Savage Empire

Chapter Two The White Wolf

Lenardo walked a familiar road out of Adigia, for in his boyhood the border had been far distant, and this land had been part of the Aventine Empire. Now it was a no-man's-land between the walls of the empire and the lands the savages had taken. They built no walls to hold their borders; rather they pressed and pressed against the walls of the empire, driving ever farther toward the sea. Lenardo's family had fled southward along this very road, before the retreating army, when the savages had taken the city of Zendi.

For some distance the road was wide and smooth, and Lenardo Read no one nearby. His arm ached and throbbed, making him wonder what he would do if it became necessary to use his sword.

Surely, though, he could avoid that possibility until his arm healed. What was known of the savages indicated that while they fought fiercely in battle, they were reasonably peaceful with one another. They were all mind-blind; the only way they would discover he was a Reader would be if he stupidly answered an unspoken question or revealed something he could not have known otherwise. They killed Readers out of superstitious dread. Otherwise it was a catch-as-catch-can world in which an Aventine exile had as much chance as anyone of carving out a place for himself. When that exile was a Reader, though, isolated among non-Readers, life would mean little.

Exiles were frequently seen among the savage troops. Lenardo had himself twice fought sword-to-sword with men who bore the brand but were otherwise indistinguishable from the mass of savages.

A scruffy lot the savages were, hair and beards long and tangled, armor primitive, barbaric trousers flapping about their legs. But they could fight! And they could die nobly, on the battlefield or under interrogation when captured. Lenardo had sometimes been called in to Read prisoners, but the common soldiers knew nothing of value to the empire.

The officers, of course, could not be captured-or if one was, he could not be kept. It seemed all officers had some degree of Adept powers. Before such people chains snapped, locks opened, and guards fainted dead away.

Through Reading and interrogating prisoners, Lenardo had learned a little of their language-or languages. Even in his small experience he had encountered variants far more disparate than the dialects of the empire. He hoped his knowledge would be adequate, but it should surprise no one if an exile with a still-fresh brand spoke the savage language haltingly.

The well-kept Aventine road narrowed, weeds and tree seedlings encroaching from either side, leaving barely room for a wagon to pass. Occasionally, where the roadbed had shifted, Lenardo had to skirt around holes full of stagnant water.

He had been exiled with only the clothes on his back and whatever he could carry. Master Clement had given him a small pouch of gold coins-good currency anywhere. Otherwise, besides his sword, he carried only a small pack of necessities.

By afternoon he began to see people here and there- peasants, barefoot and ragged, working in the fields. The crops looked good; he wondered why the people tending them should be unkempt and undernourished.

The road passed by a cluster of mud and wattle huts- surely no fit dwellings for human beings! The stench of garbage and excrement reached him, yet he saw stick-thin children playing before the huts, heard a baby crying. Reading, he found she was hungry, the pains of starvation cramping her swollen belly.

What manner of people were these? The savage soldiers sent against the empire were strong, sturdy, well equipped, well fed. Was that it-was all effort poured into the army, to the detriment of everyone else?

As he moved on into more populated areas, Lenardo Read the occasional thought to confirm his conclusion. There was sorrow in the land-everyone had lost husband, brother, son, or friend in the avalanche outside Adigia. In the simple peasants the loss was one of many sorrows, the latest tragedy in a string of miseries.

He approached Zendi, the border town of his childhood, near sundown. Lenardo remembered it as a large and beautiful city, bustling with life, a trade city of exotic sights, sounds, and smells. He had been happy there, playing with other children in the wide, clean streets. That was many years before he had seen the capital city of Tiberium, and to a small boy Wendi's forum, surrounded by temples, government buildings, and the huge, elaborate bath house, had seemed a magical place.

