The lost Dragons of Barakhai

Chapter 6

THOUGH every second dragged like an hour, Benton Collins found himself outside with Carrie Quinton extraordinarily quickly. He could scarcely believe any bureaucracy could act so swiftly, yet they moved with a brisk and obedient efficiency that would startle any governing body of his world. Even so, the guards clearly disliked their duties. Each one gave Collins a narrow-eyed glare, and some whispered chilling threats against him and the partner he left behind should he fail to return Quinton in at least as good shape as he took her from them.

The day seemed too cheerful for the somberness of Collins' thoughts. The setting sun glared into his eyes and ignited chips of quartz like diamonds in the walls of the palace. The stretches of open pasture resembled a soft, emerald sea, and the animals that grazed it watched them with clear contentment. Only the horses gave them shrill, grating greetings, their ears flattened and their hooves grinding up clods of dirt. Several dogs followed them to the drawbridge, some snarling softly behind bared teeth; but none crossed the moat. At length, Collins found himself alone with Quinton and suddenly missed the animals and their hostility. At least, he did not have to carry on a dishonest conversation with them, heaping lie upon lie and hoping to remember all of them.

Quinton mirrored Collins' discomfort. A wary frown pinched her lips, and she glanced around them in every direction, as if expecting hordes of renegades to surround them at any moment. As she swung her head back and forth, the last rays of sunlight shimmered from hair as yellow and soft as corn silk. A bit behind her, ignoring the bald scars, Collins could almost imagine her as he had first seen her: a young coed with dancing blue eyes, skin like cream, high-cheeked and full-lipped, with the body of an angel. Yet, he knew, madness tainted a beauty that, like the old sayings warned, lay only skin deep. She had seemed nice enough, but her upbringing had left her with a clingy desperate need for love. He did not want to betray her again, but, at some point, he would have to do so.

Quinton spun suddenly toward Collins, her face hidden by a fluttering, translucent veil. "You have to lead."

Collins hesitated, uncertain where to take her. Likely, Prinivere had moved since he had last seen her. She did not tend to stay in any one place long, and she had a massive network of renegade helpers to keep her safe. He knew the durithrin or wild ones, the creatures of the forest, reported to a kindhearted mouse/man named Vernon, who remained staunchly loyal to the dragon. Surely, some shrew, vole, or sparrow would observe and report them. He only hoped they would send help, rather than simply watch to see what they did and where they chose to go. Time, for Zylas, was running out.

The grassland turned to forest. They remained on the cleared pathway; and, as they slipped between the trees, Quinton took Collins' hand. Her palm felt small and smooth, her fingers clammy against his. The reason for her amiable gesture escaped him, and he muddled through a thousand explanations in an instant. Is she holding on to slow any escape I might attempt? To keep her balance on uneven terrain? Is she really trying for reconciliation or playing into my own con? Or is this all just a part of her insanity?

Collins gripped Quinton's hand firmly, protectively. She seemed small and helpless; though he knew her tall, slender figure hid a ticking time bomb. Though not physically powerful, she was clever and emotionally volatile, with the force of a king and a kingdom behind her. He wished he could love her enough to marry her. She deserved someone who could look past her injuries and bond with her soul, a mate who would forever find her the object of his desire. Although she apparently believed otherwise, that man was not Benton Collins, and he doubted even the right man would look beyond ruined features he had never seen at their best. Instinctively, Collins knew he belonged with someone else, and he was beginning to believe he might know who.

As it grew darker, Quinton took out a mag light, probably the one confiscated from Collins himself. Turning it on, she passed it to him to light their way.

"So," Quinton said suddenly, her voice startling in the otherwise silent woods. Her tone still contained a trace of hostile mistrust. "Who is this secret person who can fix my face?"

"You'll just have to wait until you meet…" Not wanting to reveal gender, he finished lamely, "… it."

Quinton pounced on the impropriety. "It?"

"I'm not giving anything away."

"No, you're not." Quinton's fingers tightened around his. "You're taking me to… it… anyway. What does it hurt to tell me now?"

Collins glanced through the trees, uncertain where to veer from the well-worn path. He wondered if the king's guards followed them stealthily through the underbrush and whether the renegades would notice and prepare for an ambush. He had escaped the only way he could conceive of and had not fully considered the danger he might inflict upon others. "It's not my right to give away anything. It's up to… it… to decide when and where to reveal… itself."

Quinton punched Collins in the shoulder with her free hand. Though clearly intended to seem playful, the gesture felt forced. "You're phenomenally weird, Ben Collins."

Talk about the pot calling the kettle black, Collins thought, but said only, "Thanks."

A sudden squawk shattered Collins' hearing and sent him skittering for cover, dragging Quinton with him. Collins aimed the mag light toward the source of the sound. A blue and gold macaw that clambered beak over claw from a nearby trunk, dropped cautiously to the ground, then trotted toward them with a rolling gait.

Collins watched, trying not to laugh. "Aisa?"

"Who else?" the parrot said. She glided to his shoulder, a thousand times more graceful in the air than on the ground. "Where ya goin'?"

"I'm not sure," Collins admitted, swiveling his neck to look at her and finding one steel-blue eye boring into his. "I need to take Carrie to… the… elder."

Aisa squawked again, the sound ringing through Collins' ear long after it finished. He imagined owning such a bird as a pet might guarantee eventual deafness. "Who?" She fluffed up her feathers, tossing out a spray of dandrufflike dust.

"The elder," Collins repeated, using the term Vernon and Zylas had chosen when they had conversed about Prinivere for the first time in front of him, before he knew the details and they felt they could trust him.

Aisa scratched her head with one claw, loosing more parrot dust. "Who?" she repeated.

"Who? Who?" Quinton emitted a tight laugh, and Collins hoped that meant she was beginning to trust him. "Is that a parrot or an owl?"

Aisa made an affronted squeak. "I'm a blue and gold macaw."

"Yes," Collins said soothingly, "You're a blue and gold macaw, Aisa. A parrot. But I need to find… " Though he hated to give away anything, it seemed preferable to standing here trying to explain things to a bird with only partial overlap. "… the lady."

Quinton smiled with wicked triumph. "Ah, so we're a couple of X chromosomes closer to the truth."

Aisa cocked her head toward Quinton, fixing an eye on the woman.

Collins ran a gentle finger along Aisa's head, and her attention rotated back to him. Quinton carried a magical stone the renegades had given her on her arrival in Barakhai, when they had expected her to remain on their side. It translated for her, the way Prinivere's spell did for Collins; but he doubted the genetics concept came through clearly.

"Scratch backward. Feels best. Gets the itchy stuff off the new feathers."

Collins obeyed, carefully watching for the bird's reactions. He did not want to take a chance on losing a finger to a hard, black beak built for cracking nuts. He explored the hard, plastic-like prickles of new feather sheaths against his fingertips, and the bird lowered her head, twisting sideways, to enjoy the full effects of his grooming.

"Can you lead us to the lady?" Collins asked as he stroked.

"Oh, yes." The bird slurred, though whether in response to his ministrations or his inquiry, he did not know. Her head flicked toward Quinton in a not-so-subtle gesture, though she did not seem to have the words to ask the obvious question.

Collins doubted the bird could understand the subtleties of the situation in her current form. "She'll have to go with us."

Aisa flapped and screeched, clambering up and down Collins' arm twice before shooting between the trees.

Quinton watched her disappear among the branches, targeting the parrot's path with the mag light. "Walk this way?" she guessed.

