Wizard Squared (3 page)

And then he heard—really heard—what Gerald was saying. Like a coward, he wanted to run.

No. No. I don’t want to hear this.

But how could he not hear it, after Gerald had lived it?

Eventually the sickening tale of cruelty and suffering came to an end. Melissande, the love of his life, stood like a weeping marble statue and on his shoulder Reg felt turned to stone.

He looked at Gerald, and Gerald looked back. The cost of that confession was etched in his face. The price of his endurance—the finding of his limit—was etched deeper still. “There’s something else,” Gerald said tiredly. “Lional’s controlling the dragon using the
Tantigliani sympathetico
.”

Melissande smeared a dirty sleeve across her wet face. “What does that mean?”

So Gerald explained. Melissande swayed, close to folding to the cave’s dirt floor. But she didn’t, because she was Melissande. He wanted to hold her—and kept his hands to himself. She’d never forgive him if he made her look weak.

Feeling bludgeoned, he shook his head. “Bloody hell, Gerald. Every wizard who’s ever tried that incant has gone mad. Even Tantigliani in the end. You say Lional’s lost himself inside the dragon’s mind? Does that mean…”

Gerald was like a man cut out of paper. Like a man mere heartbeats from crumbling to ash. “Yes.” He glanced at Melissande. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I’m pretty sure it’s too late for Lional.”

Stirring at last, Reg rattled her tail feathers. “Then the only way to stop the dragon is by capturing the king.”

Monk touched a fingertip to her wing. “He’s as good as half a dragon himself now.”

“Fine,” she said, shrugging. “Then we don’t capture him. We kill him.”

And because there hadn’hete theret been enough raw emotion already, her blunt assessment sparked another passionate row. Melissande wept again and this time he did touch her. He put his arms around her—and she didn’t push him away.

Reg flapped over to Gerald, who cradled her against his chest. “Honestly, Reg. Have you
heard
of being tactful?”

“If being tactful will kill that torturing bastard, Gerald, I’ll tact up a storm,” she said grimly. “You see if I don’t.”

Gerald dropped a kiss to the top of her head, then looked up. “She is right, Monk. Lional and his dragon have to be stopped.”

Well, yes, obviously, but—

“I know you want to be the one to stop them, Gerald,” said Melissande. Stepping away, she smoothed her hands down the front of her shirt, putting her armor back in place. “But Lional broke you once. He could break you again.”

Gerald’s flinch was like a sword running through his own body. “
Melissande
.”

She turned on him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Markham, but I can’t afford kindness just now. My kingdom’s at stake. Or are you going to tell me
you
think he’s up to it?”

Damn.
Damn.
She had to ask him that, didn’t she? With Gerald standing there, after everything he’d just said… after everything he’d endured. Days and days of unspeakable torment. Gerald, the Third Grade wizard who could turn lizards into dragons. Who’d tried and tried not to…

And who did break. He did.

With an effort Monk met his best friend’s sad, quiet gaze. “I don’t think we can decide anything stuck in this cave,” he said, his voice rough. “I think we need to portal out of here and see what’s happening back at the palace.”

Reg nodded. “Good idea, sunshine. And then we can—”

“No,” said Gerald. “Reg and I can portal to the palace. You and Melissande should go back to Ottosland, to the Department. Corner your Uncle Ralph, Monk, and kick up the biggest stink the place has
ever seen until those hidebound bureaucrats get off their asses and send some help.”

“Absolutely not,” Melissande snapped. “I’m staying here. I have to be
seen
. The people
need
me. I won’t be the second person in my family to let them down on the same damned day!”

“No—Melissande—the only hope your people have is if you stay safe!” Gerald insisted. “Let Rupert fly the family flag, he—”

Her expression changed. “Oh, lord.
Rupert
. I forgot about Rupert! I have to find him, he’ll be terrified. And if
Lional
finds him…” She spun around. “Well, Monk, don’t just stand there. Get that portable portal of yours working and take us out of here!
Now
!”

