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

life—would be forfeit when the Duke discovered the Staff’s disappearance.
     
Terrible fear swamped Sonten. He trusted these men, they had been picked for their loyalty, but if one of them should mention …
     
Panic overrode reason and his sword whipped from its sheath. Fat he undoubtedly was and not as skilled as some, but Perik never saw the steel that punched through his ribs and heart. He was dead before his reproachful eyes fastened on Sonten’s face. His dying gaze was ignored, his limp body allowed to slump to the ground.
     
Sonten turned his back on the dead man and stared at the rest.
     
“Let that be a lesson to you. If even one of you breathes so much as a word of this … I won’t tolerate fools and I won’t stand for failure. Do you understand?”
     
They shuffled uneasily, murmuring assent.
     
“You all know what that murdering bastard looks like. He’s trespassed on my lands once, he may do so again. You’re all charged with watching for him. Constantly, do you hear? I want no slacking, no matter how exhausted you get. I want to know instantly of any Albians in my province and I want them detained alive.
     
“Galet, you’re now leading huntsman. Think carefully about Perik’s fate and make damned sure you don’t suffer the same. Am I clear? Good. Now pick that up, get back to my nephew’s body and follow me back to the mansion. I have to speak with Commander Heron before I return to his Grace, and on top of everything else I now have a bloody damned funeral to arrange.”
     
Still swearing, Sonten clambered onto his mount. Viciously, he kicked its stocky sides. The beast flung up its head and grunted. Lumbering into a canter, it bore its angry rider back to his estate.
     

     
“Feverbalm, boneknit, willow. Oh yes, and serraflower. Hmm, those are looking a bit old now, I could do with a fresh supply.”
Sitting at the wooden table in the small cottage kitchen, Rienne regarded the packet of dried flower heads she’d taken from her medicine bag. Bright cerise pink and heavily scented when fresh, they had faded to a ruddy brown, their aroma all but gone. Frowning, she picked one up and gently rubbed it under her nose.
     
“Definitely past their best,” she murmured, replacing the tattered flower head among its fellows. She reached into the bag beside her but stopped as a strange noise reached her ears.
     
Was that a scream?
     
Instantly, she was on her feet and turning toward the kitchen door. Her hand closed on the latch but again she froze.
     
“Rienne. Rienne!”
     
No, it hadn’t come from outside. It had come from the cellar. Her blood chilled and her heart thumped as she recognized Cal’s voice. He sounded strained—frightened—and fear sped her steps as she raced toward the cellar.
     
She wrenched the door open and a draught of dank air hit her face.
     
“Rienne!”
     
“Alright, alright, I’m coming.”
     
As swiftly as she could, trying not to twist her ankle on the barely illuminated stone steps, Rienne hurried down. When she reached the bottom, she rushed to Cal’s side.
     
“What is it? What’s wrong? Oh, good gods …”
     
She fell to her knees, staring at the tall, slim body writhing in Cal’s arms. Weirdly flickering light from the ball of Earth force threw Taran’s sweat-soaked face into harsh relief. His short brown hair was plastered to his head and he was moaning and twitching. He was also unconscious; Rienne could tell that much, even if she couldn’t yet see why.
     
“See to him, Rienne. I have to shut this thing down.”
     
Cal leaped to his feet and Rienne took his place, wrapping her arms around Taran. As soon as she touched him, she could feel the intense heat radiating from the trembling Journeyman. There was blood on his clothes, some on his skin, yet the only wounds she could see were superficial. Had he been poisoned? Was it some kind of fever? If so, it had taken hold swiftly; he’d been gone less than a day.
     
“Gods damn