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

cavities where men had once lived. First tens, then hundreds, and then thousands of hungry echoes chased the beacons into the empty flesh and there nestled in with relish as they turned stolen eyes upon the world.

And with each one that did so, Milo felt them pulling, each shade seeking to snap the cords of blood and soul that bound them to him. He bore down with his mind and heart, refusing to let one strand part as they tugged and snarled. It was like thousands of strings had been tied to individual nerves, and now each was pulling at a different angle and intensity, but all with the intent of breaking him or breaking free. Imrah’s strength poured into him, every ounce of her subsumed by him as the struggle grew desperate.

With a scream that rose with an intensity that made his throat strain and tear, Milo roared his command across all boundaries of existence.

OBEY

For a second, it seemed to be too little, too feeble, but he held on, and little by little, the cords went slack. With agonizing slowness that would not let him rest until all surrendered, the shades ceased their struggle.

Milo, blood trickling from his nose and mouth, saw Zlydzen’s army turn and look at him. Thousands upon thousands of shades, their pale gleams showing in those dead eyes, watched and waited for their master’s command.

Milo began to smile but paused to cough up blood. Wiping his mouth, he bared red-stained teeth to his new army and leveled a finger in the direction of the Neva River.

“Let’s get to work.”

20

These Allies

It soon became apparent that not all of the soulless had been swept up in Milo’s incantation as he turned the tide of soldiers back upon itself. The crackle of rifle fire and the scream of men dying bore testament to those who for whatever vagaries of fate had escaped his grasp, but they quickly fell under boot and bayonet. The onslaught was an avalanche in reverse, and within moments it was clear he wouldn’t be able to keep up.

“Come up here with me,” Rihyani crowed over him as she swept down on a howling gale.

Milo, his heart thrilling at the idea, was about to spring upward when he heard Percy Astor stumbling over the debris-covered ground. He turned and saw the posh American staggering from a snarl of wire, cursing as he glared at fresh holes in the leg of his trousers. Percy must have felt Milo’s gaze on him, and he returned Milo’s scrutinizing stare, looking abashed.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he called with a flap of his hand. “I’m not cut from the same rugged, adventurous cloth, but I’ll be along as soon as I’m able.”

Milo, to his surprise, felt a pang of sympathy for the man, but as he watched the American and felt watched in turn, he began to wonder. What had Percy and not-Ezekiel been sent here for? Milo still didn’t know why they’d been in Georgia, and now here they were again, conveniently present to aid them despite previous hostilities. Could “the enemy of my enemy” truly apply here? And now once more, Percy Astor seemed ready to fade into the background of events as he had in Georgia, quietly departing to see to whatever his real business was?

“Go ahead, and let me know when you spot the Hiisi,” Milo shouted to Rihyani as he waved her on. “We’ll be joining you at the front shortly.”

The black bag holding the bones of the Qareen steed hung from Milo’s belt, and with a tug, it was in his hand.

“No, no, you go ahead,” Percy cried, slowing to a shuffle. “I’m catching my breath, and besides, I prefer not to be at the front of anything.”

I don’t expect that you do, Milo thought as he ignored Percy and began to undo the bag’s drawstrings.

You could shoot him now, Imrah said in a frosty mental wheeze. She sounded so weak he felt a flutter of concern quicken his heart.

Not yet, he replied, though he had to admit the idea had merit. He might be the only check on the abomination he brought with him.

Milo bid the enchanted remains form as he poured them out, setting bones and dried viscera to dance about.

“Really, I would prefer to amble along at my own pace,” Percy pressed, beginning to look more nervous than he ought in Milo’s estimation. “There’s no need to bring me into danger, where I’ll be more of a burden than anything.”

Milo didn’t deign to respond as he watched the unliving construct form.

Fair enough. Imrah sighed. I suppose you still have to interrogate him to find out how he managed to stuff a corpse like that.

That hadn’t been the top of Milo’s priority list, but it was in the upper echelons for certain.

Is that another kind of magic?

Not really, no. More like ritualized communication, at least from what I understand from what Zlydzen taught. Almost likely courtly protocol involving blood sacrifices.

Milo supposed he should be relieved, but as the Qareen finished forming and a pale light kindled in its sockets, he felt nothing so sweet as relief.

At a thought from him, the Qareen knelt before Milo, and he hopped on. With another impulse, it cantered over to Percy, who stood scowling up at Milo.

“Get on,” Milo instructed as he held out a hand, his other hand holding the cane so the eyes were surreptitiously facing the American.

Percy’s jaw ground back and forth, but finally, he reached out and took Milo’s offer with a hand that seemed to be missing a few fingers. The grip, even sans fingers, was hard and clear in its intention. This wasn’t over.

With friends like these, Milo thought as he spurred his mount after his charging army.

The advancing shade-bound soldiers met little resistance as they crossed the city. There were outbreaks of gunfire and even grenades erupting, but whenever one of the bodies was too broken to carry on, the shade simply possessed one