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

the dying soldiers, more than a little confused as Ambrose came jogging up.

“Spotted the fire,” he said as he took cover against a sheltering tree trunk, Gewehr held across his broad body. “That was quick.”

Milo and Rihyani looked at each other and then in the direction the men had run.

“Took us by surprise as well,” Milo admitted, straining his ears to hear the men crashing through the trees over the crackling gunfire along the roadway.

“Do you think they are trying to reposition for a counterattack?” Rihyani asked, the ferocity leaving her voice as she squinted curiously between the trees.

Ambrose cocked his head to one side, frowning deeply.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” he snarled, his eyelids sinking to half-mast as he strained his preternatural hearing. “Those men are running for their lives.”

Ambrose’s eyes flew open a heartbeat before Milo and Rihyani heard the first screams. Wild and piercing, a babble of pleas, curses, and shrieks cut through the air and chilled the blood. Milo had heard men cry out in pain and fear many times, but this was one of the worst.

“They’re dying ugly,” Ambrose growled, his head wagging slowly as some voices fell silent and others rose to new shivering heights.

“Hiisi,” Rihyani said breathily and turned to Milo. “We need to get to Lokkemand’s men. Now!”

With a ripple of will, the traveling cloak poured over the fey’s body, then she was heading for the sound of gunshots.

Milo and Ambrose knew better than to argue, but they shared concerned looks as they began to trot along the tree line toward the road. All three kept a sharp eye out for the ambushers still firing on the German forces as they bounded along. It went without saying that it wouldn't do to race into the kill zone.

“Are they in more danger from the Hiisi than the Russians?” Milo asked as he jogged up alongside Rihyani. “What are we protecting them from, exactly?”

Rihyani threw a worried look over her shoulder, and Milo realized the screaming had stopped.

“The protection isn’t for them,” Rihyani explained, quickening her pace. “It’s for us.”

By the time they’d made it to the road, the Russian ambushers had begun to die.

The trio didn’t see what was killing them, but given the sounds the dying made, it seemed clear that whatever had killed their fellows near the hotel was preying on them now along the road.

The German caravan had ceased firing when the Russian salvos had given way to desperate screams. They couldn’t see what was happening, but the horror on the soldier’s faces grew with each rustle amongst the branches that preceded more auditory torment. They sat listening to men beg and pray and cry before their voices became incoherent yowls and wails that seemed too tortured for human throats.

The soldiers were so captivated by the morbid symphony around them that they didn’t spot Milo, Ambrose, and Rihyani on the ditch-hemmed side of the road. The trio, seeing that they didn’t need to worry about being caught in the crossfire, made for the vehicular triangle formed by two open-topped kubelwagens and a canvas-backed truck. The wizard had to pound on the side of the truck to draw the men’s attention away from the horror in the forest.

“You can sightsee on your own time, gentlemen,” he shouted in German. “As it stands, you are hours late, and the service so far has not been up to standard.”

Blinking like owls awakened before dusk, the German soldiers swung around and stared at Milo and company. The magus thought about jumping aboard, but there was a tension in the men’s shoulders and faces that gave him pause. Time was of the essence, but rushing a crowd of emotionally fragile men with guns seemed unwise.

“Permission to come aboard?” Milo asked, throwing a jaunty salute as his eyes searched for a black coat or at least the NCO of rank.

“What the hell is going on in there?” someone asked, and the question was repeated by several soldiers.

“Bad things,” Milo said quickly, taking half a step toward the open backseat of a kubelwagen. “Now, can we please be on our way before bad things start happening to us?”

“Did you do this?” one man asked, his face hardening as another called behind him, “Or did she do it?”

“Neither,” Milo said, fighting to keep his temper in check. There were now only one or two wretched voices begging for their lives, which meant the Hiisi, whatever they were, were most likely headed their way.

“What did you summon, warlock?” a voice demanded, and Milo heard hissing whispers that sounded a lot like “De Zauber-Schwartz” moving amongst the ranks with less than friendly connotations.

“Look,” Ambrose said, his mustache bristling furiously. “Take us prisoner if you like, but you don’t want to meet whatever is out there. Get your heads out of your bungholes and get this caravan moving. NOW!”

To Milo’s relief and no small amount of envy, the big man’s thunderous voice and battlefield demeanor won out. Like shamefaced children scolded by a gruff uncle, the soldiers hopped to and began to break up their impromptu fortification. The trio was crammed into the back of the lead kubelwagen since both the truck and the other kubelwagen were being used to transport men wounded in the initial ambush.

Within a minute of Ambrose’s bellowed orders, the caravan moved out.

Milo felt comfortable enough to lean forward and call to the driver. “Good thing Captain Lokkemand sent out a full guard for a priority pickup, eh?”

The driver looked uncomfortable as he wiped his forehead, and he kept swiveling his gaze to the dirt road and along the forest edge. He gnawed his lip for a moment, then replied without looking back.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” the man replied, shouting over the sound of three engines working in close proximity, “but we travel like this always. We can’t do it any other way. The bandits are thick as moss on Pfeiffer’s backside.”

The man seated next to him, who must have been Pfeiffer, spat out the window,