The Lost Dragons of Barakhai

Book 2: Books of Barakhai

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

Genres: Fantasy; Fantasy action & adventure; Epic Fantasy

Synopsis

When Benton Collins returned from Barakhai-where magic had turned all but the royal family into inadvertent shapeshifters-he thought his adventures were at an end. But the friends he'd left behind still needed his aid, and Ben had to return to join in their desperate quest...

Release date: August 5, 2003

Publisher: DAW

Print pages: 352

Sample

WILD barking awakened Benton Collins, and he sprang from his bed without thinking. The top sheet and blanket entangled his legs, sending him sprawling, heart pounding, on the floor. Whining frantically, Korfius thrust a wet nose into his face.

Collins pushed the dog away. He lived in graduate student housing, which normally did not allow pets; however, Korfius was considered a hero, for bringing the help that saved Collins’ life. The Algary College staff and his neighbors politely looked the other way, treating Korfius like a seeing eye dog and not throwing him up as an example whenever their own better-concealed cats, fish, and birds got evicted.

“Quiet, Korfius,” Collins demanded, sitting on the bed and extricating himself from the awkward, encumbering twist of coverings. He groped for his glasses on the standard issue dresser, clamped a hand over one wire temple piece, and put them in place on his nose one-handed. “You’ll wear out your welcome barking at …” Collins glanced at the digital clock at his workstation. “… 3:16 A.M.!” He ran a hand through sleep-tousled, dark brown hair and groaned. “What the hell are you doing up at 3:16 AM?”

Korfius nuzzled Collins, then ran toward the window, planted his forepaws on the sill, and bounced back. In his excitement, he leaped on Collins’ bed, over him, and back to the window again. Collins watched the gangly legs sail past, the ears flying, the tongue lolling, the short coat an uneven patchwork of brown and white. Though fourteen years old, the half-grown hound aged in human, not dog, years and had the exuberance of a six-month-old puppy. Collins had acquired Korfius in Barakhai, a world he had entered accidentally by chasing a white rat through the hallways of Daubert Laboratories. There, he had discovered people who spent half or more of their lives as various animals. The few who had come to his world remained in animal form throughout their visits, and Korfius had chosen to stay because he liked Collins and preferred being a full-time dog.

Over the last year and a half, Collins had grown as fond of Korfius as the dog had of him, though he still found their association a bit uneasy. He used leashes and collars only when absolutely necessary and shared his own food because it seemed vulgar to feed a child Puppy Chow. Dressed only in his sleeping boxers and glasses, Collins headed toward the window. A cool summer breeze chilled his torso.

Something thumped onto Collins’ shoulder. He staggered backward with a savage gasp, smacking the object with the back of one hand. It felt warm and solid, furry against his skin, and it tumbled to the bed. A shiver coiled through Collins, and he whirled to look. A white rat braced itself on the disheveled pile of sheet and blanket, whiskers twitching madly.

Collins stifled a scream, then logic took over. It can’t be. Can it?

Korfius bounded onto the bed, sending the rat flying. It scrambled onto Collins’ pillow.

“Hey!” Collins said.

The rat cocked its head. “Hey, yourself. What kind of greeting is slapping me across the room?”

It IS Zylas. Glad to see his old friend again, Collins replied in kind, “The normal reaction to being attacked by a rat. What would you do if something jumped on your shoulder?”

Zylas twisted his head to look over the snowy fur on the back of his neck. “Anything small enough to alight on my shoulder would have to be an insect, so I guess I’d … I’d eat it.”

Still grossed out by one of the Barakhains’ main sources of protein, Collins made a noise of revulsion. “You’d eat it, huh?” He pinned the rat with a searching stare. “So you got off easy.” He avoided the image of dining on raw, un-skinned rat meat, not wishing to arouse a more painful memory. When he had first arrived in Barakhai, he had roasted and eaten a rabbit. Only when the villagers attempted to hang him for murder and cannibalism did he discover the dual nature of its citizenry. Every human an animal, and every animal a human. Collins did not forget the exception to the rule. Except fish, which they eat freely and don’t consider animal.