Although he knew the savages would not have left Zendi in the state he remembered-indeed, parts of the city were going up in flames when he and his parents fled-Lenardo hoped that it would retain some degree of civilization. He wanted to find a room for the night, where he might lock the door and leave his body-and his pain-behind for a few hours. His arm could heal while he Read through the city for clues to Galen's whereabouts. He didn't really expect to discover anything so soon, but he knew of no way to search except to move from one heavily populated area to another, Reading. The breach of the Law of Privacy was necessary now, just as it was in medical cases; Lenardo would not linger over thoughts that did not concern him.

Zendi, he found, had changed greatly since his childhood. The first thing to hit him, a good distance from Southgate, was the smell. It stank like the cluster of peasant huts, intensified. As he approached, he almost gagged -but slowly the miasma seemed to deaden the inside of his nose.

The source of the stench was the open sewer running down the middle of each crowded street. Lenardo hugged the walls, appalled by the filth and squalor. What had happened to the efficient underground sewers of every Aventine city?

The answer was easy to guess. Haphazard structures rising several rickety stories replaced the well-built wooden houses burned when the savages took the city. There were at least five times as many people crowded within Zendi's walls as the town had been built for. Such an influx had undoubtedly overloaded the system-and when it broke down, no one knew how to fix it.

And what of their vaunted magical powers? Lenardo wondered. Have they put all their Adepts to making war, leaving them no time to help the common people? There were soldiers everywhere in the city, the only people who looked healthy, well fed, well clothed.

Beggars came up to Lenardo, tugging at his cloak, grimy hands outstretched. "Coin, Meister?" they asked plaintively, but Lenardo brushed them aside, shielding his injured arm against his body. Each time he was jostled, new -shocks of pain surged through it, keeping him from concentrating on Reading the city. He dared not answer any comments thrown at him, lest he reply to a thought rather than a word. Let them think he knew nothing of their language at all.

He decided that he could not stop in the town. He would walk straight through, Reading as he went, and take the north road out into the fresh country air again before seeking rest. Darkness held no terrors for a Reader, but in the open he dared not leave his body. He noticed a diminishing of his Reading powers already; the weaker his body grew, the less he would be able to Read and the greater the chance of missing some clue to Galen's fate. He had hoped tonight to let his body do the healing it could accomplish only at perfect rest.

But exiles who were not Readers survived branding. His arm would heal, even if more slowly than he had hoped. He felt eyes on him, not the curious" glances from every side, but a steady stare. An officer was looking him up and down, studying him carefully.

Lenardo knew what he saw: a tall, well-muscled man approaching thirty years of age, wearing a sword. No man would wear a sword unless he could use it. Thus Lenardo was not surprised when the officer approached him and spoke in slow but understandable Aventine.

"Fresh across the border, I see," he said with a pointed glance at the blistered brand. "Welcome, stranger."

Surprised, Reading that the young officer truly regarded him as a fortunate discovery, Lenardo replied, "Thank you."

"We can use strong men like you in Braccho's army," said the officer. "It's a good life, all you can eat, warm clothing, good pay, and battle rights. Braccho's not one to take away what his soldiers find, women or treasure."

"It… sounds a tempting offer," Lenardo lied. "However, as you noted, I have come from that ungrateful empire this very day. Before I commit myself again, I would like to see what this side of the border has to offer. Your leader-Braccho?-would not want a pledge given in ignorance."

The young officer grinned cheerfully. "No, but I'll warrant in a day or two you'll agree there's no better life to be found. Come to the East Barracks and ask for Arkus. We'll show you how to get back at your tormentors for-that" As he spoke, Lenardo's cloak pulled away as if of its own accord, revealing the brand clearly. But as the cloak fell against it again, he winced at the contact and the officer said, "Aye, we know how to take the sting from such a wound-revenge is sweet balm."

"I shall remember that, Arkus," said Lenardo. "Perhaps you are right. If I decide to join your army, I shall certainly seek you out."

"Soon, I warrant," replied the officer, and he strode away.

