Wycaan Master: Book 03 - Ashbar

by Alon Shalev

  The others nodded despondently, except for Rhoddan, who drew himself up straight and glared. “He will come.”

  Eleven dwarf archers joined Shayth. Their shorter bows didn’t have the trajectory of his longbow, but made up for it with sheer velocity. He was impressed as they moved north along the periphery of the camp, taking shots through the rocks and picking off sentries before disappearing again quickly.

  In the afternoon, they were chased away and split up. Several dwarves peeled off and doubled back. There was no distinct plan or chain of command, but a dwarf named Countradir occasionally gave orders. He and two others stayed close to Shayth at all times.

  After a while, it was only the four of them, but their pursuers were dropping back and scattering.

  “How do we regroup?” Shayth asked.

  “We don’t,” Countradir replied. “They’ll find their own way back. Once they leave yeh, they cannot return and join yeh.”

  “Why not?”

  “In case they’re being tracked.”

  Shayth stopped and glared at Countradir. “Do you have orders specific to my protection?”

  The three dwarves looked at each other guiltily. Shayth didn’t wait for an answer. “Come on,” he said. “You’re just following orders. Ballendir, however, is in for a tongue-lashing.”

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Shayth never got the opportunity to confront Ballendir. The dwarf had gone out on a scouting party ahead of the offensive planned for that night. Another officer told them to eat and grab some sleep while they could.

  Shayth felt as though he had hardly closed his eyes before a dwarf woke him. As he sat up, rubbing his eyes and sighing, he saw the dwarf apprehensively trying to wake Rhoddan, who continued to snore.

  “I got him,” Shayth said, putting on his boots. “Where is Ballendir?”

  The dwarf frowned. “He has led the main contingent of the army over ta the north side. They’ll attack at any moment.”

  Shayth was instantly awake. “Why didn’t he wait for me?”

  The dwarf drew back, surprised at Shayth’s ferocity.

  “Yeh ta attack from the south with the pictorians. Their First Boar and Ballendir must have. . .”

  “I’m sorry,” Shayth said. “Just my adrenaline prior to battle. Pay no heed.”

  The dwarf nodded. “I brought yeh this black pitch to cover yehself and yeh weapons with. You leave in a short while.”

  Shayth thanked him and approached Rhoddan to shake him sharply. “Wake up, soldier. The night is still young.”

  Rhoddan took a few moments to pull himself up onto the edge of his bed. When Shayth started blackening his blades, the elf came awake immediately. They didn’t speak as they worked, and were soon out of their tent.

  “Maugwen’s over there,” Rhoddan mumbled. “She’d like you to say goodbye before we leave.”

  “Should I wake her?” Shayth asked.

  Rhoddan shook his head. “I doubt you’ll find her sleeping,” he said and walked off to a fire with a steaming pot over it.

  When Shayth entered the tent, he found rows of wounded and bandaged dwarves lying on cots. There was a stale, medicinal smell, and he had to fight the urge to walk back out.

  Maugwen stood up and stretched. Strands of hair flailed wildly along with those standing up on her head. Her shoulders slumped, but when she noticed Shayth, she straightened up and tried to tame her hair by tucking it behind her ears.

  “You look tired,” she said.

  “Have I rings under my eyes like you?” he asked. “When was the last time you slept?”

  “I’m not even sure where my cot is,” she replied looking around. “There’s so much to do here, and after tonight, I’m sure there’ll be far more.”

  “Then you should pace yourself,” Shayth replied.

  She laughed humorlessly. “Our soldiers are dying all around me, Shayth, and many more will die. How can I sleep?”

  Spontaneously, he opened his arms, and she fell into his embrace. “Many will die or be wounded before dawn breaks, and I don’t know if we’ll even make a dent.”

  “This war makes no sense,” Maugwen continued, her voice muffled in his chest. “I wish the Emperor would do his own fighting. Perhaps then he might not be so quick to send others to war.”

  “If the Emperor fights,” Shayth replied, despondent, “there’ll be far more casualties. Careful what you wish for.”

