Wycaan Master: Book 01 - At The Walls Of Galbrieth

by Alon Shalev

  “I’m sorry, Sellia,” Chamack said, panting with exertion. “I did what was necessary. It was quick.”

  “He was a fine stallion,” she replied, her eyes closed. “I will miss him.”

  The elves sat in an exhausted silence and drank water while they rested. Then Chamack turned to Seanchai. “Excuse our manners. Thank you for coming to our aid. I am Chamack. This is Luvial, and the one lying there is Sellia. Who are you, might I ask?”

  “Sharing that would put you in greater danger,” Seanchai said. “Be assured we are on the same side.”

  Sellia groaned as she tried to move her leg, and Seanchai saw that the ankle was swelling up. “May I try ryku on your leg?” he asked. “Maybe I can limit the swelling.”

  Sellia nodded and Seanchai lay his hands on her ankle. When he finished, she sighed and thanked him. Her eyes were closing and he smiled back.

  Then he rose and turned to the two males. “Where have you come from?”

  “We’ve been scouting the Galbrieth valley. We hope to liberate some slave elves from the traders.”

  “Are you all with Uncle?” Seanchai asked and they glanced at each other nervously. Seanchai continued. “Don’t answer that. I’ll assume that you are. I need you to get an urgent message to him.”

  “I’m not sure how well I can travel,” Sellia said. “If this message is important, they shouldn’t wait for me. We only have two horses now, anyway.”

  “You can come with me,” Seanchai suggested. “I’m on my way somewhere much closer, and you can rest there. If I must, I will leave you there, but I have a couple of days before I must move on.”

  He rose for a moment and scanned outside the trees, pondering how much he should tell them. If he was asking for their trust, shouldn’t they receive his, as well? Then another thought occurred to him. “What were those beasts?”

  “They are very ancient creatures called wolfheids,” Chamack said. “They were once more humanlike, but they were turned into the beasts you saw by dark magic. They were hunted under the Alliance, but now they are few and prowl the deserts and mountains.”

  Seanchai could hear scavengers already arguing over the wolfheid corpses. When he returned his attention to his company, he found they were all staring at him curiously.

  “Excuse my manners again,” Chamack said. “But your ears are pointed. You are an elf, aren’t you?”

  “Yes I am,” Seanchai replied shortly, but he didn’t offer any explanation. “I need Uncle to bring his band to the fortress of Galbrieth. I can’t give specific instructions, as there is no set plan. We need to rescue a party that’s about to be executed and then we’ll try and escape. Probably, what I need is that you have people ready to help us if we successfully retrieve them and get past the walls. Maybe you will provide a distraction from outside.”

  “Are you offering a sum for this? Or weapons, maybe?” Luvial asked. “You are asking Uncle to risk his band for strangers. These are difficult times.”

  Seanchai glared. “We are not all strangers. One of those we are rescuing is Ilana, one of Uncle’s clan and Rhoddan is the other, from Yochai’s band. I assume he remembers them.”

  “I’m sure he does,” Sellia said and Seanchai saw them all exchange glances. “Is that clumsy wood elf with them?”

  Chamack spoke before Seanchai could answer. “Hey, he may have been clumsy, but remember how he took down a group of soldiers to rescue Rhoddan?”

  “I’m not sure he knew what he was doing. It was a stroke of luck,” replied Luvial. “He was a lost pup, that one.”

  “It had nothing to do with luck,” Sellia declared. “He could do it again.”

  Seanchai saw dawning understanding on Sellia’s face as she looked at him. Her beautiful brown eyes grew large, but she did not say anything.

  Seanchai met her gaze and then spoke again to Chamack. “Can you reach Uncle, organize and be in the area around Galbrieth in five days?”

  “It can be done,” said Chamack after calculating the distance in his head. “But persuading Uncle to commit will be difficult since he does not know who is requesting his aid, and there is no clear plan of action. I’m sure he will come for Ilana, but may not bring others so near Galbrieth. What can I say that will persuade him to risk the lives of his band?”

