Flight to Savage Empire

Chapter Two

By the time Zanos got home from the temple, he could do nothing but fall into bed and sleep. For some time he slept the dreamless sleep of exhaustion, but eventually his soul retreated into his favorite dream-the dream that had sustained him through all the years of his captivity.

He stood on the deck of a northbound ship, staring at the waters ahead as the blue sky slowly turned to a familiar iron gray. The air grew cool and crisp, and green islands appeared on the horizon, snow-capped mountains rising to greet him and his friends.

Above them, white birds with black-tipped wings circled the ship, and he pointed them out to Astra as she came up to him and lovingly slipped her arm around-

NO! Suddenly he was sitting up in bed, surrounded by darkness, hearing nothing but his own rapid breathing. “By Mawort-!” he swore, but broke off. He didn’t really believe in the gods, not even the warrior god to whom his life was dedicated.

Serafon is right, he thought. Why am I dreaming of a Reader in such terms?

He didn’t know, as he sat sweating in the darkness, which Astra terrified him more: the Reader who might discover his secret… or the woman who had in two brief encounters impressed him as no other woman ever had. Against his will, her face appeared in his mind, mature yet childlike, with beautiful features that reminded him of one of the temple statues. When she had smiled at him after the earthquake- He wanted to see that smile again.

And I will, he told himseE She is part of my destiny. He had not slept long enough to recover his strength, and drowsiness began to overtake him again. But before he yielded, one last thought warned, That destiny may be my destruction.

In the Academy the next day, Astra also struggled with a sense of impending danger. She had agreed to meet Tressa out of body.

Why? she demanded of herself, thoughts carefully shielded. Why did I trust her? She’s no friend-

never has been. I’ve often wished she could be, since it would have been safe…

Had Astra and Tressa been friends, they would not have had to fear separation. Readers who failed to reach the top ranks were married off to other failed Readers, to produce children with stronger talents, in service to the empire. Consummating such marriages weakened those Readers’ meager powers, and birthing children sometimes destroyed a mother’s powers entirely. In all cases, she lost contact with the girls she had grown up with.

Astra remembered the sad day when her friend Helena was wed to Tranos, a total stranger. She was there at her friend’s request, as the bride’s attendant. Just before the ceremony, the two young Readers had stolen a few minutes by themselves. Helena had cried in Astra’s arms, for the badge of the Dark Moon had just been pinned on her.

Both girls looked on it as an unearned mark of shame. But even though Astra could sympathize with her friend and offer her comfort, she could not fully appreciate Helena’s turmoil. For Astra, there was no fear of treading the Path of the Dark Moon. How could someone cursed with so much Reading power not pass the test for Magister?

Four years later, when her turn finally came, it was all Astra could do not to appear overconfident to the Masters who tested her-in fact, she had been careful not to show the full range of her powers that day, for in one so young they might pose a threat to ambitious members of the Council.

She had passed, of course-but although her incredible strength and range guaranteed her a place in an Academy for life, she had not achieved the control she would have to have before making the final step into the ranks of Masters.

That was where Astra eventually planned to be. She still had ten years until she reached the height of her powers; surely by then she would gain control. Once in the highest rank, she would be in the realm of real power-perhaps in charge of an Academy of her own. And one day, in the far future, perhaps she might sit in Portia’s seat. Master of Masters, Head of the Tiberium Academy, adviser to the Emperor-why was she risking all that on Tressa’s dare?

But when Astra had been ritually washing her hands and face in the temple fountain before the memorial service for Master Quantus, Tressa had come up beside her and whispered, “I have the same suspicions you do. Foul play!”

But Tressa had been closed to Reading, and Astra, despite the startlement Tressa’s statement caused her, had managed-she hoped-not to broadcast to the other Readers. Those other Readers were already taking their places, and the sound of running water covered their voices as Astra whispered back, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean!” the other Magister insisted. “After the service, when we all go back to our rooms to meditate, meet me on the plane of privacy!” And she shook the water off her hands and stalked to her place at the back of the temple. Astra followed, deliberately letting herself be caught up in the ceremony so that her turbulent emotions would attract no attention.

