CHAPTER 2

He could hear the jabbering of the old men before he entered the Chowdhry's meeting hall. It was where they all gathered, to make decisions, to smoke their water pipes, brag about their past glories and gossip.

The loudest voice was the Chowdhry's---always the Chowdhry's: strident, demanding. Mirza, Chowdhry of Karpur, dominated every conversation, pronounced judgments on everyone, everything.

Gods, the goats were better companions.

The loud bray of Mirza's laughter sounded through the doorway. Behind it, though, he could hear the round laugh that was his only friend, Ramdas. Cursed luck---now he'd have to go in. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

There was no avoiding Mirza. The Chowdhry not only dominated the conversation, he sat where no one could go in or out without passing under his withering gaze. Or his scathing commentary.

"Ho, boy, wasting your master's time again? Well, what can anyone expect from someone the likes of you?" Mirza looked to his cronies, who nodded in agreement.

Promising himself he wouldn't react this time, Kehan gestured from the entryway to Ramdas, who sat happily puffing on a water pipe with the elders. For that moment, Kehan envied his friend. No one suggested that Ramdas was a barbarian's by-blow. The baker's family held as much power as the Chowdhry's, and if their eldest son was friendly to a near outcast, no one dared reproach Ramdas.

The baker's son unrolled from the mat, passing the pipe's mouthpiece to the next man. When Kehan saw his friend move toward him, he began to back out of the room.

"Boy," said the Chowdhry, "are you all al-Haari after all, that you cannot properly greet your elders? Have you learned no manners from any of your parents?" This elicited a number of mean-spirited chuckles.

Kehan stiffened, refusing to look at the old man. Reluctantly, he folded his hands into the required namaskar and bowed slightly. "Good day, Mirza-ji. I regret I must leave quickly. I'm on my master's business." While not precisely the truth, it was at least close.

"What, our sorcerer needs more bread?" Around him the old men cackled and nudged each other. Smoke dribbled out the edges of their smiles.

Teeth clenched, Kehan drew himself up as tall as possible. "I am securing assistance for my mother while I am away with al-Mumit sa'ab."

"Away? Away! The old man clutched at his kurta, red-faced and out of breath. "Xikander can't go away! Where would he go? Why would he go? Who will protect us from the Rahkshasa? Who will provide talismans for my celebration? We've provided him with food, housing, everything he's wanted. He has no right to abandon us to the demons in the mountains." Mirza shook a fist at him. "You did it, you al-Haari spawn! Somehow you've angered him, turned him against us!"

Kehan smiled to himself and hid it with a second bow. Let that old amaq go tell Xikander that he had no right to do something. There'd be a new fire poker in the courtyard hearth shortly thereafter.

"I do not question my master's decision, Chowdhry-ji," he said, ever so politely, and added, "but you are welcome to ask al-Mumit sa'ab his plans directly."

Beside him he heard Ramdas chortle, then quickly and with limited success swallow the laugh into a cough. Kehan tried to move his friend outside with a quick nudge to the ribs. "Ramdas, I must leave today and I don't want my mother to be alone for so long." He hoped he wouldn't need to remind his friend why Ami shouldn't be alone---especially since some of the village elders eavesdropping on the conversation were among the men he feared might try to take advantage of Ami-jan in his absence.

"I will treat her like my own auntie, like my own mother. Have no worries, b'hai." Ramdas clapped him on the back as they went outside.

"You tell Xikander he answers to us about this foolish journey!" Mirza commanded him, standing in the doorway shaking a fist after them. "You tell him that!"

"Mirza-ji, I will tell my master you wish to see him before he leaves." Kehan kept his voice coldly formal, bowed again and walked away. Ramdas parted his company three corners after.

Kehan almost danced down the narrow paths back to Xikander's.

Let them try to tell the wizard he's not allowed to leave. Then they'd see who was more powerful. Karpur village needed the jadughar. Xikander certainly didn't need them.

Still---if the demons threatened the village, they threatened his mother. He hurried through the undecorated gateway.

"al-Mumit sa'ab, I'm back."

An irritated voice drifted out of the workroom. "I am aware of that."

Kehan scuffed one sandal in the dirt of the courtyard. "Sa'ab . . ."He tried to find the right words, "Mirza told me . . . asked me to tell you that he wanted, ah . . . would like to see you before we leave."

