Savage Empire

Chapter Four What Is Treason?

They rode back to Aradia's castle in easy stages. Wulfston making no attempt to conceal his contempt for Lenardo. The third time the young Adept commented, "I don't know what Aradia thinks she can do with you," Lenardo lost patience.

"She thinks she can use me to spy on her enemies," he said sourly. "She is wrong."

"Aradia has few enemies," said Wulfston. "Those she has are Adepts, and you cannot Read them."

"That is true. Perhaps you can persuade her to let me go."

"Go where? To Drakonius?"

"Drakonius?"

"You wear his mark on your arm."

"The dragon's head is the symbol on the savage banners -that is why the empire chose it as a sign of exile. It's been used for hundreds of years. I should think he took his name from the symbol."

"It is an old family," Wulfston explained. "The name and symbol have been in use for many generations, and they have always been in the forefront of the fighting against the empire." He frowned. "How could you not know that? Surely empire spies have Read across the border often enough."

"There is a limit to how far one can Read," said Lenardo. "This Drakonius-he holds all the land along the border?"

"Yes, and may take all of Aventine before he's through. Then where will he turn?"

"What do you mean?"

"Drakonius puts all his strength into conquest. He strips and wastes and moves on. You saw the state of his lands."

"Yes," replied Lenardo, "and the city of Zendi. It was an empire city when I lived there as a boy, beautiful, clean, comfortable. Now it's filthy, overcrowded, run down."

"Exactly. Other Adepts, like Aradia, are beginning to defy Drakonius. We sent no troops to join his latest assault -good fortune to us, as the bulk of his army was destroyed in an earthquake of his own making."

"I know," said Lenardo, careful not to give away his emotional shock: If he could find Drakonius, he would find Galen! On the other hand, Aradia and the other Adepts were allies of Drakonius. Perhaps they had defied him once, but against a common enemy from the empire they would certainly close ranks. So he must appear not to be such an enemy. "I was still at Adigia at the time of the earthquake," he said. "It was the narrowness of our escape that led to my exile."

Wulfston eyed him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"If you savages can create earthquakes, what chance have we against you? You will destroy what is left of the Aventine Empire, unless we make peace with you. For suggesting that we seek a peaceful treaty with our enemy, I was exiled."

Wulfston was staring at him. "Is this true?"

"It is, but I have no way of proving it. I suppose you'd rather think I'm a child molester."

Wulfston ignored the sarcasm. "But it will be a matter of public record. I shall find out You are quite right-your empire has no chance against Drakonius, once he builds back his army. Unfortunately, neither will he treat with you. He cares only for conquest."

"But he does not rule all the savages?"

"I wish you would learn that we are not savages!" Wulfston snapped. "Nor are we a single unit, like your empire. No. Drakonius does not rule Aradia or Lilith or Hron or other great Adepts-but he exacts their cooperation now, while in the future…"

"You fear he may conquer the empire and then turn on you?"

"Yes. We have spent years renewing the lands Drakonius' ancestors destroyed and abandoned. It is only too easy to predict the temptation to Drakonius. For that reason, we have begun our resistance now, and Aradia was hoping-"

"What?"

"No, I will let her tell you. I still do not trust you, Lenardo. I only hope Aradia will not be too quick to accept your story. Why did you not tell it before?"

"Does it seem likely to you that to suggest one's country seek peace before it is destroyed utterly would be regarded as treason? I did not think you would believe me." The intensity of his words after prolonged conversation sent Lenardo into a fit of coughing. Wulfston pulled their horses to a halt, and regarded him with concern^

"I don't like the sound of that. You could develop pneumonia. If you won't trust me to heal you, we'd best find a place to stay over another night"

"I never said I didn't trust you to heal my body," Lenardo gasped painfully. "You said you'd have to tamper with my mind-and I'll have no more of that!"

