Wycaan Master: Book 02 - The First Decree

by Alon Shalev

  “You will not be able to travel together for long. Nature has demands upon our females. If you have offsprings, she will settle to tend them. Then you will be but a visitor, almost a stranger to your own children.

  “And while you do travel together, she represents the weakest link in your chain. Is your relationship secret?”

  “No.”

  The old dwarf shook his head. “Then she is a danger to you and a danger to those around you. If you ever have to decide between her life and your duty, will you be strong enough?”

  Seanchai didn’t answer, and from the look on the old Wycaan’s face, he didn’t need to.

  “We have little time together, and I would like to pass on some of my own knowledge. Address me as Master Onyxei. How have you learned the stories, the words?”

  “From Master Mhari, and from a book that she gave me.”

  “Do you have the book now?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must learn it by heart. Never become attached to any possessions. Keep everything in your mind. What weapons do you know and carry?”

  “I have the elf long and short knife. I can fire a bow, though I have not used one in combat. The Win Dao swords came to me during my transformation. Mhari taught me, but time was short, and I look forward to studying with a Master of such weapons.”

  “For now, prioritize the stories and words. Learning new weapons will have to wait, and I cannot train you. My death draws near.

  “I was a prisoner of the Emperor, and I carry a poison inside my body that I have fought against in vain. The Emperor and his officers enjoy making and using new poisons. Be warned, for you might sometimes feel invincible. You are not.”

  The attendant appeared at the door. “Master? Excuse me. Minister Golthspere reminds you that Seanchai must attend the first hearing in a few hours.”

  “Will you not attend?” Seanchai asked, feeling the panic rising.

  The old Wycaan shook his head. “I’m of no use anymore.”

  “But are we not meant to serve as councilors to our people?” Seanchai asked, his voice shaking.

  “We are. But my people now have you to counsel them. A Wycaan who will lead them into the very battle for which they must prepare.”

  “But your presence,” Seanchai continued, “would help to unite those who do not want to go above ground with those who do. It might help them see an elf before them if a dwarf stands beside him. You can help facilitate a smoother decision for the dwarf nation to create the Alliance.”

  The old Wycaan sighed. “Asserting my authority and then falling in the first wave of battle would be most detrimental for moral.”

  “What is important,” Seanchai insisted, “is that a swift consensus is reached so that we can make the appropriate plans. The influence of a young, unmet Wycaan will not carry the weight you have. Stand with me before the council. Send a clear message that the Wycaan Order is united. Let them see dwarf and elf together, the races reuniting against a common evil. We are back to reforge the Alliance and lead all the peoples of Odessiya into a new age.”

  Master Onyxei pursed his dried lips. “That is a nice speech; remember it. I will consider what you have said. Now go rest and prepare.”

  FORTY TWO

  Seanchai was escorted to where his friends had settled. Rhoddan and Jermona were snoring contently; Shayth was awake and sharpening his blades. He looked up when Seanchai entered.

  “What was that all about?”

  Seanchai yawned. “Unfortunately, not something that’s going to help us, it seems. I’ll tell you later. Right now, I need to bathe and sleep.”

  “Give me your blades,” Shayth replied. “I’ll sharpen them for you.”

  “My blades don’t need sharpening,” Seanchai yawned proudly, “ever.”

  “Really? Cool, I guess. Sharpening weapons helps me relax and prevents me from losing my mind.”

  “We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” Seanchai asked, and Shayth smirked. “We’ve come a long way together, my friend.”

  “We have. You’ve changed my life, Seanchai, without even trying. Had you tried, I think you would have failed. Still, I need more blades to sharpen. Do you think I can take Rhoddan’s without waking him?”

  “Not a chance. Behind those rumbling snores is the sleep of a warrior. Here, why don’t you work on these?”

  He handed Shayth his elf blades: the long and short knife. He also took a dirk from his boot. Then he undressed.

  “I didn’t know you had that,” Shayth said balancing the dirk in his hand. “It’s a good blade.”