"I will not delay my journey simply to suit an old man's whims. Have you packed your study stone?"

"Stone, sa'ab? No, sa'ab. I didn't think we'd have time during the journey." Truth, he'd hoped there wouldn't be time, or that Xikander would forget.

"There is always time for your studies. Unless you can tell me . . ."

"No, master. I'll get it." Feeling much put upon, Kehan entered the room, dragged the rock from underneath his bed, grimaced, and shoved it into the pile of supplies.

So much for hoping the wizard would forget.

"Master, about Mirza, sa'ab . . . "

"I told you I am not going to wait for him."

"No, sa'ab, I mean, it's just that he's worried about the village. The Rahkshasa. I mean, he's afraid the demons will attack if you're not here to protect Karpur."

Xikander chuckled to himself as he felt along the shelves, a smug look on his blind face. "Doesn't he believe the gods will protect them? After all the prayers and caperings of his Basharas, he still fears to depend on less than my wards, does he?" Apparently satisfied that he'd left nothing out, the jadughar wiped his hands on his robes.

"Well, sa'ab, all Karpur knows your power. They'd be afraid to have you gone for so long with the danger in the mountains. Even I'd be afraid for my mother, if it weren't that I know you wouldn't leave the village defenseless."

Probably. Hopefully.

"The wards I have set will be sufficient to last the length of my journey." The wizard felt around for his grimoire, with its binding old and torn, picked it up, wrapped it carefully in a soft blue silk cloth, and packed it. "After that, there will be no more need."

"I know that. Anyone should know you wouldn't leave your home to suffer while you're away." He was relieved. Ami-jan would be safe. Now if only he could be sure that he would return safely to her.

At the scrape of the tapestry against the doorframe, he looked up. "Ami-jan."

His mother carried in a deep wooden bowl with a long strip of cloth wrapped over and around it several times, then tied to secure the top. "I have brought your meal, son." Pointedly, she ignored Xikander as she handed it to Kehan.

He placed the bowl in the top of the food sack, stuffing other things around it as bracing. Stomach rumbling loudly, he glanced wistfully at the bowl, wondering if he might sneak a bite.

No, better not.

His mother finally turned reluctantly to the wizard. "al-Mumit-ji, you will take care of my son? He is my only child."

"I shall keep him with me---" Xikander folded his arms across his chest, not bothering to look in her direction. "---until I have fulfilled my quest."

"Then I shall pray that the gods protect both my son and you on your journey."

"Do as you wish." The wizard dismissed her with a wave of his hand, then seemed to forget her existence.

Ami-jan pressed a small bag of coins into Kehan's hands. "Make offerings at the shrines along the way."

"Every chance I get." Which will probably be few, knowing Xikander. He felt a quick rush of homesickness. Damn, and I haven't even left yet. Staring at her, he tried to memorize every detail of his mother's face: her hair was still thick and dark and shiny as a crow's wing, her face round like the moons and her skin still soft, plump. There were only the faintest hints of wrinkling at the corners of her eyes and much of that lay hidden beneath the thick lashes.

It always surprised him to discover that his mother would still be considered a very beautiful woman. It was part of the reason for the gossip that raced back and forth across the village about her. Part jealous wives who'd caught their husbands staring at his mother, part men who wished she'd look back at them. That and because she wasn't born there, but was an outsider, and subject to suspicion.

Quickly he gave his mother a hard hug, a smile. "We'll be back soon. Don't worry."

"I constantly worry where you're concerned." Ami-jan patted his cheek. "Be careful. Stay away from bad influences." She spared an angry glance back at Xikander. "Don't gamble, don't drink, and avoid the nautch halls. Promise me?"

Unenthusiastically, Kehan nodded. His mother brushed his hair from his forehead, turned and crossed the room. She paused to look back at him once more before letting the tapestry fall across the doorway. After Ami left, he began filling waterskins from the tall, stone storage jars in the corner.

"Well, sa'ab, at least we'll have a fine hot supper later."

Xikander ignored him.

Kehan finished with the skins, stacking them with their small pile of possessions by the doorway. Done. Now to wait for Xikander to close his bag. Kehan stared jealously at the jadughar's bag, wondering when he himself, Xikander's apprentice, would be allowed to touch or use those colorful powders and potions. So far, the best he'd been able to achieve was to collect the plants and flowers the wizard needed for the potions and talismans he grudgingly made for the villagers.

