Wycaan Master: Book 01 - At The Walls Of Galbrieth

by Alon Shalev

  “Oh yes,” he said. “And it’s a good one.” He wiped the water away and shook his head. “I just wish we had even the remotest chance of succeeding.”

  “Rhoddan? You awake?”

  “Yeah, Ilana.”

  “You’re not doing your exercises? You always exercise at night.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “Why?”

  “Not sure it’s worth it anymore.”

  There was a pause before Ilana spoke again. “Rhoddan?”

  “Yes?”

  “You afraid?”

  “No, I don’t think so. It’s as good a time as any to die.”

  “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

  Silence. Then resigned, he answered, “I would rather die fighting.”

  “Me, too.”

  “You gonna miss him?”

  “Yes. I’m going to die tomorrow wondering what might have been between us. That’s what’s really making me sad.”

  “I’m sorry, Ilana. I would have liked to see you grow together. I would have liked to love someone and be loved like you love each other.”

  “Have you ever been in love, Rhoddan?”

  “No.”

  Ilana sighed. “Then it’s not the right time to die.” A moment’s silence then, “I’m sorry. What I meant to say–”

  “I understand what you mean, Ilana. We’re just too young to die.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m too young to die, too,” said Maugwen out of nowhere.

  “You aren’t going to die tomorrow. Stay out of it,” Shayth snapped in reply.

  “I am,” she said, quivering and they all looked at her. “My parents have run away. The guards told me when I emptied our bucket earlier.”

  “That’s terrible,” said Ilana reaching out to hug her.

  “No it’s not,” Maugwen said, her voice muffled in Ilana’s embrace. “My mother is sick and needs medicine. I have two younger brothers and a sister. I understand my father’s decision. I just wish I’d had the opportunity to tell him so he won’t feel so bad.

  “Also, the guards had told me that I could go free if I found out where your special one is hiding. I didn’t, and at some point I kind of stopped trying.”

  Both Rhoddan and Shayth came to the bars of their cell and looked over at her.

  “Hey kid,” Shayth said, his tone soft. “I’m sorry, really I am.”

  “Thank you,” Maugwen replied. “That’s the first nice thing you’ve said to me.”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “I thought you were a spy or something.”

  “Me, a spy?” she laughed. “Well, actually, I guess I was. Not a very good one, though.”

  “Maybe you still can be,” Rhoddan suggested, excited at the thought. “Tell them you have some information on us or something. It can’t hurt us now.”

  “What can she tell them?” Ilana asked.

  They all went silent,. They were out of ideas, out of energy.

  “Dumb suggestion,” Rhoddan admitted.

  Shayth patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah, pretty dumb.”

  Suddenly they were all laughing uncontrollably. It surely echoed up to the guards, who didn’t bother coming to silence them. Their laughter rebounded off the ancient rock walls. It woke other prisoners and the ghosts of the condemned, those who had died in the prison before them.

  “I’m glad I met you all,” said Maugwen when they finally were able to take a breath. “Maybe I’m a better person for knowing that elves are good people. Maybe it’ll count.”

  “It’ll count,” Shayth confirmed, and there was a rare softness in his tone.

  Ilana stared across the alcove at him. “I think you’ve been racking up some points, too, Shayth.”

  “I doubt it.” His voice went cold again. “You never got the whole story.”

  “Wanna tell us now?” Ilana asked.

  “No,” Shayth replied looking at her. “I think I should quit while I’m ahead.”

  “Tell him,” Rhoddan suddenly said to Ilana.

  “Tell me what?” Shayth demanded.

  Ilana looked from one to the other. “Before you were born, did your parents ever have any contact with elves?”

  Shayth bristled. “My father did. He spent time with your people, officially negotiating treaties and overseeing policy implementation. The Emperor got very angry with him for advocating for their rights. Why do you ask?”

  “Have you always worn black and been drawn to the color?” Ilana asked.

  “Yes, ever since I could choose for myself. Why?”

