Chapter 13
With Zylas pacing like a maniac, Benton Collins found it impossible to enjoy his break, despite the beauty of the day and Falima’s soft nose and fur. Jorge Martinez, his lab partner during freshman year, had been fond of the expression “fake it till you make it.” For half an hour, Collins tried to follow that advice, ignoring his agitated companion to focus on the calm animal that was his other one. But, over time, Zylas’ frenzy became contagious. Falima pranced dangerously, forcing Collins to give her some space. With a sigh, he headed back into the cave, Zylas following. “Respite finished?”
“Sadly, yes.” Collins searched for his memories of the castle’s description. He glanced toward the chests; but, deciding he would rather have a backrest than height, chose a seat on the floor near the exit instead. He wriggled backward until his spine touched stone. “What do you want to talk about?”
Zylas removed his hat and pulled white hair away from his face, holding it behind his head. “First, I want to hear your version of the castle, make sure you’ve got the details. Then we can start discussing strategy.”
Collins nodded, simultaneously lauding and cursing Zylas’ thoroughness. The constant need to concentrate made him dizzy, but he knew his life might well depend on careful attention to details. He drew a verbal picture of the castle walls and grounds, the moat, the tents and outbuildings in the courtyards, the location of every door and portcullis. As he did so, he tried to put a visual image to his narration, a more difficult process than he expected. Most people learned better from pictures than words, but he had always found his memory worked the opposite way. It made him better at standardized tests, where every concept was reduced to text; but it meant he had to work harder than his peers in the hands-on world of the laboratory.
Collins shifted his focus to wards and guards, then switched to the interior. There, he faltered, requiring Zylas’ assistance to recall which room lay where, who or what he might encounter there, and the best routes to the upper levels which most likely housed the magical crystal. Frustrated, Collins tried to sidetrack Zylas for a few moments. “How do you know so damn much about this place?”
“Been there,” Zylas said, barely an explanation.
Collins guessed, “Did you work there? A servant, maybe?”
“Vermin? Invited into the castle?” Zylas laughed with a mirth so genuine, Collins could not help joining him.
Ialin zipped into the cave, buzzing frantic circles around Zylas. The laughter broke off abruptly. Zylas sprang to his feet, expression tense, edgy, with a touch of fear.
“What?” Collins also rose, but Zylas waved him back and silent. The albino crept toward the cave mouth, head cocked.
Suddenly, a hound bayed, the sound close.
Collins jumped, heart hammering.
Zylas charged from the cave toward Falima. “Get the lady out!”
Out? Out where? Uncertain whether Zylas intended the command for him or for Ialin, Collins ran toward the dragon. Before he reached her, a brown-and-white dog bounded into the cave, barking madly. Toenails scrabbled against stone as it attempted to stop. Instead, it skidded, long legs buckling, ears flopping. It bashed into a chest, which sent the dog caroming practically into the dragon’s lap. Prinivere jerked awake, wings unfolding, a hiss escaping her massive mouth between rows of pointed teeth. Whatever she actually ate, nature clearly intended her to be a carnivore.
The dog let out a squeak of surprise, followed by a string of desperate whimpers. It scuttled backward, bashing into Collins’ legs, then rolled its eyes to him in terror and hope. Thrown to a crouch, Collins met the dog’s gaze and recognized him instantly. “Korfius!” He dropped to his knees.
Still loosing panting whines, the dog crawled onto Collins’ legs.
“Zylas, it’s Korfius.” Collins petted the dog all over, as it tried to fit its entire body onto him.
Zylas hauled Falima into the cave. “I don’t see or hear any more dogs. He’s either way ahead of a pack or alone.” He glanced wildly around the cave. “When’s his change time?”
Collins glanced at his watch, which read nearly 1:00. He recalled how Korfius had switched forms in his arms while hiding in Vernon’s false wall. “I’d say just about now.”
“Now?” Zylas leaped to Collins’ side with an abruptness that sent Falima into a half-rear. “We’ve got to get him out before—” He grabbed the dog by the nape of the neck, and Korfius let out a startled yelp.