The wizard thought them only mummery, tricks of lowly maslets or jadis. Dismissed them as the toys of mere tricksters, illusionists, or at best, hedge mages. Still, those were what paid the wizard, and those powders and potions were all the magic the villagers could understand or accept.

Not his apprentice, though. Kehan had tried several times to hasten his training under the wizard. The half-faded reminders of the old man's reaction to that impertinence still ached on rainy days. That last time was also when the old man had presented him with the thrice-cursed study stone.

"When you learn the essence of stone and the other elements, then you will be ready to learn the true magic," Xikander had told him. "Until then I wish to hear no more about it." Since then, the damned rock had served as the counter to any question or argument. What is the essence of stone, apprentice?

Xikander’s apprentice would probably be toothless, dead, or a poker before he had that answer. And he wanted more---all the knowledge. It was the only thing he could get that no one could ever take away from him. And he wanted it. For himself, for Ami-jan. Now.

Oh, well, Kehan thought as he plopped down on his charpoy, patience has never been one of my stronger virtues.

It had never been one of Xikander's, either. The jadughar shouldered his sack, took his staff from beside the doorframe and strode out the door without waiting to see if Kehan would follow. Kehan stood and hurried to the doorway, expecting to see Xikander waiting impatiently outside.

Instead, he looked out to the sight of his master dwindling into the distance.

"But what about our. . . ?" He gestured back at the pile in the building, then thought better of it. There was no one to see. Rushing back into the hut, he skidded to a stop and stood staring at the pile of supplies.

Gods, what first? Hurry, amaq, before he gets out of sight.

Quickly spreading a blanket on the floor, he tossed his wet clothing, a cord, the other blanket, the copper pot and his study stone onto it, and gathered up the corners. Kehan pressed the bundle against his side with one arm, picked up the food sack and waterskins with his free hand, ran out the door, and stopped as his improvised bundle fell apart.

He snatched up the sagging corners of the blanket with his free hand, and when the bundle was more secure, sprinted after his master, food sack slapping against his leg as he ran. Periodically Kehan paused to hike up the droopy bundle with his knee, to get a better grip, shove in soggy clothing that threatened to spill out at any moment, or pull back together the dangling blanket edges. Then he ran on.

The courtyard walls had hardly disappeared behind the hill when Xikander suddenly stopped. Kehan, intent on controlling his constantly slipping load, overtook the wizard just as suddenly and was at pains to keep from running the old man down. Instead, he whirled off to one side of the path, tangling in his bundles and falling into a jumble of food, clothing and blankets.

Somewhere during his tumble, he gouged one hip on a leg of the cooking pot, and dropped the study stone squarely onto the point of his ankle.

With a sharp yelp of pain, Kehan disentangled himself from the heap and rubbed at the bruised parts of his person. "Damn!" he muttered, and added more curses when his efforts to miss Xikander only earned him another clout from the wizard's staff.

Not even a hundred paces out of sight of our doorway. There'll be nothing left of me in two tendays.

"Amaq," Xikander told him, "mind your feet or you will have none. I must return to my workroom." Whirling about, the jadughar paced resolutely back the way they had come.

Kehan scrambled up, gathering the scattered belongings, which he clutched to his chest as he stared after Xikander. Confusion gave way to satisfaction. Praise the gods, we're going home. This must've been a test, and I passed it. In spite of the pain, he cheerfully spun about to follow his master,.

"No. You remain here." One bony hand waved Kehan back.

"Bhima's backside." That was only a mutter, though; when the old man used that tone of voice it brooked no argument. Anything he said from this point on would be deemed impudent---and Kehan was not about to chance another lesson in humility. No---no more long cold nights lying immobile in a cabbage patch. Once had been enough. More than enough. I might not have learned humility, he thought, but a cabbage surely learned when to be silent. Well, mostly.

Kehan climbed to the top of the hill and sat down against the base of a sacred lingam to wait for his master. The demon moans from the mountain cliffs wouldn't come for hours, but he'd rather take no chances.

At least, he decided, looking about until he spotted Xikander's wards, I'll be safe from the demons in a holy place. And I'll have a chance to rearrange this mess. He dumped the entire jumble out in front of him, took out the cord. After folding and tying things in various fashions, he tried to find some comfortable way to carry everything.