If only no one had Read that conversation-

Astra had not been able to tell that anyone had, and she was certain she could catch any Reader spying on them as they left their bodies. They simply would not move to the plane of privacy if there was anyone Reading them.

By the time Tressa’s mind touched hers, Astra was certain they were alone. She left her body, which she had carefully arranged on her bed so that nothing would cramp or cut off her circulation while her attention was elsewhere.

Wordlessly, they moved together to the plane of privacy. Not since her last meeting with Master Quantus had Astra come here, where no Reader could eavesdrop on their conversation unless that person had come out of body and passed over to this particular plane with them.

Just as she was admiring the smooth techniques Tressa had achieved, the other woman broke the spell with the tasteless remark, III thought that memorial service would go on forever.”

Astra made no attempt to hide her irritation. “What do you want to tell me?”

“Why are you so upset? You act as if Master Quantus was a friend of yours.”

Tressa knew they could never have met in person, but she didn’t know the rest. “He was a friend. Like me, he was a musician-and Master Thenea sent me to him on the plane of privacy when she couldn’t answer my questions on musical theory. He was a great authority-and very patient with a less experienced musician.” He had also given Astra valuable lessons in how to ask those difficult questions without alienating her own teachers who didn’t know the answers. “From what little contact I had with him,”

she added, “he impressed me as a good teacher and a very kind, gentle person.”

“Perhaps,” Tressa said with the mental equivalent of a shrug, “but that’s not the kind of person Portia lets into her inner circle.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Council of Masters has split into two factions: Portia and other heads of Academies against the Masters who don’t teach. Portia’s group may be smaller, but they are well organized and in constant communication. The others are divided over changes in the Reader system-trying to prevent further failures at the Magister level after the poor showings of the past few years.”

Ill know all that,” Astra told her. “Get to your point.”

“Four Masters have died in the past eight months. One after a long illness, one in a mysterious accident, one in an Academy fire-which could have been deliberately set-and now Master Quantus.”

“He died of heart failure,” said Astra.

“Did you examine the body? He had something in common with the other three who recently died: he disagreed with Portia’s new policy of retesting Magisters and Masters. Last month, he brought a formal protest before the entire Council when one of his staff members was reevaluated and placed on the Path of the Dark Moon… and now he’s dead.”

Tressa’s suspicions were only too familiar, for Astra had been refusing to make the same connections in her own mind. They had been the source of her reaction to the news of Quantus’ death-but it would not do to speculate about such matters, especially with the Academy’s most notorious gossip.

She yearned to share her fears with another strong Reader, but it had to be someone she could fully trust.

And there was no such person, she realized sadly, in the whole of the Aventine Empire.

At her mental silence, Tressa urged, “Astra, it’s time to put our differences aside. If Portia can retest and demote even Masters-and may be murdering some she can’t-what chance have young Magisters like us got if we look like a threat to her?”

“What are you proposing, Tressa?”

“We must create our own secret faction-the way they did at the Adigia Academy. Don’t pretend you haven’t heard about Master Lenardo and his students- first Galen went over to the savages, and then Lenardo followed. He came back for another student, Torio-and nobody’s sure whether Master Clement can be trusted anymore.”

It was all Astra could do to keep Tressa from Reading her memory of Master Clement and that boy-Decius-walking through The Maze just before the earthquake. Were they plotting against the empire, afraid to talk within the walls of their own Academy?

After all, Lenardo had been exiled as a traitor for openly declaring that the Aventine Empire should seek peace with the Adept Lords who ruled the lands of the savages-the same savages who could set fires with the powers of their minds, throw thunderbolts, or stop someone’s heart with a glance. They pushed back the walls of the empire, enslaved the citizens of the lands they captured, and killed any Readers they discovered. Everyone had expected Lenardo to meet the same fate-but he hadn’t.

Not long ago the traitor had secretly returned to the empire, entered this very Academy, and faced Portia herself. Astra had seen a tall man with a beard and long hair, but at the time she had had no idea who he was. Soon enough the rumors had started flying-rumors Astra, of all people, could not shut out of her consciousness.

