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

Chapter 14

Crynia had often considered setting goals in her life. Becoming a pincushion had never been particularly high on her list.

And so she ran. She turned on her heel and shot like a dart right back the way she came, zigzagging her trail, using the trees as cover. Her heart convulsed when an arrow whooshed past less than half an inch from her ear and buried itself in a tree with a sickening thump. Fear, clawed and chilling, crept up the back of her neck as she pressed herself against the rough bark of a huge maple, panting hard.

She didn't realize just how far ahead of the others she'd been until she spotted Samoni sprinting towards her a few hundred feet off. He didn't seem particularly alarmed, so she assumed he neither saw nor heard the archers pursuing her. It was no wonder. They were silent as dead men.

But that didn't change the fact that he was running straight to his death.

Crynia swore under her breath and huffed a frustrated sigh. As much as she despised him, it wouldn't help her guilty conscience one speck if she didn't warn him. But oh, he was annoying. It would be almost nice to see him so full of arrows that he looked like a hedgehog...

Stop it, she scolded herself. He's a living person, and you've got to convince these people that you're not going to kill them all. A lightbulb went on in her head. This was the opportunity she'd been unconsciously waiting for. This was her way to earn their trust. Or at least get the message across that she wouldn't stab them all in their sleep.

"There!" someone shouted in the distance. "There's the boy!" Crynia's breath caught. They thought he was Chad. And judging by what Chad had done to Turin and his mercenaries back at the field the day before, these men were here not only to capture her, but for revenge. Sam may as well have had a glowing target painted on his chest. Which meant her only chance at getting on the group's good side was about to become a porcupine if she didn't do something fast.

It was clear to her that Sam hadn't seen the archers. If he had, and if he had any sense at all (unlikely), he would've stopped dead in his tracks, turned around, and run.

A plan came into her head. And maybe, just maybe, it would work.

Glancing up, she took note of the height of the branches above her. Blast it. The lowest one was six feet above her head.

"That's all right," she reassured herself, shaking her hands and bouncing on the balls of her feet a few times to loosen the growing knot of nervousness in her stomach. If this didn't work, there would be no escape. She had no more hairpins, no gang to rescue her. The thought put a lump in her throat, and her eyes stung.

On the flip side, if everything went how she wanted in the next few moments, she'd have someone to give her a boost into the tree. Someone who stood about six feet tall.

***

Sam had never considered himself easily startled. But when someone tackled him to the ground mid-run, it made his heart go into his throat with momentary fear and a full dose of surprise. That is, until he caught a glimpse of his attacker.

Maybe he shouldn't have voted for her to come along.

Crynia yanked him to his feet and dragged him behind a monstrous tree before he had a chance to recover.

"Don't make a sound," she whispered harshly, spitting out a leaf, "or you're a dead man."

"A death threat? Really? I thought we were on the same side," he hissed back, taking a step away from where she had him pushed against the tree trunk. She slammed him back against the bark. He groaned, and she slapped a hand over his mouth and leaned in so close he felt her breath on his face. And blast it, she smelled. But that was what happened when you spent a night in a dungeon, rolled around on the ground during a thunderstorm, and didn't bathe afterward, Sam supposed. He probably didn't smell much better.