And he stopped short, head popping up to scrutinize the path back to Karpur.

What could the wizard have forgotten that he would not send me back for? He tugged on his sandals and stood up. Xikander neither fetched nor carried for himself, except for his book and his herb pouch---and the old man had those. This was very odd behavior.

From the hilltop, he could see over their walls and he watched as Xikander disappeared through the doorway, carefully pulling the tapestry closed behind him.

Well, damn. Now he couldn't see.

He was tempted to sneak all the way back to the house and peek around the tapestry, but before he could quite decide to go through with it, Xikander reappeared. Kehan caught the glint of sunlight on a white glass or porcelain pot which the old man quickly stuffed into one of his bag's inner pockets.

After a year, I thought I knew everything about that place. Kehan shook his head. I thought he trusted me.

But, if Xikander wouldn't send me to fetch it, he's certainly not going to tell me what's in that pot. Or why he needs it for this journey.

Kehan turned back to studiously checking the pack he'd created out of the blankets. Even if the wizard was blind, he had a disturbing tendency to know more than a sightless man should. And Xikander did not reward curiosity.

So he didn't turn around until the jadughar was almost even with him. "Are we ready now, Master?" He tried to sound bored, unconcerned and innocent.

"Silence." Xikander moved past him. Kehan got up, picked up the packs and followed.

They walked in silence for a time, Xikander lost in whatever thoughts occupied him so much of each day. Kehan counted the lingas, and the stone cairns that marked the end of the wizard's wards.

Too soon, the last mound of warded stones disappeared behind them. Directly, the nape of his neck prickled and his skin itched all over. He began watching the long grass by the path for any movement, starting at the slightest sound---rustling leaves, bird calls among the trees, even though it always proved to be nothing more.

"Master?" he ventured at last, "Master, we've passed the wards."

No answer. Only the slap of sandals against the dirt.

He cleared his throat and tried again. "al-Mumit sa'ab, shouldn't we do something?" He tried to watch both sides of the path at once, a hand _straying to the talismans under his kurta.

Was there something behind that rock? No, only shadows.

"Master?"

"Silence."

Being constantly alert for demon attack grew tiring. His neck ached from twisting back and forth to search the shadows beneath the bushes, to peer down the path, to stare up into tree limbs.

It was tiring. And after a while, boring.

The Rahkshasa will have to plan their attacks without my help. This is my first trip away from the village, it’s an adventure.

Besides, I'm young and strong---or at least fast---and I handle myself well enough in a fist fight. And I'm in the company of the world's most powerful wizard. Why should I worry?

#

The morning sun through carved screens dappled the marble floors around her, warming the smooth silk of her cushion. She stretched out, rolling onto her back, eyes all but closed. Bored, incredibly bored---but far too comfortable to move.

Until that cursed noise began. Again.

Her ears flattened against the shrill sounds. She'd never liked that woman's singing. Not even before when she'd listened with a human's half-deaf ears. Now it made her teeth ache and her muscles twitch, though all the women in the zenana called it music and giggled and clapped whenever her father's youngest wife began that hideous screeching.

Especially Uncle Hasmukh's wife, who, Ardra Arcana ka Nirod was sure, encouraged the silly fool for spite.

Arcana rolled over and hissed, considered burying her head beneath the cushion. From long experience, she knew that nasal whining would continue for hours---or until food was brought to stuff that damned, wailing mouth into silence.

She wondered what the Sardar had ever seen in that stupid sheep, or in those other whimpering ninnies for that matter. Simpering women content to spend their days in the zenana, nibbling on sugared rose petals, planning elaborate feasts to tempt their lord, or gossiping with the bundlewomen who sold them new ribbons and brocades. Fools, all of them.

Perhaps now was the time to find an amusement to while away a few hours. She could always sleep later, when it was quieter. When she could be left in peace. Or, perhaps, she would simply stay away for a few days---until the thought of all these amaqi no longer made her want to howl. No one would inform her father of her absence---not after the last time.

Gracefully Arcana rose, with a small ripple of sleek muscle under black shining fur. Silently she paced to the window and then leapt to the sill. With a flip of her tail she was gone among the leaves.

#

The scrubby green hills gradually petered away, only to be replaced by patches of scrubbier green trees, which in turn gave way to open fields of tall golden grass and small clusters of yellow and red flowers. For a time, Kehan watched gauzy-winged insects flit about among sweet-smelling blossoms.

