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

Prologue

Agnir slithered through the tunnel, his dark scales gliding along the rocky floor without a sound. It was dark, but his reptilian eyes saw everything.

The stone tunnel ran deep into the mountain, hewn by an ancient race of creatures long dead. The walls were dry, the granite dull in the darkness. Rocks littered the floor, and Agnir wove between them, his long, sleek body ideal for such conditions. Haunting, echoing shrieks sounded throughout the tunnel, but he ignored them, his focus set on one thing.

A light flickered up ahead, and Agnir flicked his tongue, catching the scent of smoke in the air. He slipped along the ground toward the pulsing firelight. It came from a large hole in the wall, sending shadows fleeing and jumping in all directions.

When he reached the hole, Agnir shifted back into his human form, stepping inside the room.

Shelves lined the room, wooden slabs securely driven into the stone walls. Each held magical items; colorful potions and spell books, ingredients for enchantments, stones and dried herbs used for healing, and countless other sorcerous elements only spoken of in myth and legend. A cauldron, empty at the moment, sat on a stand in the middle of the room. A small fireplace was carved into the stone of the wall, the flaming logs crackling cheerfully, the smoke going up through a chimney that led out the side of the mountain.

There was a neatly made bed against the wall, a small table beside it. On the table sat a life-size owl figurine, with snowy feathers, curved talons, and black eyes that seemed to stare at Agnir, watching every move he made. It looked real. He watched it carefully for a few seconds, his lips curling into a cruel smile.

"No more games, witch," he spoke to it, his tone warning. "I grow weary of your tricks and treachery." The owl continued to stare at him, unmoving.

"I do wonder why a king such as yourself talks to my possessions with so much conviction." The feminine voice had come from behind him. It was smooth and honeyed, and it held a hint of amusement. The amusement was no longer present in her next statement, replaced by bitter accusation. "Then again, perhaps usurpers are simply naturally gifted with stupidity."

Agnir turned swiftly, facing her. She stood by the cauldron, ignoring his piercing glare as she dripped a combination of potions into the pot. Each drop mushroomed steam as it hit the bottom, and the cauldron was soon overflowing, the wisps reaching the floor and spreading, only to disappear into thin air.

His eyes shifted to the witch herself. Every story he'd ever heard about her kind portrayed them as old, ugly, wart-covered hags, but she was the polar opposite. With her long, raven hair and bejeweled gown, she looked more like a dark angel than an ancient wielder of magic. Her dress was simple and elegant, the green velvet hugging her lovely figure and shimmering in the firelight like a windswept grassland at twilight. There were the tiniest of emeralds set in the neckline, which reached to her collarbone in a wide V. The sleeves were tight around her gracefully slender arms, the cuffs lined with rows of small, polished purple stones.

Her face was truly one of the fairest Agnir had seen. Soft, ruby lips, pale, perfect skin, and stunning grey eyes lined with black. Her lashes were thick and long, and a sharp jawline and gentle cheekbones only added to her beauty.

She was utterly gorgeous.

It was a shame he had to kill her.

"You know why I have come, Witch, so do—"

"My name is Katerina. You may call me Kit, if you wish." She finally looked up from the steaming pot, locking him in place with her cold gaze. There was a calm fury dancing behind her eyes, daring him to move. She knew exactly what he planned to do, Agnir could sense that much. It only sparked his own anger, made him throw caution aside.