  They heard voices outside and cries in the distance. Shayth let go of Maugwen and touched her cheek. “Pace yourself,” he said. “You’ll help no one if you aren’t able to move and think.”

  She nodded. “Be careful,” she said. “I don’t want to have to treat you. You probably make for a lousy patient.”

  “Oh, I do, at that. But don’t worry. I’ve got Rhoddan watching out for me.” With some effort, Shayth forced a smile.

  “And you watch out for him, too.” Maugwen turned away, unsuccessfully hiding the tears welling up in her eyes.

  Shayth was momentarily glad to step outside into the fresh air, but gulped when he found the pictorians waiting for him. Umnesilk towered over them from the rock he stood on.

  “We are pictorians. We know no fear. We know no mercy.” He paused, and the sounds of fighting and shouting floated over from the other side of the huge camp. “We leave no one in wake but reach little brothers who already fight. Our grandchildren will beg to hear tales told of Battle of Cliftean Pass.” He drew a huge mace, its blackness glinting in the light of the nearby fire. “Tonight, all will know the wrath of pictorian warrior. We fight! Ungallah! Ungallah! Ungallah!”

  The warriors raised their axes, maces, and swords, and answered: Ungallah! Ungallah! Ungallah!

  Shayth moved behind Rhoddan, who was shouting and thrusting his Elven broadsword into the air. He smiled and put his mouth to the elf’s ear. “Do you even know what that means?”

  Rhoddan turned, cheeks flushed, eyes hard. “I have no need for translation. I hear the cry of the warrior.”

  Shayth was taken aback at his friend’s sudden battle fever. They turned together and jogged with the pictorians. Shayth breathed along with the rhythmic thudding of hundreds of boots.

  His mind went to the Emperor, to the Crown Prince, and to Ahad. He allowed the image of General Tarlach to fill his mind, and he felt the hate and rage seep back into his body. He embraced the once-familiar feeling. He needed it.

  He thought of his father and mother, relying now on fading memories. Betrayal and loss coursed through his blood. When the pictorians charged down into the camp, Shayth heard himself screaming: “Ungallah! Ungallah! Ungallah!”

  And he didn’t stop screaming even after his blade cut into the first soldier unfortunate enough to cross his path.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Rhoddan had trained for this all his life. As soon as he could hold a long knife, he begged his father and the other warriors to train him. Ever since, he had modeled himself after the brave role models around him, forcing himself to master not only the weapons he wielded now with such fluency, but also his mind.

  When Umnesilk led his boars down the side of the mountains and into the army camp, Rhoddan felt his breathing settle and his muscles enter into a different state of tension. His breathing evened and his muscles tensed. As he swung his sword and charged forward, he felt like his warrior psyche had found its place. He stayed close to Shayth, as Ballendir had ordered, fighting his way through the tents and slashing ropes. The bigger pictorians felled the tents, sending their contents smashing to the ground.

  Rhoddan and Shayth advanced beyond the sleeping quarters and found themselves in a more open area. Here, soldiers who had not been sleeping gathered to stand their ground in organized ranks. The pictorians set upon them, forcing the soldiers to retreat, shields and bones shattered in their wake.

  Shayth moved efficiently through the fight. When attacked, he dispensed of his opponent quickly, and more than once interceded when a pictorian was outnumbered. Rhod
dan followed, leaving his own wake of carnage. When they reached the main square, Umnesilk barked out orders. The pictorians split, with one group heading toward the Pass and the other toward the camp’s south side, where Ballendir fought with his dwarf army.

  Rhoddan and Shayth joined the smaller forces attacking the command tents and the Pass. At the main thoroughfare, a cry went up, and the pictorians formed a defensive wedge as they faced a line of disciplined cavalry.

  The first front line of pictorians went down on one knee and thrust their shields into the ground at an angle. The shield tops’ had two sharp points facing up and when the two forces clashed, the horses screamed as their undersides were cut open.

  The mounted soldiers toppled into the second line of pictorians, who slaughtered them with speed and relish. A wave of arrows followed, but was mostly ineffective on the heavily armored pictorians.

  The pictorians, Shayth, and Rhoddan advanced quickly and cleared the command tents, kitchens, and dining areas of the last few soldiers gathered, pausing only to torch everything that would burn.