"I don't have to," said Wulfston. "If you can relax and let me work, I can set your body to dry the fluid collecting in your lungs and purify your blood of this new infection." He sighed. "If you continue to expose yourself to one illness after another, before you fully recover, you could easily kill yourself."

"If you do the healing, or Aradia, why am I so weak?"

"We must tap your strength-if we had to give our own strength to the healing of others, neither of us would be able to walk across the room!"

Wulfston spread Lenardo's now-dry cloak on the grass by the roadside and had him lie down. Lenardo was relaxing before the familiar manner of a healer until Wulfston said, "You will feel heat in your veins. Fire purifies the blood of its taint."

"Fever kills the organisms that cause the infection," Lenardo corrected.

"Organisms?"

"I have Read them," said Lenardo. "An infection is a living thing-many living things so tiny no eye can see them, thousands upon thousands, feeding on the person infected."

Wulfston seemed disconcerted. "Living beings?"

"Not beings, but alive, yes."

"Poisons, we knew, but not- You mean there are creatures feeding on you?"

"Yes. Heat kills them. We have drugs to induce fever if the body does not-but high fever is dangerous in itself."

"I know. You are already feverish," Wulfston said, touching Lenardo's forehead. "I must increase your body heat, direct the blood flow to your lungs, and decrease the flow to your head, where excess heat might damage your mind. If you become sleepy, it is not because I willed it. Would you not rather sleep through the procedure? In my training, I had to experience it waking. It is not painful, but the first time it is very frightening."

"I've felt it before," Lenardo reminded him, "when Aradia healed my arm and my broken rib."

"Yes-a localized sensation is not so bad. However, she put you to sleep before she set your body to cleansing the poisons from your entire bloodstream. Tell me if the feeling becomes unbearable. There is no reason you should have to endure it"

"Why did you have to?" Lenardo asked curiously.

"How else would I know what I was doing to another? I cannot see within my own body or yours. I had to feel it."

What Lenardo felt was strange but not particularly frightening, not as fearsome as the first time he had Read his own body, watching the organs working, the blood pumping, certain that every strange thing he saw was a sign of some dread disease. Of course-to an Adept, this outlining of his veins with fire would be his first experience of his body's systems at work. Unable to Read, no wonder Wulfston had found it frightening.

Lenardo felt discomfort as his body temperature rose. His head ached slightly, and he wanted to pull his clothes off to let cool air touch his hot, dry skin. He tried to Read down to the microscopic level at which he could sense the organism the fever was attacking, but the effort was too great.

He let himself drift on the level of easy Reading, deliberately relaxing all his muscles. The headache subsided to a dull throb. Eventually Wulfston placed a hand on Lenardo's forehead, pleasantly cool on his feverish skin, and there was gentle concern in the young Adept's emotional presence as he said, "The worst is over now. I must maintain the heat for a time, but it will not increase. Do you find it disturbing?"

"No. I'm too hot, but I can stand it."

"Could you Read what I was doing?"

"I felt what happened, but not how you did it."

"I'm rather glad of that. If a Reader could learn Adept powers as well, he'd be invincible."

"Is that why you shield so carefully against Reading?"

"There is no shield. I'm not consciously doing anything to keep you from Reading me." He frowned. "This problem has always interested me. What is the difference between your mind and mine? We both have abilities most people do not, yet you cannot Read me."

"I can Read you physically," said Lenardo. "I just cannot get into your mind."

"That is interesting. I can affect your body, but- Tell me, Lenardo, how did you get out of your room at the castle?"

"Would you be satisfied if I said someone let me out?"

"None of Aradia's people would. You were able to break her control of your mind. We can affect each other's bodies but not minds."

"I can't affect anyone's body or mind," said Lenardo. "The idea of meddling with another person's thoughts, beliefs, is abhorrent to me."

"Yet you spy on people's most secret acts, fantasies, desires-"

"Never! The Reader's Honor forbids such a thing!"

