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

“I’m counting on it,” Milo spat, his black pinions rising in menacing promise. “Now go!”

Borjikhan gave one final snarl, then like a patch of smoke on the wind, it was gone.

It took a few moments for the heady mixture of righteous wrath and power to leach from him, but it did, and with a long sigh, Milo bid the si’lat swarm lower him to the ground. Feeling drained and parched, he struggled to draw the si’lat back into its bound form. He finally managed it, though his shoulders had begun to bow.

He was sliding it back into its case when he felt eyes behind him and saw Ambrose and Rihyani staring at him.

Milo looked back to the savaged trees behind him and back at the shocked expressions of his friends.

“Sorry.” He shrugged as he trudged over to them. “A little dramatic, but I guess I’m getting a little sick of bullies.”

Ambrose and Rihyani kept staring for another heartbeat, and Milo felt a swelling pang of loneliness. Had he gone too far?

Rihyani’s arms went around him and her mouth, hungry and tender, met his. The loneliness melted, and for a moment, Milo couldn’t think but just was, and was with her. When they came up for air, Rihyani gave that achingly beautiful laugh that made him believe he would love her forever.

“You were amazing,” she said before crushing him in another embrace.

Milo looked over her shoulder at Ambrose and saw the big man smiling at him.

“Well, I’m not going to kiss you for it.” Ambrose chuckled. “How about I raid Lokkemand’s stores for a hero’s feast, eh? I know you’re hungry.”

“Always.” Milo laughed and allowed himself to be drawn into another kiss.

9

These Expectations

“It would’ve been great if Lokkemand had seen your little display,” Ambrose muttered as they rolled into the camp outside Sergio-Ivanoskye. “It probably would make this next part easier.”

“I doubt it.” Milo yawned, knowing he should be more concerned than he felt. “Lokkemand’s never lacked appreciation for my power.”

Ambrose snorted as the kubelwagen pitched and yawed over the mounded earth that broke up the approach to the central palisade ring.

“Just lacks a healthy fear of it,” Ambrose said, his mustache doing an anxious little dance.

Milo shrugged, recognizing that fatigue was contributing to his nonchalance rather than any sort of maturation where the captain was concerned. He didn’t have the energy to hate him.

“I think he’s terrified of your power,” Rihyani shared as Schultz slung the kubelwagen around to park in front of the wooden wall. “He understands better than most what you are capable of, and it scares him to no end.”

It was Ambrose’s turn to shrug.

“It makes a sort of sense,” he muttered as he stood and stretched. “What do you think, Magus?”

Milo shook his head as he rose and managed to pour himself out of the kubelwagen onto the muddy ground. Right then, he felt that Lokkemand could have hated him for his eye color, and he couldn’t have cared less. He was hungry and tired and wanted nothing more than to fill his belly and then collapse.

“Hey, Schultz, Pfeiffer,” he called, his voice raw and peevish even in his own ears. “Where can I get some food?”

The garrulous pair had been silent since Ambrose and Rihyani had led Milo back to where the caravan waited on the road. Their banter had been absent on the drive to the camp, but the wizard had been too weary and distracted by hunger to notice. Now Milo could practically smell the aura of fear emanating from the two soldiers.

Fear of Milo, of De Zauber-Schwartz.

“Look alive, soldiers!” Ambrose barked with the bristling authority of a training sergeant. “An officer asked you a question.”

Both men continued to stare at Milo with a mixture of terror and loathing worked into the lines of their faces. A rumble that would have done the monstrous Borjikhan proud resounded in Ambrose’s chest, and both soldiers straightened and squared to attention, their gazes locking forward.

“The mess is located in the eastern corner by the village,” Pfeiffer announced in a professional tone so sharp it nearly cut Milo’s ears. “But we were supposed to make sure that you met with the captain first.”

Ambrose looked at Milo, who gave a heavy nod as Rihyani slid up next to him, a silent yet strong support.

“Might as well get it over with.”

Ambrose turned to the two soldiers, standing rigid as poles in front of him.

“Well, you heard him,” he barked. “Take us to your leader.”

“Captain Lokkemand,” Milo said as he took in the familiar sight of Lokkemand standing over an expansive map while aides punched typewriters. “I appreciate you sending an escort to pick us up.”

Lokkemand rose from his maps to look down at Milo, herculean and stoic. The captain’s gray eyes bored into the magus, a scrutiny that left him feeling even more tired and exposed.

In the months since they’d last parted ways, Milo had forgotten how tall and powerful the captain was, and he remembered the single punch that one massive fist had delivered, which set his chest to aching. Milo tried to remind himself that he’d intimidated an ancient monster like the Borjikhan into flight. Right then, looking at the towering captain took all the fight out of him.

Let Lokkemand jab him with verbal barbs or rail against him. Milo wasn’t going to fight back.

“I understand that not only was the escort late in arriving,” Lokkemand said gravely, “but that when they did arrive, they stumbled into an ambush.”

It was not the opening salvo Milo had expected, which left his fatigue-burdened brain struggling to catch up.

“Yes, uh, well, they weren’t the only ones who came under fire,” Milo managed with a shrug. “And I’m not sure it was an ambush so much as the Reds were fleeing from one thing and seemed to think we might object if they kept running.”

“Yes, I see,” Lokkemand said, rubbing his jaw as he sucked his teeth. “Well, regardless, I wanted to first apologize