The lost Dragons of Barakhai bob-2

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Collins stiffened, every muscle frozen in terror. *She's lying.*

  Collins did not take the time to delicately rephrase Prinivere's discovery. "You're lying."

  Quinton jammed her hands onto her hips, her new features twisting in affronted anger. Somehow, she managed to make flawless features turn ugly. "How dare you!"

  Collins could not afford to give ground, nor waste time. "I dare because you promised me the truth." He put his face nearly against hers and tried to look deeply wounded.

  "They're dead. Why won't you believe me?" Quinton sounded so sincere, Collins would have believed her had he not had Prinivere to tell him the truth.

  Collins sighed deeply, lowered his head, then shook it sadly. He made a throwaway gesture at the curtain. "I'm sorry I wasted your time. Put back the old face."

  "Wait!" Quinton squeaked. She glanced around the cave, from the man waiting quietly in the darkness at its mouth, to Aisa, to the faceless claws poking through the curtain. "I promised to tell you. Not the whole world."

  Collins saw no reason to argue. So long as Quinton told him within range of Prinivere's mind reading, she would hear, too. "Whisper it." He tipped his head toward her.

  "You're the only one who knows this, and you have to promise not to tell a soul."

  "I promise." Collins nodded, saved by a technicality. Prinivere would learn it from Quinton, and no similar vow bound the old dragon to silence.

  Quinton placed her mouth over Collins' ear. "Cavern. South of Pashtir, west of the Uraffs, north of the Kastarnin Sea."

  The directions sounded impossibly vague to Collins. Do you know where that is? *I know.* A hint of discomfort entered Prinivere's sending, hut she did not elaborate.*Now go save Zylas.*

  "Oh." Collins did not have to feign confusion. He had heard of none of the places Quinton had named. Shrugging, he hauled her toward the exit, Korfius eagerly following.

  Quinton lost her grip on the mirror, hobbled it, then caught it before it hit the stony ground. She returned it to her dress. "Whoa, Ben. What's the hurry?"

  "The hurry is a locked up friend. Once we free him… " Collins pressed his body against Quinton's. "I'll be able to give you my full attention." He raised and lowered his brows in an exaggerated motion, emphasizing the innuendo.

  Quinton snorted. "I'm gorgeous again, remember? I can do a hell of a lot better than you."

  Though not wholly certain Quinton was joking, Collins bantered. "You think so? How are you going to do better than the best?"

  "The best? You?"

  Collins continued to steer Quinton toward the exit, trying to figure out how to rid himself of the dog. "Best in Barakhai, anyway. I've got the highest education. A driver's license." He added with a scratch. "No fleas."

  "No fleas? How endearing. And I've got my own driver's license-not worth the plastic it's printed on here."

  "Oh, yeah? Well, I'd venture to guess, I'm the only one with a Snickers bar."

  Quinton whirled. "Oooh, really? You've got candy?" Her eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. "That's not just another name for your… manhood, is it?"

  Despite his urgency, Collins huffed out a laugh. "No. I have real candy, and a few other luxuries from home." He hissed in her ear, "But my… manhood is pretty sweet, too."

  Quinton slapped him, harder than flirtation demanded, then ran from the cave.

  Rubbing his cheek, Collins stopped at the opening. "Stay, Korfius."

  The hound ignored him, tail waving, waiting for his master to move. *I don't think it'll hurt to take him with you.*

  Collins had never considered doing such a thing, accustomed to leaving the dog in his room while he attended classes. The over eager animal seemed worse than useless in a dangerous situation. You don't think he'll be in any danger? *No more than with me. He really misses you, and he can run for help if you get in trouble.*

  Collins doubted Korfius would know how to bring help. He seemed more the type of dog who would dote on thieves and murderers, so long as they were human or carried biscuits. Nevertheless, Collins considered the possibility the dog might help him in a violent situation, and he could not deny that Korfius had brought people to save him when he returned to Daubert Labs badly injured. Besides, Collins would not gainsay Prinivere. Without argument, he followed Quinton into the night.

  Korfius bounced after them, tail waving.

