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

“Wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever eaten,” Milo said, unable to hold back a smile as the big man gave him a wounded look. “But I really don’t think the contessa showed up just for breakfast.”

Rihyani shook her head.

“No, I’m afraid not,” she said, her face becoming more serious. “I’ve come to see if you have any news of your progress in redirecting the human advance? I hoped I could bring word back to the Bashlek that things are in motion when I return to Ifreedahm tonight.”

Milo didn’t have anything remotely good to report on that subject but bringing himself to say it proved a challenge.

“Well, we’ve only been here a day,” Milo said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Anything to do with so many men and materiel is going to take time to sort out.”

Rihyani gave him a pointedly patient look.

“Then the orders have been issued, and it is only a matter of time?”

“Well,” Milo said, his gaze dropping as he searched for the words, “nothing has happened officially yet. We’ve only been here one day.”

“So you said already,” Rihyani replied, cocking an eyebrow. “Yet in that one day, you met with your commanding officer, did you not?”

“Yes,” Milo said, looking at the fey askance. “How did you know that?”

“You might have noticed at Zuhak that fey are quite adept at not being seen,” she replied archly. “You can fill in the rest, but do you mean to tell me that you informed your commanding officer, and he’s chosen to do nothing?”

“No, not exactly.” Milo squirmed, his mind scrambling. “It was more that it didn’t come up.”

Rihyani’s eyes widened enough that it might have been a humorous sight had the room not just become very uncomfortable. When the fey blinked, it might have been to push her eyes back into their sockets, but Milo thought it rude to ask if such was the case.

“You didn’t...” she began and trailed off for a moment before gathering her thoughts once more. “Magus, I’m not sure you understand what is at stake here.”

“I think I’ll go clean up the kitchen,” Ambrose mumbled as he collected the bowls and spoons, then vanished.

“My commanding officer is out of sorts at the moment,” Milo said, parsing each word as he said it. “And though there is no love lost between the two of us, it is almost entirely on my behalf that he is in this situation. I don’t think you understand what a precarious state he is in.”

The contessa listened to every word, even nodding slightly at a few, but when she spoke, her tone was as hard as steel.

“Maybe not, but I don’t think you understand what is going on,” she said. “Humanity has been waging war on itself for the last few decades, and that has placed the entire world in a state of strain. The Folk, while living outside the direct conflict, still experience the tremors of all those marching feet and tanks. In the last five years, many have grown restless as they watch humans claim more resources and push unknowingly against the boundaries of their territory. Factions are forming, Magus, as the forgotten people begin to discuss how to end this human-made apocalypse.”

Milo felt a prickle along his spine.

“You mean, end the War?” Milo asked. “How?”

“That’s precisely the question,” the contessa said. “There are theories galore at this point, but in principle, they align along two camps. One is that the Folk, united under a banner of survival at all costs, wage war on mankind. They know our kind, the magical beings of the world, could never fight humanity directly, but as I’m sure you’ve realized, there is much we could do to wreak a terrible toll.”

Milo imagined it for a second—the varieties of magic he’d witnessed put to subversive use by an embittered enemy. Fey assassins who struck and then vanished without a trace. Ghul necromists who animated graveyards and mortuaries of the dead to attack and terrify cities and towns. Ignorant human armies would blunder and smash, but just one magical being could cripple an entire city.

“Victory would certainly not be assured,” Rihyani continued softly and sadly. “But their hope would be to cow the proud nations enough with fear and blood that peace would be reached. It is an ugly and barbarous but direct solution.”

Milo’s mouth suddenly felt very dry.

“What’s the other camp?” Milo asked as he picked up a canteen next to him.

Rihyani looked at him intently for a moment, then with a flutter of her fingers, produced a lit cigarillo.

“The other camp,” she began. “The camp that I, Bashlek Marid, and a few others belong to, wants to see us ally with humans to see this war end as quickly as possible. That’s why we reached out to the Magpie, your Colonel Jorge.”

Milo blinked, pieces he hadn’t given more than a passing thought to falling into place.

“Why did you choose him?” Milo asked. “I mean, I don’t know the colonel well, though he seems decent for an officer, but choosing him means choosing Germany. Why not the British or the French, or hell, even the Americans?”

The contessa smiled as she breathed out a long ribbon of smoke.

“It doesn't matter now,” she said, a sheepish smile drawing up the corners of her mouth. “It was more that he chose us. His investigations brought him close, and we decided he had an open enough mind to be receptive to interacting with us. We made contact, real contact, and from there, our course was set.”

“Set with me?” Milo asked, a strange combination of pride and helplessness making him feel light-headed.

“Well, no,” Rihyani confessed, taking another drag and letting it out languidly. “You were a happy accident.”

Milo frowned and waited for her to explain.

“Our initial thought was to ally with one of the powers that be and provide support and services to tip the war in their favor. We hoped that once this was achieved, their enemies would sue for peace, and the state