand there! Pour me another one!'

  Hastily he poured Lional more wine from the large crystal carafe on the table. The king half emptied the glass then sat back in his chair, suspicion and anger still not fully allayed. 'So what were you up to, Professor, that Rupert couldn't find you?'

  Damn. Of course Lional had to ask. 'Up to? Ah — ' Inspiration struck. A chance for two birds with one stone, no pun intended. 'I was out looking for Reg, Your Majesty'

  Lional's eyes narrowed again. 'The bird? Why? Where's it gone?'

  Schooling his face to an expression of innocent anxiety he said, 'Actually, Your Majesty, I'm not entirely sure.' 'Not sure?' Lional sat up. 'You mean you've lost it?'

  Reg, hexed to the eyeballs and hurtling home. Oh lord, I hope not. 'No, no, Your Majesty. Not lost. Just — '

  'Good,' said Lional.'That bird is an integral part of my plans for this kingdom. I would be excessively… disappointed… if you'd been so careless as to misplace it, Gerald.' J bet you would, Lional. 'Yes, Your Majesty.'

  Lional didn't look entirely convinced. 'I should warn you, Gerald, that I don't much care for being disappointed.'

  Too bad. Because you're long overdue and if I have my way…'I'm sure you don't,Your Majesty.'

  Without warning, Lional smiled. One hand drifted down to scratch Tavistock between the ears. 'Well, you're here now so I mustn't complain. Do have a seat, Professor. You look positively peaky. Help yourself to some food and while you're eating you can explain what has happened to your little feathered friend.'

  'Thank you,' said Gerald, and sat at the tables other place setting. He was so hungry he felt lightheaded and ill. He was so hungry he didn't care he'd be eating with Lional and Tavistock for an audience.

  Plate hastily filled, he tried not to fall on the food like a starving wolf or choke when Lional poured wine for him into his glass.

  'Drink up, Professor,' the king urged, positively genial. 'Your blood could do with some fortifying, I think.'

  It certainly can. Reg, Reg… please be all right. 'Thank you,' he said, and swallowed a mouthful of the wine. It was exquisite, rich and robust and full of fruit. Just what he needed. He swallowed some more. Ate the fish and roast duck. Savoured the buttery garlicked artichoke. The rumbling ache in his belly eased, mouthful by mouthful. He drank the rest of the wine. It was fiibulous.

  'Another half-glass?' suggested Lional, crystal carafe raised invitingly.

  He shook his head, which was swimming gently like the goldfish in his foyer fountain. 'My thanks, Your Majesty, but — '

  Lional ignored him. 'And now that your appetite is assuaged,' he said, expertly pouring, 'do feel free to tell me all about Reg. Where has the charming little wretch got to?'

  His blood felt replaced, not fortified; rich red wine pumping in time with his heart. He almost emptied his refilled glass in a single swallow. It was so goodl He'd been worried about something. What was it? 'Reg?' he echoed. 'Oh! Yes! Reg! Well, Your Majesty, she went out early this morning to stretch her wings. She said she'd only be gone an hour but she still hasn't returned.'

  'I see,' said Lional, gently frowning. 'And you're anxious? You feel there could be some cause for alarm?'

  'Well, I was. I did. I mean I am! I do! Although…' He leaned towards Lional confidingly. 'Just between you and me, she does enjoy her little jaunts. Has been known to get a bit carried away in the sightseeing department. Your Majesty' He hiccuped. "Scuse me.'

  Lional's smile was camaraderie personified. 'Not at all, Professor.'

  'Th
e thing is, Your Majesty, I think I was overreacting,' he admitted. 'She's no spring chicken, is our Reg. Been about a bit in her time. You'd be surprised. She'll be fine. Be back before we know it. My word on it, believe me.'

  Lional patted his arm. 'You're the wizard, Gerald. If you say that's the case, of course I believe you. And doubtless the gods of Kallarap will protect her.' He smiled again. 'Have some more wine, my friend. It wants drinking up.' He poured for the third time.

  Gerald didn't need encouragement. All his knotted muscles were unravelling, leaving him loose and delightfully mellow. He raised his glass. 'To your good health, sir!'

  'Thank you, Gerald,' said Lional, sitting back. 'I'm touched. Tell me, how are you feeling? No unfortunate repercussions from yesterday's tumble?'

  Tumble? Tumble? Oh yes! I fell off a horse, aren't I clumsy? He stifled a giggle.'None at all, Your Majesty.'