“Good point.” Zylas paused to give Korfius a warning nip on the jowl that sent the dog into barking retreat. One hind foot slipped over the edge, and the dog flopped to the floor. “Quiet, Korfius. I’m glad to see you, too, but we can say ‘hello’ without the ear-shattering racket.”

The dog cocked his head, tail waving, chin resting on the bed. Usually, the animals of Barakhai could not communicate much better than the ones in Collins’ own world, but a crystal that Zylas always carried allowed him to speak even with other creatures.

Crystal. Where is the crystal? A million questions came to Collins’ mind at once. Before he had left Barakhai, nearly dead from a beating and a fall, he had captured another crystal, one that enhanced magic, from Barakhai’s king and delivered it to one of Zylas’ renegades. With the help of the last dragon, the only beings who could use magic, the renegades had planned to remove the curse that forced them to cycle through an animal form each day. Collins wondered about the friends he had made in that strange Otherworld called Barakhai. Did the crystal ever reach Prinivere, that ancient, feeble dragon who was also a distant ancestor of Zylas’? Did it enhance the little bit of magic she could still manage? Clearly, she had not actually lifted the curse, or Zylas would have come to Collins in man form. Unlike Korfius, he preferred being human.

Before Collins could frame the first question, a trumpeting whinny froze him in place. He forced himself to turn toward the window, where a familiar fuzzy head peered in at them. A black forelock lay tousled over a wide, golden nose, and black ears formed excited, pricked-forward triangles. The mare tipped her head to regard them all through one shockingly blue eye.

Startled at finding a horse in the quadrangle, Collins gasped. “What the hell did you bring her for?” Despite his accusatory question, Collins found himself smiling at Falima. He had thought of her often in the year since he had last seen her. It had taken her a long time to forgive his crimes of ignorance; but, once she had, he found her a brave and loyal ally. He stroked the silky nose and scratched behind her ears. She rested her chin on the sill, sighing heavily.

“Bring her?” Zylas paced a circle on Collins’ pillow. “Do you think I could stop her?”

Collins could not answer. He knew the one-way portal allowed anyone to pass from his world to theirs, but only animals could move in the opposite direction. He had no idea whether they had to be in beast shape when they approached the portal or whether the simple act of passing through it made the change for them. In Barakhai, they had essentially no control over the switch. It happened at the same time each and every day: Zylas at the equivalent of noon and midnight, Falima at 6. Presumably, Zylas could have chosen a time when he held rat form and Falima human to sneak through the portal; but that would prove difficult. While a human, Falima would have the mental and physical wherewithal to prevent Zylas’ leaving without her. While a horse, she only needed to follow him. And, despite a few brief visits to Collins’ world in the past, Zylas might not realize the problems inherent in bringing a full-grown horse into an urban setting. Where he came from, all horses served as guards and lived in the most civilized areas.

Unconsciously, Collins adopted the high-pitched, singsong speech pattern most adults use when speaking to babies and animals. “Can you talk in animal form now, too?”

Zylas answered for Falima. “Not yet. Overlap’s not good enough.”

Collins remembered that “overlap” referred to the ability to recall animal times in human form and vice versa. Zylas, he knew, had what the old dragon called near-perfect overlap.

Zylas paced the mattress, and Korfius’ eyes followed his every movement. “That crystal you liberated allowed Prinivere to make more translation stones, but Falima tends to drop hers when she lapses into … full horsiness.”

Collins yawned, suddenly remembering what time it was. “It’s great to see you guys, but it’s the middle of the night, and I’ve got classes in the morning. Why don’t we all get some sleep and …” The ridiculousness of his own suggestion penetrated his sleep-fogged brain before he could even get a reply. “But not in the quad. A horse … would be noticed.” And I’ll get thrown out on my ear. This definitely breaks my lease.

“Indeed.” Zylas bowed his ratty head. “That’s why we need to talk in Barakhai. Come with me, please.”

