Thrown sideways, Collins eased into a prone position, hugging the dragon’s scales. They felt warm and dry against his skin, smoother than Prinivere’s, but not slimy or slippery. A world of difference existed between Trinya’s jerky movements and the old dragon’s easy grace. He shifted his body weight in miniscule increments, seeking the safest, most comfortable position. Finally reasonably secure, he raised his head, only to find himself rocketing toward his own reflection in a large mirror.
Collins screamed, ducking behind his outstretched hands. Ignoring her passenger’s consternation, the dragon flashed through the polished surface as if through open air. The universe seemed to hiccup, then Collins found himself hovering on Trinya’s back in a storage room filled with large, unidentifiable shapes swathed in tattered bolts of cloth. Artoth stood on the floor, while a disheveled and limping Zylas struggled with the mirror. Ialin flittered wildly around him.
Suddenly, it all made sense. Quinton must have found the mirror in storage, discovered its ability to reflect her undamaged face, and kept it for her own. Given the king’s ban on magic, she had hidden it in her wardrobe, eventually discovering its true purpose. And probably the dragons had remained in the pit because they didn’t know they could escape. After all, they were mere babes in dragon years.
Trinya dropped to the ground beside Artoth, and the two nuzzled one another like old friends separated for days, not moments. They had clearly relied heavily on one another throughout their ordeal. “We’re in the castle?” Collins guessed.
“The dungeon level.” Zylas finally managed to heave the mirror onto Artoth’s back. “Hold on tight, and try to look like you have control over your . . . mount.” He settled onto the base of Artoth’s neck, a leg dangling on either side.
Wondering how difficult Zylas found it to call his daughter a “mount,” Collins scrambled to the same position on Trinya and found it far steadier than the one he previously held. It allowed him to balance more like the way he might on horseback, and he had the ability to clamp on tightly with his arms and knees, if necessary. He could even stay on upside down, though he hoped he would never have to test that theory.
The dragons walked across the floor, picking their way around the stacked furniture. Zylas reached across Artoth’s neck to flip open the door onto another storage area. Unable to avoid the carefully piled provisions, the dragons bulled through crates, boxes, and bags with little attention to the carnage left in their wakes. Collins glanced to his left as Trinya’s wing dislodged a bag of flour that immersed him in a billowing white cloud. Her tail sent a crate tumbling. It shattered, releasing a multicolored wash of buttons, ruffles, and lace. A shadow loomed over Collins, and he swiveled his head just in time to see a dangling cookpot headed for his face. He ducked, feeling it graze his dried, blood-and sweat-plastered hair. Ahead of them, a door jerked open to reveal half a dozen startled guards and the familiar dungeon cells beyond them.
For a moment, no one did anything but stare.
Zylas broke the silence. “Move,” he commanded the guards.
The guards shifted nervously, glancing at one another. Though they did not retreat, they showed no sign of attacking either.
Collins broke the stalemate with a pitiful roar, but the toddler dragon took the cue. Trinya mimicked him, the sound welling up from deep in her enormous diaphragm. Feeling her movement, Collins clamped his hands over his ears just in time. The roar belched out of her with the power of fire and brimstone, and terror crashed through Collins despite his foreknowledge of the power of a dragon’s roar. The guards whirled and fled in a panicked scramble, opening the way for the dragons and their riders.
“Thank you,” Zylas called after them as Collins managed a shaky laugh. He wondered if he could ever grow as accustomed to the sound as Zylas apparently had. Ialin fluttered up the steps, Artoth squeezing through the winding stairwell behind him.
Even with her wings tightly folded, Trinya struggled between the tightly packed banisters. At the ground level landing, they faced the open portcullis and the massive door to the inner courtyard.
