“If they’re not waiting at your house,” Serafon warned. “Zanos-don’t risk everything on your hunch about this Reader. Stay away from her.”
“You and I risk everything every day we stay in this land, ” he reminded her as he stood to stretch his legs. “We should have left the moment I won my freedom. The longer I stay here, the more danger there is from people like Vortius. He seems determined to take everything I have. Astra may be able to help me get the information I need to fight him… so I won’t have to take more direct action.”
“Zanos.” Serafon’s quiet tones forced him to look her in the eye. “Is that what you’d really like to do? Kill Vortius?”
He restlessly paced the tiny room, trying to sort out his thoughts. “It would be direct and clean. Serafon, I’m not a schemer like Vortius. But no, I don’t want to kill him-or anyone else who has not agreed to the risk in honorable combat. Vortius chose to make us enemies, not me. For more than two years I’ve honored your wishes, because he is the son of your close friend. But friend or no, you don’t dare tell her the secret you and I share.”
Serafon replied grimly, “It has been more than a generation since I fled the southlands, but I remember the fear. More than that, I remember the temptation to kill-the desire to kill anyone who might prove a threat, should he or she learn about my gift-”
“Gift?” Zanos echoed. “It’s a curse!”
“That curse enabled you to win every gladiatorial contest you’ve fought, and to do much good in secret.
With such power comes equal responsibility, Zanos. Right now, you are feeling the weight of that responsibility.”
The gladiator stopped pacing, searching for words to continue the argument, but fatigue was rapidly overtaking him. Serafon’s wisdom had saved his life countless times, but sometimes his fighter’s instinct outweighed any wisdom.
“Zanos,” Serafon continued quietly, “you’re a fighter, but you’re not a murderer.”
“No?” he asked. “I’m not so sure. Sometimes I see the faces of my opponents in my dreams-accusing me of killing them with unfair strength. At other times I feel their blood on my hands, blood that will never wash off.” He stared down at his palms, then closed them into tight fists. “I hate this empire, Serafon. I hate them for enslaving me, and for what they made me do to stay alive. Most of all, I hate them for this mockery they call freedom-”
Serafon now stood before him, gently cupping her hands around his clenched fists, as though trying to draw the anger from his spirit. He could see his anguish reflected in her eyes.
“All I’ve ever wanted is to go home to Madura,” he whispered. “To go home-and take with me anyone who lives in chains or in fear, and wants to breathe free air.”
“Yes, Zanos, I know.” Her left hand gently touched his face. “It is a most noble dream, but one that can come true only if you move with careful steps. Rash action will only bring you grief.”
He nodded agreement-even though it was more that he was too tired to argue further than that he fully agreed. He needed at least one more season in the arena to pull together the money and connections required to make his dream a reality. One more year-would it really be murder to rid Tiberium of a man who threatened a plan that would help so many people?
As if she knew his doubts, Serafon said, “Zanos, please… leave Vortius to me. I have ways of influencing him that you do not know.”
The strength of his anger was gone. “I’ll do it your way, ” he agreed, “for the time being. But if Vortius forces a confrontation, I won’t wait for your advice. He’s not taking any more of my money-or my men,” he added, glancing at the brown sheet covering Clavius’ body.
Watching him, Serafon said quietly, “I understand,” and left the room. He knew she was going to summon the temple workers to take the body for burial in Slaves’ Field, amid a thousand other unmarked graves.
A thousand leagues from the homeland Clavius never even got to see. “I’m sorry, my friend,” Zanos whispered. “I failed you twice today-in the arena, and here in the temple. I can’t believe you accepted that drug deliberately. You wanted to gain your freedom in reality, not in dreams. At least you are free now, Clavius. The gods have answered your prayers in their own way-but it was not the way I intended.”
“You look as if you crawled back from the arena!”
The voice that cut across Astra’s thoughts could belong only to Magister Tressa, her closest rival for the Academy’s honors. Tressa of the night-black hair and fierce dark eyes. Tressa of the deadly tongue.
Tressa, who always knew everyone else’s business, but was never caught violating the Reader’s Code.
Tressa was always in trouble, always pulling punishment duty-yet never doing anything quite bad enough to get herself transferred to a lesser Academy. Especially since her wide-ranging talent as a Reader had her tagged, as was Astra, as a potential future Master.
Astra threw a muttered greeting over her shoulder and tried to get away from this irritant, but Tressa caught up with her and pretended not to realize that Astra did not want her company.
“You don’t seem to have any injuries,” Tressa said as she scanned her. “Why did it take you so long to get back? What were you doing?”
“Finding some children trapped under a collapsed house,” Astra replied truthfully.
But Tressa wasn’t satisfied. “Wasn’t that Zanos the Gladiator with you at the gate?”
Astra said nothing, merely enforced her mental shields and kept on walking toward Portias office.
“Such an interesting man,” Tressa went on. “I’ve spoken to him at the stadium. He’s so… beautiful, don’t you think? Like a wild animal, all that strength- is he the reason you’re so late?”
“I didn’t know you pulled so many punishment assignments at the arena,” Astra returned. “How many times have you angered Portia? A dozen times? A hun-”
Astra stopped in midsentence as a mental scream tore through her. Tressa must have “heard” it also, for her face reflected the anguish Astra felt.
Astra bolted for the door to Portia’s office, Tressa on her heels. They burst in to find Master Claudia sitting at the desk with her face buried in her hands.
“Master Claudia?” Astra approached carefully. “Are you all right?”
The middle-aged woman slowly lowered her hands and looked up at both Magisters with an expression of horror. Astra became aware of running footsteps in the corridor, as other Readers converged on the office, drawn by the scream.
Claudia said in a choked voice, “I just received word from Master Portia. Master Quantus, head of the Palonius Academy, died suddenly tonight.”
Grief-stricken reactions filled the room, a maelstrom of emotions that-for one terrible moment-
threatened to drown Astra. But it subsided quickly, for none of the other women here knew Master Quantus personally-it was merely that one of their own was gone, and as Readers, they shared the grief of his fellows who truly mourned.
But as the wave of overwhelming grief subsided, it was replaced for Astra by a sudden anguish-mixed with fury.
As she closed her eyes, a single word softly crossed her lips, so gently that it was lost in the mourning sounds of the other Readers: “Murder!”
Chapter Two
By the time Zanos got home from the temple, he could do nothing but fall into bed and sleep. For some time he slept the dreamless sleep of exhaustion, but eventually his soul retreated into his favorite dream-the dream that had sustained him through all the years of his captivity.
He stood on the deck of a northbound ship, staring at the waters ahead as the blue sky slowly turned to a familiar iron gray. The air grew cool and crisp, and green islands appeared on the horizon, snow-capped mountains rising to greet him and his friends.