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

clutching his rifle in both hands. Despite that, the man’s eyes were calm, almost apathetic with all that was going on around him.

“If I got moss, it came from Schultz’s mother,” he growled, looking left and right before giving them all a sidelong grimace over his shoulder. “Woman’s a mangy old goat, but ‘needs must when devils drive’ is how the saying goes, right?”

“Did you just call my mother a goat?” the driver Schultz growled, one hand curling into a fist.

Rihyani shot Milo a concerned frown over Ambrose’s bent back, and her thoughts rushed into his mind.

Do those two intend to start fighting at a time like this?

Milo shook his head even as the driver’s fist struck Pfeiffer’s shoulder with a dull smack and the man rocked against the door of kubelwagen.

They’re blowing off steam. You know, banter, Milo explained. None of these look like Lokkemand’s old escorts, so they’re new to all this, though I’m sure they were briefed.

Rihyani gave Milo an incredulous stare as blistering streams of invective and profanity flowed freely between the two, but true to Milo’s word, it quickly settled into chuckles as they rolled further down the road and out of Gzhatsk.

“Glad we’re clear of that mess,” Pfeiffer offered as he leaned against the window, eyeing the trees suspiciously.

Milo and Rihyani felt Ambrose tense next to them, and Milo saw the look of concern on his face turn to wrath in an instant.

“Not clear yet,” the bodyguard rumbled and began to wriggle his way to his feet as he swung his Gewehr toward the forest.

“What is it?” Milo asked, rushing to join Ambrose. One hand held his fetish cane while the other probed for one of the si’lat swarms. He didn’t imagine the soldiers would feel very comfortable with the vicious black cyclone, but he figured dying like the Russians had was even less appealing.

As though summoned by the thought, three bloodied and harried figures in khaki uniforms lurched out of the forest and into the middle of the track. Their heads were twisted back to watch for whatever horror had pursued them here, but their hands were raised in surrender.

“Help! Save!” they cried in stilted German. “Save! Please!”

Pfeiffer leveled his rifle their way, but a sharp word from Milo stayed his trigger finger.

“Damn it, man, they’re unarmed.”

The defeated men staggered forward, still trying to watch the woods they’d left as the caravan rolled to a stop.

“I thought we needed to get out of here?” shouted the driver of the truck. “Put on the gas and they’ll move.”

“Load them into the truck bed,” Milo shouted back, motioning to the Russians to head for the truck.

“Letting those rats in with the wounded? Are you mad?” the driver bellowed, revving his vehicle’s chugging engine and menacingly halting the Russians in between kubelwagen and the truck. “Get out of the way, or I’ll roll over you and the cowards!”

The Gewehr roared, and the side-view mirror of the truck sprang free of its mount in a shower of sparks and broken glass.

“A superior officer gave you an order. A DIRECT order!” Ambrose roared, his rifle’s aim now adjusted to the cab of the truck. “Think very hard before you open your mouth again, soldier.”

The tension crackled in the air like barbed lightning, and Milo felt Rihyani’s will brushing against him.

This does not seem like banter, Rihyani thought. If Simon fires again, I think the one called Pfeiffer will attempt to shoot him.

Milo didn’t dare turn around as the standoff ached on second after second. He considered stretching out his will and trying to soothe or at least befuddle Pfeiffer but thought better of it.

If he does, try to stop him without hurting him, Milo instructed via resonations of his own will. We still need these men to cooperate with us while we work out here.

Rihyani’s will throbbed with affirmation, then she left his thoughts.

Milo looked askance at the Russians standing between kubelwagen and the truck before clearing his throat, drawing all eyes to him.

“This is ridiculous,” he said in his best no-nonsense commander’s impression. “We’ve got an unknown hostile, and we are exposed. Get the prisoners in your vehicle, and let’s get the He—”

The air was suddenly filled with a cacophonous clamor of raucous cawing. All eyes turned toward the woods, searching the branches and jagged tops of the evergreens for the source of the terrible sound. The limbs rustled and creaked as the canopy suddenly erupted in a storm of croaking ravens. With a precision and cohesion uncommon to carrion birds, the immense flock swept down and encircled the caravan in a wheel of beating black wings.

The Russians screamed and crouched with hands raised over their heads.

“Get those prisoners loaded NOW!” Milo bellowed, his finger stabbing at the truck.

Not needing any further prompting, the would-be prisoners scuttled to the back of the truck and got on board with terror-fueled speed.

“De Zauber Schwartz,” Schultz cried, and for the first time that day, it didn’t sound like a curse to Milo. “What do we do? I can’t drive through this.”

Milo wasn’t sure the man’s grasp of physics was very reliable if he thought his blocky battering ram of a vehicle couldn’t punch through a wall of birds, but he didn’t think it was time to correct the man. Instead, he reached into the case and drew out the heavy orbs that held the si’lat swarm.

Milo held a sphere out in front of him and began harnessing the focus necessary to not only rouse but master the shades. He knew he’d need as much control, if not more, than he had used aboard the train. It would be even harder now since he’d had plenty of time to prepare his mind and body for the rigors of magic then. He liked the si’lat better than dousing the birds with witchfire or eldritch ice, but he understood that if he lost control, it would very likely cost the soldiers their lives.

“When I give you the word, floor it,” Milo called as