“We’ll get out and clear that patch of woods,“ Milo shouted, pointing over Ambrose's shoulder at a patch of woods to the right of where he’d been shooting. “When you see witchfire, get moving.”
Ambrose nodded despite the scowl on his face. Milo turned to Rihyani as he returned his pistol to his belt and gave her his most dashing smile.
“Come on, dear, let’s fly.”
Milo hadn’t taken any opportunities to practice wind riding since Georgia, and it showed as he clung to Rihyani’s hand and lurched through the air.
They cleared the broken window easily enough, but the wizard was sluggish in both turning and acceleration. Rihyani, who had millennia of experience, dragged him along, but she could only compensate so much. Instead of darting out the broken window, they lurched out, with Milo nearly gashing his dangling legs on the way.
Thankfully, Ambrose took the opportunity to pump shot after shot into the tree line, which was probably the only thing that saved the wind riders from coming under fire immediately.
As it was, they were diving for the trees when the first enemy shots hissed past them, a scattering of panic fire as they came down on what turned out to be exactly where the enemy had congregated. They were ragged figures in the baggy khakis of the Russian forces—a dozen men all told, huddling amongst a tight stand of young pines.
As Rihyani and Milo sailed over their heads, Milo saw their eyes widen with terror even as their mouths snarled feral curses. They swung around to bring their rifles to bear.
Before another shot could be fired, Milo focused, and at the speed of thought, sensed their minds. With an outward shove of his will, he scattered images of him and Rihyani in every direction, some breaking into more images until the canopy was darkened by the illusory targets.
The squad of men was still firing and spitting curses into the trees when Milo and Rihyani touched down. One of the soldiers stepped out of his cover, screaming and shooting into the tree branches before his head snapped to one side, half of it missing. The Gewehr’s report sounded as the corpse crumpled to the ground.
A few of the soldiers returned to firing at the hotel window, but the rest remained intent on firing up at the images of Milo and Rihyani above them.
“Come, darling.” Rihyani laughed in a liquid roar as she bared her fangs. “Let us be terrible together!”
I am learning to like her, Imrah chimed in Milo’s head, and a ferocious smile spread across his face.
“Who am I to argue with a lady?” He chuckled, the onrush of adrenaline and excitement turning the laugh into a wild roar.
As one, they rushed between the tree trunks and sprang like wolves to the kill.
Rihyani shed her traveling cloak in one rolling shrug, then she bounded forward, sometimes on her feet, sometimes on all fours. Milo drew on the cane’s empowering essence and threw himself after her in great rushing leaps. The eagle’s eye sockets burned with witchfire, and he brought it back as if to smash them with great crushing strokes.
Screaming their joined fury, Milo and Rihyani fell on the ambushers like a hammer on rotten fruit.
Rihyani pounced on the nearest man. He spotted her charge, but he was too slow to get something between her claws and his chest. He went down gasping and wheezing as she ripped her talons from his chest and whirled to look for her next victim.
Milo swung the cane, and a lash of green witchfire tore across four men with rifles pointing toward him. The sorcerous flames ripped into them, biting deep into flesh and finding it to their liking. All four collapsed as emerald fire gnawed up and over their bodies with a ravenous light.
“More demons!” shouted one of the remaining men, and without another word, they all turned and made a dead run back into the forest.
Milo and Rihyani were left standing in the crackling glow of the dying soldiers, more than a little confused as Ambrose came jogging up.
“Spotted the fire,” he said as he took cover against a sheltering tree trunk, Gewehr held across his broad body. “That was quick.”
Milo and Rihyani looked at each other and then in the direction the men had run.
“Took us by surprise as well,” Milo admitted, straining his ears to hear the men crashing through the trees over the crackling gunfire along the roadway.
“Do you think they are trying to reposition for a counterattack?” Rihyani asked, the ferocity leaving her voice as she squinted curiously between the trees.
Ambrose cocked his head to one side, frowning deeply.
“Doesn’t sound like it,” he snarled, his eyelids sinking to half-mast as he strained his preternatural hearing. “Those men are running for their lives.”
