Wycaan Master: Book 02 - The First Decree

by Alon Shalev

  When he opened his eyes, Ilana and Shayth were leaning over him.

  “Are you okay?” Ilana asked, touching his arm. “What happened?”

  Seanchai swallowed and looked from her to Shayth.

  “I think I saw him,” he said to Shayth. “Tarlach.”

  “What? Where?”

  “Does he have a small scar above his right eye?”

  “Yes,” Shayth smiled. “My handiwork. But how?”

  “One of the stones,” Seanchai patted the pouch. “I heard him receiving orders. Who would he call my lord and sire?”

  “My dear uncle,” Shayth replied coldly. “The Emperor.”

  Ballendir and several others had overheard and joined them. “What are his orders, Seanchai?” Ballendir asked. “That’s more important.”

  “They know we’re all gathering in the Hoth Mountains. They have guessed what we plan to do.”

  “They’ll bring a bigger army,” Ballendir said.

  They’re very smart,” A disturbing smile stretched across Shayth’s face. “They will learn lessons from the battle at your clan’s mountain.”

  Ballendir stared at him. “And why does this make yeh so happy?”

  “Oh, I want Tarlach to come. I would love for the Emperor to come, as well, but I doubt he will. I would like nothing more than to meet them both on the battlefield.” He emanated menace. “I would love the chance . . .”

  Ballendir stared at Shayth, entranced. When he shook himself out of it, he turned and called to two young dwarves. “Yeh will eat and then go on ahead of us. Prepare yeh bags.” He turned back to Seanchai. “I must send warning to Hothengold. As it was, I’m sure yeh’ll not be welcomed. Now yeh come with a massive army in yeh wake. We’re going to be very popular.”

  Shayth kicked at stones as he walked away from the others. He thought of the fear he had just seen on Ballendir’s face. He knew he scared the others when his rage took over, and that he needed to keep his emotions under control. He heard footsteps behind him and turned, slowing. Jermona caught up and fell into step.

  “The Emperor? You think he really heard the Emperor himself talking?” Jermona’s eyes were bulging.

  Shayth shrugged. “Who cares?”

  “Who cares? This is the Emperor we’re talking about. He’s . . . he’s like a god in Odessiya.”

  Shayth grabbed the boy by his collar and slammed him into a wall, his face twisting back into a snarl. He wondered for a moment whether he was powerless to stop his anger, or simply didn’t care if he did.

  “The Emperor is a weasel. He sends thousands of good men who are forced to serve in his army out to die every year. Under his orders, they kill, maim, and torture. He allows his soldiers to loot, rape, and pillage. He rules Odessiya by fear. He is no god. He is not even worthy of being called a man.”

  Shayth began to loosen his grip and Jermona sighed with relief. When Shayth heard this, he grabbed the boy’s collar again. Jermona gasped from the shock.

  “And he murdered his own brother – my father – who loved him – his own brother and sister-in-law. And he was coming for me. He would have murdered me because I was no longer needed in his plan. And the man who pursues us, the man who hired you, had sworn to protect me at all costs. He is an oath breaker.”

  “Shayth. Let the boy go.” Sellia’s voice was quiet but firm. “You cannot take your anger out on him.”

  “He called my uncle a god,” Shayth protested, though as he looked at Sellia, he felt the fury begin to subside. “He’s in the pay of Tarlach, the ba–.”

  “The boy was in the pay of Tarlach,” Sellia’s voice was unwavering. “He has chosen to join Seanchai now.”

  Shayth let go and whirled around. Sellia was almost his height, and her distinct facial features; proud, commanding stature; and deep brown eyes now calmed him. He took a few deep breaths before he spoke.

  “I’m sorry, kid,” he said to Jermona, still looking at Sellia. “I know I need to control it, but I have fed off this rage for most of my life. I don’t know any other way.”

  “Don’t say it to me,” Sellia instructed gently. “Say it to his face. Look him in the eyes.”

  Shayth turned to Jermona, who was doing his best to regain his composure. “I’m sorry, Jermona. I’m trying.”