Collins perverted the old Groucho Marx joke. "If I could walk that way, I wouldn't need a helicopter." He headed in the direction the macaw had taken, following the glimpses he got of the brilliant sapphire and amber feathers amidst the duller browns and greens of the forest.

Quinton laughed out some of the horrible tension that had existed between them since their reuniting. She took Collins' arm in both her hands as they walked. "I like a man with a sense of humor, even if he is wearing a dress and tights."

She's flirting with me. Collins could scarcely believe it, and that raised suspicion. Is she playing me? Or just crazy. He ran with the change, reinforcing it with more humor. He pretended to ash a cigar, still imitating Groucho, "And I like a woman who feeds me straight lines, especially if she's wearing a tight dress." He appreciated her softening attitude toward him but worried that it might abruptly degenerate into the same expectation of a lifetime relationship as it had before. Not that I could wholly blame her. I started it this time with desperate talk of love and marriage.

They found Aisa a short distance ahead, perched on a low branch. "Hello," she said in her gravely bird voice, flapped once, then took off again into the forest.

And so it went, the bird leading Collins and Quinton between the trees, the woman seeming to lose more of her inhibitions as anticipation overcame mistrust and anger, and Collins exhausting his repertoire of one-liners. Occasionally, they lost Aisa, but she always returned to lead them deeper between the packed trunks, intertwining bushes, and scraggly overgrowth.

Collins tried to avoid the plants he recognized as skin irritants, but those became too numerous to do much more than work to keep bare skin away from them. He hoped they would find a lake or clear stream near Prinivere's current cave so he could wash the oils from his face, hands, and hair; and that she would have brought his backpack so he could change his clothes. Despite his flippancy, he felt distinctly uncomfortable in woman's face and garb, especially speckled with bruises and smeared with poison ivy. He worried about Quinton's instability and changing moods; she seemed capable of flipping from love to hate, from kindness to cruelty in an instant. At least, he counted on Aisa's meandering route to confuse Quinton and any pursuers as much as it did him. He could not have found his way back should his life depend on it, which, he realized suddenly, it very well might.

At length, they came to a rocky cliff amidst all the plants. Aisa alighted on a shelf, flapped, and screeched out, "Wait here."

Collins found a large stone and sat. Something sharp poked his behind, and he leaped back to his feet almost immediately. He looked down, only to find his leggings and the lower half of his shift covered with burrs.

"What's wrong?" Quinton followed Collins' gaze. "Ouch."

Collins looked at her linen boots and dress, similarly decorated. "I guess we have something to do while we wait."

Quinton looked at her own clothes and groaned. "Why don't we start with the ones stabbing me in the butt?"

Walking behind his companion, Collins began prying out the pointy seeds with his thumb and first finger. He found long ones with a single barb in the tip and round ones, like puffer fish, with points in every direction. The former slid out easily with a single sharp tug. The latter tended to cling and to jab painfully into his fingertips with even a light pull.

When one of those became wedged under his nail, Collins jerked back with a curse. "Ouch, damn it!"

Quinton twisted her head around toward him but did not inquire about his welfare.

Collins cautiously closed his teeth around the burr clinging to his finger, ripping it free but leaving the barbs deeply embedded. "I don't mind the little spears. But the caltrops really hurt."

"Spears? Caltrops?" Quinton shook her head with a sigh. "Leave it to a guy to weaponize even the most banal and benign."

"Benign, hell." Collins sucked on his sore finger. "Real caltrops may hurt more, but at least they don't leave shrapnel."

Quinton worked on the front of her clothing. "I think of them more as sewing needles and porcupines."

Collins nodded. The description seemed at least as apt. "You've got to admire their survival skills. I bet we spread their seeds over a mile."

"Just what we need. More spears and caltrops."

Collins looked at the ground, where trampled leaves and brush hid the burrs they had managed to dislodge. "You gather them up and throw them away. I'm not touching those things any more than I have to."

"Me, either." Quinton walked around Collins. "I guess it's only fair I get your back, too."

"Thanks." Collins hauled out as many burrs as he could from the front while Quinton attended his back. Believing he finally had her trust, he tried, "So, where are those little dragons anyway?"

Quinton jabbed him with a burr before removing it.

"Ow!"

"You know the deal. Healing first."

Collins could understand her reticence. "Yes, but-"

"And they may be young, but they're hardly 'little.'"

A man appeared. Thin, draped in an overlarge tunic and hose, with brown hair and a dark mustache, he wordlessly ushered the pair inside.

As Collins shut off the mag light, Quinton reached out and took it back from him.

It occurred to Collins suddenly that, if Aisa had held parrot form for at least the last hour, and that they had needed to use the mag light for even longer than that it had to he later than 10:00 P.M. Less than two hours to rescue Zylas. A wave of panic flashed through him, and all of the humor of the last few minutes seemed wasted.

A voice entered Collins' mind.*What's happening? Why did you bring her here?*

Collins stiffened in surprise, then realized Prinivere hid not far from where tie stood. He stifled the urge to look around for her. His searching might attract Quinton's attention, and he would not reveal the old dragon without permission. He concentrated on his thoughts, trying to give Prinivere a quick and dirty image of all that had transpired. If you fix her face, she'll release Zylas and tell us where to find the dragons. He recalled that Prinivere had once healed him after the king's guards had injured him and he had fallen down the stone stairs. She had managed it before she even had the enhancing crystal, stating that healing spells took less energy than most. *Fix her face?* Prinivere seemed stunned by the revelation.*Ben, I can't do that.*

I ruined it. It seems only fair-

Prinivere broke in before he could finish the focused thought.*I don't mean I won't. I mean I can't. I'm not capable of doing such a thing.*

Shocked, Collins did not consider his words carefully. Are you kidding me? Of course you are! You made me look like this. He caught himself reaching toward his face and stopped his hands in mid-movement.

Apparently finished glancing around the craggy, empty room, Quinton jostled Collins' arm. "Why are we just standing here? What happens next?"

Startled from his mental conversation, it took Collins a moment to find his tongue. "We… we… " He licked his lips, summoning saliva in a mouth gone uncomfortably dry. "We-"

Prinivere continued the previous conversation,*Yours is illusion, not healing. It's temporary.*

"We," Quinton prompted, seizing Collins' forearm. "We what?" *If I could heal old wounds, Ben, don't you think I'd start with my own?*

Collins remembered the ugly lines and puckers that marred the dragon's murky green scales, the ragged tail tip. The wounds she had healed for him had been fresh bruises, abrasions, and cuts.

Quinton's grip tightened, painful in its persistence. Caught in the middle, Collins froze, mind dangerously blank.

At that moment, a dog raced from the dark depths of the cave, barking a welcome that rang through the confined space. Collins recognized the voice, then the gangly form, an instant before it struck him full in the chest. Bowled over, he toppled, dragging Quinton down with him, Korfius lapping at his face.

Collins shoved the dog aside, thrusting a protective arm in front of his face. "Stop it! Down, Korfius." He used the opening to clamber to his feet, then offered Quinton a hand as the hound capered and pranced around him.

Quinton accepted Collins' hand but sprang to her feet without allowing him to carry more than a modicum of her weight. She struggled to readjust the veil.

"Korfius, no!" Collins put his most demanding tone into his voice. "Korfi-" Only then, his mistake struck him, and he looked at a brow-furrowed Quinton.

She voiced his worst fear. "So that's not Korfius in the dungeon."

