Wizardborn (World's First Wizard Book 3) by Aaron Schneider (classic books for 11 year olds .txt) 📗

“A little inside joke between the magus and me,” the colonel said softly as he led them into the room.

It was a small space with rudimentary furnishings, the desk being a metal table with wire filing baskets stacked on either end. There was a bookshelf on one wall beyond the table, where a few dusty files sat unmolested by time or attention. The glow of the city played across the bookshelf from the slightly open window, which also circulated a cool current that kept the room from becoming miserably stuffy. One chair sat opposite the door on one side of the table, and two more sat with their backs to the door. Jorge shuffled to take the seat opposite the door, and Milo and Ambrose sank into the two remaining seats.

Jorge eased down into the chair, and Milo was once again struck by how at the turn of a moment, the colonel could transition between being in absolute control to seeming helplessly fragile. He remembered Jorge’s wry remark about being a “crippled soldier,” and once again, he wondered at the tale of Colonel Jorge before he was head of Nicht-KAT.

“It seems I did not arrive early enough to spare you,” Jorge said, giving Milo an even look. “But not so late that I couldn’t save you some of the worst bits.”

Milo and Ambrose exchanged surprised glances.

“What might the worst bits have been?” Ambrose asked. Milo realized he didn’t want to know.

“Oh, I imagine you would have been thrown in a cell and threatened with all sorts of horrible torments,” Jorge replied with about as much concern as a man might use to describe an errand he ran the other day. “You probably would have been slapped around a bit by Mayr’s bully boys, most certainly called all sorts of very rude names, and then forced to swear some ridiculous pledge or oath to the Fatherland while men were threatening to shoot you.”

Yes, Milo was quite certain he could have done without all that. He gave Ambrose a sour look, which prompted a defensive reply from the big man.

“Well, at least they weren’t going to kill you,” he spluttered, crossing his arms. “It was all a show to try and make sure you toe the line.”

“Quite,” Jorge responded. “Needless to say, they can’t very well kill you now that they know what you are capable of. You’re far too valuable for that.”

Milo’s stomach lurched as he thought about what he was capable of, and it took considerable effort to keep the anxiety and frustration out of his voice.

“The thing is, Colonel,” he began, the words almost painful in his suddenly dry mouth, “I’m not capable of it. It was all an accident, a fluke. I didn’t know the Soviets would be vulnerable to possession by the shades I’d left, and to be honest, sir, knowing what happened last time, I’m not going to do it again.”

“I wouldn’t say that too loud,” Jorge cautioned as he nodded sagely. “But the fact that you believe that is one of the reasons I stuck my neck out for you in there.”

Human squeamishness is so quaint. Imrah’s thought slithered through his mind icily. It is a wonder your kind has survived this long.

Shut up, Milo warned. Or I’ll start using you to scrape muck off my boots.

The ghul promptly decided her council was not necessary, and he felt her consciousness sink into the essence of the cane, the closest thing she had to sleep.

Milo looked away from the momentary distraction to see Jorge watching him over steepled fingers.

“Oh, uh, thank you, sir,” Milo muttered weakly as he fought to recall the threads of the conversation. “For, uh, sticking your neck out, that is, sir.”

“Quite welcome.” Jorge nodded, but his increasingly pointed stare didn’t waver from Milo.

“Sir?” Milo asked. He had the feeling that Jorge was waiting for him to say something, but for the life of him, he didn’t know what. Milo held up his hands in surrender and stole a glance at Ambrose, who seemed to be choosing between pretending he was asleep and diving under the desk for cover.

Jorge took a deep breath and very slowly leaned forward onto his elbows, his eyes boring into Milo’s as he spoke

“Milo, I understand that you and Mr. Ambrose have a rather loose perspective on military discipline and hierarchy, and I’ve allowed you as much leeway as could be afforded and then some.”

The magus struggled to keep from wincing as he realized what was going on. He knew the collar was sliding around his neck and the slack being taken up in his leash even if he couldn’t see or feel them dangling from his neck.

“But,” Jorge continued with that fatal conjunction, and Milo felt his shoulders sag, “that ends now because you are officially under scrutiny by the general staff. It might seem silly to explain this to you, but I need to make sure you understand. The military thrives on hierarchy, one man in higher authority knowing without fail that the men beneath him will follow his orders, also without fail. If you can’t be trusted under that system, not even your incredible power will spare you from their wrath. A soldier who doesn’t take orders is a weapon that can turn on its owner, and you know what they do to a weapon like that.”

Milo didn’t like being compared to a weapon but forced a smile onto his face in defiance of the grim thought.

“Send it back home to let it live in peace?” the wizard asked with an exaggerated cheer as he grinned hopefully at the colonel. Jorge didn’t bat an eye at his attempt at levity.

“They dismantle or destroy weapons like that,” the colonel said gravely. “So unless you want someone to change their mind about you, you need to be on your best behavior after Georgia.”

“You mean Georgia, where we single-handedly ended a communist coup on the southern border of the empire?” Milo replied tartly.