Then he watched the clouds.

Then he watched Xikander for a while.

So much for the excitement of travel.

Finally, he could stand the silence no longer. "Master, which way are we going?"

"South."

So far, so good. "Where are we going?"

"Silence!"

So much for information. At least he knew the direction. South. South where the cities were---huge settlements he'd only heard of from travelers or bards. Almost all trade came from the distant mysterious cities south of Karpur. He could name them---Jamrud, Malakand, Lahlraak, Drosh---but had only the haziest idea of their location or distance. Except that they were south and one of them must be the wizard's destination.

He managed to stay quiet for several hours longer, following Xikander and watching him in wonder as the sun slowly crossed the sky. The wizard had always amazed him, but never more than now. Never a missed step, never losing the path. Xikander didn't hesitate when the road forked, but went to the right as if familiar with the way.

Kehan had never questioned his master's blindness before---after all, the wizard had had years to practice the paths to the well, the mirror pond and the privy field. Kehan had never even questioned how Xikander managed to land any of the blows aimed at his apprentice.

Does he hear me, does he smell me? That one girl told me the scent of goat dung clung to my clothing, even though I washed them over and over. No, that's impossible, it's been more than a year.

A skeptical thought flitted through. How could the old man know the paths this far from home? Perhaps Xikander's sight hadn't been lost forever after all, and perhaps the jadughar found it simpler to use his reputed blindness to his advantage rather than to tell anyone of his fortunate recovery of sight.

Kehan shook his head. No, I'm just being suspicious. Still . . .

Walking a bit faster, he moved close enough to watch the wizard's scarred face---searched for clues---anything to prove or disprove his doubts. Xikander's black eyes stared straight ahead, never focusing on anything. Never changing in the light or shade.

Kehan made faces, stuck out his tongue, crossed his eyes. The old man never changed expression.

No, it could be just strength of will, Kehan warned himself. He stooped, grabbed up a rock from the side of the path and made as if to throw it at his master's head.

Xikander never flinched. The old man couldn't be that good an actor.

Or that patient. If he saw what I did, I'd be only a bit of charred fat by now. He is blind.

Quietly, he slowed, fell behind, leaned down and placed the rock back on a soft, grassy spot. Glanced up. No, the wizard hadn't heard him. Bless the gods.

Kehan concentrated on the old man's heels as he followed, brushing away the gnats that swarmed around his head. They never, he noticed, even came close to Xikander. I will learn that as soon as possible, the first spell after I figure out that gods-be-damned stone. No more ant bites, no fleas, no gnats to fly up my nose. He brushed a hand in front of his face to discourage the ones trying to buzz into his eyes and ears.

He paced on.

And on.

#

After several more hours as he began to grow weary, the meadows turned back into forests which developed deep pockets of dark green shadow at their roots.

The sun finally slid down nearer the tops of the trees and Kehan remembered to wonder why the demon wails hadn't begun. Were they too far behind to be heard---or were Rahkshasa stalking them down this road instead of sitting atop the mountain heights? He whirled about, walking backwards as he searched back the way they'd come. Why wasn't Xikander worried? Muscles tensed, ready to fight or flee at first sign of attack.

Nothing happened. For a very long time. Demons can't touch the old man, everyone says so. There's nothing out here. Kehan's pace quickened and he turned back around.

He studied the shadows lengthening off to the side of the road. As his own shadow grew impossibly long legs, he amused himself by making silly steps or gestures for it to follow. He shifted his bundle when one shoulder grew tired and tried to find a position where the study stone didn't thump against him. Then he shifted the bundle back to the other shoulder.

Finally, Xikander began to slow down, to hesitate. To pick his way along. He cast about like a hunting beast, as if he'd lost the scent which had guided him this far. The old man's steps faltered, and at last, at a crossroads, the wizard halted.

"Time," Xikander muttered to himself darkly, "time has betrayed me." The old man's fist clenched, knuckles whitening on his staff. For a moment, the wizard's face reddened with rage, a spasm that passed so quickly Kehan thought he'd mistaken it.

Now the jadughar seemed to sink into himself, looking shrunken and as gray as his clothing. Shoulders slumped, he turned back to Kehan. "Apprentice, I have need of your assistance." The wizard's tired voice sounded less imposing.

