“Easy girl.” Collins rubbed her neck soothingly, feeling the warm sweat that slicked her fur. He glanced surreptitiously at his palm, worried the moisture might disturb the dye. Though caked with dirt and foamy horse sweat, his hand remained free of black smudges. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Gripping the lead rope more tightly, Collins drew Falima to the drawbridge. She eyed the board warily. Collins stepped up first, hoping that would ease her concerns. One front hoof rose, then settled on the wood. The other followed. She took a step forward, hoof clomping on the board. Another carried her directly over the moat, and a hollow sound rang through the drawbridge. With a snort and whinny that left Collins’ ears ringing, she stumbled back to solid ground.
Afraid the horse’s lurching might toss him into the water, Collins skittered after her. “Falima, honey, it’s all right,” he whispered. “It’s all right. You need to come.”
Falima trumpeted out another whinny.
“Not much overlap,” one of the guards guessed.
“Some.” Collins remembered what Zylas had told him. “But she’s still pretty young.”
One of the guardsmen took pity on the weary travelers. “First time across is always difficult. Just keep trying. If necessary, I’ll get someone in switch-form to show her across.”
“Thank you.” Collins did not try to lead Falima again but just stood at her head murmuring reassurances and stroking behind her ears. He knew horses would go almost anywhere if they saw another horse safely make the journey ahead of them. A friend had once told him she trained colts to cross streams and puddles by having them shadow a staid old trail horse. “Ready, Marlys?” he finally said out loud, suddenly wishing he had chosen another name. It seemed to stick in his mouth, desperately out of place. It reminded him of how he and his elementary school friends had become so used to Michelangelo referring to a mutant ninja turtle, they giggled wildly when it came up on an art museum field trip.
One hand grasping the rope at the base of Falima’s chin, the other clutching the cheekpiece, he urged her forward with him. He did not know how people encouraged horses in Barakhai; but, back home, the position gave him unprecedented control over an animal large enough to crush him. He remembered a favorite saying of an old girlfriend, “He who has the horse’s head has the horse.” It applied to leading horses, grooming and immunizing, as well as reining, but he could not help getting a The Godfather-like image of the amputated head resting in someone’s bed.
With Collins close and urgent, Falima raised a foreleg high, then placed it on the drawbridge.
“Good girl,” Collins encouraged. “Good good girl.”
Falima took another step, the thunk of its touch sending a quiver through her. This time, she did not attempt to withdraw, but took another hesitant step onto the surface.
“Come on, honey. You can do it.” Collins reverted to a pet name, which allowed him avoid the whole “Marlys” issue. He hoped Zylas and Ialin had called it right when they claimed Falima understood enough in horse form to get the gist of the plan. He kept imagining her becoming human surrounded by king’s guards with no memory of how she got there and, in a wild blithering panic, giving them all away. Surely, they had talked to her before the change, while he slept. Surely nothing. So many of his friends’ motives appeared bizarre or inscrutable, it seemed senseless to even speculate.
Collins continued to cluck encouragingly as Falima took more steps onto the drawbridge. Head bowed nearly to her knees, she studied the surface and her own hooves as she moved, her steps never growing confident. At least, she continued forward. In fact, her pace quickened as she clearly attempted to get past the portion of ground that felt and sounded unstable to a horse’s ears.
When they came to the part of the drawbridge on the far side of the moat, Falima’s demeanor returned to normal. She clopped through the opened double doors and into the gatehouse with little more than a glance.
The woman guard and one of the men from the other tower met them in the span. Doors shaped like cathedral windows opened onto the towers, while a heavy set of ironbound oak doors blocked further entry in the direction of the castle.
The man raised his right hand in greeting. “I’m Mabix. Welcome to Opernes Castle, home of King Terrin and Queen Althea, high rulers of Barakhai.”
Zylas had prepared Collins with the names, though the albino had warned him to stay alert for changes. The royals did not discuss coups and ascensions with the regular folk as a rule, though the information eventually reached even the lowliest outcaste.
