As the mouse finished his climb, Zylas' ratty expression grew even more hopeful. "Vernon. Can you help me?"
In animal form, it never occurred to Ialin to lie to comfort his friend. "I don't know. I'll try." He fluttered to the lock, wings beating with furious ease. He had used his delicate beak many times to thwart the skill of locksmiths, but this one looked like nothing he had ever seen. It appeared brand new, its shiny, silver surface some strange amalgam of iron, and it had a black knob with figures that might represent foreign letters or numbers inscribed on it. He saw no hole in which to insert his beak. He pecked at the front, and his beak slammed against a substance as hard as glass yet like nothing he had ever encountered.
Ialin returned to Zylas' face. "The lock. It's weird."
Zylas clamped his muzzle tightly. His position in the cage did not allow him to view the lock, and he had no room to turn. "Carriequinton put it on there." His voice had a quaver to it that Ialin usually associated only with his own jerky movements. "It might come from her world. I think she spun it when she put it on."
Ialin went back to the lock, tapping the knob with his beak. It did move slightly. He continued experimenting, hoping to stumble upon the correct series of movements.
"She taunts me," Zylas was telling Vernon. "Wants to be here when I… change. Wants to watch me die."
Ialin paused to chirp out, nearly subvocally, "You're not going to die."
"You've got the lock?" Zylas asked hopefully.
"No," Ialin admitted. "But I'm not going to stop trying till I do." He drove that promise deep into his soul, working at the knob frantically while Zylas addressed Vernon.
"You watch for Carriequinton. If you see her, squeak loudly, then hide. Both of you, hide."
"All right," they promised in unison, then Ialin went back to work.
Chapter 11
BENTON Collins dragged through the carnivore caverns with an escort that included the lioness, the ocelot, the scrawny woman, and the bearded man who had first spoken to him. Exhausted from blood loss, assailed by a persistent headache scarcely alleviated by the Tylenol, fresh wounds throbbing, he staggered among the four with few verbal exchanges. They told him their names, but he retained only the last, Margast, and only because it reminded him of his ex-girlfriend, Marlys. At times, he discovered himself leaning heavily against the lioness' furry back. He always righted himself when he noticed it, glad she took no offense at his touch. One swipe of her enormous paw would send him tumbling, and he doubted he would ever regain his feet.
Collins staggered onward, though the reason seemed distant, and no strategy for handling the dragons once he found them came to mind. He was dimly aware that he would have to find a way to communicate with them, to convince them of the significance of following him back to the entrance where they could talk to Prinivere. She would likely have the words that he did not, the ones that might make them understand their role in rescuing every non-royal citizen of Barakhai. He hoped-and doubted-he could make it back to the cave opening with them. His body wanted only to lie down and surrender to sweet oblivion again, and the realization that a wandering carnivore might eat him barely overcame that desire. Inertia more than intent, the familiarity of forward movement surrounded by shapechangers, kept him going when even need failed.
Even though Collins glanced repeatedly at his watch, even though he had to force every step, time ticked by too fast for his liking. Every bone-weary step seemed to take a full minute, every one a beat closer to Zylas' death. Please God, let Falima and the others be doing better than me.
For over two switch times, two hours in Collins' world, Zylas listened to the click of Ialin's beak against plastic and metal, the muttered buzzing that indicated frustration. Though focused on this one task, Ialin's discomfort was gradually overcoming his overlap. With each failure, he became more birdlike and less human, which would impair his judgment when it came to perceiving the intricacies of the Otherworld lock. Driven to pace but confined to a quiver, Zylas concentrated on maintaining his own overlap. As his companions lost their humanity, he had to keep his as finely honed as possible. He shared Ialin's aggravation. If only he could turn around, he might find a way to aid them. He had explored the lock with his tail, knew its general feel and composition. He had yanked at the bar looping like an elongated semicircle through the matched tangs of the cage, but it seemed at least as solid and strong as the tangs themselves.
Cautiously, Zylas prodded Ialin, worried the hummingbird might become stuck on an untenable solution. "Try something different, my friend."
Ialin gave no reply but a tiny, bird grunt of assent.
