Wizardborn (World's First Wizard Book 3)

by Aaron D. Schneider

  The monsters chortled gleefully at the proposition, all except the woman-headed snake, which clapped its jaws together angrily.

  They’re not an army, Milo realized. Just a band of thugs.

  And bound to their old ways, Imrah mumbled in his mind, the effort of communication being a strain. Remember, these are creatures of the First Wood who see themselves as gods.

  So, archaic ideas of honor and shame might mean something to them, Milo thought, his mind racing as he turned to glare at Borjikhan.

  Imrah did not answer, but a sense of affirmation radiated from the cane that went beyond words.

  Milo stepped toward the monsters, looking at each of them as he lifted his voice.

  “Gods of the First Wood,” he shouted, drawing every baleful eye to him. “Before we come to blows, may I humbly ask to be heard?”

  There was tittering and jabbering at the request, the great wolf laughing the loudest.

  “Begging for your life now, witch child?” Borjikhan chuckled in the back of its throat. “How disappointing.”

  Milo couldn’t have asked for a better setup.

  Forcing back a smile, he whirled and shot a furious glare, undaunted and shining with indignation, at the wolf.

  “I will fight and die as is fitting, but I ask this,” Milo roared and pointed a condemning finger at the huge lupine. “Do not allow that unworthy cur to gnaw my bones! If I fall, it is in sacrifice to gods, not as a carcass for some cringing scavenger!”

  The host of monsters fell silent, several of them blinking at Milo while a few turned their glowing gazes on Borjikhan.

  A rumble like a building volcanic eruption shook inside the shadow-wrapped Hiisi as it glared at Milo.

  “You dare!” it snarled. “You DARE!”

  Milo threw back his head and laughed. The sound was forced and harsh, but he managed it with a leering smile.

  “At least the mighty Tsar’Vodyanoy was brave enough to do battle with me,” Milo taunted, sweeping his hand at the blubbery monster. “Not only me but my allies as well. You slunk away like a whipped dog before me, and I expect you’ll let these true Hiisi bring me down before you come and nip at my heels this time.”

  “LIAR!” Borjikhan roared, the sound rising to an ear-shredding level once more. “I’ll eat your heart for such blasphemy, such deception.”

  From a broken window, a familiar croaking laugh sounded.

  “No lies, Borji, no lies,” Lempo squawked as it rocked on the windowsill in the shape of a huge malformed raven. “Magus chased you away, he did, he did, and the Heart Eater ran, ran with tail between his legs.”

  Borjikhan snarled to contest the mocking raven, but the words were lost in a howling chorus of laughter from dozens of monstrous throats. The great wolf turned its toothsome snarl this way and that, but all met it with derision and more jeering laughter. Doubt and rage twisted its features until with a venomous glare at Milo, it threw back its head and howled with mind-shattering potency.

  “I CHALLENGE THE MAGUS!”

  It took Milo a moment to realize that the silence which followed was not because of his ringing ears. Every Hiisi again alternated between staring at Milo and Borjikhan.

  “A challenge has been called!” they wailed in unison, a horrible blood-curdling sound. “A challenge will be answered!”

  Every inhuman eye fell on Milo. For a second, he fumbled for something to say and settled for a pugnacious sniff and a toss of his head at the huge wolf.

  “About time.”

  The gathered Hiisi screeched their approval and fell back several paces. It seemed the challenge was imminent.

  “We don’t have time for this!” Zlydzen bellowed, struggling to his stand on his good leg. “Kill these fools and be done with it.”

  The Hiisi growled and hissed at the injured dwarrow.

  “You swore an oath!” he spat, but that was the wrong thing to say.

  Every Hiisi turned unfriendly eyes on him, seething.

  “We do things our way,” the standing horse growled as it pawed the ground with one jagged hoof, sending up sparks from the cobbles. “We are allies, not slaves, dwarrow.”

  Tsar’Vodyanoy gave a resounding belch that filled the air with a charnel stink.

  “And last I smelled, your store of offerings was greatly diminished,” the blubbery monster grumbled. “It seems you will be taking this service on credit.”

  The dwarrow, undaunted by the host of unfriendly faces, flapped a huge bleeding hand at the bodies strewn across the bridge.

