Then, the world began to brighten. Moonlight filtered through an opening that had once held a wooden door, revealing a crumbling ruin of a stone room. Through the gap, Collins could see a world that currently resembled his own, at least in regard to time of day. Stars sprinkled the sky, with a slight grayness that hinted of coming dawn. The rat stared ahead as Collins and Korfius emerged.
"Uh-oh," Zylas said.
Collins stared through his wire-rimmed glasses at a sea of men milling outside the ruins, dressed in the familiar silver and aqua of King Terrin's guards.
Chapter 2
THROUGH the doorway of the ruins, Collins looked down on a sea of royal aqua and white. The soldiers in front stood in regimented lines, their uniforms unadorned, their mail pristine, and their heads bare. Their hair ranged from snowy-white to ebony, and their skin spanned nearly as broad a range. Most clutched spears and some carried swords through the wide black sashes that served as belts. Dogs of myriad shapes, colors, and sizes meandered through the troops or stood attentively among the men. Toward the back, the mounted soldiers wore iron helms and the white portions of their uniforms bore a spattering of stretched, blue-green clovers.
"Damn," Collins said, his awed and nervous expletive no louder than Zylas' grossly understated, "Uh-oh."
Collins added carefully, "We're in an almighty colossal shit load of trouble." He waited for his friend to contradict him, to assure him that the renegades had expected and planned for this confrontation, but Zylas gave him nothing.
The front line leveled its spears. "Halt!" a commander yelled at Collins and his friends. "No one move."
"Zylas?" Collins implored in a desperate whisper. His animal companions, he knew, had an out. They could race back through the magical portal and hope none of the guards in their horse or dog forms dared to follow. And leave me in Weirdoland to face an army alone. The idea seemed reprehensible, yet Collins turned to seal his fate. At least, Falima and Korfius, the woman and the child, should seize what little security they still had.
Korfius crouched, growling deep in his throat. Falima rummaged through the debris in woman form, as naked as a newborn and no more self-conscious.
Collins groaned, the irony clear even through rising dread. At their darkest hour, every companion but Korfius had been caught in his smallest, weakest form, It's up to me. He glanced out over the horde, at least a hundred strong. And I'm not going to win by overpowering them. He considered his possessions, hoping he had included some object he could use to shock and intimidate the soldiers. He dared not make a motion large enough to unsling his backpack. Instead, his hand strayed to his pocket, sifting through loose change and lint. No simple parlor trick, no random display of technology, would work here. One of the king's advisers, Carrie Quinton, came from his world; and the soldiers already knew that Collins did, too.
Before Collins could think to do anything, Falima charged past him with a bellow of fury, brandishing a stick in each hand.
"No!" Collins threw himself at the woman, missed, and rolled through the doorway toward the massed soldiers. Clearly surprised, they withdrew, and two fell beneath Falima's crazed assault. Korfius dove for another, driving him to the ground before several dogs closed in on the writhing man and dog.
"No!" Collins yelled. "Stop it." Still hoping to find something significantly exciting to astonish the warriors, he thumbed the test button on the beeper clipped to his belt and whipped the wheel toward maximum volume. Its squeal shrilled over the din.
The combatants hesitated, and all eyes jerked to Collins. Fine, you did it. Now what?
An enormous object blotted out the moonlight.
Instinctively, Collins ducked and swung his attention upward. A huge, shadowy figure filled the sky. Terror surged through him, and the urge to flee became an all encompassing necessity. He ran mindlessly, no longer worrying about the menace of the guards, hearing their screams and pounding footsteps meld with the more familiar screech of his beeper. Something heavy cut the air above his head. Without warning, a whirlwind sucked him off his feet, sending him spiraling to the ground. He struck a stone with enough force to drive the breath from his lungs, then found himself tumbling down a steep, grassy hill without the barest sense of control. The world spun past in a dizzying array of greens and browns. Something leathery slapped his ear, pounding pain through his head. Then a calm voice touched his mind.*Be still.*
Though it violated any shred of logic, Collins tried to obey. He felt something pierce the upper back of his T-shirt, scraping furrows of skin from his neck. His feet left the ground, and he dangled dangerously over rocks as the earth disappeared below him. Soldiers scattered in all directions, their ranks broken, their movements frenzied and random. Collins found himself whipping violently upward through the trees, the front of his collar chewing into his throat, choking off his screams and most of his breathing. "Help!" he rasped out.
