Wulfston's odyssey

Chapter Two

The repairs on the Night Queen took nearly two days. By the time the ship put to sea again, Sukuru’s vessel was beyond Astra’s Reading range, even out of body. Wulfston was forced to depend entirely on the course Chulaika plotted.

He was not sure he could trust her, even in that regard. Apparently she was following Sukuru’s plan to force the Lord Adept to travel to Africa, but what if all this were part of an even larger scheme-a plot against the Savage Empire?

Wulfston remembered leaving Aradia and Jareth on the dock in his homeland. “What if this is a ruse to divide our strength?” he had wondered aloud. “Enemies have tried to split our alliance before. Sukuru might have friends- strong Adepts and Readers-who hope that all of us will sail off to rescue Lenardo, leaving our lands unprotected.

“You may be right, my lord,” Jareth had agreed. “We must expect the unexpected.”

“Indeed,” Wulfston nodded. “If I’d done that last night, we wouldn’t have lost Lenardo, would we?”

“Don’t blame yourself, my brother,” Aradia said softly. “We were all fooled. Not even Lenardo Read Sukuru’s intent.”

Wulfston did not forgive himself so easily. Somewhere deep inside him, a voice whispered, “You should have known. You saw the signs and ignored them.”

What signs? he asked himself. What should I have known, but didn’t?

The vast ocean yielded no answers, merely beckoned to his mind, drawing him beyond the railing, seducing him into forgetting all his concerns and losing himself in-

“Lord Wulfston?”

He spun around, bracing his powers-to find Astra beside him, startled by his reaction.

“I’m sorry,” he said, smiling to cover his embarrassment. “I didn’t hear you. I guess I was experiencing that thing sailors are always talking about: ‘the spell of the sea.’ “

“Is this your first time sailing to a foreign land?” the Reader asked.

“My first time out to sea,” he confessed. “My first experience of being totally surrounded by deep water.

It’s beautiful, but I’m beginning to understand how it must have seemed to your fellow Aventine Readers when the invasion fleet left their empire-how vulnerable they must have felt when I sent the storm to drive away their ships from my lands.” N

“You’re thinking about the Readers who drowned?”

“Yes, and how easily the same thing could happen to us,” he said grimly. “Sukuru has two days’ head start. If we can’t close the gap, we may find someone waiting on the African coast to drive us away!”

“Z’Nelia?”

“Or one of her allies. From what Captain Laren tells me, the city of Johara is near Africa’s east coast.

This course that Chulaika has plotted is taking us to the west, a thousand miles from Johara. Even if this witch-queen is as powerful as Sukuru said, her powers cant possibly reach that far. But if she has Adept friends on the west coast…”

“Wouldn’t it be more likely that Sukuru and his allies would be there? If he’s trying to force you to help him depose a powerful sorceress, surely he’s not going to lead you into a trap!”

“How can we be sure of anything? Your husband agrees these people can’t be trusted.” She followed his glance down the length of the deck to where Chulaika sat at the stern, sharing a meal with her son. “For instance, what are your impressions of her?”

“Hard to say. She seems to have as much Adept talent as I do, which is not much. She doesn’t seem to want to be here, away from her homeland, any more than we want to be away from ours. But she’s determined not to show it. And you must have noticed how protective she is of her son, Chaiku. Aren’t you curious as to why a four-year-old never speaks, only cries and makes grunting sounds?”

“With all that’s been going on, I hadn’t noticed,” Wulfston admitted. “Have you Read his physical condition?”

“This morning, before we left the island. It didn’t tell me much. His throat and voice box seem to be normal, which should mean that the disorder is in his brain. When I asked Chulaika if he had ever had the power of speech, she became defensive, bracing her powers. So I left her alone.”

” Our children threatened,’ ” Wulfston said, quoting what Chulaika had told them in his throne room.

“Perhaps he is a victim of more than just a threat.”

Just then Captain Laren strode over to them, looking very serious. “Lord Wulfston, I’m sorry. From my calculations, even with all you Adepts helping, this ship cannot possibly catch up with that African merchantman. They’ll reach the African coast at least a day before we will.”

Wulfston stared at the man, not knowing where to vent his frustration. He expelled it in a controlled breath, then said, “Just get us there as quickly as you can.”