  Jermona nodded and slunk away. Sellia put her hand on Shayth’s shoulder and spoke softly in his ear.

  “You have great potential, Shayth. I can see it. You are a fine warrior – brave, and, believe it or not, you have principles that will draw people to help you. In many ways, you are like Seanchai. But the difference is, he loves people. You push us all away. Jermona looks up to you because you are human, and in return you have struck fear into him,” she dug her nails into his shoulder to emphasize her point, “just as your uncle does to everyone around him.

  “You have two paths before you, Shayth: the way of the Emperor, or the way of the Wycaan. Don’t make the wrong choice.”

  “I cannot live without the rage,” he replied, his voice shaking.

  “If it defines you, then own it. Store it up and unleash it at the right time – when you’re on the battlefield, when you face Tarlach and the Emperor. But not when others are trying to ally themselves to you.”

  Shayth, still with his back to Sellia, took her hand gently from his shoulder. He walked over to Jermona and crouched down to speak to him quietly. The boy listened, nodding, and soon smiled. When Shayth finished talking, they locked right hands firmly on each other’s forearms in friendship.

  Sellia didn’t move. She watched and smiled.

  THIRTY FIVE

  Ahad sat on the edge of his mother’s bed, watching her pack her fourth and final traveling chest. It was a lot of clothes for a trip to visit her ailing mother, but he kept his thoughts to himself. She carefully packed all her jewelry, distributing it between the various chests.

  He had followed her as she drifted through the house, sighing her silent goodbyes to various tapestries and pieces of furniture. His mother might be going home, but she was leaving another.

  But more than the furniture and the works of art, Ahad knew she hurt because she was leaving her son. She would no longer look him in the eye, and their goodnight hug, usually just part of a routine, had become a long, desperate embrace.

  Ahad wasn’t willing to concede that they were really parting. His father, the great General Tarlach, would soon lead his glorious troops in through the great stone arches of Gather Gate. People would line the streets and cheer, throw flowers at his feet, and cry his name and the name of the Emperor.

  He recalled twice how, as a cheeky young boy, he had run out to the leading horse – how one of the security detail had blocked him and then, after recognizing him, had lifted him onto his father’s saddle. He recalled that it was not the hard studs of the war saddle that he had felt, but the strong arms of his father clutching him.

  He came out of his reminiscence to find his mother staring at him. “What is it, Ahad? Would you like to walk in the garden?”

  This was now code for if one of them wanted to talk without fear of being overheard. Ahad shook his head. They had taken daily walks, and there was nothing left to say. He admitted to himself sadly that he was ready for his mother to leave. The intensity in the house was stifling.

  He had packed his belongings already in an old saddle pack his grandfather had given him. It was scratched and dented, but he had discovered that it held several hidden compartments and carefully packed coins and maps that he had accumulated there.

  An attendant approached. “Lady Tarlach, your escorts have arrived. May we take your bags?”

  His mother turned and nodded, holding back the tears welling in her eyes. Four footmen arrived and carried her chests out two at a time. Ahad walked out of her bedroom and when she closed the door, the sound reverberated down the corridor.

  The staff stood in a line by the door, and his mother thanked each for their well wishes of safe passage and for the health of her mother.
They bobbed and curtsied and bowed in turn. She gave final instructions to the housekeeper before stepping onto the porch.

  Ahad followed her and saw an astonishing four sixers of soldiers standing at rigid attention. An officer approached and saluted.

  “We are proud to escort the wife of General Tarlach,” he said. “I am Captain Reiso. These men are from your husband’s battalions. We have fought many battles under General Tarlach’s command and all serve him with pride.”

  “Thank you, Captain Reiso,” his mother replied flatly. “I will have a moment with my son.”

  “In your own time, my lady.”

  His mother pulled Ahad into an embrace, but there were no tears as he had expected.

  “Stay strong and watchful, Ahad. Tend to your studies, but keep alert for news. I pray you get your wishes to study, but if not, know that I will always be proud of you and always love you.”