When Arkus had spoken of revenge, Lenardo had picked up the man's own desire for revenge-not a clear thought but a kind of simmering anger surrounded by vague images. He felt betrayed, not personally, but as a soldier and a citizen. A split-second memory gave Lenardo some information, but it was negative: it was not Galen's betrayal being avenged when six huge shields were hung up-in the forum? No, they had been there, a permanent fixture. The top one was the largest, black on gold. Below it five smaller emblems in blue, white, gold, green, and brown. The image flashed so quickly through Arkus' mind, and was gone again, that Lenardo got no clear sight of the shields.

There was, along with the image, a sense of frustrated anger and the smell of scorched leather. That was all, as Arkus had not remembered the entire scene but merely had a flash of recall associated with the idea of revenge.

Aside from the fact that Arkus' anger was not directed at Galen, Lenardo had not learned anything of immediate use. The name Braccho, apparently the general of the local army rather than a ruler, he stored away as a possibly useful fact. Another name, too, had been in Arkus' mind- a name he would hardly let himself think because it brought such mixed emotions.

Lenardo could not tell, because Arkus could not, if the feelings were fear, anger, revenge, or admiration. The name that conjured them was… Aradia.

When he reached the forum, Lenardo saw in actuality the source of Arkus' memory. The shields were hung up there, the top one bearing the dragon's head in black on a field of gold. The five smaller shields below it were grouped in two rows. One in the first row and two in the second had been burned; only the frames remained, tattered fragments of leather clinging to them. The other two were painted, one with a green spear and the other with a brown horse's head.

As Lenardo skirted the edge of the forum, a woman approached him, hardly more than a child, wearing only a tabard cut off at the hips. Her body was still adolescent, but she flaunted it boldly. "I can give you pleasure, Meister. You got money? One copper, I-"

"No, thank you." He tried to push past, quelling his disgust at a society that reduced young girls to this.

The girl clung, dogging his steps, slipping ahead of him to run backward as she offered, "Anything you want to do, Meister-or I will show you new tricks. You want to-?"

She began to catalogue her techniques, in graphic detail. Lenardo blushed furiously, to the amusement of the passing crowd. They, he noticed, took the girl for granted; his reaction was what made them laugh.

Finally, to get rid of her, he stopped and lifted his cloak to display his blistered arm. "Child, I am in pain," he said. "Can't you see I have no use for your talents tonight?"

At home, he would have worn the robes of a Reader, and no one of this girl's profession would have approached him-certainly not in such fashion! In the Aventine Empire soliciting rudely in the street was unheard of.

"Please, Meister-I'll soothe you, help you sleep. Maybe a bed for the whole night?" Her eyes lit, and he Read that she was hoping for a comfortable place to sleep without having to do anything but Oh, ho. There was her plan. She had the Adept power to put people into deep sleep. She planned to rob him. He smiled to himself and told her, "Away with you, now. When I want a woman, I'll find a woman, not a half-grown girl."

But he wouldn't want a woman. He was a Master Reader-he had learned to focus the yearnings of his body into positive channels when he was Torio's age.

Tonight the only yearning of his body was for rest and ease from pain. He ought to eat, he knew-had, this morning, planned to find a hot supper, in Zendi. Now, though, pain had killed his appetite, and besides, there was no inn in the filthy warren Zendi had become where he would trust the food.

He was thirsty, feverish, fighting lightheadedness. He had to get out of town, find a place to rest.

A fruit-seller passed him, and for the first time something tempted him: juicy golden citrus fruit. He chose two oranges. All he had to pay with, however, was a gold corn.

Even though he was not Reading as he concentrated on speaking with the vendor, he could feel empathically that his money pouch was being eyed, weighed. He dropped the silver and copper coins the boy gave him in change back into the pouch and determined not to make that mistake again. -He must hide his small supply of gold inside his pack and carry only coppers and perhaps a silver piece where they would be seen if he made a purchase.

Pretending he hadn't noticed anything, he walked away, Reading the two men flitting through the crowd, following him at a safe distance. Together? Yes. Very well. He Read crowds in several streets radiating from the forum-mustn't get caught in a deserted area. Reading the men trailing him, he wove through the crowd to get out of their sight, ducked into a side street until they had passed, and came out behind them. Then he eluded their search in the crowd, and escaped through Northgate just as the strangers' bell rang. Soon the gate was closed behind him for the night, the thieves remaining in Zendi.

