Page 65 of Nightingale

Castil didn’t waste anymore time as a screech filled the air, heat blasted out of the tunnel and the smell of decay increased. He lit another, tossing it to the cave on his right. Then another, into the one on his left.

On and on he went, quickly grabbing the bound pile of wood from Atlas’s back and setting the flame with the smeared, oily blood, throwing them with all his might in order to make sure that they reached the very bottom. Making sure that they took out as many Blackleg spiders as possible. Small ones ran for their lives, scurrying out of the tunnels as they avoided the inferno, whilst the larger ones that had woven themselves into complex nests of spider-silk struggled to get free before they were roasted alive.

The smell had been bad before, but it was positively wretched now.

Castil lit the third to last as he ran, aiming for the largest tunnel of them all and hit gold. It must have bounced off aBlackleg as it fell, a horrified shriek rattling the passageway as stones trembled in its wake. They tumbled down the sides of the mountains, skipping and sliding and spilling into his path as he narrowly avoided tripping over them.

The fire spilled out of the entrances, a mesmerising garnet that licked the rim of the caves, casting a heated hue that burned forever bright. It wouldn’t last forever, fading away as soon as it ran out of spiders to fuel its flames.

Atlas held steady, standing with him as he continued to light each stick as quickly as he possibly could, without burning the end of his long fingers. The proximity had to be just right, had to be close enough to ignite with how the Blackleg blood took a second to take to the fire.

He’d felt the scorch a couple times now.

The male was down to two handfuls of kindling, rotating the second as he hurled it into the second to last cavern, watching it consume every inch of the spun-silk that coated the insides. It went up within an instant as the embers sparked, turning the white-web into charcoal ash and soot.

A medium-sized arachnid made for him, its tendril legs scraping the air as if it would climb him like a tree for protection, away from the smoke and heat. Castil stomped down on it, pressing his heel in deep before it even had the chance to brush against his pant leg. He didn’t mind the creatures too terribly like his brother did, but there was no amicable favour for them either.

With a dash of its blood against the last pile of sticks, he dropped it in the very last cavern, a slight rush of thrill overtaking him as he viewed his quick thinking. There was no way that any of the massive Blacklegs could have survived any of it, not when none of them crawled out to escape the blasting warmth.

Which meant that Castil had just taken down all, if not most,of the Blackleg Spiders.

Thirty Two

Rian woke with a start in his heart that felt as though someone bottled and brewed a lightning potion, forced his jaw open and poured it down his throat. His joints felt alive, buzzing with a newfound excitement that shocked him like a bucket of water had been dumped atop him, filled with ice and everything chilling.

His body jerked upright, pain lancing through his shoulder as he blinked several times, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings. He grunted, hands going to his left shoulder where the Blackleg had pierced him, just above his heart luckily, feeling the rough linen under his palm. He pulled his chin down to see the healing fabric that wrapped around his shoulder, under his arm and around his chest to secure and staunch the wound. A browned stain of what appeared to once have been red was the only sign that he’d actually been hit by the creature. Alongside the numbing pain that radiated through his tense muscles.

“Try not to move.” A deep voice called from the corner. “It will only worsen it.”

Rian’s attention immediately shot to the shadowed figure in the alcove of the tiny tent, which barely had enough room for his bed, let alone the chair that the massive mammoth of a man sat in.

“You have been drugged to keep your vitals stable, and you will be feeling drowsy for quite some time.” He informed him,leaning forward and propping his elbows on his thick thighs. “We will be leaving tomorrow morning.”

From the angle, Rian could make out almost black eyes, dark skin that neared ebony, and a round face that held no hair. There was a stern, stoic expression plastered into his features as the clearly important man rose from the seat and casually wandered over to the side of his bed. There was a looming threat that hung with each of his steps, as if he wanted Rian to fear him.

He swallowed, “Who are you?”

His resonance cracked, and he reached for the glass of water that had been set on the small, four legged table that held nothing else.

“Do not worry about that.” He said quietly.

Rian chugged half the glass, wiping at the underside of his mouth and setting it back down. “And yet I feel as though you’re implying that there’s something else Ishouldbe worried about.”

Something akin to a creeping smile broke out on the man’s face, something that provided a gnawing sensation in his bowels.

Danger,his gut warned.

Run,his head said.

Death,his instincts cried.

“You are smart.” His tone was the rumble of thunder, the eye of the storm, the sands that could whip up a massive hurricane. “I expected that from one of Carylim’s children.”

Rian scowled. “I’m not a child.”

“You are, compared to me. What are you, thirty something? Late twenties?” He retorted, raising his head until his full height was complete. He was tall, taller than Castil had ever been. The man nearly had to crouch in order to fit into the tent. “Younger than the Princess, perhaps?”

“Something around there.”

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