Adept could attack Lenardo without first taking one of the three powerful Adepts whose alliance had defeated Drakonius.
Lenardo could not be certain of Aradia’s motivations, for Adepts were the only people he could not Read. She was a possessive ruler, and yet she wanted him to learn to rule: “It is the only way you will make what you want of the world.”
Lenardo fingered the wolf’s-head pendant, symbol of his allegiance to Aradia. It was alabaster, carved so that a vein of violet beneath the translucent surface formed the eyes—Aradia’s violet eyes, her pale skin, pale hair, perfect embodiment of the symbol. He recalled her smile, at once animal-innocent and wolf-cunning. He and Aradia shared a dream: an Academy at Zendi where Adepts and Readers would learn to work together. As long as they shared that dream, she would not be his enemy.
Most of Lenardo’s train had kept on along the road toward Zendi, Lenardo’s new home. It was also an old home to him; he had been born there, when it was still part of the Aventine Empire. Now he planned to restore its beauty as he remembered it from childhood.
But not all of his followers had kept on along the road. Eight men from the old Zendi garrison under Arkus’ command had followed when Lenardo left the road—had followed part way and were now waiting...Lenardo Read them and realized that it was an ambush. A Reader. Should have known better. Crazy, running off that way.
One move that seemed erratic to them, and they were ready not just to abandon him but to kill him.
“Arkus—Helmuth—ambush ahead! Our own men.”
“What?” from Arkus. “My lord, they wouldn’t—”
“Spread out. They’re just beyond the rocks. They intend to kill Helmuth and me—and you, Arkus, if you don’t join them.”
“My lord, I wouldn’t!” The young commander paled in fear. His loyalty was firm, but would Lenardo believe it?
“I can Read you, Arkus, as easily as I Read them. They think to take us by surprise. We’ll take them instead.”
Arkus was first through the passageway, with Lenardo and Helmuth close behind. The soldiers didn’t have to Read to know that they were caught. Realizing that Lenardo had Read them, they attacked.
The passageway between the rocks was narrow enough here so that all eight could not attack at once. Lenardo and his men turned their horses and took the attack of the first three easily: Helmuth was experienced, Arkus was young and strong and eager, and Lenardo’s Reading told him his opponent’s every move before it was made. In moments, three traitors were dead, and their horses were churning to escape while the other five attackers strove to reach their quarry.
“Get the Reader!” shouted one of the soldiers, and all five tried to converge on Lenardo.
One crossed swords with him while another maneuvered behind him. He Read the man but could not turn until he had dispatched the one before him. Jerking on his horse’s reins, he made the animal rear; the sword of the man before him cut the horse’s chest, while that of the attacker behind went harmlessly under Lenardo’s arm, tangling in his cloak. He clasped his arm to his side, pinning the weapon as his horse plunged, screaming in pain, attacking man and horse before him in its momentary madness. The other horse caught the excitement and also reared, unseating its rider, and plunged through the melee, knocking other fighters out of its way. Lenardo ran his sword through the man scrambling to his feet and then twisted to disarm the man whose sword he still held pinned. Too late! He had drawn his dagger, and even as Lenardo was bringing his sword around and trying to control his horse, he flung the knife straight at Lenardo’s heart, from not five paces away.
Lenardo’s attempt to duck was useless; he was a dead man—until the dagger swerved to one side and dropped harmlessly to the ground. Arkus. He had that one Adept skill to influence the motion of small objects. Breathing a prayer of thanks to all the gods, Lenardo skewered his now-terrified assailant and turned to help Helmuth and Arkus. They needed no help. Two of the last three attackers were already dead, and the last one, now fighting afoot with Helmuth, was disarmed even as he watched.
Helmuth backed the man against the rock wall, sword at his middle, saying, “Now you will tell us the meaning of this attack. Who sent you? Who dares attack my lord?”
“Helmuth—no!” Lenardo shouted, but it was too late. The man’s mind filled with horrified images of the tortures a Lord Adept could inflict, and he threw himself forward onto Helmuth’s sword. The old man could not backstep quickly enough. He gasped, withdrawing the sword, and knelt by the fallen man, but there was nothing he could do.
“My lord, forgive me,” said Helmuth. “We should have been able to question him, find out how many traitors there are among your army.” As he said it, he looked at Arkus, holding his bloody sword at the ready.
“My lord, I knew nothing of their plot,” Arkus said, pleading.
“I know,” Lenardo tried to reassure him. “Helmuth there was no plot.”
“Those men swore loyalty to you,” the old man said.
“True, nor did they begin this journey with the intent to turn on me. They were simply afraid and uncertain of how well a Reader could rule. When I went dashing off the road for no apparent reason, their worst doubts were confirmed, and that is when they decided they’d be better off without me. I Read them, Helmuth. Believe me—and believe Arkus. He didn’t have to save my life just now, you know.”
“I did have to, my lord,” Arkus said firmly. “It was my duty as your sworn man.”
Helmuth wiped off his sword and sheathed it. “I’m sorry I doubted you, lad. My lord, your horse is injured. You’d best ride one of these others. Arkus, help me put the bodies up on horses. We’ll show the others what happens to those who think they can betray my lord.”
When they rejoined their followers, shock went through the soldiers at seeing their fellows dead. Although Arkus and Helmuth told exactly what had happened, Lenardo Read the rumors that immediately started to spread. Before they had gone five miles, he had become a brilliant leader who had set a trap to test the loyalty of his followers. There was no resentment. Those who had had no part in the plot against him felt themselves that much safer in having so clever a lord.
Lenardo sighed to himself. The logic of savages. What if they knew his intention to make an alliance with the empire? Would he ever be able to? If he earned the trust of these people, would he lose the trust of the Readers at home?
The problem weighed heavily. It might be months before he could go home, and by then Masters Portia and Clement, who had sent him on his mission into the savage lands, might not be willing or able to help him. He had been sent to take Galen from the enemy. With Galen dead, he ought to go directly back to the Aventine Empire. Portia, the Master of Masters among Readers, would then reveal to the Emperor the plan known only to herself, Master Clement, and Torio, the brilliant young Reader who had been Lenardo’s student and to whom he had chosen to confide the plan of Readers, by Readers, to stop Galen.
As the Aventine government did not know of their plan, though, it had gone ahead with its own, removing the Academy from the dangerous border town of Adigia to the safety of the capital at Tiberium. Master Clement had had to go but had left Torio in Adigia to wait for Lenardo to contact him. The news of Galen’s death had been sad to report, but at the time he had told Torio to expect him back soon. Two days later, Lenardo had had to make a new report: Aradia had made him a lord.
With the shock of the event still ringing in his mind, he had closed the door of his room at Castle Nerius, hoping that Torio had not yet left Adigia. His Reading abilities were limited by distance; only by leaving his body could he contact the boy from so far away.
He smoothed the bedclothes, lay down, and relaxed his body. Easily, his consciousness drifted upward as he concentrated on Adigia. Instantly he was “there,” in the room at the inn where he had found Torio two nights before.
But the room was empty. “Looking” around, he was relieved to see Torio’s clothes still hung on pegs, his