“And then?” Laren asked.

“I don’t know,” the Lord Adept said quietly, then walked to the stern of the ship. Chulaika looked up as he approached her. “You win, it seems. In a few days I will be in your land.”

“But not helping us fight against Z’Nelia,” she said softly, “so it is no victory at all. I told my master that his plan would not work.”

“You’re Sukuru’s slave?” he asked. He had assumed that the two were allies.

” ‘Servant’ would be the best word in this language. He saved me and my son from being sold into slavery, but… sometimes obeying his wishes seems no better than serving a slavemaster. If only you knew how much your help is needed in Africa-”

“We’ve already been through that,” he said firmly. “I haven’t changed my mind. When we reach Africa, I will do whatever I have to do to rescue Lenardo, but I will not become a part of your rebellion!”

“Then what do you require of me, Lord Wulfston?”

Rather than make further demands, Wulfston decided to try another tack. “I’ll make a bargain with you, Chulaika,” he said softly. “I must know more about what I will face in your homeland. If you will teach vme your native language, and as much as possible about your lands and customs, I will do what I can to cure your son’s muteness. With the help of Magister Astra’s Reading powers-”

Chulaika’s reaction was a strange, bitter laugh as she drew the child close. “You cannot help him, Lord Wulfston. No Healer can. The silence of his tongue is the mark of Shangonu, our god. It is His will that Chaiku not speak-to oppose the will of the god would bring disaster upon us.”

Wulfston was amazed at her response. “You believe that it’s wrong for him to be healed?”

“Shangonu forbids it. You cannot understand,” she insisted firmly. “You are not of my people, know nothing of our ways.” Although her voice remained sort, its intensity increased. “I will teach you what I can, most excellent lord, but there are some things about my homeland that even you, a Son of Africa, will never be able to learn.”

Zanos and Astra were included in the language lessons. With the powers of concentration studied by both Readers and Adepts, their progress was swift, and soon all three were capable of intelligible, if not colloquial, conversation in the language of Chulaika’s people, the Zionae. — In the process they learned that Africans perceived Reader and Adept powers much differently than the Aventines or savages did.

Readers in Africa were called Seers, while Adepts were generally called Movers. Minor Adepts were known by their principal talent: healers, firemakers, rainbringers, and so forth.

Readers were often inducted into religious orders, to use their powers for social good. The fate of a person with both Reading and Adept powers depended on where he lived; in some areas such a person might become part of a coven of wizards while in other tribes a Reader/Adept would be a natural ruler.

During one lesson, Astra told Chulaika, “Only in the past few years have our Readers and Adepts begun to learn each other’s powers. Are those with both powers very common in Africa?”

“No, they are not,” Chulaika replied. “In truth, only in recent generations have people with any kind of power become commonplace. As recently as in my great-grandmother’s day, even my meager powers would have been cause for my people to shun me as a witch. But today a very powerful witch-queen sits upon the throne in Johara. Such powers are the only thing that people now respect.”

“Perhaps,” Wulfston said, “and perhaps not. Among my people there is the legend of another Wulfston-Wulfston the Red. He had no powers, yet he is remembered as a great ruler. His strength came from his unselfish love for his people, which earned him their respect and loyalty. Surely your history also contains stories of great kings and queens who ruled the Zionae without powers.”

“Indeed,” Chulaika nodded, “but those were in the days when Movers were few. In recent generations leaders without powers have had to fight constantly to keep their thrones. Of late, few have succeeded.”

The Lord Adept shrugged. “A ruler’s lands are his only for as long as he can hold them. There will always be someone wanting to make those lands his own, and having powers will never change that. You have seen our solution in the Savage Empire, Chulaika. Rulers who respect and trust one another can unite to maintain peace. Without that unity, powers or no powers, no ruler’s lands are safe.”

“Perhaps,” she whispered. Wulfston could not tell whether she doubted his words, or found a seed of hope in them.

The cry of “Land ho!” rang out from the bow, and the passengers rushed to the rails for the first view of something other than water and sky since they had sailed out of the midland sea and into open ocean. A wide patch of green was slowly rising from the sea,

“Freedom Island,” Chulaika identified. “We must stop there for water and supplies. After that, it is four more days until we reach the African coast.”