Collins leaned toward the panel. “I’ll get it.” Before he could snag the latch, Artoth’s massive body slammed against the wood. The door shuddered wildly, and Collins scrambled out of the way. Again, the dragon crashed against it; and, this time, the wood shattered like a thin layer of ice. Wood shards sprayed the courtyard, people and animals ran screaming, and the dragon struggled into the air like a gangly, half-grown condor. Trinya flew after him, her wing beats slapping Collins with cold whirlwinds of air. Lying low, he clung to her neck and waited for one of the renegades’ flying spies to find them and lead them to Prinivere.
Benton Collins awakened in a sudden rush of amazing clarity. His headache had disappeared, and the many injuries that had plagued him for the last hours he could remember seemed to have disappeared. He kept his eyes tightly closed, afraid that he would find himself back in Algary Hospital. He dreaded the barrage of questions that would certainly follow, the lies he would have to concoct to keep himself out of some mental institution, the even stranger looks the professors and other students would inflict upon him. Oh. That Ben Collins.
Gentle hands caressed his body, soothing the skin where they touched. He focused on this comfort, enjoying it as long as he dared, dodging the grilling that revealing his awakening might invoke.
*You’re up.* The voice penetrated Collins’ thoughts with a light sweetness that made it seem to float into his mind, bypassing his ears. Then, suddenly, he realized that was exactly what it had done. He was still in Barakhai.
Collins opened his eyes to another cave. Three massive dragon heads hovered over him, breath warm and sugary, their allspice dragon scent perfuming the air, their claws skipping lightly over his wounds. Zylas lay beside him, also prone, naked, and still in man form. Dirt peppered his snowy skin, and his pale blue eyes peeked out from fallen strands of white-blond hair. Prinivere instructed the younger two dragons in a wild barrage of mental communication that made little sense to Collins. The mirror portal stood against the wall at the farthest edge of Collins’ vision.
Collins glanced at his watch, only to find spidery lines through the glass and a nonfunctioning display. Korfius trotted in frantic circles around them as a dog, which made it either before 3 P.M. or after 8 P.M.
Collins locked gazes with Zylas. “I see you got the portal.”
“I suppose that’s stealing,” Zylas admitted, a red flush suffusing his cheeks. “But the king would only have destroyed it once he discovered—”
Collins cut off the explanation with a wave. “No justification necessary. I was just impressed that something so fragile made it here intact. I couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to bring us safely here, let alone an enormous, breakable knickknack.”
Zylas tipped his head in a gesture that passed for a shrug. “You were hurt worse. And you’re not a soldier.” He grinned. “You got us through the worst of it. That roar of yours was inspired. How did you know she’d copy you?”
“Never met a toddler who didn’t like to imitate loud noises.” Collins smiled, hoping the dragons read his thoughts of appreciation through the confusion of their own conversation. He knew the others would already have thanked them, but he would do so personally when time allowed it. “Where’s . . .” he started, preparing to ask about Falima. Then, not wanting to put one name above the others, he said instead, “the others?”
Zylas answered. “Ialin and Aisa are scouting, checking how our escape affected the castle. Apparently, King Terrin knew nothing about Carriequinton’s sojourns in the caverns, nor that the dragons were still alive. Vernon’s at home, where he’s needed. Falima . . .” He swiveled his head. “Well, ask her yourself.”
At that moment, Falima stepped into view. She wore a simple, plain dress that left him to imagine the exquisite curves that lay beneath it. Her sapphire eyes were swollen with tears and worry, her black hair wind-whipped to a snarl. She was the most beautiful woman i
n the world, and Collins found himself breathless.
Falima raised her brows. “You’ve got that hungry look again. And, this time, I’m not even naked.”
Collins searched for his tongue, but it betrayed him, blurting out words he had not intended to say, “I love you, Falima.”
She came toward him with natural grace. Her high cheekbones, golden skin, and spare lips became the very definition of perfection. She crouched to meet his gaze. “You said that already. Or did staring over the brink of death make you forget I love you, too?”
Now Collins wished he had saved the sentiment. There seemed no way to explain how his devotion had escalated to a heart-pounding fever complete with fireworks and the farthest reaches of heaven. “I’ve never loved anyone more.”
