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 — '
'Returning to your apartments. Where you shall remain until you agree to do your duty. I shall be along presently to chastise you.'
'Chastise me!' she echoed, furious.'You're not my father and I'm not five years old! How dare you — ' 'Melissande!
She went red, then white. 'Fine. Banish me to my rooms. Put a guard at the doors while you're at it, why don't you, and see to it I'm fed on nothing but bread and water from now until doomsday! I don't care. You're making a mistake with the Kallarapi, Lional, and the only duty I have is to see that you realise that!'
She marched from the room without a backwards glance. Lional stepped aside to let her pass then approached the bed, his expression grave. Despite his pounding head Gerald tried to sit up. 'Your Majesty…' 'Gerald!' screeched Reg.'You're awake!' 'More or less. What happened?'
'What happened?' Lional echoed. 'Don't you remember?'
'No,' he said, after a moment's frantic thinking. 'The last thing I recall is riding out of the stable yard. I take it I fell off?'
