Wycaan Master: Book 02 - The First Decree

by Alon Shalev

  As one, the council rose to its feet. The leader addressed him with power and excitement.

  “The promise of a Wycaan, Seanchai, son of Seantai, is good enough for this council. As we have kindled hope in you, so have you in us. Rest well, then, for a few hours. You will enter the great city of Hothengold in two days.

  THIRTY NINE

  Ahad stared around his new room. He had always known comfort and luxury as the son of a leading general, but this was a whole other world. His room in the palace was huge. It had a balcony with a table and chairs, a private bathroom, and a cupboard that he could actually walk into. The valet who had brought his bags up droned on about how the room had been redesigned for a younger man.

  He told Ahad how the Emperor himself had sent instructions to include a desk, a bookcase, and a second table where two could study comfortably together. The valet asked Ahad to sit at the table on the side facing the window, to see if his chair was comfortable and the correct height.

  “What if the Crown Prince wants a view from his seat?” Ahad asked, amused.

  “Oh, no. The Emperor wants no distractions for the Prince when he is studying. Also, that chair is custom-built to fit his height and posture.”

  Ahad turned to the bookcase, trying his best not to offend the earnest valet with a grin he wasn’t sure he could suppress much longer. The valet, however, was relentless, and assumed that Ahad was checking out the books. The bottom two shelves had been filled with textbooks, but the upper ones were empty and waiting to be filled.

  “If there is any other book that you or the Prince require, please let me know. Also, I was wondering which books you would require two copies of, so that you can both study together.”

  “Isn’t the Prince a year behind me in school?” Ahad was confused.

  The valet cleared his throat to signal he was on delicate ground. “The Prince, uhh, does not excel in his studies, though he has a fine mind.”

  “Then we shall have to find new ways to teach what he needs to know.” Ahad found this challenge rather appealing.

  “Spoken like a true tutor,” came a voice from the doorway.

  Ahad dropped to his knee, but saw that the valet only bowed.

  “Ahad,” the Prince corrected kindly. “You kneel before the Emperor alone. You need only bow to other royalty. Thank you, Steels. Should Ahad require anything, he will call for you.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the valet bowed again and exited.

  “My name is Phineus, Ahad. I don’t like the name and will not suffer it in front of others. I tell you this as we will have a strange relationship. I am your Prince and yet you are my tutor. Perhaps one day we will also be friends. But not yet.”

  Prince Phineus walked around, surveying the room. He stopped by the table. “Which chair is mine? Wait, let me guess: this one, so that I am not distracted by the window. Am I correct?”

  Before Ahad could answer, Phineus sat in the designated chair. “Ah, just the right height.”

  Ahad smiled and observed his new companion. Phineus was tall and thin. He had ginger hair, which Ahad assumed was from his mother’s side, and freckles. Unlike other boys their age of such stature, however, he was not lanky or awkward.

  “What are you thinking, Ahad? That I am petulant? Spoilt? The truth now.”

  “Actually, I was wondering if your military training is what gives you so much control over your movements. There are boys in my school who are tall and thin like you, but they are so . . . so ungainly.”

  “I will take the compliment, but please do not try to curry my favor by pandering to me.”

  “I was being honest,” Ahad insisted.

  The Prince frowned briefly. “I will teach you to be a better warrior by showing you no mercy in the sparring ring and gym. I expect you to treat me in kind when we study.”

  “I’m not sure it’s discipline that you need,” Ahad replied.

  “Why?”

  “You surely have that in you, just by way of your training and station. I thrive on the monotony of traditional study steps, but you might need . . .” He stopped and turned thoughtfully to the bookcase. He brought out a book on animals and turned to the insects. “Have you studied the skeletal differences?”

  “Yes,” groaned Phineus, “and I remember none of it.”

  “They probably showed you pictures and dead animals.”

  “And it was scintillating,” Phineus yawned, and they both laughed.

  “Let’s go out riding,” Ahad said. “I want to try something.”

