Wycaan Master: Book 01 - At The Walls Of Galbrieth

by Alon Shalev

  “I believe you dropped this,” he said, returning Seanchai’s long knife. “We should go.”

  Five

  The slap cracked across Seanchai’s face and snapped his head to the side. His skin burned and his eyes filled with tears. He focused all his strength to hold them back.

  As he accompanied his rescuers deep into the woods, Seanchai had bathed in their awe. He assumed it was because of his bravery and prowess, though he chose not to dwell on the fact that he had killed people. He tried to put such thoughts out of his mind by looking at the trees. They were bigger and older than those in Morthian Wood, where he had grown up. These had knurled trunks and branches. This was the Kurostan Forest, and had been around since the age of faerie.

  But now, in the rebel camp, Seanchai was no longer basking in awe, but instead stood before a huge elf with a very bad temper.

  “As long as you are with my people, you will never disobey one of my orders again, ever,” the elf roared. “Whether it comes straight from me or through someone else, you will obey it as law. I don’t care who you are. You put good elves and men at risk. What you did was stupid and impulsive.”

  Seanchai took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry I put others in danger, but Rhoddan is my friend and…” His voice trailed off as he saw the veins in the huge elf’s neck begins to throb. “How should I address you?”

  “Call me Uncle.”

  “You’re my uncle?” Seanchai arched an eyebrow, seeing no resemblance between this elf and his mild-mannered, loving father.

  This question was met with laughter.

  “Sure, if that works for you,” replied a smirking Uncle. “But Uncle is my title. It goes unnoticed in the ears of our enemies.”

  Seanchai stood as tall as he could and willed himself not to look away. “Well, if we have finished, Uncle, I would like to go see how my friend is doing.”

  After a long pause, Uncle cleared his throat.

  “Your guide?” he corrected venomously. “Sure, you may go to him. We will speak again after dinner. Ilana, please escort him to the healer.”

  An elfe approximately Seanchai’s age approached. She was shorter than him, with dark and shiny hair held away from her face by a plain leather-braided thong. She averted her eyes and signaled him to follow her.

  “Thank you,” said Seanchai. “I appreciate you taking–”

  “Uncle told me to,” she interjected.

  “Yes, um–” Seanchai stopped talking and surveyed the thick perimeter of trees around the camp. It made him think of the forest that surrounded his village. Thoughts of his parents slipped in. What had happened to them? He shuddered. He might never find out and perhaps that would be for the best.

  “You shivered,” Ilana said, her voice now softer. “Do you require a cloak?”

  “I was thinking of my parents.” Seanchai lowered his head, regretting the admission.

  “I’m sorry. Many of us have lost parents, siblings, and friends. My mother…” her voice shook and she took a deep breath. “It never gets any easier. The healer’s area is there beyond those fronds.” Her voice was warm now and Seanchai regretted that they were about to part.

  “Why so far away from everyone else?”

  “If we need to hide, the wounded cannot give us away.”

  “That’s kind of callous.” Seanchai impulsively remarked, immediately cringing at the slip.

  “Survival is callous,” she snapped. “We do what we can for them. We collect herbs and provide them with whatever the healer requests. But we can’t help them if we are dead and they can’t run away. And the healer, by the way, is an elfe.”

  Seanchai stopped, sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand. “I’m sorry. I seem to be saying all the wrong things. Everything is happening so quickly and it’s all just…just confusing. A few days ago, I was just an innocent calhei playing and studying in my village. I was about to begin my apprenticeship as a healer.

  “Now look at me, at what I did. I don’t understand what’s happening, what I’m doing, or even who I am. I don’t know what I should be saying and, well,” his voice quivered and became a whisper, “I understand why you have no patience for me.”

  Ilana turned to face him. She started to reach out but changed her mind and withdrew her hand. Instead, she smiled and looked him in the eyes for the first time. “It’s not about patience,” she said softly. “You scare me. You scare us.”

  She turned and left Seanchai by the entrance to the healer’s area. He watched her go before he entered the hut.

