Mickey Reichert - The lost Dragons of Barakhai

"Good morn upon you, Eshwyn."

"Good morn upon you, too, sir," Ialin returned, completing his bow. Aisa grabbed his ear to steady herself. Sharp edges of rock-hard beak ground into sensitive flesh with an agony that made him gasp. For an instant, he thought she had bitten a chunk from his ear. Then she released her hold and the pain dropped to a dull throbbing.

"Sir?" Jarvid examined Ialin quizzically. "You know titles are unnecessary among old friends."

Ialin bit off a groan. The conversation had not even started, and he had already made his first mistake. He covered as best as he could. "Nothing else seems the same today. Last visit, Frida and I walked freely to the castle and crawled into a waiting bed. This time, we found ourselves surrounded like prisoners. Forgive me if I'm not sure exactly which protocols have changed."

Jarvid waved Ialin to a seat, still grinning. "Ah, so you noticed our heightened security."

"Five guards close enough to look up my backside and tell me what I had for dinner?" Ialin accepted the proffered chair. "I noticed."

Jarvid huffed out a laugh and took the seat across from Ialin. The guards stationed themselves silently, still standing, at either hand.

Aisa reached over and, before Ialin could stop her, snipped off the top button of his shirt. He snatched for it as his collar flopped open, and she rewarded him with a sharp nip. Macaws found adornments difficult to resist, and discomfort seemed to have a negative affect on Aisa's overlap. Ialin swore, then turned an apologetic look toward the chamberlain. "I lose more buttons that way."

The chamberlain's smile had become a fixture. "I've seen you do the same to her, with more interesting results." He winked at the parrot, who ignored him, clutching the button in a claw while she gnawed it into glittering pieces.

"The security?" Ialin reminded.

Jarvid took the flagon and poured two mugs full. The wine smelled as heady and sweet as a flower bouquet, Ialin knew the taste would surpass anything he had ever tried, but he could not afford to put much alcohol into his slight figure. He needed every scrap of his wits about him. "We've captured the rebel leader. We know they'll attempt a rescue." The chamberlain slid a mug toward Ialin.

Ialin caught the handle, then released it quickly so as not to reveal his quivering hands. Vernon shifted in his pocket, and he quieted the mouse with a touch. "You know Frida and I are not for sale." He crinkled his face. "Especially to rebels."

"Of course." Jarvid took the first sip, which Ialin found reassuring. If someone had poisoned the wine, the royal would succumb as well. "But they have some sort of magic that changes faces. I'm afraid everyone is suspect. And we didn't expect you for another… half year."

Ialin raised his own mug to delay his response. He had to assume every royal utterance a test. He did not know exactly how long Eshwyn intended to go between visits to the castle. Usually, he came about four times per year, but that varied. Ialin had to decide if he needed to correct the chamberlain, without outthinking himself. He took a tiny sip of a honey-based wine that enticed him to have more, then lowered the mug with a contented sigh. "You've outdone yourself. This wine is good enough for the gods." In that moment, he decided to play the odds. "You meant quarter year, didn't you?"

"Quarter year, yes," Jarvid corrected. "What did I say?"

Aisa nibbled playfully at Ialin's check, then squawked out, "Half year."

The chamberlain stiffened, then the smile eased back onto his face. "Ah, yes. Thank you, Frida."

Ialin continued as if he had not noticed the sudden breaking of the bird's silence or the error clearly intended to test his identity, "Came upon an unexpected load of vilegro. Thought I'd bring it by before it gets unusable. If I'd known I'd come at a bad time, I'd have waited a few more days."

"Half a day would have been enough." The chamberlain sat back with his mug. "The rat will be dead at midday."

Terror flashed through Ialin. Before he could think to suppress it, his nostrils flared and his hands clenched in his lap. Aisa seized another death grip on his ear. Though glad for the distraction of the pain, Ialin swiftly found it unbearable. He grabbed the jagged, black beak, winching it open with thumb and forefinger to free his aching ear. "Damn it, Frida. That hurts!"

"I'm sorry." Aisa hunched into herself remorsefully, feathers ruffled and beak low.

"A hanging?" Ialin tried to keep his question matter-of-fact, though his voice broke a bit at the end.

"No." Jarvid studied his guest. "The king's Otherworld adviser came up with something more interesting that didn't require taking the rat outside where the traitors might manage a public and humiliating rescue." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Just between you and me…"

Ialin knew Eshwyn might interrupt with something sarcastic about the presence of the two guards making them four, but he did not wish to distract the chamberlain from what seemed like a crucial point.

" she scares me. She's always had a wicked streak, hut it's as wide as the Anale River since the fire damaged her and Prince Hardin. You know, she actually tried to talk His Majesty into letting her breed those dragons. Making more dragons. Deliberately. Can you believe such a thing?"

Ialin could scarcely believe his luck. Apparently, Eshwyn held high favor with Jarvid to have become privy to such secrets. He plastered a look of horror on his conjured features. "That's all Barakhai needs. A whole flock of enormous, carnivorous, magic-wielding monsters soaring through its skies." He shook his head. "You're right. The girl is mad." He tried to add casually, as a natural extension of the conversation. "But His Majesty is a wise man." The compliment came easily. Though the rebels struggled against his policies, especially his prejudices against magic and Random unions, they found the king himself reasonably just and intelligent most of the time. "Surely, he wouldn't let her do something so stupid."

"Of course not." The chamberlain took another sip of wine while the guards stirred restively. "He reinstated their executions, which should have happened years ago. Carrie went crazier than usual. It was a marvelous debate, though it was a foregone conclusion, of course. She did manage to talk him into letting her he the one who… ended their suffering." Jarvid dropped back into that secretive whisper. "The guards haven't had to perform a single execution in over a year. They just bind the condemned, place him on a cart, and turn him over to Carrie. I think she actually enjoys killing."

Ialin hunched into himself, hoping it was not a common trait among those of Carrie Quinton's world. He did not wholly trust Collins' judgment, but he did not believe the man would intentionally harm them. His blunders seemed more a result of ignorance and incompetence than cruelty. Ialin dropped his own head to his chin, and his volume fell to Jarvid's level. "So she put the dragons to death?"

Jarvid shrugged. "She must have. No sign of them since she led them into the mustier regions of the dungeon. The old torture area. As far as I know, no one's used those old devices for centuries, certainly not His Majesty, nor King Terrin's father."

Another hot wave of horror shot through Ialin. If he believed Jarvid, and the chamberlain's confidences seemed sincere, the royal family had had nothing to do with moving the dragons. Quinton had duped them just as she had the rebels, and only Prinivere's mind reading had rescued them from believing the same lie. But how does one woman handle the care and feeding of dragons alone? He bated the answer that seeped into his mind. She's feeding them… the condemned. Nausea flooded his gut, and acid crawled up his throat. But how does she come and go safely through caverns filled with the descendants of carnivores to do it? Ialin cleared his throat and swallowed painfully, forcing a return to the mindset of Eshwyn the merchant. Is all this even true or just another test? He looked up in time to see the chamberlain gesturing subtly to one of his guards.