For some time, Lenardo walked among people returning home from a day's business in Zendi. The crowd gradually thinned, until he walked alone again. He located a sheltered spot well off the road, ate a piece of fruit, and lay down to sleep.

With a Reader's discipline, Lenardo was able to put himself into a light sleep from which he would awaken at any disturbance. It was a troubled sleep, as he usually slept on his right side; each time he would truly fall asleep he would try to turn over, sending waves of pain through his sore arm. By morning it was badly swollen, his right hand stiff and clumsy.

Still very tired, he set off along the road again, now in territory completely strange to him. It was more of the same-fields, peasant huts, squalor and misery. He felt a kinship with the landscape.

He stopped to bathe his arm and spread ointment on it, but the pain just from doing that was almost too much to bear. He drank feverishly at the brook and staggered back to the road for a few hours. By early afternoon, he knew he could go no further.

There was medicine for fever in his pack, an opiate that dulled the physical senses and sent the mind roaming in precarious realms. He dared not use it unless he were safe, where nothing could disturb his body. On the road, there was no such place.

There were hills off to his right, however. He had a full skin of water, food, and medicine. If there was a cave in those hills where he might hide for a night and a day…

When he left the road, he found it even harder to walk. His head seemed to lift from his body, then return with a stabbing pain. Twice he fell, dragged himself up again, and continued his nightmare journey. At one point he was seized with teeth-chattering chills, but most of the time he was in a clammy sweat.

His vision became distorted, and as he tried to Read both the way he walked and the surrounding countryside, the two perceptions blurred into confusion. He had to concentrated on his own steps, narrowing in to force one foot to follow the other…

How long he traveled thus, he didn't know. He had reached the lower slopes of the hills and was clambering over a rocky outcropping when he suddenly Read people- savages-all around him.

Alert, he could have avoided them. As it was, they were upon him, hill bandits on helpless prey. He only half understood what they were saying.

"An exile."

"No one will be looking for this one."

"They always have good clothes, sometimes money."

Then harsh hands grabbed him, and laughter rang out as he howled in pain, trying to shake them off, reaching for his sword with numbed fingers that scrabbled at the hilt. More laughter as he was disarmed, his cloak ripped away, his arms twisted behind his back, forcing another scream from him.

He was staring into the face of a man perhaps his own age, but the face was bearded, the mouth open to show teeth missing, and those present black with rot.

"What have you got, exile? What can you give us for your life?"

"Nothing," Lenardo gasped, knowing they wanted him to grovel and plead before they killed him anyway.

The bandit hit him in the stomach. Gratefully, Lenardo blacked out. He came to with the pain of someone twisting his branded arm again. "Beat him," the. bandit instructed, and while two held him, others punched and kicked at him, ever careful to keep him conscious. Against the pain in his arm, the blows hardly registered. Hanging limp between the bandits, he waited for death to release him from pain.

Suddenly he was dumped to the ground, stripped of scabbard, boots, money pouch. Then one of the bandits felt under his shirt and pulled forth the amulet old Quintus had given him.

There was a gasp. The bandits dropped Lenardo and the amulet as if both had become red-hot.

"The wolf-stone!"

"Aradia!"

They scattered like startled birds, disappearing into the hills. Lenardo tried to sit up. They had taken everything, leaving him weaponless, without even boots to protect his feet from the rocks or a cloak to wrap up in against the night. He needed water, but they had taken the water-skin too.

He tried to Read around him, not moving. There must be a spring somewhere in these hills. He was deathly thirsty, and he had to clean the wound on his arm, where the bandits had burst the blisters with their filthy hands.

Far, far up in the hills, he Read water. He couldn't stand; he could barely get to his knees to crawl. After a while, it ceased to matter. He slumped into unconsciousness.

