Page 43 of The Sorcerer's Alpha

Marut didn’t laugh. He didn’t make a joke, or even crack a smile. His expression was entirely serious as he said, “Nothing in the world would suit me better.”

CHAPTER16

Sycamore’s heart pounded nauseatingly fast as the tents of Twin Rams drew near. He would survive the experience, whatever it turned out to be, but that didn’t mean he would find it enjoyable. None of his speculation and wondering had brought him any closer to knowing the truth of how Temur would respond to seeing him again.

“The worst they can do is turn us away,” he said to Marut as the requisite group of people came out from the village to meet them.

Marut grunted. “No, the worst they can do is shoot us with those bows.”

“You always know just the right thing to say,” Sycamore said.

The gathered Sarnoy watched them approach. At the center stood, presumably, the matriarch, an old woman wearing an embroidered coat and leaning on the arm of a younger woman beside her. She said nothing as Sycamore slid from Rhododendron’s back and approached. The whole group, fifteen or twenty adults, stood and watched him in silence.

Sycamore resisted the urge to glance back at Marut. “We come looking for Temur of Twin Rams.”

“This is Twin Rams,” the matriarch said. Her gray eyes were steady on Sycamore’s face. “What business do you have?”

Sycamore swallowed. “Temur of Twin Rams was my tutor many years ago. My name is Sycamore. If he remembers me, I will be very pleased to talk with him.”

The matriarch turned her head and spoke a quiet word to a man standing nearby. He went back into the village, walking much more slowly than Sycamore might have liked. The remaining Sarnoy stood in silence, staring at him. Behind him, he heard Rhododendron snort and Bunny nicker in response. He clasped his hands behind his back and assumed his most impassive posture of patient waiting. He could play at this game, too.

The wind blew thoughts of light snow across his face. At long last, two figures emerged from a distant tent, and Sycamore’s heartbeat began racing again, as quickly as a galloping horse. He squinted as they drew near, wishing his eyesight were better. Yes, that was Temur, with his hooked beak of a nose, tall and fat in his long blue coat. His hair was white now instead of gray, and his shoulders were more stooped than they had been when Sycamore knew him. But that was him, without a doubt.

Temur came directly toward him at a steady pace. He leaned on a long stick as he walked, but he seemed, as Tsetseg had said, entirely hearty. Sycamore swallowed repeatedly against the complex emotions clogging his throat as Temur stopped before him and looked him up and down.

“You’ve returned to me,” Temur said at last, and his wrinkled face broke into a smile.

* * *

Marut cameup to him as the matriarch issued various orders and the gathering broke up. “Is that him? What’s happening?”

“Yes, it’s him,” Sycamore said, still dazed. “He’s still alive. He seems glad to see me. We’re to go to his tent and talk there.”

“I’ll see to the horses first.” Marut gathered Rhododendron’s reins into his hand. His other hand rested on Sycamore’s shoulder for a moment before he turned away.

Temur didn’t ask any questions as they walked through the encampment, which Sycamore appreciated, as he doubted he could string together any coherent response. He had thought Tsetseg must be mistaken or misinformed, or that Temur would refuse to see him, or at best begrudgingly tolerate his visit. He hadn’t been prepared for Temur’s heartfelt welcome.

Twin Rams wasn’t large, but it was tidy and well kept. Sycamore saw no bone scraps littering the ground and no animal droppings on the bare footpaths among the tents. And he saw signs of Temur’s magic everywhere, layers of protections lavished on every dwelling and draped over every stone wall, as familiar to him as his own magic. Temur had taught him how to coax inspiration from the earth and bend it in the direction of his powers rather than trying to force it to his will, and everything he had learned since then grew out of those early lessons.

Temur’s tent sat on its own near one of the boundary walls, which Sycamore had learned were used not to contain livestock but rather to provide barriers against the wind. It was smaller than most tents and very snug and cozy inside. Thick rugs covered the walls and floor, and the stove at the center drew Sycamore toward its radiant heat. His hands were eternally cold despite his gloves and his magic.

“Sit,” Temur said, shooing an orange cat from one of the chairs beside the stove. “Do you like the mare’s milk? I can get you some.”

“I do like it, but please, don’t go to the trouble,” Sycamore said, knowing Temur wouldn’t be offended if he declined. He sat when Temur motioned for him to. The cat immediately hopped onto his lap and set to kneading its paws against his coat. When Sycamore tentatively stroked its back, it began to purr.

“So.” Temur sat in a neighboring chair and folded his hands over the handle of his walking stick. “Tell me how it is that you came to be here.”

Sycamore drew a deep breath. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

“The beginning,” Temur said.

He was only partway through the tale when Marut came in, kicking snow from his boots at the doorway. He bowed to Temur and dragged a third chair over to the stove from its place in the corner. The cat roused from its nest on Sycamore’s lap and hopped over to Marut’s, where it received so much lavish attention that Sycamore experienced a faint pang of envy. Of course Marut was beloved by cats.

Temur listened without speaking until Sycamore described what had happened after the Skopoy shot him. Then Temur lifted a hand to forestall him and said, “How did you manage that trick?”

“I don’t know,” Sycamore said. “I’ve never done that before, or anything like it, or read about it, even.”

Temur shook his head with an expression of disbelief. “Well, go on, then.”