"Oh, yes. I have heard of the Reader's Code of Honor… but does it bind an exile, Lenardo?"

"It binds a Reader, Wulfston. Wherever I go for the rest of my life, I shall never cease to be a Reader. I shall never cease to honor the Code."

The intensity of speech left him gasping for breath. Wulfston said, "I'm sorry. Please relax-I should not say things to anger you while I am trying to heal you," He shook his head. "I want to trust you, and I dare not Aradia thinks you can help us, but how can we know you will not turn on us?"

"You can't know," replied Lenardo, "unless I tell you so. Right now I tell you that if I thought I could overpower you, I would escape."

"Where to?" Wulfston demanded in frustration. "Not to-from! I owe you and Aradia something for saving my life, but that does not make me Aradia's property or give her the right to restrict me when I have done her no harm."

"Aradia's powers give her the right," Wulfston said in-a tone that suggested he was stating a natural law. "Might makes right?"

"Of course. How can the world be otherwise?"

"Then why talk of trust? Either you can hold me and force me to work for you, or you cannot."

"That is the flaw in Drakonius' thinking," said Wulfston. "He rules entirely by power and must spend much time and energy in enforcement. Aradia finds trust and cooperation better tools-you see what she has done for her people. In her lands, no one starves or goes in rags. No one fears an unjust death. Do you not think people will be loyal unto death to such a leader?"

"Aradia took a place like Drakonius' lands, and turned it into this pleasant countryside?"

"Her father began it," said Wulfston. "If he could only know how far she has succeeded, he would be immensely proud of her."

Lenardo saw unshed tears in the Adept's dark eyes. "Aradia's father is ill and blind, she told me. Still, can't he be told what she is doing?"

"He no longer understands. Nerius is gravely ill… dying. That's why Aradia did not come for you herself- she is the only one who can control one of her father's spells."

"Spells?"

"You remember that day when things began flying about in your room? That was Nerius. His Adept powers go wild, destroying things and at the same time draining his strength. If-Aradia were not there to stop him, he would kill himself by draining all his energy."

Reading Wulfston's grief, Lenardo tried a turn of subject. "You said Adepts don't use their own strength-?"

"Not when they can guide the power of nature or put another person's energy to work for himself." Apparently relieved, Wulfston began to deliver a familiar lecture to an interested audience. "Healing is the easiest of an Adept's tasks. Once he starts the process back to health, the patient's body takes over. Other things… the rain the night you escaped, for example. The natural movement of the weather here is from west to east. All we had to do was guide the clouds slightly and encourage them to drop their moisture over the area that needed it."

"What if there were a drought and no convenient clouds?"

"We study nature for that very reason. There was such a drought here, eight years ago. I worked with Nerius and Aradia-the first time I was admitted as a full Adept to their circle. It was very difficult to create the conditions for rain, working against nature. Aradia thinks it might be the way Nerius expended his strength then that caused his illness."

Back to Nerius. Clearly the health of Aradia's father weighed heavily on Wulfston's mind. "You have an irrigation system now," Lenardo prompted.

"Yes, built since the drought-or repaired, rather. An old Aventine aqueduct. In case of drought, there would be enough water to raise moderate crops. We wouldn't starve. But an aqueduct is such an easy target for one's enemies."

"I suppose it wouldn't take much power to shift a support," Lenardo mused, "to cut off the water supply. But tell me, Wulfston-what kind of power would it take to cause an earthquake?"

The young Adept pushed up Lenardo's right sleeve and traced the dragon's-head brand with one finger. "Impossible power," he said. "Even a large body of the strongest Adepts could not produce such energy, unless-"

"Unless?"

"You did come from 'Drakonius' lands," said Wulfston, "yet the brand on your arm was so new that it festered. I have seen many infections-I know it was not an old wound. If you had escaped Drakonius-"

"Only in the sense that I wandered from his lands into Aradia's."

