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

eyes bulging. When nothing immediately sprang at them, they motioned back down the forest path. There were sounds of more men coming while the vanguard held their position, doing their best to stay on guard while avoiding the sight of the standing stones.

Standing close to the stones, his nostrils full of the smell of rot and old earth, Milo understood the feeling.

Watching the mercenaries, something like pity rose up in the magus’ chest as he imagined being one of the poor wretches, no doubt roped into the job with promises and threats or both, now seeing their numbers whittled down to half a dozen or so frightened men who were so far out of their depth it ceased to be funny. Milo wanted to hate them because hating them made everything easier, but he couldn’t manage it.

Luckily for him, a voice he did hate sounded from the forest path.

“Tell this yellow saddle-sore he best get back to his job,” Ezekiel Boucher snarled, a hint of a giggle in the back of his throat. “I’d hate to have to remind ‘im how to settle a negotiation.”

“Please, Mr. Boucher,” Percy Astor said with forced patience as they emerged into the glade. “I trust you to handle certain portions of our operation. I ask you to let me handle my portion without interference.”

Ezekiel came into the glade, Ambrose's Gewehr in his hands. To Milo’s supreme irritation, there wasn’t a burn on the cowboy or his grotesque outfit. Milo still wanted to end the curse to save Rihyani, but he had a new secondary objective for seeing the magic undone: to hurt Ezekiel Boucher.

“Captain Saakadze,” Percy said in Georgian as he followed the scalp hunter out. The captain was a fiercely mustachioed man in a black chokha, hot on his heels. “I can understand your trepidation at the progression of events, but that is why we agreed to pay you a very handsome sum, including for those unfortunate enough to have lost their lives in this endeavor.”

The man in the chokha who must have been Captain Saakadze shook his head hard enough to make the tips of his mustache waggle.

“It is not a matter of money,” the mercenary commander declared in a sharp tone that softened as he snatched a nervous glance around the glade. “All the money in the world is of no use if we are all dead. You don’t know the stories they tell of this vale.”

Astor and Ezekiel paused and shared a look Milo couldn’t read from his hiding spot. Both men turned to Saakadze, their posture almost eager.

“What stories?” Percy demanded.

Saakadze balked under their combined scrutiny, his weathered features paling before he gathered himself. Straightening and clearing his throat to speak matter-of-factly, he managed to meet both men’s eyes.

“The Lost Vale is a warning to rebellious children and a ghost story,” the commander said, his face coloring at the admission, which was all the more striking for how pale he’d been. “Runaway brides disappear when they go to the Dobilni that live within the vale or invading armies being led into the Vale to never again emerge except as wails of dying men.”

“You're telling us this now?” Ezekiel snorted, a titter at the back of his throat. “When we’re already in here? Sounds like too little, too late, partner?”

Saakadze didn’t bother to hide his disgust for the scalp hunter.

“I thought they were just stories!” he growled, hands tightening on his carbine. “It wasn’t until the gorge turned into this place that I realized what was happening, and then you were racing off to chase them!”

Ezekiel spat at the commander’s feet but turned to Percy, lifting the brim of his hat with a thumb.

“You figure those pixie lovers went to ground because they got friends here?” Ezekiel asked before throwing a look over his shoulder at the standing stones.

Mr. Astor nodded as he gingerly massaged his bandaged hand.

“There is more than a good chance,” Percy said, his voice dropping so Milo strained to hear each word. “Which would make pursuing them further highly inadvisable.”

Milo silently swore as he felt the moment slipping away.

The three mercenaries running point were in sight of Ambrose’s position, but the rest were too far back. Having thrown the knife away, they needed to take Ezekiel, but if they pulled back, there was no reason to think they’d have a better shot, and they didn’t have time to track him down again. They needed to give them a reason to move into the glade.

“Making a bad idea worse.” Milo sighed and then stepped out from behind the standing stone.

The raptor skull crackled with unnatural fire in anticipation of Milo’s will, and the sight caused the mercenaries to falter and gasp.

BURN

Two bolts lanced out from the sockets, dazzling the mercenaries' eyes with the sudden, fierce light that went hissing over their heads. Milo had been aiming for Ezekiel, but the fiery darts missed him by scant centimeters as he twisted away and dived for a tree. Return fire from the mercenaries was spotty at first. Two shots went wide into the forest, while a third kicked up earth a few meters from Milo’s foot. More shots came, but the magus had ducked behind the standing stone, though he tried not to flinch and wince when he heard rounds whining away into the dark after striking the shielding stone.

“I told you!” Ezekiel howled from his arboreal cover. “The gangly one’s a conjurer!”

“Must be the staff,” Percy hissed venomously. In answer, Milo swung around and loosed another pair of bolts, which Percy only avoided by falling flat as soon as he appeared. Milo was chased back into cover by a much more accurate volley of fire, one shot zipping close enough to crease the arm of his coat.

A very undignified curse escaped Percy Astor’s lips as he scrambled on his belly to hide behind his own tree. He drew out his pistol and then raised his voice to an imperious shout.

“The one in the black coat must be taken