Dragonlord of the Savage Empire se-2

by Jean Lorrah

  “About locating ale or beer? Yes. I told him to send men out to find as much as possible.” He smiled at her. “I may have different dietary requirements Jhan you’re used to, but I wasn’t raised totally apart from the real world. I know that after working so hard, people want something stronger than water or fruit juice. You know I like a cup of wine myself.”

  Although Lenardo hadn’t meant it that way, Cook called, “Ho! Dorn! Wine for me lord!”

  The boy ran into the bathhouse, where the casks of wine were kept cool, and returned with a goblet for Lenardo.

  He was no longer thirsty, but he Read that Cook would like some wine, although she would neither ask for it nor help herself to the supply reserved for the Lord of the Land and his officers.

  By savage custom, it was a sign of honor and friendship for two people to drink from the same goblet, and so Lenardo offered the wine to the cook, saying, “Will you try some?”

  She blushed but dared not refuse. Although she rarely had wine for her own pleasure, she knew the varieties, which to choose to complement various dishes. This was an ordinary white wine, of which they had brought several kegs, but a good one. She held it for a moment to savor the bouquet before tasting.

  Amused and happy that he could please this hardworking woman with such a simple gesture, Lenardo Read her reactions, careful not to invade the privacy of her thoughts.

  As she sniffed the wine, her delight turned to puzzlement. She frowned and took another whiff. “Could the heat have spoiled it?” she asked, and started to tilt the cup to taste.

  Lenardo Read the wine curiously and then in panic grabbed the cup out of the woman’s hand, sloshing wine over both of them. “It’s poisoned!” Cook gasped, “No! Oh, no, me lord, I never-” “I know you didn’t do it, but someone did-someone with access to the wine casks.”

  Facing a life-threatening situation, Lenardo Read openly. Cook was trying to think of a suspect, still convinced that he would find her the most likely. She followed him into the bathhouse, where he Read the kegs. Only one was poisoned: the half-empty one he and his retainers had been served from.

  “The wine was good yesterday,” he said. “It was done last night or this morning.”

  “But I’ve had thirty people in and out all morning,” said Cook. “I knew we shouldn’t have pressed those townspeople into service so near me lord’s food, but where was I to get help?”

  “Cook, I’m not blaming you,” Lenardo insisted. “Your keen sense of smell just saved both our lives.” “But you Read-”

  “Only after you noticed something wrong. I’m not in the habit of Reading for poison in everything I eat or drink.”

  Satisfied at last that he would not blame her, Cook asked, “Will you Read the workers, me lord? Find out who did this?”

  “If he-or she-saw what just happened out there, the culprit is the person running away,” Lenardo said. – But no one had run off. Most of the kitchen staff were resting; only the cooking staff-all of whom had come from Aradia’s land-were beginning work on the evening meal. Lenardo sent for Arkus and then walked among them, Reading, finding neither hate, fear, nor resentment. Arkus arrived as Lenardo confronted the puzzled, fearful townspeople pressed into scullery service. The terror of being called before the Lord of the Land so obscured individual thought that Lenardo wondered whether he would have to interview each one alone to find his would-be murderer. Although there was plenty of resentment, he could find no hatred strong enough to account for an attempt on his life.

  He had not told them why he had gathered them; the thought in most minds was that they were to be pressed into some other work. But why would the lord himself bother with that? The Lord of the Land dealt with ordinary people only to punish, although this one had been heard to offer praise…

  That gave Lenardo an idea. “Arkus, these people are doing a fine job of keeping everyone well fed.”

  Puzzled, Arkus replied, “Yes, my lord.”

  “I wish to thank them. Instruct Cook to have wine brought from the open cask so that everyone may have a cup.”

  Thoroughly bewildered now, Arkus kept his composure only by reminding himself that he had sworn loyalty and obedience. Why is he making me an errand boy for this riffraff?

  But blazing beyond Arkus’ justified concern came a flare of fear and guilt and hatred, standing out clearly from the others’ relieved pleasure. A man began edging his way -toward the door.