King Terrin and Queen Althea. King Terrin and Queen Althea. Collins worked to fix the titles in his mind, only then realizing he had completely forgotten the name of the man in front of him. For a moment, he teetered on the decision of whether to let it pass and fake it or ask for a repeat. Then, deciding it best to look the fool now rather than later, he pressed. “Thank you, kind sir, but I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch your name.”
“Mabix,” he repeated without offense. “This is Lyra.”
The female guard dipped ever so slightly to acknowledge the introduction. Though a motion of respect, it fell short of an actual curtsy which, Collins presumed, she reserved for royalty. “Lyra,” Collins repeated. “Mabix.”
“Now,” Mabix said, getting down to business. “If we could just see your writ.”
Collins fought a grin. Other than a utility knife, the saddest bit of rations, and a ragged change of clothes, the presumably forged paper was the only thing his friends had given him.
“Or,” Lyra added with just the barest hint of suspicion, “did the bandits get that, too?”
“Over my dead body,” Collins said, hoping it sounded as emphatic in Barakhain as English. He thrust a hand into his tunic and emerged with the crumpled paper covered with flowery scribbles. The spell that allowed him to speak fluently apparently did not extend to the written word. With my luck, it’s probably really gibberish. A sudden thought rose. Or worse, calls the king a pickle-nosed bastard.
Mabix examined the paper, Lyra looking over his shoulder. They both nodded. Now, Collins got a good look at their uniforms, the patterned white ending just below their breastbones. Joined by impressively straight stitching for a world without machines, the aqua material fell just past the knee. Mail showed at the collar and arms, while high boots of stiffened cloth covered their legs. They wore bowl-shaped metal helmets.
Once they had the writ, the two relaxed visibly, which left Collins wondering where Zylas had gotten it. Because his friends had initially rescued him in animal form and they switched naked, he had seen all their personal belongings in the saddlebags he found tied to Falima that first day. Vernon had packed them much fuller; but, if the mouse/man had stuck in such a thing, it meant they had known how he would infiltrate the castle ever since they left the cabin. He wondered why they had not discussed it with him sooner. They also didn’t let me know the gender of an elder who turned out to be a dragon until I saw her with my own eyes. Why does this surprise me?
Lyra and Mabix pulled closed the massive doors through which their guests had entered. As they banged shut, a ratcheting sound echoed through the small enclosed room, the drawbridge lifting. Other than a bit of diffused sunlight filtering through cracks in the wooden construction, the room went dark. Falima danced, whinnying her discomfort. Collins patted her, whispering nonsense in a steady patter while Lyra and Mabix slid the bolt on the door behind them and pushed the panels open. Light rushed in, accompanied by the sweet odor of young plants and the mingled sounds of answering neighs, whines, barks, and human voices.
Falima squealed out another whinny, the shrill sound reverberating painfully in the still mostly enclosed area. She charged for the outside, and Collins let her go. Peering beyond her, he saw an emerald stretch of well-grazed grasses crisscrossed by pathways. Several horses, a few mules, and a goat placidly ate, though the nearest ones looked up as Falima joined them. She snorted, nostrils widened as if to suck in all the unfamiliar sme
lls, then lowered her head to graze.
Collins glanced around as the guards ushered him into the outer courtyard. Now, he could see the towers that looked round from the outside had flat backs that turned them into semicircles. Behind the wall-wide crenels and merlons lay battlement walkways paced by guards in the same uniforms as his new companions. Small buildings lay pressed against the wall, their construction wooden except for the stone backings they borrowed from the wall itself. Shingles or thatch topped them. Directly ahead, Collins saw another double-towered gatehouse, larger than the one they had just exited. Another crenellated wall ringed the still distant castle.
Lyra rushed ahead to the second gatehouse. Mabix looked at Falima. “She can stay here if she wants.”
