struck through by one of the thunderbolts that were the Adepts’ most powerful weapon. But Drakonius had also died, and all his Adept henchmen with him. And Galen. My student, Lenardo reminded himself. My fault his life was blighted. How can I take responsibility for other lives after Galen?
The battle in which Galen died had taken place only a week ago. By savage custom, Aradia had divided the land they had won, awarding part of it to her brother Wulfston, part to the Lady Lilith, the only ally who had remained faithful in the face of Drakonius’ attack. Then, to Lenardo’s shock, she had announced, “The portion of land southward from the border of Lilith’s land, east from Wulfston’s, and west from mine I give to Lenardo.”
Lenardo had asked her to cede those lands to the Aventine Empire as part of a peace treaty he hoped to negotiate as her emissary. Instead, she had given them to him, telling him that if he chose, he could return the lands to the Aventine Emperor. “He will take them, I guarantee it. And after that he will listen to nothing you have to say; I guarantee that, too.”
Lenardo was forced to agree. The empire allowed Readers no power; they were the only citizens without the right to be elected to office. Only when he looked at his homeland from a new perspective did Lenardo question the customs that had taught him not to want money or property—tokens given to failed Readers who must leave the Academies to live among nonReaders.
But if his own empire had kept control over him, had not Aradia done so as well? The land she had given him was surrounded on three sides by Aradia, her brother, and their closest ally. True, Lenardo had asked her for Zendi...but she need not have divided the conquered lands in precisely that fashion.
On the other hand, she had left him with no border unprotected, except the southern border, which met the walls of the empire. No rival Lord 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,