Collins tried not to sound defensive. "I never said it was."

"You implied it." A dangerous edge entered Quinton's Lone.

"No." Collins would not allow himself to be bullied. He had made too many errors. "You assumed it."

"So, who is your partner in crime?"

Collins knew his answer, no matter how evasive or vague, would still give Quinton a clue. The more defensive he seemed, the more important the identity would grow until it became obvious. He shrugged, then smiled, trying to appear nonchalant and hoping Quinton would see it all as part of the continuing game. "You know the deal. Healing first." He squeezed Quinton's hand, still caught in his.

"That wasn't even part of the deal," she reminded.

"Exactly." Collins saw that as making his point.

"I thought you loved me."

"I do." Even though he had not spoken the actual words this time, Collins' response still stuck in his mouth, a chore to verbalize. "But my coconspirator might not." He took her into his arms, surprised to find himself aroused by her again despite his discomfort and dislike. She was still a beautifully contoured woman, soft and delicate against him. He hoped Prinivere saw through the necessary deceit, then realized she would also read his lust. Cheeks warming, he forced his thoughts away from his penis. "If I betrayed the trust of a friend, even to you, could you ever trust me again?" Now, Collins realized, he had placed Quinton in a vulnerable position. If she pressed much further, she compromised the integrity of both of them.

Quinton pursed her lips. "I trusted the social workers who told me my mother could stop drugging and drinking and get her act together."

"You were four," Collins reminded. "And you didn't. After a year or so, you stopped believing them. Because they had violated your trust." He whispered directly into her ear. "I'm not going to do that." He meant that he would not reveal his jailed companion's identity; but, even as the words left his mouth, he realized she would take them a different way. She would see it as a promise never to betray her, a vow he had no intention of keeping. Eventually, she would learn that he did not love her, that he never had. What have I done? He refused to surrender to guilty contemplation. Zylas' safety had to take priority over Carrie Quinton's feelings, no matter how hard her past life or how deeply her hatreds festered.

Korfius' nails gouged Collins' leg.

"Ow!" Collins ripped from Quinton's embrace to turn his wrath on the dog. "Stop that! Bad dog."

Korfius lowered his head, ears flipped backward, and whined softly.

Thoughts of betrayal gave Collins an idea. Lady, canyon hear me? *Certainly,* Prinivere returned.*I just didn't want to interrupt.* She added soothingly,*You're handling a tricky situation as well as an honest man can.*

Though clearly meant as a compliment, the words fueled Collins' shame. If you can still call me an honest man, you must have no idea what I'm thinking right now. *You want me to illusion her face to look as if I've healed it.* As eerily as always, Prinivere had again accurately read his mind.*But I can't do that.*

Frustration flooded Collins, along with a hint of relief. He had no other ideas, but he did not want to toy with Quinton any more than he already had. Why not? *Because I never saw her before the accident I'd need to have studied her face to get it right, and…* Prinivere's worried tirade ground to a halt as another idea formed in Collins' head.*But you have a solution to that, don't you?*

Collins felt Quinton's warm presence beside him, simultaneously desirable and revolting. Korfius lay obediently at his heels, and he remembered the man who had led them into the cave who stood silently by the entrance. Aisa flew inside the cave behind them and settled on a rocky prominence. It's called a photograph, he explained. An image of a person recorded at a certain point in time. Like a portrait, only instantaneously and exactly detailed. The first time they met, Quinton had shown him the contents of her wallet to prove her identity, including her driver's license and student photo ID. She had no need to continue to carry it in Barakhai, but she might do it from habit or for a sense of security, the same way Collins had instinctively fastened his keys to his belt loop before heading to the portal.

Prinivere asked no further questions. Either she trusted Collins or gleaned enough from his thoughts to fully understand the concept.*If both of you concentrate on what she looked like, I should he able to put together a reasonably accurate likeness. But that photograph-thing would be better.*

Collins addressed Quinton. "Would you happen to still have your wallet on you? The lady needs a picture."

Quinton glanced around the cave, surely seeking "the lady"; but, without some clue from Collins, she did not know where to look. He trusted the renegades to have hidden Prinivere reasonably well. The woman patted her left hip. "Strangely enough, I do have my wallet. I almost always do." Her lips framed a crooked smile of embarrassment. "I arrived here unexpectedly. And-"

Prinivere filled in a detail Collins had never considered.*She stopped herself from saying that she entered a third "world" as accidentally as this one.*

Collins' eyes widened. Catching himself reacting to a nonverbal communication, he covered by rubbing his eyes. Once Quinton realized he had brought her into the presence of a mind reader without warning, all cooperation would end.*A third world? Where?* *That's all I could get. I only hear surface thoughts, and she's a particularly hard read.*

Quinton finished, "-and I always worried I might step into some room or cave and find myself back…"

Collins naturally finished with "home," so Quinton's words caught him by surprise.

" where we came from." She turned a sheepish smile on him. "Silly, huh?"

So, Barakhai is home now. And Algary is "that place we came from." Collins said the necessary words. "Not silly at all. I'd probably do the same, if I had brought a wallet with me." He shrugged. "After losing everything on my last visit, I knew better than to bring it this time." Collins could not let Prinivere's revelation go. A third world? Really? How many are there? *Only two that I know of.* Despite the significance of their conversation, Prinivere redirected Collins to what currently mattered,*Take that wallet thing, and let's get going on this.*

Deep in thought, Collins obeyed.

While Collins hurriedly changed into clean underwear, jeans, a T-shirt, socks, shoes, and his glasses, the unfamiliar man rigged a curtain across the back of the cave, with two slits that admitted the dragon's claws. It seemed safer to Collins to blindfold Carrie Quinton, hut the magic required Prinivere to access all parts of the woman's face, including her eyes. He would also have preferred the task done while Prinivere held woman form, but they did not have time to quibble. Once she completed the process, he would count himself lucky to save Zylas before his switch.

As magic flowed from dragon to woman, and the harsh scars of Quinton's face faded to her normal, soft contours, Collins paced wildly. He knew the woman had mastered biology and would recognize that those claws belonged to nothing in their own world. Quinton had worked with the young dragons and would notice how the claws seemed more birdlike than mammalian, their size and shape, the lack of anything resembling paw pads. Others might wonder, but Quinton would know a dragon had healed her and might report that fact to the king.

Stop worrying. They already know we have a dragon. He took momentary satisfaction from the image of Prinivere plunging down on the soldiers at the portal entrance, their disciplined ranks exploding into screaming chaos. As terrifying as he had found the situation, they must have found it doubly so, since they had no reason to believe the creatures still existed. He could liken it to warriors on a battlefield suddenly menaced by a pterodactyl, but that would not catch the full scope of these men's experience. At least the men of the twenty-first century had seen 747s and Jurassic Park movies.

Korfius trotted at Collins' side, invigorated by the constant movement of the master who would not be comforted. The only one who might have the right words to calm him was too engrossed in the process to speak them. Aisa watched with uncharacteristic quietness, letting out only an occasional soft grunt, her head feathers ruffled like a hatchling's.

Collins glanced at his wrist repeatedly, each time remembering that he had not taken the time to riffle through his pack for his watch. Now, he felt lost without it, at the mercy of circumstances and a nonsensical world that violated many of the tenets he relied on as facts. His mind edged back to the day an avowed Catholic coworker had argued with his father, a balding, conservative man of few words. "After all," the Catholic had argued haughtily, "evolution is only a theory." James Collins had ended the conversation with a gruff: "So's gravity, but I wouldn't go jumping out any windows." Now, huge men morphed into tiny mice, four-legged dragons bore wings that could support their massive weight, and animals shared a digestive system with their human alter egos. Gravity seemed like the only scientific principle Benton Collins could still count on.