Ambrose’s eyes flew open a heartbeat before Milo and Rihyani heard the first screams. Wild and piercing, a babble of pleas, curses, and shrieks cut through the air and chilled the blood. Milo had heard men cry out in pain and fear many times, but this was one of the worst.
“They’re dying ugly,” Ambrose growled, his head wagging slowly as some voices fell silent and others rose to new shivering heights.
“Hiisi,” Rihyani said breathily and turned to Milo. “We need to get to Lokkemand’s men. Now!”
With a ripple of will, the traveling cloak poured over the fey’s body, then she was heading for the sound of gunshots.
Milo and Ambrose knew better than to argue, but they shared concerned looks as they began to trot along the tree line toward the road. All three kept a sharp eye out for the ambushers still firing on the German forces as they bounded along. It went without saying that it wouldn't do to race into the kill zone.
“Are they in more danger from the Hiisi than the Russians?” Milo asked as he jogged up alongside Rihyani. “What are we protecting them from, exactly?”
Rihyani threw a worried look over her shoulder, and Milo realized the screaming had stopped.
“The protection isn’t for them,” Rihyani explained, quickening her pace. “It’s for us.”
By the time they’d made it to the road, the Russian ambushers had begun to die.
The trio didn’t see what was killing them, but given the sounds the dying made, it seemed clear that whatever had killed their fellows near the hotel was preying on them now along the road.
The German caravan had ceased firing when the Russian salvos had given way to desperate screams. They couldn’t see what was happening, but the horror on the soldier’s faces grew with each rustle amongst the branches that preceded more auditory torment. They sat listening to men beg and pray and cry before their voices became incoherent yowls and wails that seemed too tortured for human throats.
The soldiers were so captivated by the morbid symphony around them that they didn’t spot Milo, Ambrose, and Rihyani on the ditch-hemmed side of the road. The trio, seeing that they didn’t need to worry about being caught in the crossfire, made for the vehicular triangle formed by two open-topped kubelwagens and a canvas-backed truck. The wizard had to pound on the side of the truck to draw the men’s attention away from the horror in the forest.
“You can sightsee on your own time, gentlemen,” he shouted in German. “As it stands, you are hours late, and the service so far has not been up to standard.”
Blinking like owls awakened before dusk, the German soldiers swung around and stared at Milo and company. The magus thought about jumping aboard, but there was a tension in the men’s shoulders and faces that gave him pause. Time was of the essence, but rushing a crowd of emotionally fragile men with guns seemed unwise.
“Permission to come aboard?” Milo asked, throwing a jaunty salute as his eyes searched for a black coat or at least the NCO of rank.
“What the hell is going on in there?” someone asked, and the question was repeated by several soldiers.
“Bad things,” Milo said quickly, taking half a step toward the open backseat of a kubelwagen. “Now, can we please be on our way before bad things start happening to us?”
“Did you do this?” one man asked, his face hardening as another called behind hi
m, “Or did she do it?”
“Neither,” Milo said, fighting to keep his temper in check. There were now only one or two wretched voices begging for their lives, which meant the Hiisi, whatever they were, were most likely headed their way.
“What did you summon, warlock?” a voice demanded, and Milo heard hissing whispers that sounded a lot like “De Zauber-Schwartz” moving amongst the ranks with less than friendly connotations.
“Look,” Ambrose said, his mustache bristling furiously. “Take us prisoner if you like, but you don’t want to meet whatever is out there. Get your heads out of your bungholes and get this caravan moving. NOW!”
To Milo’s relief and no small amount of envy, the big man’s thunderous voice and battlefield demeanor won out. Like shamefaced children scolded by a gruff uncle, the soldiers hopped to and began to break up their impromptu fortification. The trio was crammed into the back of the lead kubelwagen since both the truck and the other kubelwagen were being used to transport men wounded in the initial ambush.
Within a minute of Ambrose’s bellowed orders, the caravan moved out.