By a minor miracle he managed to get them onto the palace’s roof. The dragon was nowhere in sight. Neither was Lional. But what they could see struck them all to grieving silence.

In every direct

There were fresh tears on Melissande’s cheeks.
“Is one of them Rupert? One of them could be Rupert, he could be dead down there, or in his butterfly house. I have to go and—”

Monk reached for her, but Gerald grabbed her first. “No, Melissande,
think
. If Rupert is dead there’s nothing you can do for him. And if he isn’t that means he’s hiding. Either way you’ve got a lot more to worry about than the fate of one man.”

A creak and flap of wings and Reg landed on the balustrade beside distraught Melissande. “He’s right, ducky,” she said sternly. “The only man you need to be thinking about is Lional. Because strictly speaking he’s not a man any more. He’s an abomination. And abominations have to be destroyed.”

Oh God. Reg, you really need to learn tact.

Melissande walked away and he went after her, leaving Gerald and Reg to do what they liked. “Your Highness—Melissande—
please
, Melissande. Wait.”

She slowed, then stopped. Turned. Not weeping now, but white-faced beneath her scattered freckles and shivering with distress.
“What?”

Helpless, he looked at her. Spread his hands wide, then let them fall. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Just… don’t walk away.”

“From you?” she said, incredulous. “Monk Markham, I barely know you. Why do you
care
?”

If I tell her I love her she’ll pitch me off this roof. Or she’ll laugh in my face, and then I’ll have to jump.

“I don’t know,” he said again, shrugging. “I just do.” He tried to smile. “Do you mind?”

Behind him, Reg and Gerald were arguing. Snatches of pain blowing fitful in the breeze. Something about stopping Lional. Fighting fire with fire.
Reg was furious. Gerald sounded despairing. This was turning into one hell of a day.

Now Melissande looked helpless. “Do I
mind
?” she muttered, harassed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I don’t know. I suppose not. I mean, all right, strictly speaking, it’s presumptuous and a terrible breach of royal etiquette and protocol and—”

“Does all that claptrap really matter?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “No. Not really. But if I
am
going to be queen then I should at least notice it. You know. In passing.”

The breeze swirled again, laden with more painful argument and the raw stench of death. Flinching, Melisze=nching,sande closed her eyes.

“I don’t know how this happened,” she whispered. “How did this happen?”

To hell with protocol and etiquette. Monk wrapped his arms around her and let her hold on tight.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rocking her. “But we’ll fix this, Melissande. All right? We’ll fix it.”

With a shuddering sigh she relaxed against him. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

She tipped her head back. Looked up. Beneath her shock he caught a glimpse of humor and breathtaking strength. “You realize I’ve no sane reason to believe that?”

“In my line of work, Your Highness, sanity is overrated,” he said… and would’ve said something else, something truly crazy, only Reg’s sharply raised voice stopped him.

“—Lional dead, Gerald,
you’d
be the danger. And whoever tried to stop you, well, they’d need to read
the
Lexicon
too. And it wouldn’t end there, I promise you that. Say this hypothetical wizard succeeded and managed to kill you. All it means is there’d be
another
rotten wizard who’d have to die… and so the
Lexicon
would be used again… and again… and again. Is that what you want, sunshine? Every last good wizard in the world dead because of you?”

His altered face still chalky-white, fired up with an awful, unfamiliar desperation, Gerald turned on her. “What else can I do? The magic I know doesn’t have teeth, it doesn’t have talons, it can’t kill Lional
or
his damned dragon! I
have
to use the
Lexicon
, Reg!”

“
No
!” Wings wildly flapping she launched herself into the air to hover furiously above him. “I’d rather see you dead—I’d rather kill you
myself
than see you—”

Now
what? With a chill of foreboding, Monk followed interrupted Reg’s outraged stare.
What the hell?
Camels? Were those camels? And those glinting things—were they
swords
?

