Witchmarked (World's First Wizard Book 1) by Aaron Schneider (namjoon book recommendations txt) 📗

WitchMarked

World’s First Wizard™ Series Book 01

Aaron D. Schneider Michael Anderle

This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

Copyright © 2020 LMBPN Publishing

Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

A Michael Anderle Production

LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact support@lmbpn.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

LMBPN Publishing

PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

Las Vegas, NV 89109

First US edition, September 2020

ebook ISBN: 978-1-64971-190-8

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-64971-191-5

Contents

The Witchmarked Team

Prologue: Null Victoria (July 1936)

1. A Test

2. A Choice

3. A Bonus

4. An Operation

5. A Stair

6. An Introduction

7. A Threshold

8. A Shock

9. An Audience

10. An Improvisation

11. A Lesson

12. A Development

13. An Interruption

14. An Adjustment

15. A Warning

16. A Promise

17. A Lie

18. A Return

19. An Understanding

20. A Suspicion

21. A Complicity

22. An Offering

23. A Ruse

24. A Gambit

25. A Novelty

Epilogue: Sine Sacrificio

Author Notes - Aaron Schneider

Acknowledgments

Author Notes - Michael Anderle

Connect with The Authors

Other Books by Aaron Schneider

Other LMBPN Publishing Books

The Witchmarked Team

Thanks to our Beta Team:

Nicole Emens, Kelly O’Donnell, Jim Caplan, John Ashmore, Larry Omans, Rachel Beckford, Allen Collins, Billie Leigh Kelar

Thanks to our JIT Team:

Dave Hicks

Deb Mader

Rachel Beckford

Kerry Mortimer

Diane L. Smith

Chrisa Changala

Jeff Goode

Paul Westman

If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!

Editor

SkyHunter Editing Team

It lit me up like a torch on a pitch-black night

Like an ember in the needles of a dried-up pine

Lit Me Up, Brand New

“Woe to the rash mortal who seeks to know that of which he should remain ignorant, and to undertake that which surpasseth his power!”

Vathek, William Beckford

Magic

Sandra’s seen a leprechaun,

Eddie touched a troll,

Laurie danced with witches once,

Charlie found some goblin’s gold.

Donald heard a mermaid sing,

Susy spied an elf,

But all the magic I have known

I've had to make myself.

Where the Sidewalk Ends, Shel Silverstein

This book is dedicated to my mother. You were the first one who made me believe in magic. Thank you, Momma.

— Aaron

To Family, Friends and

Those Who Love

To Read.

May We All Enjoy Grace

To Live The Life We Are

Called.

— Michael

Prologue: Null Victoria (July 1936)

Afghani Overrun

Captain Cassio Magrid cursed as he read the telegraphed text. Being as he was a proper Italian officer of the glorious 9th Regiment, when he swore, it was akin to improvisational art: a blistering stream of obscenities with gravitas, metaphor, and nuance. The majesty of the profane declaration was wasted on his attendants, administrative staff, and junior officers. They were sitting at what passed for the officer’s mess in the worm-holed mountains, and many gawked with food still in their mouths. Before they could recover, he started barking orders in a thunderous voice.

“Withdrawal protocol!” he bellowed at his junior officers as he rose from the table. “Tell the sergeants to get their tunnels wired or collapse them.”

The junior officers responded with reasonable aplomb, but Magrid still chased them out of his presence with a pointed salvo of curses. The captain knew that he was not an exceptional tactician, and strategy was often beyond him, but by the Virgin Mother, he knew how to motivate men.

To that end, he rounded on the bloodless corporal who had delivered the message.

“Don’t stand there like a landed fish,” he growled, shoving the crumpled piece of paper into the boy’s front pocket. “Get back down there and send a telegram to the major. ‘We are withdrawing to Bamyan, and if he has any sense, he will pull the rest of the cohort and follow suit.’”

The messenger stared for a second, mouth still hanging open, then spun and fled toward the communication center as another onslaught rumbled in the captain’s chest.

“The rest of you, get this mess sorted and my camp struck,” he shouted over his shoulder as he marched in the direction the corporal had run. He forced himself to keep a measured pace, knowing it wouldn’t do to have any of his men see him act frantic. Angry was fine—after all, angry men got things done—but a frantic man was one step away from panic, and that man was no use to anyone.

Magrid was very close to frantic, even if pride and training were keeping him together for the moment. His honor guard fell into step behind him, but their presence offered little comfort.

With the godforsaken Afghanis routed, he had minutes, maybe less, before those pasty devils of the German Army were pouring over and through the tunnels honeycombing the mountainside. Amir Amanullah’s forces, the rabble their allies called an army, had been the bulwark between his forces and the far more numerous enemy. Without that bulwark, the northern brutes could sweep him and his men away in a single assault.

Magrid didn’t think of himself as a coward, but he did not relish the idea of such an inglorious defeat. The second he’d read those two words, he’d known he was not going to throw his career or his men away in a futile defensive action. These cursed mountains had already taken their toll on his forces, with absolutely nothing to show for it. If he’d wanted to spend his time in a meat grinder, he would have stayed on the trench-striped wastes of Crna Bend or Monastir.

A percussive thump resounded from the tunnels.

The air was choked with dust and sulfurous smoke.

Another bark of profanity, less skillful than those before, spewed out of Magrid’s mouth, along with foul-tasting grit. The dust settled across the passage, turning the crimson uniforms of the Italian soldiers to a musty