  Moonlight sheened from Quinton's tresses, glinting like metallic gold. Her step turned light and happy, and she consulted her mirror often, though she had to hold it nearly to her nose to see. Collins did not attempt to distract her, though he felt a fiery pang of guilt every time a smile of recognition stretched her lips. The higher joy buoyed her, the lower she would crash when the illusion decayed, leaving the scarred, withered cheeks and bald spots in its place. For Zylas' sake, he had no choice but to continue the charade. The life of a friend had to take precedence over the happiness of a self-sworn enemy.

  The cloud cover unraveled, revealing a nearly full moon that obviated the need for the mag light. Nevertheless, the walk back felt twice as long as the one to Prinivere, though Collins had not known her location at the time nor had the full visual clarity his glasses provided now. Every pause Quinton took to stare at her reflection felt like an eternity, an intolerable delay from rescuing Zylas before his change overtook him; yet Collins could not find a way to rush her without admitting to his friend's identity or seeming utterly insensitive to the needs of a woman he claimed to love. Love, he considered, uncertain of its meaning. He had believed his parents the very definition until their divorce and personal quests for new companionship left him feeling orphaned. Love certainly did not describe the feelings he had for Carrie Quinton. If his last relationship, with Marlys Johnson, had taught him nothing else, it was that devotion without respect, without trust, was meaningless. Quinton's attitude did not evoke admiration, and he doubted she thought all that much of his abilities either.

  The castle came into view, and sudden anxiety overtook Collins. He had many had memories of that place and only a few good ones. "Come on," Quinton pulled playfully at his arm. Korfius barked.

  Collins eased free of her grip and patted the dog. "I'll wait here. After you've let my friend loose and had a chance to explain me, I'll meet up with you again."

  Quinton gave Collins a pouting, doubtful look. "It'll be all right."

  "I don't think so." If the guards grabbed Collins, he would find himself in a worse situation than when he had started: not only would he and Zylas both be prisoners but Korfius as well. "I think I'm better here, thank you."

  Quinton plastered herself against Collins. Even through the fabric of her dress, he could make out the gentle contours; and they excited him wildly. "Are you sure?"

  Collins kept his voice steady, willing it not to crack. He could feel the imprint of a nipple on Ms arm. "I'm sure. We can do… that… after."

  "Assuming my offer still stands," she teased.

  Collins could not afford to give in to desire. He nodded, squirming free of her embrace. "I think it will." It took a monumental effort of will to add the necessary confidence to the claim. He barely considered his looks ordinary, even when not illusioned into those of an unpleasant woman. He knew an intelligent beauty like Quinton, until the burns, could have had anyone she wanted. "I really think it will."

  A flash resembling anger passed through Quinton's eyes, then disappeared. If Collins had interpreted correctly, though, she gave no sign of it in her tone, which remained upbeat. "I think you're being silly, but what can I say?"

  "Better silly than sorry, right?"

  "If you say so." Quinton turned on her heel and strode toward the castle, jiggling her hips and well-shaped buttocks as she moved.

  Collins watched her walk quickly across a grazing field still dotted with animals despite the late hour. Korfius wormed his head under Collins' sagging left hand and sat.

  A voice emerged from a nearby copse of weeds. "I hate her."

  Korfius barked madly
at the newcomer. Equally surprised, Collins whirled to face Falima. The deeply tanned, black-haired woman melded easily with the darkness; and her blue eyes, several shades darker than Quinton's, narrowed menacingly.

  Korfius' wild greeting dropped to a soft whine, and his tail waved into a blur of recognition. He ran to her, crashing through the weeds to lie at her feet.

  Collins desperately hoped Falima had not seen the flirting between him and Quinton. "How… how long… were you there?"

  "Long enough to see her try to trick you back into captivity." Falima fumed, still watching after Quinton's retreating form. "I've been waiting for you since I left switch-form. I assume Aisa got you back to the lady by the new look of Carriequinton's face."

  Collins continued to watch Quinton until she disappeared into the outer courtyard, then turned his full attention on Falima. "Is Zylas all right?"