Milo felt comfortable enough to lean forward and call to the driver. “Good thing Captain Lokkemand sent out a full guard for a priority pickup, eh?”
The driver looked uncomfortable as he wiped his forehead, and he kept swiveling his gaze to the dirt road and along the forest edge. He gnawed his lip for a moment, then replied without looking back.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” the man replied, shouting over the sound of three engines working in close proximity, “but we travel like this always. We can’t do it any other way. The bandits are thick as moss on Pfeiffer’s backside.”
The man seated next to him, who must have been Pfeiffer, spat out the window, clutching his rifle in both hands. Despite that, the man’s eyes were calm, almost apathetic with all that was going on around him.
“If I got moss, it came from Schultz’s mother,” he growled, looking left and right before giving them all a sidelong grimace over his shoulder. “Woman’s a mangy old goat, but ‘needs must when devils drive’ is how the saying goes, right?”
“Did you just call my mother a goat?” the driver Schultz growled, one hand curling into a fist.
Rihyani shot Milo a concerned frown over Ambrose’s bent back, and her thoughts rushed into his mind.
Do those two intend to start fighting at a time like this?
Milo shook his head even as the driver’s fist struck Pfeiffer’s shoulder with a dull smack and the man rocked against the door of kubelwagen.
They’re blowing off steam. You know, banter, Milo explained. None of these look like Lokkemand’s old escorts, so they’re new to all this, though I’m sure they were briefed.
Rihyani gave Milo an incredulous stare as blistering streams of invective and profanity flowed freely between the two, but true to Milo’s word, it quickly settled into chuckles as they rolled further down the road and out of Gzhatsk.
“Glad we’re clear of that mess,” Pfeiffer offered as he leaned against the window, eyeing the trees suspiciously.
Milo and Rihyani felt Ambrose tense next to them, and Milo saw the look of concern on his face turn to wrath in an instant.
“Not clear yet,” the bodyguard rumbled and began to wriggle his way to his feet as he swung his Gewehr toward the forest.
“What is it?” Milo asked, rushing to join Ambrose. One hand held his fetish cane while the other probed for one of the si’lat swarms. He didn’t imagine the soldiers would feel very comfortable with the vicious black cyclone, but he figured dying like the Russians had was even less appealing.
As though summoned by the thought, three bloodied and harried figures in khaki uniforms lurched out of the forest and into the middle of the track. Their heads were twisted back to watch for whatever horror had pursued them here, but their hands were raised in surrender.
“Help! Save!” they cried in stilted German. “Save! Please!”
Pfeiffer leveled his rifle their way, but a sharp word from Milo stayed his trigger finger.
“Damn it, man, they’re unarmed.”
The defeated men staggered forward, still trying to watch the woods they’d left as the caravan rolled to a stop.
“I thought we needed to get out of here?” shouted the driver of the truck. “Put on the gas and they’ll move.”
“Load them into the truck bed,” Milo shouted back, motioning to the Russians to head for the truck.
“Letting those rats in with the wounded? Are you mad?” the driver bellowed, revving his vehicle’s chugging engine and menacingly halting the Russians in between kubelwagen and the truck. “Get out of the way, or I’ll roll over you and the cowards!”
The Gewehr roared, and the side-view mirror of the truck sprang free of its mount in a shower of sparks and broken glass.
“A superior officer gave you an order. A DIRECT order!” Ambrose roared, his rifle’s aim now adjusted to the cab of the truck. “Think very hard before you open your mouth again, soldier.”
The tension crackled in the air like barbed lightning, and Milo felt Rihyani’s will brushing against him.
This does not seem like banter, Rihyani thought. If Simon fires again, I think the one called Pfeiffer will attempt to shoot him.
Milo didn’t dare turn around as the standoff ached on second after second. He considered stretching out his will and trying to soothe or at least befuddle Pfeiffer but thought better of it.
If he does, try to stop him without hurting him, Milo instructed via resonations of his own will. We still need these men to cooperate with us while we work out here.