Some said that Lenardo had tried to twist Portia’s mind, using the same Adept sorcery that his captors had used on him. If he had influenced Portia, though, it had been only briefly-she had raised the alarm that very night. Lenardo had fought clear of the city, stealing away one of his former students-a blind Reader named Torio-but the boy had been killed at the border.

Border security was tightened, but people lived in fear of what the savages might try next. What if Tressa was right? What if savage Adepts were indeed slipping in and out of the empire at will? This was no time for Readers to be disputing with one another!

“You want us to turn traitor?” she demanded of Tressa.

“No! I’m saying we can borrow their methods. Astra, just think about it-the Aventine Empire has already lost half its territory. Lenardo has formed an alliance with the savages and even learned their Adept powers. Our only safety was that the savages didn’t have Readers to guide them-and now they do! Just when our only hope is our system of Readers, it’s breaking up into factions!”

“So you want to create another one.”

“No. Well, yes-but look, it’s the old Masters who are tearing the system apart. Surely some of the younger Masters, and almost all the Magisters, would side with us. We could all gather evidence of what Portia and her cronies are doing. Then, if she turns on us-”

“You would threaten the Master of Masters?”

“We have to protect ourselves!” Tressa insisted. “If we can keep Portia at bay for just a while longer, we’ll be safe. She may act like a god, but she’s not immortal. She can’t live many years longer. If Marina gets her place, our troubles will be over.”

“Tressa, the Council would never choose someone like Marina! Not even to head this Academy-and for Master of Masters they’d choose someone strong,

especially if at the time the Council is divided. They’d choose someone who could pull-or force-the various factions back into harmony.”

Clearly, Tressa hadn’t thought so far. “Still, whoever they choose will have to be more rational than Portia. She’s obsessed with the empire’s enemies. Either she thinks the savages are causing all our problems-or she hopes they are, because that would force everyone to join with her to protect the empire.”

“So Portia is no different from everybody else in blaming the savages.”

Ill think she’s really convinced. Haven’t you noticed in the past few months how Portia suddenly needed to “rest” right after every tremor to shake the city? I overheard her telling Marina-”

“Tressa-you’ve been eavesdropping on Portia? And you haven’t been caught?!”

“Astra, I told you-she’s old. Both of them are, and their powers are weakening. I Read Portia telling Marina that the tremors are being caused by savage Adepts.”

Such a thought was almost too frightening to contemplate. Tressa took Astra’s mental silence as a request for further information. “That tremor yesterday did some damage in The Maze-but a real earthquake would level half the city. If that’s the best the Adepts can do, we have nothing to worry about. Portia’s fears are the delusion of an old and senile woman.”

“But one still powerful enough to destroy Magisters who conspire against her,” Astra reminded.

“Whatever plot you’re constructing, Tressa, I want no part of it.”

Astra mentally held her breath, afraid to think as the silence between them grew deeper than the void in which they floated. Finally she caught a thought from Tressa: This one has no love for Portia- she won’t betray me.

Indeed, Astra had no intention of letting this conversation be known-and she let that determination reach Tressa.

But as they were wordlessly parting to return to their bodies, Astra heard another thought: Someday soon, she’ll wish she’d listened to me.

Although she knew she was meant to “hear” it, Astra made no reply, waiting until Tressa’s consciousness had completely departed before she allowed her own turmoil to surface. Were renegade Readers guiding the savage Adepts to destroy the empire? Was that what Master Clement had been doing in The Maze-? Of course they would not try to destroy the city with one or more of their own still within its walls-but had it been a test of their powers?

Surely, oh surely such a plot was possible only in her imagination! If she could talk to someone-but she could trust no one. No one! What was she to do?

Massos charged Zanos at full speed, looking more like a huge black bull than a man as he closed the gap between them. Zanos held his position until the last moment, then made a spinning sidestep, easily evading Massos’ outstretched arms and kicking him in the buttocks as he passed.

The blow threw the black gladiator off-stride, nearly propelling him into the wall. He spun and glared at his master, who was calmly backstepping to the center of the wrestling pit, never taking his eyes off his opponent.

