The Fanged Crown: The Wilds Read Online Free PDF Page A

looking under the chest for springs or other traps.
    “Did you hear me?” Boult said.
    Harp grunted as he pulled his picks out of his pocket and peered into the keyhole for a better look at the locking mechanism. But the hole was too small to see the components, so he just stuck two hook picks inside and hoped for the best.
    “I bet a mage could open that,” Boult said grumpily. “We need a spellcaster. I’ve told you that a hundred times.” “We had a spellcaster. Remember Andia?”
    “Of course I remember her. And the one before that. What was her name?”
    “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Harp told him.
    “Etienne. You chased her away too.”
    “She left of her own accord,” Harp protested.
    “In tears,” Boult pointed out.
    “Well, love hurts.”
    “Only when you love a bastard.”
    Harp twisted the picks harder than he would have thought necessary. Kitto coaxed a lock open with feather touches while Harp always relied on brute strength. However, he heard a satisfying pop, and the box sprang open. Inside the chest was a bundle of papers sealed with red wax.
    “What’s on that seal?” Harp held the papers up to the light to try and decipher the waxy imprint. It was a circular mark with something lean curled around a hexagon shape that might have been a cut gemstone. But heat had smeared the wax and left it too damaged to decipher. Harp showed the seal to Boult.
    “An otter?” Boult suggested. “Or a serpent?”
    “Whoever Bootman got his orders from, they used the stamp to verify them.” Harp broke the seal and opened the bundle, but the pages were blank.
    “Enchanted,” Boult said smugly, as if he had known they would be all along. “Promise me that you’ll keep your hands off the next spellcaster we run across.”
    “I promise no such thing,” Harp said automatically.
    Harp ran his fingertips along the bottom of the chest, pushing gently on the seams of the planks until he felt one bend under the pressure. Using his dagger, he pried up the wood, revealing a tiny piece of rolled parchment tied with a ribbon.
    “Laghessi Cove. Second Ride, Summertide. D. Cardew.”
    As Harp registered the name Cardew, the blood flowed to his head in a rush of anger. Of course it was Cardew who had sent the mercenaries after them. As Harp stood up and brushed off his knees, his anger turned to bitter amusement. Harp handed the parchment to Boult, who unrolled it.
    With an uneasy chuckle, Harp began packing up the maps. But Boult crumbled the parchment violently in his fist and glared at Harp with a deadly look in his eyes. Harp had seen that look on Boult’s face a few times, but it had never been directed at him. At people trying to kill them, yes, but never at him.
    “Easy, Boult,” Harp said, puzzled by the intensity and anger coming from his friend. “What’s wrong?”
    “What in the Nine Hells is this?” Boult said, throwing the ball of paper at Harp.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Those are orders from Cardew,” Boult said, answering his own question.
    “He must have hired Bootman and told him where to find us,” Harp agreed.
    “It’s from Cardew,” Boult repeated again.
    “Yes,” Harp replied slowly, resisting the urge to make a jest. Harp wasn’t the best at social interactions, but even he could tell that making light of the situation might be dangerous to his health.
    “When you said that Avalor wanted us to come to Chult, I assumed it was to find Liel and her husband, Cardew,” Boult said with barely contained fury. “If Cardew is lost in the jungle with Liel, how is he sending mercenaries to kill us?”
    “Because he isn’t lost in the jungle.” “Well, where is the bastard?”
    “The Hero Cardew is alive and well,” Harp continued. “He showed up at the Court of the Crimson Leaf—the only
    survivor of an unnatural attack in Chult, at least so he says. And that’s when Avalor contacted me.”
    “Custard-swilling, dog-kissing, demon-loving,