  Rhoddan lay on a bed of straw off to the side. His face was covered with thick green leaves Seanchai identified as comfrey–an herb that helps reduce inflammation and bruises. Seanchai leaned over his friend, who was awake but struggling to open swollen eyes. He put a hand on Rhoddan’s shoulder.

  “How are you, my friend? You look rather dashing.”

  Rhoddan’s attempted smile became a wince. His voice was weak and hoarse. “They say you came back for me, that you took down a half dozen soldiers.”

  Seanchai shook his head. “They exaggerate.”

  “But you came back for me?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Then you’re a fool. I should have died protecting you.”

  “Your gratitude is overwhelming.” Seanchai half-smiled, but Rhoddan shook his head, causing himself more pain.

  “No, no.” His voice was slightly louder now than a rasping whisper. “You’re the important one. It was wrong. They should have stopped you.”

  “They tried, but I can be very persuasive.”

  “Stubborn, you mean. You were wrong to come back for me. Why did you do it?”

  Seanchai felt his frustration rising. “Because you would have done the same for me. Because maybe your father and others paid for my safety with their lives. That’s what we do for our friends.”

  “No,” Rhoddan panted. “I’m not your friend. I’m your guide. That’s what I was assigned to be.”

  Seanchai snapped back. “They can choose my guide and protectors, but they can’t choose my friends. I want you as my friend, Rhoddan, and I’d like to be yours.” He took a deep breath to calm himself and put his hand back on Rhoddan’s shoulder. “Now get some rest. I’m sure I can find someone else to tell me off. In fact, I’m supposed to meet with this Uncle after we eat.” Seanchai rubbed his still-sensitive cheek. “I’m hoping he’ll use words to express himself this time.”

  Rhoddan allowed a small smile. “Ask him to slap you once as a favor to your new friend.”

  Seanchai grinned and stood up. “I’ll look in after I meet with him.”

  As he turned to leave, Rhoddan said, “They say you felled the soldiers with a word and a brilliant red light. What was this power?”

  Seanchai turned back. His face creased and he felt his chest tighten. “I don’t know, Rhoddan. It was both awesome and frightening. I need to find out what it was and who I am.”

  Six

  Seanchai took a bowl and filled it with dark stew from the cooking pit. He saw some of the elves who had helped him earlier sitting on some logs. They were chatting and laughing as he approached but went silent when he sat down.

  Seanchai was determined not to show that their silence hurt. “Thank you, all of you. I know you risked your lives back there to save me. I appreciate it.”

  The elves stared at him and then at one of their own, a big elf with unusual red hair.

  “Glad we could help,” the elf said in a deep voice.

  Seanchai cleared his throat, unsure of how to continue. He decided to focus on his food. He hadn’t eaten a good meal in days and went back for more when he finished his first bowl, despite the dirty looks. As he tried to decide if the others’ scorn was worth a third helping, Ilana tapped his shoulder.

  “Uncle is ready for you now,” she said, her voice stiff.

  “Has he eaten?” Seanchai asked.

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m hoping a full stomach migh
t put him in a better mood than he was before.”

  Ilana laughed out loud, an unbridled and throaty sound that took Seanchai off-guard. “I think you’ll find yourself engaged in a sound discussion,” she said. “And then he’ll thrash you to within an inch of your life.”

  “Really?” Thoughts of making the elfe laugh again disappeared, replaced by a tight knot in his stomach.

  She smiled now. “Maybe you are alright. Come on.” She took his arm and gently pulled him along.

  Unfortunately for Seanchai, who was enjoying Ilana’s attention, she only guided him a short way, leaving him outside of an entrance between two thick tree trunks that he had mistaken for a clump of fronds and branches.

  When he stepped inside, Seanchai was met by Uncle and three elder elfes. The elders had deeply wrinkled skin and thin, gray hair. One hobbled over to him, taking his face in her leathery hands. Seanchai flinched as she pressed the bruise from Uncle, but she held him firm. She stared into his eyes and he felt powerless to look away. When she returned to her chair, she nodded to the others.

