Jean Lorrah - Empress Unborn

“I beg your pardon?” she asked at the abrupt turn of subject.

“Isn’t it a little late for that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come now,” he said coldly, his eyes pinning her, “you won’t claim you resisted poking around in my head while you had me at your mercy?”

“No, I won’t,” she said flatly, and saw a flicker of surprise on his face. “We will not lie to you, Pyrrhus.”

“Perhaps. But you won’t respect my privacy, either.”

“It was not a breach of healer’s ethics,” she said. “But then you must know that-it is the same for Readers as for Adepts. You were my patient. If, in treating your burns, I had discovered some other problem, such as a tumorous growth, you would have expected me to remove it. Didn’t you learn the same thing when you studied at Gaeta?’

Gaeta was the huge hospital where all Readers of the upper ranks in the Aventine Empire were once sent to learn the rough medical techniques which were all they could practice without Adept powers. Herbs and potions, bonesetting by force, amputating limbs as had been done to Decius, actually cutting into people’s bodies.

But even with those primitive methods they had healed many people. And now that Readers and Adepts were working together, there was almost no condition that could not be cured at Gaeta. -

Except Pyrrhus’ condition.

The man’s composure slipped enough to allow a brief puzzled frown. “I did not know that you had studied there.”

“I didn’t, but my husband did,” she replied. “He is a Master Reader.”

“Oh, yes-Lenardo the Traitor.”

“So Portia and her cohorts called him,” Aradia struck back.

She hit her target. “Very well,” said Pyrrhus. “Tell me what you found inside my head.”

There was no way to put it gently. “We cannot restore your Reading powers. Nervous tissue has been destroyed, something even a Lord Adept cannot heal.”

He did not blink, although she knew that she must have crushed the last hope, however denied, buried in his heart. “Thank you for telling me the truth,” he said finally.

“You do believe me?” she felt compelled to ask.

“Oh, yes,” he replied, cynicism returning to his tone. “If you lied to me, Master Clement would contradict you. That is his greatest weakness: he is a completely honest man.” He frowned again. “Physical damage?

Done by Readers?”

“Portia had an Adept working with her.”

At his suddenly feral expression she quickly added, “We know who he was, and he is dead.”

“That,” said Pyrrhus, “is unfortunate. Although it is fortunate for him.”

Aradia was about to try to turn the discussion to similar criminals in Zendi when Master Clement arrived.

“Aradia, Julia is unharmed,” he began.

“Unharmed? What harm threatened her?” Aradia demanded, getting to her feet.

“No-there is no need for you to go,” the Reader told her. “There are Readers and Adepts on the scene.”

” What scene?” Aradia exclaimed in frustration.

“Julia was at the horse market.”

“Yes. She had my permission.” Aradia had decided that allowing Julia time with Galerio and his gang might lessen the appeal of something forbidden.

“A fire stampeded the horses,” said Master Clement. “No one was killed, and all injuries were minor.

Julia and her friends are helping to round up the horses.” He allowed Aradia to Read the scene with him, to see that, indeed, all was under control.

But- “Fire? Stampede? Master Clement, is this another-?”

When the old Reader did not immediately answer, Pyrrhus asked, “Another what?” When he didn’t get a reply, he suggested, “Another unexpected event like a whirlwind in the middle of a city on a perfectly calm day?”

That got their attention. “What do you know about it?” Aradia asked.

He shrugged. “It sounds like the Adept harassment we got when I was a boy at the Academy. Adigia was on the border, and sometimes the savages would try to drive people out of the area by sending storms to ruin crops, or starting fires to destroy villages.”

Master Clement nodded. “These events appear similar. There were other whirlwinds at the same time as the one in Zendi. Yesterday a hailstorm destroyed some crops. Today the horse market was disrupted.

Thus far, our Readers have been unable to trace the source.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you,” Pyrrhus said with his well-practiced insincere smile.

Master Clement looked at Aradia. “You told him?”

“He asked.”

“Yes, of course he would.” He turned to the man on the bed. “Pyrrhus, it is best you know the truth.

However, you should know the whole truth.”

Pyrrhus was lounging in a deliberately casual pose, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. If Sistena saw his boots on her clean bedding, Aradia thought, she’d tongue-lash him out of such casualness.

But, head tilted curiously, Pyrrhus was asking, “What more is there to know? The nerves are burnt out. I will never be able to Read again.”

“You have not lost all your powers.”

“Oh, yes,” Pyrrhus replied acidly, “I can still send thoughts with a Reader’s power. I did so in the rapport that killed Portia. I suppose you could use me as a transmitter of messages to other Readers-but what good does that do me?‘t”

Master Clement gestured toward the weapons on the bed at Pyrrhus’ feet. “Readers make the best swordsmen,” he said. “Wicket says you are the best swordsman he’s ever seen.”

“Wicket is a fool,” sneered Pyrrhus.

“You are still alive,” Master Clement countered. “Pyrrhus…”

At the tone of the old man’s voice, Pyrrhus relented. “You’re right,” he said. “When I realized that I could not Read at all, I was afraid I could no longer fight- that I wouldn’t survive to take revenge. But the first time I had to use my sword I was caught by surprise, and reacted instinctively. When it was over, I realized I had lost none of that skill.”

Master Clement nodded. “That is consistent with what we found. Portia destroyed the nerve center for analyzing and interpretation what you Read. You are still Reading, Pyrrhus-but what you Read no longer reaches your conscious mind.”

Pyrrhus shrugged. “It’s all the same to me.”

“No, it’s not” said Master Clement. “You don’t think and analyze when you’re fighting. What you Read goes straight into action.”

“What’s that?” came Wicket’s voice from the doorway. “There’s actually something Pyrrhus doesn’t analyze to death?” As he stepped forward, all of them stared, for Wicket was covered with dirt and grime.

At their looks, he gave a sheepish grin. “I was afraid

Pyrrhus might be awake already, so I hurried on over here. An’ I was right, wasn’t I?” he added brightly.

“Where’ve you been?” Pyrrhus demanded impatiently.

“The horse market. There was a fire, and then-”

“Oh, that,” Pyrrhus said in bored tones. “We’ve heard all about it already.” He gave one of his arctic smiles. “Isn’t it convenient to have friends who are Readers?” Having effectively stopped the conversation, Pyrrhus savored the moment’s silence before asking Wicket, “What were you doing at the horse market?”

“Thought we might need horses, didn’t I? Thought you might want to leave.”

” Did you?’ Pyrrhus began dangerously, but Master Clement stepped in before he could continue.

“Pyrrhus, don’t leave without discovering the extent of your remaining powers. Let us treat you at the Academy.”

“My Academy days are long over, Clement,” Pyrrhus replied.