Feverish sleep possessed him, thirst and. pain awakening him several times to see stars overhead. One time he was freezing but couldn't find cloak or blanket. Then he was burning, his lips splitting with thirst, the sun blazing down on him. The pain in his arm was gone.

Somehow he found the strength to turn his head, meaning to look at his arm, but caught instead by a vision. Hallucination, he told himself firmly, but still before his bleary eyes, swimming in and out of focus but stubbornly remaining, sat the white wolf.

It was not the abstract alabaster symbol, but a living animal, dusty about the feet, watching him curiously from a safe distance. Safe? Who was the one in danger here?

Perhaps the animal would tear him apart, and his troubles would be over.

The wolf rose and made a sort of whining noise, like a dog. It ran a few paces away, turned to look at Lenardo, came back to its original position, and whined again. Twice more it repeated the performance. Bemused, Lenardo wondered, You want me to follow you, boy? I'm not going anywhere. Probably not ever again. The effort of focusing his attention on the animal sent him back into unconsciousness, and when he next woke, the wolf was gone. If it was ever there.

He focused his eyes on his right arm, lying like a separate thing, swollen, red streaks running from the yellow, scabrous brand up toward his shoulder. He had seen such marks before. It meant his arm must come off if he were to live.

But I'm not going to live, he thought. Alone, far from help, he would die of thirst before the day was out. Carefully assessing his situation, he came to the same conclusion twice more and decided he was thinking clearly enough. It was truly hopeless. There was no need for him to suffer the lingering hours. He could not move to compose his body, but it didn't matter. He would not be returning to it.

In utter peace, he Read outward until he floated above the wreck of his physical form. Now there was no pain or fever; he was free. When his body died, he would be fully released-but while it still lived he must see Master Clement or Portia. They must know he had failed, must do something about Galen…

Before he began to concentrate on Adigia, however, other minds attracted his attention. Four men were coming from the hills. More bandits? He Read them and found there were five, one of them shielded against Reading. An Adept!

The savage Adepts could not Read, but neither could they be Read; a part of their training apparently included barriers against such intrusion, even though it could not come from their own people.

Focusing himself to see and hear, Lenardo saw five men in clean, serviceable clothing, moving purposefully down the hillside. One of them stopped, pointing to Lenardo's body. "Look! There he is!"

They all began to run toward the crumpled form. "Is he dead?" asked the oldest of the group, a stoop-shouldered man with a gray beard.

"Do you know him, Wolf-stone?" asked another as the apparent leader of the group knelt beside Lenardo's body.

"No," he said, and Lenardo Read that this was the one. barricaded against him. He was a young man, a Nubian-a Nubian Adept? But if not Adept, why shielded? And they called him Wolf-stone? He was lifting the alabaster wolfs head with the violet eyes, comparing it with one he wore about his own neck. Lenardo wondered vaguely if the white wolf had gone to get him. "He wears the wolf-stone," the black man said. "It is the sign-yet…" He examined Lenardo's wounded arm. "An exile fresh from the empire -how can he wear Aradia's sign? Never mind; we must take him to her if he can survive the journey."

"Is he alive?" asked the graybeard.

"Oh, yes. Don't you see him breathing? He will suffer less if we can avoid waking him. Helmuth, wet his lips, but be careful he does not breathe water in. The rest of you prepare the litter."

Reluctantly, Lenardo realized that he was not to be relieved of his mission. He must return to his body and live-for wherever these men took him, he might learn more of Galen. He would lose his right arm, his sword arm, but, he thought with bitter humor, the brand of dishonor would go with it. If he should ever return to the empire…

If there was to be an empire to return to, he must regain his body. He had not thought to have to do so. It was a slow, painful, nearly impossible process when the body was as debilitated as his was. Finally, he opened gummy eyes to see the gray-bearded face swimming above him, as gentle hands wetted his parched lips from a water-skin.

Thirst was his first concern. Helplessly, he tried to speak, had no voice, but the old man lifted his head so he could drink, saying, "Lie still, son. You're all right now."

