The beasts of Barakhai bob-1

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Collins remained silent throughout the exchange, quietly putting the details together. Clearly, Korfius' finding them threw Zylas into a terrible dilemma. He had to keep Korfius quiet about Prinivere, not just for the duration of Collins' time here, but forever. Collins did not envy him that position; he could not kill a regular dog, let alone one who became a boy at intervals. Yet, Zylas had a loyalty to Prinivere that transcended Collins' understanding.

  Collins and Zylas packed their gear in a tense hush punctuated only by occasional sighs from the rat/man. Collins did not press, certain his companion would speak in his own time. He did not have the words to comfort, so the best he could do was to listen.

  Korfius seemed to share none of Zylas' consternation, chattering at the dragon with an exuberance Collins could not ever remember having. Apparently, the dragon answered him privately and with infinite patience, because Korfius kept bouncing and talking, often not waiting long enough for Prinivere to possibly have addressed the question before zipping off another. Shortly, they had everything, and Zylas signaled for everyone to go.

  Korfius obediently bounded from the cave, Zylas and Collins behind him and Ialin hovering anxiously. Falima made no complaint as Zylas lashed the pack to her back then assisted Korfius astride, still talking.

  "I can't believe I'm helping a royal and a dragon. A real dragon. I can't believe there really even is a real dragon to help. A real, live dragon."

  Zylas looked as tense as a depressed spring.

  Collins placed a hand on Korfius' calf. "Listen, little buddy."

  Korfius turned him a happy look.

  "Remember how I told you this was secret?"

  "Yes, I…" Korfius turned thoughtful, features screwed up in apparent pain. "Oh. Does that mean…?"

  "Yes," Collins said firmly, though the boy had never completed the question. "You can't tell anyone about Lady Prinivere."

  "Ever?" The word seemed driven from his lips.

  "Ever." Collins confirmed in a voice he hoped brooked no further questioning.

  "Not even-"

  To emphasize the point, Collins did not let Korfius finish. "Not even."

  "But I didn't get to-"

  "Doesn't matter. Not anyone. Ever." Collins dusted his hands to show the matter had ended, with no further discussion necessary or desirable. "It's as simple as that."

  "Oh," Korfius said barely audibly. He hunched, disappointment clear from his stance as well as his features. "Well. At least, I'll get to help?" His tone suggested defeat, and he clearly expected Collins to burst his one last bubble.

  "Of course, you can help," Collins said cheerfully, though he had no idea how. Knowing he would likely have to give Korfius a "busy" job, he added, "There are no small roles in the service of good and justice." He rather liked the sound of his own words and wondered whether he had just created them, as he believed, or if his subconscious had revived it from some long-ago comic book.

  "I can't believe I met a…" This time, Korfius caught himself before he said, "dragon."

  Collins made a "zip your lip" motion.

  Though he could not understand the reference, Korfius apparently got the implication. He mimicked the gesture and fell silent.

  As they headed off in a new direction, Collins glanced around. "Where's Vernon?"

  Zylas continued to look worriedly between Collins and Korfius. "He'll get the lady off safely, then head back home." He held Collins' gaze. "We need him there."

  Uncertain whether Zylas meant in general or for some reason related to their current mission, Collins did not press. Zylas clearly wanted to speak as little as possible about such matters in the boy's presence.

  For the first few hours, they traveled in relative quiet. Then, Korfius drifted off to sleep, body sprawled across the pack, arms dangling on either side of Falima's neck. Collins paused to redistribute the boy's weight, to tuck limp hands beneath the weighted center, and to smooth hair from his eyes. Korfius mumbled something unintelligible but did not fully awaken. Collins now found himself able to continue without worrying constantly over the child's safety.

  Finally, Collins went to Falima's head, where Zylas used the lead rope to haul her generally westward. "You know, between his only spending seven hours a day as a boy and the need to get sleep in both forms, he might just as well be a full-time dog.

  "Lesariat," Zylas reminded in a grunt. "That's the whole idea."