Collins considered. He liked the idea of her only needing to escape one wall should he fail at his mission. “That’s up to her,” he said casually. “She’s due to change shortly and should be quite capable of making the decision by herself.” He removed the rope halter and placed it in the pack, debating whether or not to remove the whole thing and carry it himself. Not wishing to burden himself when Falima remained clearly untroubled by it, he left it in place.
“So what’s the news from Epronville?”
“From—?” Collins stopped himself from saying where? “—Epronville?” He laughed to cover his mistake. “Never much happening there.” He could have kicked himself. He felt trapped by the easiest, most casual and obvious question in the universe, one he had even anticipated. Larger concerns and the need for haste had made him forget the problem he had initially raised. Now, his ignorance undid him, leaving him unable to even fabricate a credible answer. He had little idea of the size of Barakhai, let alone its various towns and cities, could not guess how intimately they intertwined, and what might serve as news. In some cultures, information about who had married whom or which babies had survived the winter was welcome knowledge as far as a man could travel. “At least compared with here.”
Uncertain whether his last comment had helped or only dug him deeper, he switched to a different tactic.
“No matter what I say, Marlys will contradict me.” Those were the first words since he arrived at the castle that rang surprisingly true. “I’m always wrong.”
Mabix chuckled. “Sounds like you two are married.”
“Marlys and me?” Collins was as struck by the next words that escaped his mouth as Mabix was amused by them. “What a horrible thought.”
Now Mabix laughed openly. “Often that which a man protests the most will or should come to pass.” He winked, and Collins was again struck by the similarity of that gesture to his own culture. “At least according to women.”
Lyra returned, the gatehouse doors now open ahead. “What was that?”
Mabix shook his head. “Nothing you need to hear.”
Lyra sighed, speaking in a tone that implied confidentiality, though Mabix could surely hear her. “Something between men, no doubt. I’m tired of that.”
For the first time, it occurred to Collins that he ought to see as many female guards as male since, presumably, the horses gave birth to as many fillies as colts. He made a mental note to ask Falima about it later, though he managed to devise a possible answer from his own experience. Likely, the women spent more of their human time house-and child-keeping. Or, perhaps, the women did more of the routine guard chores that did not involve the possibility of direct combat. The less industrial and enlightened a society, in general, the less it could afford to emancipate its women without endangering its survival.
Lyra led them through the second gatehouse and into the courtyard that surrounded the castle. Here, he saw less grass, though a few horses did graze around the scattered buildings. Gardens took up most of the space, paths winding between them. A vast variety of vegetables flourished in crooked rows, and Collins saw none of the tended panoramas of flowers he expected from his visits to the arboretum. Each and every patch grew edibles of some type, from herbs to roots, fruit trees to vines. He did find some attractive blue flowers, but these grew in a planned line, obviously the source of some delectable seed. Perhaps vilegro. Collins remembered the name of the plant Falima had turned into a sweet treat called gahiri. Here, too, buildings cropped out from the wall, kennels, guardhouses, and stables in remarkable abundance.
All of that flashed across Collins’ sight in the instants before his attention became riveted upon the castle. Like some massive university, it stood grandly, towering over its walls and gardens. Sun rays skipped across its surface, igniting glimmering lines of quartz and mica. The four square towers at the corners stood like sentinels, their tops crenellated with antlike figures of guards pacing atop them. A stone-cut stairway led into the open door.
Falima clomped through the gatehouse to pull up beside Collins. While he studied the structure, she grazed with an aloofness indicative of indifference.
Mabix spoke, “Magnificent, isn’t it?”
Only then, sound returned to Collins’ world, and he heard the background noises of giggling children, conversation, and animal sounds of a myriad types. In response, he only nodded.
Lyra drew up. “So, what’s the news from Epronville?”
“Fine,” Collins murmured, still staring.
Mabix laughed. “You’ll get more from her when she switches, I’d warrant. This one seems due for some sleep.” He jerked a thumb toward Collins, which finally seized his attention.
“Sleep’s fine.” Collins yawned broadly, remembering Zylas’ advice. “But I’d rather some food. I switch soon, too, and I’d like to grab a bite of something substantial before I’m committed to grass.”