  Seanchai straightened, his long white hair flowing, his eyes shining blue, his body strong and powerful. When he spoke, his voice commanded attention and respect. “Tell him, and all your people, that Seanchai, a Wycaan warrior, calls them to arms.”

  Fifty-Two

  That Rhoddan exercised every night in their cell had never bothered Shayth. He usually fell asleep long before Rhoddan even worked up a sweat. But tonight Shayth did not feel like he was ready to fall sleep.

  Rhoddan stood in the shadows at the back of the cell as the guards returned with Shayth. He did not want the guards to know that he was keeping his strength up or give them any excuse to hit him. He was an elf, and they had made their feelings about elves as apparent as those of the prisoners in his last cell. He wouldn’t have survived that fight if not for Shayth, he thought.

  Shayth went straight to his cot to lie down and glared at the ceiling. Rhoddan waited until he was sure that the guards had gone before he tried talking to his cellmate.

  “So, how was the interview?”

  No answer.

  “You should’ve let me write you a letter of recommendation. I’ve seen you in action. I would hire you.”

  Silence. Rhoddan sighed. “I’m going to continue exercising. If you want to talk, just throw something at me.”

  He began doing his push ups and then moved to sit ups. He had a whole routine worked out and it was the highlight of his day. It wasn’t just about keeping in shape, or passing the time. Shayth had once asked Rhoddan why he continued to train if he was about to die. Rhoddan replied that he was a warrior and not dead yet. He needed to keep to his warrior code, and not just for the physical benefits.

  Rhoddan was hanging from the cell bars when a shoe smacked into his stomach. He was momentarily irritated, but then remembered his offer. Shayth was sitting up, his back against the cold stone wall. Rhoddan dropped to the ground, sat next to him, and waited.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Shayth said.

  “I won’t disagree with that. But I don’t have any ideas. Do you?”

  Shayth shook his head. “I expect that when we’re taken out, we will have our hands and feet chained. I don’t have a clue how to escape.”

  “Do you think he’ll come?” Rhoddan asked, and heard his own shaky voice.

  “I hope not,” said Shayth. “He doesn’t have the ability or experience to get us out of here and would only endanger himself.”

  “What would you do if you were him?” Rhoddan asked.

  “Try and forget about us and focus on what I was being taught.”

  “Me, too. He’s not like that.”

  “I know,” Shayth replied. “But I’m hoping his teacher has figured that out, too.”

  Shayth tossed and turned on the rough straw bed. Fatigue and despondency were wearing him down. He could feel the long-standing barriers that he had erected begin to crumble. He had suppressed the memories for so long. Why had Tarlach summoned him? Was this his way of torturing Shayth? The walls crumbled and the memories rose, free at last.

  Shayth heard the wails from his bedroom. He had heard his mother cry before, but not like this. It was raw, unbridled, and it scared him. He ran to her chamber and saw her sprawled on the bed, surrounded by maids. The elderly housekeeper, shuffled up to Shayth as quickly as he could and swept the little boy into his arms. The man was plump and young Shayth buried his little head in the folds of fat that spilt out of the man’s trousers.

  “Not now, little one, not now,” the man whispered in his ear as he took the boy from the room. His mother’s door shut behind them, but her wails slipped through the cracks and lodged forever into his memory.

  He remembered going back to
his mother’s chambers deep in the night, but had heard strange voices, angry male voices. None belonged to his father or anyone else he knew but they scared him and he returned to his room.

  He had woken near morning. There was a pale gray light outside his window and it was cold. He had wet his bed but he wanted his mother even though she would chide him for not using his chamber pot. He didn’t care. He wanted her to hug him. He wanted to bury himself in her long, soft, black hair. He would snuggle into her and find happiness.

  He went to her bedroom door, pushed it open, and screamed.

  Rhoddan was shaking him. “Shayth! Shayth! What’s happening?”

  Ilana called over from the other cell, but fell silent when a guard shouted a warning at them. Shayth was breathing heavily and sweat dripped down his face. There was no towel to give him and Rhoddan doubted an offer of a hug would be well received.