"Drakonius claimed to have a Reader to guide him. Aradia did not believe him… or did not want to. She does not want to leave her father so ill, and she has little interest in making war on the Aventine empire. She challenged Drakonius to produce his Reader, but Drakonius refused."

Lenardo remembered that he truly did not know what Galen had done. "I do not think any Reader, no matter how unjustly exiled, would guide savage Adepts against the empire." He looked straight into Wulfston's eyes. "And no, I am not the Reader Drakonius had, if he had one," I wish I knew a way to ask directly where Drakonius would keep Galen.

"They succeeded in causing an earthquake," Wulfston mused, "but it brought an avalanche that destroyed their own army."

"Wulfston, if they had captured a Reader and forced him to do their bidding by chaining his mind as you did mine-"

The black man nodded grimly. "A perfect revenge. You broke the command we placed in your mind-so could he. He could pretend to obey, then cause them to destroy themselves. In which case he is surely dead by now." He looked at Lenardo. "You are even more dangerous than I thought. What are we going to do with you?"

"Let me go."

"You belong to Aradia. Plead your case with her." After a time, Wulfston released the fever. Lenardo broke into sweat and felt his temperature drop to normal. The nagging aches in his head and shoulders disappeared, and he sat up without vertigo. Soon he felt himself again.

It was evening by the time they could see Aradia's castle in the distance. Wulfston urged his horse to a faster pace, eager to be home.

Suddenly, without warning, Lenardo's horse screamed, reared, and collapsed, throwing him clear. He scrambled up, expecting to have to dodge flying hoofs, automatically Reading-but the animal had gone limp.

"What happened?" demanded Wulfston, fighting his own plunging mount.

"By the gods-he's dead! His brain is shattered!"

"An attack!" exclaimed Wulfston, as in the distance there rose shouting, accompanied by various bangs and crashes. He reached down a hand, and Lenardo vaulted up behind him on his horse as they galloped for the castle. "We thought Drakonius would be too busy rebuilding his army to attack us!"

They were approaching the castle from the front now. A number of houses clustered near the gate, and as Wulfston and Lenardo flashed by, one suddenly burst into flame, showering them with sparks.

"Wulfston!" Lenardo shouted above the noise, "the attack is coming from inside the castle!"

"Nerius? No-oh, no, not at such a distance! He'll kill himself this time!"

They leaped off the horse in the courtyard and ran into the great hall. Lenardo Read the frail old man now, convulsing in synchrony with each blow, Aradia already at his side, blank to Reading in her concentration.

Wulfston dashed up the wide stone stairs, Lenardo on his heels, down the hallway toward the entry to the tower stairs, past a display of spears.

Behind them, a spear suddenly lifted from its brackets and sailed toward them with a force far greater than if a human arm had thrown it. Lenardo, breathless, could do no more than leap on Wulfston in a flying tackle, bringing both men to the floor in a tangle as the spear sailed over their heads to shatter against the stone wall at the end of the corridor.

Wulfston was gasping angrily, already gathering to strike back at Lenardo when the sound of the spear hitting the wall made him realize what had happened. He glanced at it, then turned back to Lenardo. "Thanks," he said, with a quick grip of the Reader's shoulder. Then he was up and bolting for the stairs.

They came out into a scene of frozen calm-the calm of death. The old woman who cared for Nerius lay on the floor, her staring eyes already glazing over. Aradia still stood beside the bed, head bent in concentration. The old man was unconscious, even more emaciated than when Lenardo had Read him a few days before, his skin chalk white, lips blue.

To appearances, Nerius was dead too, but Lenardo Read a lingering spark of life in that frail frame. His heart beat sluggishly, and his breathing was slow and shallow. Somehow, he clung to life.

Aradia raised her eyes, her grief a palpable presence as she sought her father's pulse.

"He's alive," Lenardo supplied. "He's very weak."

Tear-filled violet eyes turned to him. "Thank you," Aradia whispered and bent her head again.