"How's that?" Aisa said suddenly, and Collins jumped at the coarse sound. He whipped his attention toward the blue and gold macaw who stood with her head cocked, one eye fixed on Quinton, the pupil widening and contracting in an instant. The reek of ozone filled the air.

Collins guessed the question actually came from Prinivere, though she must have thought it wiser to direct her mental communication solely at Aisa. If the dragon had a physical voice, Collins had never heard it. He peered around the women to look. Quinton's features closely resembled those he remembered, minus a year or two of age. "Beautiful. Perfect." He smiled encouragingly.

Quinton pulled a small mirror from her pocket and examined Prinivere's handiwork from every angle. She made a few suggestions regarding cheek apples and eyebrow widths that made little sense to Collins but sent the dragon's claws diligently back to work on her face. The odor thickened, and a bright series of sparks rose from the contact.

Collins' pacing grew more frantic as he worried about the time. Once the kingdom realized who it had imprisoned, even Carrie Quinton might not be able to talk them into releasing Zylas.

Again, Quinton examined her face and again found faults that seemed meaningless and miniscule to Collins. He could not understand why the woman could not just appreciate the second chance at normalcy that Prinivere's magic granted her, why she had to pick and poke at every detail.

During one of Quinton's surveys, Prinivere explained.*She sees this as her only salvation and doesn't want to regret anything about it.* The dragon gave Collins an intangible smile.*Let her be as fussy as she needs to. We don't get many second chances in life.*

Collins nodded in understanding, though he barely did. Time constraints weighed heavily on his soul, and hardly noticeable details seemed all the more ludicrous since he knew it was all a temporary illusion. Only then, he recalled his own changed features and wondered how difficult Quinton had found it to take the hand, arm, and embrace of a man who was currently a dead ringer for a female guard. Maybe that's why she could do it. My changed appearance allowed her to put aside that I'm the one she hates most in all the worlds. *I'm concerned about time, too,* Prinivere sent to the earlier parts of Collins' thoughts.*But to rush her would arouse suspicions we can't afford.*

Collins had to agree, though he did not like it. He needed not only to convince Quinton of the dragon's ability to permanently heal her, he needed to act as if he believed it, too.

Before Collins could reply, Prinivere directed her attention back to Quinton, erasing lines and blemishes invisible to Collins' eyes. He sighed deeply and resumed his pacing.

At length, Quinton finally seemed satisfied. She studied her face in the mirror from every angle, reaching to touch her cheek with an expression of perfect awe.

Remembering Zylas' warning about touching, Collins caught Quinton's hand. "Don't mess with it." Needing a reason besides exposing the illusion, he added, "It has to… to set." Collins hoped that did not sound suspicious or stupid.

Quinton lowered her hand and smiled.

Collins found himself staring into a face so gorgeous it left him speechless. The first time he had looked upon Carrie Quinton, he had believed her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Now, his jaw sagged open as he looked upon features brought to smooth, unwavering perfection. *Wow?* Prinivere supplied.

"Wow," Collins forced out. "You're… you're… absolutely…"

Now it was Quinton's turn to supply him with words. "Hot?"

Collins continued to stare. "Hotter than hot. You're drop-dead stunning."

The grin broadened. "Apparently so."

Collins shook free of his trance. "Let's go."

Quinton's smile disappeared. "That's it? You're pretty, let's go?" *Careful,* Prinivere sent.

Worried about what the old dragon might have read, Collins jerked his attention to her. What? Is she thinking something… dangerous?

Prinivere's thoughts seemed slowed, vexed.*I only get what's on the surface,* she reminded.*And that's tied up with excitement, curiosity, seeking a perfection that goes way beyond matching what she had. Deep down, that girl's a volcano.*

Quinton concerned Collins as well, a boiling well spring of hatred, mistrust, and need veiled with a thin veneer. I'll be careful But we have to go now. It's got to be close to midnight. *Dangerously close,* Prinivere admitted.*Go and Godspeed.*

Collins had never understood that expression, and it troubled him doubly now. He had never heard any person in Barakhai mention a deity; and, for the first time, he wondered if they even had religion. Given the inherently magical nature of nearly all the people here, seeking divine explanations for the lesser mysteries of the universe seemed unnecessary. Though no more eerie than many of the other oddities of this place, the lack of a formal system of beliefs gave Collins goose bumps; he had never been anywhere where religion did not play a major role in society. He wondered what Prinivere had actually said and why the spell had translated it into "Godspeed" rather than "good luck" or something equally banal. Now, however, did not seem the time for an explanation. Clutching Quinton's hand more firmly, Collins steered her toward the cave mouth. "Now can we save my companion, sweetheart?"

"Of course," Quinton studied her reflection in the hand mirror, lips taut as she clearly battled the urge to touch it. Her fingers twitched in his, and her free hand fluttered near her face as if to brush away a few errant strands of hair. *The young dragons,* Prinivere reminded him.*Where are they?*

Though Collins hated to leap directly into all parts of Quinton's promise so soon after honoring his own, he knew it safer to hear the information in front of others. That way, if something happened to him, the renegades could still rescue the young ones. Also, Prinivere would know if Quinton described some place that did not exist, and he could threaten to take back her new features while still in the presence of the one who had crafted them. An illusionary place. Collins grimaced. Togo with her illusionary face. "So-where are the dragons?"

Quinton sighed, clearly unhappy with Collins' decision to ply her for information before taking sufficient time to adore her. "They're dead."

Collins stiffened, every muscle frozen in terror. *She's lying.*

Collins did not take the time to delicately rephrase Prinivere's discovery. "You're lying."

Quinton jammed her hands onto her hips, her new features twisting in affronted anger. Somehow, she managed to make flawless features turn ugly. "How dare you!"

Collins could not afford to give ground, nor waste time. "I dare because you promised me the truth." He put his face nearly against hers and tried to look deeply wounded.

"They're dead. Why won't you believe me?" Quinton sounded so sincere, Collins would have believed her had he not had Prinivere to tell him the truth.

Collins sighed deeply, lowered his head, then shook it sadly. He made a throwaway gesture at the curtain. "I'm sorry I wasted your time. Put back the old face."

"Wait!" Quinton squeaked. She glanced around the cave, from the man waiting quietly in the darkness at its mouth, to Aisa, to the faceless claws poking through the curtain. "I promised to tell you. Not the whole world."

Collins saw no reason to argue. So long as Quinton told him within range of Prinivere's mind reading, she would hear, too. "Whisper it." He tipped his head toward her.

"You're the only one who knows this, and you have to promise not to tell a soul."

"I promise." Collins nodded, saved by a technicality. Prinivere would learn it from Quinton, and no similar vow bound the old dragon to silence.

Quinton placed her mouth over Collins' ear. "Cavern. South of Pashtir, west of the Uraffs, north of the Kastarnin Sea."

The directions sounded impossibly vague to Collins. Do you know where that is? *I know.* A hint of discomfort entered Prinivere's sending, hut she did not elaborate.*Now go save Zylas.*

"Oh." Collins did not have to feign confusion. He had heard of none of the places Quinton had named. Shrugging, he hauled her toward the exit, Korfius eagerly following.

