why he suffered so unspeakably. His mind was breaking, the weft and warp of his intellect unravelling, he could feel it as he now felt everything: with a keen and cruel clarity that could not be escaped. The words of his wizard's oath whirled in his giddy brain like autumn leaves, whipped to a frenzy by the wind.
'I, Gerald Dunwoody, wizard, do pledge my powers for good and good alone. Utterly and forever do I renounce the forces of darkness and ne'er will do any soul harm. So say I, unto death and whatever may come thereafter. But there was no thereafter. There was only this.
'A living death, Gerald… from now unto the end of time,' whispered Lional.'Can you endure it? Can you prevail? Your mind is going. Soon you'll be a moaning, witless beast, drooling in its piss and shit. Is that what you want?'
He heard himself moan. Heard a sob force its way past his pulpy lips. He shook his head.
'Of course it isn't,' crooned Lional.'Poor Gerald. You've been so brave. But now it's time for the torment to stop. I can make it go away. I will make it go away. My word as king, how can you doubt it? All you have to do is make me my dragon. Will you, Gerald? Will you make me my dragon?'
He unbent one bloody, nail-less finger, rested its tip in the cave's dirt floor and with the dregs of his strength, wrote No. And then, so slowly, he wrote again. Yes.
Lional kissed him. 'Oh, well done, Gerald. I knew you would.' And then he left.
After that, Gerald slept. When he woke it was to a confusing absence of pain. Curled in a ball he wondered about that, teasing at his foggy memory to supply a reason. Memory obliged. Forsworn. Forsworn. I don't believe it. I'm forsworn.
Tears of shame and misery rolled down his face. He wept until he was exhausted then fell asleep again. When he woke a second time it was to find fresh clothes folded neatly by his head, a jug of sweet water and some ripe peaches. His skin was whole. No fissures. No blisters. No blood, bile, pus or seepage of any kind and his nerves, so recently ablaze, were quiet once more. His hair and fingernails had all grown back.
He found a note from Lional, written in a grandiose hand. There now, Gerald. Doesn't that feel better? How silly you were to defy me for so long.
Starving, thirsty, he ate the peaches and drank the jug dry. Pulled on the clean shirt and trousers then sat in the armchair Lional had left behind. He wondered how long he'd been down here, and discovered he had no idea. With no sunrise and sunset to guide him, just the constant illumination from Lional's magical lights, he was adrift in time. The whole world might have ended and he'd never know it.
Did Reg ever come back? Did she even make it home in one piece? I guess I'll never know now. Reg, I'm sorry. I failed you.
The thought of her dead was almost unbearable. The thought of her thinking him dead just as bad.
If she did make it back would Lional tell me? He says he needs her. Does that mean she's safe, if she's here? If he's got her, would he hurt her to keep me in line? Would he hurt me again to make her do his will?
Yes he would. Lional would do anything to get what he wanted. He had no conscience. He had no soul.
If Reg came back, did she bring Monk with her? Is he a prisoner somewhere too, tortured as I was? Corrupted as I was? Or is he dead? If he's dead… if they're both dead…
He had no way of knowing. Not until Lional came back and he asked. Even then, Lional might lie. Would probably lie.
How did this happen? How did I let it happen? Wiry didn't I stop it? He knew the answers. They made him sick.
Because I was stubborn. Because I was greedy. Because all I cared about was being the great wizard. Yeah. Well. He wasn't so great now, was he?
Desperate for a distraction from his self-loathing thoughts he tried casting a spell, a simple colour change to make his blue shirt green. It didn't work. Clearly Lional's lodestone remained in operation. He looked and looked, but couldn't find it. Nor could he find the door out of the cave. Lional must have masked that too.
Lional, who wielded the power of five First Grade wizards and had read Grummen's Lexicon and wanted a dragon. He returned to the chair, despairing.
Once upon a time there lived a wizard named Gerald, who'd truly believed the worst thing that could ever happen to him was accidentally destroying a staff factory. What an idiot. A gullible, naive, ignorant idiot.
