The Sword of the South - eARC Read Online Free PDF

Softly!”
    Wencit’s eyes compelled the red-haired man back onto his bench.
    “You know who I am!” he insisted desperately.
    “Who you are?” The old man toyed with the words, not tauntingly, but is if tasting their meaning. “Who can say who a man is? Not I! I can’t even tell you who I am myself—not accurately. Tomorrow I’ll no longer be the man I am today, and the me of yesterday has already died. No, I can’t tell you who you are, but perhaps I can tell you what you are, and that’s almost as good.” He paused and eyed the other levelly. “Almost.”
    “I see.” The red-haired man smiled, and it was not a pleasant expression. “Isn’t there a proverb about asking wizards questions?”
    “A great many of them, actually. But I think the one you want says ‘Ask a wizard a question only if you know the answer—and even then, his answer will confuse you.’”
    “You’re right. That’s the one I was trying to recall.”
    “I thought it might be. Do you want an answer?”
    “Will it confuse me?”
    “Undoubtedly,” the wizard said calmly, spooning up more stew.
    The red-haired man regarded him across the table, filled with a queer calm, like ice over a fire. He hadn’t known he was a stranger to himself before Gwynna reacted to his scars, and the aftershock of finding that he had no past still echoed in his soul. He had no idea of who or what he was, no idea of what he might have done. Was he a criminal? An outlawed man with a price on his head? He remembered no crimes—and wouldn’t that be a poor defense? Did he have a wife of his own? A family who’d become less than ghosts as they vanished from his memory? Was someone desperately searching for him, or did no one in all the world care what might have become of him? All those questions, and a thousand more besides, poured through him, yet the old man seemed unconcerned by his anguished confusion. He sat playing word games and swallowing stew as if things like this happened every day! Perhaps they did happen to wizards, but the red-haired man was ill prepared to cope with disaster on such a scale. If the wizard had the smallest clue to this…this absence , this negation of his past, of course he wanted to hear it. However confusing or frightening it might be.
    “Tell me, then, Wizard.” He made his voice mocking, though it took more courage than he’d thought he had. “What am I?”
    “An important piece of a very large puzzle,” the old man replied.
    “You’re right,” the red-haired man snorted, green eyes dark with disappointment. “I’m confused.”
    “It’s generally confusing to be a puzzle piece,” the other man agreed. “Especially when the puzzle is vaster than you can possibly imagine.”
    “Really? Just how does this piece fit in? What makes me so important that a wizard chooses to play riddle games with me? Or is that question permitted? the red-haired man asked bitterly.
    “The question’ permitted,” the old man said, suddenly serious, “but I can’t answer it now. Not in full, though I can tell you some things.”
    “Such as?” The red-haired man bent across the table, unable to hide the eagerness in his eyes.
    “I will tell you this much. You’re a fighting man, as your scars proclaim, but you’re also much more than that, my friend. You’re a man people will find it easy to like—perhaps even to follow—and such men are always dangerous, not least to themselves. You have strengths of which you’re not aware, strengths which are hidden deep within you, and they make you a sharp edged tool for a knowing hand.”
    “Wonderful,” the red-haired man said bitterly. “Are you trying to confuse me? Isn’t simple ignorance enough for you? Why can’t you give me something useful? ”
    “I have.” The old man swallowed and waved his spoon. “Put it together. I’m a wizard, and wizards’ answers are limited because we know too much. An injudicious word, a hint too much, and the damage is done. An