Sorcerybound (World's First Wizard Book 2) by Aaron Schneider (best color ereader .TXT) 📗

long?” Milo asked, glancing up with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Didn’t fall asleep again, did you?”

Ambrose scowled but decided not to rise to the bait.

“Glad to see you're in a good mood,” he said, leaning back and clasping his broad hands across his wide stomach. “But, to answer your question, I was waiting for you to remember you forgot something and run after Jorge to tell him. It lasted so long because, as you know, the colonel is uninterested in hurrying.”

Milo stopped his sorting and looked at Ambrose, his smile hardening along the edges.

“What did I forget?” he asked, feeling a twitch in his guts that told him he knew exactly what the big man was talking about.

“Well, besides recommending me for some sort of medal for putting up with you,” the big man began his heavy lids sliding to half-mast over his green eyes, “there’s the whole issue of your extracurricular research he might want to know about. I mean, I’m glad your little crusade is coming to you, less huffing about for me, you see, but it seems ill-advised to keep from Jorge the reason you’re so obsessed with the Guardians.”

Milo pushed back from the desk, his good mood in danger of becoming permanently soured.

“If you did hear all that, then you know Jorge doesn’t need to know,” Milo said with a shrug. “He’s a soldier, after all, and aren’t soldiers supposed to care only about the mission?”

Ambrose, eyelids so low they might as well have been closed, heaved a great sigh.

“I suppose, but if you have what could be vital intel or a time bomb in your lap, it seems unwise to keep it there without a superior having knowledge of it. I mean, I understand not telling Lokkemand since the man’s an ass, but if you can’t trust Jorge, we’ve got bigger problems.”

Milo fought the urge to let his gaze slide over to a stone in the study wall where an engraved wooden box sat. Ambrose knew where the box was, but it bothered Milo to even acknowledge its presence except in the process of accessing it. Eyes fixed and voice steady, he regarded Ambrose with forced calm.

“We don’t know that we have anything of value,” he said evenly as he climbed to his feet and gathered the partially sorted supplies on his desk. “Until we do, there is no need to bother Jorge or anyone else with what we might or might not have.”

Ambrose’s gaze remained hooded as Milo deposited the supplies on the table and went back to scrutinizing what was esoterically useful and what was just a curiosity.

“You’re the magus.” Ambrose shrugged. “I’m just the shuffling assistant.”

“Oh, don’t pout,” Milo said with a groan. “Come on, let me finish sorting this rubbish, and we’ll go get something to eat. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Ambrose’s belly gave a low rumble, and the big man had a look of betrayal stamped on his face.

“You’re always on his side.”

Milo laughed as his pile of discards continued to grow.

“Just because we both know what’s best for you.” Milo chortled as he twisted around to nod at his bodyguard’s stomach. “Now quiet, or I’ll mess something up and have to start over.”

Ambrose lapsed into silence, gaze downcast for a heartbeat before his eyes swung over to the hiding place in the wall. His hands slid down the slope of his belly to rest in knotted lumps on the tops of his legs.

“You’re going to try to talk to her again, aren’t you?” he said, his voice low, almost angry.

Milo straightened a little, back stiff, neck tight, too rigid to turn around and face the big man.

“It,” Milo said through a clenched jaw. “She’s not there anymore, just an impression, an echo.”

Ambrose rose from his seat and moved to the doorway.

“When?” he asked while in transit to the portal.

“Tonight,” Milo confessed, still fixed in place like an insect on a corkboard. “If I have the strength for the attempt.”

Ambrose took up his position at the open doorway, a flat, unapproachable expression settling over his features.

“Don’t worry about dinner for me, then,” he muttered darkly. “I seem to have lost my appetite.”

4

The Confession

Despite his claim, Ambrose was still munching on a small loaf of dark bread when the witching hour crept up on the slumbering Shatili.

“I thought I was the one who was in a coma,” Milo muttered as they made their way into the nether regions of the fortress complex. “You’d never guess it from dinner.”

That wasn’t necessarily true, but Milo savored the color that rose to the big man’s cheeks.

Ambrose muttered something rude-sounding through the bread stuffed into his mouth. His hands were full of supplies and implements Milo had stacked in his arms. Snuffling and grunting, he followed Milo downstairs lined with mossy walls and the smell of old damp. Neither man bothered with a lamp, a candle, or any sort of light. Milo’s eyes had been treated with nightsight elixir, and Ambrose’s half-angel nature had proven darkness to be no impediment.

It wasn’t until they reached the lowest level, bypassing several doors and passages during their descent, that the first light interrupted the utter darkness they’d been walking in.

The raptor-skulled cane shed viridian light over a wide corridor where iron staples had been driven into the wall to hang manacles from the damp, moss-furred walls. Both staples and manacles were corroded beyond use, but they hung in rusted stillness as a testament to the dark and hopeless times witnessed by the space. Despair dripped from the walls as surely as moisture from the Argun wetted the moss.

The resonance in the room was a strident clamor against Milo’s magical senses. Even braced for it, he paused for a moment as he adjusted to the sensation washing over him. The light radiating from above the cane’s beak flickered for a second, then flared to painful brilliance before settling to an even glow again.

“Not sure I’ll ever get used to that,” Milo murmured,