"Aradia-don't!" said Wulfston.

She blinked at him, as if hardly seeing him. "Our father-"

"He's dying, Aradia. Let him sleep away in peace."

"No!"

Wulfston took her shoulders, turning her to look at the old woman's body. "It's not just himself he's hurting any more. Nerius is killing now."

"No," she repeated.

"Yes. Look. Vinga is dead. He's striking living things, Aradia. He killed Lenardo's horse, and he almost killed me."

She looked up at him. "What?"

Wulfston nodded grimly. "Nerius hurled one of the spears in the lower hall. If Lenardo hadn't been Reading…"

"What am I to do?" Aradia asked sadly.

"You know what you must do," Wulfston replied with gentle firmness.

Reluctantly, Aradia nodded. "He must never regain consciousness." Tears flowed down her pale cheeks.

Wulfston drew her against him, stroking her hair. "He's not really conscious. You know Nerius would never hurt Vinga or me. He doesn't know what he's doing, Aradia."

"I know," she said, pushing away from him and turning deliberately to look at her father. Then she went to kneel beside the body of the old woman, closing her eyes. "Poor Vinga. No, Father would never turn on you. He knew how you loved him."

"I'll carry her down," said Wulfston, "and send someone up to watch Nerius. Go and rest."

Aradia rose and saw Lenardo by the door. "You," she said flatly. "Now what am I going to do with you?"

It was the wrong time to ask to be let go, so Lenardo stood silently, feeling the false strength of excitement deserting him, wondering if his knees would give way before the pressure of her emotionless gaze.

"He needs to sleep," said Wulfston. "So do I."

"You saved Wulfston's life?"

"I knocked him out of the way of the spear."

A tired smile barely curved her lips. "Wulfston is very precious to me. He is my brother. Lenardo, need I send for the carpenter to bar your door, or will you give me your word not to leave your room until someone comes for you?"

He realized it was a major concession, made in a moment of emotional exhaustion. If he hesitated, she would think again and bar the door or set a guard. He was too tired to try to move tonight anyway.

"You have my word."

Perhaps it was that concession, along with the fact that Lenardo Read no second-thought guard outside his room in the morning, that made him less resentful toward Aradia the next day. Or perhaps it was the way sleeplessness had imprinted purplish bruises in the fair skin under her eyes. It was almost noon when she came to Lenardo's room; the kitchen maid had brought his breakfast some hours before.

"Did you sleep well?" Aradia asked politely. "Indeed," he replied truthfully, "but you did not get much rest, I see. How is your father?"

She glanced upward. "If you really cared, you could-"

"No, Aradia, I could not. That is, I would not Read your father merely to satisfy my curiosity. Readers respect the privacy of non-Readers."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know. My father is still alive, in the same state I put him into last night. I must leave him so, to die." A tear escaped her control, sliding down her cheek. She made no move to wipe it away but set her chin determinedly to avoid further emotional display. "We must talk about… you."

"Aradia," he said, "would you like me to Read your father?"

"Read him?"

"I can at least tell you if he is in pain; and sometimes knowing the cause of an illness allows one to find a cure. Please-don't get your hopes up. I fear that all I shall find is a mind worn out with great age-"

"Age! Father is not yet sixty!"

"I'm sorry," he fumbled. "He looks so very old-"

"His illness. Lenardo, do you think you can discover why my healing powers have no effect?"

"I can try. But from what I've seen of your powers, I doubt I'll find any way to help that you haven't tried."

"Are you recovered enough?"

"For such Reading, yes. It won't require great effort, or extreme precision."

"Then come upstairs with me," she said eagerly. Aradia dismissed the woman seated at Nerius' bedside, telling her, "Go and rest, Yula, and come back in-half an hour."

When they were alone, Lenardo stood beside the bed, closed his eyes, and began to Read. Nerius' heartbeat and breathing were steadier than the night before. His mind was unReadable, but Lenardo feared it was that no thought or dream crossed it, rather than the fact that the man was an Adept.