  “See! You got all five correct,” Ahad said as they sat on a rock while their horses grazed. Ahad felt very proud of himself. “It’s much easier when you see them in nature. You can’t tell the measure of an opponent you are fighting until you see him moving. Am I right?”

  Phineus nodded. “And now I can remember the insects because I’ve been trained to see how an adversary holds himself. I like your approach, Ahad. Now, enough studies. Something for you, I think. Tell me a secret, a fear, an ambition.”

  Ahad thought for a moment. It occurred to him that this might be a trap, but if so, it was clumsy coming on their first day together. Still, he had to offer something.

  “I worry about my father.”

  “Your father? General Tarlach’s a great officer. I’ve studied his tactics in multiple battles. He has a brilliant strategic mind. My father thinks highly of him from what I’ve heard.”

  “Do you see the Emperor very often?”

  Prince Phineus frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  Ahad felt he had taken a wrong turn and redirected the conversation. “I miss my father. I wonder what kind of a relationship we would have if he was always close by.”

  Prince Phineus seemed to relax. “If you become a soldier and join his battalion, you could be near him.”

  “It would be different,” Ahad answered. “He would always be the general and maintain that mask.”

  “Then you understand my relationship with the Emperor. Only we don’t have the excuse of distance. He lives one floor above me and eats in the same wretched palace, but rarely at the same wretched table.”

  FORTY

  Seanchai and Ilana walked hand-in-hand at the back of the company. Seanchai’s friends had congratulated him on negotiating their safe passage and were buoyed by the Aqua’lansis’ shortcut. In contrast, he had been brooding since they had left Saz’Saquat, apprehensive because the shortened distance meant that he would face the dwarf Clansfelt – and the next battle with this formidable general – quicker than he had anticipated.

  “Ballendir has continued to council you on dwarf politics, Seanchai. Why are you so tense?” Ilana easily anticipated his fear.

  “Ballendir is certainly a big help,” Seanchai replied. “But it’s been more than half a century since the dwarves last met and a new king took the throne. I’m not sure how accurate Ballendir’s advice is.”

  “Just be yourself,” Ilana said, squeezing his hand. “So far you’ve done very well when you are just you.”

  “The first non-dwarf emissary, and I bring a huge army led by General Tarlach to Hothengold as a gift.”

  “You just might have done them a favor. They were oblivious to the fact that the Emperor has been studying explosives and training a whole army of dwarves, Why was he doing that if not to unleash them on the dwarves? Their whole defensive strategy has been rendered useless. The Emperor would have had an army in front of each clan stronghold and conquered them in days. They should be thanking you.”

  Seanchai laughed. “Perhaps you should represent me, not Ballendir.”

  The others had stopped ahead of them, and Seanchai let go of Ilana’s hand. When they caught up with the group, Seanchai’s mouth dropped open and Ilana gasped. Ballendir opened his arms excitedly.

  “Welcome to Hothengold, capital of the great and ancient dwarf nation,” he declared.

  Seanchai shook his head in wonder. They had exited the tunnels and were on a ledge overlooking a gigant
ic cavern. It was so big, in fact, that he could not see its far side. This was truly a city – he could see houses, streets, and shops. The higher the ground, the more ostentatious the buildings became. Opposite them rose thick stone walls with towers and ramparts. No doubt this was the palace of the Dwarf King.

  Everyone was looking at him, awaiting his instruction. He turned to Ballendir. “Master Dwarf,” he said calmly. “We are in your hands. Please lead us into Hothengold.”

  “Mah pleasure,” purred Ballendir.

  A path unfolded before them as they made their way through the city. Their arrival had been anticipated, and hundreds of curious dwarves thronged the streets and leaned out of windows. Children and adults alike pointed and gawked.

  Most of these dwarves had never been above ground, much less seen an elf or a human. How would Mhari have held herself? Seanchai kept his eyes ahead of him, trying to appear as regal as possible, but it was all a façade. He had to will his legs forward and muster all his discipline not to draw his hood over his head.