  “There is flesh a-plenty. Eat your fill,” he growled, shifting his weight uneasily.

  Every Hiisi visibly recoiled at the suggestion.

  “The hollow stuff you offer is poor enough,” the pike-mouth rasped. “But shade-tainted meat? Is this how Zlydzen the Engineer treats his friends?”

  The ogre looked around and saw the dangerous gleam in the eyes of the assembled congregation of horrors. With a heavy sigh, he took up his hammer, and with a sickening series of slurping pops, shrank to his stunted form, the hammer shrinking with him. He leaned on the stout-hafted hammer like a crutch and gave a slow nod of acquiescence.

  “Fine.” He glared from underneath his eyebrows at Milo. “Have your pageantry, but make it quick. Who knows when reinforcements might be coming?”

  The assembled Hiisi gave a monstrous cheer and turned to watch the spectacle.

  Borjikhan padded forward, dragging the shadows with him like a cloak.

  “I will make your death scream echo through the ages!”

  The triumph Milo felt at challenging Borjikhan evaporated the instant the challenge began.

  He’d managed to bluff the lupine Hiisi into retreat, but now he wasn’t sure how that had happened. The beast’s night-wrapped shoulder was as tall as a horse, and the long body padding forward seemed even more massive. It was as though someone had taken a wolf and decided the lean frame would be better served if an additional layer was applied. Despite the obvious mass, the creature's steps didn’t make a sound, and its clawed paws left no imprint upon the fresh snow.

  As the great wolf began to stalk in a wide circle, Milo mirrored the movement and sent an urgent thought out to both Imrah and Rihyani.

  All right, somebody tell me something useful.

  Don’t get eaten, Imrah offered. And don’t be afraid. Hiisi savor the emotions of their quarry.

  Borjikhan’s lips peeled back in a smile, revealing gleaming fangs. Milo fumbled a step as he considered the serious question of why every evil thing and its brother seemed to have teeth like knives. Being eaten would be unpleasant, he was sure, but why did they all seem to have dentistry that made such things so likely?

  Don’t try to run away or even reposition outside of this circle, Rihyani whispered. Hiisi are notoriously picky, and even floating could provoke them all to attack.

  Borjikhan’s damson tongue traced lasciviously across its fangs.

  I am hearing a whole lot of what not to do! Milo snapped across the psychic channel even as he fought to keep a sanguine exterior. What I need is some advice on what I should do!

  LOOK OUT!

  Acting on raw instinct, he threw himself to the left. Milo drew on the cane for strength, and though he didn’t get as much as he’d expected, he managed to clear a pair of snapping jaws made of raw shadow that emerged at his feet. He was still dancing across the snow-slicked ground when the beast vaulted toward him, claws and jaws stretched wide.

  Fighting the instinct to backpedal, Milo launched, aiming to pass beneath the gaping maw. His unstable footing betrayed him, though, and with an undignified shout, he lurched into a shallow dive.

  He felt streamers of hot spittle slap his ducking face as teeth filled his vision. A surge of hope erupted inside of him at the realization the fangs had missed him, which vanished the instant he realized they had missed his head and hooked the back of his high collared coat. His flight was arrested, and his body snapped back with bone-popping force. Milo tried to
free his pistol from his belt, but he only managed to have it tumble from his grip as Borjikhan shook him like a slipper.

  The world became a discombobulating pinwheel where the street and the sky exchanged places with terrifying alacrity. Milo drew on the cane to fortify his bones and joints against the violent movements, knowing that without it, he would be shaken to jelly.

  He had just enough awareness to sense the incredible hatred radiating from the Hiisi, transmitted to his will like heat radiating from forge-heated iron. His skin prickled with the intensity of it, and he had an idea despite the brutal knockabout he was receiving.

  Unfortunately, the second after that thought, he was sent flying through the air by a sharp toss of Borjikhan’s head.

  Milo would have liked to think the scream that escaped his lips was one of challenge and not terror as he sailed through the air, but the hard landing knocked all breath and any illusions clean out of him. The enchanted coat protected him from the worst of the impact, but despite everything, he was slow to get up. Gasping and wheezing, he managed to make it onto one knee as the spectating monsters hooted and jeered.