The black man immediately turned back to him. "Don't give him too much at once, Helmuth."

Then he spoke to Lenardo. "Do you understand me?" He now spoke in Aventine.

With the water to release his throat, Lenardo managed, "Aye." It was too much effort to say that he understood the other language too.

"You're safe now. We'll take you to Aradia. I'm going to make you sleep, so the journey will not pain you."

Lenardo wanted to protest, but he was too weak. The black man began to chant something in a language Lenardo didn't know, and he fell into dreamless sleep.

The dreams came later, as he was carried smoothly along in the litter. Or was that a dream too? Four men walking could not carry a litter so that it did not lurch or bump.

The confusing smooth motion was interspersed with strange images-worry about his pregnant wife… her time was due… when he got home, he might have a son. He tried to cry out to hurry-yes-the babe was born. A fine, healthy boy. Maj is fine… happy…

A horse… lame… nothing seemed to help. Poultices. Must ask Aradia…

Lovely girl. Halja… laughing blue eyes, light brown hair. Could he manage the marriage fee before her father gave her to another?

And woven through all the dreams the image of a woman… a woman who blended somehow Into the wolf-stone, the two images shifting… shifting… white wolf… alabaster woman… violet eyes…

He woke in a room, at night, lying in a bed. The black man, sitting beside the bed, rose and gave him water. "Are you in pain?" he asked, still in Aventine.

"No," Lenardo replied, a pang of sudden fear as he remembered, looking for his right arm. It was still there, lying atop the covers like a dead thing, bloated, the streaks of red no worse than before but still there "Are you rested enough to speak?" asked a low-pitched female voice. Out of the shadows at the foot of the bed moved a woman with palest blond hair, her eyes dark pools in the dim candlelight. She reached for the wolf-stone about Lenardo's neck. "How do you come to wear this? I know you not."

"When I was sent into exile, a friend gave it to me. He thought it might protect me."

Her delicate eyebrows rose. "It has, indeed. The hill bandits have enough respect for it that they dared not kill you. It saved you a second time in that you are a Reader, and anyone else might have had you killed."

At Lenardo's start of surprise, she smiled, her pale face momentarily beautiful. "In your delirium, you talked of everything on the minds of the men carrying you-Helmut's lame horse, Jorj's marriage plans, Gron's son… and Gron did not even know he had been, born yet." Pure shame rang through Lenardo. Delirium or no, his training should have kept him from invading the men's minds, let alone babbling out their secrets. But the woman continued reassuringly, "Fortunately, no one but Wulfston spoke your language, so you did not frighten the poor men out of their wits."

"Wolf-stone?"

"I am Wulfston," said the black man.

Confused, Lenardo touched the alabaster wolfs head. "You are called-Wolf-stone?"

"Yes, that is what my name means. When you are well, I will explain how I got the name."

"I am Aradia," said the woman. "May we know your name?"

"Lenardo."

"Well, Lenardo, our first order is to put you back in good health. Let me examine you." As she spoke, a many-branched candelabrum on the table beside the bed… moved. Lenardo saw it only out of the corner of his eye and glanced toward it. It was perfectly still now-no, he must have imagined As he watched, every candle burst spontaneously into flame. At his astonishment, the woman said, "That is an easy trick-the candles are made to burn. I simply work with their natural inclination."

"How can candles have a natural inclination?" asked Lenardo.

"All of nature has desires," said the woman. "Water desires to run downhill. Crops desire to grow. What you call magic is nothing but encouraging things to follow their natural desires."

"Then you savages attack the empire because of a natural desire to kill?"

"No," she replied gently, "because of the natural desire to grow. Now, if you will let me examine your wounds-"

Wulfston stripped away the blankets, revealing Lenardo naked on the bed. "There were no signs on his back, my lady. They seem to have beaten his face and stomach, and he bruised his knees trying to crawl to shelter."

"To water," said Lenardo, recalling that deathly thirst

Gentle pale fingers probed his cuts and bruises, pressed on a rib until he winced. "I wonder if-" She laughed, a light, lovely sound. "But you can tell me, can't you? Is this rib broken?"