  'Ah, you wizards. Tough as old boots.' Elbows propped on his chair's gilded arms, Lional laced his fingers. 'And your memory of our little outing? Any sign of its return?'

  'My memory?' he said vaguely. 'No, Your Majesty. I'm afraid it's as blank as ever.' He did giggle this time, a ridiculous sound. 'So if you happened to ravish a milk-maid or three while we were romping about the countryside, I promise your secret's safe with me!'

  He held out his empty glass with a hopeful smile. Watched Lional fill it yet again. Drained it dry. Reached for the carafe himself this time, without asking, and sloshed more red gold into his glass.

  Good old Lional. Excellent fellow. If only Errol Haythwaite and his cronies could see me now, chatting over lunch with my friend King Lional. Theyd be greensick with envy. And Scunthorpe, too, that miserable old paper pusher. Bet he'll be sorry when he finds out the calibre of wizard he let slip through his fingers. Too stupid to see the genius right under his nose, Scunthorpe. They all are. Idiots! They'll rue the day they disrespected Gerald Dunnywoodl

  Replacing the carafe on the table with exaggerated care, he realised Lional was watching him intently. 'Cheers, Y'Majesty!' he said, and raised his glass in salute. 'Bloody nice drop this, innit?'

  'Bloody nice indeed,' said Lional. He reached into his green silk coat's inside pocket and withdrew a red velvet covered box. Placing it on the tablecloth between them he added, 'And I hope you'll find this equally nice.' He leaned forward, peering muzzily.'Wazzat?'

  'A gift, Gerald. A trinket. The merest token of my appreciation for all your efforts.'

  'For me?' He felt his jaw drop. 'Y'Majessy… y'shouldn't have!'

  'Of course I should! You've no idea how much I owe you, Gerald. Or how much more I'll owe you very soon. Open it.'

  Fumbling, his fingers stubbornly uncooperative, he wrestled with the velvet box's lid. Inside, nestled in white satin, was a heavy golden ring set with a single cabochon-cut sapphire; the blue gem winked and flashed in the chandelier light.

  Lional smiled. 'It's a signet ring. A gift from my father.'

  'Y'father?' The box slipped from his clumsy fingers into a puddle of congealed gravy on his plate. 'Oh — no — can't take it — too precious — '

  'Nonsense,' Lional said robustly. 'I never wear the wretched thing. Come. Put it on.' 'Oh, no, I — '

  'Gerald! Please! You must, it's a gift! Do you want to hurt my feelings?'

  Hurt Lional's feelings? Good old Lional, his mate, his chum? 'No, course not!'

  'Then put it on, Gerald. Let me see how it suits you.'

  It took him two attempts to fish the box clear of his plate. Growing dizzier by the second he gave it a half-hearted swipe with his napkin. 'Sorry, Y'Majessy,' he mumbled.'Must've drunk a bit more than I realised.'

  Lional laughed. 'Not to worry, old chap. We all get a bit tipsy from time to time. Quickly, now. Slip on the ring. Or I'll think you've not been truthful and you don't care for my gift.'

  'No, Y'Majessy! Lovely gift! Never expected it!" With difficulty he extricated the ring from its box. It was cool, heavy, and slid on as though made for him. Weighted his hand and -

  — dosed around his left forefinger like a vice. He was caught, trapped, held fast in a web with strands of metaphysical steel. He could breathe, move his eyes, but that was all…

  In a searing burst of pain and light his foggy mind cleared and he remembered everything. The hunting expedition. The Wizard Trap. The captured images of all those other wizards screaming, burning, their powers ripped from them by magics fouler than the deepest pits of hell. Lional, laughing… Make me a dragon.

  Drenched in sweat and horror, he stared. Oh, God. Oh, God.' remember.'

  Lional appeared mildly interested. 'Really? I wondered if you might.'

  Gerald's gaze shifted to the almost empty crystal carafe. Rising fast, understanding laced with bitter shame and self-derision. Wlien Reg hears about this she'll go spare…'The wine?'

  'Your glass,' said Lional. He was smiling, a thin nasty curve of unkind lips. 'Coated with a neat little concoction I cooked up in my spare time. Very handy for rendering impotent any wizard who might fight back.'

  He tried to wrench the ring from his finger but he couldn't even lift his hand. His body was like a sack of wet sand. Inert. Immoveable. You fool. You fool. You let your guard down…

  Lional laughed. 'There's no escape, Gerald. Not even you are strong enough to break this binding. Trust me, after what happened in the woods I made quite certain of that.'

