“Please!” Mayr wheezed as he hung there panting and watching himself be pulled apart bit by bit. “Please, what do you want?”
Milo paused to consider the question, even reaching out a hand to still the si’lat from pulling the man into pieces.
“What do I want?” Milo mused as though the novel question intrigued him. “That is an excellent question.”
Mayr stared at him between huge heaving sighs, unable to relax since the tendrils held him fast. As Milo wiped sweat from his brow and tapped his lower lip thoughtfully with an upraised finger, Mayr strained against his broken ribs to get enough air to speak again.
“Maybe I was wrong,” he moaned, and his eyes bulged in fear when Milo looked up and leveled an icy glare at him. “I was wrong. Am wrong.”
Milo lowered his hand to rest his palm on the cane as he planted it in front of him. Sweat running in rivulets down his face, he looked expectantly at the magically racked officer.
“Yes?” he prompted in a forcedly unhurried tone.
Mayr struggled for air, the movements eliciting whimpers of pain as his ruined joints popped and ground with a sound to put teeth on edge.
“I could explain this to the others,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “We didn’t understand, didn’t appreciate your power.”
“No, you didn’t,” Milo said distractedly as his focus thrummed against the other si’lat swarm, which had gone to chase its share of soldiers into the night. The shades pressed against his control, hungry for blood, but he drove them back mercilessly. Milo felt the si’lat swarm sluggishly turn back to the train like children sulkily returning home for dinner.
In the distraction, the si’lat swarm binding Mayr had begun to gently pull again, greedily lapping up the fear and pain dripping freely from the man.
The trapped officer couldn’t manage words this time, only a whining keen as one of his knees gave a slurping pop that made the hair on the back of Milo’s neck stand up. The si’lat stopped once it felt Milo’s mind bristling at its subversive initiative, slackening the coils a little. Mayr’s head slumped forward, though his body remained stretched in four directions.
For a moment Milo thought the man had passed out, but a sob escaped his lips, and though he didn’t look up, he raised his voice in a low groaning plea.
“What are you going to do to me?”
Milo looked at the broken man hanging before him and decided he was done. He knew what message he wanted to send. He felt a twinge of guilt that it had taken him so long to make up his mind and that unnecessary pain had come because of it, but now that it was settled, things seem to take on a momentum of their own.
With a flick of one finger, another coil of black sand, smoother than the others, stretched out to Mayr. It wrapped gently around his neck and lifted his head to look at Milo. There were tears in the officer’s eyes as he looked at the wizard, fear and hate twisting together like two vipers behind his gaze.
“I am going to use you to send a message,” Milo said slowly.
A flash of hope enlivened Mayr’s gaze, all the more nauseous to witness for the man’s desperate nod.
“I can do that,” he said eagerly, his voice nearly breaking.
“I know you can,” Milo said, and at his nod, the immense si’lat pulled sharply in five different directions. There was a soggy thump as something damp and heavy hit the floor amidst the patter of additional fluid falling as freely as rain came in through the windows.
Milo turned away from the grisly scene as Ambrose and Rihyani stepped into the car from the rear. Both advanced a few steps before stopping and staring at the mess. Their eyes took in the scattered remains before settling heavily on the magus.
“What happened to sending a message?” Ambrose asked.
“More than one way to do that,” Milo remarked dryly as he walked past them to their compartment in the fifth car, the red-stained si’lat sliding along the floor in his wake.
When they rolled into Gzhatsk, none of them felt prepared for what waited for them—which turned out to be nothing.
The rail lines didn’t run directly to Sergio-Ivanoskye and the camp there, so they were supposed to arrive at Gzhatsk and be promptly picked up by transport from the camp. As they moved into the train station, it became clear that their escort was as absent as the occupants of the town.
No sight, no sound, no trace of anyone having ever dwelled in the place other than the buildings. As Milo climbed off the train with Ambrose and Rihyani, he could have believed that Gzhatsk hadn’t just been abandoned but forgotten. It felt as though humans had fled the place years ago, maybe longer, and as he looked out and saw fresh vegetation creeping in and around the buildings, he wondered if this wasn’t the case.
“When is the escort from Sergio-Ivanoskye to arrive?” Milo asked over his shoulder as he looked up and down the street outside the station platform, which was barren except for tufts of grass and ground cover.
“They were supposed to be here to meet us,” Ambrose said, his Gewehr in his hands as he swept the area. “At least, that was what I was led to believe.”
The low hiss of the train engine was the only sound any of them heard as they slowly stepped out onto the street. The dark windows of the hollow buildings arrayed before them were like vacant eyes staring down at them indifferently.
“How far is it to the village from here?” Rihyani asked, her dark eyes looking first at the ground and then squinting at the sky.
“Twenty or so miles due west,” Ambrose muttered distractedly, then nodded at what looked like an inn or hotel across the street. “We should get our effects and head over there. Not wise to stay out in the open.”
As though summoned by the mention of their luggage, one of the junior engineers cursed and dragged a trolley laden with their luggage onto the platform.
