Burn Me Deadly: An Eddie LaCrosse Novel

by Alex Bledsoe

  I got a chill that had nothing to do with the wind.

  Then I shook it off. It was the middle of the damn night, after all, and the spot’s isolation would spook anyone. Some random animal used the hole as a den; no big deal. Probably returned to it, found it covered in soot and human scent and ran away.

  I carefully lowered one foot and felt my way down. The drop was only about five feet. I landed noisily at the bottom and dropped to a crouch, although my descent seemed to have attracted no notice. A low tunnel headed off directly ahead into the bedrock, and moonlight illuminated its uneven passage for only a few dim feet. The place smelled of char, and something else I couldn’t identify.

  The space was far too tight for my sword, so I drew the knife from my boot. I entered the tunnel and closed my eyes, both to listen and to help my vision adjust more quickly to the near-total darkness. There was no sound beyond the wind that whistled down and around the opening. I felt no draft from the tunnel itself, which implied it had no other openings.

  I opened my eyes. The tunnel was uneven and jagged, the result of two huge slabs of bedrock separating. No wind or water had come through to smooth the edges. Ahead, the passageway narrowed into utter blackness, except for a strange, dim blue glow. Caves were filled with growths and insects that generated their own light, but this appeared as a flickering line, like a brazier seen edge-on. As it was the only item of interest, I moved slowly toward it, knife held out ahead of me.

  “Liz?” I tried again. No response.

  The tunnel floor was pitted with holes and uneven spots. The last thing I wanted was a turned ankle down here, so I went carefully. I heard no voices or other movement, just the blue light flickering far down the tunnel.

  The place also smelled weird. Beneath the burnt odor was one I couldn’t quite place; I’d smelled gas in caves before, and this was similar, but not identical. I began to get a little light-headed from it, though, and had to stop and lean against the wall.

  I glanced down. An odd, bowl-shaped object with irregular edges lay barely visible at my feet. I nudged it, and despite its size it was incredibly light. It was as big as my two cupped hands, with a rough leathery texture on the outside. The inside was smooth as a river stone. I ran my finger along the uneven lip, and a piece broke off.

  It sure looked like an eggshell. But what bird was big enough to lay it? And yes, I avoided the obvious conclusion because it was, after all, impossible. But I admit I was thoroughly creeped out. I was also sweating like crazy, and realized the tunnel had grown incredibly warm, far more than it should have. Caves were always cooler than the outside.

  My head spun from the weird fumes, and I had to clutch the wall to stay on my feet. “Liz?” I tried one last time, to no avail. I put down the eggish bowl and turned back toward the entrance.

  I stopped in mid-motion, though; the blue light in the distance had begun to move closer, swaying in the darkness like a lantern carried in a man’s hand. It was hard to focus my watery eyes, but an ominous black shape seemed to loom behind the approaching light.

  I didn’t run—I wasn’t capable of it at that moment—but I did rush as fast as my wobbly legs would go and, with more difficulty than I anticipated, crawled out. I sprawled on the ground, not caring that I’d gotten the black residue all over me. My heart thundered like a waterfall. I lay there gasping, nauseous, and before I knew it I began to vomit. My recent dinner came up with alarming completeness.

  My disconnected rational mind tried to puzzle through this. What the hell was in that cave, anyway? I knew some cave gasses were poisonous, but I’d never smelled anything like this one. And had I imagined the blue light coming toward me, or had I really seen it, along with the dark shape behind it? I rolled away from the puddle of bile and gulped mouthfuls of clean mountain air.

  I would have to go back down. If Liz was in the cave, she might be just beyond that blue light, passed out in the darkness. I refused to admit any worse possibility. I’d wrap a wet rag around my mouth and nose, and crouch low to stay out of the strongest fumes. Yeah, that was a plan. But I’d need the canteen from Argoset’s saddle.

  I stumbled down the hill toward the horse. As I approached he tugged on the reins and whinnied; the smell from the cave still clung to me. I took off my jacket and threw it aside, then made soothing noises. He tossed his head skeptically and clopped his hooves on the hard ground, but didn’t try to run off. I opened the blessedly full canteen, washed the sick taste from my mouth and cleaned the smell from my mustache and beard. Then I let the horse drink from my cupped hands.