  “Come, mother. We’ll be apart for just a few weeks. Then you will return and hopefully father can join us. Give my love to my grandparents. Wish grandmother a speedy recovery.”

  She pulled away from him and peered into his eyes, trying to discern whether or not he was acting. Ahad felt stupid for what he had just said.

  “I will see you soon, mother,” he added, and forced a smile.

  He disentangled himself from her embrace and offered an arm to escort her to the coach. The soldiers snapped to attention, and two came to open her carriage door and place a stepping block on the ground.

  Ahad noticed that the soldiers were all older – gray-haired and bearded. These were not his father’s elite, though once they might have been. Perhaps their loyalty and experience was more important right now.

  A minute later, Ahad stood alone in the settling dust, unsure what to do next. He was supposed to stay with General Shiftan’s family, though he was loath to do so, despite the enticement of Shiftan’s daughters.

  He also had no desire to go back inside. He had visited his grandfather only yesterday. The school lab was always an option, but that would force the old caretaker to hang around and keep watch.

  He thought to go to the barracks and train with his sword. He had been receiving extra tutoring, and his skills had improved immensely. He had been working on his stamina and strength, as well, and had proudly noted how the young women in his class – especially his new lab partner – had become more attentive.

  Just as he turned to go inside and fetch his things, another sixer of mounted soldiers approached. Behind them was a young man on a white stallion, followed by second sixer. Ahad noticed that these soldiers were young and looked like they would be extremely competent in battle.

  They stopped in front of him, and the young man dismounted his stallion. Ahad gasped and sunk to one knee, his head bowed.

  “My lord,” he said.

  “Arise, Ahad, my friend,” the Crown Prince of Odessiya said. Though his voice had not yet reached maturity, it was still authoritative. “I heard your mother was leaving town without you.”

  He paused, clearly expecting Ahad to answer. “Her mother is sick. I could have gone, but my studies . . . you know.”

  “Indeed, you have a reputation in the sciences. I believe you have also been spending considerable time training at the academy.”

  Ahad nodded. There was nothing here to add or deny.

  “I have a proposition that might prove mutually beneficial for us.”

  “I am at your service.”

  “I do not desire service. Goddess knows I have enough of that. I need a companion. I need someone who is disciplined in his studies, as I am not. As the future Emperor of Odessiya, I should have a rounded education and broad knowledge, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, m’lord, I do.”

  “I’m a keen soldier, Ahad. I train vigorously with the best instructors in all the land. I have fine war stallions and my own training gym. But I have no one to direct my studies. You will help me learn, and I will help you train to become a warrior. And we shall become friends.”

  “I am honored, m’lord,” Ahad said, bowing his head to conceal his confusion. Was that last part about friendship an order?

  “Today you will move into the palace. A room is being prepared for you just a few doors from my own. I will send for you after lunch, if that is acceptable.”

  “Thank you, sire. Does your father – excuse me – does the Emperor approve of this?”

  “The Emperor?” the young Prince replied and laughed. “Actually, it was his idea.”

  THIRTY SIX

  Seanchai opened his eyes as he concluded his exercises. He found it difficult to harness the energy in the rocks. It was dark and wet, and he craved the trees and grass of the forest. But right now, any terrain would do as long as there was sunlight.

  Ballendir sat on a rock nearby, puffing his long-stemmed pipe and holding two cups of steaming mushroom tea. Seanchai gratefully accepted the one he was offered and folded his hands around the warmth.

  “Have you been waiting long?” Seanchai asked.

  “I had to reheat yeh tea twice. But yeh do what yeh must do. Ilana tried to explain these exercises, but I couldn’t really understand them.”

  “Between you and me, Ballendir, neither do I. Don’t tell anyone.” They both laughed. “Did you need something?”

  “I want to talk about what happened to yeh with the stone and that general, but I didn’t want to do it around yeh friend.”

  “Please don’t think badly of Shayth. He’s had a rough life. From what I’ve gleaned, many would have gone crazy if they had suffered as he has.”

