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

the audience chamber. The braziers hanging in a row from the high vaulted ceiling did not spill their cool light far beyond the center of the room, so Milo could only guess at the expressions of hundreds of eyes watching him. A quick flutter of panic stirred in his stomach to have so many eyes on him, but he squashed it ruthlessly.

There was only one set of eyes he needed to worry about right now, and that set scrutinized him minutely after tossing out a barb tucked into his magnanimity.

Milo nodded, allowing himself half a smile so the Bashlek knew he was in on the game.

“Great Bashlek, I am eager to begin learning,” he declared, pitching his voice so it was clearly heard by everyone present. “Knowing that humans cover the whole of the earth, yet we still have so much to learn fills me with...excitement for the days to come.”

Marid inclined his head slightly as he sank deeper into his throne, acknowledging Milo’s riposte even as he displayed unconcern.

“Truly, I can only imagine the eagerness you must feel,” the wizened ghul said and offered a telltale smile that made Milo very nervous all of a sudden. “In fact, I was told you displayed some of your talents on your road to join us today.”

Milo became aware of the skull with its glowing sockets tucked under his arm.

“A trifle, I am sure.” Milo shrugged, hoping he sounded modest and not rudely dismissive. “It wouldn’t have been possible without some impromptu education by Imrah and Fazihr.”

Milo heard more whispers, many of them angrier and more urgent than before. He wondered if perhaps he had said something wrong, and he couldn’t help himself; he tried to peer into the shadows beyond the spheres of light. A low, drowning chuckle passed between Marid’s emaciated lips, snapping Milo’s attention back to the monster he could see.

“I am well pleased that those I sent offered you such assistance,” Marid said, leaning forward fractionally on his throne. “Indeed, I would love an opportunity to see your abilities, for my own edification and that of my court.”

Milo smelled something funny in the request, but it seemed clear that refusal at this stage would be unwise.

“I am at your disposal,” Milo said with a short bow and was glad for a chance to hide a wince. Given what ghuls seemed to do with humanlike creatures, he suddenly wondered to what extent these creatures might take such an offer.

“Excellent,” Marid said, though his tone had become deadly serious. “Taking the lamp in your hands, I would ask you to command it to shine brighter. Strong enough that none here may doubt that you are what you claim, my dear Magus.”

Milo drew the lamp in front of him, hands gripping the bases of the horns, feeling the trembling auras there still, though they were a touch thinner and more strained than when he'd first encountered them in the tunnel. All around him, he heard the unsettling sibilance of the court whispering, prognosticating, and simmering with suspicion. Milo was sure how it was to be done, but taking what he’d learned from Imrah moments before and the initial ritual, he guessed it was a matter of will at this point.

“BRIGHT,” he said and breathed across the dome of the skull.

The skull’s illumination flared for a second but settled back to its original level as though it was too tired to answer to his instruction.

Marid said nothing, only watched through narrowed eyes as the susurrating sea of whispers grew louder.

Command it, he told himself angrily. Predator or prey, Milo. Which is it going to be?

The words shot through him, reviving deeply buried memories−hard, ugly things. Milo drew on that anger and repugnance like a flame drawing breath from a bellows.

“BRIGHT!” he demanded, blowing over the skull, then thrusting it up over his head.

Brilliant rays of light, stabbing out in shades of emerald, lanced from the skull’s open sockets. Milo could feel the alchemical ingredients within thrumming, a trembling force caught between his hands. Turning in a slow circle for all to see, he watched, gratified, as the now-silent courtiers recoiled from the stabbing light as it played across their hunched forms.

His display done, Milo lowered the skull in front of him, noting that the light shone so bright he could see it slipping through the hairline seams in the skull, a spiderweb of illumination. It was warm in his hands too. Not uncomfortably so, but he nonetheless sensed the change.

Milo looked up at Marid, who was studying him intently; the predator was scheming and assessing. Milo could hardly guess his aims, but the consideration was enough. It seemed whatever happened, Marid could not dismiss him.

While thinking about dismissal, Milo wondered how he could still feel the magic thrumming through the skull, but he found that explainable enough. No sooner did he feel the desire growing in him than the light within began to dim. Soon it was only a faint glow, less than it had been before.

The reality of magic responding intuitively to his desires set off a distant alarm in Milo’s mind, but before he could examine it, his attention was drawn back to the throne.

“Exceptional,” Bashlek Marid declared, his tone implying both regard and what might have been warmth. “I confess I was doubtful about your leader’s message that one of your kind possessed the gift, but I see now my suspicions were unfounded. With such a display, none can doubt—”

“That he should be destroyed!”

The declaration came from the back lowest gallery to Milo’s right, and the eyes of man and ghul swung around to search for the speaker.

Emerging from the shadows, a tall, whip-thin ghul strutted into the light, an ivory mantle upon its narrow shoulders, complete with stole. It didn’t move with the customary hunched skulk of its kind, instead stepping forth with sure strides, head held high. Upon its pointed brow was a thin band of barbed iron and bone on which an assortment of crystals hung