  My head still pounded, but my stomach no longer wanted to leap out of my belly and run off into the night. The wind suddenly blew hard and cool, and I poured more water on my face to take advantage of it. The sensation drove the last of the quease from me.

  I tore a piece long enough to rap around my head from the ornamental sash along the bottom of Argoset’s saddle blanket. I returned to the hole, and when I peered down, I thought I saw something or someone duck back into the shadows. I caught a fresh surge of that weird gas smell. I dropped to my stomach and waited, peering over the edge into the pit, but neither heard nor saw anything else. The odor quickly faded.

  I hadn’t imagined it; the thing had been dark, and roughly the size of a man’s head. And it had been quick. Both Candora and Marion had dark hair. A mountain lion could also be dark, had reflexes like that and in such a tight space would be as lethal as either man. I imagined it crouched just out of sight, claws spread, muscles trembling in readiness. And if it was one of those two men, they’d also be waiting there in the darkness, with knife or sword or brute strength at the ready. They were both younger than me, and Marion was definitely stronger. I had no choice, though—I’d have to tackle whoever or whatever it was.

  I was about to pour water on the strip of cloth and tie it around my head when a high, unmistakable scream reached me on the wind.

  Liz. A terrified Liz. And nothing terrified Liz.

  There was no way to accurately gauge direction, and for a moment I simply spun in place, unable to decide which way to go. It hadn’t come from the hole, so given what I knew about the area, it seemed most likely she was in the old miner’s hut. It wasn’t far away, if my sense of direction wasn’t too fuddled.

  I ran to my horse. He gave me no trouble about heading rapidly down the hill or plowing through the scrub. We crossed the trail that led to the hut and made great time, until I reined to a stop just below the final stretch. I tied the horse again and rushed up the trail on foot as quickly and quietly as I could.

  When I was within sight, I ducked behind the same boulder as before. A lamp flickered inside the little hovel, its deceptively homey glow drawing the few insects that lived this high. The wind made it hard to hear distinctly, but I thought I briefly caught a woman’s muffled whimpering, as if through a gag. I carefully peeked over the rock and saw three horses tied outside the little building. I could see nothing inside the windows, until Doug Candora appeared in one. He wore a sleeveless tunic, and was wiping something red from his hands with a cloth.

  Suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

  Long ago I’d watched someone I loved murdered, and nearly died myself trying to save her. I still heard her screams in my sleep, but not as often since Liz came along. If I was too late to even fight to save Liz . . .

  Candora tossed the bloody rag out the window. He stretched, as if he’d been working diligently on something. Splatters of red covered his tunic.

  I drew my sword. There would be no stealth now.

  chapter

  TWENTY-SIX

  O

  nce again I kicked open the door.

  I’d seen a lot of carnage in my life, and inflicted a fair bit as well. But what I saw brought me up short, and if I hadn’t been sick earlier it would’ve definitely made me so. As it was, my stomach wrenched and tried very hard to find something else to expel.

  The distinctive odors of blood, offal and terror filled the little r
oom. Marion, all six and a half feet of him, was tied down naked to the big, crude table. The single lamp hung from a hook above him. He was missing body parts, and not all of them external: his belly and chest were expertly sliced open, and there were spaces among the organs where there shouldn’t be. Blood soaked the floor under the table, and red footprints marked where his killer had circled him during the procedure. The ropes holding his wrists and ankles to the table legs had nearly cut down to the bone from his futile struggles. Judging from the look on the eyeless mess of his face, he’d been alive through most of the mutilation.

  The sight was so chilling that a full second passed before I looked around for Liz. She hung from the manacles, her feet just off the floor. She was also naked, and her body was bruised, scraped and dirty. She’d almost chewed through the cloth gag tied around her head, and blood trailed down her arms from where the manacles bit into her wrists. Painful as it was, it appeared to be the worst of her injuries; she had not been tortured, at least not the way Marion had been. She looked unconscious, and her breathing was raspy and labored. I’d heard prisoners make the same noise after being restrained in one position too long; soon she’d be unable to breathe at all as her exhausted muscles simply couldn’t expand her lungs.

