Page 71 of The Sorcerer's Alpha

The guard shrugged. “Safe enough. Stay in sight of the camp.”

“Understood,” Sycamore said.

He climbed the hill, his pulse throbbing in his wounded hand as he walked. He would tend to that first so that Marut would stop frowning.

The top of the ridge was scoured bare by the wind, the rock worn down to dust. He found a flat place to sit and settled himself down. He no longer had to seek out the earth or make any effort to draw inspiration into himself. At the first touch of his hand, magic came roaring through him in a blistering torrent. His hand practically healed itself.

He had never believed the old tales about the sorcerers of the deep past, but he knew now that they were true. Sycamore could shape every element to his will. If there were limits to his abilities, he hadn’t found them yet.

He would pass into legend, then. In the Khentii, he would do nothing more than heal wounds and bless tents. He had read his history; he knew how easily he could be used as a weapon, and how easily he could be convinced to perform great evils for the sake of his country. Better to live a quiet life among the reindeer.

But he had one last duty to Chedi, first.

He sent his awareness south through the ground, seeking out the sunken resting place of the dormant constructs. There they were, just as he had seen them before. The earth gladly aided him in his task. A quick tug upward, a nudge of force like a fist rapping the crust of the soil from below, and the mass lifted and dissolved. As easy as that.

He dwindled back into his body and opened his eyes. He crackled with magic. Below, the camp was coming awake, soldiers going here and there, to the mess tent and the latrines. Through the bond, he felt that Marut was awake. He rose to his feet and went down the slope to ask for an audience with the lieutenant general.

He was taken in to see the man at once. He looked as weary as ever, and had not one but two cups of tea steaming on his desk. But he looked up with a sincere smile as Sycamore came in and said, “You’ve survived your adventure, I see.”

“Intact, no less.” Sycamore sat without waiting for permission. He did as he liked. “The constructs are gone. I imagine the Skopoy will make more before long, so you should move quickly to take advantage of their absence.”

“Gone,” the lieutenant general repeated, his voice and expression flat.

“Yes. I disposed of them.”

The man lifted one cup of tea and looked at it for a moment before drinking. “Well.” He set the cup down, then picked it up again. “I take it that Nilay did not, in fact, exaggerate in his report to me.”

Sycamore didn’t know who Nilay was; presumably the patrol’s lieutenant. “Whatever he told you was likely somewhat embellished.”

The lieutenant general only looked at him, his gaze edged with new wariness.

Sycamore was careful not to shift in his seat or let his eyes drop away. “Will I be sent back to Banuri now that the task is complete?”

“I’ll have to send a message to ask.”

Sycamore didn’t volunteer that he could easily scry someone in the palace. “Thank you. I’ll wait for orders.”

The guard at the door nodded at him again as he went out.

Marut’s position had changed, so he was up and about. Sycamore followed his sense of the bond to the mess tent, where Marut was emerging with a plate of flatbread, so fresh that steam rose from it. Marut spotted him and smiled with his entire face, the bond flooding with happiness. Sycamore loved him more than anyone had ever loved another person in all the history of the world. He knew that to be true.

“For me?” Sycamore asked as Marut drew near. “How considerate.” He lifted a piece of bread from the plate and grinned at Marut’s expression.

“You can get your own, you know,” Marut said.

“Later. Come walk with me to the stables. I’d like to check on Rhododendron after her long ride.”

Marut’s eyes were watchful on his face. “All right.”

As they walked, Sycamore noticed the guard leaving his post at the door to follow them at a distance, and another guard coming from around the mess tent to do the same. He wasn’t concerned. He and Marut were doing nothing suspicious. To talk a little, to go together to a public place and visit their horses in their stalls—that was acceptable, surely. They wouldn’t be stopped.

He had been careful the night before to put Rhododendron in the stall next to Bunny. They were good horses, and Sycamore didn’t want Marut to have to choose to leave Bunny behind. Bunny had his head over the stall door as he often did, and he snorted in greeting as Sycamore and Marut approached beneath the narrow awning that overhung the stalls. Marut went to him with a smile and stroked his nose, and Rhododendron put her head out then, too, wanting to be petted as well.

“Tell me, then,” Marut said in an undertone as they both pretended to be entirely absorbed in their respective horses.

“I’ve been thinking of our time in Twin Rams lately,” Sycamore said. “The tent we shared. The horses going half feral roaming loose on the steppe.”

Marut kept his gaze on Bunny’s face, but all of his attention was focused on Sycamore. “I think of it, too.”