“I’ve nothing to hide from you,” he said, drawing her close for a fierce, crushing kiss. Lips and tongue danced together to a voiceless song of desire. When they parted, their breath was coming heavy and hot.
“When I’m with you, I know there’s nothing I need to be afraid of,” he declared, a throaty, needful growl in the back of his throat.
As Rihyani plunged back into his hungry embrace, he felt an icy thought prickle at the corner of his mind.
Liar, Imrah chided, her presence still weak but growing stronger with each day.
With a shift of his knee, Milo let the cane tumble to the floor, then scooted it beneath the table. He didn’t need an audience for what came next.
Epilogue: Memento Mori
Cold water splashed across his chest, and then he was being hauled to his feet.
The sack they’d thrown over his head collected water from the rude awakening, and he started choking and coughing as he struggled to breathe through the damp cloth. He doubled over to retch, but the hands gripping his arms refused to let go. Instead, his body curled with a painful seizure of muscles. He gagged as a thin stream of bile squirted up his tightening throat, fouling the sack, but nothing else came.
He had nothing else to give; it had been days since he’d eaten.
With staggering steps, he was half-marched, half-dragged under a series of pale yellow lights he could make out through the weave of the sack. He could hear the tramping steps of the men dragging him echoing off of a hard surface.
Was he in a hallway or corridor of some sort?
He told himself he should count the steps from where he was being kept to where they were taking him, but at the moment, breathing took serious effort. More than once, the world took on the sub-aquatic quality of the unconscious, and with a start, he realized the lights overhead were a glaring orange-white. With a grunt and a guttural curse, he was deposited in a chair, then he felt the sharp chill of steel against his wrists binding him to the legs.
Mercifully, the sack came off, and Percy Astor was left sucking in breaths with a single, bare bulb burning overhead.
He heard a door close with a metallic squeal and then a thunk as it latched.
For a few moments, Percy seemed to be alone, seated in a wooden chair on a concrete floor in a pool of electric light. Everything beyond that pool was dark, though as his breathing steadied, he thought he heard the thrumming whine of heavy machinery somewhere over his head.
He tested his bonds half-heartedly and was unsurprised that they were secure. He didn’t suppose he could be that lucky. In fact, upon reflection, he wasn’t certain the opposite wasn’t true—that he had been singularly unlucky, especially of late. It was bad enough he’d been forced to perform that unseemly ritual after Zeke had the temerity to die on him, but then after all his efforts to shepherd the Passenger in its borrowed flesh, it had abandoned him.
“The Kingdom will be served better under their hands than mine,” it had intoned as they’d made their way to the train that was to get him out of goddamned Russia.
“What Kingdom?” Percy had asked, not expecting a coherent answer. “And who are you talking about?”
He’d learned not to expect the un-man to make much sense.
“The Kingdom of Noise,” it had answered as though he were being obtuse. “To which I now return. Thank you, Percy Astor. I will see you soon.”
Then Ezekiel Bouche’s body had collapsed, all animation banished. Percy was still cursing and kicking the ravaged cadaver when they’d come and taken him. It had turned out “they” were Germans dressed as Russian peasants. They’d surrounded him as he was venting his frustration, and they’d seized him, stripped the Package from him, and then escorted him to a waiting truck.
His time since then had been one of regular mistreatment and deprivation, none of which was as distressing to him as the fact that the Passenger had so obviously used him.
He knew it was irrational, but for the hundredth time, he swore an oath that when he escaped, he would drag that same Passenger back into a vessel to express his acute displeasure. He just had to make it through this latest ordeal in one piece.
Several unfeasible ideas rose to mind for escape as he waited so that when he heard the door behind him open, he almost growled for them to leave and give him more time. Was it so much to ask that he have a little time to plan his escape?
There was the rap of hard soles on the floor, coming to stand a stride or two from where Percy sat. The American held very still. The footsteps did not sound familiar, but he’d learned that even shuffling about to look over his shoulder could provoke violent reactions.
