Books of Barakhai - The Beasts of BarakhaiIalin 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 repet.i.tively."
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 a.s.sume 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 gla.s.ses 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, b.u.t.ting the now-stilled hand.
Absently, Collins continued his ministrations while his two older companions outlined their plan.
Chapter 14.
COLLINS' watch read 5:00 p.m. when he rode Falima across the well-cropped gra.s.sy field that separated the outer curtain wall from the forest. He tucked the watch into his pocket, wishing he could have left it behind with Zylas. Pulling out impossible technology at the wrong time might give him away, but he relied upon it to determine a proper and consistent pretend switch time, to keep track of Falima, and to have a clear idea of how long the whole process was taking him. The black fur beneath him was disorienting after several days of riding a golden buckskin. Having never heard of bleach, his companions found it impossible to lighten Falima's coloring, so had chosen to make her body the same coa.r.s.e ebony as her mane, tail, and points. Apparently, jet black was one of the most common horse colors in Barakhai and should not attract undue attention.
At switch time, Falima would make herself scarce. The dye might carry over into her human form, though probably not with much consistency. Apparently, some items in the pack would allow her to touch up blotches or to change her appearance in other believable fashions. Collins hoped he would recognize her, though it did not matter. His escape plan and hers did not hinge upon one another.
Sheep looked up as they pa.s.sed, baaing noisy greetings. The goats proved more curious, approaching them to sniff, bleat at, and chew the cloth shoes his companions had provided in place of his Nike look-alikes. The horse's ears went flat backward, and she emitted occasional warning squeals that sent the goats scattering, though they always returned. The cows paid them no attention at all.
As they crossed the plain, Collins got a clear view of the outer wall, and he steered Falima toward the attached roofed structure that clearly represented the gatehouse. A ma.s.sive construct of plank and rope pressed against the stone wall, apparently the drawbridge. Collins pulled up in front of the gatehouse, at the edge of the moat. Insects skittered over the surface of the water, leaving star-shaped wakes. Far beneath them, fish glided through the transparent pond, apparently accustomed to having no place to hide.
The gatehouse consisted of two of the round towers that interrupted the wall at regular intervals, with a straight stretch of stone no wider than the drawbridge between them. On the roof of each tower stood two guards dressed in white-chested aqua tunics, the top portion decorated with designs that looked like thinly stretched clover to Collins. Black belts held their uniforms in place and supported long, thin swords in wooden sheaths. All four watched Collins' approach with obvious interest, though they raised no weapons. One called down in a strong, female voice, "Who's there?"
Collins had initially a.s.sumed they were all men, so the speaker caught him off guard.
When he did not answer immediately, the woman's partner boomed out, "You were asked a question, good sir. Are you deaf or rude?"
Collins dismounted and bowed, hoping they would attribute any violated protocol to his foreignness.
"Just tired, sir. I am Benton." It seemed ironic that he would use the full name he had so many times asked others to shorten. He had often wished his parents had named him Benjamin, like every other "Ben" he had ever met. His current friends had a.s.sured him that Benton fit this world much better than Ben; and, by using his real name, he would not forget it, as he might a pseudonym, in the heat of a chaotic moment. If he accidentally did call himself "Ben," it would follow naturally as a proper shortening or interrupted utterance. "And this . . ."He made a flourishing motion toward Falima, "is Marlys." It was another alias he would remember, though he knew it made things harder for his companion. He dared not use anything approaching her real name, as it might trigger suspicion. "We've traveled a long way under less than ideal circ.u.mstances."
"From where?" the woman asked, and the others leaned forward for the answer. Now, Collins wasable to get a good look at all of them. Mail peeked from beneath their collars and sleeves, and helmets pinned down their hair. Their faces ranged from the male partner's dark brown to the woman's cafe au lait to the paler khaki of the guards in the other tower. Wisps of sable hair escaped onto one man's forehead, but the others kept their locks bunched beneath arming caps and metal helmets.
Collins used the town name Ialin had given him, "Ep.r.o.nville. We've come to do our shift for the king."
"Where are your colors?" one of the pale men asked.
Antic.i.p.ating the question, Collins had a ready answer. "Bandits. That was part of our less than ideal circ.u.mstances."
The woman's partner snorted. "Bandits robbing guardsmen. You're right. You do need a shift here.
Some competent training."
Collins feigned affront. "Do you think we don't feel foolish enough? You have to rub our noses in it?"
He wondered how the slang would translate. "Perhaps you'd like to bring the whole guard force out here to point fingers and laugh at us?"
He simulated the guards, jabbing a digit toward Falima. "Ha ha ha, simple rube guards can't even keep themselves safe from bandits." He dropped his hand. "And, by the way, don't bother to mention we faced off six of them."