Somehow, despite being bedridden for months-years? -Nerius' body was functioning. Everything was precariously balanced, no single part allowed to atrophy so that the patient might die of failure of the kidneys, heart, lungs. He retained a grip on life so fragile that it seemed the least shock would cause all to collapse together. How had he survived yesterday's convulsions?

Finally, Lenardo examined Nerius' nervous system. In his present state, he could not reach the finest details, but he could get an overall picture- Then he found it.

Gross and ugly, hideously obvious the moment he began a superficial Reading of Nerius' brain: a tumor. It was a massive growth, compressing the normal brain tissue within the confines of the skull, putting pressure on nerves-no wonder the man had convulsions!

Gratefully, he withdrew, only to find Aradia's violet eyes fastened on his with intense hope. "What did you find?" she asked.

'There is nothing to be done," he replied. "I can tell you why your father is dying, but I know of no way to cure it."

"Tell me!"

"There is a growth in his brain. I've never seen one so large, Aradia, but every one I've seen was a sentence of death."

Her fair skin had gone transparent, and for a moment he feared she would faint. Her eyes were immense. "I made it grow! My efforts to strengthen his body were also strengthening that thing, feeding on him-!"

"No!" Lenardo said sharply. "Such tumors grow, no matter what we do. Only your efforts have kept your father alive this long, and if he has not suffered great pain, it can be due only to you. Aradia, nothing more could possibly be done for him."

"His brain," she murmured. "Oh, why there? Anyplace else…"

Anyplace else, and it could be cut away. Readers did such surgery in the empire, although Lenardo himself had only minimal training in surgical techniques.

Aradia stood silently for a time, until Yula returned. Then she turned and left, Lenardo following her down the stairs, uncertain of what to do or say to her.

In the hall below, they met Wulfston, just coming out of his room. "I overslept," he said, although his face had the puffy look of someone wakened long before his need for sleep was satisfied.

"You didn't get to bed till dawn," said Aradia. "Have you appropriate clothing to lend Lenardo for Vinga's funeral? Or," she turned to the Reader, "would you rather not attend? You didn't know her."

"I should learn your customs, including those of sorrow."

So Wulfston took Lenardo back to his room and rummaged through a chest, bringing out a long tunic in dark green and a shorter one in brown. "That should do. No display of vanity-we recognize ourselves to be a part of nature as we return Vinga to the elements."

Lenardo noticed that for the first time Wulfston did not display the wolf's-head pendant, although when he looked for it he could see the shape of it under his clothing. "Would you like a bath?" asked Wulfston. "I certainly would, but I don't want to put anyone to the trouble."

"If you don't mind cold water, we won't trouble anyone. I need it to wake me up. Come on."

They went down only one flight, to a room just above the kitchen. "The cistern is full after the rain," said Wulfston. "We have drain pipes to collect all the rain from the roof, for bathing and washing. Most of the time we don't have to carry large amounts of water from the well."

Lenardo was used to bathing daily in hot, warm, and finally cold water. I'll just pretend the first two steps are done.

They doused themselves thoroughly, getting clean, but not wasting the water. There was a pile of linen towels- another small luxury like the mild and pleasant soap. The few luxuries he had seen here all had to do with personal comfort except for the beautifully embroidered tabard Aradia had given him. Except for the wolf's-head pendants, he had seen no jewelry in Aradia's lands.

It reminded him of life at the academy, where Readers owned nothing but their clothes and a few personal possessions. A Reader's skills guaranteed him welcome anywhere, and in his age he would return to an academy, to pass his final years under the loving care of teachers and students.

But what did Adepts do? "Wulfston, you've said you're Aradia's apprentice. Is that the only way to learn to use your Adept powers-to be apprenticed to another Adept?"

