by Alex Bledsoe
“You’ve got nothing to deal with.”
“Suppose you’re wrong about my attachment to her? Maybe I know her, but I’m still willing to walk away from her if there’s a big enough profit in it. What’s to keep me from taking whatever is in that cave and simply selling it directly to Marantz? And in the process letting him know what a screwup you are?”
Ah-ha. I’d found something that rattled him, if only a little. The idea that he’d misread me bothered him. “If that’s true, why do you care if I carve her up?”
“Maybe she’s just a good lay, and I’d hate to see it spoiled. But whatever my reason, I’m making that part of the bargain. You don’t touch her again until I come back. Deal?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, sure, why not?” He held up his hands, the knife loose in his fingertips. He was still within striking distance, though; I couldn’t chance it. “She’ll stay just like she is, until you get back. But I’m only giving you until sunrise. If the sun peeks over the horizon through that window, I’m going to debone her like a chicken. After I bone her, of course.” He winced and gingerly held up his injured hand. “And I’m taking her thumbs first.”
I nodded. I bent to retrieve my sword, but Candora said, “Uh-uh. You don’t need that. Nothing up here but buzzards, crows and mountain goats.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Habit.”
“You can take the box,” he said, and nodded toward the leather-padded crate I’d found before.
I lifted it with a grunt; the lead casing inside made it spectacularly heavy for its size. I met Liz’s pain-glazed, terrified eyes and hoped she understood what I was trying to convey. I have a plan. Be ready. Be strong. Then I went out the door. I heard her yell something like my name, muffled through the gag. It took all my strength to keep walking away down the hill.
chapter
TWENTY-SEVEN
I
had no real plan, of course, except to retrieve the broken eggshell I’d found before and use it to stall for more time. If I could get physically between Liz and Candora, I could finish this in a blink. But he was too smart to make that very easy.
Trusting Candora to keep his word while Liz dangled like a side of beef did not reassure me, either. The sight of her so vulnerable and helpless, her eyes filled with pleading, cut me deeper than any sword ever could and brought back memories of every person I’d tried and failed to save. Most vivid was the first one, Janet, who was the worst of all unless I messed this up and lost Liz, too. But these memories had no place in my head now. I had to move fast, and hope to hell another, better idea came to me soon.
I rode back to the crevice. The horse, slowed by the weight of the box, would approach no closer than before, and I didn’t have time to fight with him. I took the canteen and strip of sash cloth back up the hill, soaked the cloth with water and tied it over my mouth and nose. I had no idea if it would work or not, but it was the best I could do.
I left the box at the edge of the hole and climbed down again. Either the gas was weaker now or the cloth did its job, because I could barely smell the rank odor from before. The wavering line of blue light had also vanished. The moon’s position now sent light deeper into the tunnel, so I could see better and farther than before.
I found the eggshell where I’d dropped it. I was supposed to bring back evidence of two eggs, though. Even old Lesperitt had said there were two. Maybe Laura and her father had bought or created this fake as part of some elaborate con that got out of hand, and farther down I’d find the other one. I continued on, still staying low to avoid the fumes. This far in, there was not even moonlight, so I dropped to my hands and knees, feeling for more pieces of fake eggshell.
Finally I hit a dead end; the cave was not very long at all. My fingers felt the edge of a ragged piece of cloth. I carefully tugged on it, and it slowly came toward me. It was coated with something that made it stiff and unyielding, and I felt weight on it. I changed my grip and gently pulled the top of the blanket off the object it had been swaddling.
I stopped. My position thoroughly blocked any stray moonlight from the entrance, yet a faint reddish light came from the thing’s surface. I bent closer. It was egg shaped, and about eight inches long. Far from shining with reflected light, it glowed from within, faint but unmistakable. The surface was a swirl of multi-colored patterns similar to lamp oil on a puddle’s surface and identical to the shards in my pocket. I also felt distinct heat from it.