Zanos stopped, set himself with legs spread, and beckoned to Massos. “Come on, plow-ox. Even you can do better than that.”

The six slave-gladiators in the spectators’ seats sucked in a collective breath, but said nothing. For Zanos to challenge Massos to a practice match was one thing-to ridicule him in front of others was to invite injury or death.

Slowly, warily, Massos approached Zanos, circling as he came within arm’s length. Zanos followed his opponent only with his eyes, leaving his right side apparently open. Massos made a sudden leap-and was backflipped through the air, landing with a sickening thud.

The big man lay gasping like a fish out of water, and Zanos wondered if he could ever turn all that raw strength into fighting skill. Massos was turning out to be a bad bargain, although his huge size and exotic appearance struck fear into the inexperienced fighters Zanos pitted him against. Sheer strength had won him many matches, but it was getting harder and harder to find appropriate opponents.

The underground chamber remained silent as Zanos knelt to see that there was nothing wrong with Massos except for having the breath knocked out of him. Then Zanos stood up and unsmilingly helped the man back to his feet.

It should not have been that easy to defeat him- nor was Massos, of all Zanos’ men, capable of deceit in the ring. Indeed, it was one of the problems with his training that he could not learn to feint! But for all Massos’ crudeness, even Zanos should not have been able, not only to take him down, but to put him out in only two moves.

He looked up at the other gladiators. “Practice is now over, ” he announced, watching them glance at one another uneasily. None of them had yet performed.

“Also over is the practice of disobeying my orders, ” Zanos continued. “When I announce a curfew, there will be no more violations. When I give an order, there will be no backtalk, or the next practice will be with weapons-real, not wooden. Against me.”

He wished he could Read which of his men were as out of condition as Massos. They had won their last games in the arena-although Salamis had barely defeated his opponent in a match that he should have had easily, while Aeson was out of the wrestling season because of a dislocated shoulder and torn tendons. He had won his match, but possibly at the cost of his career if that injury did not heal properly.

They had all been slipping, Zanos was sure, because he had counted on their dedication to the games to keep them on the regimen he had laid out. Time to tighten the reins.

“I’ve given all of you privileges that most slaves only dream of, and you’ve repaid me with sloppy performances-and Clavius by losing his life. Now you will have to earn those privileges before you have them again-and each of you will have to earn back my trust. Now-five laps around the arena, today and every day to keep your stamina. Then as soon as you’ve cooled off, back to your quarters!”

“Yes, Zanos,” came back to him in ragged chorus as his men hastened to obey. Massos’ eyes met his for a moment, but his defiant look quickly subsided. Then the black giant hoisted himself out of the pit and followed the others.

Zanos stayed where he was until they had all gone but his manservant Ard, who stood watching him towel off.

Like Zanos, Ard was a Maduran, but about ten years younger, just past adolescence. While Zanos’ red hair flamed, Ard’s was sandy, and his slight build made it unlikely that he could develop into an athlete.

So when Zanos had redeemed his fellow countryman from the auction block, he had had him taught to read and write, and put him to work as chief servant when he bought his villa.

“What are you doing here?” Zanos asked as he picked up his cloak and slung it over his shoulders.

Ard glanced at the wrestling pit, then at his master. “I know it’s not my place to question your judgment-”

“Then don’t,” Zanos said tersely. “I know-humiliating Massos in front of the others could turn him against me-but he’s not the type to hold a grudge. I showed him he’s out of condition. He knows it’s from following the other men on their escapades-and if he toes the line, the others will too. He’s the strongest, if not the smartest-and he’s got a kind of animal wisdom most of us have lost. “

His men needed a leader from among themselves- and better the least likely of them to indulge in clever schemes. Clavius had been their leader. Zanos had never questioned his activities because they had become friends. / can’t afford to let that happen again.

“If we’re ever going to get out of the empire,” Zanos said to Ard, “we can’t afford to lose many more matches. Now, tell me-what are you doing here?”

