City of Sorcerers Read Online Free PDF Page B

in a little digging."
    "There you are, lad," Koshyn said, slapping his young companion on the shoulder. "Your wrong turn may be propitious after all."
    Pleased, the rider sat a little straighter on his stool and grinned at his chiefs approval.
    The men were still discussing the mound and its strange location when the clan horns were blown a few minutes later. The call was to signal the sunset and the changing of the outriders who rode guard on the grazing herds.
    Sayyed rose to his feet. "My lords, if you will excuse me," he said. "It's time to make my prayers."
    Both chieftains nodded farewell, and Sayyed cook his leave. He walked across the broad open space in front of the chieftain's home and passed in among the felt tents that comprised the large Khulinin encampment. Automatically his feet stepped down slightly onto the bare path that led from the center of the camp. Whistling, he wove his way past playing children, cooking fires, and a few tethered horses coward his own home.
    Two large dogs and a smaller shaggy one lying beside his tent saw him coming and bounded to their feet to bark a vociferous greeting. A lamb and two goats bleated hungrily from a small pen by the entrance. In a wicker cage hanging on an awning pole, a small owl with a splinted wing blinked at the sudden noise and ducked its head down into its shoulders in annoyance.
    Without even looking in the tent, Sayyed knew his wife Tam was not there. She would have been out in an instant at the sound of all of that barking and bleating. He shook his head and quieted the dogs before he pushed back the wolfskin flap and stepped inside.

    Sayyed glanced around. He was right; the tent was empty except for another large white dog nursing a litter of puppies on Tam's favorite rug. He found his prayer rug by his pallet and hurried out to find an open spot where he could recite his prayers in peace.
    Although he had been with the Khulinin for many years and had adopted most of their customs, there were still a few habits from his youth in the Turic tribes that he had refused to give up. He still wore a burnoose under the traditional cloak of the clans. He still carried the long, curved blade he had earned on the eve of his manhood ceremony. And he still prayed twice a day to his god.
    The clans worshipped four deities---Amara, mother of life and birth; her sister Krath, goddess of fate and the darker passions; Sorh, god of death; and Surgart, god of war---but they were not usually fanatical about it and had not tried to force Sayyed to give up his belief in a single god. It was a tolerance that Sayyed deeply appreciated.
    Finding a quiet place in the meadow not far from the edge of camp, Sayyed spread out his small rug, knelt, and bowed low to the south where the tribes of his father believed the holy city of Sarghun Shahr was located. As the quiet words of the evening prayers flowed from his lips, the peace of the moment filled his mind and the familiarity of the ritual gave him comfort.
    He hadn't quite finished though, when he suddenly felt disquieted. Something had changed. His peaceful solitude had been interrupted by something or someone. He rose to a kneeling position and turned his head to see Tam standing behind him. She was waiting for him to finish, but her foot was tapping the ground and her hands were tightly clasped as if trying to hold in her impatience. Sayyed closed his eyes to shut her out for a moment longer, shifted to ease the stiffness in his legs, and finished the final chants of his prayer. Then he slowly pushed himself to his feet.
    I'm growing too old, he thought wryly as he stretched and worked the pain from his knees. He had barely time to roll up his rug before Tam grabbed his arm and hustled him back through the camp toward the Goldrine River and the bazaar on the other side.
    Sayyed went along willingly, although he wondered what she was up to. In spite of her obvious hurry, Tam hadn't said a word to him. Of course, Tam rarely said