I nudged it with my knife. It rocked back and forth; it was no empty shell, but had weight and volume. Then it shivered as something inside it moved on its own. The red glow momentarily intensified.
I suddenly grew weak in a way that had nothing to do with the fumes. I sat back against the cave wall and stared at the glowing thing resting on its fireproofed nesting blanket. My heart battered against my ribs and sweat popped out all over me. I’d had one other moment like this in my life, when my entire sense of the universe had to change to accommodate the reality of an incarnated goddess, and I hated it. I was too old to keep having epiphanies.
Yet here was another one. No matter what I’d previously thought, regardless of what common sense dictated, it appeared that Candora and Argoset and Marantz and Tempcott and Laura Lesperitt had all been right. Dragons were real, and this was, in fact, an actual dragon’s egg, lain dormant for centuries. Its possession by either Marantz or King Archibald could alter the balance of power in this whole region, maybe throughout the world.
Wait. There was only a single egg on the blanket. Then the other one I’d found, the broken one, must have . . .
I shook my head. That was crazy. I’d taken a blow to the skull, sure, but it wasn’t hard enough to make me buy all this. I was a cynical ex-soldier and a well-educated, well-traveled guy. I knew better. Dragons might have existed once, but this egg was a fake, and a clever one, created by Laura Lesperitt and her father for who knew what reason and abandoned when Laura was killed and Lesperitt went into hiding. Maybe they’d planned to con Marantz, or even King Archibald, with it. Chemicals could mimic the effects of heat, light and movement, and a good potter could probably turn out fake eggs all day. An animal, probably a coyote or a bobcat, had broken the other one and eaten the contents, or perhaps the broken shell was part of the scam. No living egg could survive untended and intact for as long as everyone insisted this one had.
Regardless of its true nature, though, I needed it now to rescue Liz. I reached for the egg and felt the heat on my fingertips several inches away. It didn’t seem unduly hot, and the blanket was undamaged, but I couldn’t bring myself to take the chance. Burns from dragon flames never heal, Harry Lockett had said. Lesperitt’s hands were burned, certainly, but that could’ve been faked, too, or just the result of an unrelated accident. Hell, if he was crazy enough, he might’ve burned himself deliberately just to help with the ruse. Laura might’ve done the same.
Yet I withdrew my hand. I’d been cut up a lot, and burned a few times, and let me tell you, burns are worse, even the small ones. A burn that never healed would be torment indeed. I couldn’t bring myself to take the chance.
For every moment I hesitated, Liz hung helpless for Candora’s pleasure. Perhaps I could bluff my way through with the broken shell, and claim that someone else, either Laura and her dad or Liz and Marion, had broken both eggs and this was all that was left. Not that I expected to free Liz without killing Candora, but he was a pro and I’d have to put him off-balance to stand a chance. The one thing I couldn’t do was give the bad guys access to what might be a real dragon’s egg.
The egg shifted again. It made a wet sound, like something sliding around in the liquid interior. It spooked me, and I turned toward the entrance. Then I froze.
I heard a sound like a sail rippling in the wind, followed by the noise of nails scraping on rock. Something obstructed the tunnel opening. Backlit by the moon, it was a roughly triangular silhouette that reached from floor to ceiling, and held before it that same blue-flaming brazier. The cave suddenl
y filled with the nauseating gas stink.
The blue light was low to the ground, and swayed back and forth as much as the narrow tunnel allowed. I heard a sound like heavy cloth or leather rustling. Something snorted, and for a moment the blue light flared enough for me to plainly see what now blocked the only exit.
“Oh, shit,” I whispered.
chapter
TWENTY-EIGHT
S
o there I was, a middle-aged sword jockey face-to-face with a genuine fire-breathing dragon.
