Gerald hid from the sight behind one blistered hand, overwhelmed by annihilating grief. It's my fault. It's my fault. I was right. I'm a murderer.
With a last roaring cry the dragon wheeled away from the city and headed back to the hidden valley. As they left the chaotic streets and the broken buildings and the dead and those mourning them far behind Lional fell silent, along with the dragon. Because they had nothing further to say, or because they no longer needed speech, Gerald didn't know. He didn't want to know.
The dragon landed like thistledown at the mouth of the cave. Lional pushed Gerald to the ground and stared down at him disdainfully from the dragon's high back.
Shivering like a man with fever he staggered to his feet. 'Lional, why did you do that? Why did you attack your sovereign subjects?'
Lional shrugged. The dragon shrugged with him. 'Because we wanted to. Because it amused us. Because we are their king and they are ours to play with.'
We. Us. He didn't want to think about that…'It was wrong. They were innocent. And they're not yours, you don't own them.'
Lional and his dragon sighed. 'Ah, Gerald. We hoped you would see. We hoped at last you would understand. But you do not. Your thoughts to us are clear as glass, and empty. No greatness in you for all your powers. You are puny and your purpose is served. Crawl into your cage and wait for us, little man. We will return when you are required.'
I could refuse. I could defy him. The dragon would kill me and this would be over.
Except he couldn't. That would be taking the coward's way out. As long as he lived there was a chance… no matter how remote… of somehow finding a way to stop Lional. To undo the damage. To make good, in part at least, his terrible mistakes.
He backed up slowly till he stood once more in his rocky prison. 'When will that be? When will I be… required… again?'
'We do not know.' As Lional smiled, poison dripped smoking from the dragon's open mouth. 'But we do have news for you. We saved it for this moment.' 'What news?' 'The bird has returned.'
Reg. Disbelieving joy surged through him, momentarily banishing grief. 'She came back? She's all right? Can I see her?'
Lional's smile widened; the dragon hissed. 'If you like.' He snapped his fingers and a moment later was holding something limp. Feathered. Dangling. Lional tossed it. There was a thud as it landed in the dirt at Gerald's feet. He couldn't look at it.
Lional stroked the dragon's crimson and emerald hide. All its spines stood upright, glistening. 'Yes, my friend, the bird came back,' he said dreamily. 'And it was rude. So Lional killed it.'
Gerald staggered sideways, groping for the solidity of the cave wall. He still couldn't bring himself to look at the thing at his feet. Lional snapped his fingers.' Vanishati!
The air before Gerald's eyes rippled. Solidified. Became rock. Once more he was imprisoned inside the cave, with a few bobbing lights to alleviate the dark. Only this time he wasn't alone. After a long, long moment he lowered his gaze to the floor.
Bent and broken feathers. Brown, with a tracing of black. Creamy flecks on breast and face. A brown band across the glazed unseeing eyes. Reg.
Without warning all the little lights still clustered against the roof went out and the cave was plunged into utter darkness.
Gerald fell to his knees. Fell further. Lay face down in the dirt, and wept.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Sultan of Kallarap s palace was a modest, single-level, twenty-room affair built of mysteriously acquired blue and grey marble slabs. Located in the middle of a small but fertile oasis, it basked in shade provided by groves of date palms. The desert's dry air tinkled with the music of fountains and songbirds, thrummed with the rushing eagerness of cunningly designed miniature waterfalls. Gentle breezes stirred perfume from lovingly tended flowerbeds. Peace; tranquility; reverent calm: all surrounded the sultan's home, drowsy in the sunshine.
Mid-morning's hush roused briefly as a camel barked from the comfort of its bed in the stable yard beyond the gardens, where the sultan's peerless racing team lived in luxury.
Moments later all the camels were barking as a train of their brethren returned from a long hot journey beneath the burning sun, across daunting miles of sparkling sand and treacherous, shifting dunes.
As camel boys tipped out of their hammocks and raced to succour their weary charges, Shugat slid creakily from his saddle and blessed his beast, for it had carried him well and the gods liked their children to be appreciated. Then he turned to the sultan's regrettable brother and said curtly, 'You will wait in the gods' room while I seek their guidance. Once the will of the Three is revealed we will report to the sultan, may he live forever, the outcome of our mission.'
Nerim slid off his camel in such a rush that he nearly sprawled on the mud brick ground. 'But Shugat, the gods have already spoken! Zazoor must — '
He stepped close to the prince and glared. 'Be silent!' he hissed, with a quick glance to make sure the camel boys weren't listening, it is not for you to say what was seen and heard in the court of New Ottosland's oath-breaker king. Remain silent or I shall petition the gods to shrivel your tongue and your manhood both! Now do as I bid you, Blood of the Sultan, may he live forever. I will join you presently'
Chastened, with the whites of his eyes showing his proper fear, Nerim clasped his dirty hands palm to palm before his chest and bowed. 'I hear and obey, Holy One.'
Shaking his head, Shugat glared after Zazoor's foolish brother as he hobbled away, then collected his staff from his camel's saddle, silenced the protests from his aged muscles and turned his back on the chattering camel boys to seek the solitude and wisdom of his gods.
Surely they would speak to him here in holy Kallarap.
He lived in a dwelling apart from the palace, but still within its grounds. No elegant marble edifice, his, but a squat and simple mud brick box, its roof a thatching of dried palm fronds plastered against the infrequent rain with cured camel dung. It was part of the arrangement the most senior holy men of Kallarap had made with the Three from the dawn of time: an austere life without adornment, accolades or the trappings of position, with simple clothes of undyed linen, plain meals of dates, camel milk and goat flesh, and every day of their allotted span spent in selfless service; in return they were gifted the glory of the gods' words and power enough to pluck a star from the sky should a single candle fail in the dark of night.
At the first touch of his gods' vast and fiery minds, all those years ago, he knew he had by far the better part of the bargain.
He knelt before their shrine now, still stinking and smudged with the grime and sweat of his long ride home. Devoutly carved into the precious wood, rare mahogany from a distant unknown land, inlaid with crafted and polished andaleya, the Tears of the Gods, they bent their ruby eyes upon him, the Dragon, the Lion and the Bird, waiting with their infinite patience for him to open his heart to their desires.
So he did. And after the long silence that had frightened him as he had never felt fear in his life… the Three heard his prayers and spoke to him. He wept.
When at last they had imparted their desires, he levered himself to his feet with his staff and went frowningly about the business of preparing for an audience with the sultan, who had no chance at all of living forever and moreover, unlike some of his forbears, knew so full well and was at peace with the knowledge.
Which was but one among many reasons why he liked Zazoor and had vowed to protect him and his honour to the last drop of blood and breath in his aged and wasting body.
Most especially he intended to protect him, and all of Kallarap, from the soulless predator known as His Sovereign Majesty King Lional, Forty-third ruler of New Ottosland.