Quinton lost her grip on the mirror, hobbled it, then caught it before it hit the stony ground. She returned it to her dress. "Whoa, Ben. What's the hurry?"

"The hurry is a locked up friend. Once we free him… " Collins pressed his body against Quinton's. "I'll be able to give you my full attention." He raised and lowered his brows in an exaggerated motion, emphasizing the innuendo.

Quinton snorted. "I'm gorgeous again, remember? I can do a hell of a lot better than you."

Though not wholly certain Quinton was joking, Collins bantered. "You think so? How are you going to do better than the best?"

"The best? You?"

Collins continued to steer Quinton toward the exit, trying to figure out how to rid himself of the dog. "Best in Barakhai, anyway. I've got the highest education. A driver's license." He added with a scratch. "No fleas."

"No fleas? How endearing. And I've got my own driver's license-not worth the plastic it's printed on here."

"Oh, yeah? Well, I'd venture to guess, I'm the only one with a Snickers bar."

Quinton whirled. "Oooh, really? You've got candy?" Her eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. "That's not just another name for your… manhood, is it?"

Despite his urgency, Collins huffed out a laugh. "No. I have real candy, and a few other luxuries from home." He hissed in her ear, "But my… manhood is pretty sweet, too."

Quinton slapped him, harder than flirtation demanded, then ran from the cave.

Rubbing his cheek, Collins stopped at the opening. "Stay, Korfius."

The hound ignored him, tail waving, waiting for his master to move. *I don't think it'll hurt to take him with you.*

Collins had never considered doing such a thing, accustomed to leaving the dog in his room while he attended classes. The over eager animal seemed worse than useless in a dangerous situation. You don't think he'll be in any danger? *No more than with me. He really misses you, and he can run for help if you get in trouble.*

Collins doubted Korfius would know how to bring help. He seemed more the type of dog who would dote on thieves and murderers, so long as they were human or carried biscuits. Nevertheless, Collins considered the possibility the dog might help him in a violent situation, and he could not deny that Korfius had brought people to save him when he returned to Daubert Labs badly injured. Besides, Collins would not gainsay Prinivere. Without argument, he followed Quinton into the night.

Korfius bounced after them, tail waving.

Moonlight sheened from Quinton's tresses, glinting like metallic gold. Her step turned light and happy, and she consulted her mirror often, though she had to hold it nearly to her nose to see. Collins did not attempt to distract her, though he felt a fiery pang of guilt every time a smile of recognition stretched her lips. The higher joy buoyed her, the lower she would crash when the illusion decayed, leaving the scarred, withered cheeks and bald spots in its place. For Zylas' sake, he had no choice but to continue the charade. The life of a friend had to take precedence over the happiness of a self-sworn enemy.

The cloud cover unraveled, revealing a nearly full moon that obviated the need for the mag light. Nevertheless, the walk back felt twice as long as the one to Prinivere, though Collins had not known her location at the time nor had the full visual clarity his glasses provided now. Every pause Quinton took to stare at her reflection felt like an eternity, an intolerable delay from rescuing Zylas before his change overtook him; yet Collins could not find a way to rush her without admitting to his friend's identity or seeming utterly insensitive to the needs of a woman he claimed to love. Love, he considered, uncertain of its meaning. He had believed his parents the very definition until their divorce and personal quests for new companionship left him feeling orphaned. Love certainly did not describe the feelings he had for Carrie Quinton. If his last relationship, with Marlys Johnson, had taught him nothing else, it was that devotion without respect, without trust, was meaningless. Quinton's attitude did not evoke admiration, and he doubted she thought all that much of his abilities either.

The castle came into view, and sudden anxiety overtook Collins. He had many had memories of that place and only a few good ones. "Come on," Quinton pulled playfully at his arm. Korfius barked.

Collins eased free of her grip and patted the dog. "I'll wait here. After you've let my friend loose and had a chance to explain me, I'll meet up with you again."

Quinton gave Collins a pouting, doubtful look. "It'll be all right."

"I don't think so." If the guards grabbed Collins, he would find himself in a worse situation than when he had started: not only would he and Zylas both be prisoners but Korfius as well. "I think I'm better here, thank you."

Quinton plastered herself against Collins. Even through the fabric of her dress, he could make out the gentle contours; and they excited him wildly. "Are you sure?"

Collins kept his voice steady, willing it not to crack. He could feel the imprint of a nipple on Ms arm. "I'm sure. We can do… that… after."

"Assuming my offer still stands," she teased.

Collins could not afford to give in to desire. He nodded, squirming free of her embrace. "I think it will." It took a monumental effort of will to add the necessary confidence to the claim. He barely considered his looks ordinary, even when not illusioned into those of an unpleasant woman. He knew an intelligent beauty like Quinton, until the burns, could have had anyone she wanted. "I really think it will."

A flash resembling anger passed through Quinton's eyes, then disappeared. If Collins had interpreted correctly, though, she gave no sign of it in her tone, which remained upbeat. "I think you're being silly, but what can I say?"

"Better silly than sorry, right?"

"If you say so." Quinton turned on her heel and strode toward the castle, jiggling her hips and well-shaped buttocks as she moved.

Collins watched her walk quickly across a grazing field still dotted with animals despite the late hour. Korfius wormed his head under Collins' sagging left hand and sat.

A voice emerged from a nearby copse of weeds. "I hate her."

Korfius barked madly at the newcomer. Equally surprised, Collins whirled to face Falima. The deeply tanned, black-haired woman melded easily with the darkness; and her blue eyes, several shades darker than Quinton's, narrowed menacingly.

Korfius' wild greeting dropped to a soft whine, and his tail waved into a blur of recognition. He ran to her, crashing through the weeds to lie at her feet.

Collins desperately hoped Falima had not seen the flirting between him and Quinton. "How… how long… were you there?"

"Long enough to see her try to trick you back into captivity." Falima fumed, still watching after Quinton's retreating form. "I've been waiting for you since I left switch-form. I assume Aisa got you back to the lady by the new look of Carriequinton's face."

Collins continued to watch Quinton until she disappeared into the outer courtyard, then turned his full attention on Falima. "Is Zylas all right?"

Falima ran a hand through her tousled black mane. "I don't know. Last report was just after Ialin switched."

Collins nodded his understanding. He now remembered that the hummingbird became human at around 9:00 P.M., which made him the perfect partner for Aisa. They changed at exactly opposite times, with no human intersection, which would make it harder to share information, especially when Ialin took bird form and Aisa woman. However, at all times, one of them could fly.

"Then, Vernon went in after his change, which was a pretty critical time."

Collins' chest clutched. Vernon's and Zylas' switch times perfectly corresponded, which had allowed them to become the best of friends. So it's after midnight We're too late. They know!

Falima seemed oblivious to Collins' alarm. "Of course, without Zylas, we'll need the lady to communicate with Vernon."

King Terrin knows he has Zylas!

"We worked out some basic signals, but his overlap's not perfect and the code doesn't cover much."

Collins felt himself trembling, and not only from the cold night air. "Maybe I… should have gone with Carrie."

Korfius whined and slunk back to Collins, who patted the dog comfortingly.

Falima frowned, shook her head. Though not the classically beautiful model type that Quinton typified, she had a more honest, exotic attractiveness that Collins preferred. "If she deals fairly, she'll release Zylas with or without you. If not, she would still have Zylas. And you, too."