“You asked to be kept informed of the whereabouts of that female Reader…”

To honor the passing of Master Quantus, all Academy classes had been suspended for the day. Before most of the Readers had left their private meditations, Astra slipped out of the Academy to finish her interrupted journey to Morellas. Bundled up in a gray wool cloak, she walked the streets of The Maze incognito, drawing nothing more than occasional glances.

It was a cold day, threatening rain. The wind through the narrow streets penetrated her cloak, so that by the time she reached her destination she welcomed the wine, roaring fire, and congenial atmosphere of Morella’s sitting room.

Morella was in a talkative mood, and Astra maneuvered the conversation around to the subject of gladiators. She told Morella about meeting Zanos at the arena, ending with, “I understand his fighter Clavius was one of your regular customers.”

The bordello owner didn’t take her cue. Instead, she leaned on the small table between them and studied Astra. Finally she asked, “Just what is it you want to know?”

Astra dropped her eyes in embarrassment. “Was I really that obvious?”

Morella chuckled. “I may not be a Reader, Astra, but in my business we develop an instinct for what someone wants, since he may not know how to ask for it.”

Astra nodded. “Discretion is also an important part of your business.”

“And yours,” the older woman replied. “But there’s discretion and discretion. I have no idea what you’re searching for, or why-but I trust you. Your judgment gave me back my health. Ask your questions.”

“Very well, then.” Astra leaned forward eagerly. “Was Clavius a regular customer here?”

“Twice a week, usually. Especially each night before he was scheduled to fight in the bloodgames. He didn’t believe the myth about such activities sapping his strength. In fact, he claimed it made him fight that much better.”

Astra was puzzled. “Twice a week? How could a slave afford that much… entertainment?”

Morella said, “He was a champion, Astra. The stable owners are very generous to their gladiators who bring in prizes and winnings. Such rewards give the gladiators more incentive-Zanos knows that. True, he didn’t pay for all of Clavius’ visits, but Clea favored him… and I, too, must allow some leeway to those who serve me well.”

“Does… Zanos often come here?”

“Of course he comes in for a drink sometimes, and to tease and talk with my girls. He’s a great favorite, but-” She stared at Astra with a puzzled frown. “You didn’t know? I’m sorry-you don’t live in The Maze, or follow the games, so how would you? It’s common knowledge Zanos can’t enjoy a woman’s favors. In his early arena days, he suffered a sword wound to his vitals. He won the match, but he lost-”

Morella shrugged with a sad smile. “And we, too. Such a beautiful man.”

Suddenly Astra recalled that Vortius had taunted Zanos about being impotent in their argument at the arena. Why had she forgotten that?

“Morella!”

The cry brought both women to their feet. One of the prostitutes-a dark-skinned girl named Phaeru-

met them in the doorway, her eyes wide with fear.

“It’s Clea!” she said frantically. “Her door’s locked and she won’t answer when I knock. Something’s wrong!”

Astra followed Morella and Phaeru down the corridor at a brisk pace, opening herself to Reading, no longer concerned about the privacy of possible daytime customers in the nearby rooms. When Morella began pounding on one of the doors, Astra Read past that barrier to the room’s interior.

“Morella,” she said, putting a restraining hand on the woman’s shoulder, “there is no one in that room.”

Morella glanced at her. “But it’s bolted-”

“The room is empty,” Astra said flatly. “She’s gone, and so are her belongings. She must have locked the door and left by the window. The shutters are open.”

A few minutes later, Phaeru hoisted herself through the open window and into Clea’s room. She unbolted the door and admitted Astra and Morella, who told the other girls attracted by the commotion to stay in the corridor.

Astra shivered as she closed the door, cutting off the babble of questions. The room was as cold as the outdoors, the fire of its hearth long dead.

“I don’t understand it!” Morella exclaimed as she closed and locked the shutters. “What could have happened? I thought Clea was happy here.”

There was no sign of a struggle, but the room held

only its furnishings, no sign of personal possessions. It appeared that Clea had left on her own, but-

Something. A feeling… not unlike an odor. Something in the air that Astra’s powers could “smell.”

A sense of fear. No-deeper than fear.

