The Dinosaur Princess

by Victor Milán

  “How’s your little darlin’ doing?”

  Karyl gently stroked Shiraa’s side. She rested on her belly on a patch of low ferns, with her tail half curled around her “mother.” It was an odd relationship, in which the giant meat-eating dinosaur both felt protected by and protective of her Karyl. But Rob of all men knew the strength of it.

  They had ridden at a not very rapid but still punishing pace for an hour before Karyl called a halt. Though his every fiber cried out—and the aching ones, which were most, doubly loud—for them to keep fleeing until they were across the horizon and, better, across the Laughing Water and into Providence and the Duchy of the Borderlands, the dinosaur master in him wept inward tears for the pain their flight had put both their mounts through.

  Neither dinosaur complained. They were seasoned campaigners, too. But by the end Little Nell was staggering and wheezing and clearly about to drop, and the matadora was in no better shape.

  “I’ve checked her as best I can,” Karyl said, turning to Rob, “and aside from some tenderness, which is to be expected, I can’t find anything wrong with her. But I’d like you to run your expert eye across her too, if you will.”

  “Of course I will,” Rob said. Of course Karyl was making a kind gesture for the man he, improbably, still held to be a friend. Karyl had been, to all practical purposes, a full dinosaur master far longer than ever Rob had. That was one of the reasons he’d been drawn to the man so strongly—that and the hero worship. Most fighting nobles who could afford war-dinosaurs loved them, as best they could. But they didn’t understand thing one about caring for them. That was why the peasant dinosaur masters could continue to be highly paid and in demand. And why nobles were called bucketheads, so far as Rob was concerned. But Karyl was the exception.

  As in so many things.

  Rob began trudging the seven or eight meters around the fire toward Shiraa, feeling as if it were a mere eight-kilometer journey. But his steps faltered—more than they had already—when Karyl brought his head up and stared sharply at him. Then stopped when Rob realized his friend was looking past him.

  “Karyl,” a soft feminine voice said from behind Rob.

  Rob spun about. A small female figure in a robe with a hood thrown back stood not four meters behind him, where the glow of the deliberately weak fire could touch her gold hair with fiery highlights.

  “Aphrodite!” he exclaimed. “You gave me a turn, there, lass. How did you get here? And how did you find us, when we’ve barely found ourselves? It’s uncanny, it is, and not another thing.”

  A brighter light shone on her face, illuminating a rapidly hardening expression. Rob’s nut sack tightened as if trying to squeeze up into his belly. He’d seen a glow—a glare—of that peculiar, unsettling color and quality earlier tonight. And before.

  “Shiraa,” hissed the matadora, and rustled to her feet. Nell snorted and bobbed her head in agitation.

  Rob smelled sulfur, lavender, and ozone. He heard Karyl’s sword whisper free of its concealing staff.

  “What are you doing here, monster?” Karyl said softly. It made the undercurrent of rage in his voice more chilling than histrionics would have been.

  Soft female laughter answered. It sounded like that of a purely human woman, if spiteful. Almost. “Is that gratitude, to the one who saved your life? Again? To say nothing of your lackey’s.”

  Fearing what he’d see, Rob spun back the other way, making himself dizzy in the process. Karyl had turned to face a tall woman whose slender naked body shone like blue lightning. “A Faerie!” Rob croaked.

  He fell on his face and covered the back of his head with his hands. Terror tried to shake his mind to pieces.

  “Not a Faerie, Rob Korrigan,” said that voice. “The Queen of the Fae. Uma is the name I choose to be called.”

  “Rob,” said Karyl, in a tone of well-strained patience, “you can’t possibly believe the Faerie Queen is less likely to destroy you if you’re lying with your beard in the dirt and your rump in the air.”

  “When I was a child,” Rob said, in a voice so composed it almost frightened him, “I was taught that if I pulled my blanket over my head when I slept, the Fae couldn’t get me.”

  “And how well did that work?”

  “It didn’t,” Uma said, with an even more venomous laugh. “You should know that once you’ve been touched by the Fae, we never let you go—Korrigan.”