Zylas cleared his throat, as if to remind the pair that they shared the room with others. “I’m devastated, Ben. I thought I was your one and only.”
Collins barely heard him. “I want to be with you forever. Falima, I want you to marry me.”
Falima slid between the two men and ruffled Collins’ blood-matted hair. “Sweetie, there’s still so much we don’t know.” She looked at the dragons hopefully. When she got no reply from Prinivere, she continued, “Can they lift the Curse? If they do, what becomes of us switchers?” She sighed heavily. “What if I’m a horse forever?”
Collins could not believe God would do that to him. He had finally found a woman he loved without conditions and a world that saw him as competent and capable, a place where he dared to become a hero, despite the risks. “Then I’ll marry a horse. And love you just the same.”
“You’re an idiot,” she said.
Collins agreed. “But at least I’d be your idiot.”
Beyond Falima, Zylas rolled his eyes, shaking his head.
Prinivere finally joined the conversation. *Currently, the younglings don’t switch forms. They’ll stay dragons until their maturity level catches up with their human forms.*
Zylas sat up. “How long will that take?”
“Prinivere fell into silence for several moments, calculating. *I would guess about . . . three or four hundred.*
“Days?” Zylas supplied. “Weeks?”
“*Years.*
“Wow.” Zylas gave the exact same reply Collins would have. The albino would never see his daughter in her human form again, would never know how much she resembled himself or his beloved late wife. Still, he smiled, content. She had returned to him from the dead, and she remembered him.
*Would you like to know my opinion?*
Though Collins did not know which subject Prinivere meant to share her opinion on, he wanted to hear what she had to say on anything.
Falima nodded, and Zylas said, “Absolutely, my lady.”
*We don’t yet have the ability to lift the Curse. The younglings need more experience, more maturity.*
“How long?” Zylas spoke the words for all of them.
*A century, at least. Longer if I’m not still here to help.*
To Collins’ surprise, no one objected to Prinivere’s suggestion that she might not live long enough to assist in the project. The silence seemed awkward. It reminded him of how, at the end of every Christmas celebration, Great-Aunt Gertrude would say, “See you next year, God willing.” They would always protest the possibility that she might not survive another year, even as her seventies became her eighties and old age finally claimed her. To say nothing felt like tacit condemnation, like giving death permission to remove her from the family.
Falima dropped her head.
Collins took her hand. “That doesn’t change the way I feel about you. We’ll deal with it.”
“I can’t go to your world.”
“No,” Collins confirmed.
“Do you love me enough to stay in mine?” Finally Falima raised her head to him, and Collins made certain to look right into her eyes.
“I do,” he said without hesitation, without a trace of doubt. “But it’s not really the life sentence you think it is. With Prinivere’s help, I could go back occasionally, explain things to my parents, let them know I’m safe and happy.” He smiled, squeezing her hand. “Bring back a Twinkie now and then.”
Prinivere waited for them to finish before continuing. *There are modifications we can make now, until we can fully lift the Curse. We can create smaller magics that help switchers learn to control what they have: to increase the time spent in their preferred forms, to increase overlap, to allow those with strong overlap to control the switch itself so they can take whichever form they wish whenever they desire it.*
Collins did not fully understand, but his companions bobbed their heads. “Are you saying you and the younglings could help Falima spend more time in human form? That you could give her enough overlap to understand me well even when she’s a horse?”
“That’s exactly what she’s saying.” Falima faced Collins and took his other hand. “And someone like Zylas, who has near-perfect overlap, could switch between rat form and human form at his own whim.”
Collins looked at Zylas to determine how close Falima had come to the truth, only to find the albino standing utterly still, eyes wide, clearly considering the implications of her words.
Collins also found himself thinking about the possibilities. Controlled shapeshifting seemed more of a gift than a liability, even better than the royals’ full-time humanity. Cool! He found himself wishing he had a switch-form. Collins considered another important detail, concerned for Korfius. “What happens to life span? To intelligence and memory?”