“Barakhai!” Collins found himself shouting and lowered his voice. “I can’t go back there.” He still bore the scars of two falls: the first down the kingdom steps with soldiers and servants stabbing and beating at him, the second a desperate leap from the parapets. Collins had tossed torches at the king’s most faithful, including Carrie Quinton, an adviser from his own world, and the king’s brother. It seemed impossible that he would not get arrested the moment he set foot in Barakhai, sentenced to another hanging … or worse. Worse? What could be worse than strangling to death? It surprised Collins just how swiftly the answer came to his mind. The possibilities for a slow, agonizing death seemed infinite.

Zylas balanced on his back paws. “You have to, Ben. We need you.”

Collins did not agree. He studied Falima, suddenly wishing he had worn more to bed. The physical therapy from his injuries, and the healthy habits it started, left him with some muscular definition to a once too-skinny chest. He had grown a few more chest hairs, bringing his total to ten; and he had honed his arms and legs so he no longer resembled a scarecrow. Collins found himself hoping Falima had noticed the positive changes that had occurred over the past year. “I’d feel a lot better if you asked me. This time.” He made a direct and scathing reference to Zylas’ previously luring him into Barakhai and danger without giving Collins the least hint of what he was about to get involved.

Zylas’ beady red eyes turned liquid. He clamped his front paws together and lowered his head. “Please?”

“No.”

Zylas’ pointy face jerked up.

Collins suddenly felt foolish and cruel. It seemed unreasonable to request politeness and consideration, then turn it down outright. “I’m sorry. I have a life here. In Barakhai, I’m a dead man.”

Zylas stared, and his eyes turned steely. “At least … you have a life somewhere.” He turned with an unratlike air of irritation and dignity. “I thought you’d just hear us out. I thought you might care, be curious. Or, that you might want a chance to talk to Korfius again.”

Collins felt all of those things; but the last, strangely, seemed the most compelling reason of all. He did want to know if Korfius was satisfied with this way of life, if he could do anything to make the dog/boy more comfortable, if Korfius might not prefer his dual life in Barakhai. Collins had made a lifelong commitment to the dog, since Korfius would probably outlive him. If Zylas and Falima had come at a more decent hour, he might be able to think more clearly. “We can’t talk here,” Collins reasoned aloud. “You … maybe, okay. But a horse? No, that won’t go unnoticed.” Now suspicious, he wondered if Falima had come simply to force the issue. Without her, Zylas could have safely stayed and chatted.

Zylas turned a circle, clearly reading Collins’ wavering. “Come with us. We can talk at the entrance, or in a safe house, if you wish. We can always send you right back.”

Sensing another trap, Collins found the problem. “It’s a one-way door. Once I go through, I can’t get home.”

“Not the same way,” Zylas admitted. “But Prinivere now has enough power to send you back.”

Collins still hesitated, unsure.

“She got you back last time, didn’t she?”

Collins had to admit that she had. Otherwise, he would have died of his wounds in Barakhai, not recovered in Algary’s Intensive Care Unit. “Pretty much in pieces.”

Zylas could not argue the point and, to his credit, did not try. “You can leave whenever you want. Whenever you decide.”

Collins set his jaw, considering despite his better judgment. He had finally got himself on the right track. It had taken him months to recover enough to return to school full-time. He had won back his laboratory assistanceship and found a way to make money using the translation skills Prinivere had magically bestowed upon him to allow communication with the humans of Barakhai. The doctors could not explain how a head wound could make a biology graduate student who had struggled through high school Spanish speak every language they could throw at him fluently, but the hospital appreciated his ability to bridge the gap between explanation and understanding for their non-English-speaking patients. Prinivere’s spell did not extend to the written word, however, so they could not simply ask him to translate common descriptions and treatments into brochures. He had paid off most of his student loans, the semester’s tuition, maintained his quarters and his dog, and still had some pocket money for campus movies, pizza, and an occasional, although all thus far unsatisfying, date.

Falima thrust her muzzle back through the window to whicker a low “come on.” Zylas gave Collins a pleading look. Korfius stood by the bed, tail wagging.

Collins heaved a sigh. “If I wasn’t out-of-my-mind exhausted, I’d never even consider this.” He gave Zylas a steady scrutiny that he hoped looked rock hard. “I get to decide when I leave Barakhai?”

