Wycaan Master: Book 01 - At The Walls Of Galbrieth

by Alon Shalev

  Seanchai’s growling stomach woke him this time. It was already dark, and he was hungry and anxious. He needed to begin scouting and formulate a plan before the emperor’s birthday celebration and the execution the following afternoon.

  Outside, he was shocked to see the throng of people on the streets at such a late hour–and even more surprised that he had managed to sleep through it. There was raucous shouting and laughter. Many reeked of ale and scented smoke, and were bumping into each other drunkenly. Given Seanchai’s physical stature those who bumped into him promptly apologized, but he thought it weird how this was often followed by a fit of drunken giggling.

  Sellia held his arm to ensure they didn’t separate, and soon guided him into a packed eatery. They stood in a line of customers waiting to be served. When they reached the front, they were each handed a tray and charged two draktans. A full pewter was slammed onto each of their trays, sloshing up on their cloaks. It annoyed Seanchai even though his garment was torn and threadbare.

  They weaved through the sprawl of tables and found a vacant one for two in a corner. As they sat, Seanchai noticed Sellia smiling to herself.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “You,” she laughed. “I don’t need to see your face to know how uncomfortable you are. Try and relax a bit. Blend in.”

  “I’m not used to being around so many humans,” he replied. “I miss my family, my village and being with elves.”

  Sellia took his hand in hers, sending a thrill through his body that was replaced immediately with guilt. She leaned closer. “I think you’re going to have to get used to being around this many people. So for now, enjoy the anonymity and try to look as though you belong.”

  “Let’s talk about what we need to do,” Seanchai said.

  “No,” Sellia snapped. “There’re too many people in here, with twice as many ears. I bet at least six are in the general’s pay, bursting to hear something like this.”

  “So why not find somewhere quieter? Some places we passed were almost empty.”

  Sellia pretended to laugh as though he had just told the most hilarious joke. She dipped her bread in the stew and took a bite. “We would stick out to anyone passing. Here we’re just another young couple in a hectic place. Now eat. It’s going cold.”

  She washed her food down with ale. The dented pewter looked unruly in contrast to her distinguished cheekbones. Observing her made him think of Ilana. How was she holding up? Did she hope he would come? Did she expect it? More likely she would chide him for risking himself, but he had to find her. He needed to be with her.

  Seanchai finished his food quickly and was contemplating going back for more when four soldiers entered. Instantly, the place went silent, and all eyes followed them as they ambled round the tables. When one moved in their general direction, Sellia leaned in and entwined her fingers in his.

  “Take it easy, Seanchai,” she whispered, having seen him subconsciously reach for his knives. “They just want to look like they’re working. Soon they’ll be given some food and sit down.”

  One of the soldiers came nearer, glancing their way.

  “Say something,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  She laughed and batted her eyes, an elfe totally in love. Seanchai was startled and then played along, reaching out to stroke her cheek. She sighed theatrically.

  The soldier made a comment about patrons losing their appetites and went back to the serving counter. No one objected when the soldiers went straight to the front of the line.

  Once the place had settled down and people began their conversations again, Seanchai and Sellia finished their food and left. They walked toward the square behind a couple. When the man put his arm around the woman’s waist, Seanchai copied him with Sellia. The woman responded and put her arm around the man. Sellia smirked and followed her lead. But when the man stopped, bent down and planted a kiss on the woman, Seanchai leapt away from Sellia as if he had been burned. She laughed hysterically, almost falling over in the process.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  Sellia frowned. “What’s so bad? We’ll probably be dead tomorrow. Lighten up!”

  Seanchai was sure the points of his ears were burning red, but Sellia’s comment was sobering, and he had no response. They entered the great square and stopped for a moment to take in their surroundings before strolling toward the dignitaries’ pavilion.

  Seanchai bypassed the seating and approached the executioner’s stage. When Sellia caught up to him, he was watching two men adjust the gallows. The trap door below the nooses was snapped open and shut several times.