Wulfston glanced at Captain Laren, who confirmed her words with a nod.

“Why is it called Freedom Island?” Zanos asked Chulaika.

“Because it is the last hope of slaves who sometimes manage to jump overboard after a slave ship has left Africa’s west coast, bound for distant markets.”

Like the Aventine Empire, Wulfston reflected, until the last earthquake destroyed their system of rule, and we took over.

“Many of the enslaved come from conquered tribes,” Chulaika went on. “Thus they have no home to return to. So they stay on Freedom Island, joining one of the communities there. Pirate bands also use the island as a base, but it is unwritten law that no slave business is conducted here.”

“And all those different factions live side by side in peace?” Astra asked.

“An uneasy peace,” the veiled woman said. “Most uneasy.”

No other ships were in the harbor when the Night Queen dropped anchor. Captain Laren and several of her crew went ashore first for supplies, and the boat returned for Wulfston, Zanos, Astra, Chulaika, and Chaiku.

Chulaika tried to persuade Wulfston to remain aboard, insisting, “There is nothing of interest to you on that island.”

That only made him more certain there was, so he told her, “You said you would be my teacher as well as my guide. Here is my first chance to see African culture-and I need you to explain it to me.” Besides, he thought, I must attempt to send a message to Aradia.

When Chulaika still resisted, Wulfston demanded, “What are you afraid of? Is there some danger on the island?”

“I cannot be certain,” she replied. “I have never been here before. Although it is said that there is little violence on Freedom Island, you may be certain that should we encounter trouble, we can expect no help from the inhabitants.”

Zanos gave her a confident smile. “I think we have enough strengths and talents among us to handle any trouble.”

His wife nodded her agreement, but asked Chulaika, “Just what is it you fear? Surely Z’Nelia’s influence could not reach so far.”

“Couldn’t it?” the African woman countered. “She has spies everywhere on the continent. Why not here?”

The handful of black people on the dock proved less than friendly, though not openly hostile to the strangers. To test whether he would be understood, Wulfston asked to have the letter he had prepared sent back on the next ship to the Aventine peninsula. He handed over coins, hoping the missive would reach its destination. Then they went on to the marketplace.

The half-mile walk was on a well-worn road lined with squalid huts. Children played in the dirt, while their mothers clustered nearby in the shade of a tall tree. It was of a type Wulfston did not recognize, and sitting in its branches were multicolored birds singing unfamiliar songs. More than just another land, he reflected. It’s almost like entering, another world.

The group of native women stopped talking as they passed, staring at the strangers-no, staring directly at him.

“Astra,” Wulfston murmured in the savage language, “why are those women looking at me that way?”

The Reader followed his gaze and concentrated. “They’re low-level Readers, my lord. My impression is that they are intrigued with your appearance, and are wondering who you- Oh, Hesta!” she muttered, and turned away, blushing.

“What’s wrong?”

Zanos, who had apparently been “listening in” on his wife’s scan of the women, choked back laughter.

“Uh… they’re Reading through your clothes, Lord Wulfston.”

Fighting the reflex to cover himself with his hands, Wulfston gasped, “What!” then forced himself to walk tall, shooting an angry glare at the women that would have sent any citizen of his own land scurrying away in terror. The result on the group of women, however, was an explosion of laughter.

“They’re breaking the Reader’s Code!” he protested to Astra.

“They would be in the Savage Empire,” she agreed, “but who knows whether in this part of the world Readers have even developed a code?”

They switched back to Chulaika’s native language, and Astra asked her about it. “Each order of Seers has its own rules,” the African woman explained. “I’m sure those women belong to no order, but even if they did, I doubt that our Seers and Movers could ever agree on a single set of rules.

We are too many different tribes and peoples, as you will soon see.”

The marketplace was a sprawling arena of bustling activity, its perimeters defined by merchants’ huts, tents, and open-air booths. Although it was not as crowded as a busy market day at home, the travelers found it difficult to navigate the crosscurrents of people.

Everyone seemed to travel in groups, as if being alone were unacceptable here. Or dangerous.

Wulfston noticed that the business being conducted did not involve the exchange of coins, only barter. Of course, refugees would not have silver or gold. Coins marked merchants, always under suspicion of trading in human flesh.