Zylas waved a paw. “You get to decide.”

“Even if it’s immediately?”

Collins saw no downside. He could still reconsider on the walk to the portal; and, even once there, it was not an irreversible choice. It seemed safer to discuss any matter with a horse somewhere other than the middle of campus.

“Why don’t you pack a few things,” Zylas said. “Just in case.”

It was a reasonable suggestion, though it made Collins wary. “I can leave Barakhai any time? Even immediately?”

Zylas opened his lids wider, making his fiery eyes seem to bulge from their pink-rimmed sockets. “You’re repeating yourself.”

“It’s called reassurance.” Collins crinkled his nose. “And don’t do that eye thing. It’s freakish.”

“Thanks.” Zylas restored his features to normal. “I love it when my friends call my looks freakish.”

Collins dodged the all-too-wide opening. The “eye thing” barely touched the “transforming-into-animals thing.” Without another word, he scooped up his backpack from the workstation chair and dumped its contents onto the bed. Books, notebooks, and pens tumbled out, along with an assortment of pipettes, a compartmentalized container filled with plastic balls and stems for making models of molecules, and sundry other small accessories. He tossed two packs of TGI Friday’s matches back inside, added a mini mag light, his new multitool, three T-shirts, four pairs of underwear, and two pairs of blue jeans. He dashed into the bathroom, Korfius trotting along at his heels. Opening the medicine chest, he snatched up a bottle of Turns and another of Tylenol, dropping them into the sink. He tossed in a bar of soap, a toothbrush, a razor, a plastic bottle of shampoo, deodorant, and toothpaste. Seizing the hand towel, he folded all of his gathered things into it, bundled it up, and headed from the room. As a last thought, he scooped up a roll of toilet paper. Dashing back to the bedroom, he unceremoniously dumped it all inside his backpack.

“All right—” Collins started, then stopped, thinking of another potentially useful item. He jerked open his desk drawer to reveal his new personal organizer, a programmable calculator, a mini tape recorder, fold-up binoculars, and his working snacks. He had gone after the binoculars but grabbed the recorder, three Snickers bars, a handful of beef jerky, and an open bag of dog biscuits, too. He was just adding these to his now bulging backpack, when a pounding knock at the door startled him. Collins’ mind had already returned to the nearly inscrutable world of his companions, with its weird violations of physical law and its strict and cruel legalities and punishments. He forced his muscles to uncoil, his breathing to slow. The worst thing he faced here was expulsion or bankruptcy, a far cry from hanging.

“Hide,” Collins hissed at Zylas; who, accustomed to doing just that, disappeared in an instant. Without bothering to give a similar command to Falima, he headed toward the door, just as another fusillade of knocking exploded through the room. Loud as thunder, it left no doubt about the mood of the person on the other side.

Collins pulled open the door, only then remembering he wore nothing but boxers.

Professor Terellin studied him from the hallway, and several people peeked from partially open doors on either side. The proctor of Collins’ building, the gray-bearded philosophy professor usually handled problems in a calm, rational manner that left little room for discussion. Now, his hair hung in a lopsided auburn-and-white scraggle, rather than its usual neat comb over. Long-legged, slender, and distinguished, Terellin reminded Collins of John Cleese playing the barrister in A Fish Called Wanda. He glanced around the hallway, and the doors hurriedly shut. “May I come in?”

Collins stepped back. “Of course, Professor.”

Terellin glided inside, closing the door behind him. He studied Collins in the dim light, then turned his gaze to Korfius who lay in a stretched-out position of doggy comfort on Collins’ rumpled bed. The man cleared his throat. “We ignore your dog, Mr. Collins, despite the no-pet policy, because he’s a hero.”

Collins nodded, well aware of that information. He had never taken great pains to hide the animal, though he did not go out of his way to flaunt the dog either. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“But a horse, Mr. Collins?” The professor made a bland gesture toward the window. “That’s going too far.”

Collins’ heart rate quickened, and he followed the professor’s motion with his gaze. Possibilities paraded through his mind, the most compelling to deny knowing anything about Falima’s presence. He discarded the urge, however. For her welfare, he could not abdicate responsibility. “Yes, Professor Terellin. I agree.”