  /'// bet you did, you murdering bastard. He'd never felt anything like this before. As though he were a puppet and his strings had been cut. 'You're wasting your time,' he said, forcing the words out. 'I won't make you a dragon.'

  'No?' Lional shrugged. 'Well, we'll see. Now look into the sapphire, Gerald.'

  Head pounding, he fought the command. The effort hurt him all the way to his bones. Lional's binding incant held a compulsion element too. 'No: 'Look into the sapphire!

  Lional's voice lashed him like a whip, breaking his fragile resistance. Against his will his gaze began drifting downwards. He tried to close his eyes, turn his face away, but the impulse to obey was overwhelming. No. No. Fight him, you have to!

  It was hopeless. On a despairing cry he stared into the sapphire's heart. The gemstone flared from blue to crimson, pulsing like a captive sun. He was falling… falling… fallen.

  The crystal held him fast, like a fly in blood-soaked amber.

  'Dear me, Gerald,' Lional said lightly as he stood and crossed to the dining room door. 'Didn't anyone ever tell you? Never accept gifts from strange wizards.'

  Voiceless and paralysed, he watched as Melissande's murderous brother opened the dining room door and snapped his fingers. Almost immediately a nervous servant entered the chamber and bowed. 'Your Majesty?' With a friendly smile Lional rested a hand on his shoulder. 'Davenport, isn't it?' The man paled.'Yes, Your Majesty.'

  Lional nodded and brought up his other hand in front of Davenport's face. His fingers crooked into a strange, vaguely threatening, almost obscene gesture. Davenport stiffened, his brown eyes bulging.

  'Listen carefully' said Lional, silkily persuasive. 'The professor and I are retiring to my private chambers, where we are not to be disturbed. Shortly after that he will return to his apartments for extensive meditation upon matters of grave magical importance. Nobody is to be concerned if they neither see nor hear from him for some time and under no circumstances is he to be called for or have his contemplations interrupted.'

  Davenport's eyes were glazed in his blank face. 'Yes, Your Majesty' he whispered.

  'You will share this information with every palace servant assigned to the professor's suite, Davenport, and any others you happen to encounter.' 'Yes, Your Majesty' 'This conversation did not happen.' 'No, Your Majesty'

  Transfixed, Gerald watched Lional pass his crooked fingers before Davenport's face left to right, right to left, down and up, and finally up and down. Then he pressed the ball of his thumb to the man's forehead. Davenport gasped as though the collision of flesh and flesh was an agony. A white hot br
and burned like a furnace between his eyes.

  Lional stepped back. 'Go now. Take Tavistock with you and make sure he gets a nice rump of something for his supper.'

  By the time Davenport reached the door, a complaining Tavistock at his heels, the brand had faded. With a flick of his fingers Lional swung the door open then shut it behind them. He was grinning.

  'I'll bet you weren't expecting that, Professor! Clever, aren't I?'

  Diabolically. Gerald's stunned and captured mind reeled. Reg, Reg, come back. I'm in trouble.

  'Oh dear. Has the king got your tongue?' Chuckling, Lional sauntered to the wall opposite the door. Ran his hands over the patterned wallpaper, pressed the centre of one floral bouquet and watched, humming cheerfully, as a part of the wall swung soundlessly inwards to reveal a small wooden platform and a spiral staircase, leading down.'Come, Gerald.Time to go.'

  Numb, enslaved, he felt his body jerk. He stood, then plodded gracelessly forward. When he reached the opening in the wall Lional held up his hand and he stopped, teetering on the brink of darkness. Lional snapped his fingers and torches set into the wall above the wooden platform sprang into life.

  'After you, Professor, and do mind your step,' said Lional, jaunty as a bus conductor.

  And although he didn't want to, although he struggled against the force of Lional's voice until it felt like his heart would burst, he stepped through the hole in the wall, onto the platform and down the spiralling staircase. Lional came close behind, swinging the door closed in their wake, a steadying hand on his shoulder. He felt his skin crawl at the touch.

  They travelled in a capsule of light, torches dying behind them, kindling ahead. Down and down they climbed, stair after stair after stair. The air was clean but faintly stale. Exhausted, he stopped fighting the merciless grip of the incant wrapped round his mind and threaded through his bones. Instead, he let it move him as it willed and surrendered himself to waiting.