Sorcerybound
World’s First Wizard™ Series Book 02
Aaron D. Schneider Michael Anderle
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2020 LMBPN Publishing
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
A Michael Anderle Production
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact support@lmbpn.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, October 2020
ebook ISBN: 978-1-64971-260-8
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-64971-261-5
Contents
The Sorcerybound Team
Prologue: Ne Loquitor
1. The Error
2. The One
3. The Question
4. The Confession
5. The Awaited
6. The Monsters
7. The Heresy
8. The Wound
9. The Hex
10. The Truth
11. The Scars
12. The Unlikely
13. The Harriers
14. The Sacrifice
15. The Audience
16. The Intrigue
17. The Art
18. The Return
19. The Broken
20. The Message
21. The Fires
22. The Burden
23. The Ruckus
24. The Red
25. The Arena
Epilogue: Adversus Solum
Author Notes - Aaron Schneider
Acknowledgments
Connect with The Authors
Other Books by Aaron Schneider
Other LMBPN Publishing Books
The Sorcerybound Team
Thanks to our Beta Team:
Allen Collins, Kelly O’Donnell, Jim Caplan, John Ashmore, Larry Omans, Rachel Beckford
Thanks to our JIT Team:
Dave Hicks
Diane L. Smith
Micky Cocker
Jeff Goode
Paul Westman
If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!
Editor
SkyHunter Editing Team
I want to put my hands to work 'til the work's done
I want to open my heart like the ocean
— Lit Me Up, Brand New
It is a great evil to look upon mankind with too clear vision. You seem to be living among wild beasts, and you become a wild beast yourself.
— Vathek, William Beckford
Monsters I’ve Met
I met a ghost, but he didn't want my head,
He only wanted to know the way to Denver.
I met a devil, but he didn't want my soul,
He only wanted to borrow my bike awhile.
I met a vampire, but he didn't want my blood,
He only wanted two nickels for a dime.
I keep meeting all the right people—
At all the wrong times.
— A Light in the Attic, Shel Silverstein
I dedicate this book to my father, a man who does what is right, not what is easy. Thank you for being an example to strive for. Love you, Dad.
Prologue: Ne Loquitor
message intercepted
Percival Reinhart felt his fingers tingle as he tapped out the message on the telegram in the subversive little nest he’d built in the underbelly of Newcastle. Besides the thrill of victory at an operation successfully accomplished, Reinhart felt a certain degree of smugness.
The strange suit had worked, and when he was debriefed, he could tell them how all those warnings were for nothing. It had all gone swimmingly.
As a vital hub for not only the shipbuilding but also the coal trade of Great Britain, as well as a city closer to continental Europe than any port that didn’t open to the much-patrolled English channel, Newcastle had become the perfect place for short-term espionage. With the help of some well-compensated and willfully ignorant locals, it had been relatively simple to set up the operational center all short-term operatives could use. Reinhart knew that no less than half a dozen other agents of the German Empire had used this location. Buried under the crumbling terraced housing area of Byker in Newcastle, the subterranean lair had everything an enterprising spy needed to prepare, carry out, and report on operations before slipping back to the continent with no one the wiser.
The operation he was tasked with was not going to be easy, and he’d expected that once he had the information, it would take some back and forth communication and supplies before things were even possible. When he’d first come, Reinhart had appreciated the setup, thankful to have a secret telegram line and a secure and concealed dead drop location nearby. The fact that a trapdoor set in the floor led to a tunnel that opened to a nearby canal let him sleep on the little cot more easily, too.
As he’d gathered information on the asset, Reinhart had become more and more comfortable in his little hidey-hole, appreciating the quiet security it offered him. After stressful days spent loafing about the shipyards pretending to work as he assessed things, it was nice to have somewhere to let his guard down. Despite multiple uses, none of those who’d come before had seen fit to furnish the place beyond the spartan facilities it had come with, but an appreciative Reinhart had begun to adorn his little abode. Bringing in small mementos from his rambles through the yard, he placed them on a small shelf here or hung them from a wall there. Nails and a hammer were easy enough to acquire for the latter purpose, and he’d also found a few rough but serviceable pieces of decorative furniture, as well as more knick-knacks and bits of local color.
Sometimes lying on the cot next to the new nightstand he’d found with a fetching print of the yards in the early 1700s, Reinhart felt almost like a local. A sense of peace suffused him even though he was a man living a lie among people who would string him up if they knew who he was or what his intentions were. He felt absorbed by the rough industrial spirit of the city, and thus, in some ways, forgiven for what he had to do.
This sense of harmony disappeared the day the suit came, which was nearly a week after he’d stated he needed supplies for a disguise.
Like a child receiving a gift from a relative, he’d torn into