At least it wasn’t a big one, no more than eight feet from nose to tail tip. At its widest its body was as big around as my thigh. Its neck arched so that its head hung about a foot off the floor, where it swung slowly back and forth, inadvertently mimicking the action of a man swinging a lantern. Its legs were long, but in its resting position they folded up close to its body. The tail provided a counterbalance to the neck so that, except for the feet and the knuckles of its two huge, opaque wings, nothing touched the ground. Those wings were what really blocked the light, and the way they were folded brought the tips together over its back and created the triangular shape.
The blue flame glowed inside its mouth, flickering behind its small, even teeth. When it breathed even slightly, the light flared and the gas smell grew stronger.
Still, small or not, it sure as hell had me cornered. I stayed very still, wondering if it even knew I was there. Perhaps it was one of those animals that could only see movement, and if I remained immobile it would eventually go away.
Almost as soon as I had that thought, the long neck slowly straightened, extending down the tunnel toward me. It halted and snorted again, illuminating me with a puff of its eerie blue flame that popped almost in my face. The stench was unbelievable. The dragon’s serpent-like head was roughly the size of my foot, with a mouth that split almost the whole length of its skull. I wondered if, like a snake, it could dislocate its jaw and swallow things much larger than its head.
It clearly saw me, and just as clearly wasn’t pleased to find me here. It opened its mouth wide, and I saw down its throat, where the flame seemed to originate from two jets where other animals might have saliva ducts or poison glands. I gritted my teeth against the expected jet of flame. I’d contemplated many ways of dying, but being cooked alive by a mythical monster had honestly never been one of them.
It belched another warning puff, and the whole cave lit up blue like the landscape during a thunderstorm. Then its head withdrew, and it took a step back. It couldn’t be afraid of me, yet it was clearly hesitating. I realized why: I was beside the other egg, and if it attacked me, the egg might be damaged or destroyed. At least I hoped that was what was going on, because I suddenly had an idea that depended on me being right about that. For my plan to succeed, I also had to be right about the way Doug Candora’s mind worked, and what he’d do under given circumstances. That was asking a lot, of my brain particularly.
But the advantage to my plan was that, for the most part, all I had to do was wait. Since there was no way to get around this animal, it seemed an especially good plan.
I sat on the stone floor and settled back against the wall. My metal-capped boot scraped loudly on the stone, and the dragon’s head retracted like a startled snake and resumed its arched-neck position near the floor. Another surge of the noxious gas filled the tunnel, but no jets of fire spurted from its mouth. Whatever sparked it to flame must be voluntary.
The creature ruffled its wings in what seemed to be a display of some kind. Trying to intimidate me? Warn me off? Attract me as a mate? It spread its feet wide and let its belly settle to the floor. The long neck leaned to one side until it draped over a rock protruding from the wall. Then it remained motionless except for the fire in its mouth, its black eyes fixed on me.
It seemed content to wait me out, which was exactly what I wanted. Now all I had to do was sit patiently as well, and hope that I was right about the dragon, and Candora, and that Liz could withstand her ordeal a while longer. Yeah, that’s all I had to do.
Well, that and survive the toxic air that grew more foul with every moment. I’d been smart enough to bring the canteen, so using slow movements I poured water into my hand and wetted down the cloth around my mouth and nose. I doubted that it would do more than delay the inevitable suffocation, but even a few moments might make the difference.
My eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness and I could study the creature in much more detail. Its skin was shiny, with smooth, close scales like those of a snake. In color it was mostly black, although there were iridescent stripes along its sides. The belly scales were broader, also like a snake’s, and lighter in color. The wings reminded me of bats more than birds, as their skin seemed to stretch between elongated “finger” bones. A single clawed digit protruded from the wing’s main joint, and with the wings folded this knuckle rested on the ground to help with balance. The wingtips rose to the cave roof and had to bend slightly to fit.
I was most amazed by how fast the thing had grown; even if it had hatched immediately after Laura and her father hid the eggs, it had tripled in size in a very short time. I didn’t know enough about dragon lore to know if this was typical, or how big it might ultimately get. If Tempcott’s relic was genuine, it could ultimately quadruple in size.