The dark man made a gesture of surrender. "Take it easy. I meant no disrespect." The tight-lipped smirk he tried to hide told otherwise. He turned and disappeared from the tower.
Keeping his own expression neutral, Collins congratulated himself on his acting. He had managed to divert the guards from the issue of the missing colors. The fact that it made him look weak did not bother him at all.
The fourth guard reappeared at his position. Then, a ratcheting, clanking noise ground through Collins'
hearing. The drawbridge edged downward, adding a squeal of ma.s.sive, rusty hinges to the din.
"You'd best move back," the woman instructed. "Or you might get crushed."
Collins led Falima away from the moat, hoping his failure to exercise the proper caution would pa.s.s for small town ignorance rather than a complete lack of knowledge about castles. He knew Barakhai had only one such fortress, that the dwellings of the outlying superiors consisted only of mansions with the barest of defenses. When he considered their system, it seemed miraculous that they managed even that much. At most, the people had only eight hours a day to accomplish any work along with such necessities as eating and general personal care.
Suspended by two st.u.r.dy chains, the drawbridge dropped across the moat with a thud that shook the ground. Falima loosed a low nicker, prancing several more paces backward.
"Easy girl." Collins rubbed her neck soothingly, feeling the warm sweat that slicked her fur. He glanced surrept.i.tiously at his palm, worried the moisture might disturb the dye. Though caked with dirt and foamy horse sweat, his hand remained free of black smudges. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Gripping the lead rope more tightly, Collins drew Falima to the drawbridge. She eyed the board warily. Collins stepped up first, hoping that would ease her concerns. One front hoof rose, then settled on the wood. The other followed. She took a step forward, hoof clomping on the board. Another carried her directly over the moat, and a hollow sound rang through the drawbridge. With a snort and whinny that left Collins' ears ringing, she stumbled back to solid ground.
Afraid the horse's lurching might toss him into the water, Collins skittered after her. "Falima, honey, it's all right," he whispered. "It's all right. You need to come."
Falima trumpeted out another whinny.
"Not much overlap," one of the guards guessed.
"Some." Collins remembered what Zylas had told him. "But she's still pretty young."
One of the guardsmen took pity on the weary travelers. "First time across is always difficult. Just keep trying. If necessary, I'll get someone in switch-form to show her across."
"Thank you." Collins did not try to lead Falima again but just stood at her head murmuring rea.s.surances and stroking behind her ears. He knew horses would go almost anywhere if they saw another horse safely make the journey ahead of them. A friend had once told him she trained colts to cross streams and puddles by having them shadow a staid old trail horse. "Ready, Marlys?" he finally saidout loud, suddenly wishing he had chosen another name. It seemed to stick in his mouth, desperately out of place. It reminded him of how he and his elementary school friends had become so used to Michelangelo referring to a mutant ninja turtle, they giggled wildly when it came up on an art museum field trip.
One hand grasping the rope at the base of Falima's chin, the other clutching the cheekpiece, he urged her forward with him. He did not know how people encouraged horses in Barakhai; but, back home, the position gave him unprecedented control over an animal large enough to crush him. He remembered a favorite saying of an old girlfriend, "He who has the horse's head has the horse." It applied to leading horses, grooming and immunizing, as well as reining, but he could not help getting a The G.o.dfather-like image of the amputated head resting in someone's bed.
With Collins close and urgent, Falima raised a foreleg high, then placed it on the drawbridge.
"Good girl," Collins encouraged. "Good good girl."
Falima took another step, the thunk of its touch sending a quiver through her. This time, she did not attempt to withdraw, but took another hesitant step onto the surface.
"Come on, honey. You can do it." Collins reverted to a pet name, which allowed him avoid the whole "Marlys" issue. He hoped Zylas and Ialin had called it right when they claimed Falima understood enough in horse form to get the gist of the plan. He kept imagining her becoming human surrounded by king's guards with no memory of how she got there and, in a wild blithering panic, giving them all away. Surely, they had talked to her before the change, while he slept. Surely nothing. So many of his friends' motives appeared bizarre or inscrutable, it seemed senseless to even speculate.
Collins continued to cluck encouragingly as Falima took more steps onto the drawbridge. Head bowed nearly to her knees, she studied the surface and her own hooves as she moved, her steps never growing confident. At least, she continued forward. In fact, her pace quickened as she clearly attempted to get past the portion of ground that felt and sounded unstable to a horse's ears.
When they came to the part of the drawbridge on the far side of the moat, Falima's demeanor returned to normal. She clopped through the opened double doors and into the gatehouse with little more than a glance.
The woman guard and one of the men from the other tower met them in the span. Doors shaped like cathedral windows opened onto the towers, while a heavy set of ironbound oak doors blocked further entry in the direction of the castle.
