by Jean Lorrah
Dragonlord of the Savage Empire
( Savage Empire - 2 )
Jean Lorrah
Jean Lorrah
Dragonlord of the Savage Empire
Chapter One
The full moon lighted the land with ghostly luminescence. Lenardo, a dread fear constricting his heart, sought out Castle Nerius. He found the hills, the road, the forest. In a nearby field, the flat rock where they built the funeral pyres lay empty, cold in the pale moonlight.
As he approached the castle, his anxiety increased… and then he saw it, its walls and towers fallen, smoke rising from the remains of the houses that had clustered about its gate. There was no sign of life.
She’s dead! By all the gods-I deserted her, and now she’s dead, and our child with her.
Lenardo jolted out of his waking dream, the same dream that had haunted his sleep the past two nights. He had put it down to anxiety at being forced into a position of leadership, a role he was not born or trained to. But now, when the vision rose again in broad daylight, he wondered whether it was true-one of his precognitive flashes. He had never before had one so long or so detailed-or so persistent.
He was riding away from Castle Nerius, away from the events that had turned a Master Reader of the Aventine Empire into a Lord of the Land among the savages. Away from Aradia.
It was too far now to Read back to Castle Nerius. They had come a day’s journey and another morning’s ride. Within a few hours, Lenardo and his followers would reach the city of Zendi-his city now, the capital of the land he ruled. His land for as long as he could hold it.
It won’t have to be long, he thought, reassuring himself.
I’ll soon be able to begin peace negotiations between the savages and the Aventine Empire.
From some distance away, fear impinged on his consciousness. Someone else must have spotted the new Lord of the Land at the head of his army. He had been Reading that apprehension sporadically ever since they had crossed the no-man’s-land scarred by the battle of Adepts and entered the lands Aradia had awarded to Lenardo.
This time, though, the fear was not the numb anxiety of conquered people pondering their fate. It rose to sharp terror and sparked with hatred, and Lenardo deliberately concentrated on the distant scene, trying to Read the cause of the raw emotions…
A boy ran in terror, with a group of people chasing him in almost equal fear. All were peasants hi rags, starvation-thin, but their fear on this early-summer morning spurred mem on. The boy was in his midteens, long-legged and driven by panic, darting into the hedgerows in hope of finding a hiding place. His thoughts were incoherent: I’m not! I’m not! I didn’t do anything!
Whatever crime the peasants thought the boy had committed, Lenardo Read that he was innocent. He spurred his horse, snouting, “Helmuth, Arkus! Follow me!”
The two men did not question his order but followed as Lenardo left the road, galloping cross-country in the direction of the manhunt.
The breathless quarry turned, seeking a way out. It was too far to the rocky outcroppings near the road. The muscles hi his legs twitched; his heart thudded in his ears. Every way he looked there was open farmland, and the newly sprouted crops were not yet high enough to offer shelter.
As the boy hesitated in panic, the others rushed upon him, pulling him down, beating him, kicking him while he screamed, “I’m not, I’m not! It was myrgranther said it.” Then one of the men kicked him in the jaw, and the words died into moans.
Lenardo flinched at every blow, with the boy’s pain attacking him more and more strongly as he decreased the distance between them.
“Stop,” he shouted, long before the peasants could possibly hear him over then-own mad cries. “The boy is innocent.”
But it was too late. A kick to the temple mercifully rendered the peasant boy unconscious, and as his pain cut off, Lenardo Read the others clubbing him with fists and farm tools, kicking him, aiming always at his head until they had beaten it to a bloody pulp-well after the boy was dead.
The three horsemen came pounding up, Helmuth and Arkus ahead of Lenardo, who had stopped spurring his horse in sick despair when the boy died. The peasants turned, their savage satisfaction changed once more to terror. They didn’t know who these horsemen were, but any horsemen were people in authority who might do to the peasants whatever they pleased. Like the boy before them, they looked for somewhere to hide and found themselves trapped.
Helmuth and Arkus were armed, but their shields bore no device, as Lenardo had not yet chosen a symbol.
