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

a wizard, Leeana Hanathafressa,” Wencit said gently. “But I think no harm will come to Gwynna from him.”
    Leeana peered into the multi-colored depths of his strange eyes. Something deep and hidden looked back from their whirling depths, and she nodded. He’d answered her as fully as he would. He wasn’t telling everything—he never did—but she trusted him. Especially where Gwynna was concerned. There was some link between the wizard and her daughter, one Leeana had never understood but whose strength she could not doubt. Her hands moved precisely, rewrapping the garrote around her head, and Wencit sighed inwardly at her affirmation of confidence.
    “Let me sit and eat with him,” he said softly. “I have to speak with him, and this is the best time. Besides—” he smiled teasingly “—it will convince you of his harmlessness.”
    “Japester!” She stabbed his ribs with a stiff index finger and he whuffed. Then she tossed a word at the direcat, and the great beast retreated slowly into his original place. He lay down neatly, chin on massive forepaws, but his eyes remained on the red-haired man.
    “I’ll see you’re not disturbed,” she said softly, “but you won’t leave this house until you tell me more than you have!”
    “All that I can,” he promised, touching her forehead gently. She gripped his forearm tight.
    “Ha! You mean all you want me to know!”
    “It’s the same thing, my dear,” he said, smiling faintly.
    “Here!” Gwynna dashed up, a full bowl in either hand.
    “Am I supposed to stand in the corner and eat with one hand?” Wencit demanded. “The table, you little wretch!”
    Gwynna laughed and ran to set the bowls in place. The red-haired man scarcely noticed her, though she stared at him with frank curiosity, certain it was safe to do so now that Wencit had come.
    Leeana gathered up her daughter and moved into the scullery, setting the girl to washing trenchers and glasses. She bustled the kitchen staff back to its tasks and took her own turn at the great sinks, but her eyes returned ever and again to the red-haired man and the old wizard by the fire, and a puzzled frown creased her brow.
    * * *
    “Give you good evening, young sir.”
    The red-haired man looked up at the soft voice and saw an old man with a face creased by laughter, tears, and weather. Hair white as snow but thick and healthy was held back by a tooled leather headband, and bushy eyebrows moved expressively above strange eyes— glowing eyes that seemed all colors yet called no color their own. The old man’s body looked younger than his face, and he had the scarred, powerful hands and wrists of a swordsman. He stood as tall as the red-haired man himself, and under his wet poncho he wore the sheathed weapons of a warrior. His appearance was shabby, yet an indefinable sense of power clung to his deep voice and ancient frame.
    “I beg your pardon,” the red-haired man made himself mutter. “I’m afraid I feel…unwell.”
    “Hardly surprising.” The old man sat opposite him and spooned up stew, regarding him through the aromatic steam. “It’s…unpleasant to realize one has no past.”
    “Yes,” the younger man said softly. “I don’t—” then he broke off.
    “How did you know?” he whispered, his right hand searching his belt for something that wasn’t there.
    “It’s my job to know things,” the old man said lightly. “I’m a wizard.”
    “ Wizard?! ” The word was a hiss, and those searching fingers closed convulsively on a missing hilt. The old man only laughed and pushed the second bowl towards him.
    “Indeed. Come now, man! Not all wizards have been evil, though I grant the breed has an evil name these days. But Bahzell Bloody Hand would have no dark wizard in his house!”
    “Possibly not.” The red-haired man’s voice was harsh as he reached blindly for a spoon, eyes on the wizard’s face. “Only I’ve never even heard of any ‘Bloody Hand,’ and even if I had, it