The man raised his right hand in greeting. "I'm Mabix. Welcome to Opernes Castle, home of King Terrin and Queen Althea, high rulers of Barakhai."
Zylas had prepared Collins with the names, though the albino had warned him to stay alert for changes. The royals did not discuss coups and ascensions with the regular folk as a rule, though the information eventually reached even the lowliest outcaste.
King Terrin and Queen Althea. King Terrin and Queen Althea. Collins worked to fix the t.i.tles in his mind, only then realizing he had completely forgotten the name of the man in front of him. For a moment, he teetered on the decision of whether to let it pa.s.s and fake it or ask for a repeat. Then, deciding it best to look the fool now rather than later, he pressed. "Thank you, kind sir, but I'm afraid I didn't quite catch your name."
"Mabix," he repeated without offense. "This is Lyra."
The female guard dipped ever so slightly to acknowledge the introduction. Though a motion of respect, it fell short of an actual curtsy which, Collins presumed, she reserved for royalty. "Lyra," Collins repeated. "Mabix."
"Now," Mabix said, getting down to business. "If we could just see your writ."
Collins fought a grin. Other than a utility knife, the saddest bit of rations, and a ragged change of clothes, the presumably forged paper was the only thing his friends had given him.
"Or," Lyra added with just the barest hint of suspicion, "did the bandits get that, too?"
"Over my dead body," Collins said, hoping it sounded as emphatic in Barakhain as English. He thrust a hand into his tunic and emerged with the crumpled paper covered with flowery scribbles. The spell that allowed him to speak fluently apparently did not extend to the written word. With my luck, it's probablyreally gibberish. A sudden thought rose. Or worse, calls the king a pickle-nosed b.a.s.t.a.r.d.
Mabix examined the paper, Lyra looking over his shoulder.
They both nodded. Now, Collins got a good look at their uniforms, the patterned white ending just below their breastbones. Joined by impressively straight st.i.tching for a world without machines, the aqua material fell just past the knee. Mail showed at the collar and arms, while high boots of stiffened cloth covered their legs. They wore bowl-shaped metal helmets.
Once they had the writ, the two relaxed visibly, which left Collins wondering where Zylas had gotten it. Because his friends had initially rescued him in animal form and they switched naked, he had seen all their personal belongings in the saddlebags he found tied to Falima that first day. Vernon had packed them much fuller; but, if the mouse/man had stuck in such a thing, it meant they had known how he would infiltrate the castle ever since they left the cabin. He wondered why they had not discussed it with him sooner. They also didn't let me know the gender of an elder who turned out to be a dragon until I saw her with my own eyes. Why does this surprise me?
Lyra and Mabix pulled closed the ma.s.sive doors through which their guests had entered. As they banged shut, a ratcheting sound echoed through the small enclosed room, the drawbridge lifting. Other than a bit of diffused sunlight filtering through cracks in the wooden construction, the room went dark.
Falima danced, whinnying her discomfort. Collins patted her, whispering nonsense in a steady patter while Lyra and Mabix slid the bolt on the door behind them and pushed the panels open. Light rushed in, accompanied by the sweet odor of young plants and the mingled sounds of answering neighs, whines, barks, and human voices.
Falima squealed out another whinny, the shrill sound reverberating painfully in the still mostly enclosed area. She charged for the outside, and Collins let her go. Peering beyond her, he saw an emerald stretch of well-grazed gra.s.ses crisscrossed by pathways. Several horses, a few mules, and a goat placidly ate, though the nearest ones looked up as Falima joined them. She snorted, nostrils widened as if to suck in all the unfamiliar smells, then lowered her head to graze.
Collins glanced around as the guards ushered him into the outer courtyard. Now, he could see the towers that looked round from the outside had flat backs that turned them into semicircles. Behind the wall-wide crenels and merlons lay battlement walkways paced by guards in the same uniforms as his new companions. Small buildings lay pressed against the wall, their construction wooden except for the stone backings they borrowed from the wall itself. Shingles or thatch topped them. Directly ahead, Collins saw another double-towered gatehouse, larger than the one they had just exited. Another crenellated wall ringed the still distant castle.
Lyra rushed ahead to the second gatehouse. Mabix looked at Falima. "She can stay here if she wants."
Collins considered. He liked the idea of her only needing to escape one wall should he fail at his mission. "That's up to her," he said casually. "She's due to change shortly and should be quite capable of making the decision by herself." He removed the rope halter and placed it in the pack, debating whether or not to remove the whole thing and carry it himself. Not wishing to burden himself when Falima remained clearly untroubled by it, he left it in place.
"So what's the news from Ep.r.o.nville?"