Wycaan Master: Book 01 - At The Walls Of Galbrieth

by Alon Shalev

  He needed to buy information. He had been in the garrison before, but that was many years ago, and he didn’t have a good picture of the layout anymore. He left the graveyard and made his way to the shadier part of town, continually checking that he was not being followed. Then he ducked into a dark alley and hugged the wall. A couple men staggered past, laughing wildly and holding each other up.

  When he found the door he wanted, he knocked with two quick raps and then a third rap after two more seconds. A peephole opened and a bloodshot eye peered out.

  “Who goes there?” the voice that came from behind the door was rough.

  “A simple traveler,” replied Shayth.

  “What will you have with us?”

  “A meal. Some Grampton mead if you have it.”

  He heard whispers inside. Shayth closed his eyes, hoping that the passwords had not changed. Then he heard the locks being scraped back and the door opened. He walked in, his hand on his hilt, though he knew there were unseen bows aimed at him.

  A voice, deep and hoarse, came from the end of a long wooden table. “Oh look! What a guest we have. I’m surprised you’re willing to show your face here, my young prince.”

  “I am no prince,” Shayth snapped back.

  Laughter came from the shadows. Shayth was furious with himself for reacting so easily.

  “No, you’re not,” the man retorted. “Or at least, not any more. So you would do well to guard your tongue. If you are here, then you endanger us all. What is it you want?”

  “I was once told of a tunnel that led into the garrison, possibly to the prison cells. Is this true?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I need to know and I need to use it.”

  “You want to get into the dungeons? That’s ironic. I’m sure the venerable General Tarlach would allow you to enter without problem, if you asked nicely. Probably don’t even need your manners, come to think of it.”

  Laughter swept around the room, but this time Shayth bit his tongue. He knew he must keep his cool. “I also need to get out of there.”

  Again there was laughter, but now he smiled, trying to show that he was enjoying the banter. The man at the end of the table spoke.

  “Who are you trying to rescue?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I guess not. What is this information worth to you?”

  “I have a little money to offer you.” Shayth patted a bag of coins.

  “I doubt it is enough,” the man said. “How about you join me on a little business venture first?”

  “I can’t. I need to get this man out and home so that I can get paid. I owe a debt and I would rather pay it off with draktans than my blood. I will receive sixty draktans if I bring him back. I owe thirty-five and I am offering you twenty.”

  Again he rattled the bag.

  The man leaned back and stroked his beard. “Anyone want to take him?”

  “I will,” said a young voice from the corner.

  “Very well,” said the leader. “Give me the money.”

  Shayth tossed the bag onto the table. The seated man did not touch it. A grunt opened the bag and counted it out. He nodded to his leader. The man turned to the one who had claimed the job.

  “Rowan. How much do you still owe me?”

  “Six draktans,” the young man answered. “I will be happy to receive four and a clean slate with you.”

  “Very well. Go with the young prince, but know that he is trouble. Wherever he goes, blood is spilt.” He turned back to Shayth. “It would be best if you didn’t return here for further business.”

  Shayth turned to go without acknowledgement.

  “The elf is alive,” the leader said from the end of the table. “You’re going through a lot of trouble for just an elf.”

  Shayth hesitated. So he had known all along why Shayth had come. This man was way ahead of anything that Shayth had anticipated. He gathered himself. You don’t lie to someone like him, and Shayth was already disliked in this company.

  “Yes,” he said and turned slightly to look at the man. “But he’s worth the trouble.”

  “Maybe. But I can’t imagine the Shayth I know doing anything for anyone but himself. That is even harder to believe.”

  Shayth could not stop himself. “People change.”

  Thirty-Five

  Seanchai and Mhari remained in the cave for two more days. Seanchai’s strength slowly returned until he felt better than he could ever recall feeling. On the third day, they packed up and followed the path out of the mountain. Seanchai wore both swords on his back, but had not drawn or tried to use them. He knew Mhari was worried that the lake had yielded this gift.

  The climb out of the cave was hard for Mhari –not so much physically, as the waters had invigorated them both. Rather, she had to refrain from constantly looking back at her apprentice.

  “You will trip if you keep glancing back here,” Seanchai quipped. “I’m right behind you.”

  “I’ve had three other students go through the ritual,” Mhari mused, “and I see my own changes each time I enter the lake. We have all been impacted in different ways, but none as drastically as you.

  “The speed with which your powers are evolving is remarkable. Either you have an exceptional talent, or the ancient world knows you must prepare quickly. Either idea frightens me.”

  She turned around and started walking, but stopped again almost immediately and looked back over her shoulder. “I have told you that I won’t be able to complete your training. Events are falling into place that won’t allow us to spend much more time in each other’s company.”

  “Mhari?”

  “No, don’t ask. Just listen.” The old woman sounded forlorn. “It’s this transformation that you’ve gone through. I am more convinced than ever that you will face great danger in the very near future. I must impart as much as I can in whatever time we have left together.”