"It's the best way. I was partly trained by Nerius, before he fell ill, so I benefit from Aradia's experience, Nerius', and all that he knew, passed down through generations of Adepts. One Adept alone will not learn nearly so much through trial and error, although there are those who succeed well enough even though they cannot find a master who will take them who is also a master they can trust."

"Then there are no academies of Adepts? In the empire, every Reader is trained to the best of his abilities in one of the academies. He doesn't have to go out and seek a teacher."

Wulfston was adjusting the belt of his gray tunic. Now he looked up at Lenardo. "You know that all your secrets will be laid bare before the teachers at this academy- people you do not know? How can you turn yourself over to them that way?"

"The Reader's Honor. Not that eight- or nine-year-old children could have many secrets, but the privacy of even the youngest and least trained is scrupulously maintained. As one grows older, one learns to protect one's own thoughts."

"Well, I'm glad Adepts can't be Read. I remember very well, carrying you home that first night, how you blurted out everything on the minds of the men with me."

Lenardo said guiltily, "I don't remember it. I was delirious. It should not have happened and I must accept responsibility for violating the Code… but the state of the body affects the mind."

"Yes," said Wulfston, "you've said that your abilities are impaired… yet Reading does not tire you or aggravate your physical condition."

"Of course not. I am far beyond the stage of the child who squints his eyes and grits his teeth when he attempts a new Reading. The body has nothing to do with it."

"But you just said it has. When your body is afflicted, your Reading is impaired."

"True-but it is not Reading that afflicts one's body."

"The effects are directly opposite!" said Wulfston. "No amount of physical deterioration affects an Adept's powers -you've seen what Nerius can do, still-but Adept activity affects the body. That's why I'm so tired today, after healing you yesterday and then not getting enough sleep. Aradia's going on sheer nerve-I don't think she even went to bed last night. Are you ready to go?"

Wulfston's clothes fitted Lenardo loosely. The Reader was taller than the young Adept, so the undertunic came just to his ankles. His outfit was completed with a leather belt that hung loose on his hips and a pair of brown felt slippers that stretched enough to accommodate his larger feet. Although the clothes did not fit well, he felt less conspicuous and therefore more comfortable than in the outfit that had been designed for him.

Lenardo was hungry again, and surprised that Wulfston was not. "There will be a feast after the funeral," the Adept explained. "It is considered honor to the dead to eat heartily. I don't suppose you'll have any trouble with that today, but I must warn you that no one but Aradia and me knows you're a Reader. If you reveal yourself, you will undermine people's trust in Aradia. That may not concern you, but perhaps the fact that you would be killed immediately will."

"I won't betray myself… or Aradia."

When they gathered in the courtyard, Lenardo saw Aradia dressed formally for the first time. She was all in gray, her dress a slender column of fine cotton, the bodice fitted to her body, the skirt a mass of tiny pleats falling gracefully to the ground. The sleeves were also pleated, and so full that they fell from her wrists almost to her ankles, seeming to mingle with the pleats of her skirt. The vertical lines of the dress made her look taller than she was, and stately-no trace of mischievous village maiden today.

Her hair was covered by a veil of sheer gray material, a second veil attached to it in front of her ears, hanging under her chin, over her breast, so that her pale face looked out as from a closely drawn hood, the rest of her features merely background to her luminous eyes. Like everyone else, she wore no ornament.

Lenardo fell in with the crowd as the funeral procession moved out the gate. No one took particular notice of him. They went a fair distance from the castle, to a field grown up in wild grass, uncultivated. In the middle of the field was a large but shallow depression, the center of it a huge flat rock surface showing signs of charring. A huge mound of firewood lay ready to one side, and the cleanness of the flat rock, the grass along its edges cut back to form a perfect circle, bespoke careful preparations.

The cart bearing the body was placed in the center of the rock surface. The people moved into a circle, then one at a time moved to the center to say something about the dead woman. Not everyone spoke, and many who did said little more than, "Vinga was a good woman. She will be missed."

