Bones melting with horror he turned away, cheek pressed hard to the rough cave wall.
Lional's remorseless finger beneath his chin turned him back to the nightmare. 'There is no mercy in me and I won't be denied. My kingdom has suffered ignominy for seven centuries and if you don't make me a dragon, Gerald, you will suffer for even longer.' He raised the mirror. 'Defy me and this will be your reward, forever and ever unto the end of time. And nobody will come to save you. I promise. So, Gerald. Do you defy me? Do you?'
He dragged his eyes away from that unspeakable image of suffering and forced himself to meet Lional's pitiless gaze. Forever and ever unto the end of time. Courage died, brief and blazing as a falling star.
'No,' he whispered. 'I don't. I'll do it, Lional. I'll make you a dragon. Please… don't hurt me again.'
'Of course I won't, Gerald,' said Lional and banished the mirror. 'Provided you continue to be reasonable.'
Reasonable. The word was nearly his undoing. Fingers compressed into fists held his grief at bay… but only just. At least my parents will never know.
With a theatrical flourish Lional summoned a wooden crate from… elsewhere… and stood there looking at it with a gleaming gloating smile. Then he looked up.
'Oh Gerald, you're not sulking, are you? Don't, I implore you. It's desperately unattractive. Now come here, quickly. I've something to show you.'
Clumsily, as though his muscles had forgotten their purpose, he joined Lional beside the crate.
Two feet long and one foot wide, its base and four sides were solid timber; the top consisted of narrow slats nailed in place to allow ventilation but no escape. From inside the box came the rustle of claws in dry grass and a long sibilant hiss. He glimpsed a vivid scaled hide striped crimson and emerald. Black eyes, malevolently glinting. A crest of spines, each sharp tip oozing a viscous green fluid. The creature opened its mouth to hiss again, revealing row after row of diamond-bright teeth and a long slimy tongue. It took a deep breath and spat something crimson at the bars keeping it caged in the box; the wood smoked and belched green fire but remained intact.
'Isn't she beautiful?' crooned Lional. 'She's a Bearded Spitting Fire Lizard from the darkest jungles of Lower Limpopo. You wouldn't believe what I had to go through to get her. I mean, Bondaningo was almost as stubborn as you've been when it came to helping me. But of course he saw reason in the end. Amongst other things. I think she'll make a splendid dragon, don't you?'
Speech still beyond him, Gerald could only shrug.
Lional looked at him sharply. 'I said no sulking, Professor. If you can't stop by yourself I have a remedy of my own we could try…'
He felt his guts spasm. 'I'm not sulking, I'm — ' Craven. Beaten. Pathetic. 'Tired. That's all. I'm just tired.' 'Not too tired to make me my dragon, I hope?'
'Look. Lional. What if-' He cleared his throat. 'What if I can't do it? Transmogrification on this level is almost unheard of. The mass conversion ratio, the inverse thaumaturgical fluctuations…' He gestured at the crate. 'That's a big lizard but compared to a dragon it's tiny. What you're asking for might not be metaphysically possible to achieve no matter who was trying.'
'Well, for your sake, Gerald, I hope that's not the case,' said Lional coldly.
He flinched. 'AH right then. Say I can turn this lizard into a dragon. How are you going to control it? It's not like Tavistock. He may have the body of a lion but in his head he's still your cat. This lizard is a wild animal. It's lethal, a killing machine. It'd kill us both now if it could. What hope is there of controlling it once it's dragon- sized?'
Lional's smile was smug. 'I was wondering when that would occur to you, Gerald. Don't worry. I really have thought this through very carefully'
With a pointed finger and a sharp command he collapsed the lizard's crate then immobilised the creature before it could recover from its surprise and start spitting. Next he snapped his fingers and produced a small knife with a wicked blade and a carved ivory handle.
Staring, Gerald felt sluggish memory stir. 'You can't — you're not actually going to risk — '
'The Tantigliani sympathetica?' said Lional, glancing at him. 'Well spotted, Gerald. And yes. I am.' 'You can'tl Tantigliani was mad!'
Without hesitation or any sign of pain Lional sliced open his left palm from one side to the other.
'Tantigliani,' he said, as thick red blood welled from the wound,'was a misunderstood genius.'
'He was an assassinl Over a hundred people died because of him!'
Lional shrugged. 'Perhaps, but he was a brilliant assassin. Only at the very end did anyone so much as suspect that the horses, the dogs and the bulls that killed their owners were anything but deranged creatures run amok.'
No. No. This was beyond insane. 'Lional, you can't do this! What if you lose control? This lizard's not a horse, it's not domesticated. How can you hope to impose your will upon — '
'I don't hope, Gerald,' said Lional, serene. 'I know' Crouching beside the unmoving lizard he fisted his wounded hand above it. Blood flowed between his fingers and down his wrist, staining his white silk shirtsleeve. 'Absorbidato.' Carefully, his expression intent, he dripped the blood over the lizard's hide in a complex pattern of splatters and blotches. Within seconds of it touching the brilliantly hued scales the blood vanished.
'You think all those stolen potentias will protect you,' said Gerald, chilled with fresh horror. 'What if you're wrong?'
'I'm not,' said Lional. He stroked a fingertip along the lizard's length from nose to tail. 'Manifesti retartol Then he rose smoothly to his feet. Lifting his wounded hand to eye level he turned it palm outwards to show the gaping crimson slash, whispered a command, and smiled again as the still-dripping blood crawled backwards into the wound and his flesh knitted itself whole again. 'As you can see, Gerald, my control is absolute.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Numb, Gerald nodded. 'Yes, Lional,' he said dully. 'I can see.'
'Good.' Lional smiled. 'And now, my friend, I believe it's your turn.'
My turn? No, I have to stop him. Think, Dunnywood. Tliink. 'I need a First Grade staff '%!‹?' said Lional.'Surely that's not necessary?'
He felt his lips peel back in a snarling smile. 'Better safe than sorry'
'Oh, very well.' Lional held out his hand. The air shimmered, then he was holding a staff. Tall. Slender. Bound in gold. 'But a word of warning first. Just in case you're thinking of heroics after all and intend sacrificing yourself in order to do me a mischief with this little toy. As we speak, Melissande is metaphysically imprisoned in her royal apartments. Should I not return to release the incant or be so badly injured I can no longer function, she will die a slow excruciating death. So you can see, Gerald, it's in her best interests that you mind your manners.'
Damn. His heart thudded painfully. 'You're lying.'
Lional shrugged. 'It's possible. But are you willing to bet Melissandes life on it?'
/ should he but… 'You won't hurt Melissande. You can't. You need her. She's a part of your crazy plan.'
'A small part, yes. But without the dragon it's all meaningless, Gerald. Which makes my sister meaningless too.' 'And what if the dragon kills you?'
Another shrug. 'Then she dies. But I've already-told you, Gerald. That isn't, going to happen.' He tossed the staff.
Gerald caught it midair. Inspected it closely as a buzz of latent thaumic energy prickled his skin.
'That was Bottomley's staff,' said Lional. 'Inadequate tor my purposes of course, but — ' He stared.'I fail to see what's so amusing.'
Chased into the gold filigree, an audacious claim: Stuttley's Staff's, Finest in the World.
'Nothing,' he said, and with an effort throttled the urge to laugh… or weep.'Nothing.' 'Then I suggest you get to work.' 'The lodestone?' Lional snapped his fingers.'Is now deactivated.'
For one dreadful moment Gerald almost attacked. His fingers spasmed on poor Humphret Bottomley's staff