Zylas' gaze swept the visible section of the room for the thousandth time. He could not see the trapdoor through which Carriequinton could descend at any moment. He only knew the scene in front of him: a wall thick with grime, including brown stains that could represent old blood as easily as dirt, the huge mirror the woman stared into obsessively, which showed her as she used to look. Prinivere's illusion spell had fallen. With the return of Quinton's scars had come a grotesque anger she vented with taunts. She had spoken of destroying Zylas' friends, his family, everything he held dear. She described in detail the fate that awaited him, the shattering of his bones into shards that would tear his insides like swallowed knives, the mangling of every body part, the puddle of blood his compacted body would leave on the floor. Zylas had become resigned to the likelihood of his death, and the cruel agony of its execution, yet he preferred to avoid it. He had dedicated his life to a worthy cause and wished to see it through. At least, he knew others now believed in it as strongly as he did. His death would not end the quest to lift the Curse hanging so long over Barakhai. So many others had become as serious in their devotion as he. So close. So damned close. He shut his eyes. If only I could have seen it through.
The sounds of Ialin's beak ceased. "Hole back," he said at length.
Zylas froze, knowing the broken speech meant Ialin was becoming too birdlike to communicate effectively much longer. "What?"
"Hole back. Hole back!"
Vernon scurried to the lock. "There's a keyhole on the back."
"On the back?" Zylas' lids flicked open. "I'll hunch as much as possible. Get out of your way. See what you can do, Ialin."
To Zylas' relief, Ialin still understood enough to shift his attention to the new discovery. The lacy little wings beat wildly, stirring a gentle wind through Zylas' fur. The warmth of impending change swirled through his blood. By the reckoning of Collins' world, he had fifteen minutes. Zylas did not bother to warn his friends. They all measured in switch times, and reminding the hummingbird of his friend's looming death would only add to the plethora of nervous energy that assailed him at all times. Vernon's frequent trips to the storage room for honey and sugar had kept Ialin alive so far; but the more upset he got, the more energy the little bird/man expended. And Vernon would know about the coming change because he was also feeling those stirrings.
That last realization mobilized Zylas. Before he could emit a warning, however, Vernon squeaked first. "She's coming. Carriequinton's coming."
It's over. Zylas refused to dwell on his own approaching fate. "Vernon, run!"
"No!"
"Run, damn it! Get out of here." Worried the mouse's loyalty would serve no useful purpose, Zylas preyed on it. "Do it for me, Vernon, as my last wish. The cause can't survive without both of us, and the lady needs to know what happened here."
With clear reluctance, Vernon turned tail and scurried back the way he had come. He had barely enough time till his change to get beyond the castle walls. Once there, he was safe. A royal patrol might find him, but only if they stumbled upon him before one of the hundreds of forest creatures in his employ did. Even then, the king's guards would have no right or reason to capture him.
Footsteps clomped on the stairs, Quinton's eternally angry tread. Beneath the noise, a close soft click touched Zylas' sensitive rat ears.
The lock? That reminded Zylas of
his companion. "Ialin, fly!"
Too birdlike to reply in words, Ialin continued to tug at the lock.
"Fly! Fly!" Zylas squeaked frantically.
Quinton shouted, "Hey! Hey, you!" She charged toward the cage. "Get away from there, you damned bird." Her footsteps quickened as she raced toward them.
Ialin surged into the air in a sudden flurry of wings and feathers. He zipped forward.
Quinton made a leap for the hummingbird, tripped over something Zylas could not see, and tumbled to the floor amid a clatter of falling objects.
Go, Ialin! Go!
Ialin appeared suddenly in Zylas' vision, zipping at full speed toward the mirror.
What's he doing? With abrupt terror, Zylas understood. Nearly devoid of overlap, Ialin had mistaken the reflection for another room. Zylas had heard of young birds killing themselves by slamming into well-polished metal. If Ialin hit the mirror at his current speed, he would smash his skull and die before he was even aware of the impact, "Ialin, no! Swerve! Damn you, swerve!"
The warning came too late. At top speed, Ialin struck the mirror.
