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

The magical construction of bone returned to its original shape, the back of the gate looking identical to the front when they first came upon it.

“So, that,” Milo said to the ghuls while pointing at the gate. “That’s the kind of magic your people will be teaching me?”

The ghuls exchanged looks again, and Fazihr gave a blood-chilling laugh, his head wagging.

“The creation of a bone homunculus of that order is a matter for the masters,” Imrah explained, her voice curdled with scornful amusement. “You’ve lit a spectral lamp so far. Don’t get ahead of yourself, meat.”

Milo was surprised when he found himself in well-trodden territory with these ghuls. They, and no doubt most of their kind, thought little of Milo and his abilities. He had been underestimated and devalued and was expected to prove himself. The reality of the situation and his familiarity with it awoke an old defiant flame.

“Whatever you’ve got to teach, I’m here to learn,” he declared, crossing his arms. “Just need to give me a chance.”

Imrah stared at Milo, her predatory gaze needling him, but he glared back with cool, practiced indifference. Fazihr was the first to crack as a stalemate set in.

“We'll see,” he hissed, placing a clawed hand gingerly on Imrah’s shoulder. “Right now we are awaited at court, and we’re very late.”

“Story of my life.” Milo sighed and stepped to the side to allow the ghuls to pass. “Please, lead on.”

8

A Shock

The tunnel changed quickly as they moved away from the gate.

The rough-hewn walls gave way to panels of stone worked meticulously to form bas reliefs. Depicted in the carvings was an unsettling combination of language and art where what were clearly symbols and signs of a language looped and twisted to form pictures of creatures and scenes foreign to Milo’s eyes and mind. It was impossible to say what it was about the depictions set into the walls that bothered him, but the more Milo stared at them, the deeper his sense of wrongness became. Eventually, he decided to ignore the subversive artwork.

The ceiling became a vault that Milo appreciated much more than the alien carvings on the wall. The shaped stone arches made the weight of the earth above them not seem so oppressive. Once after passing beneath one, Milo reached upward, just able to brush a finger over a crenelated buttress. Before the gate, the tunnel had been low enough that he had feared standing on his tiptoes lest he scrape his head.

Soon branches in the tunnels, which now resembled a hall more than anything else, began to appear, and they were at the mercy of the two ghuls once more.

Passages branched off and wound every which way, but like hounds to the scent, Imrah and Fazihr led them on without pause. Once or twice as they neared an intersection, Milo caught sight of other ghuls retreating from the light. They ducked back the way they had come, or darted across intersections, often alone but sometimes in groups of two or three.

“Do you all dwell in one structure?” Milo called to the ghuls. “Like a hive or nest.”

Imrah cocked her head to one side, looking over her hunched shoulder at Milo.

“Do we look like vermin to you, meat?” she asked, with a grimace that displayed all her teeth. “Do you think we live underground because we are some breed of rodent or insect?”

Milo felt it would be rude to say that sometimes the way they moved and looked around did make him think of a hideous amalgam of rat and spider. Instead, he ducked his head apologetically and answered in a contrite tone, “No, I’m sorry that my words have offended you.”

He spoke as calmly and clearly as he could, mindful of the revelation after passing the gate. “There’s just so much about your people that I don’t understand.”

It was hard to win people’s respect if they thought you were picking a fight, even when you had a point. In fact, Milo thought, especially when you had a point.

Again Imrah regarded him with an expression he could not read, but when she replied, the long-toothed sneer was gone, and she seemed to be making some effort to soften her tone.

“It is understandable that this all seems strange to you,” she rasped before turning back to the winding corridor. “Maybe now that you are here to learn, you will one day understand the great debt the world owes us, and how even as you war over our heads, you stamp upon the homes of a great and mighty people. And no, we do not dwell in a single nest or hive.”

Milo had been with her until her declaration about a great and mighty people.

Ghuls were sinister creatures, and that was before one considered their magical abilities, but so far, all he had seen was one bone homunculus and some barren corridors filled with carvings that were probably hundreds if not thousands of years old. Milo guessed the ghuls might have been something great before, but not anymore. He imagined they were like many lingering peoples, clinging to the bones of their ancestors−in this case, literally. The Bashlek Marid’s court was probably a ragged assemblage of his dwindling tribe.

They passed through a small round antechamber whose passages led off like spokes in a wheel. Imrah and Fazihr headed doggedly for the fourth spoke from the portal they had entered, and Milo passed beneath a very ornate arch without noticing.

They stepped out onto the landing that led down to a wider plaza, which was filled with the sights and sound of creatures busy about their commerce. From it sprang a great stone causeway leading to a massive, tiered city that glowed like a poisoned gem over a yawning abyss.

“Behold Ifreedahm,” Fazihr declared with obvious pride. “Jewel of the Stygian Realm.”

That was when Milo realized exactly how wrong he had been.

“Are we under a mountain or something?” Ambrose muttered as they shuffled toward the central citadel. “We have to be under