Zylas pulled, dragging the dog from Collins’ lap. Korfius’ dark eyes implored Collins. He planted his feet against stone, and Zylas struggled to move him. “Help me here, would you?”
Collins stood, uncertain exactly what to do. Korfius threw his head back and forth, trying to break free of Zylas’ grip, which tightened as he surely worried about getting bitten. Korfius’ form blurred.
Zylas cursed.
Falima whinnied tensely, then bolted from the cave.
Zylas let out a string of curses, which translated strangely as everything from bodily functions, to disasters, mythical creatures, and filth. He let go.
Korfius writhed as his forelegs became arms, features grew or disappeared, fur receded. Soon, a naked boy on all fours replaced the dog form, stammering a single word, “Dr-dr-dr-dr-dragon. It’s a dragon.” He looked directly at Collins. “I saw a dragon.” He whipped his head to Zylas. “A real dragon.” Finally, he turned his attention to Prinivere. “Dragon.” He rose with slow, careful movements and drifted toward her as if in a daze. “Excuse me, but are you really a dragon?”
*I am, young man,* Prinivere returned. *My name is Prinivere.*
Zylas paced, wringing his hands.
Unself-consciously naked, Korfius bowed. “Deeply honored to meet you, Lady Prinivere. I’m Korfius.”
*So I gathered.* The dragon settled back down. Only then, Collins noticed the black hole behind her, apparently the escape Zylas had wanted him to use. He wondered why he had not seen it before and decided the dragon had fully stolen his attention. Most of the time, her enormous, sleeping form had blocked it.
Falima trumpeted out a neigh.
“Now what?” Zylas muttered, rushing to the entrance just as a savagely panting Vernon threw himself inside.
“I’m . . . sorry,” the black man gasped out. “I . . . tried to . . . stop . . . him, but . . .” He paused for several beats to concentrate on breathing. “. . . he’s quick.”
“Got one hell of a nose, too.” Zylas held out a hand to assist his friend, but Vernon chose to remain on the ground for the moment.
Korfius drew himself up proudly. “Best sniffer in my brigade.”
Collins remembered how Korfius had found them in the flowering tree when the other hounds had not. He nodded. “No doubt.”
“A dragon.” Korfius seemed incapable of getting past that word. He turned stiffly to Collins. “Your Majesty, you keep interesting company.” He bowed. “And I am at your service.”
Collins glanced at Zylas, who nodded with wary encouragement. “Korfius, I’ve already told you the best way to serve me.”
“I know, Sire—”
“Just Ben,” Collins reminded.
“I know . . .” Korfius clearly struggled mightily, but managed to blurt out, “Ben. But I want to help, to be a part of this.” His wide-eyed gaze fell on the dragon again, though he did not say the word this time. “A guard superior, a royal, and a . . . a dragon.” The reverent tone gained strength with each naming.
“I’m staying with you. Seeing this through. You might need me!”
Once more, Collins glanced at Zylas for support. He wished the other man would say something. After all, Zylas was more likely to have the necessary knowledge to handle this situation; but Collins also knew that maintaining the illusion of his royalty required him to speak. “What I don’t need is a couple of worried parents sending an entire guard force after me.” It seemed almost moot, as they already tracked him on a murder charge. “Nor do I need to add a kidnapping rap.”
“Parents?” Korfius laughed. “Don’t worry about my parents. They’re extremely lesariat. I’m from a litter of seven . . .”
Collins took his cue from Zylas, whose eyes went round as coins and whose lips glided open in clear surprise.
“. . . and as far as they’re concerned, they’re finished raising me. I’m on my own.”
Though it seemed easier with his parents out of the equation, Collins could not imagine any mother not worrying about her missing child. Put it in animal terms, he reminded himself. Once the puppies hit somewhere between six and ten weeks, the parents often don’t even recognize them. Cynically, he wondered if whoever was in charge of the city would prove more diligent about his “best sniffer” then the parents were over their missing septuplet. Zylas’ reaction made it clear that multiple births were not the norm, despite the time spent as animals. From the way Korfius stated it, Collins guessed that the ones more anchored in animal form had a higher likelihood of more than one offspring at a time. “Well, then,” Collins said, surprised by his own words. “Perhaps I could use your help.”
