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

his gaze to Milo and began to trace one crooked finger over the layered scars on his face.

“I haven’t forgotten these,” he growled deep in his expanded chest. “Cut whatever deal you want with your fellow vermin, but I haven’t forgotten.”

Milo stared back, one hand in his pocket, but with a half-smile hitching up one side of his mouth, he let the ash slide back down. He looked the fuming dwarrow up and down as he surreptitiously hid his ash-covered hand with arms crossed over his chest.

“I haven’t forgotten either,” Milo drawled. “I mean, how could I? It’s not every day you get to see a coward scuttle away missing half his face.”

Zlydzen’s fists rose and then smashed down on either side of where Milo and Roland stood, while his saliva-streaked beard flapped as he roared and bellowed in their faces.

When neither quivered or cringed, the dwarrow stood trembling for a moment, then with a nauseating slurp and crunch of distending flesh and bone, Zlydzen had returned to his shrunken form. He watched as Roland climbed to his feet and then spoke in the squeaky rasp of his reduced form. It set Milo’s teeth on edge, though he refused to show it.

“Tread carefully, Roland,” Zlydzen warbled as he began to waddle back the way he’d come. “I am a practical creature, but even I cannot be relied upon to always be so reasonable.”

Roland straightened to his full height and cleared his throat.

“I’m glad to see our agreement still stands,” he said, only a hint of a rasp remaining in his voice. “I appreciate your trust in this matter.”

Zlydzen paused but did not turn around. For half a heartbeat, Milo thought he would transform back and continue what he’d started, but to his relief, the mossy head only wagged from side to side as he exited. Roland and Milo watched him amble out of the room, their silent and hateful stares following the dwarrow until he was out of sight.

“You two,” Roland called to the two soulless standing at the end of the room before pointing to the two collapsed behind the doors. “Take those two downstairs to the clinic and have them looked at. Assuming they aren’t dead.”

The soulless bobbed their heads dutifully and sprang to the task.

A minute later, Milo and Roland were alone in the suite. The room was markedly cooler as cold air poured in from the smashed window. After a few more eternal moments of not looking at each other, their breath began to frost in front of them.

Milo shivered and spat a curse before turning to look at Roland squarely.

“Thank you,” he said, the two words seeming to require a herculean effort. “If you hadn’t stepped in, I’d be dead right now.”

Roland smiled and then shrugged, his arm beginning to rise as he stepped toward Milo. It was the same movement he’d made all those thousands of times he’d comforted Milo, settling an arm over his shoulder. Milo didn’t recoil, but something in his face, the barest curdling of his expression, stopped Roland in his tracks. A wounded look cracked his features for an instant, but he recovered as he retreated a step. The upraised arm swept to the broken window in a frustrated gesture.

“I’ll have to have that boarded up before this room is habitable again,” he grumbled and pointed out across the cityscape. “Well, if we are going to be cold, we might as well let you see exactly what I want you to be part of.”

Without pausing to see Milo’s reaction, he strode over to a trunk at the foot of his bed. After some tossed clothes and a little muffled profanity, he drew out two long fur coats, one dark marten and the other smoky-pelted Russian lynx, and advanced on Milo holding both of them.

“Take your pick,” Roland said.

They were fine workmanship, probably worth more than anything Milo had ever owned in his life. Shrugging, he took the darker coat and drew it on, thankful for the insulation.

“Good choice. It looks good on you,” Roland said, then seemed to regret having spoken, his cheeks flushing. Milo looked away, embarrassed, mostly because he couldn’t remember Roland blushing about anything before.

Unsure of what to do, he moved to the window and looked out as Roland donned his coat.

“Not to repay what you did with disrespect,” Milo began as his eyes followed a truck in the square that was moving to the gates. “But I want you to understand I’m not going to help you with whatever…”

Milo’s voice trailed off as he felt a familiar intimate presence brush his will.

Can you hold out until tonight? Rihyani whispered in his mind.

Milo fought the urge to look around. She had to be close to communicate like this, but she would also be veiled by the Art. Acting oddly would alert Roland and do him no good.

“Er, whatever you are planning.” Milo coughed and made a little show of blowing on his hands to warm them.

I’ll manage, he replied. What’s the plan?

“All I ask is that you come with open eyes and an open mind,” Roland said, moving to stand with him at the broken window. “Now, shall we go, or are you going to keep considering an ill-advised leap to freedom?”

You stay alive and be ready to run, Rihyani replied, her will sliding slowly away from him. We found help. We’ll come tonight.

Then she was gone, and Milo had to stifle a lonesome sigh.

“Milo?” Roland said softly, looking askance at the magus.

He forced a smile onto his face, turned from the window, and nodded at the door.

“I suppose after you saving my life, I can manage at least that,” he lied. “Lead on.”

“The street organ wasn’t efficient enough,” Roland explained as they rolled down the broken streets in an armored Rolls-Royce.

It wasn’t the Rollsy, but rather a “donation,” as Roland called it, from one of the White factions that had been absorbed by Roland’s forces. It seemed that the Whites received support from the