  “And you doubted me!” Borjikhan bayed, swinging his burning eyes around the circle. “You thought some capering ape could stand before me! Me, the Moon Hunter, Chorusmaster of World’s End.”

  Milo saw the great wolf’s back exposed as it defied its fellows, and, his germ of a plan momentarily forgotten, lashed out with a volley of witchfire.

  Borjikhan didn’t leap out of the way so much as melt into a ripple of shadow that slid away from the sorcerous blast as quick as thought. The standing horse gave a bestial snort as he ducked the bolt meant for the wolf.

  “Careful, Czernoboch.” Borjikhan laughed, waving his shadow-wreathed tail like a teasing pennant. “I’ll protect you from the nasty little witch.”

  Milo saw the shadows slithering along the ground toward him this time and fortunately remembered his plan before they reached him.

  Shadowy jaws, umbral imitations of slavering canine fangs, rushed up from the ground and plunged into boots.

  “Nowhere to run this time,” Borjikhan snarled as it sprang forward, jaws wide since the captive human possessing no ready means of escape. Milo’s belligerent yell became an agonized scream as fangs longer than men’s hands finger to wrist punched through fabric, tore meat, and cracked bones. With a sickening, slurping crunch, the jaws met, and everything below the waist fell to the snow with a sloppy thud.

  Borjikhan, drunk on its victory, danced around the bloody circle holding the gory trophy high for all to see.

  “Who doubts now?” it called despite a mouth full of broken meat and bone.

  The other Hiisi stood mute, their gaze fixed not on Borjikhan, but on a space several strides away by the defunct tanks.

  Milo, desperate for any arcane strength he could muster, released the illusion as he reached out to the unbound si’lat lurking within. The shades infusing the constructs, glutted on the massacre of the crews, were sluggish in responding. He needed them now, but they seemed obstinately opposed to being yoked to his mind once more.

  “The coward fled!” Borjikhan snarled as the jeering of his fellow Hiisi needled him.

  “Chase your tail, silly dog,” the pike-mouth called with a warbling laugh. “Maybe then you’ll find him.”

  Czernoboch neighed savagely as its tusks raked the air.

  “Your quarry eludes you, Moon Hunter!”

  Milo knew he had less than two heartbeats before Borjikhan’s fangs sank into his neck for real, so he bent entirely toward taming the si’lat.

  His eyes watered and his tongue tasted blood in the back of his throat, which he used as fuel as he drove the hammer of his mind down on a spike of focus.

  OBEY

  There was the press of resistance, but then the spike drove through and burst into a thousand barbed shards all bound inexorably to him.

  They were his.

  His howl of rage and lethal intent matched the great wolf’s as he whirled to meet the beast’s lunging charge. Milo saw the huge teeth lining the hideously stretched maw but didn’t shrink away as the shade-driven sand rushed past him and into the waiting jaws of death. For all its weight and momentum, Borjikhan was thrown back as though its charge had been checked by a hammer blow.

  As the great wolf struck the ground, the shadows scattered like shards of pottery fleeing the scene of a dropped vase. In their absence, the freakishly muscled lupine form was laid bare, along with its mangled patches of fur and knotted whorls of scar tissue.

  Milo didn’t give the creature a chance to gather itself but wielded the si’lat in sweeping waves that sent sheaves of fur and flesh flying into the air like wheat chaff before a thresher.

  “I am Borjikhan,” it panted as it struggled to climb to its feet. “I bring the Dark. I am the fear behind the howl… I…I am…”

  “Dead,” Milo said, the word hard and flat as he drove the si’lat, condensed into titanic spears, through the Hiisi’s body.

  Borjikhan gave a choked whine as it was dragged off its feet by the rising skewers. Milo’s outstretched hand curled into a fist, and with a chorus of grinding pops, the spears tore free. What was left of Borjikhan fell to the ground with four bloody splats.

  Milo didn’t bother to look at the other gaping Hiisi as he turned a lethal glare on Zlydzen.

  “Now,” he said icily, “where were we?”

  The dwarrow stood leaning on his hammer, smirking at Milo.