  Slowly Rob picked himself up. I’m not scared anymore, he thought, as he ruefully brushed bits of dirt from his beard. This is all too unreal for me to be afraid.

  “You are persistent, I’ll grant,” Karyl said to the glowing woman-shaped creature. The icy anger had returned. “I was willing to die back there, if it would’ve averted this disastrous war. At least I’d be dying for something.”

  “I gave you back your life. It’s mine now. As I told the Count, before I roasted him like a yam.”

  “Your interference destroyed everything I was trying to accomplish. Do you want war?”

  “It was inevitable anyway.”

  “Do you mean because of the Grey Angel in the Palace? The one who’s masqueraded for years as the Emperor’s confessor?”

  “Oh, so you finally figured that out.”

  “His name is Uriel,” said Aphrodite.

  “But no,” Uma said.

  “Now we’re outlaws,” Karyl said, “thanks to you. Every word I said in opposition to the war can now be safely brushed aside by Margrethe and her allies.”

  “We were outlaws anyway, Karyl,” Rob said. “And you might as well put away your sword. It’ll do no good against the Fae.”

  “This one will,” Karyl said. But he sheathed it and stuck the staff through his belt.

  “I’m glad you’re here too, Aphrodite,” Rob said. “Witch or no, at least you’re human flesh and blood like us. Perhaps there’s strength in numbers, after all.”

  Karyl looked at her. “You tell him.”

  “I am sorry, Baron Korrigan. I am the Spirit of Paradise, and Caretaker of this world, and I am not here in physical form. I am also the one known in legend as the Witness. I am a sprite, more akin to Uma than to either of you. Although she hates me, and would love to destroy me.”

  “Of course I would, Aphrodite, dear,” said Uma. “And I shall, someday. But not today.”

  “If you’re really the world’s Caretaker,” Rob said to Aphrodite, deliberately, thinking his way through it as he went along, “wouldn’t it destroy the world to destroy you?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you aim to destroy Paradise itself?” he asked the glowing figure. I can’t believe I’m questioning the Faerie Queen, he thought. But is it that much more unlikely than encountering her face to face, then?

  She laughed. “Of course! We want our world to be the way it was before the self-proclaimed Creators came and polluted it with the likes of you.”

  Rob turned to Karyl. “She’s been after you to ally with her against the Grey Angels, hasn’t she? That’s what this is all about.”

  “It is,” said Karyl.

  “And why would we ever agree to so daft a thing, if you want to destroy us too?”

  “To live a little longer,” Uma said sweetly. She approached Karyl with regal strides. Shiraa rumbled in her throat. “To enjoy however many more precious minutes of crawling through the muck you call the world may remain to you. I don’t have the means to destroy you yet. Who knows? I may not for many of your years! But the Angels mean to kill you now. And will, without my help.”

  Shiraa roared, so loud and fierce Rob could scarcely make out that, as always, she spoke her own name.

  “Ah, little one,” Uma said to her, smiling. “Sweet child. You’re the one I really should be allying with, perhaps, you who broke the physical form of the monster Raguel. A noble action, indeed, if sadly his essence survived.”

  The Allosaurus lowered her head almost to the ground, glaring at the Faerie from beneath her nasal flanges and rumbling deep in her throat
. Uma wagged a finger at her.

  “But don’t think of trying the same trick on me. It would have a most different outcome. And one I would actually come close to regretting.”

  “Why would you help us, then?” Rob asked.

  “It gives me pleasure to thwart the Angels.”

  “And you, Aphrodite—you’ve come to talk some sense into Himself, I trust? To tell him to spurn this frightful creature’s offer?”

  She shook her head sadly. “I have come to urge Karyl to accept Uma’s offer of alliance.”

  “Even now,” Karyl said. “After all the things she’s done.”

  “Now more than ever.”

  “So what’s it to be Karyl, my love? Tell me yes—or tell me yes?”

  “No. I thought I might be able to trust you, at least so far as combating the Grey Angels was concerned. But one or more of the Angels are trying to bring war between Nuevaropa and Trebizon, if not Turania as well. And what you did back in La Majestad gave them everything they need to do it.”

