Page 51 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

As the two guards took hold of Vaelora, General Loyce raised her hand, bringing them to a halt.

Once again, she slowly sauntered up to him.

“You are only doing as I ask for her sake. Not because I ordered it. There’s a difference, boy, and you will learn that I expect the latter, in all cases.

” She turned to face the crowd. “It has come to my attention that there is treachery afoot, and I would be remiss not to address it.”

Zevander’s blood turned cold.

A commotion in the crowd had Zevander twisting to see orgoths dragging Aradia to the center of the room, where they threw her to the ground in front of the general.

“These three have conspired against me. And as you know, I do not tolerate disloyalty.”

“I swear to you, General?—”

“You swear nothing to me! Your words are like ash on the wind.” Without taking her eyes from her subordinate, Loyce held out her hand, and one of her soldiers placed the hilt of a long, skinny blade there. “Bad humors must be carved out with a blade, or they will fester and spread.”

“Please…I had no intentions—” Aradia didn’t even have the opportunity to finish, before General Loyce gave one fast strike of the sword.

Seconds later, Aradia’s head fell away from her body, rolling onto the floor in a bloody mess, the white suit she’d worn covered in thick, red blood.

“Aradia!” Vaelora screamed beside Zevander and fell to her knees, sobbing.

Loyce wiped the blood coating her sword onto Aradia’s headless torso and made her way toward the two of them. “Be advised that nothing escapes my attention.”

Zevander sailed a deadly glare toward Theron, who stood off in the crowd, his expression stoic as he stared back at him.

“And there is no mercy.” She pointed toward the pit, and four guards rushed to remove the grated lid.

Vaelora pushed to her feet and backed herself away, shaking her head. “No. I will…do whatever you say…I swear it. Please! Do not do this, General!”

Guards grabbed hold of her arms, just as before, only that time, she fought their grasp, digging her heels into the floor, resisting and screaming.

“No! No! I am the daughter of the king!”

“His bastard daughter.” The general chuckled, handing her sword off to a nearby guard. “You should’ve been slaughtered like a runt at birth.”

Zevander lurched for the guard nearest him and felt the thick grip of an orgoth clutching his throat, drawing him backward. Air waned in his lungs, and he clawed at his captor, who refused to release him.

Zevander watched in helpless fury, while Vaelora was dragged to the edge of the pit.

A scream of wild terror echoed through the room, her eyes wide with the kind of unbridled fear he’d never seen before. “A blade to my throat!” she screamed. “I want to die with a blade!”

Whatever dwelled in that pit was apparently worse than death.

“You don’t get to choose.” Loyce gave one hard shove from behind, and Vaelora let out a gut-wrenching scream as she fell forward.

Madness seized Zevander’s muscles, and in one quick strike, he spun around, jabbing his fingers into the soft flesh that covered the orgoth’s vitaelis vein. He gripped hard and tore away the throbbing vein, so that blood spouted down his hands.

Once free, Zevander darted for the pit and jumped in feet-first.

He hadn’t even measured the depth, so he came crashing down onto the gravely floor with a hard thud that buckled his knees. From what must’ve been twelve meters overhead, faces peered in on him, Theron among them.

Pain throbbed in Zevander’s legs as he pushed to his feet.

Whimpers reached his ears, and he turned to find Vaelora in a defensive stance, holding a rock in one hand. Beyond her, stood three wide caves, their gaping entrances surrounded by thick roots, and nothing but darkness within.

A long pole slipped down from above, its tip attached to a flaming bundle of kindling. The pole handler lit one of the stone sconces on the wall, illuminating the dim cavern.

Zevander darted forward for the pole, just missing it before the handler raised it back toward the surface. He quietly growled and twisted around to see Vaelora’s panicked expression.

“This is where she keeps her pets,” she whispered.

Enormous squiggly lines smudged into the cave sand, the width of each half his height, gave some indication of their size.

Small enough to be contained within the cavern, but large enough for Zevander to be concerned.

“I watched them once. Dragged another slave off. I don’t know what they did with her?—”

“It used her,” Loyce interrupted from above.

“Charnelyths are very practical creatures. They don’t just kill for the sake of killing, or for food.

No, they’re far more resourceful.” She hiked her boot up onto the edge of the pit and sipped her wine.

“When they clamp their teeth into your flesh, they release a venom, so that by the time they drag you back to their nests, you’re completely paralyzed.

At that point, the female will deposit her eggs inside of you.

The male, of course, will fertilize them, as they do.

And like good parents, the two will keep you well fed on whatever they manage to scrounge up.

Decayed human meat. Rats. Insects. And when the babies are finally ready to hatch, they will claw their way out of the eggs and tear through your body, consuming your flesh as their first meal. ”

A deep, guttural growl reverberated off the cave walls, and Vaelora choked on a sob. Her hands shook as she clutched the rock.

“As for you, Zevander, they’ll wrangle you to the ground and decapitate you. Your body will feed their colony, but they’ll keep your head as a sort of trophy.”

Another growl, that one pitching to a roar, alerted that the beast was closer.

Zevander glanced around for a weapon, but all he could find was a rock, slightly smaller than the one Vaelora clutched.

