He tried to Read, couldn’t, remembered that he was Reading this whole scene-
Wulfston hurt. He was aware of aching in every muscle and bone before he felt the finger pressed firmly to his forehead between the eyes, and heard Lenardo’s voice saying calmly, “Wulfston, wake up. It’s all over. Wake up now.”
He did, with a moan.
He was slumped on his side, cheek against the cold stone floor, legs twisted painfully. He had iallen sideways from the cross-legged position he had assumed to Read with the others. The more awake he became, the more agony assaulted his nerves. Nothing that happened in Adept battle had ever hurt this much!
Light stabbed his eyes when he opened them to find a blurry Lenardo bending over him. “I know it hurts,” the Master Reader said, “but you’ll be all right. You weren’t prepared to go out of body.”
“Is that what I did?” he managed to get out. Even his tongue hurt.
“Yes. Don’t try to move. Can you start healing yourself?”
He found that he could. Relief and warmth spread through his cold, cramped limbs. Lenardo gently straightened his body, massaging the abused muscles. “What happened?” Wulfston asked. “I shouldn’t have fallen.”
“I know; the worst that should have happened from leaving your body in that position is a few cramped muscles. Norgu may have shoved your body over out of spite, when he discovered what we were doing.”
Healing, Wulfston could not Read. “Tadisha? Ashuru?”
“They’re fine. They’ve gone to find Norgu.”
“Or his body,” Wulfston said bitterly.
“Not necessarily,” Lenardo told him. “Chulaika’s still alive.”
“Did we… drive out Z’Nelia?”
“I’m not sure. She’s in a coma, and I’m not ready right now to Read her that deeply.”
That had to wait for the next day. Today they healed themselves once more. Lenardo and Wulfston ate, then went to their own rooms to sleep. They rested comfortably, for the news from the battlefield was good: the Karili allies had sent the Savishnon into retreat once again, and if the followers of the war god could never be persuaded to change their ways, at least their numbers had been decimated. There would be a few years of peace.
But under whose rule?
In the morning, Wulfston found that their problems were far from resolved.
Norgu was no longer an immediate threat. Tadisha, Ashuru, and Barak escorted back to the castle a living, unharmed body… with a mind that seemed to comprehend less than Chaiku’s.
The trauma Norgu had suffered when his mother took her revenge at the dream-volcano had erased his knowledge and memories, leaving him a hulking, helpless infant. Ashuru and Lenardo found no injury to his intelligence; he began immediately relearning, and within a few days could already babble a few words. He was still completely self-centered, but it was normal for his apparent stage of infancy. Perhaps this time, if he grew up under the proper supervision, he would mature in character as well as intelligence and powers.
Chulaika was another matter. Lenardo and Ashuru spent hours beside her comatose body, trying to reach her mind. Eventually they discovered something quite unexpected.
“It’s as if Z’Nelia and Chulaika are uniting to form one individual!” Ashuru explained.
“When Norgu thrust them together into that maelstrom of destruction,” Lenardo speculated, “they were forced to depend on each other, or they would have been as devastated by it as he was.”
“Do you think they can integrate?” Wulfston asked. “Can you help them?”
“We’re trying,” said Ashuru. “Only time will tell if a person capable of ruling the Zionae will emerge.”
But time was something they did not have. Neither the Zionae nor the Warimu had a leader. If they did not settle those people’s fears soon, some of them would try to assume leadership, creating civil war.
Lenardo gave Wulfston a grim smile. “You know what you have to do. You and Aradia taught me, remember?”
Aradia had tested Lenardos mettle by throwing him to the wolves-giving him a conquered land to rule, alone. And the Lord Reader had succeeded far beyond Wulfstons expectations. He had never discovered whether it had been beyond Aradias.
Much as it disturbed him, Wulfston recognized that Lenardo was right: someone had to take command, and Wulfston was the logical candidate.
The Zionae and the Warimu were accustomed to being ruled by strength. Only a powerful leader could unite them to the Karili Assembly. And with Z’Nelia/Chulaika in coma and Norgu reduced to mental infancy, Wulfston was the only leader available with the Mover’s powers they respected.
So, before any minor leader decided to make his move, Ashuru called the Karili Assembly into session in the audience chamber of the palace of Djahat. But she did not take the throne; rather, she took center place in the Assembly, who faced the throne as visiting dignitaries.
The officers of the Zionae and Warimu armies were also the chieftains of their towns and villages.
Wulfston invited them into the audience chamber. When all were assembled, he made his entrance, dressed in the richest garments they could find in the palace, including a golden crown. Lenardo walked beside him, similarly attired. Thus they declared themselves the equals of the kings of the African nations.
Wulfston took the throne, to a mutter of astonishment. Lenardo stood at his side. Neither man was armed, nor was Barak, who stepped forward to flank Wulfston on the opposite side.
Wulfston waited until the whispers died into hushed expectancy. “Most of you do not know me,” he said,
“but you know who I am: Lord Wulfston of the Savage Empire. This is Lord Lenardo, Master Reader-the greatest Seer among our people. He is also my brother-my sister’s husband-and the reason I am in Africa.
“When Lenardo was kidnapped and brought to Africa, I was forced to come here, and became involved in your wars with one another and the Zionae. Here I discovered that I am Zionae. My ancestors built this palace, and ruled these very lands.
“My grandmother was Katalia, who was murdered by her nephew Desak, the father of Z’Nelia and Chulaika. I am their cousin, and Norgu’s one generation removed. Z’Nelia is dead, and her sister Chulaika is in coma. Norgu is incapacitated, and Chulaika’s son Chaiku is only three years old.
“Therefor, by right of blood and conquest, I am now the ruler of these lands.”
In the silent, sullen hush, Barak stepped forward. “I Verify what Lord Wulfston has told you of his ancestry, by my Grioka’s powers.”
People looked at one another uneasily. To most of them, Wulfston was an unknown quantity.
One of the Warimu chiefs stepped forward. “Are you not the Lord of the Black Wolf, reports of whose conquests have come to us from the lands across the Northern Sea?”
“I am,” Wulfston agreed, squashing his feelings of irony that at last that song was doing him some positive good in Africa.
“You led the assault on the castle,” said one of the Zionae officers. “Your Mover’s powers destroyed more than a hundred of our best men.”
“If Z’Nelia had not captured Lenardo, I would have had no reason to enter the castle,” Wulfston reminded him.
“Nor,” he added, sensing that he had their attention and growing respect, “do I want to rule the lands of the Zionae or the Warimu.”
There was a murmur of disbelief. Wulfston let it fade before he continued. “I have lands and peoples of my own, to whom I have responsibilities. I cannot stay in Africa. However, I have incurred obligations here by my actions, and discovered obligations of kinship. Therefor, I appoint as my regent in Africa Queen Ashuru of the Karili.”
All eyes turned to the Karili queen, who stood wrapped in dignity, waiting for the protest to be voiced.
It was. “Ashuru is a Seer, not a Mover,” the Zionae officer pointed out. “She has no powers with which to battle our enemies.”
“Powers do not make great leaders,” Wulfston replied. “The greatest enemy you have faced is the Savishnon. Z’Nelia defeated them with her Mover’s powers, but almost destroyed herself in the process.