Zylas moaned out an unratlike noise, "No." He cringed, waiting for the terrible sound of impact that never came, Ialin passed through the mirror as if through an open door. A portal! It's a magical portal! As he stared, shaking his head, Zylas felt the prickle of the change passing in a wave through him. His time was running short, and the lock remained in place. Dismissing what he had just seen, he thrust his tail through the bars, wrapping it around the cold metal.
Quinton ran toward the mirror, swearing viciously. Her hair grew in strange patches amid the hectic swirl of scar tissue. As if in afterthought, she seized Zylas' cage. Thrown suddenly against the bars, Zylas clamped his claws against them, seeking grounding in a world gone mad. The index finger of Quinton's right hand came tantalizlngly near his mouth, but it never occurred to him to bite. All of his concentration was directed at wrapping his tail around the padlock and desperately hoping he had not imagined the click.
Collins' escort stopped in front of an ironbound wooden door, and the incongruity of that one man-made entity in the middle of natural caverns took inordinately long to register. "What's this?" His voice emerged slurred, even to his own ears. Clearly, he had lost more blood than he had realized.
"It's a door," Margast said.
Does he think I've lost my mind? Pain and grinding fatigue made Collins irritable. "I can see it's a fucking door. Where's it go?"
The lioness whined.
The skinny girl shrugged. "We don't know. No one's managed to open it."
"Locked?" Collins examined the deteriorating structure. It looked as if a solid kick would shatter the soggy wood, leaving only rusted bands of iron on sagging hinges.
"I don't think so." Margast's blue gaze fell to the latch, where Collins saw no bolt or keyhole. "Touching it hurts, though, and it screams."
The description sounded familiar to Collins. Warded. The only similar magic he knew of kept switchers from the royal quarters. He hoped this worked the same way. Raising his arm, he reached for the latch. His watch slid on his wrist. Since 11:45, he had deliberately avoided glancing at it, superstitiously convinced that if he could not see the time passing, it remained the same. Now, as he readjusted the band, he accidentally read the time. 11:57 A.M. Tears burned Collins' eyes. Good-bye, Zylas.
Steeling for a ward that might work even against him, Collins reached for the latch. He would open that door no matter the difficulty, no matter the pain. But none came. The door swung open, its rusted hinges screaming, to reveal a room as craggy as the rest of the caverns. A padded wooden chair stood planted toward the middle, several feet from a huge dark pit in the center. Behind him, the animals and humans stared curiously. As Collins entered, Margast attempted to follow, then dropped back with a shrill cry of pain.
Suddenly, a flash of emerald zipped past, in the form of what appeared to be a large insect. Ialin? Before Collins could consider the possibility in more detail, Carrie Quinton charged into the cave, swinging her arms and swearing viciously, a small cage tucked beneath her right arm. A hairless, pink tail protruding through the bars worked frantically at a combination padlock that hung, unlatched, from the door. Before Collins' eyes, the rat's form blurred. Zylas, it's Zylas. Terror slammed him with a rush of adrenaline. I'm about to watch him implode. The idea galloped through his mind in half an instant. Faster than thought, he hurled himself across the room.
Quinton screamed, leaping from Collins' path. He wrenched the cage from her grip, twisting off the lock as momentum skidded him into an outcropping. He ignored the pain that impact flared through his injured hip and thrust his hand into the cage. By now, Zylas had become an incomprehensible glow. Seizing an unidentified body part, Collins tore the changing creature from the cage.
For a terrifying instant, it resisted. Then, Zylas flew free, body arcing through the air to land hard on the rocks. As he assumed man form, he continued sliding, out of control, toward the pit.
"No!" Once again, Collins found himself lurching to his friend's rescue.
"You bastard!" Quinton shouted. A heaved stone slammed into Collins' shoulder with a raw agony that would have stopped him in his tracks, had he not already sent himself airborne. His wits were nearly scattered, and his arm felt broken. He watched, helpless, as Zylas' pale form went over the edge of the pit, fingers scrabbling wildly at the edge.