  “Arkus!” Lenardo’s voice stopped the young commander in his tracks. “This man-” he pointed “-poisoned the cask of wine that you and I and our staff have been drinking from.”

  “No! It’s a lie! I never-”

  The man backed to the wall as Arkus advanced on him, sword drawn. But he was not suicidal: he stood pinned, sword at his throat, sweating, eyes popping, cursing himself for having moved.

  To the other startled, frightened men and women, Lenardo said, “I’m sorry to trick you, but I had to find the culprit. And you shall have your wine-from a fresh cask-as soon as I determine what to do with this would-be murderer.”

  By the time they were left alone, the man was radiating stormy defiance and contempt. Lenardo Read that he thought the new lord weak and stupid.

  “What is your name?” he asked the man, who was dressed in tatters of what had recently been elegant clothes.

  “I won’t tell you.”

  “Your name is Bril. Why did you try to murder me?”

  “You’re not going to make me work like a scullery maid.”

  Lenardo knew the words a Lord Adept would say at that point: “You are my property.” He did not say them. Instead, he said, “You are my responsibility, along with this city and all the surrounding countryside. I expect you to work for your food, clothing, and shelter like everyone else.”

  Arkus said, “Bril’s a moneylender, my lord. He doesn’t know what work is.”

  “It is not a motive for murder. What did you think to accomplish, Bril? Had you killed me, the Lady Aradia would have given Zendi to someone else or taken it herself. The new lord would be my friend and would avenge my death.”

  “Yes, a Lord Adept who would do something,” Bril spat. “If anyone had tried to kill Drakonius. he wouldn’t have wasted time talking. He’d have the person tortured to death in the forum as an example.”

  “You are quite right, Bril,” said Lenardo, sick at heart. “Your punishment must be an example. Arkus, you may proceed with the flogging you’ve been wanting.”

  “At once, my lord,” Arkus said with grim satisfaction. “I’ll tell the whipman to make sure he takes a long tune to die.”

  “No, I will not rule by torture. Bril will be flogged, but not to death.” “But my lord-”

  “I want him alive so that people will remember that he did not succeed. The men who ambushed you and Helmuth and me did not succeed, but they are dead, and people have already forgotten.” He turned to Bril. “I’m not like the Lords Adept you are accustomed to. You cannot fool me, Bril. You accomplished nothing, and yet you must suffer. Whether you admit it aloud or not, you will deliver this message to my people: Attacks on Lenardo are not worth trying.”

  Trembling inside but outwardly composed, Lenardo assessed Bril’s physical condition. “Ten lashes,” he ordered.

  “For trying to kill you?” Arkus gasped.

  “Look at him. He’s never felt the lash before, and he’s not young or strong. It will be the worst thing he’s ever suffered, but he will recover and be able to work.”

  “You may be right,” said Arkus, “but others, more hardened-”

  “The idea,” Lenardo said, “is for there to be no others!”

  Arkus suddenly understood. “You really won’t be able to… shut it out?”

  “To a degree,” Lenardo admitted, “if I stay at a dis-. tance.” But he would have to witness his order being carried out.

  Steeling himself, he stood on the bathhouse steps. There were plenty of witnesses: Arkus brought in all his soldiers and work cre
ws, and other people mobbed the forum as the word spread that the Lord of the Land dealt punishment when it was deserved.

  Bril was fastened to the old well-worn whipping post in the center of the forum. Arkus joined several soldiers there, gave one of them the lash, and, Lenardo Read, said softly, “My lord says no torture. Lay it on swift and certain.”

  Lenardo braced himself for the empathic reaction. He had to watch, nor could he shut out the sound of the lash or Bril’s screams turning from fear to pain.

  Yet something distracted his attention. He became aware at the seventh blow that for every crack of the lash, a wail from within the bathhouse rose in concert with Bril’s scream.

  Collecting his wits, he listened clearly to another two, and then on the last he heard the voice change to the mournful sobbing of a child in pain. He turned, following the sound and then Reading. Instantly his back was aflame, but he could tell himself that it was not his own pain and let it subside. The child could not.

