Drayce spat the creature out and made a face, his long, forked tongue hanging out as if the spider was the most disgusting thing he’d ever put in his mouth. The impression might have been helped by the gagging noise that rose from him.
“Fire would be helpful,” Caelan yelled. “I need to get to Rayne and Eno.”
The black dragon nodded and faced the horde of enormous black arachnids racing in their direction. A geyser of brilliant flames erupted from his mouth, cutting a wide swath through the attacking spiders and through the forest itself.
Caelan took the opening to race to Eno and Rayne. A final spider that had slipped through their line fell under Eno’s broadsword, and he was turning toward Rayne. They were all splattered with blood and dripping with sweat, their clothes sticking to them in the thick, damp heat of the Ordas.
“Are you okay?” Caelan demanded.
Rayne nodded as he grabbed Eno and began working to close the long gash on the soldier’s arm. Caelan took up position in front of them, his sword clenched in his fist, ready for any more attacks.
They’d been inside the Ordas for three exhausting days, making slow progress as they followed along the Whitgami River. If Ilon was moving innocent people into the Ordas via the river, it made sense that Green Spring lay somewhere along its winding course. It wasn’t much, but right now it was their only clue as to where to find Zyros, Lore, and Safa.
So far, all they’d found was thick jungle and creatures determined to kill them. Today’s variety happened to be monstrously large spiders.
The attack had begun slowly, but after a few minutes, it was clear they were horribly outnumbered. Drayce had shifted into his dragon form to help in slaughtering the giant arachnids, but even that was difficult with his large body trying to fit its way between all the trees and vines. The dragon might be an epic killing machine, but he had little maneuverability and it was far too easy for him to get trapped.
Unless they were willing to burn down and crush huge swaths of the dense foliage. At first Caelan had been inclined to try to preserve as much of the land as possible.
By the start of day four of trudging through this unrelenting damp heat with thick vines blocking every route, he was seriously considering asking Drayce to burn a path for them, plant life be damned.
With his left hand, he wiped at the sweat that was dripping from his brow and squinted against the shafts of bright sunlight peeking between the dense leaves. It was hard to believe they were well into winter and he was sweating this heavily. If he’d been home, they would be fighting snowdrifts and worrying about whether the plows could keep the road clear so commerce wouldn’t have to slow within the capital.
Crashing through the trees to his left had Caelan swiveling toward the noise. It suddenly cut off as Drayce stomped through the brush, human and pissed.
“Where are our bags? I need water. Where’s the water?” Drayce demanded.
“Spiders?” Caelan inquired as he made his sword disappear with a flick of his wrist and hurried to where the bags were stacked behind Rayne. He grabbed the first canteen he spotted and tossed it to Drayce.
“Dead,” Drayce bit out. He took a deep drink, swished it in his mouth, and spit it out off to the side. “Ugh. Gods,” he moaned before taking another drink and spitting it out.
“Don’t like the taste of spiders?” Caelan asked, trying so hard not to laugh at his lover.
“It’s not so much the taste as all the little hairs that get stuck on my tongue.” Drayce gave a full-body shiver as he screwed the cap onto the canteen. “Gross.”
“I’d kiss you, but I don’t want those hairs on my tongue,” Caelan replied, earning another groan from Drayce.
He turned his attention to Rayne and Eno. Both were sweaty and exhausted, but at least Rayne had gotten the wound on Eno’s arm closed. Eno was seated on the ground and Rayne was kneeling behind him, his forehead pressed to the top of Eno’s head.
“We can take a break here. Catch our breaths, then push on,” Caelan directed.
“Should we be concerned that you don’t appear to be out of breath like the rest of us?” Eno asked.
Caelan flashed him a weak smile but didn’t say anything. What could he say? He didn’t get tired like he used to. At least, not physically tired. As it was, he didn’t even get sleepy any longer. He slept at night with the others because it was expected of him.
Fatigue now came in the form of energy depletion, as if he had only a specific amount of magical energy in his body—which, in his opinion, ran out far too quickly. When he was running low, it became difficult to even hold his head up.