Zylas’ jaw, already dangling from the litter comment, now positively fell. “Um . . . Ben. Could I speak to you for a moment?”
Though tempted to say “no,” which would leave Zylas completely defenseless, Collins excused himself from Korfius, telling the boy to put some clothes on, and then followed his pale companion to the cave mouth.
Zylas barely waited until they got beyond hearing range. “What the hell are you doing?”
Collins wondered if the concept of hell as he knew it actually existed in this world, then shrugged off the thought. None of his companions seemed overly religious, and he saw no need to create a possible rift. “What do you mean?”
Zylas kept his voice at a bare hiss, though he clearly would have preferred to yell. “I mean, you just invited a kid along.”
“What did you want me to do?” Collins finally realized what his subconscious had much earlier. “Send him back to whatever that town was that’s hunting us knowing all about your precious lady?”
Zylas swallowed hard.
“Well?”
“That,” Zylas said thoughtfully, “can’t happen.” A look of sharp terror took over his features, so intense that Collins felt fear prickling up his spine as well.
Collins fell silent, uncertain whether he wished to encourage Zylas any longer.
“What are we going to do?”
You’re asking me? Collins raised his brows, throwing the question right back to his uncomfortable companion.
“They’ll hunt her down and kill her.”
Collins continued to study Zylas. The other option, killing a child to keep her secret, seemed even more heinous. “Zylas,” he started carefully, not at all certain where he planned to go from there.
“You’re right,” Zylas interrupted. “We have to keep him with us. And quiet.” He stomped a foot. “Damn! Why did he have to . . .” He trailed off with a noise of frustration.
“I’m sure Vernon did everything he could.”
“Yeah. I trust—” Zylas’ nostrils flared. “We’ve got to get out of here.” He looked past Collins. “If one dog could follow our scent, others could.”
Collins was not convinced of that.
“Or, they might just follow his scent.”
That seemed much more likely. “Can Prinivere travel?”
“She should be able to make it to another of her . . .” Zylas ended lamely, “. . . places now.” Apparently seized by another thought, he added, “In fact, she should go now, before she switches.”
About eighteen hours had passed since Collins had seen Prinivere in human form. Somehow, he doubted she had to take any drugs to keep her dragon-time longer. Given that she could use all her higher functions as a dragon, plus magic and a vastly extended life-span, he suspected she considered it her more advanced form.
Zylas headed back toward Prinivere. “My lady,” he said as he moved. “Forgive the abruptness of our departure, but I think it best if we all go as soon as possible.” He put a subtle emphasis on the word “all” which Collins took to mean he wanted her to know that she should take off also.
*He’s just a boy,* Prinivere sent, Collins presumed to him and Zylas, at least, and certainly not to Korfius who still stared at her with undisguised awe. *Don’t do anything rash.*
“I won’t,” Zylas promised. “Unless it becomes absolutely necessary. But we can’t risk . . .” He glanced at Korfius, as if to read how much of the one-sided conversation he might fathom, “. . . you. And I don’t know many . . .” he hedged, as if seeking a code word, then brightened. Casually, he removed the rose quartz stone from his pocket and set it on an irregularity in the rocky wall. He switched to broken English, surely aware only Collins and Prinivere could understand him. “. . . child can’t hold secret. Will . . .” He struggled, then touched the stone. “. . . caution.” He removed his fingers and returned to English. “But if it comes to a decision—your life or his—I have no choice, my lady.”
*I’m old,* she reminded.
“But got at least as many years left as he.” Zylas inclined his head toward Korfius. “And need—” He struggled again; but, this time, did not resort to the translation stone. “—other life depend—” He glanced at Collins and fell silent, then scooped up his stone and returned it to his pocket. “Let’s go,” he growled in clear frustration.
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 the crags and steppes simply by following the 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 release a splattering downpour. Rain roared against the canopy, occasionally rolling through to soak them with icy pinpoints 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.