  He burst into the frigidarium, which was being scrubbed down before being put into operation. If the new lord had the functioning of the bathhouse high on his list of priorities, who dared question his idiosyncrasies?

  A number of women had been working there while their children played about the building, but now one of those children was clinging to its mother, sobbing and then screaming when she touched its back. Everyone had stopped working to stare, and the room was awash in bewildered pity.

  Knowing immediately what had happened, Lenardo set out to break the child’s focus on Bril. //Child!// he projected at the most intense level.

  Despite the pain, the response came clearly, the thrill of first contact with a compatible mind. The child turned huge brown eyes to him, and he smiled reassuringly. //Focus on me, and the pain will go away.//

  Tears turned to laughter. The child dropped its clutch on its mother and ran to Lenardo, crying, “Mama, he talks to me! In my head, he talks to me!”

  The mother screamed. Hate and terror filled the room as the other women cried, “Reader!” and converged on Lenardo and the child, one of them pulling a knife as she said, “I’ll take care of it, me lord.”

  Astonished, Lenardo snatched the child out of their reach. “What’s the matter with you?” he demanded. “Haven’t you been told that Readers are not to be harmed anymore?”

  Pounding feet, and Arkus skidded into the room, sword in hand. “What’s going on?”

  “This child-a Reader-they want to kill it!” And then, “Arkus, why don’t these women know I’m a Reader rather than an Adept?”

  The wave of renewed terror made Lenardo wince, and he recalled Helmuth stopping him from revealing himself to the peasants.

  Arkus said, “I think you can Read why, my lord. Nobody lied to them. We just didn’t spread the word. Now that you’ve established your authority, it’ll be all right.” “By the gods,” said Lenardo, “I want that decree carried at once to every reach of the land. Any child who gives sign of Reading ability is to be brought to me unharmed.” He was trembling, clutching the child tightly, his fear communicating itself to… her.

  As he realized that it was a little girl he held, he thought in dismay, I should never have touched her! Although the scheduled testing in the empire was done by female Readers for girls and male Readers for boys, it naturally happened that unexpected discoveries were made by Readers of the opposite sex from the children discovered. At home, Lenardo would have avoided seeing the child, certainly never touched her, and sent her to the nearest Academy for girls.

  But he was not at home..

  Wait. I am at home. This is my home, my land… and I make the laws for it. He turned to the girl’s mother. “No one’s going to hurt your child. She has a precious gift. I’ll help you teach her to use it.”

  “I don’t want her, me lord,” the woman answered, gasping. “You take her!”

  “Take the child, my lord,” said Arkus. “She’s yours, anyway. But I’d still advise you to give the mother something for her, before witnesses.”

  Lenardo nodded. He had often had to buy little boys from their families for the empire’s Academies. “Where is the child’s father?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” the woman said blankly, and Lenardo Read that what she meant was that she did not know which of a number of men was the father-nor did she care. “What’ll you give me for the girl?”

  “A quarter measure of silver, or I will give her back to you to raise, and you will be severely punished if you neglect her or do her harm.”

  “Don’t want her poking in my head. She’s yours, me lord.”

  “Very good. Arkus, give the woman her money and get her mark witnessed on a paper signing the child over to me.”

  Arkus covered his surprise with a “Yes, my lord,” but as soon as they had left the room, he asked, “A paper? What do you mean?”

  “A legal document,” Lenardo explained. “Can you write, Arkus?”

  “No, my lord. Helmuth can.” “Helmuth is out of the city today. I’d better write it.” As Arkus went off to the well-guarded room where their personal belongings and the treasure Aradia had insisted “went with Zendi” were stored, Lenardo turned his attention to the child in his arms. She was clinging to him like a little monkey, basking in the empathic flow between them. She didn’t question leaving her mother, who had never responded to her growing gift. Lenardo knelt down and tried to set her on her feet.

  //It’s all right,// he told her, prying her clutching hands loose from his tunic. //See? You don’t have to touch. What’s your name?//

  At first he didn’t think she would respond. Reading abilities often operated sporadically for months before a child gained permanent control. She seemed terribly young and indeed looked like a monkey with her spindly limbs and her huge solemn eyes studying him from a too-thin face. Her hair had been lopped off any which way, apparently to save her mother the trouble of combing it.

