Free The Sword of the South - eARC by David Weber

to accept such risks for your daughter, Leeana. Especially not when the guest prefers to leave before his enemies strike.”
    “Honor requires what we believe it requires.” Leeana sounded as if she were reciting a creed. “You were our friend even before we ever met. You were the one person who helped Bahzell and Father put an end to almost a thousand years of slaughter between Sothōii and hradani. You hammered those diehard idiots in the Kraithâlyr when they tried to fight King Markhos’ decision to revise the war maids’ charter. You warned us about Sharlassa’s mage gift, and you held my hand when Gwynna was born and Bahzell couldn’t come. You’ve always been our friend, you’re our friend now, and we do not desert our friends, Wencit of Rūm! We offer you the protection of our roof, and you will offend and dishonor us if you refuse.”
    Wind roared around the eaves as Wencit stared at her determined face. When he spoke again, he was through arguing. He was pleading.
    “Leeana, listen to me. A time is coming when those dear to me will pay for their love and courage. I know they will, and I thought I could accept it. I was wrong. Some things are more important than all a wizard’s schemes. I should never have let you come so close to me, but I was…lonely. Now I want this danger away from you. From Gwynna.” He sounded hesitant, almost beaten, as if tormented by something the others couldn’t see. “I’ve risked you both before, and I’d back you against a hundred assassins. You know that. But I don’t choose to involve you in this. What’s begun tonight is worse than assassins could ever be, Leeana. As bad as anything Bahzell has ever faced in Tomanāk’s service and, yes, worse even than that. Believe me, please.”
    Leeana rested her hand on her husband’s shoulder and listened to Wencit’s words. Then she looked into Bahzell’s face, eyebrows lifted. Brown eyes met green and reached silent agreement.
    “Then I’d best get my sword,” Bahzell said simply.

CHAPTER THREE
    Shadows by Night
    The storm prowled the city like a conquering army as night guttered towards a close. The City Guard changed, new men tramping miserably to their sodden posts through sheets of windy rain while others hurried back to the welcome comfort of barracks fires and hot food. Water chuckled and laughed through downspouts, then gurgled and chattered in the deep gutters, its voice lost in the storm as it spouted and fumed headlong for the sea.
    Tiny lights gleamed in a smooth crystal. Their wash illuminated the stern face of a blonde-haired woman as she peered past the lights at the water-washed Belhadan streets. Her eyes were intent, her gaze questing for signs of her servants’ progress. Long, slow minutes dragged past, and she endured them with a hard-learned patience which was foreign to her nature. Fresh lightning flared, washing the gramerhain crystal’s images with blue-white glare that flickered and crackled, and her search ended abruptly. She leaned close—so close her breath misted the stone—and a hard glitter of anticipation burnished her eyes while an unpleasant smile curled her full, red lips.
    Shadows gathered in the rainswept night. They moved silently through the maze of streets and alleys, picking an unseen way towards a certain tavern. Deeper dark and blackly solid, they filtered noiselessly through the wind-slashed night while Baroness Wulfra smiled upon them.
    * * *
    Bahzell Bahnakson leaned back comfortably in a chair propped against the taproom wall. The tavern keeper’s apron had vanished, hanging on its peg and replaced by the chain mail hauberk, breastplate, and deep green surcoat of his order. The crossed mace and sword of Tomanāk on that surcoat’s breast gleamed fitfully golden through the dimness of the turned-down lamps as the hearth fire tossed fitful spits of flame among the embers. An enormous sword leaned against the wall beside him, and his eyes were thoughtful as he gazed