  The laugh she gave to that, Rob thought, was fit to kill fliers in midflight.

  “Do you really think you can spurn me? Do you think you have a choice?”

  “Yes,” said Karyl. “And yes.”

  Uma flung out her arm, pointing southwest—back toward La Majestad on its plateau and Mount Glory beyond, both hidden by the ridge crest.

  “You’re wrong!” she cried. “You’ve no choice left at all but to join with me. Look!”

  As if in response to the word, a bright golden glow appeared in the clouds above La Mesa de Gloria. It grew brighter and brighter, as if the sun had decided to pay a visit to Paradise in the middle of the night. Then came a blast of sound so terrific that Rob had to press his hands to his ears for the second time that night. It exploded the clouds away from the light.

  The brightness descended through the clouds, toward what Rob Korrigan somehow knew, in his dread and wonder-surfeited soul, was the Imperial Heart.

  “What in the name of the Old Hell’s that?” he yelled.

  Aphrodite had turned to look, and her expression was thunder.

  “Gabriel,” she said.

  Part Four

  Arrival

  Epilogue

  Gabriel, La Fuerza de Dios, Strength of God.—One of the Seven Grey Angels, the Creators’ Own Seven servitors and vindicators of Their divine justice. Alone among the Angels, She considers Herself female; her Aspect is that of a woman, inhumanly beautiful and tall, with pale skin, blue eyes, and red-gold hair. She serves Maia, Queen of the Creators, although it is also claimed that she frequently chooses to follow not Maia’s Attribute as Mother but Her secondary, destructive and punitive side instead. Gabriel is associated with Raguel the God-Friend and Zerachiel, God’s Command. Vulgar legend claims that during the High Holy War, She was captured, imprisoned, and tormented for a time by the demonios, or Fae. While we know little today of what, if any, supernatural component that great, global War might truly have had, that myth could certainly account for her reputation as perhaps the most capricious and dangerous of Grey Angels.

  —A PRIMER TO PARADISE FOR THE IMPROVEMENT OF YOUNG MINDS

  Dearest Daddy and Melodía,

  I’m free!

  Well, not yet, quite. But almost.

  Yesterday sails appeared on the eastern horizon. As they got closer the lookout recognized them as a squadron of four triremes of the Imperial Trebizon Navy. As they came closer, my kidnappers began to get nervous. Tasoula was escorting me for my walk on deck with Mistral. I’d still rather have her do that than Paraskeve, even though she still smells bad, despite the sailors all complaining. I hate Paraskeve so much.

  The sailors got excited, saying the squadron was moving to intercept us, and the Captain came on deck, trying to look important but mostly just looking as if he’d gotten some spoiled meat as well as being afraid.

  Dragos came up to stand with me at the rail. I asked him why the Trebizonés would be so upset that ships from their own Navy were going to come talk to us? He said perhaps their consciences were bothering them.

  They were standing a few meters away from me muttering to themselves. I could hear what they said. They still don’t think I know any Griego. Did I mention I’m learning Griego? I can understand a lot of what people say now. Some.

  It was enough. They were talking about magic. Tasoula was whimpering that the Creators had forsaken them. Vlasis said it was a matter of the mortal vessels regaining strength after expending so much to escape from the docks at Laventura. I guess he meant them? Anyway, for some reason they couldn’t use magic now.

  I didn’t ask Dragos why they’d want to use magic against their own Navy. Even though he seems to know how to keep a secret, I didn’t think it’d be a good idea to ask that question.

  Especially since the only idea I could come up with was that they had kidnapped me and murdered Claudia without the Basileus’s permission. Maybe they even did it to hurt the Basileus somehow. Or Crown Prince Mikael.

  One thing I knew for sure: they were terribly scared.

  Anyway, the Trebizon Navy intercepted the ship. Their commodore and his captain came on board with some mean-looking Marines, and a big parchment sealed with what Dragos told me was the official seal of Crown Prince Mikael, shortly before making himself scarce. I don’t know if they arrested the people who kidnapped me or what. They took them belowdecks to talk to them.

