The Wings of Ruksh Read Online Free PDF

the eagle that rested on his shoulder. “And … is this Amgarad? That Clara loves so much?”
    The great eagle bent its head in welcome but at a sudden movement, its eyes suddenly shifted from Mrs MacLean to the Turks behind her and as several of them moved forward, he flapped his wings warningly. Moving closer to Lord Rothlan, she watched them approach and grasped his arm anxiously.
    “These people,” she gestured towards the Turks, “have taken Sir James and my husband and children through that mirror.”
    “Yes, I saw them,” Rothlan answered, looking at the Turks sternly. “I watched them through my crystal. This mirror, did you say?”
    Lord Rothlan turned to the mirror that formed the cottage door. Moving forward, he ran his hands delicately over the ornate, iron frame, decorated with carvings of flowers and animals, and let his hand rest gently on a carved rose.
    “No!” one of the Turks ran up warningly. “Don’t turn it, milord! Don’t turn it or we will be lost. Please, milord, the time-frame is set!”
    “And where would it take me if I were to step through?” Rothlan asked evenly.
    “Milord, to the Sultan’s Palace!”
    Even as the Turk answered, however, the mirror rippled suddenly and a tall, imposing figure stepped through it. Rothlan recognized him immediately. The Sultan of Turkey himself, no less! He drew Mrs MacLean back as the Sultan was followed by an entourage of equally exotic figures that piled and scrambled into the room after him. Dressed in robes of turquoise and gold and wearing a turban strung with ropes of pearls, the bearded, hawk-like face of the Sultan regarded Lord Rothlan grimly.
    “I think it’s time that you and I had words, Rothlan,” he snapped. “You’ve been up to mischief and I want to know why!”
    Rothlan bowed low. “Your Majesty!” he murmured.
    The Sultan inclined his head.
    “Make your bow, Mrs MacLean,” Lord Rothlan said, smiling slightly. “This is His Majesty, the Sultan of Turkey, Sultan Sulaiman the Red.”
    As Mrs MacLean curtseyed awkwardly, all the people in the restaurant threw themselves on the ground, prostrating themselves before their ruler. The Sultan waved his hand in casual recognition of their presence and after a swift, rather disdainful glance round the restaurant, gestured impatiently towards the mirror.
    “I think you will find my palace a lot more comfortable than this,” he said commandingly. “Shall we go?”
    It was an order rather than a request and given the charged atmosphere and the threatening growl from the Turks, Lord Rothlan thought it wise to comply. He nodded assent and turned to Mrs MacLean.
    “Don’t worry, Mrs MacLean,” he said reassuringly, “you’ll see the others shortly. We’ve got to go through the mirror, though. Take my hand and we’ll be able to go through it together.”
    “But where will it take us?” asked Mrs MacLean.
    “Why to the Sultan’s Palace,” Rothlan answered, “where else?”
    “But isn’t this … I thought … this restaurant is the
Sultan’s Palace
, isn’t it?”
    “Ah!” smiled Rothlan. “But we are going to his real palace … in Turkey!”
    “In Turkey!” Although Mrs MacLean’s eyes widened at the thought, she was not without courage and her hand unhesitatingly grasped Rothlan’s as, with Amgarad on his shoulder, he followed the Sultan through the magic mirror.

    Jaikie, sitting hunched against the pouring rain in the branches of one of the ornamental trees in the little courtyard outside, sat up, alert and anxious, as he heard a dull rumble of sound frominside the restaurant. He knew immediately what it meant and with more speed than grace, shot straight up into the air in a fair imitation of a rocket.
    He was just in time. Perching precariously on the edge of an old chimney stack, he peered down into the narrow passageway below and watched in horror as the vennel, the little courtyard and the restaurant, slowly fragmented and with a last, tantalizing