Sorcerybound (World's First Wizard Book 2) by Aaron Schneider (ready player one ebook .TXT) 📕

His free hand tapped a thick scarred finger to his head and then thumped his chest over his heart.

“But these things, ghuls, fey, demons, and whatever in God names a Hiisi is, they work with different rules and have different plans, schemes, and ways of getting those things done. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m not sure how much use an old soldier like me is going to be.”

Milo finished rolling his cigarette, then stopped and looked at his bodyguard, puffing on his pipe and staring at the mountains. The ache of regret and powerlessness in the big man’s words was palpable enough to strike at Milo’s heart, and as he stared, he found it hard to understand. Just to look at Simon Ambrose was to see a man of not only incredible physical prowess but enduring power. Like an old oak or mountain face, Ambrose seemed made to survive beyond mere mortal men, and given his half-angelic nature, he very well might. Yet, it was clear his friend was troubled.

Startled, Milo realized that survival wasn’t enough for Ambrose.

The magus had spent his whole life trying to survive, to stave off disaster and see one more day. To him, the power to endure was akin to the ultimate treasure, but now, staring at his century-old bodyguard, he wondered if he hadn’t been wrong all this time. Ambrose wasn’t afraid of surviving but of what would remain when he did.

Given the power he now wielded, Milo wondered if this was a question he should be asking himself.

His stomach growled, clearly unhappy with his focus on non-gustatory matters.

“You haven’t been totally useless thus far,” Milo quipped as he tucked the cigarette behind his ear. “But your continued usefulness will wax and wane, depending upon one important task. Really, the entire operation—no, the future of Nicht-KAT and the world of man—may hang upon this singularly important endeavor.”

Ambrose glanced up and fixed Milo with an incredulous frown.

“And that task is?” he asked warily.

“Finding some more food,” Milo replied as he stood up and grasped his belly. “What are these starvations rations? A growing magus needs his meat!”

Ambrose eyed his lanky frame disapprovingly and, placing the pipe between his teeth, heaved to his feet.

“Come on then.” Ambrose chuckled. “I’ve never been the type to leave a job half-done.

5

The Awaited

Jorge sent word through encrypted radio signals that Rihyani would be arriving within a week. She would be accompanied by two companions, which Milo expected would be the verdant woman and the bronze giant, her fey comrades from before.

For five days, Milo’s world was one of eager, almost painful anticipation combined with mounting anxiety. He suddenly became acutely aware of how the stains on his circulatory system from the nightwatch were slow in fading and how emaciated he looked since the whole debacle. He doubted whether a few days of ravenous eating and vigorous exercise would restore him to something closer to what he’d been, but he was determined to give it his best anyway.

He ate like a sow and sweated like an ox at the plow, engaging in a routine that was one part military calisthenics and the other parts getting bounced around while he had Ambrose teach him a thing or two about fighting. The idea had sprung up after the bodyguard’s confession on the balcony, but the moment he’d thought of it, he’d found the idea appealing.

Ambrose was less optimistic.

The big man had first complained that it was fruitless, not only because Milo was in his words, “hopelessly weedy,” but also because he felt Milo should be learning to do magic.

“Why waste time shooting or stabbing when you can kill with a word?” he asked as Milo dragged him down to the courtyard for their first session. “Jorge wants you doing magic, doesn't he?"

“I don’t always have the time or ingredients for necromist magic,” Milo said, shoving Ambrose ineffectually from behind. He would have had more luck pressing on the walls of the fortress.

“Besides,” Milo grumbled, refusing to be deterred, “this is as much about my recovery as learning to fight. Really, I’ve had more than enough practice.”

Ambrose gave an unimpressed grunt.

“That so, eh?”

Milo smiled like a shark scenting blood.

“Yeah,” he said, throwing a cocky swagger into his voice as he stopped pushing. “In fact, it will probably be exercise only because I don’t imagine there’s much I’ve left to learn about such things.”

Ambrose had turned and given Milo a supremely disapproving frown before heaving a sigh and letting it melt into a smile. Milo had won, and they both knew it.

For five days, Ambrose had put Milo through the paces of his eclectic style of training to “end things,” as he put it. It was a strange combination of skills training, applied anatomy, mental attunement, and a relentless series of nearly abusive physical challenges. Milo was introduced to ways to kill and maim with his body, blades, and firearms, none of which he mastered, but he was more dangerous for it all the same.

Milo never said anything because he didn’t want Ambrose guessing why he had asked him to train him, but the truth was that Milo was coming to understand the considerable breadth of knowledge and expertise Ambrose had. Even as he learned a new way to break an arm, cut an artery, or shoot on the run, he understood that the big man was only revealing a fraction of the prowess he’d developed.

The magus was soon thankful that the big man’s skills were not limited to the realm of violence but also encompassed acquisition.

The effort was so intense that whenever Milo wasn’t engaged in the regimen, he was either sleeping or eating. By the fourth day, Ambrose had resorted to stealing rations to keep Milo sated and regaining weight on a fatty, protein-rich diet.

Daily Milo felt his strength returning and it was just as well, for the night of the fifth day since Jorge’s message the fey arrived.

The pair was