Collins nodded. He had come to the same conclusion, but a stifling guilt crept over him now. He could not help reliving the moment in the keep when he had seen his reflection in the mirror and believed his disguise had fallen. His panic had caused their capture. If he had kept his cool, they might have escaped unscathed. If not for him, Zylas would be relaxing now in the safety of some cave, regaling the renegades with modest tales of their adventure, teasing Collins about his oddly uncanny ability to play a girl. Unlike his illusion, Quinton's had held up under the reflected scrutiny of her hand mirror, which meant either his imagination had run amok or the mirror in Quinton's closet held some secret he had no means to understand at the present time.

Brush rattled, then a slight, androgynous man skittered into the clearing. Though short, his coffee-colored hair fell in shaggy disarray around finely chiseled, angular features. His small, delicate form belied a personality that Collins knew could become stolid and dangerously hostile.

Falima seized the man's arm. "Ialin, what's wrong."

Ialin glanced from the clearing, to his companions, to the castle and back, never still. "Run. Run now. Guards… they've come to kill you."

Collins had followed Ialin's glance to the castle. When he returned his attention to the hummingbird/man, he found the dark gaze directly on him. "Me?" he blurted without thinking. For some reason, he had believed the comment addressed to Falima.

In response, Ialin rolled his eyes.

Though Collins knew it only made him look even less intelligent to Ialin, he had to question. "How do you know they're planning to kill me? Maybe they just want to take me to the castle, like Carrie asked."

"Maybe," Ialin said, hopping from foot to foot. Collins had recently read that fidgeting burned a significant number of calories. Knowing that, it seemed a wonder Ialin managed to weigh anything at all. Ialin's lids narrowed to slits. "If you don't mind them carrying you there by spears stabbed through your neck, heart, gut, and groin."

Collins could not keep his mind from conjuring the image of his impaled body held triumphantly overhead by four guards splattered with his dripping blood. He grimaced, banishing the mental image. "That doesn't sound like a welcoming party," he admitted. "But are you sure?"

"He's sure." Falima grabbed Collins' wrist and jerked him back the way he had come. "We need to get out of here. Fast."

Off-balanced by the unexpected maneuver, Collins staggered after his companions. "What about Vernon?"

Falima quickened her pace, half-dragging Collins behind her. "He'll be fine. Come on."

Collins gathered his legs and kept pace with his long-legged companion and their flirty friend. Korfius bounded along beside him, tugging at his pants, apparently believing the whole situation a game. In that moment, Collins suddenly understood Korfius' preference to remain a dog full-time, the world simplified to solid blacks and whites, purged of anything gray.

Shortly, Collins realized they took a different route than the one he and Quinton had used. "Where are we going?" he huffed out as he ran.

The Barakhains exchanged glances but did not answer. They continued to plow through the brush and trees, dodging copses, leaping brambles, and treading lightly on the piled leaves. The more carefully Collins tried to place his steps, the more mold he plowed up with every step. He soon gave up and abandoned the effort, concentrating more on forward movement and not losing the companions who seemed to know where they were going. Or maybe they're counting on me to let them know if they go the wrong way. The thought became an obsession. Though silence seemed safer, he addressed Falima. "I can take you where I last saw… the lady."

Before Falima could answer, Ialin snapped. "She's not there anymore. That Carriequinton bitch gave away her position to the guards, too. Even if we hadn't warned ahead, the lady's smart enough to move."

As the forest scrolled past Collins, branches battering his face at irregular intervals, he took slight solace in the realization that the twigs hit the illusion of Orna first, though they still hurt. He imagined Ialin had not actually used "bitch," given the dearth of Barakhain animal slang, but something similarly derogatory. Move, all right. But where? This time, he did not speak the words aloud. Either his companions knew and would drag him there or they would head for a safe hiding place and let the dragon find them. The renegades excelled at hide-and-seek despite the royal family's dog and horse advantage. They had played it with great success since long before Collins' arrival, and his constant questioning could only make their jobs more difficult. Benton Collins closed his mouth. And ran.

Soon, the route grew more difficult, sending him scrambling through a blackberry net that seemed more cave than copse. On hands and knees, or sometimes on his belly, he crawled and slithered through the mess of vines, ignoring the thorns that stabbed his sides and tore bits of flesh from his ears. At last, his companions took to the treetops, swinging like monkeys through the vines. Forced to carry Korfius, tired from his previous trip, Collins found himself hard-pressed to follow, even when Falima backed up to help him with the dog. At one point, exhausted and dripping sweat, he paused to use the high vantage to look out over the forest for pursuit. Though he saw none, it didn't really reassure him. The guards had expected to find him waiting and willing, a sitting target. When they discovered him missing, they would have had to assemble dogs and horses, a task that might not have taken long, but would have widened the renegades lead considerably. He only hoped their tactics would fool the tracking animals.

Finally, Ialin swung to the ground, prancing in anxious circles while Falima and Collins eased Korfius down. The dog planted his paws on the dirt, broad-based and rocksteady while the man and woman skittered down after him.

"We need to move," Ialin reminded.

Falima made a wordless gesture to indicate that he should continue to lead rather than discussing the matter.

Ialin darted deeper into the woods.

Back on sturdy footing, Collins found himself capable of focusing on things other than just trying to follow and keep up with his companions. The clean foliage odors of the trees and brambles mingled with a shifting taint of rotting evergreen and mold. An occasional whiff of musk carried to him as they, or the breezes, moved, though whether from a skunk, fox, or weasel he could not tell. The world became a quilt of patchy greens: ranging from a deep olive to brilliant aqua and emerald. Stalk browns muted from the usual invisible dull support to a vivid color contrast as beautiful as any of the geometric panoramas formed by flowers, shoots, and leaves.

Cold points of water stung Collins' face. He jerked backward, only then noticing a thin stream meandering through the forest. His friends waded through it, the dog romping amid a wild spray of water.

Ialin growled through gritted teeth. "Korfius, no! It doesn't do us any good to hide our scent in water, if you're splashing it all over the banks."

Korfius whined. His head and tail drooped, and each step became a concentrated, deliberate movement, as if mimicking a gaited horse.

Apparently satisfied, Ialin went back to leading their scraggly band through the water. Though hating the idea, Collins placed a foot into the stream. Icy water rushed into his forty dollar Nike rip-off, chilling his ankle through his sock. He followed Falima who glanced curiously back at him at intervals. Her wood and cloth sandals surely afforded no protection against the cold, but at least they did not act like sponges. As Collins' toes grew number, his feet began to feel like boulders, sucking up as much of the stream as possible and driving his running shoes deep into the mucky silt.

Ialin plunged a hand into the water, then removed it, grinning and clutching a fish. "Got one." He took a bite from the wriggling tail.

It was all Collins could do not to throw up. Grimly, he turned his attention directly on Falima and concentrated on the soaked and grimy mass his socks had become inside his shoes. Suddenly, he thought of the mouse again. "Are you sure Vernon's all right?"

"He's Aisa's charge." Ialin spoke around a mouthful of some fish part Collins did not want to recognize. He had eaten sushi and liked it well enough, but he wondered how the Barakhain got around all the tiny bones. "You're mine."

"Aisa's?" Collins had last seen the parrot in the company of Prinivere, though he supposed she could easily have followed Carrie Quinton and himself without their knowledge. The renegades had surprised him so many times, he had begun to believe they used him for sneaking-up-on practice. He discarded the thought, suspecting that spending half their lives as animals and a chronic need to dodge danger simply made them more cautious than the average man on the American streets. At least before September 11th.