  He was about to ask her name aloud, when she said, “Julia.”

  He smiled approval. //That’s a pretty name. Now, without saying it, try to tell me how old you are.// //Eight.// //Very good.//

  The girl grinned, revealing that a front tooth was missing. Lenardo was surprised she was that old. She was no bigger than a five-year-old, and he had been guessing six only because of her response. //Do you know who I am?// he asked. In the heat of the day, Lenardo was wearing a plain tunic and sandals. Julia put a grubby ringer on the dragon’s-head brand on his arm and said, //That is the sign of the Lord of the Land.// She cocked her head, puzzled. //I thought he was old and ugly.//

  //I am the new lord,// Lenardo explained. //What we are doing now-talking in our minds-is called Reading. I’m going to teach you to use your abilities, but around other people we must talk out loud. It’s not polite to shut them out.//

  “All right,” she said, and held out her arms to be picked up again.

  “You can walk,” Lenardo told her. “As your Reading improves, you’ll find you don’t want to touch people. You feel what they’re feeling, like that man’s pain.”

  The dark eyes clouded. “Will that always happen?”

  “I’ll teach you how to stop it.”

  “Good,” she said, idly scratching her head, where Lenardo Read lice.

  “That is even easier to stop,” he said. “I don’t know which you need worse, a meal or a bath.”

  “Food! Don’t want a bath.”

  “You’ll have one anyway,” he told her, taking her out onto the steps and turning her over to Cook. Lenardo then joined Arkus again to make the deal with Julia’s mother.

  “You don’t have a seal, my lord,” said Arkus, “but the city seal was in the treasure chest.”

  “That will do for now,” Lenardo said. Something else he had not given a thought to. Some sort of symbol. What would Wulfston choose, he wondered, since the wolf s-head sign he had been named for belonged to Aradia?

  Julia’s mother watched curiously as Lenardo wrote out the docu
ment. When he pressed the seal into the wax, the woman pointed to the brand on his arm. “Is that how ye mark your sworn men, me lord?”

  Choking down the horror of the idea, he replied, “No, indeed,” and lifted the seal, only to find himself facing the dragon’s head again, this time surmounting a tower, and beneath it the letter of the savage alphabet for the sound of “z”.

  If I don’t do something about it soon, he thought, I’ll end up with the dragon as my symbol by default.

  In the infirmary, he found Sandor just finishing with Bril, who was still painfully sore. “Can’t you help him any more than that?” he asked.

  “I could, but do you want to have to flog him again tomorrow? I healed the cuts so he can’t get infected. Let his own body do the rest, while the pain reminds him of what will happen if he turns on you again.”

  Lenardo said no more. Harsh physical punishment was the norm in the empire as well as here, but before he was branded and thrust beyond the pale, the worst that had ever happened to him personally was a sound thrashing the day he was caught kissing the innkeeper’s daughter, when he was twelve years old.

  Rubbing the mark on his arm, he told Bril, “Report to Arkus, and don’t forget that it’s no longer possible to sneak away and hide. I can find you no matter where you go-”

  Bril tried to look defiant, but the beating had taken most of the rebelliousness out of him. “You got a Reader working for you, like Drakonius had?”

  “I am a Reader.” Lenardo allowed a moment for the shock to register and then added, “You were a wealthy man, Bril. If you’re clever and you work hard, you may be wealthy again-but it will be a long time before you earn back the right to be trusted.”

  Emotionally exhausted, Lenardo walked the streets of his city the rest of that afternoon, with some new instinct prompting him to show himself as the word spread of what he was. To his relief, acceptance followed the first shock. It was not that he was nonAdept, like the legendary Wulfston the Red, but that his abilities were different from the ones they were used to… and equally powerful. He Read the fear that had been growing since his arrival beginning to give way. Their lord had his own powers with which to protect his people. They were not defenseless, as they had begun to think.