Page 32 of The Sorcerer's Alpha
Children playing outside the sheepfold spotted them, with much pointing and shouting, and went running behind one of the tents. Sycamore had been silently practicing his speech as he waited to fall asleep every night with Marut dozing against his shoulder, and he ran through the words again now, hoping to fix them in his mind so that his tongue wouldn’t fumble when the time came. He hadn’t spoken Sarnoy aloud since Temur left Banuri, and that was more than twenty years ago now.
Several people wearing the long coats and fur hats of the Sarnoy emerged from tents and came out to meet Sycamore and Marut. They held bows and swords lowered but ready, and Sycamore could hardly blame them for the caution. He imagined they saw few visitors cross the steppe in winter.
“Say nothing,” he said to Marut as they led the horses onto the flat ground at the base of the hills.
“I didn’t plan to, as I speak no Sarnoy,” Marut said.
“Ever the quick wit,” Sycamore said, and didn’t miss the sudden flash of Marut’s smile. He still thought every day, every hour, of Marut’s mouth pressed to his hand.
The Sarnoy who greeted them were men and women alike, a dozen or more in their dyed and embroidered coats, with their strange pale faces and round red cheeks chapped by the wind, and their pale eyes staring from below their hats. They said nothing as Sycamore and Marut approached, and nothing as Sycamore slid from Rhododendron’s back, still somewhat awkward although his shoulder was improving. They didn’t put their weapons away, but they didn’t raise them, either, which Sycamore was happy to interpret as encouragement.
“Greetings,” he said. “We come to barter.”
A squat woman standing at the front of the group stepped forward. Her blue coat was embroidered in bands of red across the shoulders, and gold charms adorned the neckline. From her wizened face, Sycamore guessed she was the village matriarch. “Are you mountain folk or Chedai?”
“Chedai,” Sycamore said, praying he wasn’t making a mistake in telling the truth. With their clothing hidden under blankets, they could well have been from the Mountain Kingdoms, or truly from most other nations along the southern coast. He hoped her opinion of Chedi wasn’t so low that she sent them away unheard.
“You’re far from home,” she said.
“That’s truth,” Sycamore said. The Sarnoy words sat more easily in his mouth than he had hoped. Emboldened, he said, “Will you trade with us? We don’t look for trouble.”
The matriarch looked them over, Sycamore first and then Marut, and considered their horses, as well. Sycamore knew they made a sorry picture, bedraggled, dirty, and wrapped in blankets. The woman didn’t need to voice her skepticism, because it was clear in the way her eyes dragged over their pitiful convoy.
“I know some magic,” Sycamore offered.
“What do you know of magic, Chedai,” the woman said, turning away.
Desperation raked at Sycamore’s gut. He had been sure they would at least be willing to trade for goods. “I learned from Temur of Twin Rams,” he said, taking a desperate gamble, and when she paused, went on, “I know what he taught me. That magic.”
The woman turned her head over her shoulder to look at him. Then she said to one of the men standing nearby, “Go find Chimeg.”
Next to Sycamore, Marut shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Sycamore didn’t look at him. This would work or it wouldn’t. If it didn’t work, they would move on to the next village. He could find them more food. They weren’t in imminent danger. But he had to admit he would take it as a hard blow if they were turned away.
The man returned with a young woman wearing a richly embroidered robe that shimmered like silk. She spoke to the matriarch too quietly for Sycamore to overhear, then approached him directly and held out her hand in the Sarnoy way, for him to touch his fingertips to hers. It was a much warmer greeting than Sycamore had hoped for, and his heart lifted in his chest, and even more as she said, “You know someone from Twin Rams?”
“In childhood, yes. He taught me earth magic, and to speak Sarnai.”
The woman nodded. She turned to the matriarch and said, “He speaks the truth,” and Sycamore only then noticed her hand grasping the edge of his blanket, reading its impressions from him.
“Be welcome then, Chedai,” the matriarch said. “We have our own wizard, as you see, but we’ll make trade with you anyway. Come inside and have something to eat.”
* * *
The matriarch’stent was at the center of the village. The interior was spacious and comfortably furnished, with walls and floor covered in rugs woven in circular patterns of green and vermillion. Elaborately painted beds and chests sat against the walls of the tent, and a stove at the center put out enough warmth that Sycamore immediately began to sweat. The circular dome of the tent was high enough that he could stand near the center without stooping. At the very top, the outer covering was drawn back to let in daylight and fresh air. If all Sarnoy lived like this, Sycamore could see why Temur had spoken so fondly of his home.
The matriarch offered him and Marut low chairs beside the stove and seated herself on one of the beds. One of the men from outside served cheese and fermented milk, which wasn’t nearly as repellent as Sycamore had feared; it tasted rather like thin yogurt. The painted wooden door at the entrance opened to reveal two children, whose eyes widened before they slammed the door shut once more. The man laughed.
“We don’t see Chedai in these parts,” the old woman said. “I’m Tsetseg. If you know earth magic, wizard, you can help Chimeg find a new well for us. That would be a good trade.”
Sycamore could find a well site in his sleep. He had learned much about magic since Temur left him, but he knew Sarnoy magic through and through, and could do anything these people expected of him. “I will try,” he said.
Tsetseg nodded. She took off her hat and handed it to the attendant. Her gray hair was braided close to her head. “What would you have of us?”
Sycamore glanced at Marut. They had discussed what they needed from the Sarnoy, but he would much rather Marut do the negotiating himself. That was out of the question, though. “Winter clothing for the steppe. We have only poor clothes. And food. And furs for our beds. And we would both like to bathe.”
Tsetseg lifted her eyebrows. “You ask for much. In that case, we’ll have you bless the tents against wind and weather, as the first blessing of the season is wearing off.”
“Agreed,” Sycamore said. That would take time and inspiration, but it wasn’t hard work.