  Falima ran a hand through her tousled black mane. "I don't know. Last report was just after Ialin switched."

  Collins nodded his understanding. He now remembered that the hummingbird became human at around 9:00 P.M., which made him the perfect partner for Aisa. They changed at exactly opposite times, with no human intersection, which would make it harder to share information, especially when Ialin took bird form and Aisa woman. However, at all times, one of them could fly.

  "Then, Vernon went in after his change, which was a pretty critical time."

  Collins' chest clutched. Vernon's and Zylas' switch times perfectly corresponded, which had allowed them to become the best of friends. So it's after midnight We're too late. They know!

  Falima seemed oblivious to Collins' alarm. "Of course, without Zylas, we'll need the lady to communicate with Vernon."

  King Terrin knows he has Zylas!

  "We worked out some basic signals, but his overlap's not perfect and the code doesn't cover much."

  Collins felt himself trembling, and not only from the cold night air. "Maybe I… should have gone with Carrie."

  Korfius whined and slunk back to Collins, who patted the dog comfortingly.

  Falima frowned, shook her head. Though not the classically beautiful model type that Quinton typified, she had a more honest, exotic attractiveness that Collins preferred. "If she deals fairly, she'll release Zylas with or without you. If not, she would still have Zylas. And you, too."

  Collins nodded. He had come to the same conclusion, but a stifling guilt crept over him now. He could not help reliving the moment in the keep when he had seen his reflection in the mirror and believed his disguise had fallen. His panic had caused their capture. If he had kept his cool, they might have escaped unscathed. If not for him, Zylas would be relaxing now in the safety of some cave, regaling the renegades with modest tales of their adventure, teasing Collins about his oddly uncanny ability to play a girl. Unlike his illusion, Quinton's had held up under the reflected scrutiny of her hand mirror, which meant either his imagination had run amok or the mirror in Quinton's closet held some secret he had no means to understand at the present time.

  Brush rattled, then a slight, androgynous man skittered into the clearing. Though short, his coffee-colored hair fell in shaggy disarray around finely chiseled, angular features. His small, delicate form belied a personality that Collins knew could become stolid and dangerously hostile.

  Falima seized the man's arm. "Ialin, what's wrong."

  Ialin glanced from the clearing, to his companions, to the castle and back, never still. "Run. Run now. Guards… they've come to kill you."

  Collins had followed Ialin's glance to the castle. When he returned his attention to the hummingbird/man, he found the dark gaze directly on him. "Me?" he blurted without thinking. For some reason, he had believed the comment addressed to Falima.

  In response, Ialin rolled his eyes.

  Though Collins knew it only made him look even less intelligent to Ialin, he had to question. "How do you know they're planning to kill me? Maybe they just want to take me to the castle, like Carrie asked."

  "Maybe," Ialin said, hopping from foot to foot. Collins had recently read that fidgeting burned a significant number of calories. Knowing that, it seemed a wonder Ialin managed to weigh anything at all. Ialin's lids narrowed to slits. "If you don't mind them carrying you there by spears stabbed through your neck, heart, gut, and groin."

  Collins could not keep his mind from conjuring the image of his impaled body held triumphantly overhead by four guards splattered with his dripping blood. He grimaced, banishing the mental image. "That doesn't sound like a welcoming party," he admitted. "But are you sure?"

  "He's sure." Falima grabbed Collins' wrist and jerked him back the way he had come. "We need to get out of here. Fast."

  Off-balanced by the unexpected maneuver, Collins staggered after his companions. "What about Vernon?"

  Falima quickened her pace, half-dragging Collins behind her. "He'll be fine. Come on."

  Collins gathered his legs and kept pace with his long-legged companion and their flirty friend. Korfius bounded along beside him, tugging at his pants, apparently believing the whole situation a game. In that moment, Collins suddenly understood Korfius' preference to remain a dog full-time, the world simplified to solid blacks and whites, purged of anything gray.

  Shortly, Collins realized they took a different route than the one he and Quinton had used. "Where are we going?" he huffed out as he ran.