Like most reptiles, it sat very still and watched me with a steady, unblinking gaze. I could hear the rippling flame inside its mouth surge with each breath.
Time passed slowly, and staying conscious became my overriding goal. I found it harder to keep my thoughts straight, and my head thundered from lack of clean air. The sight of Liz, stripped and battered by that asshole Candora, would not go away, nor the sick feeling I had gotten as I turned and left her there, dangling and displayed. Had she understood that it was all a plan to save her? Or was she so delirious from her torture that she thought I really was leaving, that I didn’t love her?
What kind of man did that to the woman he loved, anyway? I knew what kind: the same kind who let his childhood sweetheart be raped and murdered in front of him because he wasn’t strong enough to defend her, that’s who. And that guy was me, just as much now as when I was a sixteen. If I couldn’t save Janet then, how could I save Liz now? And suddenly Janet was there, standing beside the dragon, her body torn and violated, looking at me as she’d done then, as Liz had done this very night, with eyes that pleaded and begged, saying, Why can’t you save me, Eddie? If you loved me enough, you could save me. The soft flesh she’d entrusted to me was now being obscenely used by strangers mere yards away, and hands touched her and threatened to carve her up and did carve her up right in front of me.
And there was me, young and supposedly strong, screaming and straining, fighting the blows and ropes and sword thrusts that bit into me, and there was me turning and walking out of the hut leaving her hanging naked and bleeding, and her eyes, following me above the gag, following me helplessly until the light faded from them and I knew that my failure was the last thing she’d ever see. . . .
“Hey!” a voice cried. “You in the hole!”
chapter
TWENTY-NINE
T
he words cut through my reverie, and suddenly I was back in the moment. I jumped in surprise, and my sudden movement made the dragon huff a little, sending a small pop of blue flame from its mouth. The burst of heat assured me I was wide awake. I got slowly to my feet, aware that the animal watched every move and could incinerate me instantly.
Behind the dragon, the moonlight had turned into the gray half illumination of pre-dawn. I must’ve been wandering through my own head for hours. In all that time the dragon had not appreciably moved until I spooked it. Now it was entirely focused on me.
My hands shook, and I was chilled despite the heat. Everything depended on how well I pulled off this next bit. And even then a lot of things could go wrong. I pulled the cloth down from my face.
“Hey,” I said. My voice was dry and croaky from disuse, exactly as it needed to be. “I
s someone there?”
The dragon snorted again. The puff of blue flame was larger, and got much closer to me before consuming itself with a pop. I winced at the heat.
“You know who’s here, asshole,” Candora said. “I’ve got somebody else here, too. She’s been running behind my horse, so she’s a little beat. Had to drag her in places when she couldn’t keep up.”
The dragon very slowly turned its head so that one eye watched me, the other on the tunnel entrance. In profile its skull was eerily familiar; it was a smaller, less-formed version of the one Tempcott displayed. The horns of this dragon’s ancestor were only nascent knobs.
My mouth really was too dry to speak. Did I honestly think this was a good plan? “You gotta help me; my leg’s broken,” I called pitifully.
“Give it a rest,” Candora said. “I’m not falling for that.”
The dragon pulled one foot out from beneath its body and shifted its weight onto it. Its claws sounded like daggers scratching across the rock.
“I’m not kidding. Please, I’m bleeding; the bone’s sticking out.” I used my nervousness to make my voice quiver.
The dragon turned toward me again. The egg’s red glow reflected from the surface of its eyes.
“Tough. Drag your fat ass up here anyway, or I start throwing your girl down piece by piece.”
“I’ve got the eggs,” I said, as pathetically as I could.
The dragon’s neck drew back and arched, like a snake preparing to strike. At me. For a long moment the only sound was the wind and the soft crackling of the dragon’s fire.