  Uncle offered Seanchai a log to sit on. It was situated lower than the others and he was sure that this was intentional, perhaps a way of showing respect for the elders.

  “How is your guide?” Uncle asked.

  “My friend seems well,” Seanchai replied with as much defiance as he could muster, “though he took quite a beating.”

  “He’s in good hands,” Uncle said, ignoring the challenge and switching topics. “We have heard what the elves with you in the clearing witnessed. And your guide told me about your scrying.”

  “My what?”

  “Remember when you were able to reach out with your mind and sense that you shouldn’t cross the plain at night? That is called scrying. The elders and I have spoken about these things.”

  One of the old women leaned forward. “You don’t understand your powers, do you, my calhei? You must learn who you are and what you are capable of. If you are what we suspect, you must go find a master who can teach you. Shehlid knows of one about two weeks’ journey from here.”

  “Where?” Seanchai asked, trying to imagine such a long journey and regretting that he would need to leave Rhoddan and Ilana.

  Uncle spoke. “You’ll travel with two guides, both purposely young. They will know the way. You’ll be able to tell captors that you were on your way to a school in Marsfield and got hopelessly lost. You’ll wait three days and then leave.”

  “Why wait?” Seanchai was not sure why he blurted that out. He felt unhappy having his life mapped out by strangers, even when they obviously knew better than him.

  “We’ll see how quickly your friend Rhoddan recovers from his wounds.” Uncle said, and a small smile crossed his face.

  “Thank you,” Seanchai said and smiled back.

  Seanchai and his companions didn’t leave for four days, partly to allow Rhoddan enough time to recover, but also for Seanchai to receive instruction and training from Uncle.

  If Uncle knew who or what Seanchai was, he didn’t let on. He focused solely on teaching Seanchai how to use the equipment he would give him.

  They trained with the knife sets common to elves, the long and short. But Seanchai told Uncle that he would like to improve with the bow.

  “There’s no time to teach you more. You need to become proficient with one weapon. Focus on depth rather than breadth. Practice your bow work when we’re not training or grab one of my archers if you can.”

  With the long knife, Seanchai learned to spar with elves and humans, and with the short knife to stab and slit throats, practicing on dummies that also served as archery targets.

  “You’ll never have such an effective weapon for close and quiet combat,” Uncle remarked, unaware of how wrong he was.

  Seanchai had used a bow before when he hunted and thought himself a pretty accurate bowman. He confidently shot three quick arrows into a target that was twenty yards away. He looked up proudly at Uncle who stood expressionless with his arms folded.

  “Do you see the rock over there?”

  “Yes,” Seanchai replied.

  “Good. I want you to run as fast as you can around that rock and back here. Then fire three arrows as you just did a moment ago. Make sure you run as fast as you can.”

  Seanchai was surprised but did as he was instructed. All three of the arrows he shot missed the target.

  “Now,” said Uncle, ignoring the missed shots and Seanchai’s labored breathing, “I want you to run around the rock again. This time, when you return to this spot, roll, and shoot the arrows while you’re kneeling.”

  Seanchai did and, to his credit, one of the arrows hit the edge of the target.

  “Shooting a stationary target with both feet planted firmly on the ground and your breathing stilled is one thing,” Uncle explained. “But the enemy rarely stands there like a deer grazing. Neither will your heart or breath be stilled when you are in danger. Even if you have not been running, in battle, you will be stressed.”

  “He trains hard,” Ilana said to Uncle a while later. “Does he have what it takes?”

  Uncle was hiding behind a bush and watching Seanchai practicing the exercises by himself. He looked down fondly at Ilana and put his arm around her shoulder.

  “You’re quite taken with him, aren’t you, my daughter? I have seen you watching him.”

  “He’s so vulnerable and innocent.” Ilana flicked some strands of hair that had slipped over her face behind a pointed ear. “Yet, when he refused to leave the battlefield–when he told me that his guide was his friend–well, there was power and strength there, something very special.”