Wulfston spoke of Vinga's motherly kindness to him when he was an orphaned child. Lenardo noted one more fact about the mysterious Nubian Adept with the peculiar name-for all the talking they had done, he had learned precious little about Wulfston.

Finally Aradia spoke. "For the past five years, Vinga attended Nerius with great devotion. Like a soldier in battle, she gave her life in performance of her duty. Her memory will live as long as Castle Nerius stands, in the hearts of her children and her children's children."

Then the dead woman's family stepped up to look at the body once more. When they returned to Aradia's side, the circle of mourners began to file past the firewood, each placing a stick on the growing pile surrounding, then covering, the cart.

When the pyre was built and the circle again complete, Wulfston picked up a small jar that had been under the pile of wood and sprinkled its contents over the funeral pyre. Water? That was what Lenardo Read. When the young Adept went to the edge of the stone circle, scooped up a handful of earth, and sprinkled that on the pyre as well, Lenardo understood-earth, air, fire, and water. Wulfston had said they would return Vinga's body to the elements.

Again Aradia stepped forward. "Nature brings life," she said. "The elements themselves are eternal. We are not. But life is! Of all living things, only man passes more than mere life from one generation to the next. All that has been learned, all that has been created, we pass on-language, knowledge, song. Vinga exists in me because she taught me things. When I teach someone else, a part of Vinga is passed on, as well as a part of myself.

"Even more, Vinga exists in her children and grandchildren. The pain of parting is grievous now, but in the future it will be forgotten, and only Vinga's life remembered-a good life, a model anyone might honorably take for his own."

She moved a few paces from the funeral pyre, and the pyre burst into flame! It roared into consuming heat, the flames shooting straight up with the noise of a whirlwind.

Lenardo stared, astonished. Aradia was causing it, of course, possibly with Wulfston's help, but he had never seen such a fire before! The fires the Adepts started in their attacks were easily put out with a few buckets of sand or water. But what if they sent a conflagration like this one? Before anyone could put it out it could consume an entire building, just as this fire had already consumed wood, cart, and body, and was dying down to soft ashes-no charred remains to disturb the family.

The fire flickered out, leaving nothing but a scorch mark on the flat rock surface and a drift of powdery ash… the gray of mourning.

"Vinga is dead!" cried Aradia. "We live! In her honor, let us celebrate life!"

A cheer went up from the circle, and there was a sudden rush back in the direction of the castle. Now there was no procession; people broke up into groups, laughing and talking as if on the way to a party.

Lenardo caught Wulfston's eyes on him, and Read the black man moving in behind him in the throng, probably to see that he made no move to escape. I'm not going anywhere until I get my strength back. But Wulfston couldn't know that.

And not until I find out how you caught me the first time, Lenardo added to himself. Now he knew where Galen was, if he was still alive. How much at odds were Aradia and Drakonius? Would they spy on one another? If he could gain her confidence, he might even volunteer to Read for her into Drakonius' lands, playing his role fully. It would give him all the more chance to get at Galen, to find out if the boy were truly traitor or no.

Wulfston had independently drawn the same conclusion Lenardo had: Galen had broken a command implanted in his mind and turned the earthquake back upon the Adept army. Lenardo had to believe that. And if the boy bad learned his lesson… then, if Masters Portia and Clement could get Lenardo readmitted to the empire, they could bring Galen home as well!

Home. Home with the news that only one Adept with his followers was attacking the empire. With the fact that others, like Aradia, might be willing to make peace But that was the treason for which both he and Galen had been exiled.

He pushed that thought aside. It would not be regarded as treason if the senate knew there really were Adepts who wanted peace. Galen's theories had been speculation, but now Lenardo knew they were truth. There was a chance to put an end to the constant warfare.

His step grew lighter than it had been in many a day as he followed the funeral party back to Aradia's castle to join the feast