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

wound began to close as they rolled on, their headlights off as Ambrose used whatever supernatural senses he possessed to steer them across the countryside

They very nearly plowed into Lokkemand’s patrol, which came rolling up along the crest where it slid alongside the Argun and thus toward Shatili. Milo had unclenched his focus and dissipated the last of the unguent as the light of many headlamps broke over the Rollsy like a false dawn.

Ambrose swore and swung over to the side, sending Milo scooting across the bed to fetch up next to Rihyani. Only his outstretched hands kept him from losing his teeth, but his momentum still saw the wind knocked from him. He sank down to the bed, gaping like a landed fish as he looked at Rihyani’s downturned face. Her skin was ashen and almost translucent enough that he thought he could see the layers shifting as her lips parted in a weak smile.

“You don’t look so good, Milo,” she said, her voice barely audible above the trembling growl of the engine. “Maybe you should lie down and catch your breath.”

Milo forced enough air into his stubborn lungs to manage a wheezing laugh.

“Speak for yourself, my lady,” he got out as he struggled to his feet.

“I’m just a little tired.” She gave him a wink. “Had a long trip to see a good friend, you know.”

Even with his entire abdomen determined to never breathe again and his limbs trembling as he favored his recently mended leg, Milo felt that staring at her face was something he could do forever. It plucked his shrunken heart like the first note of spring, taunting and teasing a gnarled tree to consider awakening. It was so unfamiliar it seemed painful, but he knew somewhere in the root of him he couldn’t deny the siren song, not forever.

Then her wine-dark eyes with their piercing golden pupils rolled upward as her whole body shivered. A soft groan escaped her gray lips, and her fingers groped her wounded shoulder. Pools of her pale blood had formed under her on the floorboards.

If his heart ever wanted to hear that tune, he needed to get her help and quickly.

“Lokkemand!” Milo barked as he stood in the bed of the Rollsy. “Captain Lokkemand!”

There was the protesting squeal of a heavy door swinging on ill-maintained hinges, then the clank of that door on an armored hull.

“Volkohne, report,” Lokkemand’s voice instructed coolly from behind a large set of headlamps.

Milo hated how calm and confident the man sounded, even though somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it was a good thing.

“The contessa and her companions were ambushed by Georgians and two Americans,” Milo shouted back, trying to force his voice to be steady but not succeeding. “The contessa is wounded and needs immediate medical attention.”

“The companions?” the captain asked, his voice neutral and unassuming.

“Dead,” Milo reported stiffly, unable to ignore the soft sob that came from Rihyani at the proclamation. “Killed by the Americans.”

There was a pause, then Lokkemand’s voice rang out, steady and sure.

“How was the enemy equipped?”

Milo faltered as he thought of how to describe the Americans, but Ambrose piped up readily.

“Small arms only, sir,” the big man reported. “The Georgians were probably just a militia turned mercenary. Fair shots and they knew the ground, but they weren’t organized or motivated to face hardened opposition.”

“The Americans?” Lokkemand asked.

“Dead or wishing they were,” Ambrose said confidently. “Left them in a small copse of trees about ten miles west of our position with the bodies of the contessa’s companions and whatever is left of the Georgians, which is shy of a dozen by my count.”

Milo couldn’t keep from giving Ambrose an impressed look. He’d single-handedly reduced the enemy numbers by half and had still found time to save Milo and Rihyani from the Americans.

“Any clue as to the enemy objective?” Lokkemand asked. In response, Ambrose shrugged and threw a glance at Milo.

“Umm, p-possibly the capture of the contessa,” Milo stuttered lamely, trying to replay and interpret the events in his head. “Not entirely sure, Captain.”

“Any signs of pursuit?”

“No, sir,” Milo said with a shake of his head after looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being proven a liar.

Milo could almost see Lokkemand give a thoughtful nod before straightening and issuing his orders in crisp, smooth commands

“Brodden’s vehicle escorts the magus and sees that the contessa is tended to. The rest of you, adjusted pattern Roth Ritter. We sweep wide around the last confirmed point of contact and approach from the east.”

There was a quick chorus of confirmations from the men in the other vehicles, then one of them peeled off from the formation and executed a three-point turn to head back to Shatili and the fortress. Ambrose followed, almost as though he might nudge the vehicle along with the Rollsy’s jutting nose.

“We’ll retrieve the contessa’s companions,” Lokkemand shouted before turning back to address his soldiers. “Maintain fire discipline out there. The last thing I need to do is pay to replace some shepherd’s goats.”

“I don’t understand,” Ambrose said as they carried Rihyani into Milo’s study. “Why can’t you just rub one of your potions on her or something?”

Brodden the medic strode alongside Rihyani, working to apply a tourniquet as they moved into the room. Seeing an open table, he barked an instruction that she be laid on it.

“I tried that with Meinir,” Milo said as they eased the fey’s limp form onto the table. “It worked for a second, then the wound opened again. I think it might have made things worse.”

“Is it because she was fey?” Ambrose asked as they stepped over to observe Brodden as his hands worked with crisp professional rapidity.

“I’m not sure, but Rihyani acted surprised when she started bleeding again,” Milo said, trying to force his brain to work but only managing to stare helplessly at Brodden’s pink-stained hands. “Really, they all kept asking why it was happening, almost like they were surprised she had been hurt at