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

the river to become someone else’s problem. It would take one word, Volkohne. One word.”

Milo paused in the doorway, the cane in his hands giving the briefest flicker of witchfire.

“Then say the word,” Milo challenged, his eyes fixed on the room beyond. “Captain.”

His words hung upon the trembling air.

A few fragile seconds more and Milo nodded and walked out of the office, Ambrose right behind him, one hand still resting on the knife at his belt.

“You think she’ll be okay here?” Ambrose asked, casting a concerned glance at Rihyani’s recumbent form. “I mean, after everything Lokkemand said?”

“What did Lokkemand say?” Brodden asked as he finished bandaging Milo’s arm.

Two and a half more pints of blood.

“Don’t worry about it,” Milo grumbled as he rose from his seat next to her cot. “And yes, Ambrose, I think she’ll be fine.”

Milo wobbled for an instant, and both bodyguard and medic shot out a hand to steady him. The magus waved them off as he righted himself, surreptitiously leaning on his cane and taking the smallest sip of supernatural strength from it.

“You need to rest and refuel,” Brodden said, looking Milo over and shaking his head. “I know you’ve got that magic business to help, but in less than forty-eight hours, you’ve given the equivalent of a human body’s entire blood supply. It can’t be good for you.”

Milo patted the man on the shoulder and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry. I’ll have nearly two days to do nothing but sleep, eat, and whine at my nurse.”

“A day and a half,” Ambrose corrected. “And the second you complain about my bedside manner, I’m throwing you in the trunk.”

Brodden snapped a look at the two, dragging a hand over his haggard face.

“When they told me I had signed on for Nicht-KAT duty, I expected things to be different,” the medic muttered as he started cleaning the transfusion kit. “The truth is that in some ways, it's been both better and worse than I ever thought it would be.”

“Didn’t exactly think serving the Fatherland would involve swapping blood with faeries, eh?” Ambrose asked with a chuckle.

“A patient’s a patient,” Brodden stated. “Sure, pink blood and all is a little off-putting, but the rest of it is pretty familiar.”

“Then what part is throwing you off?” Milo asked with a yawn. He was suddenly looking forward to taking the restorative and hunkering down in the cab of the Rollsy.

“Honestly?” Brodden asked, his gaze sliding between the men, seeming to size each of them up.

“Of course, honestly.” Milo laughed, but the sound died on his lips as understanding dawned on him. “O-oh, you mean us?”

Brodden nodded slowly, weight shifting cautiously to his back foot.

“Yeah,” he said softly, his eyes narrowing even as his tone edged toward an apology. “Fact is, we, meaning the other grunts like me on this detail, we’re used to some friction between NCOs and COs, and even rivalries between officers, sure, but this is something different.”

The magus nodded before he realized what he was doing, the medic professing something Milo had felt since donning the black greatcoat. A dissonance, an uncertainty, and not only in himself.

Brodden took a deep breath,

“We came expecting to face strange things, but I expect most of us thought the backbone of our time in the army, duty, chain of command, order, wouldn’t be the thing to change. You two are walking, talking deviations from that.”

Ambrose shot Milo a look, mustache bristling as he formed a retort, but Milo gave a slight shake of his head. Brodden carried on, either not noticing or not caring what had passed between the two men.

“Neither of you has a real rank, but you're not civilians,” Brodden said with a shake of his head. “You defy orders and aren’t punished for it, and when a high-ranking officer shows up, he barely has time to notice your superior officer before having a chat with a former conscript wearing the black.”

Milo felt the urge to bristle rising, but a combination of curiosity and fatigue shut down the impulse.

“We all have to wonder if you’re the one running the show, but we don’t even know what the show is.” Brodden shrugged. “You whisper together and steal supplies, then disappear, only to come back and fill the nights with screams and the smell of sulfur and smoke.”

Milo took a deep breath, his mind filling with the realization of how the horrors and marvels of his new reality might look to common men, many not so different from him. He had to admit that he’d not given them much thought, and he’d never seriously considered what they thought of him.

“We’ve all been doing this long enough that we’re used to not knowing the reasons we’ve got to fight and die,” the medic said with a grim smile. “But with everything else we count on going out the window, maybe we just need to know what it is we’re trying to do.”

Milo knew the answer, but for a second it hung on his tongue, seeming like something more fantastical, more impossible than even talk of faeries and curses. Ambrose, seeing the conflict in Milo’s eyes, made to answer, to guard, but again Milo warded him off with a look.

Brodden, faithful to his patient despite everything, at least deserved the truth.

“I’m trying to end the War,” Milo said.

To his relief, Brodden didn’t laugh or sneer. He stared, eyes narrowed, waiting.

“I found out I can do magic, and now I’m trying to use that magic to end the War,” Milo explained.

“You mean to win it?” Brodden asked, eyes still narrowed.

“If that’s what it takes,” the magus said, his gaze unwavering. “No matter what, it’s got to end, but to have hope for any of this, I need help, and for that, I need her. She’s fighting to help stop the War too.”

Brodden looked down at the fey, his face flat and unresponsive even as his eyes revealed a riot of feelings.

“So right now, all of this,” Brodden continued,