He was even farther away now, and thus hi greater danger of dissipating his consciousness if he could not find a focus. By the time he reached Drakonius' stronghold once more, he needed someone as the object of his attention. Anyone would do-he merely let his consciousness be drawn to the first person he encountered, a guard watching the river from atop the cave-riddled cliff. He was an old warrior, alert and prepared. Even while his eyes scanned the river continuously, though, his thoughts were on his off-duty time tomorrow and a certain farmer's wife whose husband did not question where the extra shares of food and occasional jug of ale came from as long as be shared them when he came weary from the fields.
Lenardo left the man to his fantasies, having learned that Drakonius' men were making no battle preparations. He then sought within the stronghold, an encampment with a very temporary flavor. In the long passageways, Drakonius' personal troops slept in bedrolls, a few guards at their posts. Despite the relaxed atmosphere, the guards were guarding, not conversing or napping. Clearly, Dra-konius expected his men to maintain discipline.
He found Galen, also asleep, not merely not Reading but with an alert shield guarding his dreams. So… the boy was defended against him, for who else could Read him here? Not waking him, he thought for the first time to Read the boy's health, finding him not ill but underweight and on the thin edge of nervous collapse. His nails were chewed ragged, and there was a rash across the backs of his hands that Lenardo had seen before, each time Galen had had to stand for examination. / thought he had learned to control his nervousness.
The entrance to the cave in which Galen slept was blocked with a slab of rock. It was not too heavy for one man to push aside, but the "door" had been "locked" by driving an iron ring into the rock on either side and simply running a stout rope over the slab of rock between them. So Galen was not trusted. Lenardo felt a new appreciation of the fact that he could now walk out of his room-out of the castle if he wished-any time he wanted to.
He left Galen, found other small caves with one or two people in them-some not asleep, whose activities he deliberately did not Read.
It was only in the room-to-room search that he found Drakonius, for although the Adept was awake, his mind was unReadable.
At least Lenardo was fairly certain he had found Drakonius. The man was definitely an Adept, awake, and busy. Reading visually, Lenardo saw a broad-shouldered man in his fifties, black hair and beard streaked with white, skin tanned and leathery. His chair was actually a box containing a supply of arrows for his bowmen. Not even a stool to spare-on campaign everything must do double duty.
His table was a case lid set across two other boxes. On it were a candle, ink and quills, and a pile of papers, written over in the savage alphabet that Lenardo could not read. There were four messages… no, the same message four times. Lenardo was sure all the papers said the same thing, although Drakonius definitely did not write with the precision of a scribe. He studied it, so he would be able to reproduce it for Aradia.
The Adept called in the man standing guard at his door. "Get the messengers."
Drakonius folded the four papers and sealed them with wax, impressing eack with his seaclass="underline" the dragon's head, the same mark Lenardo bore on his arm. Meanwhile, the guard went to a room where four men were wiling away the time by gaming. They put away their dice at once and came to get the papers. Lenardo carefully noted the names Drakonius told them: Trang, Yolo, Hron, Lilitk The last two he had heard before. Aradia had called them her allies.
Lenardo was up at dawn, Reading as he dressed that the three Adepts in the room above his were all alive and all deeply asleep. He wanted to tell Aradia about Drakonius, but he feared to wake her or Wulfston. How long must they sleep to recover?
When he went down to the kitchen for breakfast, though, the cook stared hi surprise. "Ye be up early. My lady left orders for a large meal for three at noon. Were ye not working with my lady and Lord Wulfston all yesterday?"
"They were working," he replied. "I was… observing." The cook suspected he was an untrained Adept. How else explain the interest Aradia and Wulfston took in him?
The aroma of baking bread permeated the air, and Lenardo had the pleasure of eating some still warm from the oven, with fresh sweet butter. There were fresh-picked berries this morning with thick cream, and hot cereal.
"Now, lad," said the cook, "I've been feeding my lady and her father before her these many years, and I know a proper diet for… those who need to keep strength up. Ye must learn to eat meat, son-'tis the fastest thing to rebuild your blood."
"I haven't lost any blood," Lenardo replied amiably. "This is the best bread I've ever tasted."
"Nay, don't try to turn me aside with compliments. Ye must eat properly, or ye'll never learn… what 'tis ye've come here to learn," he ended conspiratorially.
"Why don't we let the Lady Aradia judge that?" Lenardo suggested. "She and Lord Wulfston will certainly do justice to your fine dishes. I'll take the meal up to them at noon, if you don't mind."
Carrying the heavily laden tray up the twisted stairs to the tower room was not easy, and once at the top, Lenardo wondered what he ought to do. Both Aradia and Wulfston were still in deep, motionless sleep, while Nerius…
Interesting. The old Adept lay in the same position, on • his back, head straight on the pillow… but his arms had moved. His hands were clasped, not tightly, just relaxed across his rib cage.
Setting the tray down, Lenardo went to the bed to Read Nerius deeply. He found two areas of the man's body hot with the painless flame of Adept healing: the portion of his brain from which the tumor had been removed, and the area beneath his breastbone, where Lenardo perforce had badly bruised him. He had gone from unconsciousness to healing sleep-by himself? Or had Aradia wakened in the night and done it?
There was still some distortion of Nerius' brain where the tumor had been-permanent damage, Lenardo judged; but nothing like the horrible compression of the growth. Only time would tell the effect of the lingering damage.
Aradia's father already looked better. His skin still had the pallor of someone who had not been out of doors for many months, but there was a hint of healthy color in his cheeks, lips, and fingernails. His face was relaxed but no longer slack; he looked more like a healthy man sleeping than like the dying man he had appeared yesterday.
Aradia still looked exhausted, the dark smudges back under her eyes, but the transparent look was gone. No sooner did Lenardo begin to Read her physical state, though, than she woke with a start, crying out, "Father!"
"He's much better," Lenardo quickly assured her. "Just look at him."
Aradia sat up cautiously and looked at Nerius. "Did you move his hands?"
"No-he's in healing sleep. I've already Read him."
"He did it himself! And he moved!" Pure joy lighted her eyes. "Oh, Lenardo, Father hasn't moved by himself, except for convulsions, since midwinter! He's going to be all right!"
"He's going to live," cautioned Lenardo. "Please… don't get your hopes up that he wiil recover fully. I cannot promise that."
"I don't ask it," she replied, but her elation told him she expected it. "We must let him sleep and recover now. I smell food, and I'm ravenous. Wulfston," she said as she saw the young Adept still sound asleep. "I must wake him."
"Don't get up," said Lenardo. "I'll wake him."
Aradia gave him a puzzled frown. "How did you know how to wake me? Cook had orders to bring our food up. Actually, I thought you'd be asleep too-or rather, I didn't think. I keep forgetting that Reading doesn't weaken you. I should have shown you how to waken an Adept"