Mickey Reichert - The beasts of Barakhai

"The one who saved you from the gallows," King Terrin said, without malice. "The buckskin who goes by the name of Falima."

"The gallows," Collins repeated, a tingle passing through his neck where the rope had once lain, and a shiver traversing his body. "You…" it emerged in a desperate squeak, "… know?" He added quickly, "Sire?" This did not seem like a moment to skimp on propriety.

"Of course we know," Quinton said. "And unlike the renegades, we're not going to lie to you. Didn't you think Olton would let the king know about a murderer on the loose?"

"Olton?" Collins did not know whether Quinton named the place or an informant. Though it did not matter, he focused on the detail to delay the moment when he discovered his fate. Whether they sent him back to that town or performed the execution here, he would end up just as dead. He wondered why they had not just left him to rot in his cell rather than bring him here to talk to Quinton and the king. Within a moment, he had the answer. Because they plan to get as much information as possible from me first. His manner grew guarded.

"Olton's the town that sentenced you," the king explained. "We'd still like to know about the horse."

Collins could not get past the matter of his future, or lack of one. "Are you going to hang me?"

The king and Carrie Quinton jerked. Simultaneously, they said, "What?"

Collins rose, scarcely daring to believe how calm they remained, how surprised they seemed that he might worry about his neck. "Are you sending me back or performing my execution here?"

"Neither." The king's leonine head swung up to follow Collins' movement. "As soon as Carrie and I figured out what you had to be, I pardoned you."

Quinton added, "Didn't you notice no one was chasing you anymore?"

"I…" Collins started, sinking back into his chair. "I thought we just eluded them."

Quinton's wispy brows rose nearly to her hairline. "Eluded human-smart hounds? Please."

Collins could scarcely believe it. "So I'm not going to be hung?"

"Hanged," Quinton corrected. "The past tense of 'hang' when you're killing someone is hanged. Laundry is hung."

How do you like that? Falima was right. "Thanks. My grammar really is more important here than whether or not I'm flung off a platform so a heavy rope around my neck chokes me to death!"

Quinton's lips twitched at the corners. "Sorry. Just one of those pet peeve things." She added, "If you were actually going to get hanged, I wouldn't have said that."

Collins grunted, still sarcastic. "Of course not. That might have seemed… well… tacky."

The smile became genuine. "Just so you know, if they had to drag you there, you'd be dragged, not drug."

With his life spared, Collins enjoyed the banter. "But a load of laundry would be drug?"

"Dragged, too," Quinton said. "It's always dragged. Drug is a noun or a verb, but the past tense of drug is drugged."

"Not drag?"

"The doctor drag her prior to surgery." Quinton laughed. "Nope, doesn't work."

Though not a part of it, the king smiled broadly at their friendly exchange.

Growing remarkably comfortable, Collins had to wonder whether or not he had been drugged. "Not that I'm complaining, Sire, but why did you pardon me? You didn't know me."

"Ah, but I did." King Terrin turned his gaze to Quinton. "Once we figured you for an Otherworlder, Carrie could innocently explain all your actions."

Collins poked at his food, considering. "I spoke a completely different language." He popped some mashed roots into his mouth, delighted by the flavor. He tasted cinnamon and allspice in a mixture halfway between sugared pumpkin and sweet potato.

"That was a big clue." Quinton pushed her plate aside. "Also, that you made no attempt to hide your crime from the guards showed you had no idea you did anything wrong."

King Terrin reached for the serving bowl of mashed roots.

"You killed and ate in human form. Murder rarely happens like that and cannibalism never."

Though he craved more of the root dish, Collins put his fork down. He schooled his features. "I want you to know I'm very very sorry about what I did. I've suffered a lot of recriminations, tears, and soul-searching to deal with it, and I still have moments of heart-wrenching regret. If I had known-"

The king raised his hand. "You would not have done it. I understand."

"Thank you, Sire," Collins said, this time without difficulty. If his original companions had forgiven him this easily, they could have spared him and themselves a lot of bickering and discomfort. "I don't have the words to express how much I appreciate your understanding."

The king ladled root-mash onto his plate. "You need say nothing more."

As it sounded as much a command as a suggestion, Collins obeyed.

The king sat straighter in his chair, steam from the root-mash twining into his beard. "You have a choice, Ben. You may stay here and become another adviser."

"A generous offer, Sire," Quinton inserted, and Collins wished he had had the chance to say that first.

"Or you may show us the way to the portal so that you and Carrie, if she wishes, may return to your home."

I'm going back. Excitement trembled through Collins. I'm going home. "Thank you, Sire," he said, not voicing his choice because his quick decision to leave might offend the king.

Quinton clutched the front of her dress. "So you know the way to the portal?"

"I-" Collins started, then stopped with nowhere to go from that point. "I… don't you… I mean…"

No one jumped in to help him.

"The way to the portal?"

Quinton's hands sank to her lap.

Collins shook his head to clear it. "Shouldn't be that hard to figure out. It's in a set of ruins on a hill not far from Olton. The guards caught me in a field close by. They should know."

The king and Quinton exchanged glances.

Quinton shook her head. "We sent guards to where you got caught. I remembered coming in through ruins, too; but the only ones they found that looked right took us nowhere."

Collins crinkled his eyes as the impossibility of the statement overtook him. "How can that be? How many ruins are there?"

"A lot." The king answered before Quinton could. "Centuries ago, the kingdom sat in that very area, sprawling for miles, with cities and towns at myriad locations. You can't go there without running into the ruins of something."

Collins' eyes slitted further. "Maybe if Carrie and I went with your guards, Sire. Taken place to place, surely we'd recognize-"

"Tried that," Quinton interrupted. "Amazing how similar a crumbling pile of stone and mortar can look to another crumbling pile of stone and mortar. Over hundreds of years, things get picked through until nothing of value remains for a landmark."

Collins shook his head, maintaining his confused expression. "But Zylas uses the portal again and again, so there must be some way to recognize it." He considered his next utterance, not wishing to offend. "Men do have… some advantage in the spatial relations realm."

Quinton adopted a deep, broken caveman speech. "Girls talk, men logic. Ugh." She pretended to scratch herself, apelike. "I got a 780 on my math SAT, I'll have you know. That's about an eyelash from a perfect 800."

Glad he had not resorted to the word "superior," Collins tried to make amends. "I'm not saying women are dumb, just that their brains are wired different from men's. Not worse," he added swiftly, "just different."

"Differently," Quinton said.

"Differently." Collins accepted the correction without comment, especially since it served to make his point. "Look, women have that extra X chromosome that protects them from hemophilia, color blindness, and a whole host of other deadly diseases. They live longer. They've got an advantage when it comes to verbal and nonverbal communication. Men had to get something."