He Read it. "Cracked, not all the way through."

"Can you Read other people that easily?"

"Physical things? Yes. No one can block that."

"What help you will be at healing!" she exclaimed.

He had never heard of savages healing or using then-powers for anything but destruction. Could Galen be right? But this was an opportunity to gain her trust, without doing anything that might harm the empire. "I will be glad to repay your kindness by helping you at healing." Perhaps he could gain enough freedom of movement thereby to search for Galen.

Aradia was doing something with her hands over the broken rib, frowning in concentration. He felt heat within the bone, Read-and found that it had knit! It was not completely healed, but the strength was there, the pain gone!

"None of the rest of these scrapes and bruises are serious," she said. "Now let me heal your arm."

She lifted the arm as Wulfston pulled the blankets back over Lenardo. He had braced for pain when she touched it, but he felt nothing. It was as if it were someone else's arm.

"There is nothing you can do," he said. "It's already dead."

"Oh, no-you don't feel the pain because Wulfston blocked the nerves at your shoulder, so you would not suffer on the journey here. Can you Read for me how deep the infection goes?"

"The entire arm-and the poisons are in the blood. Surely if you practice healing you know the meaning of those red streaks. If you want to save my fife, you will have to cut off my arm."

Both Aradia and Wulfston were shielded against Reading of their thoughts, but Lenardo's empathy picked up their horror and disgust at his words. "You call us savages?" demanded Aradia. "You, who come from a land where they do that to a man?" She pointed to the brand.

"What of the tortures you inflict on your prisoners?" he countered.

"Tortures? We have no need of torture. I do not know what you have been told of us, Lenardo, but the only people you will find in my land bearing marks of torture come from other lands… and some bear the same mark you do!"

The shock of his experience was beginning to dull his senses. "What of your bandits?" he asked weakly.

"I suppose no one ever breaks the law in the Aventine Empire? How did you come to be here? But come now, you are tired. You must rest and heal."

Aradia's hands moved gently over the bloated flesh, and Lenardo felt something-not pain, but the warmth he had felt in his broken rib, intensified. "It is the desire of the body to be whole," she said. "It is the desire of the body to be well, to cast out all poisons, to heal, the flesh clean and free of taint." Her voice continued, but he could no longer understand her words.

The warmth in his arm became a fire-a cleansing, purifying flame. It was the strangest sensation he had ever known-a terrible, intense heat, without pain. His arm should have been charred into ashes; instead, he Read the blood pumping through it, carrying away the poisons rendered harmless by the«fire.

The blazing heat continued as Aradia lifted her hands away. She smiled at him. "When you wake up, tell me if you still want me to cut off your arm. Sleep now."

She pressed gentle, warm fingers over his eyes, and he sank helplessly into blackness.

Lenardo woke to sunlight streaming in the window. He was curled up comfortably on his right side, waking naturally just after sunrise… but he was not in his room at the academy.

For a moment he was completely confused by the unfamiliar surroundings, and then his mind cleared. His arm!

Sitting bolt upright, heart pounding, he held his right arm out in front of him. It moved normally, naturally, felt as it had always felt. He Read completely healthy flesh and bone.

To the eye, the skin had a sickly pallor, but he saw and felt that his calluses were gone, his hand as smooth as a baby's. After all the swelling and blisters, the skin must have sloughed off. This was new skin, pale because untouched by the sun.

How long-?

He drew right and left hands together. The outdoor tan on his left arm had hardly paled at all. He could not have been unconscious for very long.

He sat for a moment, staring at his arm. The brand that had caused all the trouble now appeared an old mark, seared deeply and permanently into his flesh, but with no remaining soreness.

Bewildered, he rubbed his face and found he was badly in need of a shave-but again, it was several days' stubble, not a growth of many weeks. He decided the best thing to do was to get up and find someone to answer his questions.

