Free Artesans of Albia: 01 - King's Envoy by Cas Peace

ask to see Major Sullyan. Tell them I sent you; that should get you in. After that, it’s up to you.”
     
Taran held Paulus’ gaze. He felt sure the barkeep was holding something back, but he couldn’t think what or why. After a short pause, and because he lacked any other plan, he said, “Where is this garrison?”
     
“Only a couple of days’ ride away,” said Paulus. “Take the north road to Canstown then the Tolk turning. Someone up there can tell you exactly where it is, I’m told it’s well known.”
     
Thanking Paulus, they left and hurried home. The news of a raid so close to Hyecombe had made them all nervous and Taran bolted the door securely. He was feeling confused and uncomfortable and wanted to think through Paulus’ advice. Leaving Cal and Rienne to their fellan, he went to bed.
     

     
Early the next morning, Taran was joined in the cellar by Cal. Together, they stared at the damage to the walls and ceiling. The Staff still lay innocently on the floor, gleaming in the light of the lamp.
“Have you thought any more about what Paulus said?” asked Cal.
     
“Of course,” snorted Taran. “Haven’t you?”
     
“If we go to the garrison, we’ll have to take Rienne with us. I’m not leaving her here with the Staff.”
     
“Would you leave her if we took it with us?”
     
“Perhaps. Do you think we can?”
     
Taran shrugged. “I suppose we’ll have to try. I can’t say I’m keen to handle it, but maybe we can rig up some kind of pack to carry it and use the wash tongs to lift it. That might work.”
     
“Have you made up your mind to go?”
     
Taran glanced at him. “Yes, I suppose I have. It can’t do any harm and last night’s shock has made it more urgent than ever. Has Rienne left on her rounds yet?”
     
“She went about ten minutes ago. She’ll be out ’til noon, I think. She asked me to go to Shenton for some medical supplies. The mail coach should be here in an hour.”
     
“We’d better get on with it, then.”
     
It was Cal’s suggestion to fetch the wash tongs from the scullery before finding a pack to hold the Staff. As he sensibly pointed out, if the thing resisted being moved, they would be wasting their time on a pack. Taran took a thick pair of leather gloves with the tongs.
     
“Do you really think you’ll need those?” Cal asked.
     
“How should I know? I just remember what it felt like to hold the Staff the first time and I don’t want to take any chances.”
     
After locking the cottage door against casual visitors, they went back into the cellar. Not that visitors were likely, but Rienne might return early and Taran didn’t want her around while they experimented with the Staff.
     
He positioned himself at the side of the depression in the floor. Once he had donned the leather gloves, he took the tongs from Cal. They looked not half long enough. He decided to poke the Staff with them first to test for a reaction. He glanced up at his Apprentice, who was watching from the opposite wall.
     
“I think we’d better be shielded,” he said.
     
Cal nodded and Taran sensed him reaching for his psyche, calling a protective flow of metaforce around him. Taran did the same.
     
“I’m ready,” said Cal.
     
Taking a deep breath, Taran leaned carefully over the pit, tongs extended.
     
As the tongs neared the Staff, it began to glow. Taran frowned; he hadn’t expected it to react. Tentatively, he extended his arm and the closer he got to the Staff, the brighter it glowed.
     
Suddenly, he lost his nerve and withdrew his arm. The glow faded.
     
“That didn’t look promising,” said Cal.
     
His pessimism goaded Taran. He decided to take a chance and just pick the thing up. Maybe it was meant to glow? The memories of his ordeal in Andaryon were hazy at best and he couldn’t remember if the Staff had been glowing the first time he’d held it.
     
“I’m going to pick it up,” he said, reaching out again. Swiftly he rolled the Staff