  “Leave me alone,” Shayth rasped. “I’ve got to get through this alone. Get away from me.”

  Rhoddan withdrew. “Go back to sleep then,” he said coldly. “I need to finish my workout.”

  Shayth closed his eyes. He would force himself to sleep and confront the memories.

  “Come now, my lad –, we have all your toys and books.” The big, powerful hand of Captain Tarlach engulfed Shayth’s small, chubby fingers, and led him from the room that had been his for all his five years of life. “Ahad is waiting for you. From now on, you will be like brothers.”

  “I want my Mommy. I want my Daddy,” Shayth said emotionlessly. He had been told that princes didn’t cry countless times, and he believed it.

  He was led out of the palace to General Tarlach’s house, where he had his own room next to Ahad’s and a warm, welcoming hug from Ahad’s mother. But it was not his room, and her hug was not like his mommy’s.

  Ahad and Shayth did not get on after this. When Shayth was a prince at the palace, that had been exciting, but this was Ahad’s house and he didn’t like sharing his family or his things. Ahad’s mother tried hard to smooth things between them. His father, a rising officer in the Emperor’s army, was often away. But when the general came home, he would read books to the children and explain his military campaigns using their toy soldiers.

  But despite their efforts, young Shayth increasingly withdrew into himself. He found a number of hiding places around the house and in the garden that he kept to himself. One day, five years after Shayth had joined their household, he was hiding near a pagoda that overlooked the palace when Tarlach and his wife approached, mid-conversation and oblivious to the eavesdropper.

  Shayth was worried they would see him, as he had behaved badly while Tarlach was away. He and Ahad had come to blows and Ahad sported the remains of a black eye. Shayth knew that Ahad would tell his father, and expected to be rebuked and probably punished. He curled himself into a ball and tried to be invisible.

  “I try,” Tarlach’s wife was saying. “I so feel for him losing his mother and his father like that. Shayth is such an angry little boy. His uncle ignores him. He should have everything, but he has nothing.”

  “Do not speak of the Emperor like that,” Captain Tarlach replied in a sharp tone. “He cares for the boy.”

  “Ha! Like he cared for his brother?”

  “I spoke those words from the depth of my grief. I loved Prince Shindell, as the Emperor did, and all were heartbroken by his death.”

  “No,” his wife challenged. “You were sure his death was arranged. Don’t you remember? You were certain the Emperor was behind his…his assassination.”

  “Quiet, wife!” Tarlach snarled. “You will never repeat those words again. I forbid it. Do you realize what you are saying?”

  “And you don’t believe his mother committed suicide, either,” his wife continued, her temper rising to meet her husband’s. “Shayth said he heard male voices in the room. She had no lovers. I knew her well, and she was unequivocally dedicated to her husband and son. She wouldn’t have taken her own life and left Shayth. No mother would. She was murdered, too, and you know it.”

  “What are you saying? Be quiet! This is treason.” Tarlach was agitated and pacing. “If he had wanted to kill the family, why let Shayth live?”

  “He needs Shayth alive until he has a son of his own. He needs Shayth to be his heir. The rumors of the bastard son still surface regularly.”

  Tarlach knew this, but he also knew something that his wife did not. He took his wife in his arms and spoke almost under his breath. “The Emperor’s new wife is pregnant.”

  His wife gasped. “What will become of Shayth? Is he safe with us? Are we safe?”

  Her husband didn’t answer and two days later, a bitter ten-year-old slipped out of the city unnoticed, never to return. His burgeoning reputation after he left would not remain as discreet.

  Fifty-Three

  Seanchai felt Chamack and Luvial’s eyes constantly on him while they rested in the grove, and thus was almost relieved when they felt their horses were ready to move off. The Wycaan refused to answer any questions and made them swear they would reveal his identity to no one except Uncle.

  To avoid their curious, awe-filled gazes, Seanchai slept. The scrying and the sandstorm had tired him. The actual fighting had felt cathartic, especially as his opponents had not been men or elves, and he was secretly pleased at how easily he wielded his swords after so little training.

