The Amulet Of Nicmir (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 1)

Chapter 5

Chad pulled his mount to a halt, guiding it to the left. The stallion was sweating profusely from the run despite the brisk day, and it let out a satisfied snort when its hooves touched the sunlit water. Chad only just managed to dismount before the horse took a springing leap into the river, water erupting in a splash around the animal.

"You're lucky I have our supplies in this pack," Chad called to the stallion, who was now submerged up to his proud neck.

The horse snorted at him defiantly, ducking its head to drink.

Chad shook his head, an amused smile threatening to conquer his somber expression.

It had been three and a half days since they'd left the camp. Chad's meager food supply was running dangerously low, but traveling beside the river solved any problems concerning water.

The mangrove trees thinned as Chad rode north, but they were still far too thick to warrant riding, the tangled roots sure to render any steed lame eventually. So Chad stuck to the riverbank, a dry, flat plain of ancient mud and packed silt left by the spring floods that ravaged the banks every year. It made for smooth travel, a natural road carved into the rolling hills and dense forest with the path of Dragon's Tongue, a deep, cold creek that ran along through the southern reaches of the North Woods for a hundred miles or so before merging with the River Endrine.

And so there they were, alone by the riverbank, the sun lighting up the leaves into a swirl of virid and autumn's gold, carefree birds singing cheerfully in the trees, and the refreshing smell of water brightening the day. The river was calm in the stretch he'd chosen to rest, gurgling and running over smooth, submerged pebbles that blanketed the riverbed in a mix of deep brown, slate grey, and rust red.

Chad pulled his pack off with a sigh, slumping down on the dry, cracked mud. The tranquil beauty around him clashed heavily with his inner storm of emotional pain, leaving him nothing short of torn.

He pulled a piece of stale bread from the pack; the last of his food. After taking a bite, he forced himself to chew and swallow, knowing he needed the nourishment. The bread tasted more like overcooked porridge than its acclaimed originality.

The stallion, successfully cooled off and with thirst satisfied, plowed out of the water, coat shining. It glistened in the sunlight like polished cedar, all golden and chestnut. The silver spots on it stood out like stars, dotting its stunning flank.

It trotted indignantly up to where Chad sat, shaking its head and flinging sparkling droplets in every direction. Chad held out what remained of the bread, and without an ounce of hesitation, it pulled it from his grasp with wet lips. He watched the horse chew contentedly, big brown eyes gazing intelligently at him.

"I'm glad someone could enjoy it."

The stallion regarded him for a moment, silently observing him. He let out a sigh, dropping his head into his hands. If he was being honest with himself, he had to admit; he had no idea where he was going. He hadn't thought to grab a map before bolting from the camp, and now, he regretted it. All the information he had was something about a plant and the Eldùraen ruins, and that helped very little.

He'd heard about that ancient place from stories, but that's all it'd ever been; stories. He remembered tales of magic and a great battle that resulted from the feud between the Nemaru and the Canivera, lynx and wolf. Priests and priestesses of an ancient religion, magicians and wizards gifted with rare, powerful magic. It had all been very exciting when he was just a boy, but it scared him now. He knew magic was real. That much had been clear to him since long before he could remember.

Something must have piqued the stallion's interest, because its ears pricked up, swiveling with his head to look toward the dense trees. Chad turned to look in that direction, curious, and wary.