  “You can bend your knees, you know,” Rhoddan whispered from behind him, and the others snickered.

  Seanchai relaxed ever so slightly. After a long while, shops replaced the houses, and the road widened considerably. Ahead was a thirty-foot statue on a stone pillar in the middle of a huge town square. As they came closer, Seanchai could see the statue was a dwarf with long, white hair. He gasped.

  “Yeh needn’t worry,” Ballendir said. “We dwarves like our processions.”

  Confused, Seanchai looked in front to Ballendir. Waiting ahead of them was a contingent of dwarf soldiers, standing to attention. When they reached the soldiers, Ballendir stretched himself up tall, trying to look less nervous than he was.

  “I am Ballendir, of the clan–”

  “Your name precedes you, young dwarf,” the captain intoned. “The dwarf who befriended outsiders. The dwarf who defied the First Decree and brought outsiders underground. Some call you a traitor; others claim you’re a prophet.”

  “What do you think, Captain?” Ballendir challenged.

  The captain stared at him for a moment and then smiled. “I think you would make an interesting companion for a night of quaffing ale and smoking good pipe weed.”

  Behind him, his soldiers laughed, and Ballendir relaxed. “Then I ask yeh permission to take mah party to the palace to prepare for the Clansfelt, Captain.”

  “Pass by us, you may not. We are so ordered to escort you ourselves.” He addressed the entire group. “Our wise King has decided not to request your weapons. However, before entering the palace, you must each pass through the gate of fealty. Our spell casters have prepared it so that your passage through it binds you by oath not to draw your weapons against a dwarf of Hothengold unless in defense of self, the crown, or your party.”

  Seanchai and the others decided not to ask what would happen if the oath was broken. “We accept your terms, Captain,” Seanchai said. “Please lead us on.”

  The captain turned and barked an order. His troops fell in line around the visitors, and they marched as a unit to the castle.

  At the end of the square was a bustling market pouring out into the adjacent neighborhood. The road they followed led out from the center of the city and widened as it began its ascent to the imposing palace.

  Along the roads were tall sculptures made of rock and shining stones. When they neared the thick stone walls surrounding the palace, a great iron portcullis was raised, the chains that cranked it rasping forebodingly.

  Ballendir turned to Seanchai and spoke quietly. “I doubt that gate has been closed for many a year. They lowered it for yeh. Remember, dwarves are polite, but don’t interpret their courtesies as trust. I’m very surprised that yeh’ve been allowed to keep yeh weapons. It may be that someone within our ranks is worried for yeh safety.”

  They entered a steep courtyard surrounded by smooth, tall walls and with four paths leading from it in each direction. The walls had narrow slits for archers, but there were none stationed for their arrival. In the courtyard’s center stood another group of dwarves – soldiers and commoners alike. One dwarf stepped forward, clad in chain mail and holding a staff, but no weapons.

  “I am Golthspere, diplomatic councilor to the King,” he said. “Please consider me your host until the Clansfelt begins. We have three rooms prepared for you – one for the elfes, and one each for the male elves and humans. If this is problematic in any way, please let me know immediately. We do not know your customs. These attendants,” he gestured to three dwarves nearby, “are at your service. You will have a chance to bathe, eat and rest.”

  “Thank you,” Seanchai said. “This sounds great.”

  When he turned toward the attendants, Golthspere stopped him. “I have other instructions regarding you, Seanchai, son of Seantai.” He pointed in another direction where a small dwarfe stood by an entrance, wrapped in a cloak. “You will please follow her.”

  Seanchai turned and smiled at his friends. “I’ll see you soon,” he said as cheerfully as he could manage around the pit in his stomach.

  Ballendir stepped forward to accompany him, but Golthspere held out a hand. “He must walk alone.”

  Seanchai and Ballendir exchanged glances before the tall elf turned and joined his dwarfe guide, smiling. She bowed low and led him inside.