*I’m not sure.* Prinivere scratched behind one eye with a claw. *I can’t remember if human and animal life spans differed much before the Curse. They both seemed pitifully short compared with mine.* She replaced her claw and fixed a craggy eye on Collins. *The intertwining of humans and animals has gone on so long in Barakhai, I don’t think we can ever wholly separate what gets passed to future generations. And that’s not a bad thing.*
Collins had to agree. Mongrel dogs tended to live longer than the inbred species and to demonstrate higher intelligence. Carrie Quinton would have understood the details better than he could, but he suspected the genes of humans and animals in Barakhai probably had become inseparable.
Prinivere finished her point, *Lifting the Curse can’t change history or “blood.” I believe the natural life spans of all creatures of Barakhai will remain reasonably equal, in the realm of a hundred years, at least for the next several centuries. Longer for those with dragon blood.* She glanced at Zylas. *As to intelligence . . .* She flicked a claw. * . . . I think the same applies. It varies widely enough already.*
Collins had to agree.
Prinivere grinned and sent him a happy image of powder-blue sky speckled with clouds, filled with swooping dragon shadows.
Collins smiled at the joy the rescue he had assisted in brought to the old dragon as well as to the regular citizenry of Barakhai. Through Trinya and Artoth, a new generation of dragons might return to Barakhai as well.
*And, if I might venture one more opinion, you should accept that proposal.*
It took Collins inordinately long to figure out what Prinivere meant.
“Yes,” Falima said, the word coming out of nowhere.
Collins blinked. “What?”
“Yes,” Falima said. “I’ll marry you.”
Thank you, Collins thought in Prinivere’s direction. Not long ago, he had believed himself too young for marriage, but now the idea filled him with an excitement that seemed eternal. He caught Falima into a gleeful embrace, and Korfius shoved in to shower the announcement with happy dog kisses.
Epilogue
IN Vernon’s cottage in the middle of the Barakhai woodlands, Benton Collins slouched in a hard log chair watching Korfius wrestle with the puppy he now knew as Farrihn. The two rolled and yipped across the floor under the watchful eye of the puppy’s father, Ralthoroh, now in a human form that little resembled the huge, pointy-eared furball Collins had encountered in the
carnivore caverns. Falima explained the intricacies of furniture to the too-skinny girl while Mataia, the tortoise, cruised around the confines, exploring every object. Vernon ran a hand through his tight black curls, studying a Wendy’s fried potato pinched between his fingers. “What do you call these things again?”
“French fries.” Though Collins addressed Vernon, he kept his gaze on Falima, thrilled by every confident movement, every casual toss of her ebony hair. “Though I’m not sure why. They aren’t any more French than Canadian bacon is Canadian.” He added with sudden realization, “Or even bacon.”
Vernon’s long silence finally drew Collins’ attention. He turned to find the enormous black man staring at him, thick brows arched. “You do know you’re speaking gibberish, don’t you?”
Collins could understand why none of his tangential jabbering would translate. “Yeah, I know. I’ve got to do something every once in a while to remind you I’m a foreigner.”
“You mean in case your weird clothes and your weird food and the weird little devices you bring back with you aren’t enough?”
“Exactly.”
Vernon popped the fry into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Having exhausted his conversation with Collins for the moment, he addressed Falima. “I heard you got offered a guard position at the castle.”
Falima raised her head, hands on the rope pulls of Vernon’s dresser. Crouched beside her, Skinny Girl continued to examine the cupboard. “I’m not taking it.”
The last Collins knew, his fiancée was still considering the offer. “Why not?”
Falima ruffled the other woman’s tawny hair. “The cavern people need someone to help them adjust to civilization. I’d rather do that, at least for now.” She turned back to the dresser. “Besides, if I’m going to preach that people no longer have to pursue careers prearranged by their animal form, I should set an example.”
The Lost Dragons of Barakhai Page 25