"Aisa's," Ialin repeated, though Collins' thoughts had gone way past the original question. "We thought it logical to give the inexperienced man to the man and the mouse to the bird big enough to carry him. But silly us. What do we know about strategy?"

Already tired of Ialin's hostility, Collins defended himself. "I wasn't questioning your perfectly perfect plan, Mister Perfection. I just didn't know Aisa had made it back here, yet. Is that all right with you?"

Ialin glanced at Collins over his shoulder, his lips bowed into a smile. "I suppose 'Mister Perfection' can live with that explanation." He went back to leading, and Falima turned to wink at Collins.

Collins shrugged. Ordinarily, self-doubt and politeness would have kept him from such a tirade; but his filthy, water-saturated, boulderlike shoes worried at his patience and mood. He understood the need for diversionary tactics, but it seemed more logical to get to Prinivere as swiftly as possible. Once they climbed on her back, she could fly anywhere and no dog could ever pick up the scent from there. Collins did not voice his opinion, however, as he harbored no wish for Ialin to belittle him in front of Falima again. He did not care what the hummingbird/man thought of him, but Falima's opinion mattered deeply.

At length, Ialin hopped from the stream to a rock, then to another farther away, and finally to the stony ledge of a hill tucked into a tangle of forest. Falima performed the same maneuver, then Korfius bounded after them. Collins leaped heavily to the first stone, throwing out his arms for balance. Water squirted from his running shoe, spilling in rivulets down the gray face. He jumped to the next rock, his shoes sloshing.

Ialin said nothing, though his head waggled disapprovingly at Collins' gracelessness. Ordinarily, Collins could make those jumps with ease, but the loads of water he carried like cement blocks turned the task into a monumental undertaking. If he ever came back to this magical world, he vowed, he would wear waterproof boots. Eventually, he straggled to the ledge, hoping they had reached the end of their journey.

Ialin wandered around the hill, then disappeared.

Falima took Collins' hand to lead him into the cave opening he had, once again, not previously noticed. Korfius wriggled between them and rushed into the cave, the humans following. This one was smaller than the previous ones had been, its edges worn smooth, with moss and tiny plants lining every crack. Prinivere took up most of the space, and Collins saw no supplies, such as the usual chests. He wondered how many safe houses the renegades had and how they communicated where to find Prinivere, their gear, and one another. *A lot,* Prinivere sent.*We've practiced a long time and have a lot of spies.*

Collins drew up his left foot and removed his shoe, pouring several ounces of water onto the dirt floor. It disappeared quickly, soaking into the soil, leaving him with a slimy sock that had once been white. Hopping on his squishy right running shoe, he removed the sock, tossed it to the ground, and started on the other shoe.

"My lady." Ialin made a swift, slight bow. "As soon as Carriequinton got back to the castle, she sent a contingent of guards out to kill him." He gestured at Collins, who continued to hop around the cave, now on his bare left foot.

Prinivere lowered her scaly head.*I know, Aisa brought the news. I sent her to check on the caverns, see if Carrie lied about them, too.*

Collins paused to dump the water from his muddy right shoe.

The dragon's massive head swung toward Collins. Miss's gone to check where Carrie said they hid the dragon kits.*

Ialin gave Prinivere an earnest look as Falima came up beside Collins and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him while he removed his other sock. Collins guessed the hummingbird/man addressed the dragon in thought, perhaps to warn her not to say too much in the presence of one he still did not wholly trust.

Prinivere returned with a communication they could all hear.*He needs to know, Ialin. He's the only one who can get inside.*

Collins froze in mid-motion, the grubby, sodden sock dangling from his hand. "Are you saying I've got to sneak into the royal chambers? Again?" He touched his face with his free hand. "How many times can we pull that off?" *You don't have to go back there.*

Ialin added, "And your face is back to normal, by the way."

Falima squeezed Collins' shoulder. "Dirt-streaked and tired, but normal."

Good. Collins wondered how long Quinton's illusion would last and how much worse she could do to him when it failed. Though her double cross had caught him by surprise, he could not wholly condemn it. After all, he had deceived her, too. In fact, he found her betrayal a bit of a relief, easing some of the guilt of his own.

Though Collins now stood squarely on bare feet, Falima still held his shoulder as she asked, "Did Aisa get Vernon out safely?" *He's with me,* Prinivere confirmed.*From what I can get, the royals have identified Zylas. Then, Carrie Quinton ordered Ben killed and locked up Zylas.*

Collins wriggled feet becoming dangerously cold and wondered where they had left his backpack. "Locked him up? He was already locked up." He glanced directly at Falima, then at Ialin from the corner of his eye, wondering if he had missed something. The woman nodded agreement, and even Ialin seemed interested in the answer. *In a rat-sized cage.*

Falima gasped; and, this time, Collins knew he had failed to consider something important. He kept his mouth shut, hoping it would come out in context, but he could not help wondering, What? Is he a claustrophobic rat? *At noon…* Prinivere started, then left Collins to finish.

"He turns into a human and… and what happens?"

Ialin said gruffly, "If the iron's sturdy enough, it crushes him dead."

Something wet splashed Collins' cheek, and he glanced at Falima. Spidery red lines wound through her eyes, the lids half-closed in pain.

"Not Zylas." Collins put a comforting arm around Falima, and she folded against him. Though well-muscled, she felt strangely small and helpless to Collins, who could never have imagined her surrendering to despair. He wondered if her relationship with the albino went deeper than he had known, despite the vast difference in their ages, surprised to suffer a flare of jealousy. He could no longer deny his feelings for her. He drew himself up, willing a determination he did not feel. "So we have to rescue him before noon tomorrow." He shrugged, as if it were the simplest matter in the world. "We can do that."

Ialin nodded, though the gesture seemed more habitual than reassuring. He had clearly weathered a lot for this cause, and it never seemed to end. *You still have the right to go home whenever you wish. You don't have to risk yourself for this.*

Though cautiously sent and clearly intended out of fairness, Prinivere's reminder irritated Collins. He turned on the dragon with a tone that surely baffled his companions, who had not received the message. "I'm not going anywhere till I know Zylas is safe. I got him into this mess-"

Falima interrupted, "No, he got himself into it. He insisted on going, and-"

"It was my fault." Collins' voice cracked, and he felt tears building, "I got us caught. I did something very very stupid."

Ialin's head rose and swiveled toward Collins. His expression still presented an image of sorrow, but his eyes gained the stormy darkness that had become so familiar to Collins. Even Falima stiffened.

"There's a mirror in Carrie's room. It reflected me as me-the real me, not the illusion. I thought the disguise had worn off. I… thought my cover… gone, and I panicked. I didn't think things through clearly and… " Collins swallowed hard, and the tears dribbled down his cheeks. "I'm sorry." Now, he could almost feel Prinivere scanning his mind for details. *A mirror that sees through illusions is magical.*

"Clearly." Ialin scratched his head, rearranging the disarray of his hair into further chaos. "But why would Carriequinton have such a thing?"

Prinivere squinted, and her eyes disappeared amidst the scaly folds of her aged face.*Seeing through illusions may not be its primary power. Any magical mirror would cut through to the truth.*

Falima removed her hand from Collins, using the back to wipe tears from her cheeks. "So what's the real purpose of this thing likely to be?"