  FORTY ONE

  Seanchai followed the diminutive dwarfe through several steeply descending corridors, each of which was considerably colder and damper than the last. Finally, they entered a small room connected to three others.

  “Wait here, please,” said the guide in a sweet voice. “I will be quick.”

  She disappeared into one of the adjoining rooms, and Seanchai heard whispers and movement. He considered scrying, but quickly dismissed the idea. He didn’t want to offend them.

  His hostess returned and smiled. “Please come inside.”

  Seanchai entered a small hexagonal room. In the middle was a fireplace with a low fire burning. The walls were lined with bookcases, and there were several scrolls on a desk. Three comfortable chairs were positioned near the fire.

  A cloaked figure stood before him with his back turned, drinking from a goblet. All that Seanchai could make out was the shaking hand lifting the drink to his lips.

  Seanchai glanced at the dwarfe who had escorted him. She hovered nearby, looking concerned. The figure put the cup down and took a staff from nearby. Leaning heavily on it, he shuffled around to meet his guest.

  “Greetings, Seanchai, son of Seantai, Wycaan apprentice of the late Master Mhari.”

  An unsteady hand rose to remove his hood. The dwarf that stood before Seanchai was old and bent over, with long, white hair.

  Seanchai gasped and then, recovering, bent low. “I had no idea there were others,” was all he could say, quickly adding “Master.”

  The old Wycaan dwarf moved slowly to a chair. The attendant moved closer, but did not offer help.

  “Sit, please. I have some tea prepared for you. It is not the danseng that your Master preferred, but a mushroom with similar properties.”

  “Ruzakil?” Seanchai realized he was anxious to impress.

  The dwarf stared at him for a moment, an eyebrow raised.

  “When my own supply of danseng was growing low, I was given a pouch of Ruzakil by . . .” Seanchai trailed off as he realized he was speaking to the priestess’ long-lost mate.

  “How is she?” the old Wycaan asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Seanchai said, furious with himself. “I hadn’t made the connection.”

  “Always make the connection,” the Master said sternly, and Seanchai thought of Mhari. “You must measure your words at all times, especially here at Hothengold.”

  “Yes, Master. The priestess brought down the Bordan Mountain after she was sure we had escaped. I don’t think she . . .”

  The old one nodded. “According to dwarf mythology, we will soon be together. I look forward to it. Did she pass on her knowledg
e?”

  “Yes,” Seanchai said. “Her name is Ellendir. She is the sister of Ballendir, the dwarf who offered to swing the axe for me.”

  The attendant brought Seanchai a cup of steaming Ruzakil, and he felt its restorative qualities on his first sip.

  “Thank you,” he said to her.

  She bowed slightly. “Please give me your pouch. I will replenish and return it to you.”

  Seanchai did so, and then turned to find the old dwarf staring into the fire. He waited and, after a while, the old one sighed.

  “Do you have a special someone? A mate?”

  “I do,” Seanchai replied.

  “When did you last see her?”

  “She travels with us.”

  The old Wycaan looked up at Seanchai. “That is good and problematic. She can be a great source of strength for you, but also your weakness.”

  “The old priestess counseled us about this,” Seanchai said.

  “Did she give you her stones?”

  “Yes.”

  “The green ones?”

  “Yes.”

  The old dwarf smiled. “It was a sad moment. I would not take my half. I tried to persuade her to find another mate who could reciprocate in a way that she deserved.

  “She thought me cruel, even though she understood. What is the name of your mate?”

  “Ilana.”

  “Have you thought of setting Ilana free? She is young. If she has aroused your heart then she must be special and so capable of finding a worthy mate, one who would be able to settle down and give her a good life.”

  “No. We have discussed it, but we won’t give each other up.”

  “Seanchai,” the dwarf’s voice became stronger. “You condemn her to a life of waiting, a life of one-way sacrifice. She will spend her days wondering where you are, whether you are alive, if she will ever see you again. What kind of a life is that?