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 huhg 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 hi 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 butOh, 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 se~en 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
