Books Of Barakhai - The Lost Dragons Of Barakhai Part 15

Korfius trotted happily after her.

The dog could not come with him, Collins knew, given the prison wards against switchers. Korfius could not join the other team either since all dogs were guards.

Prinivere gave Collins the answer to the question he was on the verge of asking. *I'll bring Korfius with us to the caverns. He won't be able to follow you in, so I'll take him back with me. I'll keep him safe until you return.*

"Thanks." Though Collins appreciated the economy of speech Prinivere's mind reading allowed, it still bothered him. He imagined he now knew how a stutterer must feel when a well-meaning but impatient acquaintance insisted on finishing his sentences for him. Collins wished he had some way to ensure a modic.u.m of privacy.

*I can stop it, if it makes you feel uncomfortable.*

Prinivere's p.r.o.nouncement caught Collins by surprise as he followed her from the cave. "You can stop reading minds?"

*Well, no. But I can stop responding to thoughts until you've spoken them aloud.*

Collins considered, then shook his head. "Actually, I prefer things as they are." Without the occasional reminder, he tended to forget about Prinivere's skill until he had already become focused on something embarra.s.sing. The ability went so far beyond the logic of his own world that he found it almost impossible to continually bear in mind. Even as the thought came to him, he knew he had just informed Prinivere of his reasons as well. And again. He laughed at the hopeless cycle. He had discovered a few things about her skill. She could read only surface ideas and emotions, and she could only focus on one or two at a time, especially when engaged in conversation. The more the views were steeped in duplicity, the harder she found it to interpret them. Capturing others' thoughts and feelings had often seemed as much a curse as a skill in science fiction novels and movies, yet Prinivere seemed to handle it deftly enough. Of course,she had had thousands of years to adapt, and it did come naturally to her species.

Prinivere let Collins know she still followed his train of thought. *It's as natural as breathing to a dragon. Learning to deal with spending part of my life as a human was much more difficult to handle.*

Collins believed that but did not dwell on the image. He headed toward Ialin who worked over an edgy, whickering Falima with bursts of quick movement.

Ialin gave Collins only a glance. In that instant, he could see the coa.r.s.er, older features Prinivere had given Ialin. His dark brown eyes had turned hazel, and the s.h.a.ggy mop of short, brown hair now fell around a bulbous nose and broad cheeks that looked beefy on his slender frame. "Are you done scaring the c.r.a.p out of Falima?"

Collins approached the horse with slow gliding movements intended to soothe her. Her eyes rolled backward, and her ears lay pressed against the back of her head. The ground below her was pocked with the scars her prancing hooves had left. "Easy, girl. Good girl." He reached out a hand.

Falima jerked back her nose and rose into a half-rear, whinnying shrilly.

"Easy, girl." Collins held his ground, hand still extended.

Falima nuzzled Collins' fingers. Encouraged, he ran a gentle hand across her muzzle, then scratched behind her ears. His fingers glided over a furry lump, and Vernon scuttled into Falima's mane with an indignant squeak.

"Sorry," Collins murmured, keeping the apology to Vernon at the same volume and timbre as his words to Falima. He continued to look at the horse as he spoke.

Falima calmed, nuzzling his shirt.

Collins looked at Ialin, who watched the exchange, shifting from foot to foot. "Will that do?"

"Nicely," Ialin said gruffly, holding out a sword to Collins. "I have to admit, you have a way with her that I don't."

Collins resisted talking about his new relationship with the human form of Falima. "It's all a matter of slow, unthreatening movement. Predators and other dangers come swiftly and suddenly."

"Predators?" Ialin snorted. "What fear would any horse of Barakhai have of predators?"

Prinivere came to Collins' aid, to his relief and surprise. On his last visit, Ialin had freely baited him, and Falima had often joined in against him. *Remember, animals and humans were not always one here. Instinct ingrains deeply and often doesn't dislodge even long after it's no longer needed.*

Collins nodded his agreement, then added, "Plus, all horses, including Falima, are trained as guards.

It's usually best to approach them slowly and unthreateningly as well."

Ialin grunted, the closest he would come to agreeing with Collins. His fidgeting continued. "If you haven't noticed, I don't do slow and steady well. I'm more of a quick and busy mover."

It was gross understatement. If Collins had not known Ialin turned into a hummingbird, he would have had no trouble guessing it. Not all of Barakhai's inhabitants proved so easy to read, however. Collins would never have believed Vernon's enormous, dark-skinned human form could possibly compress down to a tiny gray mouse. In fact, many Barakhains did not share so much as hair or eye color with their switch-forms, and bearing little resemblance to the animal they became was one way of a.s.sessing attractiveness. Falima believed herself homely because her golden skin and black hair matched the buckskin coloring of her horse form and her well-muscled human limbs seemed "horsey."

