Wizardborn (World's First Wizard Book 3) by Aaron Schneider (read me like a book txt) 📕

have been strictly mundane thus far,” Jorge said, looking at Milo and Ambrose in turn as though trying to keep them both in his sights like creatures that might attack.

Milo supposed if the colonel was going to make the effort, he might as well oblige.

“Which is exactly why we should be handling the interrogation,” he said flatly, staring into Jorge’s weathered face. “He has reason to fear us, and we know what sort of questions need to be asked. The general staff hiding him so they can keep up this game is ridiculous.”

Jorge slowly took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose.

“The responsibility for Stalin’s interrogation was transferred to Nicht-KAT two weeks ago,” he declared quietly, a man sighing under a heavy burden. “The Ludendorff was concerned about members of the general staff sympathetic to the Reich interfering to protect Röhm from the part he played in allowing Stalin’s forces to move freely through German territories.”

Milo and Ambrose sat silently for a moment, chewing the news like gristle.

“Two weeks ago? Two?” Ambrose said slowly, clearly on his way to the same revelation Milo was chasing. “The magus put in a request with the general staff to debrief Stalin four days ago.”

“A request they immediately rejected,” Milo said through clenched teeth. “Without one word about him being transferred to the custody of the very division we serve in.”

“The general staff does have ultimate authority,” Jorge reminded him with a shrug. “Even over Nicht-KAT operations.”

Milo spat a short string of curses to make it clear how little he thought of the answer.

He got a gentle warning squeeze on his shoulder from Rihyani.

Careful, Milo, her thoughts whispered to him via the Art. There may be much here that we don’t understand.

Then how about someone starts explaining? he shot back as Jorge leaned forward, looking at Milo and Ambrose from under his eyebrows.

“The decision to restrict access to Stalin was mine,” the colonel said, not flinching from the angry stares both men gave him. “And it was made for a variety of reasons I am not inclined or able to share with either of you at the moment.”

Milo tried to remember the closeness he’d felt with Jorge only moments before. He tried to recall the relief and pride he’d felt as Jorge had swept in and stood against the most powerful men in the German Empire on his behalf. He wanted to focus on that, but all he could think of was the name Stalin had whispered.

“Stalin will give us everything in time,” Jorge said, a sharp note of finality in his voice as he snapped the folder in front of him closed and slid it toward Milo. “In the meantime, your business is with an abandoned town, not a humbled warlord. It’s as simple as that.”

Ambrose opened his mouth to argue, but another quick look at Milo changed his mind.

Visibly seething, the wizard leaned forward and took the folder off the desk with trembling fingers.

“You’re making a mistake,” Milo murmured as he rose and made for the door, thinking he should leave before things escalated irreparably.

“You are dismissed,” the colonel called after him.

5

These Memories

The train rolled on through the rainy night, the churning throb of the engine giving a voice to the undercurrent of tension in the compartment where Milo, Rihyani, and Ambrose now sat.

After the meeting with Jorge, Milo and Ambrose had retired to their room at the hotel, with Rihyani joining them a little later. She’d arrived via the window and informed them that Jorge had arranged for a train to take them east. Both men acknowledged her news, but neither felt much like talking. Ambrose had gone to bed rather quickly and was soon snoring. Milo had sunk onto the bed with his thoughts and stared at the ceiling. The fey had laid next to him, one hand resting upon his chest while she ran long fingers through his hair.

Milo couldn’t remember when he’d fallen asleep, but at some point, eyes burning and shoulders knotted, he’d slid into a sleep where there was nothing but doors arrayed along a dark corridor. He felt with certainty that one of these doors was an escape from something, something chasing him, and so he’d raced over and tried the first knob. The knob wouldn’t turn, and the door didn’t so much as rattle when he threw himself against it. He saw that the name “Volkohne” was carved into the door. Something, not a sound but a feeling, told Milo his time was running out, and he rushed to another door.

Again, no movement, and he looked up to see “Volkohne” engraved into the pitiless portal.

His fear growing as something neared, he’d rushed to the next door, checking for what letters were carved into the wood. Volkohne…Volkohne…Volkohne over and over, until near-blind with panic, he came to a door into which Petrovich had been scored with a smoldering chisel. Knowing that whatever was coming was at his heels, he twisted and pulled. The door opened, and black fire sprang forth to embrace him.

Milo had awakened in the same position, Rihyani still lying beside him. He’d looked into her dark eyes and saw the question, but he brushed it away as he stood and went to the bathroom.

The aching silence had followed them from the car Jorge had sent to take them to the station to the compartment where they now sat watching rain streak across the window as the engines churned. The pressure of the silence weighed down the air, muffling everything and making time a slippery thing. Sitting there, Milo was unsure of how long they’d been traveling and had no idea how far they had gotten in their travels. He couldn’t even have said he knew for certain when the storm had started. Each moment seemed a cramped eternity, yet he knew things were passing him by without his notice.

Would he look up from contemplating the worn compartment floor to discover they were disembarking into the Russian forest? And