Collins' rational mind gradually caught up to reality. A flying animal the size of a school bus has me in its claws. Only one creature fit that description. Prinivere. Collins fought a desperate battle for sane and logical understanding. We're safe. He savored that thought for less than a moment, when an abrupt turn sent him flying toward a clump of trees. The rolled cotton bit deeper into his windpipe, cutting off his oxygen supply, and branches slashed his bare arms. He seized his collar with both hands, wrenching it forward with all his strength. The fabric gave only slightly, and a trickle of air wheezed into his spasming lungs. "Help," he managed again, his hoarse, quiet voice lost in the swirl of wind raised by flapping, batlike wings. Then he remembered the dragon's nonverbal communication. You're strangling me! He tried to send the thought directly at her. I'm going to die! *Sorry,* Prinivere sent back.*Brace for a change.* Without further explanation, she wrapped a claw around Collins' right upper arm and released her grip on his shirt.
For an instant, Collins dangled sideways, Prinivere's long claws digging painfully into his flesh. He caught a woozy view of the trees far below him, and sudden terror conjured an image of him plummeting hundreds of feet to a shattered and painful death that made strangulation seem preferable. Then, another claw closed over his left arm, and the balance allowed for a lighter hold.
Thank you. Collins filled the sending with genuine gratitude. Now that falling no longer seemed likely, just being able to breathe felt like an extraordinary gift, coupled with the fading of the pain in his neck and arm. He could still feel the scratches, but the sharp constancy of a deeply entrenched claw had disappeared.
Finally in control of his no-longer reeling senses, Collins worried for his companions. Falima? Zylas? Korfius? *On my back,* Prinivere responded.*All safe.*
Collins flushed, wondering why he was the only one who had panicked, forgetting Prinivere could read the intention of thoughts as well as verbatim sendings. *You weren't alone. Zylas and Falima just have more experience with me, and I grabbed Korfius before you. I figured once he ran, I'd never catch him.*
The trees now seemed a million miles below Collins, swaying wildly. He tried to pretend he was riding on a skyway at an amusement park, but he could not trick his senses into trusting the security of wheels, wires, and pulleys. Prinivere did not follow the straight path the illusion required, and nothing secured him should her grip fail, should someone shoot her down with spears and arrows, should her aged strength simply give way. It's out of my hands. Collins screwed his eyes tightly closed. He would live or die by Prinivere's skill, and he had little choice but to trust it.
The flight spanned a heart stopping eternity, air cutting around Collins and roaring painfully through his ears, the dragon surging and gliding, wings slapping air like shaken leather blankets. At length, she spiraled downward, and Collins dared at last to open his eyes. His vision was suddenly filled with rugged mountains poking through a vast, green forest. Prinivere sent a message more concept than words, urging him to watch for limbs and other dangers. Then, they plunged into the forest. Branches tore at Collins' bare arms and
tangled into his hair. Something sharp poked his jeans at the left thigh but did not penetrate the tough cotton. Prinivere made a swaying and bumpy landing onto a rocky prominence, stretched her wings, then folded them gingerly against her sides. Balanced on her hind legs, she released Collins gently to his feet.
Collins scrambled aside, worried that a weary or accidental gesture of a wing or claw might put him into harm's way. The quick movement stole the last of his already shaky equilibrium, and he crashed to the ground, rolling over stones that jabbed into his hack and sides. He came up on his knees. The outcropping overlooked forest that seemed to stretch on forever, even blanketing the lower peaks. The ledge Prinivere had chosen sheltered only a few scraggly weeds and twisted, low-slung saplings that resembled bonsai trees. The world was bathed in a flat, steely gray that usurped all color. Dull and lifeless, it reminded Collins how much, and how soon, he wanted to go home.