  Mhari continued walking, leaving Seanchai to focus on his own thoughts. He walked slowly and felt a greater confidence in his body with each step. He barely noticed the rocks, stalagmites and stalactites that had so intrigued him on the way in. He would leave the mountain a different person than the one who had entered. He felt increasingly vibrant as he walked, and when he saw blue sky through a crack in the rock face ahead, he had to contain himself from running on. Seanchai was ready to introduce his new self to the world.

  When they exited the tunnel, they stopped to eat while their eyes adjusted to the light. The sun was high in the sky and everything seemed to Seanchai to be so bright, so vivid.

  Mhari had instructed him to remember the way back to the mountain and through the tunnels. “I should have liked to test you, to send you back inside alone. But there’s no time for such luxuries. I intentionally followed the same trails out that we used to go in.”

  As they walked, Mhari tested her apprentice on every herb and plant she could find. She forced Seanchai to recall every detail about each one and snapped whenever his answer was not perfect. Seanchai was sure her relentlessness was mostly an attempt to curb her own growing tension.

  She lectured Seanchai tirelessly on the art of stealth, of moving without leaving a trace, and made him practice until it became second nature to the young elf.

  “You should be able to stand so still, be so at one with your surroundings, that even if a person looked right at you, they would not see you.”

  When they set up camp that night, Seanchai made a watery stew of roots they had collected as they walked. He listened as Mhari lectured him about eating nutritious food, keeping his body hydrated, and conserving his energy. After they finished their meal and had cleared it away, Seanchai prepared his bedroll. Mhari, however, had other ideas.

  “The time has arrived for me to tell you the story, Seanchai. It will not be short, but it’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

  Seanchai settled in opposite his teacher, positioning a small log to support his back and keep him sitting straight. Inside
he felt jittery and full of anticipation. Mhari made herself comfortable and prepared her dwarf pipe. Once it was packed correctly, she lit it and slowly inhaled and exhaled, sending smoke floating into the night. After a few minutes she spoke.

  “A long time ago, this land was settled by elves who came out of the Western Isles. It was a beautiful land, green and lush, with mighty trees and forests. The land was good to them and they thrived.

  “In time, the elves opened themselves up to their neighbors in the Lakelands, called the Azuri. Their skin had an aqua-green hue, and they lived primarily along the waterways, comfortable in the water as on land. The elves fished and hunted, and were happy to trade meat for vegetables and fruits. They also made fine wines and cultivated plants whose leaves could be dried and smoked.” She tapped her pipe. “I am particularly grateful for this.

  “From the Midan Mountains came delegations of dwarves, perhaps the most ancient of races. They were stout, quick-tempered, and armed with axes and pikes, though they did not come to fight. The dwarves lived and worked in huge mines that went deep into the mountains and brought with them pieces of fine craftsmanship: armor inlaid with precious metals, ornate jewelry from gems and stones, and art carved from rocks.

  “In return for the wares, they sought an alliance against the wild men from the north. Elves had not seen men before, and they were curious. They agreed to send soldiers to aid the dwarves. The elves were trained to fight and had magnificent horses, called Shieldhei, which is an ancient word meaning ‘creatures of battle.’

  “The battle was easily won. The dwarves stood at one end of the Plains of Penryn while the tribes of men massed and charged. After the men had crossed the river, confident in their sheer numbers, the cavalry charged out from the forest.”

  Mhari paused to sip her drink. “It was a rout until a great horn was blown. The surviving men and dwarves stood frozen while the elves surrounded them. The Elf-Lord Markwin spoke to them of the peace enjoyed in the Western Isles.

  “He counseled them to make their own peace. They listened, and though it took the best part of a century, a peace held. They began trading food and supplies, then swapping stories, art, and culture.

  “When the wild men were attacked from further north by the pictorians, the elves and dwarves allied with the humans. Again, once victory was assured, the Elf-Lord proposed peace.”

  Mhari stopped to puff her pipe. “And so began the period known as The Great Alliance. On the Plains of Penryn, where the first battle had taken place, a mighty city was built.

  “It was not owned by any one race. The city was called Flywyn in the Elven tongue, Dur-Rhustan by the dwarves, and City of Many Colors in the tongue of man. A High Council of representatives from all the races ruled over the city and the alliance.

  “Every race pledged to the defense of the city and it became a great center of wealth and intellect. An enormous library collected ancient texts from all corners of Odessiya and beyond. A school that studied and passed down the lore of all races to new generations flourished. There was a faculty of medicine, another of letters and, one of science. Great tomes were written on astrology, weather, agriculture, and culture.”

  Mhari stopped and glared at her student, who was yawning.

  “I am totally listening,” he said defensively as he sat up straighter.

  Mhari frowned, puffed her pipe, and continued. “With the success of the school of lore began an experiment. Each race had its own magic. These disciplines were gathered and taught to select students.

  “The magic of each culture fused with the others, as well as with the powerful earth magic. Those who mastered these arts and disciplines became known as the Wycaans, or wise ones. They helped to heal using herbs, energy, and good counsel. They were revered, and people told tales for generations of when one of the white-haired Wycaans visited their village.

  “Some of these Wycaans learned the great stories of the ancient times and recounted them when they visited, teaching the people to live by an ethical code of conduct.”