Mabix and Lyra nodded vigorously. “I’m with you on that one,” the woman muttered. He had clearly struck a chord.
“That’s where the dogs have the advantage.” Lyra headed toward one of the barracks. “Though I don’t know many who’d admit it so freely.”
Collins supported the confession for the purposes of creating camaraderie with those who believed themselves his peers. “Right now, I’m so hungry I could eat a . . .” He doubted the spell would translate as “horse,” but he dared not take that chance. “. . . tree.”
Mabix completed what was, apparently, a common saying, “. . . two shrubs, three beehives, and a garden.”
“That, too,” Collins added, to his companions’ amusement. He found himself liking them and hoped his theft would not reflect badly on them or cost them their jobs.
The man inclined his head toward one of the buildings. Reminded of their purpose, he and Lyra started walking. Collins and Falima followed.
They stopped in front of one of the guardhouses, animals noting their passage with curious looks. Collins felt like he had entered a dim, creepy house where the eyes of pictures seemed to fix on anyone who passed. “Bring your pack,” Mabix said. “I’ll show you to your quarters.” Without waiting for Collins to obey, he shoved open the door and entered. “Hope you two don’t mind sharing.”
Collins tried to sound matter-of-fact. “Not at all.” He supposed it made sense to part-time animals that they house men and women in the same barracks, even the same rooms. He wondered how many accidental marriages and out-of-wedlock births this created in buildings at least half full of stallions. He undid all the clasps, clips, and ties with Lyra’s assistance, shouldered the pack, and trotted after Mabix.
The door opened onto a common room strewn with clothes, bits of food, and half-finished games of chess and dice. Crude, mismatched furniture, mostly constructed from crates and barrels, interrupted the vast chaos. If not for the lanterns instead of overhead lights and the lack of a television, it could have passed for the recreation room of most men’s dormitories. Smaller doors led off in several directions. Crossing the room, Mabix knocked on one of the doors before opening it.
Through the portal, Collins saw a square, windowless room the size of a large bathroom. Three rolled up pallets leaned in one corner, a pile of chamber pots in the other. A chair crafted fro
m a quarter-cut barrel stood pushed against a wall. A cushion affixed to a circular piece of wood lay on the floor beside it, apparently the seat.
Mabix squeezed past Lyra and Collins in the doorway, picked up the cushion, and pointed into the seat. “You can store your gear here.”
Where? Collins followed Mabix and examined the chair. He saw a hole where his backside would usually go, creating a good-sized hollow that ended with a thick wooden bottom. Clearly, it served as a neat storage area as well as a piece of furniture once the cushion was balanced on top of the opening. About to say something about the cleverness of its inventor, Collins held his tongue instead. For all he knew, everyone had these in their homes.
Mabix noticed Collins studying the arrangement. “Convenient, huh?”
“Very.” Collins let a bit of his respect seep into his tone.
Lyra added, “Craftsman who came up with that design won himself a permanent place on the king’s staff.
Mabix bobbed his head. “A Random, too. On the king’s staff. Can you believe it?”
“Wow,” Collins replied, holding back a storm of questions he could never ask his Random companions. He swung the pack to the floor, feeling trapped. He had to leave it so Falima would have clothes and access to the makeup, but he hated to risk losing it. Suddenly, he realized he had no reason to hide that piece of information. “You know, I think I’d better put it back on . . .” He caught himself about to say Falima. “. . . on Marlys. She gets cold easily and likes to dress as soon as possible.” He had originally planned to say she felt uncomfortable naked among strangers but liked what came out of his mouth better. How do you like that? I can think on my feet. A less wholesome thought followed, Or am I just becoming a better liar? Winning over Korfius and Vernon had certainly given him plenty of practice.
Collins looked at the pack, as if noticing it for the first time. “She’s due to switch pretty soon.” He wondered if he had just made a crucial blunder. As partners, they ought to know one another’s habits well enough that he would never have removed the pack in the first place.
The Beasts of Barakhai Page 21