  “Most of the army must be fighting Ballendir at the south side of the camp,” Shayth yelled in Rhoddan’s ear. “We need to help them.”

  Rhoddan began to have a strong feeling that they were overlooking something important. Why sacrifice so much of the camp and especially the headquarters? And even if there was a reason, why leave the cavalry in such a small number?

  He assumed that the cavalry had stayed on the broad paths because of the difficulty they would have maneuvering through the tents. By the side of a burning tent he knelt down and saw signs that horses and laden carts had moved out of here. He stared into the flaming tent and a growing unease gnawed his mind.

  When they reached the junction in the camp where the pictorians had split, Rhoddan’s fear was confirmed. A huge wave of cavalry was waiting for them. The pictorians formed a wedge again, but mounted horses swarmed from the other direction. They had walked right into a trap.

  The cavalry boasted some of the best-trained and experienced soldiers, and they fought ferociously. They also seemed to know where the weaknesses were in the pictorians’ armor. Battle was slow and deadly for both sides.

  Shayth signaled Umnesilk for a horizontal retreat into the tent areas. Umnesilk struggled with his pictorian instinct to battle straight through to the death before roaring for his troops to do as Shayth requested.

  When they were momentarily safe, Shayth addressed the First Boar, but spoke loudly to everyone. “There’s an army behind them. It’s a trap. The second regiment got through the ambush we set for them, and we’re now in the middle. We must reach Ballendir and break out as a unified force.”

  Umnesilk nodded and led his boars, numbering at no more than a hundred now, through the tents. Suddenly, they were face-to-face with many confused dwarves.

  “We got ta walk through,” Ballendir yelled at Rhoddan and Shayth. “T’was too easy.”

  “The other army,” Shayth yelled back. “They’ve broken through. We’re trapped.”

  They stood, each looking at the other. Then Rhoddan said, “To the Pass. Their superior numbers won’t matter in the narrow gorge.”

  Ballendir and Umnesilk led them west through the camp. But when they came to the main path, they found General Shiftan’s battalion waiting, and they were pushed back against the mountains.

  Now both of the Emperor’s armies closed in on either side, and the dwarves had nowhere to run. Ballendir saw the panic on his warriors’ faces, and jumped on a rock. With his voice going hoarse, he cried out to his troops.

  “We’re here ta fight, ‘n fight we will. If we die, we take as many o’ the scum as we can. We’re dwarves, ‘n if we have ta, we’ll walk proudly inta the halls o’ our ancestors.”

  The dwarves turned to face the oncoming armies in a wide arc, beating their shields rhythmically as they had in Hothengold. They called it the Hiyenmut, but this time it was slower, in recognition of the reality of their situation. Rhoddan’s eyes met Umnesilk’s, and the pictorian nodded. He sensed it, too. He turned to his host and took up the pictorian battle cry, first matching and then speeding up the battle chorus.

  The dwarves beat their shields harder as the pictorians cried Ungallah! Ungallah! Rhoddan drew a deep breath and turned to Shayth. “It’s a fine day to die,” he yelled.

  Shayth nodded and opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, a stout dwarf jumped onto the rock with Ballendir. As the Emperor’s army charged forward, he drew a golden horn, raised it to his mouth, and let out three long blasts.

  To their left, from within the Pass, came the response. A higher-pitched horn blew back three times. Rhoddan grabbed Shayth.

  “An Elven horn,” he cried, and, as he spoke, a hundred strangely proportioned horses, mostly black, with ridged backs and long heads, poured out of the Pass. Rhoddan recognized the legendary Shieldhei from the stories of his youth. He gasped as he saw they were mounted by white-haired elves, many brandishing two swords in the air.

  Shayth pointed to the lead horse, where a huge Wycaan fired arrows from a glimmering green bow.

  “Seanchai has come,” Shayth cried, grabbing the dwarf and pictorian leaders. “Let’s greet him on the battlefield with the alliance he built.”