  Suddenly, Collins found the answer to a question he had asked himself earlier. Of course their civilization has stagnated for longer than a century. When you spend half or more of your life in animal form, it has to take all your time just to do the things necessary for survival. Who has time for innovation?

  Zylas glanced at the boy, apparently to ascertain that he slept. "Let's get back to planning."

  Collins nodded, surprised to find himself eager. The more he understood, the better his chances for success. The several hours of walking had proved just the break he needed. "Let's start with the moat."

  Another day of travel brought them down from the mountains to a road that hugged the base and a broad expanse of forest. Collins realized they could have avoided thc crags and steppes simply by following thc path, which most people surely did. He did not begrudge the course they had taken. Though longer, even without the looping detours Zylas had taken to foil pursuit, it only made sense for Prinivere to live where few humans dared or bothered to go. On my world, she’d probably hide out on Everest. He amended. Or, perhaps, the tenth, eleventh, or twelfth highest mountain might not have quite as many determined climbers.

  They entered the forest just in time. Clouds that had stalked and threatened through the night broke open to releases a splattering dounpour. Rain roared against the canopy, occasionally rolling through to soak them with icy pinoints or sudden streams of runoff. It continued into the evening, adding jagged bursts of lightning and rolling booms of thunder to the symphony of nature’s pique. They ate from a pack growing welcomely lighter, and Collins appreciated that his companions found the insects the most desirable of their fare. By now none of those remained, and they feasted on the foods he liked best: dried fruit, nut paste, and bread.

  With Korfius in dog form, Collins' companions discussed the upcoming castle break in freely. Caught up in the plans, Collins listened and joined in eagerly. Though the approach changed several times, the idea that he might not succeed never entered the conversations. Heartened by his companions' confidence, Collins found himself just as certain that he would prevail. The crystal would make it back to Prinivere, she would open the portal, and he would return home to face the consequences of his absence-gladly. He only wished he could take his new friends with him. The image this conjured made him laugh. Wouldn't that be interesting? He curled up to sleep, dreaming of castle spires and a talking plesiosaur entrenched in a moat of blood.

  Early the following morning, Ialin raced back to Collins and his friends: a rat, a horse, and a dog. "It's just ahead."

  "The castle?"

  "Yes, the castle." Impatience touched Ialin's tone, his small, thin body in constant motion. "Up ahead. Come look."

  As Collins went to do so, the other man added, "Carefully, now."

  Collins obediently moved slowly in the indicated direction, trying to avoid crackling leaves and snapping twigs.

  Ialin pranced an anxious circle around him. "Come on."

  Collins stopped, studying the little man. "I can be quick or careful, not both. Choose."

  Ialin sighed. "Careful." He flitted ahead, still clearly fretful, though he no longer rushed the only other companion in human form. He paused to peer through a gap in the foliage.

  Collins counted Ialin shifting from foot to foot seven times in the few seconds it took him to come up beside the hummingbird/man. He wondered if the speeding metabolism required by a quick and tiny bird extended to his human form and made the world seem to move that much slower. He glanced through the gap, vision obscured in serrated chaos by overhanging leaves. Not
far ahead, the forest opened to a vast plain of grass grazed by sheep, cows, and goats in a myriad array of colors. Chickens and ducks waddled through the herd, scooping up the bugs dislodged by shambling hooves.

  Beyond the animals, a ring of brackish water surrounded a high stone wall with teethlike turrets and circular platforms. An even taller wall peeked over the first, visible only as jagged shadows. Above it all rose the castle, looking very much like the pictures Collins remembered from the postcards of friends who had chosen world travel over higher education. Each corner held a square-shaped tower that loomed over the turreted, rectangular roof. Every part was constructed of mortared stone blocks. It looked exactly as Ialin had described it, yet it defied all of Collins' expectations. The grandeur held him spellbound, struck by the work that must have gone into its construction, the eerie aura of power that accompanied a living fossil. The pictures his friends had sent were of crumbling ruins that barely compared with the reality of a functioning, real-time castle. "Wow," he said.

  Ialin loosed a sound, half-snort and half-giggle. "Zylas said you were a people of few words, but I never realized just how few."