  Seanchai’s stomach tightened and, clutching Sellia’s hand, he followed the wooden structure as it wound back to a big archway in the rock face that led, if he remembered correctly, to the dungeons. They walked to the corner of the rock face and around the side of the garrison walls, but Seanchai couldn’t see any way in. Suddenly, they came face-to-face with a patrol of soldiers.

  “What are you doing here?” the officer in charge demanded.

  “Just looking for a quiet spot,” giggled Sellia, “if you know what I mean, sir. There are people everywhere.” She pressed herself against Seanchai.

  “Well, this ain’t a good spot, so go find a room.”

  The patrol passed, and Seanchai and Sellia continued along the wall, but it was too dark to see higher than a hand or two. If there was a hidden ledge, they could not tell. Seanchai sighed.

  As they rounded the corner, another patrol approached. Sellia pushed Seanchai against the wall and grabbed his face outside of his cowl. Then she kissed him full on the lips and lingered, waiting for the guards to continue their patrol.

  “Bloody elves,” one sneered. “Never could hold their drinks.”

  “Should be ‘anging the rest of ‘em tomorro’,” another sneered.

  Seanchai was glad for Sellia’s strong grasp as he felt the rage rise.

  Sixty-Two

  They made their way back to the bustling square, and Seanchai stiffened as they passed the gallows again. A big, square circus tent had been erected next to the stage together with corrals of exotic animals. As they approached the tent entrance, two big guards stepped into their path.

  “No entry until tomorrow,” one said.

  “Can I just peek?” Seanchai asked. “I’ve never seen inside a circus before.”

  “They’re rehearsing. Them circus folk get real testy before a performance. Know what I mean?”

  Seanchai nodded, but continued to stare at the tent. He smiled at the two guards. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just a little excited.”

  “See it all the time,” the other guard smiled. “You get here early tomorrow and grab a really good seat.”

  “Oh, I will,” said Seanchai. “What time will it start?”

  “After the hangings. They’ll warm up the crowd beforehand, too, I hear. Though since it’s the Emperor’s nephew, I doubt they’ll need to, what with the terrible things I’ve heard he’s done.”

  “The Emperor’s nephew?” Sellia asked when Seanchai just looked shell-shocked.

  “Yeah, you don’t know?” the guard replied. “A violent murderer, from what I hear. Anyway, the circus’ll start about two hours before sunset. That’s why we were told to put the circus tent right next to the gallows.”

  Sellia thanked them and guided Seanchai away.

  He stopped by one of the numerous declarations posted on poles. He had not read it closely before. He shook his head. “Prince,” he said, his voice bleak. “When we met Shayth, he said half the empire was chasing him. He was correct - it was the same half.”

  He turned and looked into Sellia’s rich eyes. He sighed and gently moved a strand of hair behind her ear. It was a tender moment, but he was thinking of Ilana, who often pulled an unruly strand back in that way. He winced and felt his stomach tighten.

  “Let’s see if Mhari has arrived. Maybe she’ll have a good
idea, or any idea for that matter.

  Mhari was not at the inn and Jalkieth turned his back on Seanchai when he tried to ask the innkeeper. Back in their room, Sellia tried to sleep, but soon gave up. She could sense Seanchai was awake, but neither wanted to break the silence. Finally, Sellia rose and sat on the edge of Seanchai’s bed. She cleared her throat.

  “Seanchai? What would Mhari tell you to do if she was here?”

  “She’s not here,” Seanchai growled.

  “Yes, I have noticed, but what would she advise you to do if she was?”

  Seanchai didn’t answer for a while, and then quietly admitted, “She would tell me to walk away and not risk everything for my friends.”

  “And what would Rhoddan and Ilana tell you?”

  “The same.”

  Sellia refrained from saying anything more. She rested her hand on his arm and sighed. They sat that way for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts. Then Seanchai abruptly rose.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “To the walls. To see if we can find something.”