He assured himself it was not that he was afraid of their fists or bludgeons, but further battering would compromise his ability to escape.
The newcomer did not speak for some time, but Percy could hear thick parchment pages being turned. He knew what the sound signified.
“I’m told your German is passable,” said a sharp male voice in Percy’s least favorite of the Old World languages. He would have struggled to explain it, but he’d always thought it was a curdled mongrel tongue.
“Passable, yes,” Percy replied, glad the questioner couldn’t see his sour face.
The pages ruffled again, then there was the slap of the leather binding being shut abruptly and a soft clink-click as the brass clasps were rebound on what was perhaps the most dangerous item in the world. It took everything in Percy to keep from looking over his shoulder.
“I hope your last few days have been instructive as to how earnest we are,” the voice said behind him. “If you require further convincing it can be provided, but if this continues, I’m afraid your use to us may be compromised.”
They couldn’t have started by asking? These Old Worlders, for all their pretentious airs, were just as savage as the heathen wandering jungles and deserts.
“I am convinced,” Percy replied steadily. “And I would be more than willing to cooperate if I knew exactly what you wanted.”
Percy reminded himself it was not treachery if it was done to preserve his life. He was no use to anyone if he was dead, no matter which flag they flew.
“This book, these diagrams, symbols, and notes,” the voice said, each word mounting in pressure and intensity. “They are the keys to saving my country and my people from themselves. You will help decipher them to ensure they can be put to use for such a purpose. You will join the tide of history that prepares to carry us to a new and glorious day.”
Percy squirmed in his seat a little, the man’s messianic tone approaching mania.
He’d been afraid that was what would be asked of him, and of his many talents, this arena was the one he least preferred.
“I’m a very talented and useful sort,” he stated matter-of-factly, doing his level best to hide his unease, “but what makes you think I have the slightest idea how to translate what’s in that volume?”
The owner of the voice stalked around to stand alongside Percy, stopping at the edge of his peripheral vision. He made out a man of average aspect standing there not in a black coat, but the uniform of a common soldier of the German Empire. As best Percy could tell, he would have seemed rather an ordinary sight on any battlefield in Europe, yet the way the man talked made it clear he was anything but a typical German soldier.
“Do not toy with me, Mr. Astor,” the man growled, his voice sinking lower yet keeping the same fevered urgency. “The Reich has tolerated your interference thus far because it was inconvenient to do otherwise. Now, though, we have every reason to make you either a valued ally or one more of the voiceless dead. The choice is yours.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Percy said, trying to sound jocular but only managing to seem wheedling, “when do we begin?”
The man stepped around to stand in front of Percy. He was rather average, though older than a soldier of the line typically would be, with a bit of jowl about the collar. His dark eyes were intent, threatening to pierce him with their
stare, while the brows were so sparse that as he glowered, they disappeared into the lines of his face. Perhaps the most peculiar effect was the mustache he wore, which seemed bound within the parallels of his nostrils above, refusing to touch the corners of his mouth.
“We begin immediately,” he remarked in that hot, almost breathless tone, leaning forward. “The rest of the world talks of peace, but I want the means to win the last war ever fought before the end of next year. The Endless Reich has been delayed for too long!”
Again, Percy squirmed back but found he could not look away.
“That will be difficult,” he muttered. “So many things to do, you know, and there will be obstacles to overcome, other interested parties and the like.”
The man tilted back, a smile curling the bare corners of his mouth.
“Obstacles do not exist to be surrendered to,” he remarked, his cadence making the words sound like a recitation. “Only to be overcome.”
THE END
Author Notes - Aaron Schneider
November 3, 2020
Dear Reader,
As you finished this third book, I hope, as ever, that you found something in here to your liking. I'm not silly enough to believe it will please everyone on all points, but I hope there was something here, at the closing of one chapter of Milo's journey, that you found illuminating and worthwhile.
Maybe, even worthy enough for you to demand more, eh?
