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

from thin fob-like chains. With each defiant step, the crystals swung and set up a sound like shards of glass falling.

“Welcome, my Lady Ubhalla Dazk,” the Bashlek said in a tone that conveyed no hint of welcome. “I am glad to see you have returned to our court at last.”

“Not for any love of it, I can assure you,” the strident she-ghul replied, continuing to advance with slow, measured steps. “I have come only to do my part to preserve our people from this blasphemous endeavor.”

Milo was so focused on the exchange between the monarch and the noble that he hadn’t realized Ambrose had moved to his side, which turned out to be just as well. From behind Lady Dazk, a pair of ghuls with clubs made from sigil-marked femurs appeared, and behind them was one of the ogrish ghuls, wielding what looked very much like a very ornate and very filthy meat cleaver.

Milo searched the room, expecting guards, either armed ghuls, or maybe some of the animated dead in their baroque armor, to emerge, but none did. For the moment, it seemed Milo and Ambrose were lethally exposed.

“Blasphemy is a serious charge, my lady,” Marid remarked dryly, clearly unimpressed. “But if you hold it to be so, why not test this Magus and his consort? Let us see if the Powers Beneath bear out your charge.”

“Don’t play games with me, Marid,” the she-ghul snarled as she came to a stop a few strides away from where Milo and Ambrose stood. “Swear the Contest of Abjuration here and now before all if you are so confident. It should be a simple matter. Otherwise, the human should be brought to the temple for sanctification by excruciation.”

Milo only understood part of what was flying back and forth between the ghuls, but what he did understand had him drawing his pistol. Ambrose already had his rifle to his shoulder.

”One word, Magus,” he murmured, his voice icily calm. “One word and I make the front end look like the back end. Topsy-turvy, simple as that.”

Milo almost gave the order, content to go down fighting since whatever their rituals, he didn’t imagine the ghuls would take kindly to gunplay at court. Still, he wasn’t about to be handed over to some monster’s priest to be tortured for whatever mad reason the devil had. Thankfully for all involved, Marid spoke before Milo could give his answer.

“A very inhospitable way to conduct court, my lady,” he chided, stroking the length of his crimson stole thoughtfully. “But I suppose you have your rights, here most of all. However, before we commence, please let me explain the situation to the poor things since they seem terribly confused. The portly one looks ready to shoot you if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Topsy-turvy?” Ambrose muttered hopefully from the side of his mouth.

“No tricks, Marid,” Lady Dazk warned, then turned sharply and skulked back to her brutish entourage.

Milo, careful to let his pistol hang down at his side, glanced at the Bashlek.

Ambrose didn’t move a muscle.

“Some clarity?” Milo asked.

The Bashlek turned from the lady and looked down at Milo before giving a slightly distracted wave of his claws.

“A minor inconvenience.” He sighed. “She’s drawing on ancient traditions to try to embarrass me. Dispose of the minor annoyances she’s about to throw at you, and we can get you settled into your...educational schedule.”

Milo looked at the hulking ghul looming across the hall.

Minor annoyances were apparently larger in the Underworld.

10

An Improvisation

When the violence happened, Milo was almost caught unawares.

The ceremony for the Contest of Abjuration seemed lengthy and convoluted, and it was conducted entirely in the Ghulish tongue. Several successive advances and retreats by the Lady Dazk and her retainers had seen Milo and Ambrose nearly start shooting, convinced this was when the fight began. Each time they’d barely held back, which was just as well because it was soon revealed it was just another part of the ceremony.

“When we finally get this thing started,” Ambrose had whispered to Milo, rifle still at his shoulder, “I’ll take the big one. Pretty sure that little Luger will just make him angry.”

Milo looked at the pistol and agreed with the bodyguard, though given the size of the beast they faced, he wasn’t sure the Nephilim’s rifle would do much better.

“How can you tell the males from the females?” Milo asked.

Despite the skintight garments every ghul was wearing, Milo had been unable to determine obvious indicators of sex among the creatures. It was an odd thing to be vexed about at the moment, but he had nothing better to do.

“I can’t,” Ambrose confessed, one side of his face hitching up in a lopsided smile. “But I’m hoping something that big and ugly is male. Otherwise I might have to pity her…uh, it… Damnation, see what questions get you? Him!”

Milo chuckled a little at that. He didn’t feel braver or more hopeful, but if he had to face death, he’d be glad to do it beside someone like Simon Ambrose.

The glow of camaraderie vanished the second Lady Dazk, standing clear of her chosen champions, gave a final shriek and stabbed a condemning claw in their direction. With an inhuman bellow, the huge ghul bounded forward, the smaller ghul loping along behind it, femur clubs in its knobby fists.

“Finally!” Ambrose cried, a wild, joyful sound.

His Gewehr 98 roared, the sound the very bellow of war in that stony hall.

First blood was theirs as the heavy round punched into the bulging deltoid muscles beside the brute’s head, exiting in a gout of blue-black ichor. The beast’s roar grew louder, but it did not go down or even miss a step.

Ambrose had already worked the bolt on his rifle, a thoughtlessly fluid motion that chambered another round. He corrected his aim and fired again, sending this one glancing off the creature's skull and then, as smoothly as a well-oiled machine, he sank another shot into the massive chest. The big man was chambering another when Milo realized he too was armed