Page 151 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

I have a choice. Surrender and live long enough to reach the crypts. Run and die here in the forest. Either way, I’m not walking away from this.

I run.

Behind me, I hear laughter. The hunt has officially begun and they want me to know they’re coming. Most retrievals are for simple amateurs who never stood a chance. But I’m guild-trained and experienced.

Hunting a fellow Grimsbane is rare sport.

They’re going to enjoy this. The forest blurs past as I push my body past its limits. Trees become streaks of brown and green in my peripheral vision. My boots pound against earth and root. Every breath tears at my lungs like I’m inhaling glass.

These hunters have been trailing me since I left Aelfheim. An arrow grazes my shoulder, tearing leather and skin. Another thuds into the ground where my foot was a second ago. The archer is tracking my movement, predicting my path. These aren’t kill shots. He is playing with me.

I cut left, then right, trying to break their line of sight. I change direction every few seconds, making my path as unpredictable as possible. It’s standard evasion tactics against archers.

But the forest seems to shift around me. The path I’m running suddenly becomes steeper. A root that wasn’t there a moment ago catches my foot, sending me stumbling. It’s not my imagination. I watch it happen as the trees bend subtly and the undergrowth thicken to slow me down.

The forest is turning against me. It’s becoming a maze designed to funnel me exactly where my hunters want me to go. There’s a mage among them, warping reality to cage me in.

Shit. A mage and an archer working together.

That’s fucking overkill for one failed assassin.

It doesn’t help that they seem to know these woods better than I do. Meanwhile I’m navigating blind. Every choice I make plays into their hands because they’ve already anticipated it.

The guild had chosen well.

My chest heaves but never quite gets enough air. The poison from the first arrow graze is already working through my system, affecting my breathing and coordination. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision. I need to change direction to break their pattern before they drive me straight into whatever trap they’ve laid.

They’re herding me.

I can feel it now. There’s a destination they want me to reach, probably where the mage is waiting.

An arrow slams into the trunk beside me. I duck purely on instinct. Wood splinters explode outward, one piece cutting my cheek.

That was too close.

My shoulder throbs where the first arrow grazed me. The spreading numbness tells me it was poisoned. It’s not a killing poison but it slows my reaction time. I can’t keep trying to outrun them. They’ve done this before and know exactly how to break down a running target. I must deal with them before they get to me.

I press my back against an oak and pull one of my throwing knives. They have a mage warping the terrain and at least one archer with excellent aim. The knife feels heavy in my hand, slick with the blood running down my arm from the wound.

Let them think they have me cornered and desperate.

A cornered animal fights with everything it has because it has nothing left to lose. I’m that animal now. I force my breathing to slow despite my racing heart.

I need my hands steady for what comes next. Boot crunches on fallen leaves to my left. I close my eyes for just a moment. Heavy boots and confident stride. The archer, cocky enough to approach his quarry on foot now that he thinks I’m trapped.

First mistake of the day.

He’s close enough now that I can hear his breathing. I count his steps. Each footfall telling me exactly where he is, when he’ll be in range. I adjust my grip on the knife, feeling the weight. The blade leaves my hand and takes him in the throat. I hear the impact followed by a strangled gasp. The archer grabs at his throat. It’s not deep enough for a killing blow but enough to make him stumble backward.

I’m running before he can recover.

I head straight to where the mage is positioned. If I can separate them and take them one at a time, maybe I have a chance—

The forest itself turns against me. Trees that were stationary a second ago are suddenly mobile, roots shifting and writhing. The entire forest comes alive with hostile intent, responding to the mage’s will.

Vines burst from the ground like striking snakes. They’re covered with thorns as they seek out my ankles and wrists. One manages to wrap around my ankles before I can dodge. The vines coil around my boots, my calves, tightening with crushing force. I go down hard, palms scraping bloody against roots and rocks.

Stars explode across my vision from the impact. I slash at the vines with my boot knife but they’re reinforced with magic. Each cut barely scratches the surface before they tighten further. The vines continue their constriction, squeezing harder. More vines emerge from the soil, wrapping around my thighs now, climbing toward my waist. Every time I try to move, the thorns tear at flesh.