Books of Barakhai - The Beasts of Barakhai Part 23

Seeing no reason to swear to a lie, Collins shrugged. "The guards didn't find it. Did they?"

Quinton studied the rock. "I just didn't know it could work that way."

"Try it," Collins suggested.

The woman's features remained pinched with doubt. "Doesn't it... well . . . eventually come out."

Worried they might start collecting and examining his excrement, Collins shrugged. "Mine hasn't.

Maybe it got stuck, but it hasn't come out. At least, not yet." Needing to change the subject, he questioned. "So you're saying Zylas-?"

"Maybe I will try it." Gaze still fixed on the stone, Quinton did not seem to realize she had interrupted.

"As soon as I'm with someone who can't understand every word I say without it." She smiled. "You don't know how long I've waited to talk to someone in English. I mean real English. And to hear the answer in good old English, too."

"Real English?" Collins laughed. His aunt and uncle had once visited Great Britain, returning with quaint stories of loos and lifts, windscreens and tellies. "I'm not sure anyone outside the United States would call what we speak 'real English.' Not enough u's, for one thing. Slangy and sloppy for another."

Quinton smiled. "It's real enough for me." She slapped the stone down on the arm of her chair, deliberately not touching it. She stretched luxuriously, showing off a long, lithe, and very feminine figure. It seemed almost impossible that she and Falima came from the same gender and species, though, in a way, they did not. "So," she purred. "How is Zylas doing?"

Collins shrugged, too vigorously this time. The movement ached through his body. "He seemed fine, but I have nothing to compare it with."

"Too bad."

Collins' brows rose. "You don't like him, I take it."

"No," Quinton admitted, then clarified. "Oh, he's charming all right. Friendly, easy to get along with, seems like a real straight shooter, right?"

Collins recalled times when he thought the rat/man might be hiding things from him; but, for the most part, he found the description accurate. "Yeah. Are you saying it's an act?"

"You betcha. And a d.a.m.n good one."

"Why do you say that?"

Quinton met Collins' gaze with directness and sincerity. "Because he's a famous troublemaker, a rebel leader with plans to destroy the natural order and the kingdom."

"What?" Laughter jarred from Collins before he could think to stop it."It's not funny." Quintan's horrified expression gave Collins instant control.

"I'm sorry."

"He lured me here. He lured you here." Though it seemed impossible, Quintan's gaze became even more intense. "And I was not the first."

Now, Collins could not have laughed even had he wished to. "What?"

"Don't you remember?"

Collins shook his head carefully, though it still increased the ache. "Remember what?"

"The janitor. The one who disappeared about five years before I did."

Collins tried to recall. "The papers said he ran off with a young coed. Left a shrewish wife and three in-and-out-of-trouble teenagers to make a new, secret life."

Quinton's expression remained stony. "Want me to show you his body? And the coed's, too? Her name, by the way, was Amanda."

"Not..." Collins gulped. "... necessary."

"Before that was the kid who played that weird game, what's it called?"

Collins knew who Quinton meant. "Dungeons and Dragons."

"Yeah, that's it. Got too wrapped up in the game and lost track of reality."

"Wound up in a mental inst.i.tution, as I recall."

Quinton finished, "Rambling about ancient ruins, magic, and people who transform into animals."

"Oh ... my G.o.d."

Quinton fell silent and pressed her hands between her knees, letting the whole scenario sink in.

"Oh, my G.o.d," Collins repeated. "d.a.m.n." His mind moved sluggishly. "So you're saying that my following Zylas was no accident?"

"Nor me." Quinton leaned forward. "He led us here on purpose."

Collins had to admit it seemed right. He remembered chasing the rat into the proper room, losing it several times, only to find it again by what seemed like impossible luck. "Why?"

"To get this." Quinton dangled and returned the blue crystal again.

"Why?" Collins repeated.

"I don't know." Quinton sighed. "No one here does, but it has to have something to do with the rebels'

plan to overthrow the kingdom."

