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

file scraping at the back of his mind. If this didn’t work, they would be caught between the Hiisi and the Zlydzen’s armored praetorians. That would be the end of this push and the beginning of the end for Europe.

Flurries began to descend in spiraling patterns around the three standing in the middle of the street. The howl of the wind grew until the sounds of the battle were drowned out by its keening. Occasionally, gunfire from a street over intruded with a stray shot zipping past into the night, but soon even those were washed out in rushing torrent of sound that accompanied a descending cyclone of cloud and snow. Milo couldn’t hear anything besides the eardrum-throb of the changing air pressure, but he saw the un-man’s head thrown back in maniacal laughter before the cyclone swallowed the three remaining in the street.

Milo hammered a fist on Percy’s shoulder and shouted words neither of them could hear.

“Come on!”

Together they rushed back to the storeroom, punctured and battered as it was, then crept to the edge of the back doorway to watch the scene at the bridge.

The crackle of rifles and machine guns was a barely perceptible background to the howl of the unnatural weather that seethed overhead. Occasionally the roar of a cannon would punch through, but even that was only a dull, crunching boom. A second later, all of it was muted as the cyclone descended, spraying snow in every direction. For a second, Milo thought the storm had the force to sweep the tanks aside like children’s toys, but the low-slung war machines bore the tearing gales with impunity. One of the walls left standing beside the rightmost behemoth teetered and fell, though it didn’t have the decency to fall on the armored giant.

As quickly as it had descended, the enchanted storm began to rise and dissipate, leaving the far side of the bridge crusted in snow and two of the A7Vs bearing new passengers.

Milo watched as Ambrose scrambled across the snow-slicked surface of the tank. One leg dragged, evidence that his descent had not been gentle, but he managed to reach the access hatch. With an ease that belied the terrifying strength on display, Ambrose tore the door loose and threw the orb in.

At the same time, out of the corner of his eye, Milo saw that the un-man had taken a different approach. Limbs moving like a poorly controlled marionette’s, the abomination crawled spider-like along the side of the tank until it reached a machine-gun port. With a wild cackle, it pushed the chattering weapon aside, not caring how the barrel scorched its ruined hands, and shoved the orb inside.

With both orbs delivered, Milo drove forth a spike of focus to release the si’lat. He’d intended to do as he’d done before, asserting control as he set them loose, but this time, he found he couldn’t. His vision blurred and blood gushed from his nose, and it took every ounce of mental energy he could muster to keep control of the shade-driven.

The si’lat were set free, and he could only watch and dare to hope as the tanks began to rock and shiver. Two of the cannons and several machine guns fell silent, but in their absence, a new sound rose on the wind. To the south, Milo heard guttural howls and screams. The Hiisi were coming.

“Now or never.” Milo coughed, tasting more blood.

His eyes fixed on the looming Resonator, Milo wove together the strands of his remaining army around a single lightning rod of a command.

DESTROY

Milo hurled the command with all the entwined cords of control like a thunderbolt at the Resonator. The sudden release of the crushing pressure he’d borne took his breath away, and with a cry that was both pain and ecstatic relief, he sank to his knees.

With a keening moan no human throat could have uttered, the shade-driven sprang up and rushed across the bridge. Their frustration and confusion at being held at bay gave their strides preternatural speed, and though one tank still poured its fury across their flank, the tide could not be stemmed. Like hounds catching the scent, wraiths wearing the skins of men hurtled over the broken and the dead to their target. They reached the quivering tanks and didn’t slow, scuttling over and around them even as one burst into flames

The Resonator would fall; this Milo knew. Now it was a matter of getting out of here alive.

“Fetch your pet,” Milo called over his shoulder to Percy. “I’m going to get my friend.”

He made it two strides before he realized no response had come from the American.

The wizard whirled and found himself alone. Once more, Percy Astor had slipped into the dark. Milo swore savagely and contemplated searching for signs of the slippery provocateur when the bark of a Gewehr drew his attention back to the bridge.

He looked up in time to see Ambrose hurled bodily off the remaining A7V while Zlydzen in his ogre form loomed over the tank, which had begun to smoke and shudder. Zlydzen didn’t seem to notice the tank’s distress as one massive hand hefted a hammer as tall as a man. His enraged glare was fixed on Ambrose as he shakily rose to his knees.

Milo was moving before he realized what was happening, summoning witchfire through the cane as he leaped over the mounded dead.

We don’t have the strength for this, Imrah protested.

“We don’t have a choice.” Milo panted as he leaned into the biting wind, his eyes fixed on the dwarrow’s hammer, which rose for a smashing strike.

Milo punched out with the cane, launching a spear of emerald fire. After arcing through the air, it struck the dwarrow in the shoulder and raced over his uplifted arm. Bellowing like a wounded bull, Zlydzen let the hammer tumble from his grip as he threw himself on the ground. The snow hissed and a cloud of steam rose, but the fire was quenched. Zlydzen heaved himself to his feet with