“Clea left here in a great hurry,” the Reader announced, “and in terror.”

“Terror?” Morella asked. “Terror of what? Of whom?”

“Her last customer,” Astra heard herself say, the wild talent of Reading the past of an object or place taking over her mind. To some degree, she had every talent possible to a Reader, but this one rarely manifested. It felt very strange-as if she were inventing what she said as she spoke, yet did not know what words would come next. “Who was the last person to be with Clea?”

Both Morella and Phaeru frowned, trying to remember.

“I’ll have to check my records,” the bordello owner said.

“Another thing,” Astra continued. “Did Clavius have a favorite? Did he always request Clea?”

Morella stared at her.“Yes… every time.”

Astra left Morella’s feeling perplexed. Each question answered seemed to raise a dozen more.

Corruption, she supposed, was to be expected in The Maze, but the mental atmosphere of the brothel was terrify-ingly like the feelings she had Read from Tressa. Could there be a connection-?

“Changing professions, Astra?”

She jumped, startled, as Zanos materialized from the alley next to the bordello. “I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Why, I thought it was impossible to sneak up on a Reader,” he said in mock surprise.

Indeed, the only people invisible to a Reader’s inner sight were the savage Adepts-when that chill-ing thought touched her, she focused her powers on him. As before, she could easily Read his surface thoughts and emotions. No, he was not an Adept. Whatever secret he hid, that was not it.

“I–I guess I had my mind on other things,” she said as he fell in step beside her. “I was on my way to your villa-but- You were waiting for me, weren’t you?” Could the man be an unidentified Reader? It was theoretically possible for someone of very limited powers to slip through the screenings given every child in the empire, developing a minor talent at a later age.

Zanos merely smiled.

“All right-how did you know I was in there?”

His smile became a grin. “I told you-I keep informed about everything in The Maze. You were seen going into Morella’s, so I decided to escort you back-in case you walk under some more scaffolding,”

he added placatingly.

So much for special powers. “Very funny,” she said, swallowing with difficulty. Talking in the cold air was irritating her throat. But I’ve never known a male nonReader to be so friendly with me before.

Just then the lowering clouds burst, releasing torrents of cold rain. People in the streets ran for shelter.

The Academy was over a mile away.

“Lets go back to Morella’s,” Astra said, pulling a fold of her cloak over her head.

“No, I have a better idea, ‘ Zanos said, putting a guiding arm around her shoulders. “Come with me.”

His villa was indeed closer, but by the time they reached it-just as the rain stopped, of course-Astra felt the wet penetrating even her woolen cloak.

Zanos’ servants met them at the door. The young woman, Lanna, escorted Astra into a room where a most welcome fire was waiting on the hearth. Brooking no protests, Lanna soon had Astra out of her wet clothes, toweled dry, and wrapped in a warm robe-

but even so, Astra was seized with a fit of sneezing that shook her whole body.

I’m definitely getting my annual cold, Astra thought miserably. Her face was hot, her hands and feet cold, and her throat was getting drier and more painful by the moment.

As if in response to her thought, the manservant, Ard, brought in herb tea. “Zanos will rejoin you shortly, Magister,” he announced as he placed the tray before her.

“Thank you,” she croaked, wishing she had lemon and honey to mix with the tea. Still, the hot drink soothed her throat as Lanna seated her on soft cushions with her back to the fire and unbraided her hair, combing it out to dry.

The luxurious attention felt strange, but Lanna’s touch was unobtrusive, and it was pleasant not to have to fend for herself when she did not feel well.

She looked around the room. It was conservatively decorated in the finest of furnishings and fabrics.

Missing something, she realized that in the home of a gladiator she had somehow expected the outrageous-a stuffed leopard, perhaps, or at least a display of weapons on the wall. Instead, a mural that looked recently painted depicted snow-covered mountains on one wall, and the rest were bare.

In the far corner was a low table, holding several musical instruments. A large wooden flute, a five-string harp, a lute…

“Does your master play those instruments?” she asked Lanna.

“Yes, Magister. Especially the flute. Many of the street musicians come here for music parties, sharing new songs and having fun with old ones.”

