sharp tip of a large kinfe (corrected in original with swap character symbol to read knife) lightly touched his voice box.  Other hands firmly grabbed his arms.  “Not a word,” was whispered in his ear.

But he barely heard the command because the sheep were bleating very loudly.  And running away.  His captors turned to look at the flock, but Jareth’s eyes leaped past Wulfston’s receding back to a gray shape crouched on the crest next to the cave.

A wolf with flaming eyes.  Growling.

The world seemed to stand still for a moment.  Everyone stared at the creature, including Wulfston.  The wolf looked directly at Brellen as it bared its fangs.  Shaking, the little man let out a strangled cry as he thrust his free hand at the wolf — and collapsed in a heap, his torch rolling off to one side.

Someone yelled, “NOW!”  and the half dozen men behind Wulfston drew concealed blades and rushed up the slope at him.  Without so much as a backward glance, the Lord Adept thrust his right hand straight up and unleashed a flash of lightning.  Shouted oaths erupted around Jareth as he shut his eyes against the brightness.

When he opened them again, all four of his captors were lying at his feet.

By now, Wulfston was up the slope, next to the wolf and facing his attackers.  Torches were flung at him and the beast as the men desperately tried to get up within striking range.  The Lord of the Land merely gestured and the torches were scattered.  And then, one by one, the men fell backwards off the hillside.

Shouts.  Hoofbeats.  From several directions, horsemen — most of them wearing Wulfston’s livery — rode into the clearing.  They were herding frightened and sullen men and women before them, and bunched them together near the campfire.

“Is your son among them?”

The question caused Jareth’s head to snap around as Wulfston approached, softly asking again, “Is Zel among them?”

Embarrassment burned in Jareth’s cheeks as he scanned the faces around the campfire.  One or two were vaguely familiar to him, but — “No . . . Lord Wulfston,” he added.  “How did you . . . I mean . . . ”

“In the past two weeks,” the Adept said kindly, “the only actual advice you’ve given me has been about the hill bandits.  You very firmly stated that it would be unwise to hunt them down because of their close relatives among the people, whom I’m still trying to get to trust me.  I got your son’s name from one of his acquaintances, who recently swore loyalty to me after I used my powers to help his ailing wife.”

“I see,” Jareth said, head bowed.  “My lord, I — ”

“No.”  Wulfston put a hand on Jareth’s shoulder.  “I think I owe you the apology.  In a way, I used you.  I didn’t know if Brellen was a Reader, or had a Reader working with him.  Since I can’t be Read, I wanted someone along who genuinely did not know what I was planning.  If I’d had a Reader of my own, I