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

but we’re remarkably lucky that the only damage done was to your clothing. Things could have been much worse.”

“Not to argue, but it wasn’t just my clothes,” Ambrose explained, his eyes cutting almost imperceptibly to Milo before he continued. “That nasty jelly also ate my rifle, my knife, and my pack, which included my best tobacco tin.”

The fey stared, their expressions inscrutable, while Imrah looked at the bodyguard as though he was being obtuse.

“I’m sure there will be opportunities for you to outfit yourself appropriately once we get to the human camp,” the she-ghul said archly. “But there is still the matter of what to do next, and despite what just happened, I remain determined that we should push forward.”

“I think what Ambrose is saying,” Milo cut in with a nod to the big man, “is that first of all, he is unarmed, second, that this thing can break down metal as well as flesh, and finally that when we do reach the German camp, we need to have a good explanation for why he is in such a state.”

Imrah narrowed her eyes at Milo, then slid her glance to the nodding Ambrose and back.

“Very well,” she said slowly, as though sensing something amiss. “The Jurhumidon can stay close to the contessa’s retainers for protection, and we can say he was the victim of a trap left by enemy forces, an incendiary of some kind. You did say your people were scouting the area to reach the enemy armies beyond.”

Milo looked at Ambrose, who gave the slightest shrug.

“That will do, I suppose,” Milo said. “Though we better hope it is not a long trek from the exit to Bamyan.”

“In that, our luck holds out,” Rihyani said with a smile at Ambrose. “As I understand it, our exit from the mountains will bring us out very near Shahr-e Zuhak, an old ruin that is not much more than ten miles from Bamyan. I am glad to see your boots survived, though, because it is rough ground.”

Ambrose wiggled his toes in a gnawed patch of the boot’s toe.

“They’ll serve well enough, I suppose,” the bodyguard said, then blushed at Rihyani’s beatific smile. “Which means we should get on our way, eh?”

“Suppose so,” Milo said, turning back toward the tunnel, gripping the cane so hard his knuckles popped.

“This is insane,” Fazihr whined. “For all we know, that thing is waiting for us to stumble into it again, only this time, it will be ready.”

“We’ll be ready too,” Milo said, raising the skull and compelling just enough magic to make the sockets flicker.

“That’s far from comforting, Magus.” The retainer sneered and turned to his mistress. “Imrah, please! I know you are strong-willed, but this is beyond stubborn. We must turn back.”

Imrah eyed the disguised ghul with an intensity at odds with her human form, and the force of her glare had Fazihr shrinking back.

“Your cowardice is becoming obnoxious,” she growled, the sound no less predatory for her human throat. “If you are so determined to return to Ifreedahm, why don’t you scurry back?”

“By myself?” Fazihr gulped, then, seeing the hard gaze of his mistress, looked at the fey. Contessa Rihyani and her companions stared back, faces so still they might have been phosphorescent statues.

Impossibly and hilariously, the cringing ghul glanced at the two humans, his blunt teeth grinding as oily sweat sprang out on his brow.

“Sorry, Fazihr,” Milo said flatly. “This Magus has business in Bamyan.”

“Don’t look at me, friend. I’m naked,” Ambrose shrugged and nodded at Milo. “Besides, I go where he goes.”

Seeing there was nothing for it, Fazihr swore bitterly under his breath and turned to the tunnel stretching back toward Ifreedahm.

“I hope—” he began, but Imrah’s patience was at its end.

“Start running!” she snarled, fingers curled so the tips began to bulge and distend with her hidden claws. “Run, or I will tear out your eyes so they can watch me eat the rest of your face!”

Like he’d been scalded by a jet of boiling water, Fazihr yelped and tore down the passage in the direction from which they had just come. Only once he’d rounded a curve and the slap of his feet could no longer be heard did Imrah turn stiffly to the rest of the company.

“I’ll take point with the magus,” Imrah said, her tone brooking no argument. “Now that we know the creature fears fire, we should be able to keep each other safe.”

There was a rustle in the oversize jacket she wore, and she drew out a small parchment envelope. She took out a pinch of brick-red powder and snorted it up both nostrils, then drew in a heavy breath. A fiery glow shone from within the hollow of her throat. Curls of black smoke slid out of her nostrils, and as she spoke to Milo, tiny tongues of flame licked from her lips.

“Shall we?”

The tunnel was as bare and noxious as the passage before, resulting in more of the grinding, expectant marching Milo loathed.

For hours, with hardly a word between them, Milo and Imrah marched, peering between the shades of darkness granted them by the sight-salve. Nothing emerged to challenge them, and they didn’t see any more signs of the gelatinous monster, though its stench was ever-present throughout the corridor. The only thing noticeable was the utter lack of mort-scalp, and at this point, it just seemed an insult to Milo that the predatory slime had to not only threaten their lives but also complicate their travel plans. As the miles unfolded in their perpetual slog upward, Milo tried to remind himself that as a conscript in a line infantry regiment, he should have expected long marches to be the norm. He quieted the thought by deciding that expecting and accepting were two different things.

Pressing into four hours since they’d moved away from Ambrose and the fey, they came upon a place where the tunnel opened into a wider, taller chamber. A few feet into the chamber, walls of packed stone were visible,