Astra felt a twinge of jealousy, for the music curriculum at the Academy left little room for creativity or

“fun.” Portia preferred that only the classics be taught, discouraging experimentation or improvisation until Astra had enlisted the aid of Master Quantus to persuade her that if no one was allowed to experiment, there would be no works from this generation worthy to become classics.

Sorrow at the reminder of her loss made Astra blink, her sore throat tightening for a moment. She took another sip of tea, and then, to get her mind off the dead musician, she asked Lanna if she might examine the lute.

It was a fine old instrument, but sadly out of tune. Astra carefully tightened the strings, each to its proper pitch, and began to play one of her own compositions. It was contemplative, yet simple-something she often played when she was thinking her way through a problem.

When she finished, she looked up to find Zanos watching from the doorway. This time she knew she hadn’t Read him because she had been concentrating on something else-no magic, no mystery.

“Very nice,” he said as he entered. He picked up the flute, then joined her by the fire, reclining on a large pillow. “You never mentioned that you are a musician-and a very good one.”

“Thank you,” she replied, suppressing a cough. “I didn’t know you played. Lanna tells me you hold music parties.”

“Yes-the professionals put up with my playing,” he said wryly. “As a boy I spent much more time practicing swordsmanship than music, and now that I have time for music I’m too old to develop great skill.”

Lanna put the pins back into Astra’s rebraided hair, and quietly left the room. Alone with Zanos, Astra found herself once again examining her feelings about him. Why should I feel uneasy? she asked herself.

He seems to want to be my friend. Surely I could Read any ulterior motive. But part of the tension she felt was coming from Zanos, she realized. He was smiling at her as she tunelessly strummed the lute, but a part of his mind was studying her with great curiosity.

Would it be wise to tell him what she’d discovered at Morella’s?

Suddenly he put the flute to his lips and began playing a tune she found vaguely familiar. Without thinking, she began to harmonize on the lute. The tension faded as their musical talents merged into a single entity.

On the second go-round, the song took on a vitality of its own, bringing Astra a joy she had never known before. Zanos was wrong to deprecate his talent-he had a natural vigor, a perfect sense of rhythm, and an inventive style.

Astra’s spirit soared with the music’s intensity, and she Read outward almost without being aware of it.

Her powers focused on Ard and Lanna, who were in the hall outside-dancing to the music! Her smile broadened as she “watched’ them and felt their shared pleasure. The movements were a romance for them, expressing love for each other-

Other minds intruded. Male Readers!

Astra abruptly stopped playing, causing Zanos to do the same. Her throat tightened painfully as she said,

“You’re about to have two more guests.” She jumped to her feet. “Two male Readers. Magisters. Zanos, we mustn’t see each other-in fact, I’d rather they didn’t know I was here. “

“I understand, ” he said, now also on his feet. “Go into the kitchen. “

Suppressing a coughing fit, Astra merely nodded as she put down the lute and quickly left the room. She shielded her mind as best she could. All she could do now was hope that the two Magisters wouldn’t bother to scan the villa.

Their names were Darien and Primus. Their voices carried from the entry hall to the kitchen just loudly enough for Astra to overhear without Reading. Zanos did not invite them into the comfortable music room, she noted.

“We know you must be looking forward to the wrestling season, Zanos,” Darien was saying. “It will give you a chance to recover from your losses in the gladiatorial games.”

“And what does that have to do with you Readers?” Zanos asked, although his tone of voice suggested he already knew.

“We’re here to protect you from further losses,” Primus said glibly. “You want to be certain all your wrestlers are healthy and fit to compete. Magister Darien and I have the duty of Reading the health of the wrestlers this season.”

So, Astra realized, another part of the corruption puzzle: extortion.

“And just how much would it cost to make sure my wrestlers are judged healthy?” Zanos asked quietly.

“Merely ten marks of gold,” Darien replied.

“For each of us,” Primus added.