Collins slumped in his chair, his world crumbling around him. Nothing made sense. The people he had dared to trust, to whom he owed his very life, were frauds. True, Zylas saved my life; but it was his fault I needed it saved in the first place. Other past uncertainties clicked into place. No wonder he shushed the others when they grumbled about my underwhelming grat.i.tude. And why he didn't dare hold Joetha against me.

Apparently noting his distress, Quinton softened her tone. "I'm sorry. They had me fooled, too."

"They?" Collins repeated, not wanting to believe Falima had had a hand in the deceit, although she surely must have.

"Zylas and his accomplices. Different ones than you would have met. We caught the snake and the chipmunk."

"And?"

"And what?"

Collins had to know, could not help subst.i.tuting Falima, Ialin, and Vernon for the snake and the chipmunk. "What happened to them?"

Quinton hesitated. "You can't expect traitors in a primitive society to be treated with any more leniency than in our own."

Collins filled in the detail Quinton had implied but not voiced. "They were killed."

"Painlessly. And with decorum."

Collins blinked. When he had faced execution, he had turned a dignified ceremony into a panic-stricken tussle. Decorum seemed insignificant when the end result was one's own death.

Quinton's voice seemed to come from a distance. "Are you hungry?"

Barely noticing the abrupt change of topic, Collins nodded.Quinton rose and crossed the room. She placed a hand on the door latch, then smiled without tripping it. Instead, she turned, walked back to her seat, and scooped up the translation stone. "Oops."

Collins lowered his head into his palms, thoughts a desperately unsortable swirl. He listened to Quinton's footsteps as she crossed the room again, heard the door winch open and a soft conversation ensue.

The panel clicked shut, and she returned. She wandered behind Collins, her delicate hands settling onto his shoulders. "Where were we?" she asked.

Collins spoke into his hands. "Discussing execution."

"Ah." Quinton kneaded the knotted, aching muscles of Collins' neck, and he winced. "We'll come back to that. Am I hurting you?"

She was, but her ma.s.sage also comforted, a grueling mixture of pleasure and pain. "No," Collins lied, uncertain why. "It feels good." In his most testosterone-driven, adolescent moments, he had imagined a woman this beautiful touching him, concerned for his pleasure. The reality of it seemed well worth the torment. "You want to leave, right?"

"I did."

For the moment, Collins pushed aside the change of heart that answer suggested. "Why didn't you?"

Quinton's hands smoothed the tension from Collins' coiled muscles. "Tried. Couldn't find my way back, even with the kingdom's help."

Collins twisted his head toward Quinton, wis.h.i.+ng he had some bulk to the muscles she was working over. Most women claimed they did not like the bodybuilder look, but he had yet to meet one who preferred his bony carriage. Despite the distraction, he found a discrepancy that made her claim seem ludicrous. "The king knows exactly where that portal is. He's got a contingent of archers parked right in front of it."

"What?" Carrie's hands stilled. "That's ridiculous."

Collins swiveled halfway around in his chair. "Is it? I saw them. They shot at me. Tried to kill me."

"The king's archers?"

"Yes!"

"Dressed in white and blue-green uniforms?"

Collins considered, forcing his mind back to the scene. Everything had happened so quickly, and he had worried more for his life than anyone's clothing. "They . . . didn't have a set uniform. They just wore any-"

"Who told you those were the king's archers?"

Realization dawned. "Zylas."

"Who had reason to keep you in Barakhai?"

Collins slumped back into his seat. "He wouldn't-"

Quinton restarted her ma.s.sage. "Don't you think that if the king knew the location of the portal, he would want you to leave, not stop you? Don't you think he would work to close it, to stem the flow of outsiders sent by the renegades?"

Things Collins had not closely considered before became suddenly vitally important: Zylas' and Falima's discussion before claiming they knew of no others from Collins' world, the surrept.i.tious exchanges between his companions when he received Prinivere's spell, the many little things that did not quite add up and often left him wondering if he were "missing something." He remembered Falima's deceit, trying to make him believe her a Regular rather than a Random. "Does this have something to do with the Regular/Random thing?"

"Not exactly," Quinton said. As Collins became accustomed to her ministrations, he noticed the pain less and the enjoyment more. "Most of the renegades are Randoms, though I think it's only because they tend toward instability. More undesirables are Randoms, since no one tries to make them on purpose.