Ialin tapped the sheathed blade against Collins' arm. "Are you going to take this?"Collins looked at the sword. Cloth blackened by dirt and age hung from the cracked wooden sheath, and only a spiral of bright metal showed where rope or string had once wrapped the grip.

Guessing at the reason for Collins' hesitation, Ialin said, "I have another. It's not the only one."

Nodding, Collins took the sword, and Ialin pulled a short knife from his belt.

"Take this, too."

Believing he might have more use for that, Collins shifted the sword from both hands to one. He wrapped his fingers around a hilt that had absorbed the morning chill and felt like ice in his grip. Gingerly, he took the knife in his other hand.

Prinivere lowered herself fully to the ground. *Hop aboard.*

After several unsuccessful attempts to place the sword comfortably and securely through his belt, Collins secured it through his pack instead. The knife worked better against his hip, though it had no sheath and he was more afraid of accidentally stabbing himself than someone else.

"Thank you." He headed for Prinivere. "Good luck, Ialin. Good luck, Aisa."

"Good luck," they called back.

Collins swung onto Prinivere's back, and Korfius scrambled up beside him. The reality of the task set in at that moment. I'm actually doing this. The coolness of the knife blade seeped through his jeans.

Once again, the world had changed and would never, ever, be the same again.

Chapter 8.

BENTON Collins clung to Prinivere's back as she skimmed over the forests, dodging the open areas that revealed Barakhai's occasional towns and cities. The wind whipped his seal-brown hair into a tangle, and the banking movements sent his already squeamish stomach lurching. Only the realization that it would mortify Zylas kept him from vomiting on the dragon's verdant scales. Trees zipped past in a blur of green and brown, while sun and sky seemed to shift position every time the dragon wove, yawed, or banked. Collins tried closing his eyes and concentrating on his many questions, few of which he was likely to find answers for, but he soon found that seeing and feeling the aerial stunts helped his equilibrium more than feeling them alone did. In clear contrast, Korfius seemed to enjoy the ride with the exuberance of most dogs on car rides. He kept his face turned into the wind, ears plastered inside out, jowls flapping.

Prinivere could not describe the layout of the caverns, given their warding against switchers. She knew a stream flowed through them, providing fresh water for any remaining inhabitants. People occasionally threw foodstuffs, blankets, or other useful items upstream, out of sympathy or from the belief that some ancestor confined there might have sp.a.w.ned them cousins. Even Barakhai's royals were known to order that cadavers be flung into the water when a famine, illness, or a ma.s.s execution overwhelmed the vultures, crows, and hyenas who served as Barakhai's gruesome cleanup brigades, the only ones allowed by law to consume meat.

Prinivere did not even know for certain whether or not the little dragons would be capable of reading or projecting thoughts. The ability came to dragons early, but the parents taught and honed it. Without guidance, they might not learn it at all. Conversely, Collins realized, the youngsters might have discovered the strange form of communication by using it to speak to one another. When Collins spoke the thoughtaloud, however, Prinivere shook her h.o.a.ry head.

*For a human, twenty years makes an adult but, to us, that's barely toddlerhood.*

Collins wondered which form would dominate. He knew Korfius aged in "people years," his dog form lagging to correspond with the human stages of maturity.

This time, Prinivere did not wait for Collins to verbalize his question. *I got the longevity and maturation rate of a dragon, but I don't know if that came of it being my first form or the longest lived one. As far as I know, everyone else's Ufa spans a normal human lifetime.*

Collins kneaded his hands in frustration. "So, if you had to guess?"

Prinivere dipped leftward. *This is a unique situation; I've got nothing to compare it with.*

Apparently knowing that would not appease Collins, she elaborated. *It seems unlikely that their human forms could have reverted back to infancy, but we can't entirely rule that out. As humans, they might stay at the same maturity level until their dragon forms catch up. It's possible their dragon selves might have gained some understanding from at least those first thirteen years before their birth forms became Random.* She paused, forest unscrolling beneath them. *I'm not even sure which to hope for. If the dragon form takes precedence, they'll have a stronger bent toward magic and live far longer, but it may take decades before they gain the maturity to a.s.sist in lifting the Curse.* She did not need to add that those were decades she, as a greatly aged dragon, might not share.