  Prince Shindell raised his huge broadsword and, flanked by Rhoddan of the Elves; Umnesilk, First Boar of the Pictorians; and Ballendir, general of the dwarf nation, charged out to meet the enemy.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  The elves, mounted on the powerful Shieldhei, tore through the foot soldiers and headed straight toward the cavalry, which quickly organized and galloped out to meet them. A wave of fresh foot soldiers from the regiment that had just arrived charged in behind the cavalry, and their sheer numbers slowed the elves.

  Still, the elves were stronger and faster. No one fought as hard and with such ruthless speed as Seanchai. When he saw that Amuranth was foaming at the mouth, he leapt down and pulled the mighty steed’s ear to his mouth.

  “Gather your herd and find safe pasture. Your oath is fulfilled. Ride free forever, Lord of the Shieldhei.”

  Seanchai let go and jumped back into the fray. Seeing the overwhelming numbers, he called the Markwin Elves to him, and, together, they progressed as a sharp wedge-shaped unit.

  Advancing at the head, Seanchai turned the group, and they began to make their way toward the dwarves and pictorians. He could see mighty Umnesilk, head and shoulders above all others, swinging a huge axe. Other pictorians fought nearby.

  The dwarves were not having it all their own way, but were holding their ground with the aid of the pictorians. As Seanchai led the Elves of the West into the fray, the dwarves were absorbed into the wedge and found a moment to catch their breath.

  Cheriuk replaced Seanchai at the wedge’s point so Seanchai could consult with Ballendir. If the Emperor’s soldiers thought this might give them a break, they were mistaken. Cheriuk’s swords were just as fast as Seanchai’s, and Shathea and the Weapons Master fought on either side of him.

  “Well met, elf,” Ballendir said, pressing on an arm wound with an already bloody piece of material. “I was wondering when yeh might decide ta drop in ‘n join us. I was worried we might be finished before yeh turned up.”

  “Did you doubt me, my friend?” Seanchai called back.

  “Aye,” the dwarf conceded. “But he never did, not once.”

  Seanchai turned and threw his arms around Rhoddan.

  “They’re real,” was all Rhoddan could muster, tears brimming in his eyes.

  “They are real, my friend, and they have come.” Seanchai turned to face all who were close and cried out, one of his Win Dao blade flashing above him. “Now is the moment we turn the tide. Come! Odessiya begs to be freed.”

  A cheer went up around him, but Rhoddan grabbed his arm.

  “Where is Sellia?”

  “Around the periphery with a group of archers. And Shayth?”

  The smile on Rhoddan’s face
disappeared, and he glanced at Ballendir. “I-I don’t know.”

  Ballendir called three dwarves to him. They were quickly sent in different directions. When he turned back, Seanchai saw worry on Ballendir’s face.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s a master assassin wandering around looking fer the young prince.” Ballendir called back. “They’re boyhood friends but the prince killed his father. I doubt they plan to reminisce about old times.”

  Seanchai nodded. “Ahad. Then let’s go find them first.” He pointed a finger at Ballendir and grinned. “No matter how much trouble he’s in, don’t let him catch you calling him a prince. . .” He trailed off as he comprehended the looks on his friends’ faces. His mouth dropped open in wonder and then a smile etched across his face. “Let’s go find Prince Shindell.”

  Shayth moved toward the edge of the battlefield. With Seanchai leading the offensive, they had a good chance to win. This meant the Emperor would have to show himself.

  It was his destiny to fight and kill the Emperor as he had killed Tarlach. The man had betrayed him, but the Emperor was directly responsible for the death of his parents. He made his way around the fighting, occasionally entering the fray when attacked or when he saw an opportunity to help an overwhelmed dwarf or a surrounded pictorian. But otherwise, he kept moving.

  He caught glimpses of someone shadowing him, probably one of Ballendir’s guards. The Emperor wouldn’t hide like that and Shayth had to find him before he singled out Seanchai.

  A robed figure ran in front of him, looked both ways, and disappeared into a gorge between the rocks. He was hiding something in the gorge.

  Shayth followed, and, as the sky began to lighten to a dull gray, he found himself in a dead end. The figure turned, withdrew his hood, and smiled.

  “Hello Shayth, my dear cousin. It’s been too long.”