"So, what was the spell you couldn't say?"

Madrick ignored the question and continued with his story.

"On graduation from the Academy, I was presented with a few minor scrolls to help me make my way in the world. The minor magic made me like every other wizard however the occasional 'special' from the Spell Spell, made me stick out from the crowd. I became so famous that I was invited, or rather commanded, to attend the court of King Mifal. He liked what he saw and made me his Royal Wizard in attendance. That meant I was given access to his personal store of scrolls. Of course, like all private collections, he'd nothing of major import. The Wizards tolerate kings, great lords and emperors building small collections of insignificant scrolls... what was the point of starting unnecessary wars over inconsequential artefacts? Anyway, I digress."

"You do, don't you?" said Tung under his breath.

"To begin with, things went well and I pleased Mifal with my stunning magic. He thought I was exceptionally ingenious to use his scrolls so 'imaginatively'. His previous wizard had never achieved such impressive feats. But of course, it was really the Spell Spell which was doing the truly splendiferous stuff."

"Of course," said Tung.

"As my reputation grew, I had to keep my wits about me because my Sorebun teachers were becoming a little suspicious to say the least. Every so often they'd send spies to try and discover how I'd changed from one of their pretty ordinary students into such a famous and respected wizard. But, as I said, I was very careful so they never did work it out."

"Is the point of this story coming any time soon?"

Madrick ignored the interruption.

"I revelled in my position as the King's personal wizard and I was genuinely content. At last, I'd found my place in the world, but that all changed when Mifal stripped me of my exalted position about an hour ago."

Madrick continued pacing the cell. It was one of the castle's biggest communal dungeons, designed to hold up to eighty prisoners, so he'd plenty of room to pace. He'd settled into a sort of circular orbit with Tung as the central point. It was beginning to make Tung dizzy so, when planet Madrick next passed close enough, he grabbed his sleeve and applied just enough downward tug to make Madrick sit. The old man hardly noticed and continued his story as if nothing had happened.

"Ungratefulness, that's what landed me in this dreadful dungeon. Yes, ungratefulness. I did miracles for Mifal which made him the most powerful, and happiest, king in the history of this land. I'm sure you wondered how Katrina, the most beautiful woman in the entire world, fell in love with the ugly, old oaf. Well, you're looking at the man who made it happen. One of my spells, thank you very much."

Madrick began to rise but Tung spotted the movement in time to lay a restraining hand on the old man's knee. He didn't want the old buzzard circling him again. Madrick shifted his weight slightly but didn't stand up.

"So Mifal had the queen he wanted and everything in his universe was rosy, with one slight exception. He wanted another miracle from me, so I returned to the special scroll and created my next spell. That's when disaster struck. I'd created the one spell I couldn't use. Now the scroll you have in your hand is as worthless as a harlot's love."

Madrick paused and stared blankly into the distance, as if he was reminiscing about his experiences of that particular worthless commodity; a worthless commodity which had to be paid for by the hour. The pause lasted so long that Tung thought the old man had passed out or died or something. He prodded Madrick with his finger to try and get him talking again. It worked.

"I'd created the one spell I couldn't use. How could I be so unfortunate? O me miserum."

Madrick stared listlessly at the cell ceiling. Was the old man going to lapse into silence again? Thankfully he wasn't. In the resonant, whispering voice he seemed to reserve for the mystical bits, he continued.

"I will tell you of this spell, listen carefully. This is the really important part of the whole story. If you're going to concentrate on anything I say, concentrate on the next bit."

Tung concentrated as best he could.

"This spell was born in the dim and murky past when the ancient wizards battled each other for supremacy. Its purpose was to save the lives of those ancients who'd been defeated in a magic duel. Basically the spell completely took away a wizard's power. The vanquished wizard spoke the spell and thus lost the ability to ever, repeat ever, use magic again. Of course, without magic he was no longer a threat to the victor so his life could be spared."

"And?"

"Well, that's the spell I have inside me now, the Wizard's Finale Spell. If I speak the spell I'll become powerless, if I don't then I am powerless. This is the ultimate dilemma for me. O me miserum... again. That's why I'm in this stinking dungeon. King Mifal had given me until midnight to perform another spectacular miracle for him. To use his exact words, 'no miracle, no Madrick.' A man of few words our king."

"He's certainly said very few to me."

"I was terrified because Mifal is a dangerous and vengeful man. He's a murderer, and not in a good way."

"How can you be a murderer in a good way?"

"I don't know. I guess if you kill for love, or to defend a principle or a friend, but that's not the point. The point is that Mifal kills people for fun."

Madrick lapsed into silence. He slouched forward with his hands covering his face. The occasional sad, little whiny noise escaped between his fingers.

Tung studied him and thought about the spell, the Scroll and the possibility of escape. Could there really be something in this for him? Could he really be staring at a way out?

