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

“Thank you, Dieter,” he said with a nod. ‘You can go.”

With a relieved sigh, Dieter retreated, closing the door behind him.

“Magus,” Lokkemand said, turning his gaze back to his maps. “What can I do for you?”

“Captain, Ambrose told me you didn’t recover any of the bodies from the battle site,” Milo began. “Did you find anything else there? Anything in the copse of trees or around there?”

Lokkemand bobbed his head and without a word, he walked over to his desk at the head of the assembled tables.

“We found these,” he said as he drew out a thick envelope and shook out its contents. “When the men found them, I wasn’t sure if they had anything to do with those who attacked the contessa, but it seemed remiss not to bring them in.”

The captain flipped open the unsealed top of the envelope and dumped its contents onto the desk. The first thing to emerge was a twist of hair attached to some shriveled leather that fluttered feather-like down onto the desk. Milo’s mind flashed back to Ezekiel holding up the sawn-off section of Beli’s scalp and Ambrose’s boot descending on that grinning face.

Almost as though to make the point, the second item fell out, thunking point-first into Lokkemand’s desk. Its pitted surface still crusted with blood and flecks of hair, Ezekiel’s knife stood defiantly upright before them.

“Didn’t feel the need to mention that?” Ambrose asked tartly.

“You asked about bodies,” Lokkemand replied coolly. “And the second you heard there were none, you were off. I wasn’t going to chase you down. I figured once your ward was up and about, someone would come looking.”

The two men exchanged glares before Lokkemand, as was almost customary now, looked away as though suddenly very bored.

“Fair enough,” Ambrose grumbled as he nodded, turning to Milo. “That might do the trick, eh?”

“Yeah.” Milo swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “That might work.”

He was having a hard time not staring at the weapon, something inside him twisting at the thought of touching the horn handle. Milo tried to tell himself he was being foolish, that it was a simple piece of metal and bone fastened together, but he remembered Jorge and Imrah’s shade talking about the one who could be using men to do his dirty work. If he was dealing with a Guardian and therefore magic, it was possible the knife was far more dangerous than a simple piece of metal.

Was this his handiwork, the Guardian who’d recruited Imrah? Was Ezekiel Boucher one of those fanatical followers? The man had seemed insane enough for such things.

The more Milo thought about it, the more he was certain that was what they were dealing with.

“I’m judging from your reaction that these are significant,” Lokkemand said with a sweeping gesture toward his desk. “Will they help you identify the ambusher or assist the recovery of the contessa?

“Both,” Milo said, dragging his eyes from the knife to meet the captain’s face. “Thank you, sir.”

Lokkemand’s eyes darted between Milo and the knife before he stooped to sweep the scalp and slide the blade into the envelope.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, holding out the envelope for Milo to take. “We need to resolve this business as soon as possible. Our operation is about to become active, and I need you focused on the task at hand.”

“Our operation, sir?” Milo asked as he stepped forward and took the envelope. He tried to tell himself the uncomfortable and beguiling tingle he felt upon taking it was a function of his fatigue and hunger.

Lokkemand narrowed his eyes at Milo, then looked at Ambrose.

“Did he suffer a blow to the head or something?”

“More tired and hungry than anything else, I expect.” Ambrose grunted noncommittally. “He sorts himself out just fine, though.”

Milo found himself looking between the two men as he stood there gingerly holding the envelope.

“What are you two talking about?”

“The operation, Magus,” Ambrose prompted, which Milo was certain he thought was helpful. “The bit about taking out the bad men heading this way from Russia.”

“Oh, that,” Milo said, almost relieved that he wasn’t the one falling behind. “We’re already there, aren’t we? I mean, a guerrilla force waylays the fey, and we find one of them in possession of magical paraphernalia. Seems pretty clear to me.”

Ambrose opened his mouth and then fell silent, digesting the words, while Lokkemand shook his head and pointed at the maps and reports on the tables.

“I’m almost certain those actors were a third party,” the captain said firmly. “That or perhaps they are operating as a vanguard for a much larger force, which is what you need to be preparing for right now. Didn’t you say they were Americans?”

Milo felt a familiar tension in the back of his mind and across his skin as he responded to Lokkemand, unable to keep the heat from his voice.

“They could have been posing as Americans, or maybe the mind-twisting Guardian picked up a few American operatives.” Milo shrugged as though it was settled so simply. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. I need to figure out how to help Rihyani first, sir.”

Lokkemand bristled a little and gave a fractional snarl of irritation.

“I think you need to spend less time concerned about the fey and more time concerned with the mission Jorge gave you.”

“I’m not a scout or a jaeger, sir,” Milo shot back. “The most dangerous of the two Americans is dead and the other could be also, but either way, they are in retreat. If you are so worried about them, you should start patrolling the countryside to finish off stragglers or find a new target and leave me to look after Rihyani, sir. When you have something real for me to worry about, maybe I’ll give it my due attention.”

Ambrose’s hand settled on Milo’s shoulder and he led him toward the door.

“I think the magus needs a little more rest and a lot more food,” the bodyguard stated as Lokkemand bristled.

“Quite,” the captain replied