Jean Lorrah - Flight to Savage Empire

“Then just come with me to get the instruments, she begged. “It won’t take long.”

She led him through deepening night, Reading their way to the well-hidden cave where she had made camp. Far inside the hill, where none but a Reader dared penetrate the labyrinth of tunnels, she had prepared for her siege on Zanos’ entrapped mind.

“We need a torch,” he said.

“No-I can Read the way,” she told him. “Just come along with me.”

She uad to win him tonight-if he grew desperate

enough to escape back to Vortius, dawn would reveal the rock chimney high above the campsite she had prepared. She had no doubt that a man of Zanos’ strength, let alone Adept powers, could climb up and out. But the fire would not provide enough light for such a climb. She had until dawn.

When they came into the cavern, Zanos seized the flute avidly and played a few notes. The drug had not dulled his skill. No-it did not affect physical coordination.

Astra picked up her lute and accompanied Zanos, letting him lead the way. But he went nowhere except over the same old ground-the songs they always played, no variations, no improvisations, no syncopation… almost no style.

Finally, Astra undercut the melody with a new harmony, layering notes in an unfamiliar texture born of her fears and frustrations.

Zanos stopped playing. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t you remember? You used to play like that, Zanos. You see what Vortius’ drug has done to you?”

“It makes me strong.”

“You are strong without the drug. Vortius has taken your freedom… and your music.”

He didn’t answer, but lifted the flute to his lips again, glaring at her as he played a variation on the same tune. But it was an old, well-rehearsed variation… and note by note Zanos slid out of it and back to the plain melody, accuracy without spirit.

Astra saw his eyes change-their blankness had disappeared with his anger, but now the anger dissolved to emptiness again. The notes fumbled to a stop. Zanos stared at the flute as if he had never seen it before.

Making no attempt to control her Reading, Astra watched him set the instrument down. “I have to go now,” he said. “They’ll miss me from the watch.” He started to place his flute in its case.

“Zanos, you must clean your flute,” said Astra, “or it won’t play right next time. ‘

“It won’t play right nowl” he protested. “I must go”

Was it hopeless? If he would not cooperate, she could not counter his strength-he could wander in the labyrinth of caves until he went mad with craving for the drug.

What good were all her plans to trap his body here, when Vortius had his mind trapped beyond her reach? Clea had begun her cleansing of the drug with the determination to be free of it. All she could Read from Zanos was an animal-like determination to return to his master.

But as she turned her eyes away from his empty ones, a thought suddenly reached her. “Astra! Don’t turn away. Help me, Astra!”

Her eyes flew back to his, but the blankness remained. The thought had been weak, far away, and was not repeated… it was as if Zanos were trapped deep within his own mind, struggling for control.

“I will help you,” she said.

“I don’t need any help,” he replied as if he had no idea that he had cried out to her. “Show me the way out.”

“No.”

“Show me the way, woman!” He towered over her, threatening.

But again she Read an entreaty from deep within him-no words this time, just a dim plea yearning toward her.

“Zanos, I cannot help you if you leave,” she pleaded in turn.

“I don’t need your help,” he repeated.

“You do. You have lost your musical talent,” she improvised hastily. “Vortius will be disappointed. I can show you how to play as well as you ever did.”

He stared at the discarded flute. “… as well as ever?” he finally asked.

“Yes, Zanos!” Astra leaped at the opportunity. “Come-lie down. I will show you how to get your talent back.”

“Lie down?” he asked suspiciously.

“You know how to go into healing sleep. You must do so… and let me guide you to regain your talent.”

She had none of the herbs used to put patients safely to sleep; if he would not willingly seek the healing trance, she could not reach his mind.

At that moment she longed for the Adept power to make him sleep… but her mind felt the weak but free Zanos within the drug-bound man exert every strength to prompt, “Heal… must be healed.”

As if already in trance, he stretched out on the blanket beside the fire. Almost instantly he was in the dreamless sleep of healing-but no fever came to purge the drug from his blood. She would have to guide him to that.

To calm herself, Astra cleaned Zanos’ flute and put it away, then settled herself carefully beside her husband. She would be leaving her body, not to observe a distant place or to seek a plane of privacy, but to enter the dangerous passageways of his drug-influenced mind. She swallowed hard, fighting down fear. She had practiced this technique at Gaeta, as all Readers did-but she was not a healer, nor had she colleagues here to draw her out should she become lost in Zanos’ fantasies.

Long-practiced breathing exercises calmed her body, and she let her “self’ drift forth. As always, her Reading became clearer than ever, unhampered by physical influences. She Read for Zanos-and found the part of his mind that refused the influence of the white lotus trapped, frustrated, within a body it no longer controlled.

“Astra!” She felt his shock as her presence touched his. Not a Reader, he had never experienced such a mental touch before.

“Yes, Zanos. I am here.”

“How can I hear you… Read you?”

She told him, 111 am projecting to you. Now, I want you to leave your body, escape the influence of the white lotus.”

“Leave-?”

“Don’t fear-I will guide you.”

She caught his natural reliance on his physical power vying with the loss of control since Vortius had drugged him. “No-your body won’t obey you,” she prompted. Ill will show you how to regain control.”

Ill know how!” he replied in frustration. “But my own strength betrays me. He betrays me!”

“He?” Astra curbed her fear-the uniting of a fragmented mind was a task for the most skilled of Healers.

“Yes-he! Zanos the slave! Zanos the coward! He is the one in control begging Vortius to enslave him further.”

Suddenly Astra was engulfed in Zanos’ memories. It was his day of triumph! The crowd roared as he skewered his third challenger and turned to receive their approbation, strutting before them, arms upraised, upon the sand stained with the blood of his opponents.

His heart sang. His master would win much gold on this match-and one-twelfth of it would go, as always, toward earning Zanos’ freedom Ever closer the day grew-and now there would be more such bouts, with higher stakes-

A year-a year and a half at the most-and Zanos would have his freedom!

The cheering went on and on: “Za-nos! Za-nos! Za-nos!”

He circled the arena, basking in the approval of the crowd, long since inured to the knowledge that they would have cheered equally for his opponent had he been the victor, and Zanos a corpse to be dragged out of sight of the fastidious.

“Za-nos! Za-nos! Za-nos!”

He waved his arms, and the cheering increased as if he directed an orchestra. He reached the Emperor’s box, stopped, saluted-the crowd went wild.

And suddenly fell silent as the Emperor rose. “Where is this man’s master?” he called, and Lakus ran out into the arena to renewed cheering.

The Emperor raised his arms, and the people quieted once more. “Lakus, you have trained Zanos well-but he has gone far beyond mere training this day. I reward both of you for an outstanding display of gladiatorial skill. Lakus”-he tossed a small but heavy sack that clinked when Lakus caught it-“I reward you with three times Zanos’ value. May you find another and train him just as well.”