Artesans of Albia: 01 - King's Envoy by Cas Peace Read Free Book Online Page B

portway. His usual method was to push with his metaforce, sending his power slowly through the Veils until they were breached.
     
This time however, it didn’t work. The surface tension of the portway refused to give. He tried twice before withdrawing, frowning in puzzlement.
     
“What’s wrong with it?” said Cal.
     
Taran shook his head. “There’s resistance. Didn’t you say there was resistance when you tried to close the last one?”
     
“Yes, but it was nothing like this. It didn’t turn that weird color, either.”
     
“Alright, here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to try once more, but if that doesn’t work, I’m going to make a sudden thrust and break a hole just large enough to push the weapon through. Then we’ll back out and shut the portway. Ready?”
     
Cal shrugged and nodded.
     
Taran gathered his strength and pushed down on the portway. It refused to budge. With a swift warning to his Apprentice, he drove a needle of force at one spot in the center of the portway, directly over the Staff.
     
There was a soundless detonation. Brilliant green light flooded the cellar and Taran and Cal were hurled violently against the walls. They struck forcefully and slumped to the ground, stunned.
     
Taran was first to gather his wits. Alarmed, he saw the portway was swelling, glowing brighter, building toward an overload. He sprang to his feet in panic: if he lost control of it, the uncontained metaforce could kill them.
     
“Quickly, Cal,” he yelled, dragging at his Apprentice, “help me shut it down!”
     
Using all of Cal’s strength as well as his own, Taran tried to unravel the structure. It resisted him, the green glow deepening every second. “I’m going to break it,” he snapped. “Watch yourself.”
     
His heart pounding, he aimed a bolt of their combined power against the portway. With a hideous shriek, it shattered, releasing uncontrolled energy that rebounded around the cellar. Taran and Cal dove to the floor, crouching as low as possible.
     
When it finally dissipated, they struggled to their feet, the aftershock ringing in their aching ears.
     
Cal stared around the cellar. “Bloody hell.”
     
Plaster had been ripped from the walls and parts of the ceiling. The depression in the floor was much larger than before, and it was smoking.
     
The Staff still lay in its place, completely untouched.
     
Cal glanced at Taran, his dark eyes huge. As the dust of the explosion began to settle on them, Taran shook his head. This was beyond his experience and he spread his hands in hopelessness.
     
“I think we should leave it, go back upstairs and padlock the door,” said Cal. “We need to think this through.”
     
Taran could only agree.
     

     
Heading for her last patient of the day, Rienne walked through the peaceful village. The pale autumn sunlight felt good on her back. She walked easily, her medicine bag light on her shoulder. Its lack of weight reminded her that she was getting low on supplies and she knew she ought to visit the herb seller in Shenton. However, she didn’t relish the exhausting ride on the elderly, badly sprung mail coach. Then she smiled, thinking perhaps she could get Cal to go for her.
As she flipped the braid of her long dark hair over her shoulder, she considered how lucky she was. A responsible trained healer of twenty-five, she had found her vocation as well as her true love. Growing into a slim, attractive young woman out of an awkward childhood—she was the youngest child with four demanding older brothers—gray-eyed Rienne had eventually discovered a talent for healing. Once the long years of study and training were behind her, she had searched for a town or village lacking a local healer. Luck had brought her to Hyecombe, where she had met Cal. Just over a year later, she felt settled. She and Cal intended to marry one day, Taran had offered them a home, and Rienne was firmly established as Hyecombe’s healer.
     
Life was looking