  “It was Mhari’s. I have never used it, but it is . . . well . . . something of hers. You know?”

  “Kind of,” Shayth replied. “I haven’t been that close to anyone but my parents, and I never got anything that belonged to my father.” He paused and changed the subject. “Your swords need names. If you’re going to change history, history will demand names for your blades.”

  Seanchai wrapped a towel around his body. “I’ve got enough to think about for now. You think on it, and we’ll discuss it when we get a quiet moment.”

  They both laughed at the idea of a quiet moment.

  “On our next vacation,” Shayth said.

  “How about Peacebringer and Justicemaker?” Seanchai asked.

  Shayth laughed. “That’ll strike terror in the hearts of our enemies. Why don’t you leave this to me?”

  Seanchai smiled and walked to their door.

  “Seanchai?” Shayth regarded him seriously. “We’ve saved each other’s lives in battle many times already. But you’ve saved my life in other ways. I want you to know I’m aware of this, and that I appreciate it.”

  Seanchai smiled, a little embarrassed. “Thank you,” he said. “We all keep each other going. You, Ilana, Sellia, the mighty snoring warrior . . . it’s like we feed off of each other. I cherish my relationship with each of you. We’re like a family, and you’re very much part of that family, Shayth.”

  “Me?” Shayth snorted. “Part of a family? Never saw that coming.”

  “It’s the magic of the Wycaans,” Seanchai laughed.

  “No,” said Shayth, his voice serious, “it’s your own special magic.”

  When Seanchai returned from his bath, he found Ballendir sitting on Shayth’s bed, smoking his pipe and describing a fierce battle that involved dwarf warriors’ great heroism. He rose as Seanchai entered.

  “Aah, here is the dwa- . . . err, elf himself. Come, Seanchai, I wish yeh to meet Rothendir, mah clan leader.”

  “Your clan leader? I thought that . . .”

  “No,” Ballendir replied. “Rothendir left our home with a few of the council before we even arrived. They were on their way back from surveying a potential mine further north and when they heard an army was approaching, they left for Hothengold to get help.

  “The dwarf yeh met was Ethendir, another experienced leader, from mah own house. We wanted the enemy to think they had destroyed the clan leadership. I heard it was a very controversial decision for her to leave, and she was against it, but the clan overruled her. It was decided that the priestess and I would lead the fight. Some of the older warriors stayed, but many of the council left and came here.”

  “Why?” Seanchai asked. “How could they leave the others?”

  “What happens here over the next few days will be critical for our clan’s future. Dwarf clans constantly jostle for power, influence, and favor with the King. He decides which clan should mine a new area when gold or metals are discovered.

  “The stakes are always high. I was worried when we arrived at Hothengold that Rothendir might balk at offering yeh open support if the King seems against yeh. Our clan has always been seen as a bit maverick, so it’s important we make a good impression. What’s so funny?”

  “I’m sorry,” Seanchai said, trying to suppress a smile. “I’m being counseled about fitting in by one who is seen as nonconformist in his own clan, and now discover that his clan is radica
l in comparison to the rest of the dwarf nation?”

  “The first piece of advice I gave yeh was not to take council from mah. That was wise enough.”

  They laughed, and Seanchai looked around for his clothes. They weren’t where he left them.

  “Yeh’ll have enough problems facing the high council without smelling badly. Yeh clothes are being washed. Try those on. They’re probably too short for you.”

  Seanchai struggled into a long-sleeved, lime green v-neck tunic, which came halfway up to his elbows. The trousers were a thicker, brown material and hugged his legs. There was a rope to tie around his waist and a pair of thick socks. A brown waistcoat rounded out his outfit.

  “How do I look?” he said, as he stretched out his arms. His shins were exposed from under his pants, and the seams at the shoulders tightened and groaned.

  Shayth and the now-awake Rhoddan smiled as Ilana and Sellia entered the room.

  “Don’t you look dashing,” Sellia said, embarrassing him as her eyes roved his body. “I think you’ve grown a bit since I last checked you out. Strapping lad.”