  Absorbing this took another second. Then I realized that there was no sign of Candora. There literally was nowhere for him to hide in the little hut, and I’d come through the only door. Had he jumped out a window? Bloody footprints showed me where he’d paced several times between Liz and Marion, but none of them headed toward the door. He instantly became a low priority, though, as I scabbarded my sword, rushed to Liz and lifted her so the weight came off her arms. I looked around for something she could stand on and intended to say, Hang on, honey; I’ll get you down.

  Instead at the first touch, Liz sprang to life and kicked me in the chest.

  I stumbled backward into the wall. Candora appeared, having hidden his slender form behind Liz’s hanging one, the one place in the room where I couldn’t see him. He was in mid-thrust with a knife aimed at the spot I’d just occupied; Liz had saved my life.

  Liz tried to kick him as well, but he wasn’t as off-guard as me. He brushed the blow aside and, apparently as an afterthought, slashed her across the top of one thigh. She arched her back and screamed through the gag; I knew that had to hurt. Candora sighed as if all this annoyed him no end, then rushed me.

  I kicked him in one knee with my metal-capped boot, at the same time turned inside his stab and ended up with my back against his chest, his knife hand pinned under my arm. I spun and slammed him into the wall three times while simultaneously bending his thumb back from his knife hilt. I saw it was identical to the one I now carried in my boot; Team Solarian, indeed. Candora was tough; he held on until I felt the bone snap.

  He bellowed in pain and thrashed like a decapitated snake, but the slight build I’d observed at Angelina’s was no joke or disguise: he really wasn’t very strong. No wonder he had to dope Nicky. I punched him in the chest, knocking the wind from him. Then I hit him with both a left and a right to the jaw. He dropped to the ground like a bag of salt.

  I returned to Liz, who was now sobbing. Blood ran freely down her leg, but the cut wasn’t deep, just hugely painful. I grabbed a chair and pulled it under her feet so that she could stand and take the weight off her arms. She whimpered and whined as her long-tormented muscles refused to work properly. I stood on the chair as well and tried to undo the manacles, but they were the kind that locked with a key. I turned toward Candora, and to my surprise he was on his feet, dangling a key ring from his good hand. “Looking for these?” he taunted. Then he ran out the door.

  I was no more than three steps behind him, but it was enough. He simply stepped aside once he was through the door and easily tripped me as I chased after him. I skidded painfully on the rocky ground. By the time I recovered he’d gone back inside. I did the same, knowing what I’d find. I was right.

  Candora stood beside Liz, his knife held in his uninjured hand, the tip just under the crease of her left breast. He’d kicked the chair aside so she again hung by her wrists, and the cuts from her manacles had opened anew. The knife’s point had already broken the skin, and fresh blood trickled down her stomach. From that angle it would take no strength to kill her; the knife would easily pass between her ribs and reach her heart. His other arm was wrapped around her waist, and she was too weak to struggle anymore. It enraged me to see him touching her that way, but I said nothing. Keeping things off my face was one of the first fighting skills I’d learned.

  “It’s amazing what a small little world this is,” Candora said. “Last I saw, you were at the bottom of a cliff. Now here you are, and you seem attached to this young lady.” He turned the knife in his fingers, which dug the tip into the wound. Liz writhed and cried out; the sound cut me the same way his knife did her. “Well, she’s not so young. And I have no idea if she’s a lady. But I do know you’re fond of her.” His mocking tone vanished. “And you broke my goddam thumb. And maybe my kneecap. So drop your sword, now.”

  I unbuckled the scabbard. It hit the wooden floor with a loud clank.

  Again he twirled the knife, not really driving it deeper but just gouging the wound. Liz was drenched with fresh sweat, and sobbed into the gag. I licked my dry lips. I said, “I know where the eggs are. Let her go and I’ll tell you.”