He was still naked except for the wolf's-head pendant, but his body felt clean. His clothes-what the bandits had left to him-were nowhere to be found, so he draped a blanket over himself like a toga and started out the door.

It was locked.

Feeling like an utter fool, he stood there, Reading through it. There was no one in the hallway outside. They didn't think it necessary to guard him.

No sense shouting and pounding on the door. He went to the window and saw the courtyard of a castle. He was two levels above the ground, looking down at the blacksmith setting up for the day's work in the corner below him. He was a slender man, not the well-muscled type one usually associated with smiths. As Lenardo watched, he turned to his forge, waved his hand, and the fire blazed up! Lenardo realized there was no bellows.

Why would an Adept be smithing? He recalled the young prostitute in Zendi, who had planned to put him to sleep as Aradia had done. Were Adepts so common in this society that there was no need to seek them out, as the empire sought Readers? Were they not a precious resource, to be carefully trained and guided?

Just then he Read Aradia at the door to his room. No lock clicked, but the door swung open, and she entered, carrying a tray of food with both hands. Behind her, the door closed itself.

"Nice trick," observed Lenardo.

"What? Oh-the door? If I'd had a hand free, I'd have given it a shove. No use wasting energy. I came to wake you. Your body has been doing an immense amount of work. You should be hungry."

He realized he was ravenous.

She uncovered soup, bread, a dish of soft farmer's cheese mixed with fruit. "Eat the soup while it's hot," she directed when he reached for the cheese and fruit.

"It's made with meat," he replied. "Eating meat dulls the ability to Read."

"Does it really?" she asked. "Strange-it improves an Adept's powers. But meat provides energy and is quickly absorbed into the blood. Will it do permanent damage if you eat some the next few days, until you get your strength back?"

"No, I suppose not." The aroma of the rich soup was enticing, although he usually found the smell of meat faintly repellent. His body was probably telling him he needed this nourishment.

As he ate, he asked, "How long did I sleep?"

"Three days. It takes time to heal such a desperate wound. If Wulfston had found you a day later, you would have been right-I could not have saved your arm."

"I'd have died of thirst before then. But… now that you've saved my life, what do you plan to do with me?"

She smiled, completely unReadable. In the daylight, he saw that her eyes actually were violet. He fingered the wolf's-head pendant and recalled some distant vision in which Aradia and the white wolf kept blending into one another.

Her pale skin, pale hair, and violet eyes gave her the coloring of the amulet, but she was hardly wolflike. At the moment, in a tan dress with a spotless white apron, she looked like some charmingly pretty country girl when she smiled-far from the powerful sorceress he knew her to be.

At that thought, he was suddenly uncomfortable in her presence, particularly wearing nothing but a blanket. Male and female But she's not a Reader, he reminded himself. And obviously, if Wulfston was her apprentice, there was no segregation of male and female among Adepts. Nonetheless, he felt ill at ease.

She must have noticed, in the way non-Readers had of perceiving emotions, for she said, "The first thing we must do is get you some decent clothing. Then I'll show you around the castle. You'll be very tired the next few days, until your body builds back all that the healing took out of it."

"But you did the healing."

"Oh, no. I just directed your own resources to do it. It is the nature of the body to be healthy."

"I certainly feel healthy," he agreed. "I'd like a bath and a shave, though, to feel myself again."

"In time," she replied. "We're keeping your body clean until you have enough strength for a bath. You really do not understand how weak you are. When you feel up to it, you may leave this room with Wulfston or me-but until you learn your limits, you are not to go off alone. Do you understand?"

"Are you going to keep me locked in here?"

"It is for your protection, Lenardo. You have much to learn of our ways before you will be safe outside the walls of this castle-or even some places within them."

"What you are saying, then, in spite of the face you put on it, is that I am your prisoner?"

"Oh, no!" She cocked her head to one side, mischievous country girl blending totally with dangerous wolf toying with its prey. Her smile was suddenly a pulling back of lips to reveal sharp teeth as she said in the most casual, reasonable tone, "You are not my prisoner, Lenardo. You are my property."