  “Because in the elven tongue, Shayth is a rare black rock. It’s very valuable, very precious, and is sought after for its incredible resilience and beauty. What’s interesting is that the reason it’s hard to find is that it’s often encased inside more common-looking stones, where you wouldn’t think to look.

  “We think that you are your name, Shayth. Elves believe that names have power. You have had to endure so much with such resilience that you have encased yourself in common stone. You’re a rare human and, for your friends, you have been so valuable. I think that inside of you, there is great beauty. Like the rock you are named for, Shayth.”

  He turned away from the cell bars, rubbing a hand through his spiky, black hair. He bowed his head and sunk down onto his cot. “Thank you,” he said, his voice cracking.

  Sixty-Four

  Breakfast was brought to the prisoners later than usual, but all four had been awake for hours as thousands of feet pounded in the square above.

  Three priests served the breakfast with the guards standing back. The food was not the usual congealed gruel, but steaming fried eggs and thick slices of fresh bread straight from the ovens. Their smell wafted through the cells. The priests were wary of the prisoners, cautiously sliding the trays under the bars. Only the oldest priest stood, regarding them.

  “Would either of you like to talk with me, children, before you are taken?”

  This was directed to Shayth and Maugwen as he didn’t even acknowledge the elves. Shayth turned his back on the man, but Maugwen hesitated. The priest turned to her.

  “I would be happy to listen to you, child. Unburden your sins to me before you face the judgment of the gods.”

  Maugwen bit her bottom lip. When she spoke, it was measured. “What about my cellmate, and him?” She nodded over to Rhoddan.

  The priest played with the thick golden chain around his neck. “They are not children of our gods,” he said, his tone still pleasant.

  “Then neither am I,” Maugwen replied, standing as straight as she could.

  The priest sighed and began to turn.

  “And for your information, I haven’t committed any crime. Your patron is putting the sins of the fathers on his innocent children. And you and your gods are turning a blind eye because it suits you to do so.”

  The priest turned to face the small girl. “I will pray for you, child. In your fear, you know not what you say.”

  As he left, Maugwen withered. Her family had believed in the gods, and she feared their wrath. Ilana gave her a hug, but found nothing to say.

  Rhoddan, however, was proudly defiant. “You told him, kid. Well done.” Then he picked up his tray of food.

  “Don’t eat it,” Shayth warned.

  “Why not?”

  “They’ve drugged it so you’ll be submissive when they take us out.”

  “Doesn’t sound too bad to me,” Rhoddan responded, but he didn’t touch the food. At the same moment, he and Ilana both stared at Shayth. “You still think…”

  “Who knows?” Shayth shrugged. “No, I don’t. But if someone tries, you’ll endanger their lives if you can’t run and fight.”

  Ilana looked across from her cell, her hands clutching the bars above her head. “I want to believe it, too, Shayth. Right up until the instant that trap door opens, I’m going to believe someone will come.”

  They emptied their food into the buckets and slid the trays out of the
ir cells.

  Four sixers of soldiers came for them in the afternoon. Ilana held Maugwen’s hand and could feel her clammy sweat.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” the officer said to Shayth.

  Shayth laughed bitterly. “Really? What can you do to us now? Beat us after we’ve been hanged?”

  More guards joined them, leading the Tutans. Neither of them acknowledged the others, preferring to keep their eyes on the ground in front of them. The company climbed the steps and walked along the stone corridors. Shayth, Ilana and Rhoddan all glanced up, hoping to see the man in black again, but this time there were soldiers posted. General Tarlach was taking no chances. The noise from outside became louder and nearer. A wave of laughter erupted, and a soldier grumbled about missing the circus.

  “Yeah,” Shayth jeered. “You all could have played the clowns.”

  The guard raised his hand, but his commander quickly intervened. “The general wants them untouched.”

