Page 55 of Nightingale

To stand with her men and inspire them.

His father occasionally did as well, only to keep their men in line. To keep them fighting, is what he really meant. What good was fighting tooth and nail for a King that wanted nothing to do with them?

Castil heard the talk from the tired Carylimians, of how they were ready for the decades long battles to stop at long last, for everyone to lay down their arms. If only that were possible. But it seemed as if it radiated from camp to camp, spreading over to the Niroulians as well, since the tents were close. Some of themore daring men even went so far as to share wine and food with the other side during the peaceful breaks that seldom occurred.

Nights where ideas were passed back and forth.

For a little bit of time, sides were forgotten and weapons were laid down. The borders didn’t exist and neither did the ongoing war. They never lasted long before the generals rallied the fighters back to their sides and the battles started up once more, but it was nice for the time it did last.

In those scarce hours, talk of rebellion was heard.

It was always brief, like a tiny bug in the wind one moment only to flit by the next, as if it had never been there in the first place.

Whenever his hearing picked up on the whispered ideas, his mouth was sealed shut. If his father caught a whiff of one word of an uprising, every single man within the area would have been slaughtered in a vain attempt to pause any rebellion. Which was why Castil never spilled a single sound about it.

He didn’t care.

Let the men talk.

They were dying for a cause with no end in sight. What did it matter what they said whilst the groans, grunts and screams of the dying filled the air? What was angry talk compared to never seeing one’s wife and children again, or to the loss of a limb that would never be returned? Talk was cheap, and didn’t mean anything unless backed up by actions. Something that none of them dared to do.

They never would.

Not with his father on the throne.

Castil knew why Rian was doing what he was doing, why his plan was set the way it was. It was brilliant, far more daring than any of them could have hoped to achieve.

But it wouldn’t be him who saw it through.

Not as he strode away from the fallen foes and slung himselfback atop Atlas. Not as he pushed his horse hard as they rode for the lands of Niroula, for Vrea and Rian. Not as Castil rode to take his brother’s place.

Rian would be furious.

Castil would be too.

He’d be stuck by the side of the woman he was supposed to hate, captured in a life that most certainly meant his end.

Twenty Seven

Six days later, they found themselves at the start of the Blackleg Caverns. They weren’t the sort of tunnels that one had to venture into in order to exit the mountain range, thankfully, but it would be an entire day of trying to remain as quiet as possible. Of walking instead of riding since the fast-paced clop of horse hooves would alert the enormous arachnids of their presence. Cantering past might have given them the swifter advantage, but it also offered them death since the spiders were known for their alertness.

They didn’t see or even hear as well as they might have. But the Blacklegs could feel vibrations like no other, no matter how small or large the tremors were. Which meant that each step would need to be precise, as soft as possible, as they attempted to cross by without waking them.

Rian had been to war several times, visiting the camps and he knew the territory around those lands. But he’d never crossed through the mountains before, nor the Caverns. It was a straightforward and simple road, one that went in one end and led out the next, but there were dangerous perils along them that made it hard to leave in one piece. He couldn’t deny the pull of fear as they began their first stretch into the Blackleg area.

They just had to make it past and then they’d arrive at the frontlines. Over the Niroulian border.

Vrea was quiet beside him, and they’d agreed on exchangingno sentences until they made it out the other side. The horses seemed to sense their riders nervousness, tugging at the harnesses and trying to avoid entering the thin passageway at all.

Rian refused to lose his mount.

If something happened, he’d throw Vrea atop Kohl, swing up behind her and they’d ride like hell. He didn’t share that thought with her, nor would he. The stubborn female would probably decline it until her last breath. Which considering where they were, wasn’t out of the realm of the possibilities.

There was a small wooden sign that held a carved warning staked right before it all began. One that said to turn back.

One they blatantly ignored.

They were crossing the caverns, one way or another.

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