  Collins tried to explain, gaze locked on the castle of Barakhai. "It's amazing. I've never seen anything like it."

  Ialin withdrew, and Collins followed. "Where does your king live?"

  As Collins returned to his animal companions, he tried to explain, "We don't have a king. We have a president who's elected-"

  Ialin made a gesture to indicate he did not understand.

  "We pick him."

  "Who's we?" Ialin asked suspiciously, sliding the pack from Falima's withers. He eased it to the ground.

  "We." Collins made a broad gesture to indicate everyone. "The people. All of us." It was not true in the strictest sense, as the 2000 presidential election could attest, but Collins had no intention of explaining the electoral college to a man struggling with the meaning of "vote."

  Ialin dragged the pack deeper into the forest. "Regular people picked your leader?"

  In rat form, Zylas galloped after Ialin. Korfius thrust his damp, icy nose into Collins' palm.

  "Pick," Collins corrected the tense and scratched behind Korfius' ears. His family had always had a dog and at least one cat. His current lifestyle did not lend itself to pets, but he hoped to get one of each as soon as he graduated. "Every four years, we decide on a new one."

  "And everyone agrees?"

  At the same time, Zylas squeaked, "How do you keep one from taking over. From declaring himself leader for life?"

  More worried about getting safely into and out of the castle, Collins found himself unwilling to get into a long discussion about American democracy. "There are whole enormous textbooks written on those very topics. It's not my field of study, but the system's worked reasonably well for at least the last two hundred years." He rushed to add, "Now, if we can get back to the matter at hand."

  Zylas scurried up Collins' arm to his shoulder. "Ah, so now you're the one who only wants to talk about the castle."

  "Yeah," Collins admitted, still stroking the dog. "Guess I'm a natural crammer." At the confused look on Ialin's face, he explained. "I tend to avoid things I don't want to do until a deadline looms. Then, I dive into it to the exclusion of everything else."

  Ialin shrugged and began setting up the camp. "How odd." "Not where I come from. Not for students, anyway."

  Zylas spoke directly into Collins' ear. "I find I tend to remember things longer and better if I learn them slowly over time. And repetitively."

  Collins flushed. "Well, yeah. I didn't say cramming was a smart thing." Realizing they had veered off the topic again, he redirected the conversation. "Any recent ideas on how I'm going to get into this castle?"

  At first, Collins thought Ialin turned to look at him. Then, he realized the smaller man's gaze did not directly meet his own. He was, instead, consulting the rat on Collins' shoulder. "As a matter of fact," the man in human form started, "we have one."

  Interested in what they might have discussed on the sly, Collins tipped his head toward Zylas to indicate his interest.

  "Well," Ialin started, sitting on the only blanket he had, thus far, laid out. "Town guards sometimes come for brief training with the king's warriors. From what I understand, it keeps the king informed about the goings-on in his holdings and gets some elite training for the guards."

  "Yeah?" Collins encouraged, not yet sure how this could apply to him.

  "They usually come in pairs," Ialin continued. "So if we send you in riding Falima, no one should question it. Usually, a guard wouldn't let anyone but a royal or another guard sit on them."

  Collins considered. "Falima let me ride her."

  With a wave of his paw, Zylas dismissed that argument. "After she went 'renegade' by saving you, all bets were off."

  That seeming self-evident, Collins shook his head. "No, I mean before the rescue. She carried me to the… the dungeon." He swallowed, fighting a forming image. A swirl of the desperate parade of emotions that had struck him there returned to haunt him.

  "Because the other guards told her to do it, I presume," Ialin growled. "And I'll also wager it wasn't a comfortable ride."

  Remembering, Collins winced. "You'd win that bet."

  "Anyway," Ialin said, returning to the subject, "if you rode in on Falima, no one would think to question that you're both guards."

  Collins still saw a gap in the logic. "Unless word of Falima turning…" He used Zylas' word, or at least the one the translation spell and stone turned it into, "… 'renegade' has reached this far."

  Ialin wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Oh, we have to assume that."

  "We'll disguise her," Zylas explained, whiskers tickling Collins' ear.