Wulfston touched the money pouch at his belt, and suddenly felt more an intruder on this island than a visitor. He felt even less certain that his letter would reach Aradia.

Zanos said, “The market seems to be divided into territories.” Wulfston saw what he meant: tall, thin men sold their wares in the northern part; short, almost childlike people on the east-

But it was a small booth on the southern perimeter that drew Wulfston’s attention. A young couple were selling wooden utensils. The man was beardless, but still he. closely resembled the Lord Adept in build and skin color.

He reminds me of my father, Wulfston realized. His natural father. No, on closer examination this man didn’t really look like his father as Wulfston remembered him, but there was family-tribal? — resemblance enough to give him the irrational feeling that if he walked over to that booth he would be welcomed with open arms.

Knowing his perception was clouded by memory, Wulfston remained where he was, letting his eyes move over to the man’s wife, who was light-skinned and very pretty. She was painting animal figures on the outer edge of a large bowl, just as Wulfston’s mother had done at his family’s pottery stand. Over to the side a little girl was watching her young brother, a boy no more than three years old-

The same age I was when it all happened. It’s like looking at my own past!

The young woman glanced in his direction, and her eyes widened. She edged over to the man and whispered something, then went to bend over her children.

A hand touched Wulfston’s shoulder. He turned reflex-ively, staring into Chulaika’s eyes, but he could not seem to hear what she was saying. His mind was still on the family that looked so much like his own.

When he turned to look again, they were gone. The booth was empty.

“Lord Wulfston,” Chulaika said, “Zanos claimed he saw some ‘Madurans’ over there”-she gestured toward the western side of the square-“and ran off. His wife followed him. She seems concerned.

These ‘Madurans’-they are his tribe?”

Wulfston nodded. “It never occurred to me that enslaved Madurans could end up this far south.”

“That is the essence of the slave business,” Chulaika said quietly. “People are sold in lands far from their homes, places where their features are considered unusual. They don’t know the language, they stand out in a crowd, so there is little chance of escape.”

Suddenly she looked around. “Chaiku? Chaiku!” Her eyes were suddenly wide with panic.

“He’s just wandered off,” Wulfston said, trying to see through the river of people flowing around them.

“Chaiku!” she called, her voice quickly approaching hysteria. “Chaiku!”

“Don’t worry,” he said firmly. “We 11 find him. He can’t have gone far.”

But Chulaika continued to call her son, pushing her way through the crowd. Wulfston followed her, certain the little boy would wander back to where he had started.

“KANA LA SABENU Z’NELIA! KANA LA SABENU Z’NELIA!”

The shouts cut through every other sound in the square.

The world went silent for a moment, everyone looking in every direction at once. Then a woman yelled something and people scurried away from the center of the marketplace.

It was as though curtains parted, revealing little Chaiku- index finger in mouth, cheeks stained with tears-looking around bewilderedly for his mother.

And then the crowds parted further to reveal the screaming man, several yards beyond the child and lurching toward him with a drunken stagger.

He was brandishing a knife!

“KANA LA SABENU Z’NELIA!”

By now, Chulaika had reached her son and was scooping him up in her arms. Wulfston ran toward them, shouting for her to get out of the way as the man increased speed and raised the dagger.

Chulaika stood frozen, staring at her oncoming death.

The Lord Adept jumped to his right to see his target clearly, and threw enough Adept force to knock the knife out of the man’s hand.

It was as though the attacker had been thrown against a stone wall-bones snapped loudly, the knife went flying behind him, and his shouts became a groaning gurgle as he dropped to his knees. He fell forward, to land at Chulaika’s feet.

“Are you all right?” Wulfston asked as he approached her. She nodded vaguely, staring down at the man.

Her right hand held Chaiku’s face buried in her left shoulder, muffling his frightened sobs. Her eyes held an expression Wulfston could not discern, a strange mixture of fear and anger.

Suddenly Zanos and Astra were there, she kneeling over the prone form, he protectively standing over her and scanning the curious onlookers. “He’s dead, Wulfston.” she announced, looking up at him sadly.

“His neck is broken.”