  Chamack nudged him awake. “Master. We must leave if we want to put some distance in before dark.”

  Seanchai rose and took the elf’s arm. “Ride well, then, my friend. And please, I address my teacher that way. She is a learned and proven Wycaan Master. I do not deserve such a title. To my friends, I am still Seanchai.”

  “As you wish, Seanchai. I would be proud to address you as my friend.”

  “Then next time we meet, let it be so.” Seanchai smiled.

  “It will be at Galbrieth,” Chamack replied. “You have my word.”

  Luvial and Chamack said their farewells to Sellia. Her black skin shone as the rays of the setting sun accentuated her high cheekbones. She was limping and grimaced each time she put any weight on her leg. When they were alone, Seanchai turned to her.

  “How is it?” he asked.

  “It will be fine. Are we staying here tonight or heading for your camp?”

  “My camp is near,” Seanchai replied. “I would feel safer there, and we can light a fire and cook hot food.”

  “That would be nice,” she replied, and her smile revealed straight, white teeth. “May I ask you a favor before we go? Could you take me on your horse to the lake? I have not washed for some days, and the cold water might help numb the pain.”

  “Of course,” Seanchai said.

  “And while I’m bathing, will you return to the wolfheids and retrieve my arrows? My horse lays there and I don’t want to see him the way he looks now. I think arrows spilled from my quiver when he fell.”

  “No problem. Here, I’ll help you onto my horse.”

  Snowmane allowed Sellia to ride him only when it was clear that Seanchai was coming too. It took a short while to get to the lake, and Sellia slipped as she climbed off the horse. Seanchai caught her and as he held her close, he smelled her musky scent.

  She stood up and began to remove her clothes as she walked down to the water. Seanchai watched, mesmerized. Without turning, she called, “The arrows, Seanchai. Now would be a perfect time for you to fetch my arrows.”

  Seanchai’s ears burned as he cleared his throat and leapt onto Snowmane. He made as much noise as he could muster in turning the horse around so she knew he was leaving. He heard Sellia laughing and was quite sure that Snowmane snickered, too. “Hey,” he chided his horse. “None of that from you.”

  Seanchai couldn’t resist turning briefly to look. He saw her beautiful, smooth dark skin glowing in the setting sun as she ducked under the water. He felt guilty and confused and hurried Snowmane along.

  When he returned, Sellia was wrapped only in her cloak, as
she had washed her clothes. He held Snowmane steady as she mounted.

  “It would be faster if we both rode,” Sellia said as she grimaced from the pain. “You said it’s not far. I’ll feel bad with you walking while I ride.”

  Seanchai was tempted, as the thought of being close to her was intoxicating, but that made him feel guiltier.

  “No,” he said. “I need the exercise.”

  He put all his gear on Snowmane and then jogged just ahead of the horse. He wanted to work up a good sweat and think of Ilana.

  They reached the camp just as it was getting dark. Seanchai helped Sellia down and arranged her bedroll so she could lie near the fire he lit. He filled a pot with water and put it on the fire before going back out to cover their tracks.

  When he returned, Sellia had laid out her clothes on the rocks and apparently started to prepare food. But now she lay with her leg elevated on a rock near the flames.

  “I wanted to prepare the food,” she said, “but my ankle gave out.”

  “That’s okay,” Seanchai replied. “It’s more important that you rest and your ankle heals. After we eat, I will channel some more healing energy. There are also some herbs we can pack on the swollen area.”

  “I’m in your hands,” she said, raising her arms in surrender. “But be careful. I might begin to enjoy being waited on.”

  She laughed and Seanchai smiled. He readied a simple meal of potato, onion and some dried meat while he also prepared an herbal poultice for Sellia’s ankle. The food was almost edible thanks to the herbs he had added. Later, when everything was cleared away and they both had warm tea to drink, Seanchai kneeled by Sellia’s feet.

  “Stay away from the bottoms of my feet,” she warned good-humoredly.

  “Why?”