“So quick to see us off, eh?” Milo called, then cringed at Ambrose’s wince. Perhaps, standing in the street and shouting wasn’t the best plan.
Sweating and still swearing, the junior engineer shuffled to the stairs leading off the platform, where he managed to keep the trolley from descending catastrophically down the steps.
“Chief says to off-load and quick,” the young man said breathlessly as they started to climb the stairs. “Says he wants clear as soon as possible.”
He looked anxiously from the three companions to the train as though fearing they might leave him if he didn’t discharge his duties fast enough. Milo thought the fellow’s fears weren’t entirely unfounded.
It had taken no small amount of cajoling and threats to get the train moving again after the encounter with Mayr. None of the train’s crew had been injured when the Reich had stopped the train and boarded, but that experience had been frightening enough before Milo had released the two immense si’lat. The chief engineer had ranted about how his rig was not a military train and that he and his crew were not soldiers and could not be expected to operate under such conditions. Ambrose had seen fit to remind the man that according to dictates from the current German government, all trains were military trains if it was deemed so, but to no one’s surprise, that did not satisfy the man.
“I don’t want any part of this strangeness,” he spluttered, giving Milo and Rihyani furious glares. The chief then proceeded to say he was going to turn the train around at the nearest wye track.
Even with Milo promising that the crew would be compensated and repairs to the train paid for, it took the wizard threatening to show the man more strangeness to get them moving again with no plans for any detours until they arrived at Gzhatsk.
“Then let’s not keep him waiting,” Milo said as he reached the trolley.
The wizard nodded appreciatively at the youth and scooped up his pack and a satchel holding the alchemical reagents he’d collected while waiting for the general staff in Berlin. Usually, he kept such things in the enchanted pockets sewn into his coat, but some of them were too sensitive or too dangerous to keep on his person, which tended to get j
ostled around quite a bit. Among the ingredients were the si’lat swarms, condensed beyond physical reality into two fist-sized orbs.
“Tell your chief we appreciate his cooperation,” Milo said. “And please remind him that any and all requests for compensation need to go to Colonel Jorge at the office of the general staff.”
The others snatched up their things as Milo spoke, leaving a single crate on the trolley.
“That,” Milo said, pointing at the crate. “That goes back to Berlin to the general staff office. I’m sure they’ll compensate you for the trouble of transporting it, and if not, leave a note for Colonel Jorge.”
The young man stared doubtfully at the crate, frowning as he tried to find some way to refuse the instruction.
“I’m not sure that the chief planned for this,” he said, looking at Milo beseechingly.
“Stow it in back and handle it yourself then,” Milo said with a wink. “I imagine you could charge the general staff just about anything for personal delivery. Make sure you don’t open it.”
The junior engineer might have argued the point, but the train whistle sounded. After looking torn for a second more, he swore one last time and scampered back to the train, trolley and crate in tow.
Milo stood watching the train roll out, bearing his message.
“I’m still not sure that was the best idea,” Ambrose said at his shoulder as he kept watch on the abandoned town.
“It’s too late for second thoughts now,” the wizard murmured. “Let the chips fall where they may.”
7
These Surprises
Their ride still hadn’t arrived to take them out of Gzhatsk nearly four hours after the train had left the station.
They’d entered the hotel and found its dark halls as eerily vacant as everything else they’d seen in the town. They’d quickly found the dining hall was the most comfortable spot, not only because of the ample seating but also because the large decorative window over the bar offered ample light from outside. Ambrose had done some pilfering of the choicest liquors and nonperishables from the bar and that parlor behind it, but that was consumed all too soon.
This left the three companions to sit in an empty hotel dining room and hypothesize what could have emptied the town.
“Maybe it was something like Kimaris,” Ambrose had suggested as he got up from where he’d sat on the hotel bar across from the passage to the front entrance. “Some sort of demon that swept through and swallowed up everyone.”
Milo shook his head as he twirled the cane to bore a hole through the thick dust on the dining hall floor.
That feels oddly pleasant, Imrah informed him, which was Milo’s cue to stop immediately. A decidedly disappointed impression radiated from the fetish.
“Something like that would have left some sign of its passing. Damage or something like it,” Milo said, looking at the caked dust on the wooden floor and wondering when feet had last scuffed these boards. According to the reports, it was only a few weeks, but it looked like ages.
“What do you think, Rihyani?” Milo asked, rocking back in his chair, which gave a slight squeak of protest.
Rihyani had been silent for most of the brainstorming, quietly moving around the tavern. She seemed to be looking for something to catch her interest as he and Ambrose chatted. She was currently standing next to a window, sliding her fingers down the drapes. Beyond the window was a veranda, where other tables looked out toward the forest that hemmed Gzhatsk in with a wall of evergreens. Staring past the fey for a moment, Milo couldn’t help but wonder if it was his imagination or the trees really were leaning in.
“Rihyani?” Milo called as he shook his head to dismiss thoughts of maliciously inclined trees. He had enough to worry about without making enemies of the vegetation.
“Yes?” the fey said without turning around.
Milo climbed to his feet, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t like Rihyani to be so quiet.
“Ambrose and I were discussing whether it could have been Kimaris or not.”