“Oh
blimey
!” Reg groaned. “That’s
all
we need!” Dropping back to the balustrade she glared at Melissande. “Oy! You! Madam-Queen-in-Waiting! Front and center, ducky, New Ottosland’s got visitors!”

M
onk stared at the mighty army of Kallarap, gathered in the grounds of Melissande’s palace. Then he glanced at Gerald, unnervingly calm and silent beside him.

“You know—that’s a lot of camels.”

Perched on Gerald’s shoulder, Reg snorted. “And warriors. And swords. And spears.”

True. But that wasn’t the most disturbing thing. The Kallarapi holy man was making his skin crawl. Power roiled off him like heat from the sun. The sultan was powerful too. An absolute ruler, comfortable with his authority and not afraid to use it. Growing up a Markham meant he could spot the genuined r„ article with both eyes closed.

Be careful, Melissande. If you let them, these men will swallow you alive.

“Don’t worry,” said Gerald. “She’ll be fine.”

Melissande—
his
Melissande—was giving Zazoor a piece of her mind. Small and vulnerable and so very badly dressed, she was staring down Shugat and Zazoor like a warrior queen from the mythic past.

Of course she’ll be fine. I’m an idiot to doubt her.

He glanced again at Gerald. “I know. But what about you?”

Pale and tired, Gerald pulled a face. “What about me?”

How could he answer that? What could he say? They needed a bathtub full of brandy and two straws for that conversation. “Gerald…”

“Never mind,” said Gerald, so remote. So changed. “It doesn’t matter. Now shut up, would you? I want to hear what they’re saying.”

Yes, well, what they were
saying
was good old diplomatic double-speak as Melissande, Zazoor and Shugat quickstepped around the mess Melissande’s mad brother had made. Like fencers testing for a likely opening, they parried words and dodged lunges and sought for a face-saving way to retreat from the brink.

When they got to the bit about Melissande marrying Zazoor he came damned close to swallowing his tongue.

“Settle down, sunshine,” said Reg, leaning close. “Zazoor’s safe. Not even the Kallarapi are that desperate.”

“Reg!”
he said. “How can you—”

And then he forgot what he was going to say, because Zazoor was smiling.

It wasn’t a good smile.

“Highness,” the sultan said, silky with polite menace. “The payment of debt is a good thing, but Kallarap will not starve without your pennies. I am sent to you by my gods, who would have me speak with you of sacrilege. And treachery. And yes, indeed: of
honesty
.”

Oh, damn. Damn, damn, damn.

But before he could leap to the rescue Gerald shoved Reg at him and marched into the fray. “Sultan Zazoor, your quarrel is with me.”

“What? What?” Reg thrashed in his grasp, trying to get free. “What is that idiot boy doing now?”

Monk felt an unfamiliar sting in his eyes. Had to clear his throat before he could speak. “What does it look like, Reg? He’s being Gerald.”

Abruptly still, Reg moaned softly, the smallest sound of distress. “I want to bloody
kill
that Lional.”

“You and me both, ducky,” he said, close to snarling. “You and me both.”

Heartsick, they watched Gerald throw himself on the>

“All right, that’s
it!
” Reg shrieked, and in a wild flurry of wings and tail feathers flailed her furious way to Gerald’s shoulder. “Weak my granny’s bunions! Now you listen to me, Zazoor! If you knew what that bastard Lional did to my Gerald to get that dragon you’d—”

“The bird?” Zazoor said to Shugat.

Shugat nodded. “The bird.”

Zazoor considered her. “
Not
, I think, trained.”

“Trained?” screeched Reg. “What do you think I am, a bloody circus act?”

Monk kept out of it. Not even he could defend Gerald the way Reg could. And she was defending him, fearlessly tongue-lashing Zazoor and the holy man. Interestingly they let her, indulging her tirade without
interruption. Melissande glanced at him once, eyebrows raised.
Should I chime in, do you think?
He shook his head. Reg was doing just fine on her own.