“I didn’t mean to strike him so hard,” he muttered, fighting down a sick feeling. He hadn’t misgauged his powers that badly since adolescence. He looked at Chulaika. “What was he shouting?”

She blinked. “Death to the enemies of Z’Nelia.”

“Lord Wulfston, I think we should return to the ship,” Astra said as she rose. “I don’t like what I’m Reading from this crowd.”

“I agree,” Chulaika said quickly. “This man may have friends.”

Wulfston had to agree. He let Zanos lead the way out of the marketplace, hand on the hilt of his sword.

The trek back was long and silent. Only when the ship was in sight did Wulfston relax enough to ask Zanos about the Madurans he had sought in the marketplace.

“There’s a small colony of them on the island,” Zanos replied quietly. “A storm enabled them to escape the ship carrying them to the mainland slave markets. Since no ships from here travel to Madura anymore, they are cut off from their homeland. Considering what Astra and I saw of Madura under Maldek’s rule, I told them it’s just as well.”

Captain Laren and some of his crewmen were loading supplies, and the Night Queen put out to sea before nightfall. Wulfston gathered Zanos, Astra, and Huber for a private conference in the cramped quarters that were the only private accommodation available to the Lord Adept.

Astra used her powers to make sure no one was eavesdropping-particularly Chulaika.

“I’m even more suspicious of that woman now,” Wulfston said tightly. “All her answers seem to be truthful, but something tells me that what she does not say is much more important than the information she’s given us. “

“Well, ‘ Astra said doubtfully, “I don’t think she could have lied about what that man with the knife was saying. He was obviously out to kill Chaiku, Chulaika, and you.”

“Perhaps he was a hired assassin,” Huber suggested, “sent by Z’Nelia.”

“If he was,” Zanos commented, “he was a poor choice. It’s very hard to sneak up on prey when you’re drunk.”

“Besides, no one knew we would stop on Freedom Island, ” said Wulfston. “No-wait. Sukuru and his people knew we would stop there because they did.”

“Coujd Z’Nelia’s allies have captured them?” Zanos mused. “Made them reveal that we were coming?”

Huber doubted it. “Even if someone Read it from them, Sukuru and his crew are only a day or so ahead of us. We’re still four days from Africa-not enough time to put an assassin on the island.”

“Unless he was already there,” said Astra. “And what if he was a Reader himself? These people have no Code to stop them from invading people’s privacy. If that man picked up Chulaika’s thoughts and realized that she was Z’Nelia’s enemy, he could have attacked her without thinking. Maybe he was jus.t drunk enough not to realize he had no chance against us.”

Wulfston said, “If that’s so, then I’m even more worried. An ally or servant of Z’Nelia’s so far from the mainland… just how far does her power extend?”

The language lessons continued, but Wulfston found it harder to concentrate. And he did not sleep well.

On the third morning, Zanos said to him, “You’re like the fighters I used to train for the Aventine arena.

Some of them would be restless for days before an important match.”

“And how did you help them relieve their tensions?” Wulfston asked.

“Sometimes,” the Maduran said wryly, “I’d send them to Morella’s House of Pleasure.”

Wulfston gave him a look of mock annoyance. “I don’t think that applies here.”

Zanos chuckled. He knew the Lord Adept was virgin-sworn until he found the woman who would provide his heir. “Sorry. Seriously, though, you need to get your mind off what lies ahead. When they were too tense, I would often set my gladiators a new challenge, something they’d never done before.

For example, you are a powerful Adept. I might challenge you to combat, with the stipulation that you not use your powers to win.”

Wulfston looked at the powerfully muscled Maduran. As an Adept, he much overmatched Zanos, but without the use of powers- “I wouldn’t know where to begin. I’ve never even learned to use a sword.”

“I had to keep my powers secret in the Aventine Empire,” said the ex-gladiator, “so I had to learn. “

“Perhaps you should teach me swordplay,” said Wulfston. “I may well have to hide my identity in order to get close enough to rescue Lenardo. “

“No,” replied Zanos. “The sword has many forms, each with its own style of combat. I could not possibly teach you enough in a few days to do you any good. But there is something that is useful anywhere in the world: the tactics of hand-to-hand combat.”