Collins mulled the possibilities as they zipped through a pristine landscape mostly untouched by human progress. He wondered whether their human forms could actually regress. It seemed terribly unlikely given that time, at least, seemed to follow physical laws. Though it would also involve a time glitch, he found it less difficult to believe that their dragon forms might have matured more quickly, making them the equivalent of young teens. Maybe their switch-forms simply aged at different rates, making them twenty or so in their human forms and infantile when dragons, or the forms meshed in some odd manner in-between. Carrie Quinton would, of course, know; and Collins ruefully wished he had asked her. He could not recall her ever mentioning them having a human form. She discussed them like animals, talking about breeding them as if they had no humanity to consider. Now, he could scarcely believe the thought of questioning her about their exact nature had never before entered his mind.

As usual, Prinivere intervened in Collins' thoughts. *It didn't seem necessary to know such a thing.

And we had other details to worry about.* She added one more thought that relieved him, *And I happen to know you figured you could always turn to us for those sorts of specifics.*

Prinivere was right, as always, but it did not console Collins very much to realize it. He glanced at Korfius who sat nestled in a hollow between Prinivere's left wing and torso, head up and tongue lolling in the breeze.

Collins turned to more practical concerns. He would not have time to draw more than a crude map in the caverns, even if he had had a pencil and paper with which to do it. Leaving a food trail had obvious disadvantages that went way beyond Hansel and Gretel. He had no rope or string to mark his way back to the entrance. He would have to rely on his memory and as many stones as he could carry into the cave along with his gear, or some other method that came to him in the next few minutes.

One more question occurred to Collins as Prinivere spiraled into a descent among a spattering of low hills covered with a multicolored carpet of wildflowers. "The dragons are switchers, too, right?"

*Right,* Prinivere sent back, concentrating more on her landing than on divining the intention of Collins' question.

Obligingly, Collins continued, "So how did someone get them through the magical harrier and into the caverns in the first place?"Prinivere landed on rocky ground with a hop and a bounce, then walked a few steps to keep her pa.s.sengers settled. *That's an excellent question, Ben. One I hadn't considered.*

Collins scrambled from her back, only to be met by Korfius, who had leaped to the ground more swiftly. The dog trotted to his side, tail waving hopefully. Collins stirred his fingers through the dark fur on the top of Korfius' head with his fingertips, surprised by Prinivere's confession. He expected the ancient dragon to know everything and had hoped she had an equally excellent answer.

*Clearly, the kings of the past had a way to get prisoners inside, some sort of one-way portal, since no one has ever escaped or entered without the express will of the royals. A crystal, perhaps, imbued with magic. I'd have thought such a thing destroyed, though, when King Terrin's father tried to purge the world of everything magical*

"Tried." Collins pounced on the operative word. The realization enhanced his understanding of why Zylas had so fiercely guarded his translation stone and Prinivere's life, why the crystal he had rescued meant so much to them. Collins could sec why the Barakhain royalty might take special pains to see to the demise of an item that allowed switchers through long-placed magical barriers, since it would also grant commoners access to the rulers' quarters. "Apparently, that one-way portal is another magic item he missed destroying."

* Apparently. Things imbued with enough magic protect themselves, and it would not have been used for its proper purpose in at least a hundred years.* Prinivere stretched her neck to delineate a specific hill. *There's a natural entrance to the caverns here.*

This time, Collins had no difficulty seeing the cave mouth amid a tangle of vines and blue-green clover.

Idly, he wondered whether practice had improved his vision or if it had more to do with the diligence with which the renegades camouflaged their hiding places. This cave's cover grew spontaneously, without tweaking from outlaws who could not afford discovery. As Prinivere had mentioned, a stream wound through the hills and into the entrance, a spare trickle that burbled against its bed of rocks and fallen foliage.

Prinivere dipped her muzzle into the water and drank. Taking her cue, Collins knelt at the bank and dipped his hands into the stream. Icy water as clear as fresh-cleaned gla.s.s spilled through his fingers.

After decades of warnings about Giardia, amoeba, and other invisible pathogens teeming even in the water of the highest, untouched mountains, Collins had to force himself to drink. It was not his first natural water; he had shared his companions' rations on both trips to Barakhai. Rationally, he knew their stored water came directly from unchlorinated rivers, brooks, and streams like this one, but deceiving himself proved easier when his sustenance came from a man-made vessel.

Collins lowered his mouth to his hands and sipped at the remaining dregs of water. It carried no taste at all, not even of the bracken that raced downstream into the caverns. As a budding scientist, he knew the human eye could not discern even the most lethal pathogens in the world, but he found a.s.surance in the clarity and lack of taste of Barakhai's water. Uncertain when he would get his next chance to drink without having to watch his back, he sucked down several handfuls of water, feeling like a young gazelle at a communal drinking hole. Cheetahs and leopards also knew the scent of water.

