But the last year had seen the waning times.  Sarla had suddenly died in her sleep.  The Adept-made landslide that was supposed to have aided Drakonius’ attack on the Aventines at Adigia had gone wrong, killing hundreds of the Black Dragon’s troops.  Including Maro.

And then, last month, the fall of the tyrant — was that luck waxing or waning?  Zel had survived that terrible battle despite being among the troops that spearheaded Drakonius’ attack on the lands of the White Wolf.  But when the battle was lost and Drakonius killed, everything changed.  The old White Wolf, Nerius, had also died in the battle.  His daughter Aradia now ruled his lands.  As leader of the victors, she had divided the spoils, giving the western part of Drakonius’ territory to Wulfston, her adopted brother.  Fearing that this newly-named Lord of the Black Wolf might be worse tyrant than Drakonius, Zel and many other soldiers had fled east to the Red Hills.  Better to become bandits, Zel had said, than be forced to swear loyalty to a Lord Adept they did not know.

And instant loyalty seemed to be what this wolf cub had expected.  He rode into the territory under a hastily-made wolf’s-head banner, leading troops borrowed from his sister’s army.  And brooking little argument.  One of his first decrees was to take over Jareth’s house; it was the only large home in the area that had somehow been spared major damage by the Adept firestorms in that far-ranging battle.

Granted, Lord Wulfston had been somewhat polite about the takeover; he had assured Jareth that it was only a temporary measure, until Castle Blackwolf was built.  And the Lord Adept’s troops seemed to be treating the local people a lot better than Drakonius’ soldiers ever had.  But some of his other decrees — such as his announcement that any Readers that were found were to be brought to Wulfston unharmed?  Since before Jareth’s father’s time, any person — adult or child — discovered having mind-reading powers was instantly declared an enemy of the Lord’s people and immediately executed.  Jareth had heard rumors about an Aventine Reader helping Wulfston’s allies defeat Drakonius — Ha!  Ridiculous!  Readers only sought to kill Adepts!  Everyone knew that!

Just what was this wolf cub planning?

During those first few days, Jareth had not volunteered information about the territory, but had politely and truthfully answered every question Wulfston had put to him.  The Adept had not seemed to notice Jareth’s ambivalence, had even given the merchant the title of chief advisor — which caused even Jareth’s oldest and closest friends to now look at him with the same expression they had for Wulfston:  a pleasant smile with questions lurking behind the eyes.

And now, little more than two weeks into his reign, the Lord of the Black Wolf wanted to go chasing after mythical creatures.  “With no guards,” Jareth muttered.  “Hmph . . . Perhaps he wants me along . . . to be . . . meat . . . for the werewolf . . . ”

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