  Seanchai flew out of the room. “Come, Ballendir,” he called. “We’ll be late for our very important meeting.”

  His friends’ laughter followed him down the corridor. Ballendir had to run to catch up.

  “Nice retreat,” the dwarf huffed, “but you’re going the wrong way.”

  They stopped outside a doorway, and Ballendir spoke quietly with the two guards posted there. Seanchai could hear raised voices inside, and his elf hearing enabled him to pick up pieces of the argument. It didn’t sound encouraging, and he sighed deeply as Ballendir led him inside.

  The council sat around a table, their conversation curtailed into tense silence as their guests took their places.

  “Welcome, Ballendir,” said Rothendir. She was younger than her double had been, but held herself with authority. “Well met, Seanchai, son of Seantai. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Seanchai bowed. “I’m sorry for your losses and the losses of your clan.”

  She nodded. “Now is not the time to mourn our dead. I am sure they feast in the halls of our ancestors. But I thank you, nonetheless.” She turned to Ballendir. “You made very good time.”

  “Our journey was eventful,” Ballendir offered, “but those are tales for another time. Please bring us up to speed with what has happened here.”

  “The clans are angry,” Rothendir said. “They’re angry that dwarves have been conscripted to fight other dwarves. They’re angry with us for allowing long folk underground. They’re angry with Seanchai for the fact that a mighty army approaches. They’re angry with the King for not making a decision yet. Other than that: business as usual.”

  “We heard arguing from outside,” Seanchai said. “Is Clan Den Zu’Reising also divided?”

  “It is,” Rothendir said. “There are those here who blame you for the destruction of Mount Zu’Reising and the death of our priestess and elders. They feel any association with Seanchai compromises our position with the new king, and there are those who feel the time for hiding underground is over and would have been over even if you had not come along.”

  “How will you decide?” Seanchai asked.

  They all looked to Rothendir. She sighed. “We have already decided. Clan Den Zu’Reising will help you gain the support of the other clans. But know we take a great risk and don’t support you easily. We have just lost our home and mining base.”

  “Then why?” Seanchai asked.

  Rothendir glanced to the red-haired dwarf who had opposed Seanchai at their first meeting at Mount Zu’Reising. He cleared his throat.

  “We support you, Wycaan, because we know in our hearts that you’re right. The empire is a threat to the dwarf nation. It must fall.”

  FORTY THREE

  Ahad sat across the table from the Prince. He had been in the palace for a week and had enjoyed riding the fine palace horses, honing his military training, and the intrigue of getting to know the Prince and the workings of the palace.

  He had received access to the impressive royal library and had been allowed to take a number of books back to his room. His attempts to encourage his student to study, however, were often rebuffed.

  That morning, Ahad was summoned before the Emperor. He dressed in his finest clothes and washed his face. But he was sweating, even in the comfortable spring air. He opened his bedroom door and found Phineus there.

  “Going to see Daddy, I hear,” the younger man spat, his face contorted by barely-suppressed jealous rage.

  Ahad opened his mouth, but found nothing to say.

  “Don’t clam up,” the Prince sneered. “He hates that. He’ll do everything to intimidate you, and then get angry with you when he succeeds. Make sure you give a good account of our activities. He’ll judge you in the end, not me. He is stuck with me.”

  “Hey,” Ahad blurted out. “He summoned me, you know. How about a little support?”

  The Prince winced and then stepped inside and closed the door to Ahad’s room. “He’s your Emperor. He holds your life in the palm of his hand. You can’t be my friend and serve him. But remember, you’re just a boy whose parents are in trouble with him, so you need to toe the line.”

  “That’s your encouragement?”

  “That’s just the way it is.”

  Ahad glared at him. He felt as though he had been slapped across the face. “Excuse me,” he said brusquely as he brushed past. “My Emperor awaits.” He slammed the door behind him.

  “What do I do?” Ahad asked the man who escorted him into a waiting room.

