His lands would be a wedge separating the three allies, which meant that Aradia trusted him not to make them such.
Thus hope and apprehension battled in Lenardo’s mind as he rode toward Zendi at the head of an army—some soldiers but mostly civilians who had chosen to go with him into his new land. My land. It would never sound right. Nonetheless, he must live up to his duties to land and people until the day he could safely make the treaty he sought.
Lenardo noticed the well-developed crops beginning to wither in the fields. “No rain since the battle,” he commented to Helmuth. “If we can find some clouds, we’ll put Josa right to work. We can’t afford to lose what food there is, or we’ll be in for a hard winter.” Josa was Helmuth’s niece, one of the many people with minor Adept talents the old man had gathered for Lenardo’s entourage.
“I’ll help,” said Arkus, who was riding on Lenardo’s other side. “I can move anything light.”
The young captain, promoted to commander of all that was left of Zendi’s troops, was eager to dispel any doubts Lenardo had left about him. Arkus’ future rested on Lenardo’s. Human nature, as Aradia said. As long as it was in his own self-interest, Arkus would work faithfully for Lenardo.
Northgate stood open when they approached Zendi. At least no one opposed their entry. In the warmth of the day, the stench was unbelievable. Within the walls, all Lenardo could do was rein in and stare, too stunned even to Read.
The main market way through the city was strewn with corpses, human and animal. Debris littered the streets. What buildings were not burnt-out shells were looted, doors and shutters hanging, broken furniture tossed on the doorsteps.
People hid in the shadows, staring out in fear and hate—crowds of people in rags supplemented with bits of stolen finery. There was no coherent thought to be Read; they were like trapped animals: hungry, terrified, and desperate.
The gods help me, he thought. Is this my capital city? Are these the people I’m supposed to teach to trust me?
Paralyzed even beyond nausea, he sat hopelessly staring at...my land.
CHAPTER TWO
Before Lenardo could even think of a command, Arkus turned his horse and began firing orders to his troops to clear people out of the looted buildings.
Helmuth shouted, “Greg, Vona! Up here and make us a clean path.”
As two people rode forward, the corpses began to go up one by one in the roaring blaze of funeral pyres. The other debris burned with the bodies, and the paving stones were purified in the wake of the flames.
The obvious done, people began turning to Lenardo for orders. Dragging himself out of lethargy, he said, “We need a place to stay and a clean place to set up a kitchen and a hospital.”
“Where, my lord?”
He Read the shambles all around them, despairing of clearing an area large enough to let his people—my people—sleep without the stench of death in their nostrils and rats crawling over their feet.
But there was one building.... He laughed as he realized it: “The one place Drakonius never used—the baths!”
The huge Aventine bathhouse, built to serve an entire city, was almost untouched. It stood on the edge of the forum, empty, unharmed by the looting because there was nothing in it to loot. The baths were dry, but the spring that served them had been diverted to form the city’s water supply. Clean, fresh water tumbled from a pipe at the side of the bathhouse into the beginning of the ditch that had replaced the overloaded sewer system.
Lenardo led his train through the streets to the forum and then pointed. “Sweep it out, scrub it down. Where’s Sandor? Set up an infirmary and start processing the sick and injured. Call me if you can’t see what’s wrong.”
“But my lord—”
“Give a mental shout—I’ll be Reading.” He turned to the cook and her staff, who were looking considerably sickened by the mess. “Those people the soldiers are rounding up are hungry. There’s no food in the city, and we have our own to feed as well. No fireplaces in the baths—can you clear a place on the front steps and cook over an open fire?”
“Aye, my lord,” said the woman who had volunteered to head his cooking staff, and set her people to hauling buckets of water to scrub down a section of the forum.
Once started, Lenardo found it easy enough to give orders. There was so much to be done. It was well after sunset when Cook descended on him with soup, bread, and cheese. He realized that he hadn’t eaten all day.
As he sniffed the soup appreciatively, Cook said, “It’s vegetable.”
“I know,” he replied, and she blushed.
“Sorry, me lord. I forget. But I didn’t forget you don’t eat meat.”
“You didn’t make special soup just for me?”
“Of course.”
“With everything else you had to do today? Now, you mustn’t do that again until we’re settled and you’re cooking just for me and my...household.”
“Yes, me lord.” But she was distressed.
“Thank you this time, Cook. The soup is delicious. If there’s any left, I’ll have it tomorrow, but no fussing over me. From now on, just bring me anything you have except meat.”
Arkus found him still sitting on the steps outside the bathhouse, finishing the bread and cheese. “What shall we do with the prisoners, my lord?”
“What prisoners?”
“Why, all these people. We’ve rounded up over a thousand. Where are we going to put them for the night?”
“Let them sleep wherever they’ve been sleeping until we can create some kind of order.”
“But they’ll hide again.”
“They’ll come out for breakfast.”
“Not,” replied Arkus, “when they know the flogging starts tomorrow.”
“Flogging?” Lenardo exclaimed. “What are you talking about?”
“They’re thieves, my lord. They’ve stolen and destroyed your property. You must punish them, and since you’re not an Adept, you can’t do what Drakonius did.”
“No, I’m not Drakonius,” Lenardo murmured, recalling with a shudder the time he had observed, powerless, the Adept torturing Galen.
“Well, even Drakonius couldn’t handle all the punishments himself. We always flog most of them.”
“Not any more, you don’t. Arkus, have you looked into the infirmary? There are over a hundred sick and injured people in there. Sandor’s exhausted, and now you would deliberately injure a thousand more?”
“Sandor wouldn’t have to heal them, and they must be punished,” Arkus insisted stubbornly. “Do you want your people to think they can steal from you any time they feel like it?”
“No,