Wulfston stared. “Wrestling? With you?” Zanos must weigh at least a third more than he did. “Without Adept powers I’d never dare come within reach of an enemy of your size!”

The Maduran’s massive chest muscles rippled with his laughter. “I’ll show you some tricks of combat strategy and the use of strength. Like you, I’ve learned to work with nature. But Adept combat sometimes goes against that principle.”

“You mean because most Adept combat is a matter of powers and stamina. Drain your enemy’s strength before he can drain yours.”

“Exactly. Novices in the wrestling pit think the same way: wear down your opponent with brute force.

But the seasoned fighters learn to turn an opponent’s weight and strength against him. Let me demonstrate… Ho there, Telek!” he called to a tall, muscular deckhand who was watching from near the stern. “I’ve heard you’re pretty good at fighting.”

The crewman gave Zanos a lazy smile. “I’ve been in a brawl or two,” he conceded, casually moving toward the gladiator.

Wulfston did not have to be a Reader to sense the anticipation rippling through the crew and some of the other passengers. Like the Lord Adept, many of them had noticed the looks of appraisal passing between Zanos and Telek. As the two largest men aboard, strangers to each other, it would be natural for them to speculate. Zanos did it out of habit, since judging men in the gladiatorial arena had been part of his profession.

Telek’s reasons were another matter entirely. Wulfston had overheard several crewmen boast about his fighting prowess.

“I need your help to show something to Lord Wulfston,” Zanos said to him. “Just some basic fighting moves.”

Wulfston did not much care for the oily smile that Telek gave in response, but he remained silent as Astra appeared at his elbow. The Reader’s confident smile told him to trust Zanos.

In size and musculature, the two men were almost identical. Telek’s deeply bronzed skin and sun-bleached hair contrasted, though, with Zanos’ exotic coloring. The sailor stripped off his shirt, cast it aside, and stretched.

The two men faced off, each taking a basic wrestler’s stance. A ring of spectators formed around them as the fighters began circling. After several feints, they smashed together, each seeking a superior hold.

Telek found it first, twisted his huge bulk, and tossed Zanos over his right hip.

Laughter erupted from some of the crewmen as the gladiator crashed to the deck. Wulfston saw Astra blink hard.

“That was what you had in mind, gladiator?” Telek smirked.

Zanos rose deliberately, smiling. Telek took two steps and tried to grasp Zanos’ arm. In a blur of speed, the gladiator grabbed the sailor’s wrist, spun around, and threw Telek over his shoulder. Several crewmen jumped out of the way as their comrade landed so hard the ship rocked.

” That’s what I had in mind,” Zanos said calmly. Wulfston followed his gaze to Captain Laren, who was feigning disinterest in the demonstration. The Lord Adept sensed that the captain disapproved, but would allow them to continue… within limits.

Telek bounced to his feet, no longer smug. He approached Zanos a little more cautiously-but soon found himself flat on the deck again. This time a cheer went up for Zanos.

Telek scrambled to his feet, glaring. Zanos’ smile became nasty as he backed away, beckoning to his opponent. Telek charged, bellowing. Zanos evaded his grasp, gripped the seaman’s forearms, planted his foot on Telek’s chest, and fell backward, tossing the man over his head.

The ship had stopped rocking before Telek regained his feet this time. Zanos stood waiting. Silence fell on the Night Queen as the two men stared at one another.

Suddenly Telek let out a long, hearty laugh, breaking the tension. Zanos grinned as the sailor threw him a careless salute and walked away, retrieving his shirt as he went.

Someone tossed Zanos a towel as the circle of spectators dispersed. Wiping the sheen of sweat from his torso, he said, “You see, my lord? I used his own weight against him, so I didn’t wear myself out. If that principle could be used in Adept combat, a man could fight much more efficiently, without risking exhaustion.”

“But both of you were using Adept powers, weren’t you?” Wulfston guessed. “Just before that last toss, Telek braced his powers, and you countered with yours.” Wulfston could not have explained how he knew that, except from years of experience with Adepts of all levels of ability.

“Zanos, what was the real point of that demonstration-to find out which of you was the better fighter?”

To Wulfston it appeared that this skilled gladiator had lowered himself to brawl with a common thug.

Zanos shrugged. “It seemed the perfect opportunity to get that question answered.”