Collins appreciated that the conversation had gone from his blunder to the significance of the mirror. "If I had to guess, I'd bet it shows her face the way it used to look." *Very likely.* Though Prinivere agreed with Collins' assessment, she still appeared pensive, eyes lost amid the wrinkles.*Though that, too, might simply be a function of it being magical. It might not have anything to do with its intended purpose when it got magicked.*

Ialin made a thoughtful noise. "So, if it has another power, Carrie might not even know about it."

Now Collins frowned. As a scientist, he would examine and experiment with that mirror until he discovered its every secret. He doubted Quinton would have done less. "In any case, is it more likely to give away that her facial repairs are illusion? Or to show her her original face before the scars?" *I… don't know,* the dragon admitted.*This is a distinctly unusual circumstance. If I had it here to examine…*

Stepping out of Collins' embrace, Falima continued to mop up tears with her sleeve. She had seen Quinton's repaired features and had, apparently, figured out the rest by context. "Carriequinton obviously never planned to cooperate with us anyway, so it hardly matters when she realizes we tricked her."

We? Collins appreciated that Falima accepted his deceit as a group decision. It made him feel like an integral part of the renegade operation, though he suspected her word choice had more to do with the fact that Prinivere had decided to assist in the duplicity. In college, he had supported liberal causes with the unambiguous moral certainty only a neophyte to the big bad world could muster.

As his personal burdens grew heavier, he had become essentially apolitical. He wondered what his friends and family would think if they knew he had deliberately embroiled himself in the sticky and perilously deadly affairs of another world.

Prinivere opened her enormous green eyes and rolled her gaze toward Falima.*I'm not so certain she never intended to cooperate. She did trust Ben enough to come with him alone. And she did eventually tell us where to find the dragons.*

Collins shook his head, having difficulty making sense of the matter. "Why would she tell me, then try to have me killed?"

Falima and Ialin remained silent, without the necessary information to participate fully in the conversation.

Prinivere paced out a cautious circle and lay back down in a new position.*She whispered the directions in your ear, remember? Then you left right away, without the chance to tell anyone else. Once you died, you couldn't pass it on. Or, if you lived, she figured you'd forget all those unfamiliar names before you could pass them along.*

Collins realized he already had. *Even if you remembered, she knew it wouldn't do us any good.*

Collins recalled the earlier, unfinished conversation. "Because this place is warded against switchers?" A light dawned. That's got to be the place Carrie considered a "third world." *Right.*

"Why?"

Prinivere glanced at Ialin, who sighed, shrugged, then nodded wearily. Not long ago, he had cautioned the dragon not to tell Collins about this place at all and now she had passed him the job. "Because it's basically a dungeon, and a long-ago king worried that people might either try to release prisoners or blunder in and get themselves killed. The warding works both ways, so it also kept the prisoners from escaping."

Collins paused to consider the words before asking any questions. The more he figured out on his own, the less Ialin would judge him. He knew the king had never warded his dungeon in a similar way, if for no other reason than that it would also exclude guards. However, the current king had nothing to do with the magic that kept switchers from the royal bedchambers either. In fact, he had written decrees banning the possession or use of magic by anyone in the kingdom, which suggested he might not know about Quinton's mirror and explained why she kept it hidden in the wardrobe. He guessed some ancient king had wanted prisoners housed farther from the castle while later ones preferred to keep enemies close and had moved the lockup to the basement. Collins tried a different tack, "Perhaps that king wanted to keep the more violent criminals as far as possible from his home and family."

Ialin's nostrils flared, and the corners of his mouth bent slightly upward. He did not seem disappointed with the direction of Collins' questioning. Yet.

Prinivere provided some assistance without giving Collins the answer. Perhaps she sensed the blow that might cause to his self-esteem.*And the most violent prisoners would be…* meat eaters? Collins guessed, then cringed at the understanding that answer brought. "It's the lockup for the Randoms who take the form of obligate carnivores?"

He cursed himself for answering too quickly. "No, that's not right. King Terrin has them executed."

"King Terrin," Falima said, "and several kings before him. But long ago, rulers tried imprisoning them." She glanced at Ialin, as if willing him to go easier on Collins. "Without much success."

Collins remembered something the current king had told him. "I did know that. The king said most of the carnivores preferred execution." He narrowed his eyes. "But locking them up occurred generations ago. Even if they got to live out their natural lives in prison, wouldn't they all be long dead by now?"

Ialin shifted from foot to foot. "Unless they bred."

Prinivere added the finishing touch.*A long-ago king who didn't believe in executions had an "inescapable" catacomb engineered to house the most recidivist and wicked criminals. After one trickster still got out, he hired dragons to ring it with magic. Some of his successors continued to use it. After the Curse, the wards operated mainly to prevent switchers from entering or, more importantly, leaving and to imprison cannibals.*

After nearly getting hanged for ignorantly eating a rabbit, Collins preferred the term "carnivore." It all made sense now. Likely, the earlier criminals were all male, and the king had expected them to destroy one another or starve. At best, they would die of old age without bothering the honest citizens of Barakhai. Once the worst crime became uncontrollable cannibalism while in animal form, the proportion of men to women would presumably become equal. Thirteen-year-olds not yet used to their new forms would find themselves ripped from loving, protective families and thrust into a lawless world filled with uncivilized people and man-eating carnivores, never to see their loved ones again. He shivered at the implications. The wild animals would instinctively produce more of their own. Rape seemed inevitable, and some would deliberately pair off in human form, creating Random offspring that might find themselves the only rabbits or zebras in a den of lions, tigers, and wolves. No telling what kind of horrors might lurk in such a hellhole.

Then, the realization hit home. Suddenly Collins found his eyes so widely rounded they hurt. "I'm supposed to go… I mean, you expect me to face that… alone?" Suddenly, sneaking into a castle and rescuing a caged rat from dozens of guards did not seem so hard.

Eyes still enormous, Benton Collins glanced around the room, scarcely daring to believe his companions could even consider such a task possible. Each looked back at him with such desperate hope that it tugged at his heart. Maybe if I had an army, a couple of bazookas, and a whole fleet of war-planes. He shook his head in dumbfounded disbelief. "I want to help. I'll do everything I can. But… I just don't think… " He continued to glance around at his companions, who remained stoically silent. "… it's possible to… " The tears puddled in Falima's eyes again, and it cut Collins to the heart. "But I will help with Zylas."

They did not need Collins for that mission.

"But I'm not sure you'd want me. I don't have any experience. I might mess up again, and-"

Prinivere spoke first, with a mental communication that did not disrupt the uncomfortably heavy silence of his companions.*I could send you home and bring you back for… those things you think you need.*

Collins sighed, not wanting to explain modern weaponry, even to one as intelligent and intuitive as Prinivere. "Armies, bazookas, warplanes. I don't actually have access to those things, although… " He could barely believe he was considering this. "… I could probably scrounge up a gun." Get around the three-day waiting period in the wake of September 11th? Fat chance. Unlike the renegades, he had no sources for illegal goods. Wait, isn't it just handguns that require a permit? Having never purchased such a thing before, he had no idea of the details. He had gone target shooting with his friends a few times but had always borrowed one of their rifles. No one in his family that he knew of had ever owned a gun of any kind. "I suppose I could look into it." It was a flimsy dodge at best. A single shot was unlikely to stop a charging lion, and anything could get him while he reloaded. He did not even know if he would find the dragons tame enough to follow him once, or if, he found them. "How about if we save Zylas first, then worry about how to get the dragons from the catacombs?"

Each of the renegades nodded and, for the moment, Collins found himself free of an impossible burden. It was a temporary reprieve at best.

And Collins knew it.