Witchmarked (World's First Wizard Book 1) by Aaron Schneider (namjoon book recommendations txt) 📗

the column’s formation had a distinctly mortified appearance, and all manner of questions would have had to be asked.

But soldiers shuffling toward or back from patrol or repositioning were so commonplace that no one seemed to notice. The column of fifty soldiers was summarily ignored even as they followed a tall, rangy Blackcoat, at whose shoulder walked a brute in a borrowed uniform and a native woman as they strode beyond the picket lines.

The last sentries to see them gave them a passing glance, rubbing their eyes blearily. One might have even made a grim joke about the men walking like the living dead, but only a few laughed. They were all tired, and their watch was almost over.

With a long sigh, they watched the forgotten fifty trudge on, rounding a rough hill before they passed from sight and mind.

Two miles from the closest picket line, Milo met the fey.

“We’ve scouted out these three spots,” Rihyani explained, pointing at the map Milo unfolded. “Two shallow valleys and a draw that should provide an open enough space for the bodies to be seen and would serve as a reasonable place for an ambush.”

Milo nodded, struggling to concentrate on what she said. The animated corpses shuffling behind them were empowered by bound shades. They’d gone willingly into the prepared bodies, but part of him had to remain focused, or the shades were liable to take their new ride out for a stroll. In the time it had taken him to talk to Rihyani, one of the dead had managed to take three sluggish steps away from the column.

“Good work,” he said distractedly as he applied mental pressure. The dead soldier shuffled back into line.

Imrah gave a small sniff and looked up at the fey defiantly.

“Isn’t that a little too obvious?”

“People make mistakes,” Milo said quickly, wanting to keep them focused on the task at hand. “Especially when they’re lost, which is how we’re trying to play this.”

Two more shades drove their meat vessels to the side and had to be brought to heel with a spike of Milo’s will.

Throwing a look over his shoulder, he saw that the other half of the column, those controlled by Imrah, hadn’t moved a muscle. Despite how silly and petty it was, he envied her control over the essence-enriched echoes. She clearly had enough control that she could argue with people without letting the Qareen wander. He wanted that kind of control, not just for the power of it, but also because the constant strain of course-correcting the dead soldiers was tiring.

The truth was, he and Ambrose had suffered under the regimen of blood magic. Despite their best efforts with food, rest, and even elixirs, both of them were unnaturally pale, and their eyes were circled in bruise-colored flesh. Milo was looking almost as rawboned as the day the two had met, and Ambrose had clearly lost a few pounds, his round face becoming more angular and blocky. To make matters worse, Milo learned that the “cosmetic effect” Imrah had mentioned from overusing nightwatch was that the circulatory system began to darken beneath the skin. Twisted patches of blue-black veins and capillaries spiderwebbed his body. For the last two days of their work, Milo had avoided his reflection because it was too disheartening.

Both men would need time to recover, but first they needed to see this done. Milo had tried to get Ambrose to stay behind and recover since there was nothing for him to do, but he’d insisted a bodyguard couldn’t guard when he wasn’t around.

So now they stood, looking more like the uncoated corpses at the center of the formation, eager to get the job done.

“How will the bodies be discovered?” Rihyani asked, making it a point to look directly at Milo instead of the glaring ghul.

“Lokkemand came through for us on that too,” Milo said, pushing the fatigue out of his voice. “He’s scheduled zeppelin surveillance of the area by midmorning. We need to get this moving so we have everything in place and we’re clear of the area before they get there.”

“Understood,” the contessa said. “We’ll stay clear, and no flying while the airships are blundering about.”

Milo and Ambrose looked at her with weary, furrowed brows.

“Flying?” the big man asked.

Rihyani smiled and cocked her head to one side.

“Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown, with silver spots upon her wings, and from the moon, she flutters down,” she quoted in a sing-song voice, her eyes glinting the steely predawn light.

“Shakespeare?” Ambrose mumbled with an uncertain frown.

“Thomas Hood,” Rihyani said, her voice and smile gentle and refreshing despite the correction. “Though from the way both you and the Magus look, I judge Mab hath not been with you for some time.”

“Fair to say,” Ambrose agreed, a grin breaking out beneath his newly grown mustache.

Milo stared at the two of them, unsure if it was fatigue or ignorance that kept him out of the exchange but not liking it either way. He absently wondered if this was what jealousy felt like, but the reflection was broken by Imrah’s snarled interjection.

“I thought we had a schedule to keep?” the ghul said sharply, eying them all balefully. “Enough poetry.”

“Right,” Milo said. straightening and gesturing at the map. “Imrah will take the easternmost location, this draw right here. Ambrose and I will deposit the rest of them along these two valleys. Rihyani and the fey will be in a holding pattern around this north and west hill, which is where we will rendezvous.”

He looked at each of them to confirm they understood before he began to refold the map.

“If everything goes according to plan, we’ll hold there until we can confirm the zeppelins are inbound. After that, we’ll head back to camp. Might even celebrate if Ambrose can rustle us up any booze Lokkemand hasn’t drunk.”

There were tense chuckles from Ambrose and Rihyani. Imrah’s expression remained flat and hard.

“I can’t work miracles,” Ambrose warned. “But I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all any of us can