  “Really, Seanchai? What might we find?”

  He turned and snapped. “You don’t have to come. Stay here if you want.” He stalked out of the door and slammed it shut. Sellia was instantly after him.

  It was the middle of the night and the streets were still crawling with people, but this crowd seemed harder and more desperate. Seanchai walked briskly and with such intense purpose that people quickly moved out of his way.

  “Hey, wait up,” she panted. “The garrison’s in the other direction.”

  Seanchai didn’t hesitate or change his course. Gradually the crowds thinned as they entered a rougher part of town. When Sellia finally caught up with him, she grabbed his arm and spun him around. When she saw his eyes, she gasped. His pupils seemed out of focus.

  Seanchai wrenched away, and Sellia wondered if he was scrying. She recalled him telling her that he had tracked his friends into Galbrieth and saw how they had been caught. He led her into an alleyway.

  “You should stay here,” he murmured.

  “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m not sure leaving me alone in this neighborhood is any less dangerous.” Sellia said and glanced up and down the street. Seeing small clusters of shady characters, she made her own decision. “I’m coming in.”

  Seanchai knocked on the door with two quick raps, followed by a third after two further seconds. A slit opened and a bloodshot eye peered out through the peephole.

  “Who goes there?”

  “A simple traveler,” replied Seanchai, making his voice sound hoarse.

  “What will you have with us?”

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

  The slit on the door closed. A muffled conversation took place inside, but they couldn’t hear what was said. Seanchai mumbled something about wondering how often these people changed their passwords. Suddenly, locks were scraped back and the door opened. Seanchai swept in, pushing the doorman aside so he couldn’t prevent Sellia from entering.

  They stood before a long table. The man sitting at the head looked completely unbothered by their entrance, though his eyes never left them. Seanchai’s physical presence filled the small, dank room, sending several men slinking away into the shadows.

  As the table cleared, a hand came to Sellia’s shoulder from behind. She saw a knife glint, but before she could react, Seanchai thrust a fist into the man’s face, smashing him into the wall, where he crumpled to the floor. Someone gasped. Seanchai had their attention.

  “You do not know me,” Seanchai stated. His voice was deep and commanding.

  “So how do you know about us?” the man replied. “We guard our … reputation.”

  Forced laughter drifted out of the shadows.

  “I have been here in a way you can’t imagine, but that is irrelevant. You will get me into the garrison.”

  “Your friends tried that,” the man replied. “I assume you want to rescue the young prince. It didn’t go as planned.”

  More laughter.

  “You will get me in. Shayth’s failure was because of treachery and is a black mark on your…reputation.”

  Muttering from the shadows. Sellia thought that these men obviously took their professional image quite seriously and did not appreciate the insinuation.

  “We can never guarantee results in our line of work. Believe me, I’m sorry for Shayth. He was… is a character.”

  “I am not concerned with your sympathies. Can you get me inside?”

  The man scratched his unkempt beard. “I really don’t know. It’s not even a question of money.”

  “I’m not paying. Can you get me inside?”

  The man looked up, and a flicker of fear crossed his face. There were gasps from the shadows.

  “Assuming we can get you in–and I’m not sure how we could right now, as they’ve blocked up both the entrances we use–what do you mean by ‘not paying’?”

  “Shayth paid you and was betrayed. There was an ambush waiting. Someone in your organization tipped off the general. You carry the shame for that failed transaction. Get me inside and I will spare your lives. That should be payment enough.”

  Blades scratched free of their scabbards.

  “Don’t bother,” Seanchai warned, his voice slow and deliberate. “You are no match for me, especially in the dark.” He looked slowly around the room, despite the darkness, locking eyes with each of them. “Which one of you is Rowan?”

  No one moved.

  “Which one?” His menace made them shuffle.

