For now, he was having that area cleared of flammable debris and left alone. One day, after he had forged the treaty with the Aventine Empire, a new Academy would rise there, a place where Readers and Adepts would study together, share their skillsBut if that were to happen, Lenardo must first learn to rule. The dragon's-head brand on bis arm seemed to glow in the late-afternoon sun. His people expected him to live up to that symbol. The empire, having seen it on the banners of those who attacked their walls for many generations, had deemed it the sign of the savage and used it to mark their exiles.

And here, thought Lenardo, I am failing because I am not savage enough. He wondered how Wulfston was faring- the young black man whom he had met as Aradia's foster brother and apprentice and to whom she had given the lands west of Lenardo's, to the sea. Was he managing to rule without the cruelty these people seemed to demand?

Cruelty? Or firmness? Firmness I can give them, Lenardo determined. I'm a Master Reader. I don't have to invade people's private thoughts to stop plots before they get as far as Bril's poisoning the wine.

But Lenardo was only one Reader, and if his actions that day had made many of his people feel more secure, they had also made one implacable enemy and generated enough fear to provide him with henchmen.

It was Julia's screaming that woke Lenardo well after midnight, just as Bril was poised to plunge a knife into his heart. Lenardo twisted, and the blade gashed his left shoulder. He hardly felt it, surging to his knees to drive his right shoulder into Bril's midsection, knocking the man back against the wall with a howl at the pain in his injured back.

Bril's knife clattered to the floor, but by that time another man had grabbed Lenardo from behind, seeking to cut his throat while two more reached for his arms. They could hardly see in the faint light from the window, but Lenardo could Read. He allowed the man behind him to get a grip and set his feet, grasped his knife hand so that he could not cut, and then used him for leverage, swinging his legs up to kick out sharply at the other two attackers. One he caught squarely on the point of the breastbone, full force, and the man dropped unconscious. The other he kicked in the diaphragm, leaving him only staggered, while Lenardo's weight drove the man behind him down, with Lenardo on top of him.

Lenardo arched over, twisting the knife out of his attacker's hand, bringing his full weight down on one knee on the man's forearm to the satisfying crunch of broken bones.

There were footsteps coming, help on the way, but Lenardo still faced two armed men, for Bril had reclaimed his weapon, mad with hopeless fury. With the growl of an animal, he launched himself at Lenardo, knife raised high, exposing himself to Lenardo's thrust between his ribs just as soldiers with swords and torches poured through the doorway.

Bril was falling at Lenardo's feet, one man lay unconscious, one sat moaning with the pain of a broken arm, and the fourth turned, knife in hand, and was promptly dispatched by one of the soldiers. Lenardo, breathless, surveyed the scene of carnage, revealed in the torchlight to be spattered with blood: his own and Bril's. His shoulder began to hurt in earnest.

The two men Lenardo had injured were still alive, and so was Bril, although he was bleeding badly. Lenardo's blade had missed his heart. Arkus and Helmuth were both in the room now, and Julia scooted between people's legs to Lenardo's side, crying, "Oh, they hurt you! Don't die, my lord-please don't die!"

"I'm not going to die," he said to reassure her.

At once, she pointed to his fallen attackers. "Kill them, my lord. Torture them to death."

Lenardo looked over the child's head to Arkus, who nodded, but it was Helmuth who said, "You must, my lord. This time you have no choice."

The three surviving attackers were taken to the infirmary, where Sandor put them to sleep, doing no more for Bril than to stop his bleeding so that he would survive for his execution.

The gash across Lenardo's shoulder was not deep. Sandor laid his hand over it, and the familiar heat of Adept healing spread through his shoulder as he sat on the edge of the infirmary table, talking with Helmuth and Arkus and Julia, who refused to be shepherded off to bed until she was certain that Lenardo was healed.

"They killed two guards on the way in here," Arkus said. "Slit then- throats. But my lord, I don't understand. How could they sneak up on you? You've always known before."

"I was asleep," he explained.

Arkus and Helmuth looked blank, and Julia said, "So was I-and I Read them!"

"And that, child," said Lenardo, "is what saved my life. I thank you."

"But why didn't you Read them, my lord?" Helmuth asked.

"One of the most difficult lessons a Reader must learn," Lenardo explained, "is not to Read in his sleep. It is not that he might discover something but that he might reveal something, for no one can control his own dreams."

"I still don't understand," Arkus said. "Who could Read your dreams?''

"Julia or any other Reader. Where I come from, Arkus, people with varying degrees of Reading ability are as common as people with varying degrees of Adept talent are here. In the empire, a Reader with a slight talent-as you have a slight Adept talent-would be trained in an Academy to make the most he could of his ability. Can you imagine the chaos in an Academy full of children if each time one had a nightmare, it was broadcast to all the others? And what of the traumas of growing up? Consider how you might have felt had your adolescent fantasies been broadcast to all your fellow soldiers in training."

Arkus blushed scarlet. "I see," he murmured.

"But protection from embarrassment is not the main reason a Reader must guard his sleep. Theoretically, a stronger Reader might guide the dreams of a lesser one, specifically to elicit information. That is now a forbidden technique, for Readers are not gods. Because that technique, developed for teaching and for treating some of the problems Readers have, was in the past vilely misused, now every Reader is taught self-protection from earliest childhood. I shall have to teach Julia-a difficult task, as it means staying awake for many nights, monitoring her sleep. I fear it will have to wait until our situation here is much more stable."

"My lord," said Helmuth, "you are going to have to tell us how to protect you."

"Yes," added Arkus. "This incident tonight should have been prevented. Twice you have proved that you could Read danger and prepare for it, even recognize poisoned wine so that no one could be harmed. It crossed my mind last evening that after you revealed yourself as a Reader, I should increase the guard here, but then I thought, no, you will warn us far in advance of any attack. How much more effective to let your people see that you have no more need of an armed guard than the strongest Lord Adept."

"I haven't, except when I'm asleep," said Lenardo. "But you must tell us when you are vulnerable," Helmuth insisted. "A Lord Adept must have protection when he has used up his strength in applying his powers. Now that we know you must be guarded while you sleep, we will protect you."

"I'm still not used to thinking of myself as needing protection," Lenardo explained. "A clean battle is one thing, but assassins in the night-"

"You defeated them," Sandor put in. "No need to spread the word that you had even a small wound. Try your shoulder, my lord. Any soreness left?"

"No, Sandor. Thank you very much."

"Sandor is right," said Helmuth. "It won't hurt at all to let your people think you're invulnerable. Mutiny, poison, assassination-and there you are, unscathed, while your attackers are all dead or scheduled for execution. The word will spread tomorrow, my lord. With Bril dead, there is no one with a personal grudge. This should be the last attempt on your life until your people have a chance to see how you rule. And if you rule well, it may be the last attack ever."