  The man smiled. “You will not see him. He sits behind a curtain, though rest assured he sees you clearly. Kneel when he enters, and wait for him to tell you to rise. Then stand unless offered a seat. Answer his questions as succinctly as you can. He appreciates brevity and, of course, the absolute truth. Wait here.”

  Ahad gratefully accepted the glass of water he was offered. He sat and waited for what seemed hours before he was ushered into a room. A thick curtain hung across its middle. He saw a silhouette behind it and realized the Emperor was already there. He quickly dropped to his knee and bowed his head.

  “Stand up, Ahad Tarlach,” an icy voice said. “It’s a pleasure to meet the son of my most accomplished general and revered friend.”

  “T-the honor is mine, my lord.” Ahad rose and felt that his throat had constricted.

  “I have spoken with your father. He knows you are here and is grateful. I also sent word to your mother, but I imagine her response will take several days yet.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “How are you doing? Do you have everything you need?”

  “Oh yes, sire. I-I appreciate everything you have provided.”

  “Good. Tell me, how is your relationship with my son?”

  Ahad cleared his throat. “We’re getting to know each other, sire. I hope we can become good friends.”

  “He needs a friendship such as yours. He needs your help to study. He is not, unfortunately, a good student.”

  “He’s not receptive to conventional methods, my lord,” Ahad said, realizing that he felt defensive for his new friend. “But if we can find ways that interest him so that he doesn’t feel he is being forced to study, then . . . We went out on his horses and were watching insects while we rested. He picked up how to classify them really quickly by just seeing the insects move in nature. If he cou–”

  “Enough.” The Emperor cut him off. “I have little time, but I appreciate your diligence, Ahad. Show him kindness, knowledge, and friendship, and you will serve me well. Do you understand, lad?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Your father is on a difficult mission. He is used to defeating hoards of soldiers, but he seems unable to capture my nephew. What do you know of Shayth?”

  “Very little, my lord. We played together when we were very young, so I am told. But once he came to live with us, he was a bit of a bully
.”

  “Your parents were very kind to take the boy in. He betrayed their affection by running away. Then he embarrassed them by his murderous acts. Now he is betraying your father again.”

  Ahad didn’t know what to say. He really hadn’t much recollection of Shayth, but suddenly felt a wave of anger at how Shayth was hurting his father. The Emperor let this sit, and changed course.

  “What would your father council if he was able to talk to you about being in my palace?”

  “He would tell me to do my best to help the Crown Prince.”

  “What else? Remember, your father has a fine strategic mind.”

  Ahad blinked and thought fast. He felt the sweat trickle down his neck. “My lord, he would tell me that this is a fine opportunity for me to create a powerful ally. He would . . .”

  Ahad’s voice trailed off.

  “Say what you were you going to say,” the Emperor commanded.

  Ahad swallowed hard. “He would remind me of his relationship with your brother. My father cherished his friendship with, with . . .”

  “ . . . with the late Prince Shindell. Yes, you are right. Do not falter. I demand your honesty, so reply as you must.”

  “I’m sorry about your brother, my lord – about his tragic loss.”

  “It’s a terrible thing to lose a brother, Ahad. But there’s nothing worse than losing a son.”

  Ahad thought that the Emperor was referring to a baby son he had lost. There had been much gossip for the Emperor soon married a concubine, who had already given birth several years before to Phineus. Some wondered if the baby had died a natural death for its mother was soon put aside for the former mistress.

  Ahad’s mind was racing. “Is the Prince in danger?”

  “Not that I know of,” the Emperor replied. “I am glad you are here with my son and in my palace. Thank you for your service. You may leave now.”

  Ahad bowed and left. He walked down the corridor behind his escort. What had the Emperor meant about losing a son? Maybe he wasn’t even referring to the dead baby. Was it a threat to Ahad’s own safety? Suddenly, he was afraid for his father and mother, and for himself. He badly wanted to talk with his grandfather, but wondered if he would even be allowed to leave the palace.