Part 19 (1/2)

Vernon led Ialin through a prison filled with empty cells, into a storage room where he disappeared beneath piled up junk. Ialin hovered, willing himself to stay focused. He had decent overlap; and, where excitement tended to unbalance others, it made him more alert and attentive. His beadlike eyes scanned the floor, seeking movement. At first, he saw no sign of his companion. Then, he caught a sudden flash of gray from his left eye. He barreled toward it, an abrupt, midair stop all that saved him from cras.h.i.+ng into another door. Vernon disappeared through the crack beneath it.

Ialin dove. Leading with his slender beak, he followed the mouse's retreating form beneath the door and into a dusty room spa.r.s.ely filled with furniture covered in tattered sheets. On top of one flat surface that appeared to represent a chest of drawers sat a cage barely large enough to contain his own miniscule form. A naked, pink tail protruded between the bars.

Vernon leaped to the dangling edge of sheet draped over the chest and scrambled upward. Ialin hovered over the cage, peering at its inhabitant through one eye. The white fur, the bright red eyes, now dulled by pain, the pink ears laid tight against the ratty head-he knew those features, if not their broken demeanor. Vernon had, indeed, brought him to Zylas.

”Zylas,” Ialin buzzed to the only person other than Prinivere who could understand him in animal form.

The pink nose twitched, and the muzzle rose. ”Ialin?”

As the mouse finished his climb, Zylas' ratty expression grew even more hopeful. ”Vernon. Can you help me?”

In animal form, it never occurred to Ialin to lie to comfort his friend. ”I don't know. I'll try.” He fluttered to the lock, wings beating with furious ease. He had used his delicate beak many times to thwart the skill of locksmiths, but this one looked like nothing he had ever seen. It appeared brand new, its s.h.i.+ny, silver surface some strange amalgam of iron, and it had a black k.n.o.b with figures that might represent foreign letters or numbers inscribed on it. He saw no hole in which to insert his beak. He pecked at the front, and his beak slammed against a substance as hard as gla.s.s yet like nothing he had ever encountered.

Ialin returned to Zylas' face. ”The lock. It's weird.”

Zylas clamped his muzzle tightly. His position in the cage did not allow him to view the lock, and he had no room to turn. ”Carriequinton put it on there.” His voice had a quaver to it that Ialin usually a.s.sociated only with his own jerky movements. ”It might come from her world. I think she spun it when she put it on.”

Ialin went back to the lock, tapping the k.n.o.b with his beak. It did move slightly. He continued experimenting, hoping to stumble upon the correct series of movements.

”She taunts me,” Zylas was telling Vernon. ”Wants to be here when I... change. Wants to watch me die.”

Ialin paused to chirp out, nearly subvocally, ”You're not going to die.”

”You've got the lock?” Zylas asked hopefully.”No,” Ialin admitted. ”But I'm not going to stop trying till I do.” He drove that promise deep into his soul, working at the k.n.o.b frantically while Zylas addressed Vernon.

”You watch for Carriequinton. If you see her, squeak loudly, then hide. Both of you, hide.”

”All right,” they promised in unison, then Ialin went back to work.

Chapter 11.

BENTON Collins dragged through the carnivore caverns with an escort that included the lioness, the ocelot, the scrawny woman, and the bearded man who had first spoken to him. Exhausted from blood loss, a.s.sailed by a persistent headache scarcely alleviated by the Tylenol, fresh wounds throbbing, he staggered among the four with few verbal exchanges. They told him their names, but he retained only the last, Margast, and only because it reminded him of his ex-girlfriend, Marlys. At times, he discovered himself leaning heavily against the lioness' furry back. He always righted himself when he noticed it, glad she took no offense at his touch. One swipe of her enormous paw would send him tumbling, and he doubted he would ever regain his feet.

Collins staggered onward, though the reason seemed distant, and no strategy for handling the dragons once he found them came to mind. He was dimly aware that he would have to find a way to communicate with them, to convince them of the significance of following him back to the entrance where they could talk to Prinivere. She would likely have the words that he did not, the ones that might make them understand their role in rescuing every non-royal citizen of Barakhai. He hoped-and doubted-he could make it back to the cave opening with them. His body wanted only to lie down and surrender to sweet oblivion again, and the realization that a wandering carnivore might eat him barely overcame that desire. Inertia more than intent, the familiarity of forward movement surrounded by shapechangers, kept him going when even need failed.

Even though Collins glanced repeatedly at his watch, even though he had to force every step, time ticked by too fast for his liking. Every bone-weary step seemed to take a full minute, every one a beat closer to Zylas' death. Please G.o.d, let Falima and the others be doing better than me.

For over two switch times, two hours in Collins' world, Zylas listened to the click of Ialin's beak against plastic and metal, the muttered buzzing that indicated frustration. Though focused on this one task, Ialin's discomfort was gradually overcoming his overlap. With each failure, he became more birdlike and less human, which would impair his judgment when it came to perceiving the intricacies of the Otherworld lock. Driven to pace but confined to a quiver, Zylas concentrated on maintaining his own overlap. As his companions lost their humanity, he had to keep his as finely honed as possible. He shared Ialin's aggravation. If only he could turn around, he might find a way to aid them. He had explored the lock with his tail, knew its general feel and composition. He had yanked at the bar looping like an elongated semicircle through the matched tangs of the cage, but it seemed at least as solid and strong as the tangs themselves.

Cautiously, Zylas prodded Ialin, worried the hummingbird might become stuck on an untenable solution. ”Try something different, my friend.”