Arkus demanded with the voice of authority, “What have you done? How dare you murder one of my lord’s people?”
Panicked eyes looked from one to the other of the two soldiers, but no one dared speak.
Helmuth said, “Tell us why you have done this.” He was an old man, his voice gentler than Arkus’.
One of the peasants stepped forward, half bowing, and looking furtively toward Lenardo, who sat numbly staring at the blood-spattered tableau.
The peasant took in Lenardo’s fine clothes and the wolf s-head pendant hanging on his breast. Then he stared at the sword Lenardo wore and asked hesitantly, “My lord?”
Lenardo understood his confusion. If a Lord Adept could not use his magical powers, neither could he then use a sword. But I’m not a Lord Adept. I’m not fit to be a lord at all.
Before Lenardo could answer, Arkus said, “Bow to your new lord. And then speak, before his first act in this land is to punish you.”
The peasants fell to their knees, and their spokesman babbled, “Oh, my lord-be welcome! The boy was a Reader, my lord-your enemy. We only killed one with the witch-sight-”
“Enough,” Lenardo got out past the lump in his throat. He knew that they killed Readers here, had known the danger he faced when he left the empire on his quest into the savage lands-but that would change now. “I am-” he began, but Helmuth cut him off.
“This is Lenardo, your ruler. Never again will you take the law into your hands this way. You will take your problems to the magistrate Lord Lenardo appoints or to my lord himself.”
The peasants were astonished, Lenardo Read. Drakonius, the Adept who had ruled this land for many years, had taken no interest in the problems of the common people, except to punish them if they did not provide enough men and food for his armies.
“Listen well to Helmuth’s words,” Lenardo said. “There will be a system of justice in this land.” He could not yet bring himself to say “my land.” “Never again will you kill someone without a proper hearing.”
“But he was a Reader, my lord.”
“He was not-”
Again Helmuth cut him off, this time recalling that he could communicate directly with Lenardo without the peasants’ knowing. //They are terrified enough, my lord. Do not let rumor destroy you before you prove you can rule.// “He was not given a hearing,” the old man said aloud. “You cannot be certain he was a Reader at all.”
Lenardo was sweating after the hard ride, the pain, and his own nervous tension. He flung back the light cloak he had put on against the early-morning chill, exposing his right forearm, where the dragon’s head, mark of the Aventine Exile, was burnt deep and permanently into his flesh. It was long-healed now, and he had grown accustomed to it, but when the peasants saw it, they gasped.
Lenardo felt their eyes devouring him in a strange combination of hope and fear. Then the man who spoke for them cried, “The white wolf and the red dragon! The boy was right. And he was a Reader, my lord, to have seen ye so.”
No, the boy had not been a Reader. Lenardo knew that but accepted Helmuth’s caution and didn’t say it. Instead, he said, “Should you suspect anyone els
e of Reading, you will do him no harm. He is to be brought to me in Zendi. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The peasants continued to grovel, waiting anxiously, and Lenardo Read that they expected to be punished for breaking a law he hadn’t made yet. It was what Drakonius would have done.
Looking at the battered corpse, he asked, “Does this boy have a family?”
“Yes, my lord. A mother and a sister in the village. His father and granther died in the battle at Adigia.”
“And you have destroyed the last man in that family,” said Lenardo. “There can be no recompense for such a loss, but I charge all of you: Whatever needs those women have-plowing land, cutting wood, anything their men would have done for them-you are to do it. Do not think you can neglect this charge without my knowing. Arkus, ride back to the village with these men and extend my sympathy to the boy’s family. Give them a measure of silver. It will not compensate, but perhaps it will ease their lives a bit.”
The utter astonishment of the peasants followed Lenardo as he and Helmuth rode back toward their train. The old man said, “That was a very good move, my lord. It is exactly what the Lady Aradia would have done.”
“Aradia could have stopped them before the boy was murdered,” Lenardo replied bitterly.