If you call loud enough, LMBPN might even hear you.
In the meantime, I'll be working on another series to start coming out next year along with a few other projects. So far I've been blessed repeatedly to not just get to work with some great people in LMBPN but also hear from some of my readers. Some responses were encouraging, some challenging, but all were welcome and appreciated, because, as I've mentioned, they gave of their time, our most precious resource.
As I'm writing this it is an election in the (not so) ol' US of A, and as the election cycle which seems to devour more and more time in our lives I do wonder at how we humans spend our time. I wonder at our preoccupation with pasts and futures, and our neglectful attitude of the present and in doing so we become more squanderous of our little time in this world and therefore all the more preoccupied with what we do with what little we have left.
As the Grand Carpenter told us, no one adds to his time with worry.
So what are we to do then with our time? Well, I think we are to do what many good and great people far wiser than I have suggested. Say that bit of encouragement even if it seems awkward, hold out that hand to help even if it will be slapped away. Buy those roses, walk into that church, play with your children, call that parent. Do right this day, this moment: be kind, be wise, seek truth, love well, love fierce, and refuse to surrender to fear and dark.
Whatever lies ahead I appreciate you walking with my dear reader, and hope to see you soon.
Regards,
Aaron D. Schneider
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
November 4, 2020
First, THANK YOU for not only reading through this story but these Author Notes as well!
“Be good to each other, because sometimes that is all we can afford to provide, and frankly it is the most precious gift you might purchase.” – MA, if not one else has already said it ;-)
I’m done with all the BS, Trolls, Jerks, Jackoffs, and Jackasses.
These Author Notes will be short.
I refuse to allow my doom-scrolling desires to overtake my productive days for the next week.
I will continue to work on stories that carry this company forward, relieve the monotony of a crap year for my fans, and discuss the better part of human nature that is more exciting, more liberating, and more loving.
There are more exciting things to learn about that are manifestations of realities humanity is just learning (or re-learning, depending on your view regarding history). Nothing has to deter you or me from deciding that today is a fantastic day.
Should I get frustrated with the news, I will take that frustration and use it for kindling to create a bonfire of stories to regale those who have decided that we won’t be manipulated to morbidity.
Read on, and may our reality dictate a better future, no matter what manipulations others try.
Ad Aeternitatem,
Michael Anderle
Acknowledgments
As with the two books before, there are so many to acknowledge that have made this book possible. Friends, family, and the many wonderful people working at LMBPN all contributed, and all were a great blessing to me.
But at this moment, I want to thank my readers.
You’ve given me your money, but more importantly your time, something so precious you can never get it back. It has been a privilege and an honor to serve you, and by God’s good grace, I hope to continue to do so.
You guys are awesome. Thank you.
The Outcast Royal Series
Aaron and Michael have a great new series that begins with Circle in the Deep. It’s available at Amazon and through Kindle Unlimited.
Claim your copy today!
Across the sea from the bloody adventures of Skharr the Deatheater, another fell-handed wanderer treads a bloody road.
Leaving her people's crumbling decadence behind her, Axe-Wed wanders a savage world intent on making her way one axe stroke at a time.
When she finds herself the victim of a nefarious kidnapping Axe-Wed must battle her way through darkness and horrors in the deepest dungeons, as her allies face intrigues and treacheries in the world above, as the city teeters on the brink of destruction.
Dive into the first tale of the Outcast Royal series. Begin a saga of blood and darkness, sword and sorcery, where mere mortals vie with cunning foes and ancient terrors just for the chance to see another day in a world both brutal and beautiful.
Connect
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Other Books by Aaron Schneider
The Warring Realm Series
War-Born
War-Torn
War-Sworn
World’s First Wizard
(with Michael Anderle)
Witchmarked (Book 1)
Sorcery Bound (Book 2)
Wizard Born (Book 3)
The Outcast Royal
Circle in the Deep (Book 1)
Books By Michael Anderle
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World's First Wizard Complete Series Boxed Set Page 91
