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

will and sent a panicked command through the Veils to Cal. Relief flooded him as his Apprentice responded and he saw the portway ripple, a sign that Cal was alert.
     
He sprinted toward it but was brought up short by a harsh scream from above.
     
Horrified, he looked up and stared directly into the mad red eyes of the tangwyr. It plummeted, its sinewy neck twisting toward him, serrated talons aimed at his heart. He had nowhere to go and no room to dodge, but he couldn’t risk leaping into the portway in case he took the thing with him.
     
Unthinkingly desperate, he raised the Staff. He grabbed for Cal’s strength and felt his friend’s compliance. Empowered, Taran took an almighty risk with both their lives and channeled their joint metaforce through the alien weapon.
     
It glowed incandescent and bucked in his hands. Taran screamed with the pain of controlling it. He forced his will on it, his lungs still gulping air, and directed its tip at the tangwyr’s breast.
     
Deadly energy roared out, causing the plummeting monster to twist aside. It was too slow. Raw power caught the leading edge of one vast sail-like wing, charring the feathered membrane to a crisp. With a piercing shriek, the creature curled around itself, cartwheeling toward the ground.
     
Taran didn’t wait to see it hit. Near to fainting with pain and exhaustion, he cast himself into the portway, blindly trusting Cal to bring him safely through.
     

Chapter Four
     
Sonten was cursing as his horse pounded after the huntsmen. He kicked it up the next rise, hoping to see the kill. Roaring instructions his men couldn’t hear, Sonten saw the tangwyr’s swoop. He watched in speechless fury as the Albian Artesan, Jaskin’s intended victim, used the Duke’s priceless Staff to escape the monstrous bird.
But it wasn’t until the dying raptor’s shrieks had faded that he realized the irreplaceable Staff had vanished as well.
     
This shock, coming on top of his nephew’s brutal murder, made Sonten’s stomach heave. Awkwardly, he slid from his lathered horse and fell to his knees. Already tasting the Duke’s wrath and feeling the sword twisting through his guts, Sonten retched helplessly while his men rode to him.
     
He was on his feet by the time they reached him. His face was an unpleasant shade of purple, his body quivering with rage. The huntsmen dismounted while he strode up and down before them, their heads hanging in shame.
     
His voice tinged with panic, Sonten harangued them.
     
“You lost him. You bloody lost him, you useless rabble. Why did you let him get away? He murdered my nephew, the Albian bastard, he deserves to die. And he’s taken that damned Staff too! What am I going to say to the Duke? How do I explain that one? Well? Does anyone have anything to say?”
     
They were silent.
     
Sonten glared in fury. His plans were ruined and his shocked brain was working feverishly. He was going to be in fatal trouble unless he could come up with a suitable story. In the meantime, his rage demanded a scapegoat.
     
“Well?” he roared.
     
The men flinched and their leader stepped forward. “My Lord, he was too quick. We couldn’t reach him in time. He was out of bowshot, so I thought the tangwyr was our best chance. I never thought he’d … ”
     
“You never thought?” raged Sonten. “That’s about right, Perik! Thinking was never your strong suit. Well, you’ve made your last mistake. This is a disaster and someone has to pay for it. Guess who it’ll be?”
     
He stared menacingly, knowing he was being unfair. Perik had done his best. His frustration at the man’s escape was deepened by the knowledge that he had used the Staff instinctively, whereas it had taken Jaskin many sweaty days to learn how to influence the thing.
     
The thought of his nephew’s body lying on the blood-soaked ground made Sonten seethe. All that risk and effort wasted, all their plans thrown away. And now his own position—indeed his very