Zanos laughed-a loud, hearty laugh that astonished both men. “I hear that when one of you Readers gets injured, any other Readers near you suffer the pain,” he said. “Is that right? Good-then I only have to beat one of you, for both of you to fully understand my answer-”

Astra Read Zanos’ hand grab Primus’ throat, hard enough to terrify him. The gladiator shoved the Reader toward the door. Darien got there first, opened the door, and fled into the street. Zanos pushed Primus through the open doorway and watched in satisfaction as the Reader fell on the wet cobbles, then scrambled to his feet, following his colleague.

“You’ll pay for this indignity, Zanos!” Primus screamed as he backed away from the villa, shaking his fist.

“You’ll pay dearly!”

The gladiator didn’t reply, just closed the door. But as he bolted it and reentered the music room, Astra Read anger mixed with fear. She rejoined him, noting how grim he looked.

“I knew they’d be coming sooner or later,” he told her. “Lakus, my former owner, told me last year that the Readers wait until a stable owner has tasted

prosperity-and wants to keep it-before they start demanding money.”

Astra blinked. “Did you think I was-?”

“Involved in that? No,” he replied, “or you wouldn’t be trying to help me. You did say earlier that you were coming to tell me something you discovered at Morella’s. What was it?”

“I think I found out how Clavius was given the white lotus,” she told him. “Clea, one of Morella’s girls, was Clavius’ favorite. And now she’s disappeared. Her last customer was someone called Varan-”

Zanos shook his head. “You’re on the wrong trail,” he said firmly. “Varan is a harmless old man who drinks too much. No one could trust him to be sober enough to do his part in a conspiracy. Clea probably got a message after Varan left. I understand what you’re thinking-Clea was paid to give Clavius white lotus in his wine whenever he visited her… until that last time before his final match.”

“Yes,” Astra nodded, coughing. “The exertion of combat used up the last of the drug in his bloodstream.

Then his body failed him at the critical moment, and Metrius was able to kill him.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Zanos said. “Clavius’ death, Clea’s disappearance, two Readers coming here today-all of it is part of the same plot… a plot too big for me to fight.”

“Too big for you to fight alone,” Astra corrected. “You need help from others.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “What others? Vortius and his friends have half the city in their grip.”

“Others who have as much to lose as you do: the stable owners. If they’ve been paying corrupt Readers not to disqualify their fighters, then each owner must be as angry as you are. If all of you refuse to pay, the extortionists would have to back down or there would be no wrestling matches this season. That would deprive some very important, powerful people-including the Emperor-of their entertainment.”

Zanos sat there for a long moment, considering her words. Astra realized that his reluctance to jump at the idea came from the concept of having to unite with his rivals. In his world, each man fought alone for survival.

But finally he nodded. “It might work, Astra. Thank you. I hope I can convince Lakus, Gareth, and the others to cooperate.”

“You can do it,” she said with a smile-and was again seized with a sneezing fit.

“You’re sick!” Zanos said. “Let me have Lanna prepare a room for you-”

“No!” she insisted. “I must go back to the Academy. It’s nothing but a cold, Zanos-just an annoyance that will be gone in a few days. If my clothes are dry-”

He did not argue, but walked her back to the Academy. It was a long and miserable walk for Astra, trying to respond to the stories Zanos told, to hide from him just how bad she was feeling. Fever was making her dizzy by the time she stumbled into the infirmary-but the healer on duty was busy with three little girls and left Astra to brew her own tea with lemon and honey to take back to her room.

When she woke the next morning she felt even worse, but told herself that if she just moved around-

She skipped breakfast, drank more tea, and went to teach her first lesson in a fog of pain. What voice she had was an octave lower than usual, and the strain of scolding a student who hadn’t done her practice sent her into a coughing fit that tinged her handkerchief with blood. The child fled, and moments later Master Claudia came into the music room. “Astra! How could you let yourself get into this condition?”

“Really,” Astra tried to protest, the words clogging her swollen throat, “it’s nothing. Just a cold-”

“Cold!” Claudia exclaimed. “Cant you Read for yourself how swollen your tonsils are? Child, you have a septic throat-you must be delirious with fever not to realize how serious it is-and if we don’t get you isolated, half the Academy could be down with it. Astra-are you trying to kill us all?”