Ialin gave no reply but a tiny, bird grunt of a.s.sent.Zylas' gaze swept the visible section of the room for the thousandth time. He could not see the trapdoor through which Carriequinton could descend at any moment. He only knew the scene in front of him: a wall thick with grime, including brown stains that could represent old blood as easily as dirt, the huge mirror the woman stared into obsessively, which showed her as she used to look. Prinivere's illusion spell had fallen. With the return of Quinton's scars had come a grotesque anger she vented with taunts.

She had spoken of destroying Zylas' friends, his family, everything he held dear. She described in detail the fate that awaited him, the shattering of his bones into shards that would tear his insides like swallowed knives, the mangling of every body part, the puddle of blood his compacted body would leave on the floor. Zylas had become resigned to the likelihood of his death, and the cruel agony of its execution, yet he preferred to avoid it. He had dedicated his life to a worthy cause and wished to see it through. At least, he knew others now believed in it as strongly as he did. His death would not end the quest to lift the Curse hanging so long over Barakhai. So many others had become as serious in their devotion as he. So close. So d.a.m.ned close. He shut his eyes. If only I could have seen it through.

The sounds of Ialin's beak ceased. ”Hole back,” he said at length.

Zylas froze, knowing the broken speech meant Ialin was becoming too birdlike to communicate effectively much longer. ”What?”

”Hole back. Hole back!”

Vernon scurried to the lock. ”There's a keyhole on the back.”

”On the back?” Zylas' lids flicked open. ”I'll hunch as much as possible. Get out of your way. See what you can do, Ialin.”

To Zylas' relief, Ialin still understood enough to s.h.i.+ft his attention to the new discovery. The lacy little wings beat wildly, stirring a gentle wind through Zylas' fur. The warmth of impending change swirled through his blood. By the reckoning of Collins' world, he had fifteen minutes. Zylas did not bother to warn his friends. They all measured in switch times, and reminding the hummingbird of his friend's looming death would only add to the plethora of nervous energy that a.s.sailed him at all times. Vernon's frequent trips to the storage room for honey and sugar had kept Ialin alive so far; but the more upset he got, the more energy the little bird/man expended. And Vernon would know about the coming change because he was also feeling those stirrings.

That last realization mobilized Zylas. Before he could emit a warning, however, Vernon squeaked first. ”She's coming. Carriequinton's coming.”

It's over. Zylas refused to dwell on his own approaching fate. ”Vernon, run!”

”No!”

”Run, d.a.m.n it! Get out of here.” Worried the mouse's loyalty would serve no useful purpose, Zylas preyed on it. ”Do it for me, Vernon, as my last wish. The cause can't survive without both of us, and the lady needs to know what happened here.”

With clear reluctance, Vernon turned tail and scurried back the way he had come. He had barely enough time till his change to get beyond the castle walls. Once there, he was safe. A royal patrol might find him, but only if they stumbled upon him before one of the hundreds of forest creatures in his employ did. Even then, the king's guards would have no right or reason to capture him.

Footsteps clomped on the stairs, Quinton's eternally angry tread. Beneath the noise, a close soft click touched Zylas' sensitive rat ears.

The lock? That reminded Zylas of his companion. ”Ialin, fly!”

Too birdlike to reply in words, Ialin continued to tug at the lock.

”Fly! Fly!” Zylas squeaked frantically.Quinton shouted, ”Hey! Hey, you!” She charged toward the cage. ”Get away from there, you d.a.m.ned bird.” Her footsteps quickened as she raced toward them.

Ialin surged into the air in a sudden flurry of wings and feathers. He zipped forward.

Quinton made a leap for the hummingbird, tripped over something Zylas could not see, and tumbled to the floor amid a clatter of falling objects.

Go, Ialin! Go!

Ialin appeared suddenly in Zylas' vision, zipping at full speed toward the mirror.

What's he doing? With abrupt terror, Zylas understood. Nearly devoid of overlap, Ialin had mistaken the reflection for another room. Zylas had heard of young birds killing themselves by slamming into well-polished metal. If Ialin hit the mirror at his current speed, he would smash his skull and die before he was even aware of the impact, ”Ialin, no! Swerve! d.a.m.n you, swerve!”

The warning came too late. At top speed, Ialin struck the mirror.

Zylas moaned out an unratlike noise, ”No.” He cringed, waiting for the terrible sound of impact that never came, Ialin pa.s.sed through the mirror as if through an open door. A portal! It's a magical portal!

As he stared, shaking his head, Zylas felt the p.r.i.c.kle of the change pa.s.sing in a wave through him. His time was running short, and the lock remained in place. Dismissing what he had just seen, he thrust his tail through the bars, wrapping it around the cold metal.

Quinton ran toward the mirror, swearing viciously. Her hair grew in strange patches amid the hectic swirl of scar tissue. As if in afterthought, she seized Zylas' cage. Thrown suddenly against the bars, Zylas clamped his claws against them, seeking grounding in a world gone mad. The index finger of Quinton's right hand came tantalizlngly near his mouth, but it never occurred to him to bite. All of his concentration was directed at wrapping his tail around the padlock and desperately hoping he had not imagined the click.

Collins' escort stopped in front of an ironbound wooden door, and the incongruity of that one man-made ent.i.ty in the middle of natural caverns took inordinately long to register. ”What's this?” His voice emerged slurred, even to his own ears. Clearly, he had lost more blood than he had realized.

”It's a door,” Margast said.