“What about Kimaris?” she asked, her voice rising with a subtle note of irritation. With more force than was probably necessary, she yanked the curtains to one side and began a minute inspection of the window frame.
Before Milo could press the question, Ambrose, who had wandered to a window on the opposite wall from Rihyani, thumped the wall with a fist.
“About damn time,” he swore and turned back to his companions with a grin. “Lokkemand finally decided to show up.”
The wizard shook his head at the announcement but stopped as he noticed Rihyani had pressed herself to the windowsill and seemed to be sniffing its length.
“I’ll go out and wave them over,” Ambrose said as he ambled his way across the hall, leaving Milo and Rihyani alone.
“What are you doing?” Milo said, trying and failing to keep the irritation and concern out of his voice.
“Something seems wrong about this town,” the fey said as she raised her head.
“You mean, besides the fact that it was abandoned?” Milo asked as he looked around the vacant room.
“Yes,” Rihyani growled, then raised a hand as her fingers grew wicked claws.
“Rihyani, what’s going on?” Milo demanded, feeling the need to look every direction at once. She didn’t reshape like this except when danger was about. He spun around to face the empty room, every shadow seeming to hold a dangerous secret.
“I’m not sure,” Rihyani said in a wet, leonine voice as fangs replaced her teeth.
“Then give me your best guess,” Milo hissed, looking over his shoulder in time to see the fey’s talons rake across the windowsill.
Milo had expected the sound of wood being gouged or scraped and thought he would see flecks of paint and splinters go flying. When there was a ripping sound like canvas parting under a knife instead, he balked. When blood ran freely from the rent windowsill, rolling down the wall darkly, he nearly cried out in surprise.
“Hiisi,” Rihyani snarled, the word sounding like a wildcat’s yowl.
When gunfire erupted outside the hotel and the window they stood next to exploded into a hundred glass fragments, Milo was almost relieved.
Being shot at was something he was intimately familiar with.
“Hiisi are Folk, right?” Milo shouted as he and Rihyani crept along the wall to the hotel entrance, thankful the exterior was brick. The crack of rifles could be heard as bullets came whining through the broken window.
“Yes,” she said. “They marked the building with their runes.”
“Are they shooting at us because you spotted it?” Milo asked as they neared the door to the front of the hotel. “Or just on principle?”
“I am almost certain this isn’t them,” Rihyani yelled with a look over her shoulder at the window and the forest beyond.
“We’re under fire,” Ambrose shouted as he burst back into the dining hall, chased by half a score of near-misses.
“Thank God you’re here,” Milo bellowed. “I might not have noticed all the bullets flying around.”
Ambrose swore and kicked one of the double doors shut as a trio of shots punched through the wood. Blood ran down one side of his face, and his eyes blazed like emerald stars in his face.
“We’re pinned down,” he rumbled, working the action on the rifle to chamber another round. “I popped two of the rats running around out there, but there's plenty more.”
“What about Lokkemand’s men?” Milo asked as more shots from outside gnawed the dining hall doors into mere formalities.
“Likewise,” Ambrose spat as he spotted the window, where the occasional bullet still whizzed through. “They had half a dozen rounds rattle off the lead vehicle and they circled the wagons, as it were.”
“They brought wagons?” Rihyani asked, a wild incredulous laugh bubbling out between her fearsome teeth.
“Figure of speech,” Ambrose said as he began to slink to the broken window, careful to stay out of
the line of fire. “Point is, if they’ve got troops enough to pin us all down, they might have enough to storm this spot to get a better line on Lokkemand’s men.”
“We need to get out of here, or we’ll be overrun,” Milo said, wincing as a stray shot ricocheted about the room.
“Thank God he’s here,” Ambrose remarked dryly as he sank to one knee next to the broken window, the Gewehr coming to his shoulder.
Rihyani gripped Milo’s shoulder and pointed at the large window over the bar.
“Break that and we can wind-ride out,” she shouted.
“We’ll be exposed out there,” Milo protested and pointed at Ambrose. “And if we take him, we’ll be easy targets for sure.”
Ambrose pivoted on his knee to fire a shot with the Gewehr before swiveling away from a torrent of return fire.
“Don’t worry about me,” Ambrose growled as he ejected a spent shell and chambered a fresh one. “I can give them something to worry about while you two get clear of the place.”
“What about the si'lat?” Rihyani offered.
Milo shook his head.
“I don’t know if I can keep them from going after Lokkemand’s men,” he said, his gaze wandering over to the window opposite them, where he could see the road between the curtains. “The si’lat won’t differentiate between one group of men with guns and another, and unless I can see everyone to direct them, they're likely to waste time tearing up the town.”
“That and you can’t wind ride while controlling those monsters,” Ambrose added before swiveling around for another shot. This time he was greeted by so much return fire, Milo felt certain the window frame and the wall around it were both about to collapse into rubble.
Thinking quickly, Milo snatched out his pistol and snapped off a trio of shots to send the window above the bar tumbling to the floor in a shower of dazzling daggers.
Wizardborn (World's First Wizard Book 3) Page 9