Wrists still shackled together, he tore his mask and horns away, and focused his attention on the three caverns.

As he waited for the beasts to emerge, he couldn’t help but be grateful for whatever Theron may have done to restore his senses, despite wanting to rip the betraying bastard’s throat out.

“Promise me something …” Vaelora spoke low, her voice quivering like a candle in a drafty corridor. “Should you ever leave this place and cross paths with my brother…tell him I love him.”

“Enough of that. You’re getting out of here.”

At first, the only sound was their panting breaths, but then a loud, grating scrape and thunk , scrape and thunk sent him searching for the source. Could’ve come from any one of the caves.

Or all of them.

He tugged on Vaelora’s shoulder, and she flinched. “Get behind me.”

She scampered around to his back, her nails digging into his side as she clutched him.

The first charnelyth slid forward and the crowd overhead erupted into gasps and cheers.

The creature had the body of a snake, with thorns and thick scales, but its head was like that of a dragon, broad and angular, with deep ridges over its serpentine eyes that gave a menacing glare.

The flicker of its tongue reminded him of the vicious cobras he’d learned of, that dwelled in the Eremician deserts.

Adrenaline surging, Zevander searched the beast’s form for any sign of a weakness, but every inch of it was scaled with what he imagined to be thick, rough skin.

Impenetrable.

From its top lip protruded two long tusks instead of fangs, their tips sharp and pointed for piercing. If he could tear one away, he might be able to stab it, just as he had with the orgoth. Yes, he was certain that would be the way to defeat it.

The creature let out another roar and slithered toward him.

It drew back for a strike, and Zevander pushed Vaelora to the ground then dove to the side, narrowly missing those long, serrated tusks that jabbed into the dirt.

A plume of dust exploded into the air, and Vaelora let out shriek, kicking away from the narrow escape.

The whole pit shook with a loud bellow as the charnelyth rose up, its eyes more menacing than before and blazing with malice.

They locked onto Vaelora.

Zevander’s mind churned, eyes searching for a way to wound it, somehow.

The beast’s tail slammed into the wall of the cavern, breaking loose shards of rock, and Zevander eyed a long, spear-like piece of it lying just behind it.

To get to it, he’d have to abandon Vaelora for a moment, but if he could somehow pierce the creature, it might distract it.

Maybe even kill it.

He lurched for the weapon, but stopped short when the charnelyth hissed, it’s long, red tongue lashing out at him. It struck like a whip against his arm, slicing across his flesh with a hot streak of pain.

“Fucking hell!” Zevander gripped his shoulder, backing himself away. He turned to Vaelora, who stood trembling, her face twisted into a silent sob. “When I give you the signal, I want you to run behind it!”

“What? No!”

“Trust me, Vaelora!” Zevander growled. “I will not let it take you!”

“Promise me. Promise me you won’t let me die in its nest.”

“I promise you.” Taking deep breaths through his nose, Zevander focused on the spear. “At my command …” He rolled his shoulders back.

Without warning, the beast drew back, fangs gleaming, and struck fast.

“Now!”

Zevander pivoted to the side and darted forward for the spear. He swiped it up quickly. As the beast turned for Vaelora, Zevander plunged the tip of the spear into his body, cutting through its scales like a hot blade.

It roared and hissed and thrashed in a vicious rage, but Zevander held tight to the weapon and dragged it up the length of its soft underside.

Vaelora’s screams echoed around him, but he remained determined to kill it, and pulled on the edges of its deadly gash, spilling its entrails to hasten its death.

Blood and rancid-smelling viscera poured onto the ground, pooling around his feet. The beast teetered, let out another roar, then collapsed. It convulsed, eyes bulging, and let out one more violent tremor before it finally stilled.

A surge of adrenaline shot through him, the elation of victory sending a cold rush to his muscles.

Zevander snapped his gaze to Vaelora, and tendrils of dread climbed up his spine.

Her lower body was hidden in the mouth of another enormous charnelyth, and eyes blazing with terror, she reached out for him. “Your wrist!” she screamed. “The poison! Please!”

Zevander lurched for her, but intense pressure at his throat threw his feet out from under him, and he clutched a noose that’d been tied around his neck without him knowing.

Vaelora let out a gut-wrenching scream, and in the next breath, she was yanked into the black cave behind her.

One heave threw Zevander backward and trapped the air in his lungs as his spine slammed into the rock wall.

From one of the caves, he saw two glowing eyes watching him.

Zevander clawed at the bind, gasping and wheezing.

Sharp stone scraped against his back, as he was hoisted upward by his neck.

The pressure intensified, the noose cinching his windpipe.

He opened his mouth, but could neither inhale, nor exhale.

The beast charged forward, snapping its tusks, just missing Zevander’s thrashing legs. He clawed at the rope biting into his throat, and another hard tug lifted him higher.

The charnelyth below him snapped its tusks again, that time, piercing his thigh.

He couldn’t scream. Couldn’t make so much as a sound, while the creature shook its head to get loose, thrashing his limb like a hooked fish.

Pain vibrated through Zevander’s bones, and a cold numbing sensation crawled from his legs up into his chest, spreading across his lungs. His vision narrowed, the blackness on the fringes closing in.

Until, at last, he let it take him.