  Shayth noted the guards were carrying swords instead of their usual wooden batons. Once out in the sunlight they stopped as their eyes adjusted to the bright light and they took in the square. It looked splendid. Huge banners bearing the Emperor’s coat of arms, a tower’s dark silhouette with the sun peering out from behind, hung from every wall and building. Hundreds of flags in all sizes and colors, flapped in the wind that swirled above the crowds.

  Every seat in the dignitaries’ stand was taken, and the square was packed with people. The crowd cheered and howled with laughter at the circus clowns’ and acrobats’ finale. Shayth saw that a sixth noose had been attached to the gallows and glanced at Maugwen. Her eyes were staring at the ground. He gently rubbed her arm and smiled at her when she looked up.

  Then a slow, heavy drumbeat commenced, and the crowd quieted. A man walked onto the stage, carrying a horn to amplify his voice. The drumming stopped, and the crowd craned their heads to see.

  “My lords and ladies. Good people of Galbrieth. Let’s give a rousing thank you to the amazing circus!”

  The crowd cheered and whooped. As soon as they had quieted, he riled them up again. “Happy birthday to the Emperor!” Thousands cheered hysterically, their fervor amplified by their sheer number and the large amount of ale they had consumed. When their cheers receded, he cried out again: “Long live the Emperor!” The crowd chanted: “Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor!”

  It took a while for them to settle down enough and when they did, the man raised his horn and spoke. “My lords and ladies. Good people of Galbrieth. The Emperor is wise and kind. He defends his subjects from the wicked hordes who try to invade our borders. He dispenses justice to protect the weak and vulnerable. But not everyone appreciates his generosity and compassion. A few misguided and wretched individuals plot to overthrow him, to cast this great nation into poverty, hunger, and crime. Such people must be brought to justice and pay the price for treason.”

  The drums began a slow, mournful beat, and the circus troupe retreated to the side of the stage. The announcer moved closer to the gallows, where a hooded man stood by the lever. His presence sobered the crowd, A few moments before, tens of thousands of people had laughed, chanted and sung. Now an eerie silence descended over the square.

  The prisoners were marched forward and onto the stage by the armed troops. Those behind had to push the prisoners into step. They solemnly marched out to the middle of the stage. Then the guards moved aside as each was positioned in front of a noose.

  From somewhere in the crowd, a woman’s voice cried out: “She’s just a little girl!” Ilana glanced at Maugwen. The young human stood with her head bowed.

  “You okay?” Ilana asked quietly.

  With effort, Maugwen raised her head to stare defiantly out into the crowd. “We are all prisoners,” she cried out, and her voice was firm.

  A guard stepped forward to quiet her, but hesitated when a murmur rolled through the crowd. Maugwen didn’t have anything else to say, anyway, and everyone settled. The announcer read out their names and alleged crimes. The Tutans were just referred to as rebels. No one knew their names. No one cared. Maugwen’s name had been added to the others, and she was declared a traitor, as well. Shayth’s name was called last and followed by a long list of people that he had purportedly murdered.

  When the announcer finished, the executioner stepped forward. In a hoarse voice, he offered each a hood. Shayth just glared at him, Rhoddan shook his head defiantly, and Ilana quietly said no. The Tutans also shook their heads. Then he stood before Maugwen, who shook her head, too, though her chin was again resting on her chest.

  “Are you sure, little one?” he offered kindly.

  “Yes,” she said loudly, though her voice quivered. With a great effort, she picked up her head and looked into his eyes. “The last thing I want to see before I die is my city and my friends.”

  Maugwen reached out her hands, taking one of the Tutan’s and offering her other to Ilana. Ilana grasped it and offered her other to Rhoddan, who in turn held his out to Shayth. When it was ignored, Rhoddan said, “We’re in this together, Shayth. Friends till the end.”

  Shayth turned his head. No smile was forthcoming, but he nodded. “Yeah. Friends to the very end.”

  And he reached out and took Rhoddan’s hand tightly in his own.