Falima clambered from the dragon's scaly back. Korfius bounded after her, tongue lolling and tail wagging.
Collins felt obligated to say something, but words failed him. "Wow."
"Wow, indeed." Falima approached the old dragon with obvious concern. "Are you all right?"
Prinivere's enormous, toothy mouth pulled into a grin. Once again, Collins marveled at how much the biologically impossible creature resembled a dinosaur: long-necked and long-legged, covered in greenish-black scales with plates jutting from neck, back, and tail. Scars marred a hide that seemed to glow, and the tail ended in a ragged cut. She walked on four legs, despite the fibrous wings that, though massive, should not be capable of supporting a body so huge. Black ears pricked upward, triangular like a horse's; and her eyes sparkled like emeralds recessed deeply into dark-rimmed sockets. Each forelimb ended in three toes with sharp, curved talons, while the hind legs sported four toes apiece. The short-coupled body fit well with a blocky snout that ended in arched and slitty nostrils.*I'm fine,* she sent, apparently to everyone.*Stop fretting over me.*
Collins doubted the dragon was responding solely to Falima's inquiry. He had worried only for his own life, but his companions had clearly targeted more concern toward Prinivere's welfare.
"Never, my lady." Zylas' squeaky voice came from farther along the outcropping, though Collins had not seen him dismount.
Collins rose and headed toward the rat. As fear ebbed, he grew more irritated. "You could have warned me we'd be facing spears and hitching a ride on a dragon."
"Why?" Zylas paced in a semicircle, looking up at Collins through one red eye. "Would you have come to Barakhai if I had?"
"No," Collins admitted, suspicions blossoming and anger with them. It was not the first time Zylas had tricked him to Barakhai. "Are you saying you hid-"
"He's just playing with you," Falima interrupted, giving the explanation that Zylas should have. "The soldiers surprised us, too. The king must have mobilized that force quickly. I'm guessing some spy saw us going into the ruins and decided to meet us there when we came out."
She did not have to mention that, had they taken less time convincing Collins to join them, the army could not have massed in wait.
"My lady," Zylas said, turning his attention back to the dragon. "They've seen you! You should not have risked yourself." *Nonsense! Zylas. I have as much to gain from this as anyone. Perhaps more.*
Zylas did not argue, though the frown that scored Falima's face suggested that she wanted him to. Collins considered the point. The elderly dragon was already living on borrowed time and had little personal stake in any project. On the other hand, she had little to lose either.
Prinivere lumbered around to face the group.*We also have spies. When Aisa brought me the news, I hurried there as fast as I could.* She pronounced the new name like the continent in Collins' world.
Zylas scrambled a few feet farther. "My lady, it's best to get you under cover."
Prinivere's huge head bobbed up and down wearily. She gave no thought-spoken reply, at least not one she allowed Collins to hear, but she did move along the ledge toward the rat/man. She could convey her communication to as many or as few listeners as she wished.
A moment later, Zylas disappeared into the weeds.
Collins hesitated, Falima at his side and Korfius at his heels. "Who's Aisa?"
Prinivere headed after Zylas, and Falima strode in the dragon's wake. "Another renegade. You'll meet her soon. If she fetched Prinivere, she must be here. And Ijidan, too. He takes care of this place."
Collins watched Prinivere push through an overhang of vines, which seemed to swallow her massive form. Apparently, a cave lay beyond the entwined cascade of greenery. He could not help marveling at the hiding places the renegades managed to find. The last time, they had kept him in the underground burrows of the outcast skunks, the garbage men of Barakhai. Their musk had foiled the ability of the guard hounds to track them. This cave, well-camouflaged and perched amid dangerous mountain peaks, could only be accessed by strong-winged birds and the most surefooted of mountain goats. And, of course, Prinivere.