  Uncle sighed and his voice became heavy. “I understand, Ilana. But he has a long and dangerous path ahead of him. I would hate for you to fall in love and lose…”

  His voice trailed off. Ilana impulsively hugged him tight, knowing he was thinking of the elfe he had loved–that they both still loved–and had lost.

  “Perhaps it’s the destiny of our family,” she said.

  Uncle looked down at her, shook his head and sighed. He could see how Ilana was watching Seanchai. He knew the expression on her face. “Does he know you’re my daughter?”

  “Not from me.”

  “Good.” He pursed his lips. “Keep it that way.”

  Seven

  Seanchai woke early to the pungent smell of moss, thankfully banishing dreams of a burning village. He took his hot tea over to a log around the smoldering embers of the fire. His exhalations rose into the crisp morning air.

  Ilana approached. “Did you sleep well?” she asked.

  “No, Not really.”

  “I have been instructed to help you collect supplies for your trip. Come along.”

  She offered her hand and pulled a groaning Seanchai up from the log. His body ached from sleeping on the hard ground. But he forgot this as soon as their hands touched, though his exhilaration was short-lived. Once he was on his feet, she let go and started walking with a smug grin she hid from him. He sighed and followed.

  They came to a small cave that had been turned into a storeroom. Ilana nodded to two men just leaving with some clothes. They smiled but Seanchai could sense their unease with him. Ilana inspected Seanchai from head to toe and then turned to rummage through the barrels and piles on the ground. “How are your boots?”

  “They’re fine,” he replied. “Not a year old.”

  “Good,” she said, and threw him a pair of pants. “Try these on.”

  “Here?”

  Ilana laughed. “I’ll wait outside.”

  Seanchai hoped she hadn’t noticed that his ears were almost certainly burning red. He tried on the pants. By the time they left the supply cave, he held two pairs of trousers, two shirts and some thick woolen socks.

  Ilana had also foraged a cloak. “You only get these when Uncle gives permission,” she said. The cloak was dyed in a range of dull grays, browns and greens designed for camouflage and travel.

  “I
t’s so light,” Seanchai said, feeling the mesh on the inside of the cloak.

  “It retains your body heat and keeps you warm even in the highest passes,” Ilana explained as she modeled one.

  “You look good in it,” blurted Seanchai, who instantly blushed. He turned away wincing and again missed the smile on her face.

  Ilana folded and picked up two cloaks in addition to the one Seanchai carried and led him out of the cave.

  “Where now?” he asked.

  “The blacksmith,” she replied. “We haven’t finished our shopping.”

  A bit later, they passed through a slit between two walls of rocks and found a muscular, bare-chested man standing by a makeshift forge. He was sharpening weapons on a spinning stone wheel that he pumped with his foot.

  “What do you want?” His voice was deep and gruff, but not half as attention-grabbing as his bloodshot eyes.

  “We need our knives, please.” Ilana said. She had warned Seanchai that the blacksmith was a tough character. He was a craftsman, deprived of the environment he needed to create quality weapons and tools.

  “Your blade is of good quality,” said the big man, handing Seanchai the long knife Seanchai’s father had given him. “But you treat it badly. An elf knife must be respected and cared for.”

  Seanchai looked up at the blacksmith and frowned. “Will you show me how, please?” he requested.

  The blacksmith stared at him and, seeing that Seanchai meant it, oiled Seanchai’s blades and explained at length how to sharpen and store them. He warned him not to abuse the blades by using them for cutting vegetables, or knocking them frivolously against stone.

  Seanchai listened intently, asked questions, and even volunteered to sharpen a knife under the blacksmith’s supervision. He was rewarded with a compact sharpening and oiling kit, as well as a short boot-knife with a carved handle.

  “Back in the day I could have fashioned you a serious blade,” he growled. “Once I had a mighty forge, built by my grandfather and passed down to my father.”