*Ready?*

Though pointless and unnecessary, Collins appreciated the question. Prinivere knew exactly how unprepared he felt, how he felt incapable of truly steeling for any mission this important and peppered with so many unknowns. He resisted the urge to say, "Ready as I'll ever be." Prinivere might never have heard the phrase spoken, but his thoughts would betray its triteness. She understood he felt hopelessly ill-equipped and unready, emotionally as well as physically, yet she had already given him all the appropriate pep talks. From the moment he stepped into the cave, Benton Collins was on his own.

*Not quite* Once again, Prinivere read his mind. *Don't forget my roar.*In the flurry of more recent concerns, Collins had let that slip his mind. He smiled at the reminder.

Had Prinivere not mentioned it, he might have got caught running in terror from the sound along with any inhabitants within hearing.

Collins tried one last desperate measure. "Can you keep in touch with me? With your mind-talking thing, I mean?"

Prinivere made a huge movement Collins interpreted as a shrug. *I can try. But it's not likely to penetrate the magic. And I can't stay here long either. Like us, the king has many spies, but he pays well for their loyalty. Also, I'm the only one who can bridge the gap between thoughts in human and animal forms. The others may need me, too.*

Certain he would catch no easy breaks, Collins had antic.i.p.ated the answer. "I'm ready," he announced.

*Cover your ears.* Prinivere trudged to the cave mouth.

Collins obeyed and cycled the reminder of Prinivere's harmlessness through his mind. This time, the roar barely stiffened him, though it echoed eerily through the caverns.

He loosened his grip and shrugged his backpack onto both shoulders. Though accustomed to stylishly carrying it on one, Collins found practicality and ease more compelling than image here. He marched boldly toward the cave.

*Good luck. All our hopes go with you.*

Collins did not bother with a reply. He scooped up a large sandstone, then stepped into the mouth of the cave. It opened onto a cavern the size of his apartment, dimly lit by sunlight funneling through the opening. Craggy outcroppings shadowed corners that might hide any number of man-eating beasts.

Stalact.i.tes jutted from the ceiling like pointed teeth, and Collins felt as if he had just stepped into the jaws of the largest carnivore of all.

Korfius barked wildly.

Glad for the excuse, Collins exited the cave. He stepped back into daylight that seemed extraordinarily bright. For inexplicable reasons, he expected to find himself in some new and strange location, utterly alone; but the scene looked exactly as it had mere moments earlier. Prinivere's neck glided toward him, and Korfius jumped up on him, knocking him to the ground and covering him with doggy kisses.

Prinivere remained silent, avoiding the obvious question. No flimsy excuse could work against a mind reader. She knew Collins had faced no clear danger.

Collins extricated himself from the dog and clambered to his feet. The silence bothered him, so he asked the obvious, in reverse, "Why did I do that?" He antic.i.p.ated something profound from Prinivere, about how only he could answer that, so her actual words surprised him.

*You forgot to say 'good-bye' to your dog?*

Collins liked Prinivere's answer better than the one that came to him: Because I'm an infernal coward. He knelt, this time preserving his equilibrium despite the attention from the overeager puppy. He caught the fuzzy face between his hands and squeezed it like a seldom-seen aunt might at a family reunion. "Korfius, I just want you to know I love you. And, no matter what anyone else says, you're the best dog a guy could ever have."

Korfius c.o.c.ked his head to one side and whined.

Collins hugged the mongrel close, kissing the warm fur of his neck. "Now," he whispered in Korfius'

floppy ear, "go with Prinivere."Korfius whimpered again.

Without further words, Collins headed back into the cave. Again, the dimness swallowed him, and he waited for his eyes to fully adjust. The rocky prominences and concavities of the entryway formed a mad chaos of hiding places, and Collins imagined a deadly man-eater behind every one. Since they became people at intervals, these carnivores would have none of the wariness of humans shown by the wild, gun-hunted creatures of his own world. Seized by the sudden urge to leave one more time, to rea.s.sure Korfius and request one last roar from Prinivere, he glanced at his watch. It was after eight o'clock.

Shocked, he looked again, staring. He had less than four hours to find the dragons, rescue them, and use them, if possible, to save Zylas. That motivated him. Pausing to sc.r.a.pe a huge "1" on the cave wall with the piece of sandstone still clutched in his fist, he hurried around the walls, seeking breaks.