  Next thing I know a pleasant and very young-looking Lieutenant, I think, Eleftherios had taken me under his wing. He spoke excellent Spañol, and seemed very concerned to make sure I hadn’t been hurt or mistreated in any way. I said, except for being kidnapped from my own home and my friend Claudia murdered before my eyes, everything was fine. He said he was very sorry for that, and said he spoke for the Crown Prince in that, and that His Highness would do what he could to make it up to me, as well as to my family and the Empire.

  Next thing I knew they’d moved me from the cramped little storeroom Mistral and I had been locked in to where I’m writing this, what they call a “stateroom,” in the back of the ship.

  She paused and set aside her pen, making sure to scatter some sand on the sheet of paper she’d been writing on to set the ink and keep it from smudging. She set the pen down on a pewter holder.

  Mistral was on the desk beside her. Montse shooed her away from the writing paper. A ferret couldn’t jump any higher than the arched-back hopping that constituted the animals’ all-purpose dance, which could mean anything from anger to an invitation to play. Misti was a resourceful and determined climber, though, who could reach the most amazing places. Now she rolled over on her back, tucked her black forepaws to her silky silver-furred chest, and peered intently at Montse with obsidian-bead eyes.

  I know what that means, Montse thought. “Yes, yes, I know you’re cute,” she said, and reached over to scratch her friend’s belly.

  She glanced out the window. Two triremes flanked the carrack’s wake, easily pacing the bigger ship with breeze-bellied sails and long white oars sweeping in unison as they dipped into the white-frothed green waves. They were very beautifully made and functioning ships, and she hoped she could learn all about how they were built and how they worked. Montse could tell they must be extra-important vessels; where the Trebizonés Naval vessels she’d seen outside Laventura Harbor had plain white sails, these were painted gold, with the Trebizon arms of an octopus grappling a carrack in its tentacles painted on them in purple.

  I never realized how ominous that insignia was before, she thought. Now that she saw it flying from a sleekly voracious blue-and-white warship, the implications became pretty obvious.

  She put her hand around Mistral’s belly, rolled her over, picked her up, and set her on the floor. The ferret hopped and beeped in mock-displeasure, then ran away under the bed to hide.

  Like the rest of the stateroom, the bed was very much nicer than what she had in the musty-smelling little storeroom where they’d kept her before. It was even
suspended in such a cunning way that it stayed mostly right side up when the waves rolled the ship, instead of tumbling her from wall to wall while her blanket pile tangled her up like the tentacles of Trebizon’s heraldic octopus, the way she had when sleeping in the storeroom.

  She wondered if the kidnappers would get locked in there now. I hope so, she thought. Vlasis got vilely seasick.

  She took up the pen and wrote.

  I’m locked in here, and there are a couple big Marines on guard. But Lieutenant Eleftherios assures me they’re for my own protection. And I sort of believe him. After all, I was kidnapped, and the ship’s crew were hired by the people who kidnapped me.

  He said they’re escorting the Karagiorgos to some fortified island a day or two’s sail ahead, depending on how the wind blows. The Crown Prince is coming to meet us there. And see me on my way home to you!

  I’m so happy, now that this will all be over soon. I miss you both very much and love you both very much. And please tell Cousin Jaume I love him too, and I know it wasn’t his fault he and his Companions didn’t rescue me. They would have, except nobody can fight against magic. I saw it.

  I really hope it isn’t true that Prince Mikael never bathes and smells bad. Because that would be gross.

  See you soon!

  Love,

  Montse

  * * *

  Surrounded by her eyeball-scorching glory, the winged woman descended deliberately toward the Patio.

  Melodía would not look away, though she had to hold up her hand and squint through barely parted fingers to stand the glare. She realized that the apparition maintained the same apparent size even as she got closer—a neat trick, although almost certainly an illusion.

  All around her, Melodía heard shrieks of terror. She sensed people running away. She could hardly blame them, even though they were abandoning their Emperor to whatever fate this was.

  I’m not scared, she realized, in added wonder. Even though she knew already there was only one kind of creature on Paradise the woman could be. And it was not a Faerie.