Mickey Reichert: The beasts of Barakhai

"All right," Zylas agreed. His nostrils flared. "But only to you, right? I mean, I can still lie to the king's guards if I need to."

"Of course." It seemed ludicrous to talk about how Zylas could not lie to him while Collins maintained the illusionary significance of a nonsensical ritual he had only cobbled together to fool Vernon. "The first action Prinivere takes with that stone is to make me a portal?"

"First thing," Zylas agreed, holding out his hand to show he remembered he was still bound by his promise.

"And you know damned well I'm going with you." Collins tried to match Zylas' grin, though he felt anything but confident and strong. "Don't worry. I won't beg."

Falima loosed a relieved sigh. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much."

Zylas turned toward Falima, the smile that talk of the vow had raised turning cocksure and insolent. "I told you I chose well this time."

Falima did not argue. "And thank goodness you did."

Tattered and filthy, doing his best imitation of a hunted man, Benton Collins arrived at the outer gatehouse of the king's curtain wall. Guards peered at him over the ramparts, and the drawbridge ratcheted downward before he could utter a word. No sooner had the wood slapped the ground, then a contingent of six guards scurried to greet him, their expressions screwed up in concern and anxiety, their movements as jerky and skittish as a mother hen's. "Are you all right?" one asked.

Feigning a slight limp, Collins waved them off. "Fine. Escaped. Need to see… Carrie. And, if possible, the king."

The guards ushered Collins into the gatehouse more with their own forward movement than any particular words or guidance. Trying to look exhausted and pained, he tottered along with them, caught up in the motion. "His Majesty insisted we take you directly to the dining hall if we found you. We're glad you returned, Sire."

Sire? Collins wondered what the king had told them, then realized the obvious. The guards would all know by now that he had entered the upper quarters; which, to them, meant he had to be properly blooded, if distant, royalty.

Collins allowed them to fuss over him, through the second gatehouse, to the palace door, and up to the dining area. Someone must have rushed ahead for, when he arrived, the head table contained the king, Carrie Quinton, and a handful of other privileged guests. Her blonde hair hung in long ringlets, framing a face of beauty more exquisite than he had remembered. His escort joined the sparse array of servants at the common tables, surely more interested in observing his welcome than in eating. Maids still fussed over some of the furniture, suggesting that a meal had recently ended.

At the sight of him, Quinton rushed out from behind the table. "Ben, Ben!" She caught him into an embrace that thrilled through him, stirring an excitement he had not anticipated. He struggled to maintain his aura of fatigued relief as his body betrayed him. The hug became awkward as he found himself fixated on which parts of his body touched hers… and where. "You're all right. How did you… Did they make you…?" She stopped speaking, withdrawing from his arms, ready to lead him to the head table. "Sit. Eat. Get your strength back, then talk." She ushered him toward the table.

Collins dragged after Quinton, surreptitiously adjusting his clothing, for once glad the linen hung loose on his narrow frame. He cursed the adolescent hormones that allowed a pretty girl to distract him from a life-or-death mission. On the other hand, he realized that, if he played this right, he could succeed at his task and win Carrie Quinton.

Quinton indicated the chair between her own and the king's. As surprised as unnerved by the honor, Collins glanced at King Terrin. The bearded face split in a welcoming grin, and he patted the indicated seat. "We're so glad you managed to get away. Did they hurt you?"

"Your Majesty," Quinton said as she sat, a hint of warning in her tone. "Please let the poor man catch his breath before you quiz him."

The smile remained in place, genuine, taking no offense at his young adviser's presumptuousness. "Of course, Carrie. You're quite right." He clapped his hands. Servants scurried to him, brandishing napkins, glasses, and bottles to fulfill the as yet unspoken command. "Bring a plate of food for our new arrival and anyone else who wishes it. Wine for me and the others."

A broad-faced redhead immediately distributed glasses, while a tall, thin man filled each one as quickly as she set them down. Others hurried toward the door.

Though Collins wanted to put off any questioning as long as possible, he thought it best to toss off a few crumbs. He addressed the king's question. "The fall off the wall hurt a lot, Sire. I was unconscious for the trip, so I'm not sure where they took me. Later, they gave me something that made me sleep and moved me again; but I woke up and managed to escape. They were chasing me." He plastered a stricken look on his face. "Did they… did they… did your guards manage… to catch them?"

King Terrin shook his head. "We tried, but the rebels slunk away like the cowards they are."

Thank God. Collins tried to display the exact opposite of the relief he felt.

The king patted Collins' hand with a palm the size of a bear paw. "They won't bother you anymore; we'll see to that."

"Thank you." Genuinely thirsty, Collins picked up his wineglass in a deliberately shaky hand and downed half of the contents in a swallow. Smooth and rich with the flavor of berries, it soothed his dry throat as well as serving as a vehicle for nervousness he no longer had to wholly fake. Necessarily vague, the plan did not anticipate an immediate meal with King Terrin. He had expected a chance to corner Quinton first, to spend some time convincing her to hand over the crystal she still wore around her neck. Zylas had assured him the rebels had a few spies placed within the curtain walls who might sacrifice their cover if the situation demanded it. At Collins' request, they would use the code word "storm" so he could identify or call for them, if necessary. The albino had also warned him to try not to let the royals lead him to the upper stories where none of the rebels could assist if something went awry.

"So," Terrin asked, not-quite-casually. "Could you describe the rebels you saw?"

Collins nearly spat out his wine. He forced himself to hold it, though a trickle eased down his windpipe. He managed to swallow the rest before a racking spasm of coughs overtook him. He hacked for several moments, sucked in a long breath that sounded more like a wheeze, then lapsed into another fusillade.

Quinton sprang to her feet, patting Collins between the shoulder blades. "Are you all right?"

Collins held up a hand to indicate he did not require her assistance. That's all I need. A chestful of Heimlich-broken ribs to expel a molecule of liquid. "I'm fine," he rasped, wishing he sounded it. He cleared his throat, loosed a few more coughs, then regained control. "Sorry, Sire." He sounded as much hoarse as mortified. "Went down the wrong pipe."

King Terrin smiled, lightening the mood in much the same way Collins might have done in other circumstances. "I know I'm the king and people jump to my command, but you're permitted to swallow anything in your mouth before answering questions." The smile spread. "In fact, I encourage it."

Picturing people displaying their half-chewed food, Collins could not help smiling, too. "I'll keep that in mind, Sire." He found the title coming much easier than it had in the past. The king's easygoing manner comforted, and Collins wished he had a way to reason with him rather than lie. He shook off the temptation. The king had good reason to treat Collins well: not only to extract information about Zylas and the others but for scientific advice and, in the future, perhaps even trips to his own world to fetch items of use. Having little pieces of technology would make the king even more powerful than his half-animal subjects, and Terrin had reason to believe Collins might know how to get there and back. He knew the king had another side. He had suffered the royal anger and the results of a chase that had sent him tumbling down the steps, followed by a day and night in the dungeon. He believed and trusted Zylas. God, I hope I'm not wrong.