A third of the way around the cavern, Collins found what he sought. A slitlike hole opened onto darkness. Deciding on his marking strategy, he put another "1" at this exit. If he marked all the doors, he would know where he had been and where each fit in the pattern of his search. It seemed wisest to number by caves rather than openings. That way, he would know if he had returned to a place he had already explored.

Loath to leave the light, Collins looked for other ways out. Unless he marked all of them, he ran the risk of performing double searches or of getting himself lost in familiar territory. Amid the stones and crags, he discovered only one other exit from the cavern, a wider, jagged hole that would admit him far more easily than the other. Collins could fit through either without much effort, but he thought it best to stick with the wider openings, more likely routes for dragons. He tried not to think about the fact that these would also attract larger carnivores of other varieties. Neither opening from this cavern could wholly stop even a creature as large as a tiger, but the slit might compress the big cat's whiskers enough to deter it. Chalking another "1" at the side of the opening, Collins walked into the deeper cavern.

As Collins pa.s.sed through one crude "room" to the next, his shoe sank into something soft and squishy. Warmth trickled around his shoe, and the explanation wafted to his nose. Dung. From the feel of it under his sole, it seemed fresh. The deeply buried hope that the carnivores might have hunted one another to extinction instantly evaporated. Prinivere's roar might have chased them from the front caverns, but he had no idea how long the effect would last or how far they might have run. Fingers shaking, he seized the recorder at his belt and fumbled with the play b.u.t.ton. The silence erupted into another roar, a pale shadow of the first one yet terrifying enough. Ahead of Collins, nails scrabbled against stone, clearly retreating.

Collins slid off his pack, then groped through it for a torch just as the second recorded roar broke the stillness. Taking one of the rag-wrapped sticks in hand, he fumbled the matches. Silence descended around him, broken only by the hiss of the recorder, now playing blank tape. He lit the torch, jammed the rest of the matches back into his shirt pocket, and clutched the torch between his knees. Hands free, he stopped the tape and poked the rewind b.u.t.ton, realizing its use would slow him down immensely.

Frustrated by dwindling time and the irritating reality of the situation, he took the torch back in hand. It cleared the darkness in a ragged circle that left him longing for overhead lamps. It seemed a wonder that every man and woman of Barakhai had not gone blind.

As Collins walked, ears attuned for movement, vision glued to the uneven ground, he realized several things. First, he had no way of knowing whether or not the Barakhains saw clearly. He doubted they had the technology to create functional gla.s.ses. He also knew his own equipment had serious, previously unconsidered limitations. He could not remember the last time he had changed the batteries of the tape recorder, and a constant play and rewind cycle would run them down swiftly. The thought became an obsession. He needed to play the roars frequently enough to keep predators at bay yet not so constantly that he ran it out of power, slowed his pace to a frustrating crawl, or allowed the descendants of criminal carnivores to become accustomed to the sound.Collins shuffled his feet, raising the torch to examine the walls of the second chamber. This one proved smaller, with only a single exit into an oblong cavern that seemed more like a corridor than a cave. He eased inside, then marked it with a "2." The closeness of the walls brought a sensation of tomblike enclosure that sent a shiver through his body. At the same time, he appreciated its narrowness.

It left no s.p.a.ce for anything to slip past and behind him, and he could easily and simultaneously explore both stone walls with his fingertips.

In this manner, Collins plunged deeper into the ancient caverns, pausing at intervals to play the recording of Prinivere's roar. Occasionally, he thought he heard a sc.r.a.pe or a scrabble, a hiss or a whisper bouncing from walls with impossibly complex acoustics. Torch after torch burned to a nub as an hour and a half slipped by without the need for Collins to enter any area twice. He had abandoned several openings in favor of others, six or seven to his count, leaving them marked and wondering if he had mistaken a better choice for a worse one. A few scattered bones littered the stony pathways, and Collins pa.s.sed these without a second glance. He preferred not to waste time identifying any dead creature. Anything but fish were ultimately human, and none of these were fish. He had enough trouble noticing bones in a fish fillet on a plate six inches from his nose.

Needing a break, Collins sat on a crag to consider his plan, wedging the torch and flopping his backpack down beside him. He had no idea how far the caverns might span, but random wandering was beginning to seem pointless. He considered shouting for the dragons but worried about what else might choose to answer. Even if Quinton had trained them to come when called, she probably used names she had given them. He hoped Prinivere's roar would draw them out, if only from curiosity, yet he realized it might just as likely have the opposite effect. Raised by humans, the young dragons might find the sound as fearsome and terrifying as he did. So far, he had come upon nothing living, only the occasional sound of something unseen scuttling into the darkness.