  “Come at me with all you have, Magus.” Zlydzen chuckled, sweeping one huge hand over his person. “If you are so powerful, reach out and strike me down.”

  His blood up and adrenaline coursing through him, Milo nearly complied, but Imrah’s thoughts, barely a whispered impression, played across his mind.

  Beware, she murmured. Beware.

  Milo squinted at the leering dwarrow, then reached out with his will, the nape of his neck prickling with the premonition of something unseen.

  His will felt that opaque wall he’d first experienced in Georgia, the warding that was proof against magic. Was Zlydzen hoping to make a show of blocking Milo’s magic for the benefit of the Hiisi, rallying them to attack once more? And were the wards as invulnerable as they believed?

  As Milo flexed his will against them, he was certain he felt a subtle aetheric movement.

  “What are you waiting for?” Zlydzen snapped, slapping a hand against his chest. “Finish it and prove yourself the victor. I would gladly give my life for the Guardians, so strike!”

  Milo did not strike, but he leaned hard into the wards with his will, a sort of psychic shove, sensing something he was certain was the dwarrow on the other side. With a breathless curse, he learned he was wrong.

  These were not the same wards, but something far more insidious.

  If his will had been a ripple, the retaliatory magic was a tidal wave ripping across the space between them. Milo sensed it coming, but it was as though he was watching his hand turn against him. The rebounded and amplified echo of his will crashed upon his psyche, and he screamed as his senses exploded.

  It was freezing cold and searing heat, crushing silence and shredding shrieks. Every synapse, fooled and fouled by the Art, experienced the extreme of every sensation. Milo reeled, dropping the fetish cane and gripping his head as the agony crested, echoing and reverberating through him.

  He knew it wasn’t real, wasn’t happening, his will was telling him it was so, and his body seemed unable to believe it wasn’t true.

  He felt a terrible psychic tremor growing inside him like some sort of eldritch feedback screech. Milo felt it shivering along the connections binding the si’lat to him and even the shade empowering his coat. The feedback grew and the magical links began to tremble violently, bleeding essence.

  Milo threw back his head and screamed both physically and metaphysically as the feedback exploded out of him. Snow, dust, and the remains of Borjikhan flew away from him as a pressure wave of detonati
ng magic ripped through his frame.

  The si’lat sank to the street, inert sand to be blown around by the chill winds of Petrograd.

  Milo’s blackcoat hung about him once more, nothing more than a piece of cloth, its pockets filled with the dust of that which once filled its extra-dimensional pockets.

  The magus sank to the ground and retched, then raised his head at the sound of Zlydzen’s grating cackle.

  “Behold the mighty magus, bright hope of humanity,” the dwarrow squawked triumphantly as he turned to the gaping Hiisi. “See with what poise and power he claims his victory.”

  Milo spat out a curse along with more bile, which made the shrunken monster titter all the louder.

  “So genteel, too.” Zlydzen snorted, his eyes gleaming with delight.

  “My brothers-in-arms,” the dwarrow said with a raised voice. “I hope this renews your faith in our cause. True, the Resonator has been damaged beyond use by this fool and his pawns, but there’s no reason we cannot build again. Everything lies within my notes for an even grander design and one less dependent.”

  The incredulous looks of the Hiisi obviously chafed him.

  “Yes, the Guardians have faced a setback, but our greatest enemy lies at your feet, doesn’t he?”

  Zlydzen turned back to Milo and gave a disdainful flick of his overlarge hand.

  “Devour him if you like, but let us quit this place. We have so much work to do.”

  Zlydzen gave one last sneering look at Milo and turned his back.

  “These humans won’t exterminate themselves.”

  The dwarrow pitched forward, his head coming apart in a spray of copper blood.

  The cranial explosion occurred as the Gewehr’s throaty roar echoed through the streets of Petrograd.

  Ambrose lowered the rifle from his shoulder and spat into the snow.

  “Exterminate this, Armageddon that,” Ambrose muttered. “Why can’t we murder each other without all the delusions of grandeur?”

  Rihyani was at Milo’s side as soon as the dwarrow’s body hit the street, drawing him to his feet. Milo felt as though every bone in his body was broken, and he leaned without shame or pretense on her shoulder.