When Collins followed his companions into the cave, he discovered an enormous, craggy room with several storage trunks, a fire pit, and a bed of straw. Prinivere, he knew, had simple tastes that defied the role-playing game image of dragons perched upon vast hordes of gold, jewels, gemstones, and magical treasures. A squirrel hunched on one of the chests, worrying a nut clutched between its forepaws. Beside it, a blue-and-gold macaw watched them, its head low and its feathers ruffled. Despite its calm demeanor, the parrot looked flamboyantly out of place, the royal cobalt feathers of its wings, tail, and back appearing dyed and the brilliant yellows of its belly just as unnatural. A patch of ivory skin surrounding the eyes and nostrils held black stripes composed of miniature feathers all leading to a wickedly curved, ebony beak.
Prinivere collapsed into the straw, clearly exhausted. Whatever magical powers the crystal Collins had stolen enhanced, it did not, apparently, increase her physical stamina. Or does it? Collins realized the ancient dragon could never have flown so far before, especially carrying several passengers on her back. She had never actually fought the king's guards. They appeared to have succumbed to the same frantic, not wholly irrational, fear that gripped Collins whenever he encountered Prinivere. But she had managed to fly him and his companions into the mountains, a feat she could not have managed the last time Collins had come to Barakhai.
Once again, the dragon responded to Collins' meandering thoughts.*I can use magic to boost my energy temporarily, but the spell runs its course.*
Collins appreciated the knowledge; though the realization that she could read his every intention made him feel creepy and a bit violated. At least, she trusts me, which suggests] really am the good person I try to be. No wonder Zylas puts such implicit faith in her judgment. Suddenly understanding Prinivere must have received that thought, too, Collins felt his checks warm. He tried to redirect his mind, which only made him more self-conscious.
Zylas clambered up the side of the trunk to the squirrel and parrot. He addressed them at a volume that did not allow Collins to overhear.
Korfius ran around the cave, snuffling at every corner.
Falima assumed the job of hostess. "Ben, this is Aisa." She gestured at the macaw, who bobbed her head. She raised her left claw, opening and closing it intermittently. "Hello, Ben," she squawked.
Collins had seen a scarlet macaw at a local fair perform the same welcoming wave. He cleared his throat, this time avoiding the natural urge to use his "baby talk" voice. Though the parrot's greeting had seemed childlike, she might have the present mentality of a bird, a grown woman, or anywhere in between. "Hello, Aisa."
Falima finished, "And this is Ijidan." She indicated the squirrel. "The caretaker of this cave."
Ijidan flicked his bushy tail and stopped eating.
Zylas scurried up Collins' pants, then his shirt, to settle on his shoulder. "Aisa has decent overlap and the rare ability to speak our human tongue in switch form."
Co
llins nodded. The development of overlap, he knew, had to do with the amount of time spent as an animal, some natural talent, and practice. He had no means to gauge Aisa's bird age, but he guessed she would prove to be mature when she took her woman shape. It made sense that a parrot might have a propensity for remembering things between forms, given that they seemed highly intelligent. He had watched a television special in which African grays verbally identified objects, placed shapes into their proper holes, and sorted toys by size and color.
"She's one of our few Regulars," Zylas continued, using a term Collins remembered from his last visit to Barakhai. It meant her parents were also macaws, having bred in either human or animal form. If parents who assumed different creature forms created offspring in human form, their progeny would take the animal form of the mother for the first thirteen years, then become something ostensibly random. "Both her parents were Randoms, though, lucky enough to find one another and commiserate."
Apparently, Falima overheard Zylas. "Made a lot easier by the fact that they were cousins."
That made sense to biology-trained Collins. At least some of the propensity of Randoms to assume a certain animal form seemed to have a classical multifactorial inheritance pattern, as evidenced by Zylas and his late wife, both distant descendants of Prinivere, producing a daughter who became a dragon.
Zylas continued as if Falima had not interrupted. "The big advantage being that she's not registered."
Collins' brows beetled as he considered Zylas' words. "Registered?"
"Registered," Zylas said again, as if simple repetition could work as explanation. "As a Random."
Collins still did not understand.
The lost Dragons of Barakhai bob-2 Page 3