The man grunted.

“You see, we need the horse for … physiology experiments and …” So far, the explanation sounded plausible, and Collins struggled to keep it that way. “… and … I … well, I did the ordering. I certainly didn’t expect them to deliver her to my home … but …” Collins battled through the sleepiness that dimmed his thoughts. “… well, here she is. I jumped right out of bed and started making some calls, but it’s hard to get anyone to answer this time of night.”

Professor Terellin’s expression softened immediately. “Any luck at all?”

Collins rubbed a hand along his other naked arm, a nervous gesture. “I found a stable that’ll take her.” He deliberately avoided saying where in case anyone checked the story. “I just have to get her there.” He gestured to his backpack. “I was just getting ready for the trip.”

“And dressing?” Terellin suggested.

Collins blushed. He wore boxers to bed rather than his usual briefs out of modesty, but it was still underwear. “Just getting to that, sir.”

A bit of testiness returned to the professor’s demeanor. “Well, hurry, please, Mr. Collins. I don’t want to have to explain this to the board. Or to the next fifteen people who want to know why they can’t keep a finch but I’ll let you turn the quadrangle into a barn. What’s next? Pigs?”

Collins tried a joke, though he was too nervous to make it a good one. “We’ve got some of the guinea variety at the lab.”

“No, thank you.” The philosophy professor turned on his heel. “Just get that horse out of here.”

“Right away,” Collins promised.

The professor glanced back over his shoulder. “Do you want me to let your department know you won’t be in today?”

Collins considered, imagining the philosophy professor delivering his cockamamie story to his crusty biology preceptor. The explanations that followed would probably turn wilder, enveloping him in an inescapable twist of increasingly outrageous lies. Ultimately, he would have to come up with a logical experiment involving horses or lose his fellowship. “Thank you, sir, but I’ll do it by e-mail.”

“All right,” Terellin said. “You just get that smelly animal out of here ASAP.”

“Consider it done.” This time, the professor crossed the room and exited into the hallway without looking back. When the door clicked shut, Collins sank down on the bed, feeling as tired as if he had jogged three miles. A furry muzzle jostled his hand, and he reached down to pet Korfius, only to realize the dog lay sleeping beside him. He opened his eyes to Zylas.

“You’re quick with words,” the rat said.

“A quick liar,” Collins grumbled. “Something to write home about.”

“So long as it’s for the right reasons.”

Collins simply shrugged. It was not the way his parents had raised him. The same parents who pretended to love one another throughout my childhood, then divorced and forgot all about me as soon as I left home. He realized they might not serve as stellar examples either.

Apparently sensing Collins’ continued consternation, Zylas elaborated. “So long as you don’t start equating whatever you want to ‘right,’ you don’t have a problem.”

Collins looked at the albino rat, who returned his stare, whiskers twitching earnestly. Deceive the philosophy professor, then talk philosophy with vermin. Mobilized, he rose, throwing up his hands at the whole ludicrous idea. “I’m getting dressed.”

Collins pawed through his clothing, emerging with a green pocket tee, comfortable jeans, gym socks, and a clean pair of briefs. Turning his back to the window and Falima, he removed his sleeping boxers, then pulled on his briefs and last night’s jeans. He shook out the T-shirt. “This warm enough for the weather there?” He did not worry about his packed clothing. Barring a sudden attack of insanity, he would not be staying in Barakhai long.

Zylas bobbed his head. “Though you might want something with sleeves in the woods. For protection.”

“For protection?” Collins knew Zylas meant from weeds, branches, and bugs, but he could not help adding, “What I really need for protection is Kevlar.”

“Kevlar?” Zylas repeated.

“Never mind.” Collins finished dressing, then pulled on his running shoes without bothering to untie them. He tossed the backpack across his left shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Zylas sprang to Collins’ shoulder. Falima whinnied, and Collins cringed. He whistled sharply. “Come on, Korfius.”

The dog leaped to immediate attention, then sprang from the . . .