  “Have yeh ever considered that maybe he is a bit mad?” Ballendir asked, returning the pipe to his mouth, and quickly backpedaling when Seanchai tensed. “No offense meant to him or yeh, Seanchai. He risked his life to defend mah people. I am in his debt.”

  “Then what did you mean?” Seanchai asked testily.

  “What I’m trying to tell yeh is that he may react in ways yeh don’t expect. He thrives on the adrenaline of war. He draws strength from the hate. I’ve seen many dwarves like this. It rarely ends well.”

  “Shayth has bound himself to me,” Seanchai replied. “He gave me his word, and that is enough for me.”

  “Did he give it to yeh without limitations? Did he swear to do whatever yeh require of him?”

  Seanchai grimaced as he recalled Shayth’s decision. “He said never to try and stop him from killing or hating. But I know there is more to him, and I believe he has a great destiny.”

  Ballendir nodded. “Yeh ability to see the best in people is a great quality of yehs, mah friend. I don’t think it’s from the Wycaan part of yeh, either. I think it’s an inherent part of yeh, to draw out people’s potential.”

  Seanchai blushed a little and said, “Sometimes I think I’m too trusting. I was wrong about Jermona.”

  Ballendir nodded through a cloud of pipe smoke. “Maybe. But Rhoddan, Sellia, and Shayth are not. They will balance yeh.”

  “And you, Ballendir? Are you too trusting? Look how you’ve been suckered in by my nefarious grasp.”

  Ballendir laughed. “I’m only in it for the gold and the glory.”

  “The gold?” Seanchai was surprised. “Have you been offered payment to accompany me?”

  Ballendir’s chortling echoed off the rocks. “No, mah friend. But I’m a dwarf. We only dream of gold, glory, and good pipe weed. It’s in our blood. Now, then: when yeh mentioned seeing this General Tarlach, and that yeh heard most of his conversation with the Emperor, there was something I was wondering. Yeh said the general was aware of yeh. Do you think the Emperor was aware of yeh, as well?”

  Seanchai thought for a moment, sipping his tea. “Yes, I do, but I can’t tell you why I think that. Why do you ask?”

  “What do yeh know of the Emperor, Seanchai?”

  “Nothing, really. I’m having enough trouble evading Tarlach. Why?”

  Ballendir exhaled a puff of smoke and then sighed. “I don’t think it�
��s mah role to tell yeh. All I’ve heard are rumors, legends, and imaginative storytelling. But when we reach Hothengold, yeh should ask the clan leaders. General Tarlach’s a smart soldier and officer, but even he is having his strings pulled by the Emperor.”

  Seanchai nodded. “Very well. Do you still have that spare pipe?”

  Ballendir scoffed. “Of course I do. What self-respecting dwarf travels without a spare pipe?”

  Seanchai laughed. “May I borrow it? I’d like to try it again while you tell me about the clans meeting.”

  “It would be mah pleasure. Let us return to the others. What I have to tell yeh will be good for all ears.”

  When they joined the group, one of the dwarves rose to offer his place to the Wycaan. It was close to the fire, which was small because they were in a low cavern.

  “Please,” Seanchai protested. “There’s no need to do that.”

  The dwarf smiled. “If there’s no need, then the gesture becomes all the more meaningful.” He turned and sat next to Rhoddan.

  Seanchai hesitated, but sat down. Ballendir sat next to him in an opening another dwarf had happily vacated. Ballendir gave Seanchai his pipe and a pouch of pipe weed. As Seanchai stuffed some of it into the bulb of the pipe, he heard snickering from the dwarves. Ballendir leaned over and snatched the pipe from him.

  “No, no, young elf. How are yeh going to save the land of Odessiya if yeh can’t even pack a pipe?”

  They all laughed and Seanchai was reminded again how warm friendship made him feel so contented.

  “See how I put a small amount in?” Ballendir asked. “Now I pat it down to an even layer. This way it’ll burn evenly. Then I add another layer and pat it down again. For a small pipe like this one, yeh will only need three layers, but yeh long-stem will be able to hold five or six, and that should last yeh an evening.”

  Seanchai took the pipe back and bowed. “You are truly a worthy teacher.”