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

neck. The weight on his back vanished. Careful of his leg, he rolled over as Ambrose hammered out a pair of shots. Milo saw Ezekiel pitch forward with a mad guffaw as another mercenary, one who must have been in the rear guard, slumped sideways with a shocked mewling sound. Captain Saakadze took a round through the shoulder and fell, but to his credit, he twisted as he dropped, attempting to bring his carbine to bear one-handed. Two more rounds punched through his chest as he hit the ground, and when the dust settled, he lay motionless and glassy-eyed.

Percy and the remaining two mercenaries ran for cover behind the standing stone opposite Milo’s, chased by two more shots before a sharp plink sounded from Ambrose’s sniper’s roost.

The American and his goons seemed to understand the significance of the sound and swung clear of the cover they’d just entered to pour a torrent of leaden fire into the woods. Had Milo been paying attention, he might have laughed at the way their shots scattered like mad hail, none going anywhere near Ambrose except by accident, but he was otherwise occupied.

Ezekiel was on his hands and knees less than two meters from the magus, a strange sucking sound coming from his chest as he coughed out a garbled chuckle. Blood frothed from his lips began to well up from inside his buckskins in time with the sucking noise. Milo dared to hope that Ambrose had struck something vital in the fiendish scalp hunter, his pain-addled mind thinking of old stories of killing horrors with a wound through the heart.

Ezekiel gave an ecstatic heaving laugh and expelled a spray of blood upon the ground in front of him. Milo’s stomach sank as he saw the clear glint of metal amidst the blood coating the ground, then the cowboy’s Cheshire-cat smile over the bullet.

“My turn,” he said, and his bloody smile gleamed black in the moonlight.

A corroded pistol slid free of the cowboy’s belt as Milo scrambled back, hands groping around him for his cane.

Since the shooting had begun, none had noticed the growing sound of many large forms moving through the trees. Milo only became aware of the thunderous approach as imminent death sharpened his senses to a razor’s edge and time seemed to slow. The rushing creak and groan of heavy limbs shouldered aside proved a counterpoint to the slow mechanical click of Ezekiel’s pistol hammer being drawn back, while the dull thud of broad, heavy feet juxtaposed the sharp, incessant barks of gunfire.

Ezekiel grinned malevolently as he made a show of taking his aim, but his eyes widened comically as Milo felt something immense looming over him.

Milo had an impression of huge legs swathed in metallic scale greaves—or was it the creature’s skin?—passing over him, then one elephantine foot descended upon Ezekiel. The cowboy’s pistol fired up into the foot, but it didn’t slow the step that smashed his body flat to the ground. Milo felt the impact reverberate up through the earth.

The other leg passed overhead. Milo flinched under its shadow, but it came to rest several meters away. Milo beheld the huge, vaguely humanoid shape before him, two huge legs leading to a massive abdomen that was girdled with patchwork leathers that could have served as sails before muscle-mounded shoulders emerged with several lumpy, hairy heads at the apex.

The gunfire in the glade ceased as every eye fell upon the many-headed giant whose enormous back was still to Milo as it stood upon the twitching body of Ezekiel.

“I AM BAKBAK-DEVI,” the giant rumbled from several throats at once, the sound like a chorus from the bowels of the earth. “I COME TO HONOR THE SACRIFICE. CEASE YOUR QUARRELS. THIS PLACE IS HALLOWED.”

Without a word, all weapons were lowered, and an eerie calm descended over the glade.

Bakbak-Devi pivoted, foot still grinding the pitifully fidgeting body of the scalp hunter, then stooped to regard Milo with a host of yellow eyes, several of which did not occur in pairs.

“YOU ARE WELCOME, SUPPLICANT,” the giant said, its faces breaking into tusk-snarled grins. “IT HAS BEEN SOME TIME SINCE ANY OFFERED A LIFE OF THEIR OWN KIND UPON THE STONES.”

Milo’s eyes strayed to the vine-smothered corpse, and his stomach knotted.

“I am looking for the marquis,” Milo said, doing his best to push down the revulsion rising within him. “I need his help.”

The Lernaean ogre drew back, and for a single trembling second, Milo wondered if he’d said something to offend it. Its yellow gaze narrowed, and it stooped even lower to draw in a heavy sniff with several snouts.

“YES, YOU HAVE BEEN AMONG THE FOLK,” Babak-Devi declared, then with impressive gentleness, extended a hand to help Milo to his feet. “COME WITH ME, AND I WILL MAKE YOUR INTRODUCTIONS.”

“I have a friend here with me,” Milo called to the giant as he rose, balancing on his uninjured leg. “He will be coming with me.”

With a rustle and snapping of twigs, Ambrose emerged from his spot and rushed over to Milo’s side, snatching up the magus’ cane and the Gewehr on his way over. Bakbak-Devi watched without comment, only straightening so Ambrose could slide a shoulder under Milo’s arm.

“Thanks for not forgetting me,” Ambrose muttered as he handed over the cane.

“Don’t mention it,” Milo said out the corner of his mouth as he continued to watch the giant. “Just next time, don’t wait until I’m bleeding to start shooting. I’m tired of fixing this leg.”

A wounded looked passed over Ambrose’s face, but he hid it behind a cheery smile at the many watching faces.

“Ready when you are, big guy,” he called up with forced verve.

Bakbak-Devi nodded and turned to go when two barks of a pistol pierced the stillness of the glade.

The giant spun back with frightening speed for a creature the size of a house, while Ambrose swung Milo around like a ragdoll to shield the magus with his body. The two remaining Georgians toppled over, bullet holes in their heads, as their