Eventually Madrick spoke again. Abandoned was the mystical lilt in his voice, now his intonation seemed much more urgent. Now, he was speaking rapidly as if his life depended on it ... which, of course, it did.

"If you do exactly what I tell you we have a chance to escape from this place but only if we work together. I propose entering a solemn pact with you, a life or death, eternal and soul-binding pact."

"You mean do a deal?" asked Tung after he'd sifted and simplified the words.

"Don't mess me around. You must know you've nothing to lose. Right now, you have the life expectancy of a mayfly in June."

"You mean do a deal?" repeated Tung.

"Fair enough, do a deal, whatever. The 'deal' I offer you requires me to say the damned Finale Spell and then I'll help you use the Scroll to get both of us out of here. But heed this warning and heed it well, the Scroll makes a dangerous friend unless you've had the sort of training I've had."

Was the warning true or was it only being said to make Tung feel he'd need to stick with the old man once he had the power of the Scroll? More important, was any of this story true?

"Do we have a... deal?"

Tung didn't need the brains of a scholar to know this was his last chance; his only chance. He spat enthusiastically on his palm and offered it to Madrick. The old man declined the outstretched, dripping hand and patted Tung on the shoulder. Then he began the boring explanation of how the spell scroll worked.

For the next half hour Madrick described the intricacies of the Spell Spell. Tung concentrated harder than he'd ever concentrated before; he recognised a do-or-die moment when he saw one ... he'd let plenty of them drift past before now. Had he understood enough? Only time would tell.

"So, when you trigger the spell you'll see words in your mind, and a picture. Together, these'll identify the spell you've created. Because I've been trained, I'll know what the spell does. I, and only I, will know the best way to use it. I, and only I, will know how to use it in a way which won't kill us. Together, and only together, we will harness the power."

Tung felt the old man was overdoing the 'you need me' part of his speech, so he stopped him talking with a polite 'ahem'. Now was the time to focus on the opportunity the spell offered them. Madrick seemed to get the message.

"In your hands, the spell won't be working for the likes of Mifal, it'll be working for us. Together we'll fulfil our wildest dreams, each and every one of them. And wild dream number one is to escape."

That was it, explanation over. Madrick stared at Tung as if he was trying to work out if he'd done enough to make him understand. Tung stared back, wondering if the old man was crazy or not.

"Right then, let's make magic. It's time."

"Right Rick, let's do it."

There wasn't much to see while the old man performed his last ever act as a wizard although tears flowed down his face when the deed was done. Before Tung could comment, a powerful surge of energy from the scroll slammed into his chest with the force of a kick from a carthorse. It was at that precise moment that he knew for sure the old man's story was completely and absolutely true.

"Remember well what I have told you," Madrick said once he'd recovered. "Now it is time for you to do what you must do."

The old man crossed his fingers and prayed silently. There was one thing he hadn't told Tung namely, only about one person in five had the basic capability to use magic. This was a roll of the dice.

"Stand," Madrick said. "You have to be standing when you read the scroll. Now, just like I told you, concentrate on each letter until it disappears."

Tung unrolled the scroll and stared hard at the first character on the manuscript. As he concentrated, the character began to swirl on the page, it rotated and twisted, faster and faster, and then it disappeared just as Madrick had described. Tung moved his eyes to the next and repeated the process. Then the next, and the next, until the parchment appeared completely blank to him. As the last character disappeared there was a deafening roar in the very centre of his brain followed by a blinding flash inside each of his eyeballs. He fell backwards and was unconscious moments before his head crashed onto the stone floor.

If Madrick hadn't drifted off into his own thoughts, he might have reacted quickly enough to prevent the high velocity collision involving Tung's head and the cell floor. That was going to make the massive spell-headache even worse. He didn't care, the spell was said.

"Praise the Gods," shouted Madrick as he danced around the prone body. "I'm not the sorriest, unluckiest human being alive after all."

He'd beaten the odds, not only was Tung one of the one-in-five, he also had an aptitude. And he'd listened, and he'd understood, and he could drum up the necessary concentration; happy days are here again.

He looked at Tung as he lay on the ground. What a sorry example of a human being he was. He offended all five senses. He smelt bad, he felt grimy, he looked awful and he sounded like a pig in heat. And Madrick didn't need to be a genius to know that taste would undoubtedly be the most offended sense of all. To be fair though, he was quite a handsome lad although his pale complexion gave the impression of one who'd seldom seen the sun, which was in fact the case as Tung had spent many of his sixteen years skulking in the shadows of the back streets of Thamesius. His shock of unruly black hair would have offered great camouflage in the dark corners where he'd often hidden before carrying out some act of thievery or violence, or both.

Madrick examined Tung's face as he lay, still as the dead, on the cold stone. He placed his hand on Tung's forehead, it was warm and wet. With his thumb he raised one of the eyelids and, as the lid was pulled up, the other eye flicked open. Tung was conscious.