“But was it important to do so?” Wulfston asked.

“Yes,” was Zanos’ only response. “Let’s go back to where we started, my lord. With the same basic techniques, you could take on someone even larger than me without using Adept power.”

Wulfston was still skeptical, but willing to take Zanos’ instruction. However, he had to ask, “How do we keep each other honest about not using our powers?”

“I will referee,” said Astra. “The moment either one of you braces his powers, he becomes unReadable-and I call foul.”

Zanos limited the lesson to using an opponent’s weight against him. Wulfston learned how to throw a man over his shoulder. But first, denied the use of his powers, he discovered how it felt to be the one thrown.

Twice he lunged at Zanos, trying to get a grip on the gladiator-and twice he was flipped so easily that he could not believe Zanos used no more than physical skill.

“When you lose the advantage,” Zanos explained as Wulfston discovered the sting of bruises where he hadn’t known he had places to bruise, “you roll away from the blow, or from the throw. Don’t let the momentum go into impact. Keep rolling and it won’t hurt so much. It also gives you time to gather your wits and find a new advantage.”

“I’ll remember that,” said Wulfston as he struggled to his feet for the third time, feinted a stagger-and threw his shoulder into Zanos’ knees, toppling the bigger man full length on the deck.

Zanos rolled to his feet, laughing. “You’re an apt pupil, my lord! I’ll make the lesson a little harder tomorrow.”

The next morning Wulfston awoke to a new awareness of his body. It was not just the minor aches and bruises that persisted despite his use of healing power. Somehow he also felt refreshed and relaxed. The morning’s language lesson went well, and he found himself looking forward to another session of training with Zanos in the afternoon.

But that was forgotten when Astra announced, “My lord! I can Read the shoreline of Africa!”

“What do you see?” Wulfston asked. “Can you find Sukuru’s ship?”

“Perhaps,” she replied, “but it would speed my search to know where the ship might be anchored.”

Captain Laren unfurled his maps, Chulaika at his side. She pointed out a small port called Bosa. “Our journey to your land began from there, most excellent lord. But I doubt that the ship will still be anchored there, if Sukuru and the others have gone ashore.”

“And why is that?”

“Her captain fears your wrath, and will flee as soon as Sukuru releases him.”

Zanos let out an exasperated snort. “And Sukuru will certainly move Lenardo inland, no matter where they landed. So how do we decide where to start our search?”

“Let me go out of body,” said Astra. “Perhaps I can locate Lord Lenardo.”

“But the ship is moving,” said Wulfston. “Will you be able to find your way back to your body?”

Zanos said, “I’ll be her anchor. We have a strong mental rapport. Because of that, even my limited powers are enough to guide Astra back, no matter how far she roams.”

As husband and wife shared a look of confirmation, Wulfston glimpsed in their eyes a special joy such as had never been a part of his life. For one brief moment a pang of jealousy touched him, but he dismissed it, bracing his Adept powers to guard Astra’s body should her Reading be discovered by somebody ashore.

*

Astra’s spirit was gone from her body for almost an hour. When she opened her eyes, she reported that Sukuru and his people had indeed been put ashore at Bosa. And the ship was gone.

“Lord Lenardo was unconscious when they took him off the ship,” Astra reported. “From what I could Read of the local residents, Sukuru must have told them we’re in pursuit of him-and very angry. They’re deserting the area in terror.”

“It is as Sukuru planned it,” Chulaika stated. “You will find no one to help you in your search for Lord Lenardo.”

“Then we’ll do without the help of others,” Wulfston replied. “One way or another, our search will soon be over.”

A short time later, the African coastline came into view. Wulfston found Astra alone at the port rail, staring at the land. He approached hesitantly, drawn by a feeling of concern.

“May I ask what you are thinking, Astra?”

“I… I know this may sound strange,” the Reader responded, “but this view of the coastline reminds me of my first view of Madura. The two don’t look anything alike.” She glanced up at some black birds soaring overhead. “Even the birds are different. But all the memories of what happened there suddenly came flooding back to me.”

“That doesn’t sound strange at all,” Wulfston assured her. “From what little I’ve heard of that journey, you faced hostile forces at every turn. We may have to face even worse dangers here, Astra. But… would it be prying to ask what happened in Madura? What Zanos found in his homeland?”