“But she wouldn’t have known it was happening at all,” Helmuth pointed out.
That was true. Readers and Adepts had individual powers, but when they worked together…
How life has changed in just a few short weeks!
Lenardo had been a teacher in the Academy at Adigia, expecting to spend the rest of his life there, until Adigia was attacked by savage Adepts under the direction of a Reader: Galen, a boy Lenardo had trained but who had turned traitor to the empire. The only person who could hope to take Galen from the enemy was another Reader. Lenardo, who had taught Galen the techniques he had turned upon his own people, volunteered to go, speaking the same traitorous words Galen had in order to be condemned to exile: “We cannot fight the savages off. They are defeating us with their Adept powers. We must offer to share our Readers’ abilities with them in order to gain peace.”
The words were a lie at the time he spoke them. But now I believe them, he thought as he rode beside Helmuth, angling back toward the road.
Arkus joined them, reporting, “You really surprised those men, my lord. Drakonius would have destroyed their whole village if they’d gone against his will.”
“Even if they didn’t know his will?”
“That way, people got to know it very quickly.” The young officer grinned, and Lenardo felt a moment’s disgust at his callousness.
“Arkus, the destruction of people’s lives is never amusing.”
Arkus sobered. “My lord, I have not forgotten that you spared my life. Whatever your will, I shall serve you.”
But Arkus did not really understand. Years of teaching had given Lenardo patience. Only time and exposure to a different way of thinking would change Arkus’s attitude. Just as leaving the empire changed mine.
Leaving the empire in total ignorance, only by good fortune did Lenardo escape being taken by Drakonius. Fortune or fate-he was not certain what to term the sequence of events that had led him to wander, delirious with fever from an infection in his branded arm, into Aradia’s lands. There his wolf’s-head pendant-a gift from an old friend on his day of exile-was identified as the sign of the Lady Aradia, leader of an alliance of Adepts seeking to halt the spread of Drakonius’ power and cruelty.
Aradia’s father, Nerius, the one Adept with powers to equal Drakonius’, was dying of a tumorous growth in his brain. With Lenardo’s Reading to guide them, Aradia and her foster brother, Wulfston, had been able to dissolve the growth-and the old Adept had recovered in time to lead mem in battle when Drakonius attacked.
In that battle, Nerius had been struck through by one of the thunderbolts that were the Adepts’ most powerful weapon. But Drakonius had also died, and all his Adept henchmen with him. And Galen. My student, Lenardo reminded himself. My fault his life was blighted. How can I take responsibility for other lives after Galen?
The battle in which Galen died had taken place only a week ago. By savage custom, Aradia had divided the land they had won, awarding part of it to her brother Wulfston, part to the Lady Lilith, the only ally who had remained faithful in the face of Drakonius’ attack. Then, to Lenardo’s shock, she had announced, “The portion of land southward from the border of Lilith’s land, east from Wulfston’s, and west from mine I give to Lenardo.”
Lenardo had asked her to cede those lands to the Aventine Empire as part of a peace treaty he hoped to negotiate as her emissary. Instead, she had given them to him, telling him that if he chose, he could return the lands to the Aventine Emperor. “He will take them, I guarantee it. And after that he will listen to nothing you have to say; I guarantee that, too.”
Lenardo was forced to agree. The empire allowed Readers no power; they were the only citizens without the right to be elected to office. Only when he looked at his homeland from a new perspective did Lenardo question the customs that had taught him not to want money or property-tokens given to failed Readers who must leave the Academies to live among nonReaders.
But if his own empire had kept control over him, had not Aradia done so as well? The land she had given him was surrounded on three sides by Aradia, her brother, and their closest ally. True, Lenardo had asked her for Zendi… but she need not have divided the conquered lands in precisely that fashion.
On the other hand, she had left him with no border unprotected, except the southern border, which met the walls of the empire. No rival Lord Adept could attack Lenardo without first taking one of the three powerful Adepts whose alliance had defeated Drakonius.