Of course they tend to be more likely to have a criminal bent, to not like authority or government."

It seemed logical that the least satisfied would seek the most radical changes, but that did not justify the events of the last several days. Zylas had seduced Collins here, knowing that others he brought had died for a cause in which they held no interest, understanding, or stake. Thanks to the renegades, Collinshad to live with the guilt of having not only murdered but eaten an innocent woman, with the hysterical memory of having nearly died on the gallows, and with the knowledge of having become a thief as well.

Rage finally stirred. "What does he want that stone of yours for anyway?"

"We don't know." Carrie admitted. She ran a hand through Collins' hair, fussing the overlong, grimy strands into proper position. "We're waiting for the dragons to mature."

"Dragons." Collins perked up at the word. "But they told me dragons were extinct." Carrie's fingers in his hair sent a s.h.i.+ver of desire through him that reawakened the aches the Advil had relieved. At least one part of me still works. "Was that another lie?" Though he now intended to reveal some information about the renegades, his vow to Vernon still bound his conscience. He would not give up Prinivere without a compelling reason.

"Dragons are extinct," Quinton confirmed. "But the king confiscated two Randoms who transformed into dragons at coming-of-age. The law compels him to kill them, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He's hoping that, raised and handled properly, they won't harm anyone."

"Wow."

The pace of Quinton's speech quickened, revealing excitement. "They're young now, babies by dragon standards. I figure they're maturing about one human year for every twenty. It seems the people here grow according to their slowest maturing form, and dragons-" Apparently realizing she had taken over the conversation, Quinton laughed. "Sorry if I'm boring you. I find them absolutely fascinating."

"I'm a bio grad student, too," Collins reminded her, interest piqued. "Are they male or female?" Simple statistics suggested a fifty-fifty chance they would come up opposite genders.

"Both," Quinton blurted, then laughed and corrected. "One of each, that is, not hermaphrodites. I get to train and, eventually, breed them."

Collins stared. "The king wants more dragons?"

Quinton's hands dropped back to Collins' shoulders. "Not yet. But I'm working on him." She squealed. "Can you imagine? I'm thinking they're egg layers, but they're definitely warm-blooded; and I think I'm seeing rudimentary nipples. Probably the closest thing to dinosaurs we'll ever see, don't you think? Imagine what we could learn from them."

Quinton's excitement was contagious. Though intrigued, Collins found himself distracted by troubling thoughts. The people to whom he had believed he owed his very life had actually placed it into danger.

Those he had trusted as friends had lied to and betrayed him, played him for a fool. He pictured Falima; her silky black mane and startlingly pale eyes no longer seemed so beautiful when he knew they housed a soul that had used him, that found him unworthy of truth or trust, that pretended to like him while manipulating him like a brainless puppet. Zylas apparently made a career out of deception. A rat, indeed.

I should have seen through it. His blood warmed, grew hot, and seemed to boil in his veins. "I'm with you," he said evenly. "Breeding dragons, finding the portal, going home."

"Revealing the traitors?" Quinton added.

Collins squirmed. I owe the b.a.s.t.a.r.d nothing. "What do you want to know?"

Chapter 16.

MOMENTS later, Benton Collins sat in a pillowed chair nearly as comfortable as his father's old La-Z-Boy in front of a table laden with food. King Terrin occupied a similar seat across from Collins, and Carrie Quinton held a place to his left and the king's right. A large slice of white bread slathered in honey took up most of Collins' plate, surrounded by an array of berries in colors that ranged from deep ebony to brilliant green with stripes of indigo. He had chosen his meal from the myriad of dishes at the table, and many of the ones he bypa.s.sed still called to him. The warm aroma of sweet spices mixed with mashed, orange roots reminded him of pumpkin pie, and he instinctively reserved that for dessert.

Though he had never cared for spinach, the b.u.t.tery aroma of the a.s.sorted greens beckoned, and a platter of cubed fish smothered in a spice that resembled curry lured him to try it next. The complete absence of anything insectlike thrilled him, clearly a dispensation extended by the king.