  Collins' mind conjured images of a horse wearing a huge plastic nose, mustache, and glasses combination. The usual methods of disguise: clothes, haircut, contact lenses, perhaps a fake scar or two would not work here. They could not even sneak into the relative safety of careful cross-dressing. "As a horse? Or a woman?"

  Ialin gave Collins another one of his judgmental stares. "We'll do the horse part. She'll have to handle the woman herself. We'll send the pack, so you can put anything she'll need in there."

  Collins looked doubtfully from the grazing horse to the pack near Ialin's feet. "Won't I have to know something about the town I'm supposed to represent?"

  "Not as much as you think," Zylas said.

  Apparently missing Zylas' words, spoken low and directly into Collins' ear, Ialin said, "Just a bit."

  Sensing Collins' tension, Korfius whined, butting the now-stilled hand.

  Absently, Collins continued his ministrations while his two older companions outlined their plan.

  Chapter 14

  COLLINS' watch read 5:00 p.m. when he rode Falima across the well-cropped grassy field that separated the outer curtain wall from the forest. He tucked the watch into his pocket, wishing he could have left it behind with Zylas. Pulling out impossible technology at the wrong time might give him away, but he relied upon it to determine a proper and consistent pretend switch time, to keep track of Falima, and to have a clear idea of how long the whole process was taking him. The black fur beneath him was disorienting after several days of riding a golden buckskin. Having never heard of bleach, his companions found it impossible to lighten Falima's coloring, so had chosen to make her body the same coarse ebony as her mane, tail, and points. Apparently, jet black was one of the most common horse colors in Barakhai and should not attract undue attention.

  At switch time, Falima would make herself scarce. The dye might carry over into her human form, though probably not with much consistency. Apparently, some items in the pack would allow her to touch up blotches or to change her appearance in other believable fashions. Collins hoped he would recognize her, though it did not matter. His escape plan and hers did not hinge upon one another.

  Sheep looked up as they passed, baaing noisy greetings. The goats proved
more curious, approaching them to sniff, bleat at, and chew the cloth shoes his companions had provided in place of his Nike look-alikes. The horse's ears went flat backward, and she emitted occasional warning squeals that sent the goats scattering, though they always returned. The cows paid them no attention at all.

  As they crossed the plain, Collins got a clear view of the outer wall, and he steered Falima toward the attached roofed structure that clearly represented the gatehouse. A massive construct of plank and rope pressed against the stone wall, apparently the drawbridge. Collins pulled up in front of the gatehouse, at the edge of the moat. Insects skittered over the surface of the water, leaving star-shaped wakes. Far beneath them, fish glided through the transparent pond, apparently accustomed to having no place to hide.

  The gatehouse consisted of two of the round towers that interrupted the wall at regular intervals, with a straight stretch of stone no wider than the drawbridge between them. On the roof of each tower stood two guards dressed in white-chested aqua tunics, the top portion decorated with designs that looked like thinly stretched clover to Collins. Black belts held their uniforms in place and supported long, thin swords in wooden sheaths. All four watched Collins' approach with obvious interest, though they raised no weapons. One called down in a strong, female voice, "Who's there?"

  Collins had initially assumed they were all men, so the speaker caught him off guard.

  When he did not answer immediately, the woman's partner boomed out, "You were asked a question, good sir. Are you deaf or rude?"

  Collins dismounted and bowed, hoping they would attribute any violated protocol to his foreignness. "Just tired, sir. I am Benton." It seemed ironic that he would use the full name he had so many times asked others to shorten. He had often wished his parents had named him Benjamin, like every other "Ben" he had ever met. His current friends had assured him that Benton fit this world much better than Ben; and, by using his real name, he would not forget it, as he might a pseudonym, in the heat of a chaotic moment. If he accidentally did call himself "Ben," it would follow naturally as a proper shortening or interrupted utterance. "And this…"He made a flourishing motion toward Falima, "is Marlys." It was another alias he would remember, though he knew it made things harder for his companion. He dared not use anything approaching her real name, as it might trigger suspicion. "We've traveled a long way under less than ideal circumstances."