  Sixty-Five

  Laughter erupted from the crowd. The executioner and prisoners all looked toward the circus tent as a lanky clown lurched onto the stage. He wore a bright white wig and a mock executioner’s mask. He staggered under a humpback and two sticks protruded under his cloak, suggesting he was a puppet with strings cut.

  A second clown ran after him, calling out in a female’s voice for him to stop. They ducked and wove as they made their way to the gallows. The crowd roared with laughter, relieved from the intensity of the moment.

  The clowns pretended to fight the soldiers, who laughed along with the crowd. While they were distracted, the female clown threw smoke bombs and fireworks into the crowd. The thick, green smoke caused panic, and people ran in all directions. The bigger clown waved his arms in a wide circle and the rows of soldiers on the stage flew back into the crowd as if yanked by invisible ropes.

  The tall clown dove for the prisoners. One blow sent the executioner reeling. Rope cords were slashed, and all six were released from their bonds.

  “To the crowds,” cried the tall clown. “Stay close.”

  The soldiers reformed their lines and the order to charge was shouted above the melee. But instead, they let out a collective scream as a cloud of arrows descended upon them. They were in dress uniform, not armor, and had only swords with which to protect themselves. No shields, no helmets.

  Another volley of arrows yielded more screams. Ilana saw the clowns’ surprise despite their makeup. This had evidently not been part of their plan, but they recovered quickly and ran through the crowd, which parted before them without resistance.

  Horns blew from all directions. Soldiers took up positions on the mighty battlements, gates were hastily closed and a drawbridge raised. Other soldiers ran to assemble at the main arteries out of the square. As the prisoners and rescuers banded together and confronted one such group, the big clown ripped off his mask. He drew a long knife, which he threw to Rhoddan, and a short, which he passed to Ilana. As she grabbed it, she looked up into his blue eyes and gasped.

  But there was no time for anything further. Sellia had an extra sword for Shayth, and they turned to face the lines of grim-faced soldiers. Ilana watched Seanchai draw two long, thin swords from a sheath on his back and charge forward.

  The soldiers were mesmerized by his huge presence and weren’t prepared for the Tutans’ attack. A mass of hairy, gray-clad men and women descended upon them from the side with a ferocity that offered the soldiers no chance to defend themselves.

  The Wycaan charged on, as well, dropping soldiers in their tracks as he passed. No one moved as fast as him, his double swords a deadly blur. Alongside him was Mhari, h
er narrow eyes sparkling. Despite her age, the old woman moved with graceful speed, and it was she who led them through the streets.

  Ilana looked up at the great battlements. Soldiers were falling before them, shot by arrows from the ground. The mighty walls of Galbrieth offered excellent cover from enemies trying to get into the city, but not from those who were already inside.

  Mhari had planned her route out of Galbrieth carefully. They entered a part of town where the streets narrowed, and the soldiers found it difficult to run more than two abreast. Their superior numbers now offered no advantage.

  They headed toward what was known as The Farmer’s Gate–a smaller entrance used by traders and the poor. But the Tutans that had tried to secure the gate had encountered stiff opposition from the guards and failed to take control of the levers that opened and closed the portcullis. A soldier sacrificed his life to release the catch that held the chains locked. The iron gate crashed down, and their exit was closed.

  They stood for a moment, staring at the portcullis. Battalions of troops would soon be upon them from two directions. A decision had to be made. Mhari turned to a frowning Targs. “Cover us,” she yelled. “I won’t let you down this time.”

  Then she grabbed Seanchai and dragged him into an alley. Between narrow walls, she shoved her student up against the bricks and grasped his shirt strongly with both hands.

  “I told you before we parted that friends, however close, might one day have to sacrifice their friendship for the greater good. Do you remember?” When Seanchai nodded, she continued. “You have a great destiny, Seanchai. You must gather the elves from the Markwin forest and the islands of the west. You must bring the dwarves out of their mines to honor the ancient alliance. Find the Azuri if you can. Only you can possibly unite them all. You wield the magic of the Wycaans, but your greatest gift is the loyalty and friendship you inspire. Swear to me that you will do this.”