Kehan quickly closed the space between them, solicitously took the old man's arm---and Xikander slapped the hand down, jerked away, snarling, his chin lifted. "Do not think you may become familiar. I am no invalid. You are to walk in front. You will lead. I shall follow you, if I must spell it out for you, simpleton."

"But how will you know where to go?"

"Yadu spawn. Ujad. Lackwit! I can hear you. I can smell you. I always know where you are."

"Yes, but where are we?" Kehan looked back and forth at the two pathways which led from the crossroads. "Forgive me, Master. I meant where are we going? I don't know where to lead you."

"South."

At least the old man was consistent.

Holding his tongue, Kehan passed the wizard, and kept walking. He did not look back. The sun, hanging low in the sky on his right, painted the clouds purple, orange and red, like the bright flowers on his mother's festival tunic.

Not even if I die. Not a word, even if I walk my feet to nothing. Either he'll tell me to stop for the night, or I'll fall over in exhaustion. Then let him try to find his way.

On his left, the mountains stood sentinel above the treetops, gold and orange in the sunset, deep purple shadows in their clefts. Clouds crawled across and hid the colored sky, bringing with them a damp, chilled wind.

He trudged on, even when the night breeze seeped through his clothing. Kehan shivered slightly, wondering how much colder he’d have to be before his teeth chattered. Xikander wouldn't have any trouble following me then. And if he couldn't hear that, he must hear the throbbing of the burst blisters on my feet.

Still Xikander made no mention of stopping.

Will I have to fall over to get some rest? Kehan's stomach grumbled. Or food? Supper should've been an hour ago, not to mention the dinner I never got. If he can't hear me, he's the only thing in the forest that can't.

I have to stop, have to rest. Maybe I could just drop to the dirt and refuse to go another step without some food and water.

And sleep. Especially some sleep.

He pictured Xikander stumbling over his body in the path, imagined the wizard's reaction to the demands. Fire irons, fish and cabbage danced before his eyes.

He kept walking.

When another blister swelled up on his heel, Kehan concocted creative, appropriate, complicated and totally useless curses to wish on his master as he limped along.

Maybe I'll learn enough magic to actually curse the old man, if I manage to survive this march. He frowned. And before I curse him, the gods should rain down misfortune on the Chowdhry for his insults, and on whoever left me the legacy of gray eyes and the barbarous al-Haari coloring, and on those miserable goats who got me into all this---and on that rock. `What is the essence of stone, apprentice?'---Gods curse my master, as well. Twice!

He kept himself busy adding to his list as it grew later.

And still he plodded on in the gathering dark. Just as he was contemplating how long he could possibly wait before he must chance lighting one of the old man's precious, rune-covered candles, or if he could even keep it alight in wind, the wizard finally called a halt.

Circling twice, sniffing slowly, Xikander listened intently to the evening wind. "We will stop here. Prepare my dinner."

The jadughar left the road and searched about until he located a low flat rock to sit upon. Once settled, he carefully placed the leather pouch beside him, resting it against his foot. Xikander leaned down, as if to open it, stopped, shook his head, straightened and sat, arms folded across his chest.

Beyond the old man's personal resting spot, just through the trees, Kehan found a small clearing. There he set about making camp, collecting fallen limbs and twigs for firewood, clearing a space on the dirt, and lining it with small rocks. Then he piled wood and brush in the center of his circle. Soon he had a fire glowing warmly in the darkness, while his mother's fragrant kichiri of rice, goat meat, lentils, and onions simmered in the pot.

After leading Xikander to a fallen log nearer the fire, Kehan excused himself and hurried to the small, swift stream which ran along one edge of the clearing, cheerfully gurgling. He sat down, leaned back against a tree and, without even bothering to remove his sandals, plunged his feet into the water.

He jerked them right back out, too, breath sucking in through clenched teeth at the shock.

The water was freezing.

Still, he thought, the current, cold as it was, might soothe his raw open blisters. Slowly, he eased his feet back into the icy stream. Only for a while. Just until they go numb. He watched the setting sun sparkle on the water in front of him.

Just sitting and resting put him in a much better mood. So much so, he even considered retracting a few of his curses.

Maybe.

When his feet stopped hurting.

"If you must invade my home," a soft, silky voice whispered behind him, "at least have the courtesy to invite me to dine."

Chapter 1 Next Chapter