Well. That Gerald was dead. Burned to ashes in the crucible of Lional's cave. He'd been replaced by someone who might look like him and sound like him but in reality was hollow inside except for the things he knew and the memories that mocked him. Cruel, terrible memories…
He tried to go back to sleep but no matter what he did, how hard he pounded his fists against his forehead or ground the heels of his hands into his tightly shut eyes, he couldn't escape.
It was a relief when the door in the cave wall opened and Lional reappeared.'Gerald!' he cried as he sealed the door behind him. 'You're awake! How splendid. Did you sleep well?' What do you think?'
Lional chose not to notice his surly tone. He smiled. 'Excellent!
With a grunt of effort he stood. 'What time is it? How long have I been here?'
'It's six o'clock in the morning and you've been here for nearly nine days.'
Nine days. 'Reg? Has she come back? Is she all right?'
Lional sighed. 'Regrettably, no. She hasn't come back, which doubtless means that she's dead. Now that's enough small talk. We've an enormous amount of work to do and we've already wasted a lot of time, so I'd like to get started straight away'
Gerald felt his heart thud dully against his ribs. Dead? No. Not Reg. Not after so long, after everything she's survived. I won't believe it. Not until I see her body with my own eyes. Reg is not dead.
'Gerald?' said Lional, eyebrows raised. 'Is something the matter? You've such a look on your face…'
For a moment he was so choked with disbelief he couldn't speak. Who was this man? What was he, that he could stand there after every hideous thing he'd done, stand there with his perfect grooming and his exquisite clothes and an actual look of concern on his face and ask, quite genuinely, Is something the matter?
Dazed, he backed up until he bumped into the cave wall. What was he thinking? Was he mad? How could he even consider helping Lional? Lional was a monster. A perversion. If I help Lional what docs that make me?
Lional frowned. 'Oh dear.' Step by deliberate step the king closed the distance between them until only scant inches separated their bodies. Rested a hand against the rock on either side of his face and leaned close. His breath smelled of peppermint. 'Now Gerald, I do hope you're not thinking of changing your mind. That would make me very disappointed. And if you believe nothing else I say, believe this. Disappointing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.'
Gerald closed his eyes. This was it. His last chance to reclaim his dignity, his self-respect, his honour. What was the point of living if your life was paid for with a broken oath? In his hands rested the fate of two nations, of thousands upon thousands of innocent lives. How could he buy his own comfort with such precious coin? I can't. Stomach churning, he opened his eyes.
'Think before you speak, Gerald,' Lional advised.'For you must know by now the true heart beating in my breast. If you defy me I will hurt you in ways no man could tell.'
'I don't care,' he whispered. 'There's nothing you can do that could be worse than knowing I'm forsworn.'
Lional sighed. 'Ah. Well, Gerald, I'm afraid that's where you're wrong.' A heartbeat later he was holding an oval-shaped hand mirror, bright as a full moon. His mirror, from the dresser in his palace suite.'Let me show you.'
Against his will Gerald looked at his reflection and saw the dreadful changes that had been wrought in his face. Then his hollow-cheeked, haunted-eyed image faded and instead he was looking at a different self. Hanging in midair, spread-eagled and held fast by invisible chains. His head was thrown back, the great tendons of his neck distorted, distended, and his mouth gaped wide in a soundless scream. His shirt hung in rags and the skin and muscle covering the left side of his chest was missing. Through the gleaming cage of his ribs he could see his heart frantically beating, pumping his blood in a scarlet river from the mouths of countless wounds hacked into his prisoned flesh. Some kind of serpent, green and glistening, was wrapped around his right leg. Another clasped his right arm. They were eating him. Tearing great bloody mouthfuls of him from the bone. And as they chewed and swallowed and hissed, his ravaged flesh grew back again, swift as blizzarding snow. The serpents bared their razor teeth, bent their bright-scaled heads, and filled their bellies again. And again. And again. Against all possibility he felt the pain.