  “I can’t get you into the dungeons,” the leader said, an edge of despair in his voice. “They have tripled, even quadrupled, the guard. We don’t have a way. Does anyone here think they know a way in? I will pay for the service, in lieu of our good friend, Shayth.”

  The question was met with tense silence.

  “Last time. Who ... Is … Rowan?” Seanchai growled.

  This time men moved away, leaving one standing alone.

  “It’s not my fault!” Rowan cried, his voice shrill. “They knew the risk. I got them in. That’s all I was paid to do!”

  Seanchai raised a finger toward Rowan, who immediately fell quiet. Then he turned his head and addressed the man at the table. “What is the price for betrayal in this business?”

  The leader didn’t hesitate. “Death.”

  While Seanchai’s eyes bored into the leader, his palm turned toward Rowan. The Wycaan pulled his hand back and pushed with his entire body, driving his feet into the ground. Rowan flew into the wall behind him, the sickening crack of bones shattering brought gasps from even these hardened criminals.

  “No one,” threatened Seanchai, “will ever recall I was here. No one will follow us out. If I find either of these demands were disobeyed, I will find all of you, and you will suffer the same fate.”

  He backed towards the door, keeping Sellia behind him. She opened the door and they left. No one followed. No one so much as moved a muscle.

  Sixty-Three

  Sellia had to scurry to keep up with Seanchai as they left the alley and headed into the main street. She kept looking over her shoulder.

  “They won’t follow,” Seanchai snapped.

  “Remind me never to do business with you,” Sellia said. “Some customers have such high demands.”

  Seanchai continued without answering, but a moment later he stopped abruptly in his tracks and stared down a dark alley. They heard a scuffle, and his eyes lost focus again. He ran down the alley, his unsheathed knives glinting in the light of a bonfire nearby.

  Sellia followed him into the alley, but by the time her eyes adjusted to the dark, three men lay dead on the ground. A small, familiar elf stood glued to the wall, staring in terror at Seanchai. The Wycaan’s white hair was free and wild. His blades dripped with blood.

  “Hey. You’re from the circus caravan. Fredrich, no?” Sellia exclaimed. “How did y
ou get stuck in this?”

  Fredrich glanced at her but his eyes zoomed back to Seanchai.

  “Answer her,” Seanchai hissed.

  Fredrich just pushed himself tighter against the wall.

  “Seanchai,” Sellia forced a smile. “Put your knives away and cover your head.” Seanchai did as she said while she turned to Fredrich. “What happened? You said the bars don’t welcome elves.”

  “Gambling,” he muttered, finally able to speak. “And they were cheating me. I shouldn’t have called them out. I shouldn’t even have been there.” He stared down at the ground, now embarrassed. “I could have passed the money you gave me to Esrelda.”

  Seanchai kicked one of the bodies. “Do they still have your money?”

  Fredrich stooped and retrieved his bag of coins from one of the men. “Thank you,” he said. “I guess now I owe you. Someday, I hope–”

  Seanchai grabbed Fredrich’s collar as he was mid-sentence and pushed him up against the wall. “Tomorrow, you will repay the debt. We will walk you back to your caravan to make sure you don’t get into any more trouble. On the way, we will show you where you will meet us in the morning. Understood?”

  The rigid circus elf nodded vigorously and squealed his acquiescence.

  They walked without event. When they arrived at the restaurant near the square where they had eaten earlier, Seanchai turned to Fredrich. “We will be here two hours after sunrise, tomorrow. Bring us each a clown costume. Make sure one is big enough for me. Understood?”

  “I-I will come,” Fredrich trembled. “And I-I will bring you the costumes.”

  After Fredrich scampered away toward the square, Seanchai led them back toward the Galbrieth Arms. Back in the room, he flung off his shirt and poured water over his head and face.

  “You’ve got a plan,” Sellia said excitedly.

  Seanchai turned to face her water dripping from his hair. His broad chest was taut, and his deep blue eyes sparkled.