For several months now, he had been plagued by dark moods and feelings of emptiness. His duties as a Lord Adept were no longer satisfying. He had decided he missed the camaraderie of the other ruling Adepts and Readers in the alliance. So when he had received the news that Aradia and Lenardo were expecting their first child, he had grasped the excuse to invite them for a celebration.
But the arrival of his friends and relatives had not eased his frustration. Indeed, he had begun to crave solitude before they had finished their first meal together! Hence the ride along the cliffs.
Was his feeling jealousy? After all, Aradia’s Adept powers hadn’t prevented her from learning to Read-the one goal in life he could not seem to achieve. Ironically, Wulfston had been the first of their group to theorize that Reading and Adept powers were the same, which Lenardo and Aradia later confirmed by gaining each other’s talents. There was no reason in the world why Wulfston couldn’t Read, but try as he would, he couldn’t.
Another pressure was that he had neither wife nor heir.
His people were beginning to express concern as their lord approached the prime of life and the peak of his powers. If he was to produce an heir, now was the time to do it, while his powers were still growing.
Lenardo would soon have two heirs, his adopted daughter Julia and his own child by Aradia. Wulfston wanted to feel joy at Lenardo’s good fortune, but his words of congratulation rang hollow.
In a castle full of family and friends, with servants to respond to his slightest whim, the Lord of the Land felt totally alone.
The next day, under guard of minor Adepts, the “visitors” from the ship were brought before Wulfston in his audience chamber.
Wulfston rarely sat on his throne, but his father Nerius had carefully taught both his son and his daughter the techniques of rule. Pomp and ceremony seemed to come more naturally to Aradia, but Wulfston felt the appropriateness of his position this day.
For several long moments he said nothing to those who had attacked him, letting them stare at the Lord of the Land and the people flanking him: Lenardo and Aradia seated in places of honor to his right, Julia and Rolf, Wulfston’s Reader, to his left. Readers and Adepts all, a formidable assembly.
Sukuru was the group’s leader, though he lacked the bearing of a Lord Adept. Authority did not sit well upon his gaunt frame, and his ebony skin seemed to blanch under Wulfston’s gaze.
It was apparent that Sukuru was badly shaken by his encounter. At first Wulfston assumed it was because he had been so easily defeated. It turned out, however, that the newcomers had not expected to find the Lord of the Land on the cliffs, wrapped in a plain woolen cloak. Rather, when they saw another black man they feared he had been sent by their enemies to thwart their expedition.
“For it is well known even unto our lands,” Sukuru explained, speaking Trader’s Common with a heavy accent, “that the most excellent Lord of the Black Wolf is a great and noble ruler. We thought to find you as you are now, most gracious lord, crowned in gold and seated upon a throne. Because of our enemies, we approached by stealth, rather than have our ship enter your harbor. Please forgive us for your injuries, and the death of your beautiful steed-”
“You are forgiven,” Wulfston said impatiently. “Tell me why you’ve come here.”
“Most excellent lord,” Sukuru explained, “we have traveled over vast distances to implore your help. The lands of Africa are held in the grip of a powerful witch queen named Z’Nelia. From her throne in Johara she spins her webs of power, ensnaring all who live there. Those who dare speak out or rebel against her harsh rule or insane proclamations are condemned to death-or to slavery.
“We who have come seeking your help represent many tribes and peoples who share a dream of freedom-freedom from Z Nelia’s tyranny. But we lack the power to depose her. Besides her own formidable powers, she has many followers with powers of their own, as well as a huge and powerful army.”
“But why would you come so far to seek my help?” Wulfston asked.
“Word of your exploits has reached our lands,” the emissary replied. “There is a song which tells of your battle against the armies of the Black Dragon, how you defeated him in single combat.”
Wulfston heard Julia smother a snicker, and knew his other friends found this exaggeration equally amusing. Indeed, he had difficulty restraining his own laughter- and realized that it felt good, the first spontaneous laughter he had enjoyed in some time.
“That song,” he explained when he could reply with dignity to match the man’s sincerity, “was created by a bard seeking favor in my court. East of here, in the city of Zendi, you would hear a much different version, celebrating the exploits of my sister and her husband.” He gestured toward Aradia and Lenardo, enjoying the puzzled look that crossed Sukuru’s face when Wulfston identified the pale blond Aradia as his sister. “In truth, it took our combined powers and those of many others to defeat Drakonius.”
“Nevertheless,” Sukuru pressed on, “yu are tne most powerful ruler in these lands. Is that not so?”
“No,” Wulfston replied patiently, “that is not so. Our alliance is so powerful because it is precisely that: an alliance. Lenardo, Aradia, Lilith, Torio, Melissa-there are many of us.”
“Then you are… merely a vassal to some higher lord?” Sukuru asked.
“No,” Wulfston said firmly. “We are allies. And if your Z’Nelia is so powerful, the only way to defeat her is to join your powers with those of others who oppose her. Surely, if she is as evil as you claim, you will easily find others to support you. Why come to our lands seeking a champion?”
“You do not understand our situation, lord,” Sukuru replied. “Let Chulaika explain.”
He gestured to the young woman Wulfston had found in the boat. She came forward hesitantly, her little boy clinging to his mother’s skirts. Chulaika was wrapped in veils, only her eyes visible, her lower face obscured by a soft dark cloth that rippled with her breath.
“Most powerful Lord,” she murmured, her voice trembling, “our people are oppressed, our men taken into slavery, our children threatened. Many of our young people that have shown strong powers have been killed- murdered by Z’Nelia because they might oppose her rule. Please, Lord Wulfston, come to our aid. Only a great lord like yourself can help us.” ‹ There was something compelling about Chulaika’s eyes. Wulfston was able to break his gaze from hers only when
Sukuru said, “You are a Son of Africa, Lord. Surely you will not refuse to help your own people?”
“My own people,” said Wulfston, “are right here. I was not born in your land, but in the Aventine Empire, where my parents were proud to have earned citizenship.” He did not add that they had been killed by their fellow citizens when their son exhibited forbidden powers.
“My people,” he continued, “are still recovering from the suffering Drakonius caused them, still learning to trust our alliance, still building a new life upon the ruins of the old. I will consult with my allies to determine what help we can offer. But you must understand that I cannot leave my lands unattended to go adventuring in yours.” Yet he had to admit, once he had so abruptly dismissed the petitioners, that perhaps his shortness was caused by temptation.
It was the conflict with Drakonius that had first brought Wulfston out of Aradia’s shadow. Furthermore, in the days of conflict decisions had been easy: they fought Drakonius, they fought the would-be usurpers who had tried to attack their alliance after his defeat, and they fought the invading Aventines. The right thing to do had been so clear then.
Nowadays it seemed he dealt only with arguments over boundaries, or charges and countercharges in business disputes. And the ever-present question o?his heir.
Wulfston decided to talk to Lenardo, who had become as close as a brother in the days when they had learned to work together against their common enemies. Somehow the Master Reader, who was hardly five years older than Wulfston, seemed to have the wisdom of the ages.