  Mhari took a deep puff from her pipe, followed by a long exhalation, before she continued.

  “These Wycaans became known as the Seanchai, the storytellers, and they would go on to change the course of history.”

  Thirty-Six

  Ilana yawned as she trudged through the streets of Galbrieth deep in the night. The guide, Rowan, led Shayth, herself, and the three Tutan tribesmen through a maze of alleyways. He didn’t stop to explain directions or engage in conversation. Shayth scrutinized his every move, and Ilana focused on remembering landmarks so that she might lead them out if they escaped.

  Abruptly, Rowan stopped and turned to them. “This passage is known only to our organization,” he said, his voice low. “People pay us to bring food and medicine to prisoners. It’s all that keeps them alive. You must swear never to reveal it.”

  The Tutan who understood turned to the other two and clicked. They shrugged. Rowan stared at them in wonder and then at Shayth.

  “Don’t ask anything you don’t need to know,” Shayth snapped.

  Ilana looked at her friend. His voice was cold and bitter, as it had been when they had first met. All of his armor was internal. When she had questioned the integrity of the man that Shayth had dealt with, he had growled back.

  “There is a code between scum like us. Retribution is clear. Once we agreed on a price and I paid him, he became duty bound to help me.”

  “And the man who’ll guide us? This Rowan?” she had asked.

  “If he betrays us, then we have a right to his life–to both of theirs.”

  Assuming we are still alive, Ilana thought.

  As they walked, Ilana began to recognize landmarks she had already seen and frowned. She touched Shayth’s shoulder and made a circular motion with her hands before pointing to a balcony.

  Shayth nodded and moved behind their guide. With one swift movement he had Rowan against a wall with a knife at his throat. “You’re leading us in circles. Do you plan for us not to leave?”

  The man shook his head frantically. “No, no. I’m being cautious in case someone’s following. I swear. Here, I have a map ready for you.”

  He moved his hand slowly to a pocket in his jacket and held it up. Shayth nodded to Ilana who took the map and scanned it. She walked back to check street names and nodded at Shayth who glared back at the guide.

  “When were you planning to give it to us?” Shayth snarled.

  “When we reached the entrance to the dungeons. I swear it.” Two beads of sweat dripped down Rowan’s face.

  Shayth lightened his grip and felt Rowan relax. Just as quickly, he tightened it again, and Rowan gasped. “Just so it’s clear: If this goes wrong, I’ll come after you. You won’t know when. You won’t know where. But I will come, and I will absolutely find you. Pray then that I choose to finish you with a solitary arrow and not torture you with more. I don’t miss, so if you get an arrow anywhere but in the heart, know it’s not an accident and that more will follow.”

  He let go and Rowan took a moment to compose himself before continuing. A few moments later, he led them into an old stable with a pungent, disgusting odor. After a furtive glance up and down the narrow street, he closed the door behind them.

  He told Shayth to watch through the holes in the wood to see if they had been trailed, then signaled to one of the Tutan that he wanted to move a table and chairs and clear hay from underneath. The Tutan just nodded and turned to his friends with instructions.

  “Maybe the little elf-girl should stay here out of the way?” Rowan addressed Shayth nodding at Ilana.

  Ilana’s fists bunched at her hips and her cheeks began to glow. Shayth grinned.

  “Maybe you should let her show you how good she is in a fight?” Shayth suggested, and Ilana drew her blades as Shayth continued. “I’ve seen her take down several soldiers at once without breaking much of a sweat.”

  Rowan quickly raised his palms. “Okay, okay. Just a suggestion–a ver
y, very bad suggestion.” He quickly produced three unlit torches from a corner of the stable. “I will take you as far as the sewage drain under the dungeon. Then I will leave you. That is our agreement. The way is clear from that point.”

  Shayth nodded. “Draw out the route in the dust so that we can all visualize it on the way back.”

  “You’re coming back this way?”

  “No,” Ilana retorted. “We thought to take on the whole garrison and then march out the front door.”

  Rowan stared at her and noticed her hands grasping the handles of her knives. He drew the route and noted different junctions and landmarks. Ilana asked questions and kept repeating what he had said. Then she recounted the whole route to him without fault.

  “That’s very good,” said Rowan, nodding too vigorously.

  Shayth rolled his eyes. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

  They eased themselves down into the passage. The mud under their feet smelled like sewage. They lit the torches and followed Rowan.

  Ilana tried to focus on remembering the route, but all she saw was dark, slimy stones, packed in with mud. With her knife, she notched the second cornerstone of each tunnel they entered. Shayth watched her, his expression suggesting he thought it was useless.

  They heard muffled voices nearby and waited until they receded. The passage descended into much colder dank air. They stopped in front of a large metal cap built into the wall. Rowan handed his torch to Ilana and signaled to a Tutan for help. As they twisted, rust fell from the screw thread.

  When it was off, Rowan whispered to Shayth. “I’ll put the cap back but not screw it on. I’ll return in a few days to tighten it if I don’t see you again. If you come back out, make sure that you screw it on and hide any footprints on the other side.”