The Lost Dragons of Barakhai

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  “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 flitty 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 scram-bling 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 Fal
ima 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 while 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.

  It was all Collins could do not to throw up. Grimly, he turned his attention directly on Falima and concentrated on the soaked and grimy mass his socks had become inside his shoes. Suddenly, he thought of the mouse again. “Are you sure Vernon’s all right?”

  “He’s Aisa’s charge.” Ialin spoke around a mouthful of some fish part Collins did not want to recognize. He had eaten sushi and liked it well enough, but he wondered how the Barakhain got around all the tiny bones. “You’re mine.”

  “Aisa’s?” Collins had last seen the parrot in the company of Prinivere, though he supposed she could easily have followed Carrie Quinton and himself without their knowledge. The renegades had surprised him so many times, he had begun to believe they used him for sneaking-up-on practice. He discarded the thought, suspecting that spending half their lives as animals and a chronic need to dodge danger simply made them more cautious than the average man on the American streets. At least before September 11th.

  “Aisa’s,” Ialin repeated, though Collins’ thoughts had gone way past the original question. “We thought it logical to give the inexperienced man to the man and the mouse to the bird big enough to carry him. But silly us. What do we know about strategy?”

  Already tired of Ialin’s hostility, Collins defended himself. “I wasn’t questioning your perfectly perfect plan, Mister Perfection. I just didn’t know Aisa had made it back here, yet. Is that all right with you?”

  Ialin glanced at Collins over his shoulder, his lips bowed into a smile. “I suppose ‘Mister Perfection’ can live with that explanation.” He went back to leading, and Falima turned to wink at Collins.

  Collins shrugged. Ordinarily, self-doubt and politeness would have kept him from such a tirade; but his filthy, water-saturated, boulderlike shoes worried at his patience and mood. He understood the need for diversionary tactics, but it seemed more logical to get to Prinivere as swiftly as possible. Once they climbed on her back, she could fly anywhere and no dog could ever pick up the scent from there. Collins did not voice his opinion, however, as he harbored no wish for Ialin to belittle him in front of Falima again. He did not care what the hummingbird /man thought of him, but Falima’s opinion mattered deeply.

  At length, Ialin hopped from the stream to a rock, then to another farther away, and finally to the stony ledge of a hill tucked into a tangle of forest. Falima performed the same maneuver, then Korfius bounded after them. Collins leaped heavily to the first stone, throwing out his arms for balance. Water squirted from his running shoe, spilling in rivulets down the gray face. He jumped to the next rock, his shoes sloshing.

  Ialin said nothing, though his head waggled disapprovingly at Collins’ gracelessness. Ordinarily, Collins could make those jumps with ease, but the loads of water he carried like cement blocks turned the task into a monumental undertaking. If he ever came back to this magical world, he vowed, he would wear waterproof boots. Eventually, he straggled to the ledge, hoping they had reached the end of their journey.

  Ialin wandered around the hill, then disappeared.

  Falima took Collins’ hand to lead him into the cave opening he had, once again, not previously noticed. Korfius wriggled between them and rushed into the cave, the humans following. This one was smaller than the previous ones had been, its edges worn smooth, with moss and tiny plants lining every crack. Prinivere took up most of the space, and Collins saw no supplies, such as the usual chests. He wondered how many safe houses the renegades had and how they communicated where to find Prinivere, their gear, and one another.

  *A lot,* Prinivere sent. *We’ve practiced a long time and have a lot of spies.*

  Collins drew up his left foot and removed his shoe, pouring several ounces of water onto the dirt floor. It disappeared quickly, soaking into the soil, leaving him with a slimy sock that had once been white. Hopping on his squishy right running shoe, he removed the sock, tossed it to the ground, and started on the other shoe.

  “My lady.” Ialin made a swift, slight bow. “As soon as Carriequinton got back to the castle, she sent a contingent of guards out to kill him.” He gestured at Collins, who continued to hop around the cave, now on his bare left foot.

  Prinivere lowered her scaly head. *I know. Aisa brought the news. I sent her to check on the caverns, see if Carrie lied about them, too.*

  Collins paused to dump the water from his muddy right shoe.

  The dragon’s massive head swung toward Collins. *Aisa’s gone to check where Carrie said they hid the dragon kits.*

  Ialin gave Prinivere an earnest look as Falima came up beside Collins and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him while he removed his other sock. Collins guessed the hummingbird/ man addressed the dragon in thought, perhaps to warn her not to say too much in the presence of one he still did not wholly trust.

  Prinivere returned with a communication they could all hear. *He needs to know, Ialin. He’s the only one who can get inside.*

  Collins froze in mid-motion, the grubby, sodden sock dangling from his hand. “Are you saying I’ve got to sneak into the royal chambers? Again?” He touched his face with his free hand. “How many times can we pull that off?”

  *You don’t have to go back there.*

  Ialin added, “And your face is back to normal, by the way.”

  Falima squeezed Collins’ shoulder.
“Dirtstreaked and tired, but normal.”

  Good. Collins wondered how long Quinton’s illusion would last and how much worse she could do to him when it failed. Though her double cross had caught him by surprise, he could not wholly condemn it. After all, he had deceived her, too. In fact, he found her betrayal a bit of a relief, easing some of the guilt of his own.

  Though Collins now stood squarely on bare feet, Falima still held his shoulder as she asked, “Did Aisa get Vernon out safely?”

  *He’s with me,* Prinivere confirmed. *From what I can get, the royals have identified Zylas. Then, Carrie Quinton ordered Ben killed and locked up Zylas.*

  Collins wriggled feet becoming dangerously cold and wondered where they had left his backpack. “Locked him up? He was already locked up.” He glanced directly at Falima, then at Ialin from the corner of his eye, wondering if he had missed something. The woman nodded agreement, and even Ialin seemed interested in the answer.

  *In a rat-sized cage.*

  Falima gasped; and, this time, Collins knew he had failed to consider something important. He kept his mouth shut, hoping it would come out in context, but he could not help wondering, What? Is he a claustrophobic rat?

  *At noon . . .* Prinivere started, then left Collins to finish.

  “He turns into a human and . . . and what happens?”

  Ialin said gruffly, “If the iron’s sturdy enough, it crushes him dead.”

  Something wet splashed Collins’ cheek, and he glanced at Falima. Spidery red lines wound through her eyes, the lids half-closed in pain.

  “Not Zylas.” Collins put a comforting arm around Falima, and she folded against him. Though well-muscled, she felt strangely small and helpless to Collins, who could never have imagined her surrendering to despair. He wondered if her relationship with the albino went deeper than he had known, despite the vast difference in their ages, surprised to suffer a flare of jealousy. He could no longer deny his feelings for her. He drew himself up, willing a determination he did not feel. “So we have to rescue him before noon tomorrow.” He shrugged, as if it were the simplest matter in the world. “We can do that.”