She considered. “Zanos doesn’t like to talk about Madura because the journey became such a disappointment. After more than twenty years of struggle and heartache, he finally found his brother Bryen. The only member of Zanos’ family left alive, and within days he, too, was dead.”

She turned to look into Wulfston’s eyes. “All the years that Zanos was trapped in the Aventine Empire, he was sustained by his dream of returning home, taking with him all the Aventine slaves who wanted to live as free men in Madura. But Vortius the Gambler destroyed his plans to help the slaves escape, and when Zanos finally reached his homeland he found that the sorcerer Maldek had turned Madura into a place of ugliness and sterility. A land of death.

“So Zanos’ dreams all ended in frustration. He doesn’t talk about them anymore, but I know-”

She stopped, her eyes taking on the unfocused look of a Reader concentrating completely on Reading, to the exclusion of her immediate surroundings.

At the same time, Wulfston shuddered. Something was wrong. It took him a moment to realize that it was. the silence. The birds had stopped their harsh cries, the creaking of the ship’s timbers had ceased, and the sails no longer flapped against the rigging.

The silence lasted hardly long enough for him to recognize it before a sound came out of the distance-a wind, rapidly building to a gale!

The Night Queen pitched and swayed as choppy waves drove against it, then huge breakers slammed the hull as the wind tore at the sails.

This is no work of nature! Wulfston realized.

“An Adept wind?” Astra answered his unspoken thought.

“It has to be!” he replied, shouting over the increasing howl. He had no need to raise his voice for the Readers, but: “Captain Laren! It’s not just a storm! We’re under attack!”

As the sailors scrambled to haul in the sails before the ship capsized, Astra exclaimed, “I can’t find the source, my lord! The Adepts are beyond my range. I’ll have to go out of body to search.”

“Too dangerous,” he responded. White clouds were churning into black thunderheads. Bracing his powers, Wulfston prepared himself for battle against an unseen enemy.

Zanos fought his way to them against the wind, and put a protective arm around his wife’s shoulders. “My lord,” he shouted, “we must combine our powers to combat this storm!”

“We have to try!” Wulfston agreed. “Unless we can locate the source, the best we can do is shield ourselves and try to get the ship out of range.”

They had to struggle for every step to the center of the deck. The first bolt of lightning struck the top of the mainmast, exploding it into splinters. The Adepts deflected the falling shards from passengers and crew, but the ship was hopelessly crippled. They were trapped!

“Support me!” Wulfston commanded the minor Adepts, and felt their power flow to him. With increased strength, he fended off the next shaft of lightning. But we cannot keep this up indefinitely.

“Where’s Chulaika?’ he demanded. “She might know where the Adepts are gathered to attack us.”

But Chulaika was not on deck. Captain Laren was shouting to his men to lower the sails on the surviving masts, while the steersman hauled hopelessly on the rudder, trying to keep a southward course. Captain Laren reached for the rudder, to add his strength-and another thunderbolt turned him to a pillar of fire!

Wulfston recoiled in momentary horror as the corpse was pitched from the heaving deck.

Fireballs rained on the ship.

Wulfston felt his powers drain as he deflected them.

A wave of flame broke through their shield, death screams erupting around him as he was knocked to his hands and knees.

A lightning bolt sliced through the deck in front of him-the last sight he saw as the brightness blinded him.

There has to be a way to fight back! his mind insisted, but he was helpless, blind, unable to get back on his feet as he heard people screaming around him, smelled the stench of burning flesh.

He groped, found a handhold on one of the small boats, and hauled himself to his feet as his vision began to return from the edges inward.

It was just in time to see Zanos rolling Astra on the deck, smothering the flames from her dress.

Bodies were burning, ropes were flaring, sailors were hauling buckets of seawater to pour over the writhing form of a man screaming as his flesh was consumed.

Wulfston put out that fire and sent the man into healing sleep, but even as he did so he felt his growing weakness and saw how hopeless his small efforts were. He turned to help Zanos and Astra-

The deck exploded under him, tossing him high into the air before dropping him amid the rest of the debris in the roiling madness of the storm-wild ocean.