Witchmarked (World's First Wizard Book 1) by Aaron Schneider (my reading book .txt) 📕

“Some new gel fuel?” Milo suggested as he shook his head to clear the noxious fumes clinging to it. “Something for flamethrowers, maybe? That could be what cleared out the mort-scalp.”

Ambrose made a face as he raised the wobbling hunk, watching with dread fascination as it liquified and dripped on the floor.

“Maybe,” he murmured, then made a face as though he could taste the vile blob. “But that means they used fire to scour the mort-scalp, but that seems unlikely on two scores. First, it would have filled the tunnels with smoke and eaten up the air inside. Any commander ordering his men down to scour tunnels like that would soon have the troops staggering out, smoke-blind and gagging, assuming the poor fools came out at all.”

Milo nodded in understanding but was unwilling to let the theory go.

“And the other score?”

“The other bit is that it's a big and risky expenditure of men and material,” Ambrose explained, fumbling with his free hand for a match. “To scour so much tunnel with fire would mean teams of men taking shifts to make sure the weapons and men didn’t overheat, along with men bringing them water and fuel regularly. The only reason to do that is if you know the ghuls use it to work their magic, but that means not only knowing about the ghuls but their magic too, something no one is supposed to know about.”

“Supposed to.” Milo grunted as though offended by the two words appearing next to each other.

“Fair point,” Ambrose conceded, holding up his liberated match. “Which is why we light this little blob and see what happens. If it burns quick, you might be right. If not, we’re back to being clueless. Science, pure and simple.”

Milo didn’t know if the big man’s grasp on the scientific method was up to scratch, but he had nothing better to suggest. He nodded in agreement, though he rose to shuffle backward as he did.

“Fair enough,” he said, wondering just how big a mistake it would be to light up their position by setting off the fuel, if that was what it was. He comforted himself that given the sight-salve he’d applied first thing this morning, the pitch-dark of the tunnel had no secrets from him, even without beams stabbing out from the skull. It was nothing but a stretch of tunnel curving gently up and to the left as far as he could see. Nowhere for an enemy to hide unless they could pass through the stone walls, which, when he thought about his new reality, was not as comforting as he might have hoped.

“Fire in the hole,” Ambrose muttered as he struck the match, sending up a flare-orange flame.

The match advanced toward the blob, and for a second, Milo thought the jellied mass’s quivering was shivering away from the flame. The blob gave a small keening squeal as it jumped. It didn’t fall or wobble free, but leapt, gathering itself together in the bat of an eye and catapulting free of the penknife, arching as it strained for the floor.

Ambrose was so surprised he dropped the match. It landed on the initial smear, which lit with a whoosh of sulfurous flame. The same piercing cry, almost a shriek, rose from the burning splotch, even as fingers of flame slime kindled the fleeing blob.

Milo and Ambrose watched in horrified amazement as the filaments of fire caught up with the retreating lump, then both men covered their ears as an even more terrible sound stabbed through the air. Screaming and burning, the blob continued its lurching, squirming retreat as it fled, and even as they tried to plug their ears, Milo and Ambrose made to follow.

“Doesn’t seem like fuel to me,” Ambrose shouted as they trotted after it. “Leastwise, I hope not.”

Milo was too busy jogging, trying to cover his ears with one arm while the other kept the witchlight trained on the fleeing cohort before he realized how silly he was being. The tortured goo was providing more than enough light.

“What do you think it is?” Milo called. They moved to keep it in sight as it followed the tunnel up and around.

“Very uncomfortable at the moment, I’d say,” Ambrose called, laughing.

Milo shook his head and jogged on.

A minute longer, the blob started coming apart, even as it kept trying to escape, bigger and bigger pieces peeling off to curl and twist into puffs of ash. Its keening was now just a high, pitiable whine.

“Where is it going?” Ambrose wondered.

“It better get there fast,” Milo grunted. “It’s not going to last much longer.”

Milo thought that was just as well because despite his fitness, he was struggling to catch his breath as they jogged along. The air seemed thicker, the chemical stench heavier, and something at the back of his throat tasted like metal.

“Maybe we should put it out,” Ambrose said, pulling ahead and tugging a long rag from his back as he ran. “Need to have something to show the creepies.”

The creature, if such a thing was possible, being so flammable made Milo doubtful, but before he could voice his thoughts, he saw something in the tunnel up ahead that turned his words into a cry of horror.

Ambrose’s eyes swung upwards and both men stood, rooted to the tunnel floor.

Seething forward like an undulating tide, Milo saw more of the gelatinous gunk surging down the tunnel toward them. In the vision granted him by the sight-salve, writhing layers of darkness filled the black frame of the tunnel, but as it neared the burning blob, Milo’s eyes saw it in the light of the tortured flames. It was gray and glistening, flecked with discolorations across its surfaces and darker shapes writhed in its murky folds. For all its liquid movement, there was a will to the advance, the leading tongue of the tide surging forward to lap up the burning blob.

The tunnel was so heavy with the scorched stench that Milo wondered