Rihyani’s will throbbed with affirmation, then she left his thoughts.
Milo looked askance at the Russians standing between kubelwagen and the truck before clearing his throat, drawing all eyes to him.
“This is ridiculous,” he said in his best no-nonsense commander’s impression. “We’ve got an unknown hostile, and we are exposed. Get the prisoners in your vehicle, and let’s get the He—”
The air was suddenly filled with a cacophonous clamor of raucous cawing. All eyes turned toward the woods, searching the branches and jagged tops of the evergreens for the source of the terrible sound. The limbs rustled and creaked as the canopy suddenly erupted in a storm of croaking ravens. With a precision and cohesion uncommon to carrion birds, the immense flock swept down and encircled the caravan in a wheel of beating black wings.
The Russians screamed and crouched with hands raised over their heads.
“Get those prisoners loaded NOW!” Milo bellowed, his finger stabbing at the truck.
Not needing any further prompting, the would-be prisoners scuttled to the back of the truck and got on board with terror-fueled speed.
“De Zauber Schwartz,” Schultz cried, and for the first time that day, it didn’t sound like a curse to Milo. “What do we do? I can’t drive through this.”
Milo wasn’t sure the man’s grasp of physics was very reliable if he thought his blocky battering ram of a vehicle couldn’t punch through a wall of birds, but he didn’t think it was time to correct the man. Instead, he reached into the case and drew out the heavy orbs that held the si’lat swarm.
Milo held a sphere out in front of him and began harnessing the focus necessary to not only rouse but master the shades. He knew he’d need as much control, if not more, than he had used aboard the train. It would be even harder now since he’d had plenty of time to prepare his mind and body for the rigors of magic then. He liked the si’lat better than dousing the birds with witchfire or eldritch ice, but he understood that if he lost control, it would very likely cost the soldiers their lives.
“When I give you the word, floor it,” Milo called as his eyes centered on the undulating black spheres in his hand. Milo could feel the vibrating essence of the trapped shades, their secondhand hate and hunger twisting over and around each other like so many tangled vipers. The harder the knotted shades pulled away, the tighter they were bou
nd, which was part of the magic that Milo was secretly proud of. To unleash them, all he had to do was untie one little knot at the center of the writhing mass.
“Come out and play,” Milo whispered as he opened the end of his scarred thumb and ran the welling blood across the top of the sphere in his outstretched hand.
“Magus! It’s coming!” Ambrose shouted as something far bigger than a raven broke through the wheeling barrier of black birds.
The knot unbound, and the ebony orb stretched out exploratory tendrils as Milo drove his command home with a burning stake of intent.
KILL
Black grit erupted as a ravening dervish fit for the banks of the Styx.
“GO!” Milo screamed as the si’lat swarm spun up and over them to crash drunkenly into the rotating ravens. The terrible crowing was interspersed with death rattles and screeches as birds died in droves. The sound was so deafening that Milo could barely hear the revving of the kubelwagen engine, but he felt it buck under him as Schultz slammed down on the accelerator.
His feet came off the floorboard, and to his surprise, they never returned. The same instant this happened, Milo felt a crushing pressure in his shoulders as though a vise had clamped over them.
He saw the massive corvid digits clamped on his shoulders. Those taloned feet rose into a twisted, sharp-angled body that seemed as though man and raven had been mashed and folded into each other.
As Milo rose into the air, before he was plunged into the gouging, ripping tide, the creature carrying him jerked its head around to glare at him with a raptor’s hungry stare.
The magus screamed when he beheld the jagged, misaligned beak and mangled plumage, and the creature's talons drove down deeper, crushing the breath from his lungs as they pierced his coat to burrow into his flesh.
8
These Names
Milo emerged from the congress of ravens more or less the same way he had entered it, which could be summarized simply as not well. His shoulders ached from where the monstrous bird-thing’s claws gripped him, and he had a few other scrapes and nicks across his face and hands from birds and branches as he was dragged out of the trees and into the sky.
Wizardborn (World's First Wizard Book 3) Page 10
