“Astra, return to your body,” Portia commanded. “Come back to the Academy and let me show you everything that is happening. You know only a few facts. Once you know all, you will understand why we must-
“Not “we”!” Astra told her. “I’m not one of your corrupt Masters, or one of your hired killers-like Vortius! He killed Master Quantus at your order! That was what you were afraid I’d Read in your office that day-the day you assigned me the arena as punishment!”
The death match in the arena was approaching its climax. The crowd rose to its feet, screaming for the death stroke. Waves of emotion crashed over both Readers, dragging them into an undertow of frenzy.
But both Master and Magister fought them off, locked in a battle of wills.
Suddenly Portia’s mind sought to grapple directly with Astra’s, to make her forget all she had learned about the conspiracy-
But the hypnotic techniques that worked on nonReaders could be eluded by another Reader-if she was strong enough.
For the first time in her life, Astra fought back, turning her anger outward instead of letting frustration eat at her from inside.
The crowd’s roar increased, the waves becoming a flood. They pounded Astra on one side as Portias attack bombarded her from another-she couldn’t fight them both!
Instinctively, she embraced the fury of the crowd, concentrated it through her own talent, and hurled it at Portia.
The Master could not retain her shields against such strength.
Astra’s hope stirred-Portia would leave the arena, return to her body at the Academy, and Astra would be able to escape.
But Portia had not climbed to her position or held it for so long by giving up.
Somehow, she fought off the bloodlust and threw it back at Astra.
But the younger woman was quick to learn. She opened to the frenzy, took its echo from Portia, combined phantom with reality-and hurled both together at the Master of Masters on the spear of a gladiator’s death agony.
Portia’s mental scream was lost in the din of the arena crowd. Astra felt her fall away from the conflict, Read her return to her own body, defeated… and just barely alive.
The crowd was cheering the victor, but Astra found no joy in her triumph.
Blessed gods! I was only defending myself! 1 didn’t want to kill her!
But a part of her was not so sure. How much of that bloodlust had belonged to the crowd… and how much was hers?
Astra Read Master Marina rush into Portia’s private chamber to discover the old woman unconscious.
Terrified that her emotions might reveal her presence, Astra withdrew from the scene. The return to her hastily abandoned body was agony. Every joint screamed as she rolled over onto her hands and knees, then slowly forced herself to her feet. She felt dizzy, but her mind was clearing. There was still no one else in the tunnel, thank the gods, so her body had been in no real danger.
But now all of me is in danger, she thought bitterly. If Portia recovers-
She hadn’t won anything. The Council of Masters and the Emperor would have her either exiled as a traitor-or executed as a threat to the state.
Oh, Zanos!
Almost involuntarily her mind reached out to find him in the arena, sword and shield at the ready, squaring off against his opponent.
Mallen was everything she had feared-bigger and heavier than Zanos, with black beard and hair so long that he looked like a savage. Astra Read both of them… and gasped as both men braced themselves-and became unReadable!
Mallen outsized him by half a head and considerable weight, but that didn’t bother Zanos. His main concern was how to put on a show for the spectators.
Despite his secret advantage, he must beware the unexpected. Any freak mishap could endanger him-
like twisting his ankle or letting Mallen past his guard in overconfidence. That was how he had received the wound he had relied on all these years as an excuse to protect his powers. Serafon had healed then what no Aventine healer could have… but she had no powers to raise the dead.
The babble of the spectators hushed with anticipation as the two fighters warily circled each other. The net in Mallen’s left hand didn’t bother Zanos as much as the trident in his opponents right. He had a mild contempt for spear weapons in arena combat, but its three deadly points couldn’t be ignored. Mallen had the look of a man confident of victory. That would soon be gone-but what was it about him that seemed vaguely familiar?
Mallen tested Zanos with several feints, using both seine and trident. Zanos obliged him by lightly dodging each move, gauging Mallen’s quickness. He’s fast for his size, Zanos thought, and saving his best moves for later.
He countered with several moves of his own, noting that Mallen didn’t backstep very smoothly. That meant a rush attack would-
Mallen leaped unexpectedly at Zanos, catching his sword blade between two trident points, swinging the net overhead in a wide arc.
It seemed to open like a giant hand, reaching out to grab Zanos’ head and shoulders.
He ducked under Mallen’s left arm and brought up his shield with a stiff-armed blow that connected with Mallen’s jaw, knocking him backwards as Zanos pulled his sword free.
“Very good, red-hair, ‘ Mallen said beneath the applause of the spectators. He smiled as his left fist wiped the blood off his lip and into his beard. “Very good indeed.”
Zanos’ eyes widened. Mallen had said those last three words in Maduran!
He studied Mallen’s face as they circled, dodging almost by reflex. Mallen smiled again-about to take Zanos’ head off with the trident.
Zanos let his powers deflect the weapon’s course, but the nearest point grazed his right temple.
He suppressed a cry more of surprise than pain, and spun away from the attack, following through with a sword swing at Mallen’s right side as the large man rushed past him. The blow bounced harmlessly off his opponent’s armor.
Zanos pulled himself together, putting his right thumb to the wound, Adeptly stopping the blood. He spoke Maduran to throw you off guard, he told himself, and it worked! A trick you don’t expect the rawest trainee to fall for. He couldn’t be from home-
Couldn’t he? As they squared off again, Zanos recalled his homeland before he had been kidnapped at the age of eight. There were stories about black-haired tribes who lived above the mountain snow line, fierce warriors who had once waged war against his people, and lost. He had accepted the stories as bedtime tales spun by his father for him and his younger brother. But they could be true-
Mallen charged again, swinging the net over his head like a whip. He’s very good with that thing, Zanos thought as he stepped forward, timing an attack to Mallen’s midsection.
Suddenly the net flew from Mallen’s hand. Once again it seemed to spread of its own accord. No one Zanos had ever seen could make it perform that way one-handed!
He couldn’t dodge the seine, so he concentrated, twisting the net into a smaller shape, batting it away with his shield.
But Mallen was on him with the trident, blocking out the sun. Shield met trident as Zanos aimed a thrust at Mallen’s left side, intending to wound him.
Sword tip bounced away from leather armor after striking solid air.
Zanos’ moment of puzzlement was just long enough for Mallen’s left fist to come down on his right shoulder, close to his neck. The blow nearly drove him to his knees-but from the advantage of his bent position, as Mallen prepared for a second blow, Zanos butted Mallen in the stomach with his head, knocking the wind out of him.
The crowd cheered for more, but each fighter was momentarily staggered, seeking to breathe and rest.