Free The Sword of the South - eARC by David Weber Page A

past the spiral of smoke rising from the bowl of his carven, silver inlaid Dwarvenhame meerschaum. That pipe was a gift from a friend long dead, and its heat-colored stone was hand-polished to a fine gloss from long years of use.
    The red-haired man who’d named himself Kenhodan sat across the taproom from him, the bare blade of his new sword gleaming across his thighs. The Iron Axe was quiet despite the tumult rushing and bellowing about the heavens, and the quiet ticking of the clock above the bar was clearly audible.
    Bahzell frowned mentally, although his expression never flickered, as he considered the younger man and wondered what might be passing through his mind as they sat waiting for the peril of which Wencit had warned. Bahzell had learned, over the many years of their acquaintance, that one thing Wencit of Rūm seldom did was to overstate a danger or a threat. That was the reason he’d bustled the last few, diehard guests into the rainy dark and sent the staff to find lodging elsewhere. Not without protests, although the guests’ complaints had died with remarkable speed when Bahzell twitched his head sideways at Wencit and his wildfire eyes. The staff had been a bit more difficult. None of them had been willing to “desert” Bahzell and Leeana in the face of danger, and against a purely mortal threat, he would have allowed them to stay. Against this threat he’d overridden their protests with the ruthless authority of a hradani chieftain…and a champion of Tomanāk. In fact, he rather wished he’d had the intestinal fortitude to send Leeana off to safety with Gwynna, as well.
    < And what, in all the years of your marriage, suggests to you that you could send Leeana Flame Hair anywhere she chose not to go? > a deep, silent voice rumbled in the back of his brain.
    < As to that ,> he replied just a bit tartly, < I’m thinking I’d’ve had a better chance convincing her she ought to take Gwynna to the chapter house or the Academy if she’d not gone and climbed up on that high Sothōii horse about honor .>
    < Oh, please, Bahzell! > A laugh rolled like fond thunder.
    Bahzell was a wise and canny tactician. That undoubtedly explained why he chose not to reply to any of those questions, and he felt someone else’s fresh amusement at his discretion.
    < Well, I’m thinking that’s all well and good, > he said then, his mood considerably more sober than it had been a moment earlier. < And, truth to tell, one thing I’ve learned is if there’s one person in the entire world as can out-stubborn me, it’s Leeana, so it’s not a task I turn to any oftener than needs must. But it’s also in my mind as Wencit might just have chosen his words a mite carefully earlier tonight .>
    There was silence for a moment, and when that deep, rumbling voice, its depths pregnant with a power before which most mortals would have quailed, spoke once again, its humor had faded.
    < Wencit is a wizard, as I believe he’s mentioned to you a time or two before ,> Tomanāk Orfro, God of War and Judge of Princes, said quietly. < He always chooses his words with care. Indeed, with more care than he’s allowed even you and Leeana to realize, Bahzell. But he told you no more than the truth. You and Kenhodan have never met. >
    < But that’s not to be saying as how I’ve never met a man he might have been, is it now? >
    < No, it’s not ,> Tomanāk acknowledged. < And I did tell you that you and he would meet again someday. I can’t tell you everything about Kenhodan—who he is, why he’s so important to Wencit—and I know you understand why I can’t. But you’re right. You have met the man he would have