Lenardo could not be certain of Aradia’s motivations, for Adepts were the only people he could not Read. She was a possessive ruler, and yet she wanted him to learn to rule: “It is the only way you will make what you want of the world.”
Lenardo fingered the wolf s-head pendant, symbol of his allegiance to Aradia. It was alabaster, carved so that a vein of violet beneath the translucent surface formed the eyes-Aradia’s violet eyes, her pale skin, pale hair, perfect embodiment of the symbol. He recalled her smile, at once animal-innocent and wolf-cunning. He and Aradia shared a dream: an Academy at Zendi where Adepts and Readers would learn to work together. As long as they shared that dream, she would not be his enemy.
Most of Lenardo’s train had kept on along the road toward Zendi, Lenardo’s new home. It was also an old home to him; he had been born there, when it was still part of the Aventine Empire. Now he planned to restore its beauty as he remembered it from childhood.
But not all of his followers had kept on along the road. Eight men from the old Zendi garrison under Arkus’ command had followed when Lenardo left the road-had followed part way and were now waiting… Lenardo Read them and realized that it was an ambush. A Reader. Should have known better. Crazy, running off that way.
One move that seemed erratic to them, and they were ready not just to abandon him but to kill him.
“Arkus-Helmuth-ambush ahead! Our own men.”
“What?” from Arkus. “My lord, they wouldn’t-”
“Spread out. They’re just beyond the rocks. They intend to kill Helmuth and me-and you, Arkus, if you don’t join them.”
“My lord, I wouldn’t!” The young commander paled in fear. His loyalty was firm, but would Lenardo believe it?
“I can Read you, Arkus, as easily as I Read them. They think to take us by surprise. We’ll take them instead.”
Arkus was first through the passageway, with Lenardo and Helmuth close behind. The soldiers didn’t have to Read to know that they were caught. Realizing that Lenardo had Read them, they attacked.
The passageway between the rocks was narrow enough here so that all eight could not attack at once. Lenardo and his men turned their horses and took the attack of the first three easily: Helmuth w
as experienced, Arkus was young and strong and eager, and Lenardo’s Reading told him his opponent’s every move before it was made. In moments, three traitors were dead, and their horses were churning to escape while the other five attackers strove to reach their quarry.
“Get the Reader!” shouted one of the soldiers, and all five tried to converge on Lenardo.
One crossed swords with him while another maneuvered behind him. He Read the man but could not turn until he had dispatched the one before him. Jerking on his horse’s reins, he made the animal rear, the sword of the man before him cut the horse’s chest, while that of the attacker behind went harmlessly under Lenardo’s arm, tangling in his cloak. He clasped his arm to his side, pinning the weapon as his horse plunged, screaming in pain, attacking man and horse before him in Its momentary madness. The other horse caught the excitement and also reared, unseating its rider, and plunged through the melee, knocking other fighters out of its way. Lenardo ran his sword through the man scrambling to his feet and then twisted to disarm the man whose sword he still held pinned. Too late! He had drawn his dagger, and even as Lenardo was bringing his sword around and trying to control his horse, he flung the knife straight at Lenardo’s heart, from not five paces away.
Lenardo’s attempt to duck was useless; he was a dead man-until the dagger swerved to one side and dropped harmlessly to the ground. Arkus. He had that one Adept skill to influence the motion of small objects. Breathing a prayer of thanks to all the gods, Lenardo skewered his now-terrified assailant and turned to help Helmuth and Arkus. They needed no help. Two of the last three attackers were already dead, and the last one, now fighting afoot with Helmuth, was disarmed even as he watched.
Helmuth backed the man against the rock wall, sword at his middle, saying, “Now you will tell us the meaning of this attack. Who sent you? Who dares attack my lord?”
“Helmuth-no!” Lenardo shouted, but it was too late. The man’s mind filled with horrified images of the tortures a Lord Adept could inflict, and he threw himself forward onto Helmuth’s sword. The old man could not backstep quickly enough. He gasped, withdrawing the sword, and knelt by the fallen man, but there was nothing he could do.