“For the love of gods, girl,go!” Farley snaps weakly. “Take a torch and get out of here.”
I look into his pain-hazed eyes for another long beat.
And then I do as he’s bid me.
Chapter
Ten
I’m running.
Running on my useless, half-healed stocking feet. Running for my life. I do not look back. I cannot bear to see how close behind me I’ll find my demise, how near I am to being skewered on a set of razor-sharp mandibles. I keep my gaze fixed forward as I race down the pitch-black passage, only the dying torch to light my way. But my mind is back at the encampment, back at the bloody scene I left behind when I fled into the dark…
Coward.
I push aside the guilt and focus on the passage. I found it exactly where Farley described, tucked behind a boulder ten paces from the campfire. It had taken some swift maneuvering to get around Onyx, who seemed determined not to let me pass. In the end, only fidelity to his master stayed him from following me from the cave.
His stalwart loyalty underscores my lack of it. I had not even spared a glance at Scythe as I slipped out of view.
He is your enemy, I tell myself over and over.
So why do I feel like the worst sort of traitor?
Shouts and sword tings chase me down the narrow tunnel, away from the bloodbath. I clutch the torch, wishing I had abetter weapon. For while it may ward off the creeping shadows, if a single cyntroedi follows me, I will be no better off than poor Farley. Worse, actually—he, at least, has a sword to swing.
After a stretch, I come to the split he described. The right tunnel veers off into darkness. The left offers salvation in the form of a set of stairs. I race headlong toward it, ignoring the pain stitching through my ribs, hauling air into my lungs in ragged gulps, so focused on escape, I do not feel the telltale shock waves until it is too late to reverse course.
The centipede that erupts from the ground in front of me is bigger than any I saw back in the camp. Beside it, Onyx would appear a miniature pony. It slithers from its hole, white maw clacking, the froth of venom already coating each sawlike pincer in a toxic sheen. Its body is more bulbous than the others’, its legs thicker and covered in fibers that look sharp enough to pierce through flesh and bone.
If this hive of creatures has an alpha…here he is, in all his vile glory.
I backpedal rapidly, trying to create some distance, the torch extended in front of me like a shield. It is, I cannot help but notice, burning dangerously low.
When the creature makes to lunge at me, I brandish the flame with a menacing swipe. It pauses, as if reconsidering its plan of attack. I dare not turn my back to it. I know better than to try to run. Despite its size, it’s faster than I could ever hope to be, and as it rears up to full height, its myriad multijointed legs swiping at the air, screeching with what I can only describe as unearthly anticipation for the moment my torch flickers out…all I can pray for is a swift, clean death.
I have no desire to perish like the mare.
My free hand clenches at my side, pressing firmly against my thigh as I watch the creature eyeing me. My fist meets unexpectedresistance—something hard presses back at me through the pocket of my skirts.
The dagger.
The one I confiscated from Scythe this morning. I’d forgotten it entirely. Not that it will do me much good—what damage can a slim blade do against such a gargantuan creature?—but it is better than nothing at all. In a flash, I’ve pulled it free. I hold it out along with the torch, one weapon per hand, my grip white-knuckled as I back away.
The creature hisses and lunges again.
“Back!” I scream at it, waving my torch. “Stay back!”
The creature pauses. Its angular head tilts to and fro as my voice ricochets down the tunnel. Its eyes are not like those of its smaller brethren, back in the cave. They are clouded, pearly with age. Reminiscent of the blind beggars at market with their hands extended sightlessly for alms.
Can it see me?I wonder suddenly, breath catching in my throat.Or have all these years in the darkness left it blind?
If so, it is tracking my voice, my pounding pulse, my shredded breaths. Pinpointing my position from the vibrations of my feet against the earth each time I move.
Clamping my mouth shut against any more foolish declarations of bravado that will betray my position, I make an effort to slow my breathing and creep backward as softly as I can manage, thankful—for the first time in weeks—for my lack of shoes. The creature stills, as if it truly is listening for me. Hope flares in my chest. A fool’s hope, but hope nonetheless.
Perhaps I can get away. Not past it, not to the stairs, not to freedom…but back to the campsite. Perhaps, against all odds, the men survived. Perhaps—
My foot hits a loose stone.