As the discreet secretary closed the doors again Rupert walked towards her, one hand outstretched. 'Darling Melly,' he said. He still looked ridiculous in his ruined blue velvet knickerbockers and orange silk shirt but even so… something was different. Something had changed. Reaching her, he took her hand and kissed her cheek. 'I've been sorting a few things out. Lord Attaby?'
Horrible Lord Attaby was on his feet. So were his bookends. 'Your Majesty,' he murmured. 'I take it you and the Prime Minister have reached an agreement?' 'We have,' said Rupert. 'Everything's arranged.'
Dumbfounded, Melissande stared at Monk then Reg then back at Rupert, i'm sorry,' she said, and pulled her hand free. 'What's arranged? Rupert, what are you — '
He kissed her cheek again. 'I'll explain everything later. You have my word. But right now you need to come with me, all of you. We don't have much time if we're going to save Gerald.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Running unsteadily, almost staggering, with a dull-brown, skinny one-eyed dragon flapping in his wake, Gerald returned to the palace forecourt. Sultan Zazoor, his holy man Shugat and the Kallarapi army were still gathered there, safe within their shimmering domed shield. Not a single expression on a single face changed as he haphazardly approached.
After reeling to a halt he bent over for a moment, hands braced on his knees, and sucked in deep gulps of air. It still stank of burned flesh and acid poison. His stomach protested and he spat out bile. Behind him his pathetic dragon landed gracelessly on the ruined grass, hissing as it caught the scent of its counterpart.
When he could trust his guts he straightened, slowly, and stared through the shield at Zazoor and Shugat. 'Where's Lional? Where's his dragon? Did you see which way they went? Do you know where they are now? Can you at least help me that much?'
Zazoor and Shugat looked at him, eyes hooded, expressions remote. Just as eerily silent, the mounted warriors sat on their camels as though posing for a portrait.
You bastards. I think I hate you. 'What is wrong with you people?' he shouted. The skinny brown dragon flapped its wings and hissed softly. 'Look at me\ Look at this dragonl Aren't you afraid yet? Because if you're not, you bloody well should be! Don't you get it? We're all that's standing between you and Lional! Can that magical barrier of yours reach over your entire nation? 1 don't think so. Nobody has that much power!'
Shugat stirred. Blinked. 'You are wrong, wizard. Our gods have that much power. They have power enough to shield the world.' His voice reverberated strangely within the pearlescent shield.
'Your gods…' Gerald felt himself breaking inside, as though all his fault lines were fracturing. 'Well bully for them, Shugat! And bugger you! If you're not going to help me then why don't you and your sultan and your ragtag bunch of camel jockeys sod off home! I don't think Melissande's in the market for a bunch of lawn ornaments at the moment!'
Shugat sighed. 'Wizard, you are wasting time. Even now Lional and his dragon replenish their strength. Would you break your oath a second time? If not you must face them. You must face them or be lost forever.'
J change my mind. I don't think I hate you. I know 1 do. 'Fine,' he said bitterly. 'I'll face them. And we both know I'll probably fail. It's almost certain Lional will kill me. And after I'm dead he'll come for you. Maybe your shield will hold and maybe it won't. But if it doesn't… don't you dare blame me. Whatever happens after this, Shugat, the blood's on your hands, mate. It won't be on mine.'
Shugat said nothing. Beside him, Zazoor said nothing.
So. That's that. They're not going to help me. I'm really on my own.
Hollow, feeling strangely disconnected from the world, Gerald turned his back on them. Gave a hard tug on the mental leash connecting himself and the skinny brown dragon and left the Kallarapi to their own devices to continue the hunt for Lional and his dragon. He didn't have to hunt far. The horrific sound of horses screaming led him to Lional's private stable yard where Lional was seated on an upturned barrel watching his dragon feed on equine flesh.
The stables had been ripped apart, bricks and tiles and jagged splinters of timber scattered piecemeal, flame-scarred and acid-etched. The yard itself was a shambles, lumps of meat, shards of bone and ribbons of blood-soaked hair splattered over every surface. Gerald felt his stomach heave. From the available evidence the black and tan hounds had been killed too.
More blood on my hands. More innocents slaughtered. I'll never be able to make this right…
Lional's dragon darted and whirled amongst the few remaining terror-maddened horses, butchering indiscriminately, biting and tearing and swallowing as though it were starved. In his mind Gerald felt the little brown dragon howl a protest as it scented the kills through the link that bound them. It took all his strength to overpower its will and keep it hidden, safe from being revealed too soon.
Lional's frenzied dragon turned on the last surviving horse and bared its blood-slicked teeth, acid pouring from its mouth and spines. The cobblestones smoked, the air filled with the stench of burning blood.
Gerald leapt forward. 'Stop the damned thing, Lional, before it's too late! Can't you see7. That's Demonl He's your favourite horse, isn't he? Don't let it eat Demonl' If you let it eat Demon then you truly are gone. Lional's face was white as death.'Demon?'
As the stallion called out to its master in fearful entreaty the dragon killed it. Then, with a hissing cry of triumph, fell upon the steaming carcass and tore it open like it was made of paper.
Light-headed with horror, Gerald watched Lional slide off his upturned barrel and dabble his fingers in the steaming blood pouring from his murdered horse. Watched him lift a cupped brimming handful to his lips and drink…
Despite the torment he'd endured at Lional's hand, the rage he felt at Lional's unspeakable wickedness… he was overwhelmed with sickened pity. 'Oh, Lional. Lional. What have you become?'
Hunger satisfied at last, the dragon settled amongst the remains of its butchered feast, wings furled against its bulging sides, eyes half lidded and watchful. With a sigh of utter repletion Lional dragged his bloody hands over his face, his hair. Sucked the red smears from his fingers. Then he turned and smiled. His eyes were crimson.
'Why, Gerald… isn't it obvious? I've become myself?
He faltered backwards a step. What? /. Lional had called himself /…
'Lional,' he said desperately, 'listen. Please. If you are still in there listen to me. You have to fight this. It won't be easy, you're nearly gone, but I can help you. Lional, you don't want to be this thing. You can't want it, you weren't born a monster. In your own twisted way you love New Ottosland. You did this for your kingdom. Your people. Well now they need you, Lional. Not the dragon. You. So fight this, you bastard. Do you hear me? Fight it!'
Lional was staring at him, head tipped to one side. Beneath the blood his expression was gently puzzled. 'But Gerald… there is nothing to fight. I am the dragon… and the dragon is me. We are us. We are one. I am… I.'
In the stinking silence Gerald heard his heart beating. It's true. They are one… which means I've failed. I've failed and doomed this kingdom. Good work, Dunnywood. How's that for a legacy?
And then he shook his head. No. If Reg was here she'd kick his arse for thinking like that.
She wouldn't quit now and neither will I. It's the least I owe her after letting her down.
He took a tentative step towards Lional. 'Your Majesty, think for a minute. What about Melissande? What about Rupert? They're your family, they need you, too. The dragon might hurt them, you don't want that. You — '
'Those names are shadows. I am my own family, Gerald,' said Lional, smiling. 'Shall we show you?'
Before he could escape, Lional's hands captured his face. The grasping fingers were scorching hot, as hard as dragon's claws. Still smiling, Lional drew him close… closer… their lips met and he tumbled helplessly into the blast furnace of Lional's dragon mind. boiling acid — burning ice — a ravenous hunger that could never be gorged -