  The Barakhains exchanged glances but did not answer. They continued to plow through the brush and trees, dodging copses, leaping brambles, and treading lightly on the piled leaves. The more carefully Collins tried to place his steps, the more mold he plowed up with every step. He soon gave up and abandoned the effort, concentrating more on forward movement and not losing the companions who seemed to know where they were going. Or maybe they're counting on me to let them know if they go the wrong way. The thought became an obsession. Though silence seemed safer, he addressed Falima. "I can take you where I last saw… the lady."

  Before Falima could answer, Ialin snapped. "She's not there anymore. That Carriequinton bitch gave away her position to the guards, too. Even if we hadn't warned ahead, the lady's smart enough to move."

  As the forest scrolled past Collins, branches battering his face at irregular intervals, he took slight solace in the realization that the twigs hit the illusion of Orna first, though they still hurt. He imagined Ialin had not actually used "bitch," given the dearth of Barakhain animal slang, but something similarly derogatory. Move, all right. But where? This time, he did not speak the words aloud. Either his companions knew and would drag him there or they would head for a safe hiding place and let the dragon find them. The renegades excelled at hide-and-seek despite the royal family's dog and horse advantage. They had played it with great success since long before Collins' arrival, and his constant questioning could only make their jobs more difficult. Benton Collins closed his mouth. And ran.

  Soon, the route grew more difficult, sending him scrambling through a blackberry net that seemed more cave than copse. On hands and knees, or sometimes on his belly, he crawled and slithered through the mess of vines, ignoring the thorns that stabbed his sides and tore bits of flesh from his ears. At last, his companions took to the treetops, swinging like monkeys through the vines. Forced to carry Korfius, tired from his previous trip, Collins found himself hard-pressed to follow, even when Falima backed up to help him with the dog. At one point, exhausted and dripping sweat, he paused to use the high vantage to look out over the forest for pursuit. Though he saw none, it didn't really reassure him. The guards had expected to find him waiting and willing, a sitting target. When they discovered him missing, they would have had to assemble dogs and horses, a task that might not have taken long, but would have widened the renegades lead considerably. He only hoped their tactics would fool the tracking animals.

  Finally, Ialin swung to the ground, prancing in anxious circles while Falima and Collins eased Korfius down. The dog planted his paws on the dirt, broad-based and rocksteady whil
e the man and woman skittered down after him.

  "We need to move," Ialin reminded.

  Falima made a wordless gesture to indicate that he should continue to lead rather than discussing the matter.

  Ialin darted deeper into the woods.

  Back on sturdy footing, Collins found himself capable of focusing on things other than just trying to follow and keep up with his companions. The clean foliage odors of the trees and brambles mingled with a shifting taint of rotting evergreen and mold. An occasional whiff of musk carried to him as they, or the breezes, moved, though whether from a skunk, fox, or weasel he could not tell. The world became a quilt of patchy greens: ranging from a deep olive to brilliant aqua and emerald. Stalk browns muted from the usual invisible dull support to a vivid color contrast as beautiful as any of the geometric panoramas formed by flowers, shoots, and leaves.

  Cold points of water stung Collins' face. He jerked backward, only then noticing a thin stream meandering through the forest. His friends waded through it, the dog romping amid a wild spray of water.

  Ialin growled through gritted teeth. "Korfius, no! It doesn't do us any good to hide our scent in water, if you're splashing it all over the banks."

  Korfius whined. His head and tail drooped, and each step became a concentrated, deliberate movement, as if mimicking a gaited horse.

  Apparently satisfied, Ialin went back to leading their scraggly band through the water. Though hating the idea, Collins placed a foot into the stream. Icy water rushed into his forty dollar Nike rip-off, chilling his ankle through his sock. He followed Falima who glanced curiously back at him at intervals. Her wood and cloth sandals surely afforded no protection against the cold, but at least they did not act like sponges. As Collins' toes grew number, his feet began to feel like boulders, sucking up as much of the stream as possible and driving his running shoes deep into the mucky silt.

  Ialin plunged a hand into the water, then removed it, grinning and clutching a fish. "Got one." He took a bite from the wriggling tail.