Artesans of Albia: 01 - King's Envoy Read Online Free PDF Page A

shocked silence.
     
There was a roar—“Treachery!”—from the huntsmen and they leaped into action, rushing toward Taran, baying for his blood.
     
Trapped, exhausted and facing certain death, Taran panicked. Sheathing his sword, he snatched the Staff and channeled his own power through it. Unthinking, he called up his reserves and threw the largest barrier of Earth element he could manage against the rushing men. The effort of using the alien weapon burned his brain and the pain was excruciating. Yet the yelling huntsmen were flung back, momentarily stunned. Taran used the respite to take another gamble.
     
He called a feeble Earth ball and lobbed it behind the huntsmen’s horses, even that small power causing him incredible pain. This time luck was on his side and the horses stampeded toward him. Gasping, half-blinded by pain, Taran managed to grab the reins of a passing horse and wrench it to a halt. Agony shot through his arm as it nearly popped out of its socket. The horse curvetted wildly and Taran had to scramble into the saddle, still holding the Staff tightly. Before he’d even found his balance, he was kicking the horse toward the hills. Hopefully he could shake his pursuers and relocate the portway.
     
For a while, he thought he might succeed. He turned the horse, racing through the maze of hills, trying to hide his tracks. Fear gave him strength but he knew it wouldn’t last. As he crested a rise, he risked a glance over his shoulder, his laboring heart lifted by the absence of pursuit. His lungs heaving, he sent the horse pounding down the far side of the hill.
     
His relief was short-lived. Inevitably, he heard racing hoofbeats; some of the hunters had regained control of their mounts. The portway was still some way off and he risked another backward glance.
     
A desperate denial escaped his lips. The huntsmen had brought a tangwyr with them. The creature’s hood had been removed and that could only mean one thing.
     
They intended to fly it at him.
     
The tangwyr’s ferocity was legendary, even in Albia. Without a bow, Taran stood little chance of protecting himself as it was trained to bring down men. As a Journeyman, he had mastery over Earth and could influence Water, but these elements wouldn’t help him here. Neither could he dismount and use his sword. If he did, the huntsmen would be on him.
     
His breath sobbing painfully, he kicked the horse once more.
     
He heard a raucous cry and gasped in terror; the hideous creature was free. Another glance behind him revealed that the riders had slowed, evidently expecting the tangwyr to do their work for them. Despite his straits, Taran felt satisfaction—his use of power had taught them some respect, at least.
     
Respect, however, had no value in the talons of a tangwyr.
     
As he cursed himself for a fool and for allowing himself to be trapped—how many times had he tried to drum caution into Cal’s head?—he glanced up. Horror overtook him, turning his muscles to water. The awful spectre of a swooping tangwyr filled his vision.
     
He threw himself off the horse, landing heavily. The Staff dug into his ribs and he felt the rake of talons on his shoulder. As he struggled to his feet, the downdraft of powerful wings nearly knocked him back down. He heard the creature swoop away up the hillside, wings booming as it beat for height. Panicking, coughing, Taran fled, praying the portway was nearby.
     
He was sure the hill looked familiar and the thought galvanized him. He could sense the portway but his endurance was fading fast. His throat was raw, his chest tightening painfully as he pushed himself past his limits. His muscles were burning and losing their strength. He was weakening rapidly.
     
The ominous beat of giant wings grew louder behind him.
     
Wildly, he looked around, knowing the portway was near. Suddenly, his vision cleared, showing him what he’d been praying for—an opalescent shimmer hanging in the air. He gathered his