The Sword of the South - eARC Read Online Free Page A

steadily for another brace of heartbeats. Then he flicked his mobile ears and nodded. It was a strange sort of nod, one which seemed to acknowledge more than Wencit had actually said.
    “Well, that being so, I’m thinking there’s naught more to be said,” he said out loud, and it was Wencit’s turn to nod.
    The wizard finished his whiskey and straightened.
    “With your permission, I’ll take myself off to the kitchen.”
    “Aye, you be doing that.” The hradani’s expressive ears twitched in combined amusement and resignation. “You’ve something deep in mind. But then, you always do, don’t you just?”
    “As you say, I’m a master wizard. Master wizards always have something deep in mind.”
    Bahzell’s lips quirked and he snorted.
    “Well, be off with you! I’ve a full bar, and you’ll say naught till it suits you, as well I know.”
    “Alas for my reputation,” Wencit mourned, then grinned and pushed off through the crowd.
    He found his way to the Iron Axe’s kitchens with the ease of long familiarity, and his boots clumped down the passage, but none of the kitchen staff noticed. They were too intent on the confrontation between Leeana and the red-haired man. Wencit felt the tension as he entered the kitchen, but no sign of it colored his voice or expression.
    “Good evening to you, Leeana Flame Hair,” he called pleasantly. “The mountain behind the bar told me I’d find you here.”
    “Wencit!” Leeana twitched in surprise, but there was relief in her voice. Only two pairs of eyes did not turn to the wizard: the red-haired man’s, which stared sickly at the tabletop, and the rumbling direcat’s, which watched the red-haired man unblinkingly.
    Wencit glanced quizzically from the taut garrote to the red-haired man’s ashen face. His expression softened as the man’s trembling fingers traced his cruel scars, then the old man extended a hand to Gwynna.
    “And good evening to you, young Gwynna,” he said gently. The girl scampered over to hug him tightly, her face alight with welcome, but the light faded as she looked back at the man whose scars had startled her.
    “I’m more pleased than usual to see you,” Leeana said frankly. She allowed the garrote to slacken, raised her eyebrows at the wizard, and twitched her head sideways at the man seated before her fire.
    “Indeed?”
    “Indeed,” she replied firmly. “Bahzell offered this man hospitality, but now he can’t—or won’t—even tell me his name.”
    “Strange, but not surprising,” Wencit said cryptically.
    “Oh, thank you ever so much!” Leeana said, then snorted. “Have you ever in your entire life given someone a straight answer?” She demanded, yet her voice was more cheerful, as if she drew reassurance from his presence.
    “Wizards always give straight answers—those of us who claim to be honest, that is. But our affairs are usually so tangled the straightest answers appear most crooked.” He lifted Gwynna’s chin with a gentle forefinger and smiled into her eyes. “Tell me, young Gwynna. Could you fetch another bowl of stew for my friend? And perhaps one for me, as well? And—” his smile widened gently “— not drop them?”
    “I never drop bowls!” Gwynna said indignantly.
    “Ah?” Wencit’s eyebrows crinkled as his gaze rested on the broken crockery on the flagstone floor. “Did it fly, then, young Gwynna?”
    “Well,” she twinkled up at him, “ hardly ever.”
    “Very good. My supper will doubtless arrive intact, which is a great relief to my mind.”
    He pushed her gently towards the stewpot and shifted his gaze once more to the red-haired man.
    “Wencit, do you know him?” Leeana asked quietly.
    “Yes and no.” His raised hand forestalled her indignant retort. “I know a great deal about him, Leeana, but he doesn’t know me.”
    “Is he all right?” Her anxious eyes edged meaningfully to Gwynna.
    “You, of all people, should know it’s seldom ‘all right’ to be of interest to