That small attempt of Zylas' to save himself gained Collins the seconds he needed. He managed to stop his own forward movement at the lip of the pit and grabbed blindly at his friend. By dumb luck, his fingers winched around one of Zylas' naked forearms. They both stared downward, dislodged pebbles toppling thirty feet to rain down on two enormous dark shapes below them. The dragons!
Collins lay still, focusing all his strength into supporting his dangling friend. All the exhaustion, all the suffering of the last few hours crashed back upon him at once. He closed his eyes as dizziness washed over him, hoping only that he could hold on long enough to regain some semblance of strength, that, somehow, he would Find a way to bring them both safely out of danger.
Abruptly, Collins sensed a nearby presence. He whipped open his lids to find Quinton towering over him, her face hideous with scars, her mouth an asymmetrical sneer. "So, you found them. You found them all. What good does it do you?"
Collins' mind staggered through a tired coating of fuzz. He licked lips that had gone dry as sand. "Carrie. Help us."
"Why?"
So simple a question deserved an answer Collins could not find in the desert of his fading thoughts. He tried to summon back the natural body chemicals that had given him the ability to act so quickly to save Zylas. "Because the fall alone might kill us. Because, no matter how much you hate us, you don't want to become a murderer." Collins' arms ached, and his grip grew slippery on Zylas' forearm.
Quinton laughed. "I've already crossed that line, with people I didn't hate half so much as I do you. She drew right up to where he lay, prone, on the rocks, clutching Zylas. "You sec, Ben," she spat out his name like a bite of bitter fruit, "dragons are natural carnivores. It didn't take long to teach them to eat Barakhai's undesirables, and King Terrin was glad to hand execution duties to me." She grinned with an inhuman wickedness. "He thinks I got rid of the dragons, too. But watch this." She called down into the darkness. "Dinnertime!"
The creatures in the pit surged like hungry crocodiles. It seemed to Collins that he could not catch a break. He wondered why none of this could have happened while at least one of the dragons held its human form.
Zylas was speaking quickly in a low voice that did not carry. It sounded to Collins like praying, an option that seemed like the only one left. But Collins still had one prospect-that Quinton had not fallen wholly into madness. "Carrie, please. Let's talk this out like civilized human beings."
"We're not," she hissed, "anymore."
"I am," Collins insisted. "And I believe, deep down, you are, too."
Aware he could not block a kick, Collins continued talking. "I'll do anything you want, Carrie. Anything. Just name it."
Carrie barely hesitated. "Marry me."
Collins despised the thought, but he would have promised more. "Done."
Quinton's boot crashed into the bandage on the back of Collins' head. His thoughts exploded. His grip on Zylas faltered. "Do you think I'd marry a jackass like you? I'd rather watch you die." She kicked him again.
Collins lay in a red fog of agony. He forced words through the pain. "Carrie, please. What… do… you… want?"
Quinton slammed the toe of her boot into Collins' groin. Cramps tore through his abdomen. Every muscle went limp. His hold on Zylas failed, and he watched the white blur of his friend's descent through eyes filled with tears. Quinton brought her face right up to Collins' and whispered in his ear. "I want… you both… to die." Then, she hammered both fists into the back of his claw-ravaged head.
Collins felt himself falling, twisted, and grabbed the only thing he could: Quinton's leg. He felt it give way. Then air surged around him, and he realized they were both tumbling in savage circles into the pit. Screeching, she embraced him like a lover, all semblance of righteous vengeance lost. They spun wildly for a moment. She was on the bottom when they hit rock-solid ground with enough force to drive all the breath from his lungs, too. Pain stabbed his chest, and he heard bones snap, most of them Quinton's. She lay still beneath him.
Suddenly, Collins felt hot breath puffing over him. Still gasping for air, he rolled to face a colossal mouth filled with dagger teeth. He only hoped he would die of suffocation before those massive canines skewered him.
Then air wheezed into Collins' lungs, bringing instinctive comfort even though it violated his wish.
Zylas spoke weakly, but his tone brooked no defiance. "Trinya, no! Bad girl! Bad girl!"
The massive teeth did not withdraw, but they did not impale Collins either. He willed himself to dodge but could not conjure up the strength even to save his own life. "Zylas," he gasped. "Zylas, she's listening."
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