  He laughed. “Hell, old man, I know where they are. Where do you think I found these two? Passed out down in that hole, nearly dead from the fumes. If I hadn’t seen their horses they’d still be there. You should thank me for rescuing them.”

  I nodded at Marion. “Interesting definition of ‘rescue.’ ”

  “Eh, he had it coming. We got him out of jail and paid him a nice pile to suck up to that Argoset clown. And then what does he do? Tried to convince me to turn the eggs over to the king. Can you believe it? He went in a spy and came out as a patriot.”

  “So you dissected him just for that?”

  “No, I dissected him for the sake of your girlfriend here. Someone has to go back in there and get those eggs. I’m not dumb enough to do it, or to set this muscle-monkey loose to do it. But I figured if I got her scared enough, she’d march in there without a second thought if it meant she’d avoid my hobby table.”

  Liz’s eyes were fixed on me. I felt her pain, fear and humiliation; I did not acknowledge it. “Idiot, there are no eggs,” I snapped impatiently. “Dragons don’t exist. This is all just Tempcott’s bullshit.”

  “Doesn’t matter, old man,” he said blithely. “It all boils down to this. That night she got away from me, that girl Laura hid something in that cave. I want it. And you”—he pointed at me with the knife, now soaked in Liz’s blood; a trickle dripped to the floor—“are going to go get it for me. Or else I’ll see what your lady friend’s lungs look like.”

  I smiled. “You really think I’ll leave you alone with her again?”

  “I know you will.” He touched the knife to her belly and traced a diagonal line across it in her own blood. “If I cut her this way, her guts will hit the floor before you can even shout. If I cut her here . . .”—he traced a similar line along the inside crease of her right thigh—“. . . she’ll bleed to death in three minutes. I can do either, or both, before you can possibly get your hands on me.” He held up his wounded right hand, the thumb already swollen and purplish. “Lucky for you I’m ambidextrous, isn’t it?”

  He had me; until I could get between him and Liz, I could chance nothing. And I doubted he’d make the mistake of letting me get there. Still, his delight in his own cruel prowess might be a weakness. “Why not let her go fetch the eggs, then, and keep me as the hostage? Don’t you want to work on me like you did Marion? Finish what you started that night at the cliff?”

  “Please,” he snorted. “For one thing, the fact that I found her passed out and had to drag her ass back here says she wasn’t up to it then, and hanging around with me all day”—he slapped her ba
re behind with mocking familiarity—“hasn’t exactly toughened her up. No, since you were kind enough to drop by, I think we’ll send the real tough guy to do it.”

  I nodded at the table. “He was a tough guy, too.”

  “He was just a big guy. I had him crying like a baby within ten minutes. I have the feeling you’re a lot hardier than that. Call it a hunch.” This time he violently pinched her nearest nipple, and she moaned in pain. “With your trail whore hanging around with me while you’re gone, you’ll certainly be better motivated.”

  I saw from his eyes that appealing to his vanity wouldn’t work. What else might get to him? “All right. Say I go in there and actually find whatever it is that’s hidden there. You know it’s not really dragon eggs, don’t you?”

  “Of course I know that. Do you think I’m some gullible stable boy? But something’s down there, and until I know what it really is, I don’t know what it’s worth.”

  “What if I find nothing? What if Laura Lesperitt just conned us all? Are you still going to let her go?”

  “I never said I’d let her go.”

  “Then you better say it now.”

  He mockingly thought it over, bobbing his head like a flighty girl. “Maybe.”

  Play it carefully, LaCrosse, I told myself. “You know, things like ‘maybe’ don’t motivate me. I work better with promises.”

  “Oh, well then, sure. I’ll let her go. You bring me back those eggs or whatever they are, and I’ll turn her loose. Maybe minus a few souvenirs, but not dead.”

  Again I saw the utter coldness in his eyes, and the relish he had for his job. Still, he wouldn’t kill her until I returned, because without her he had no leverage over me. A lot could happen to her, though, that didn’t qualify as “killing.” And as for me, I definitely didn’t want to end up taking Marion’s place on that table. I decided to push him a little harder. “No. You don’t touch her again until I get back. Do we have a deal?”