Wycaan Master: Book 02 - The First Decree

by Alon Shalev

  It suddenly hit Ahad. Was he already a prisoner?

  His mind went to Shayth, that ungrateful, murderous bully. He hated him. If Shayth ever caused more damage to his father, Ahad swore that he would find and kill him.

  FORTY FOUR

  Seanchai met with Rothendir and Ballendir the next morning in a small room reserved for Clan Den Zu’Reising away from the Great Hall.

  The cave was plainly adorned with only a single shield on the wall. Seanchai noted the emblem of the clan: a black mountain going deep underground.

  They settled around a small table on rock cubes. As soon as Seanchai sat down, an attendant brought him some of the mushroom tea in a thick ceramic mug, as well as a full pewter flask to refill from. The others were also served drinks. Only when the attendant left did Rothendir speak, her voice low as she leaned in.

  “How did you sleep, Wycaan?”

  “I slept well, thank you. It’s been a while since I haven’t had to guard or keep one ear open for danger.”

  She smiled. “You are not in immediate danger, no, but not everyone here is your ally yet. Keep your ears and eyes alert.” She sipped her tea, allowing this to sink in. “What has Ballendir told you about the clan hierarchy?”

  Ballendir went to speak, but the old dwarf raised her hand. “Let him tell me.”

  “I know there are six major clans here,” Seanchai began, “though there are smaller ones that likely will not be represented at the Clansfelt. I understand that four must agree for a decision to be binding to all, and I understand that we are unsure of the King’s position.”

  “We?”

  “Clan Den Zu’Reising is my ally, no?”

  She smiled again. “We are. I was just surprised.”

  “That I said ‘we’?”

  She shook her head. “That I am so ready to accept it. Seanchai, you must prepare yourself to meet with the clans separately if we can arrange it. Clan Den Zu’Garten is the biggest and most powerful. They live here in Hothengold and the King is from their clan. I hope that you will meet with their council today. We must have their support.

  “Clan Den Zu’Chantague lives in the south. They are very wealthy and can muster many troops, but will be wary of damaging the many assets and connections they have from their considerable business throughout the Empire. I am worried about them.”

  She paused again to drink. “Clan Dan Zu’Reiltan dwells in the north. They have been very isolated, like us, but for a very different reason. They are extremely devout to our religious ways and very traditional. They will be cautious about any change and certainly about having your presence underground. You will recognize them by their dark brown wraparound cloaks and hoods. Their priests wear the same in black, often with masks, as well. We will not waste time courting them.

  “The two other clans are small, and we need to find out more about them. They both live in the central areas near here, so they’re vulnerable and, I believe, will follow the lead of the two bigger clans, but we’re trying to reach out and discover more.

  “For now, we must focus on Clan Den Zu’Garten and Clan Den Zu’Chantague.

  Like I said, we are trying to set up . . .”

  She stopped abruptly as the attendant swept into the room.

  “I said we should not be disturbed,” she snapped, but the attendant just nodded.

  “I have a message from the King, mi’lady. He wishes to meet Seanchai.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  Ballendir and Rothendir exchanged worried glances that only intensified when the attendant stopped Ballendir from rising from his seat.

  “The King requires only the presence of the Wycaan.”

  Seanchai stood up.

  “Be careful,” Rothendir said. “Do not assume you are alone even when no other is in sight.”

  Seanchai walked through a series of passages surrounded by four guards. They did not speak to him, and Seanchai noticed how the expressions on the faces of those he passed seemed to divide by age. The older dwarves seemed angry or suspicious of him, while the younger ones regarded him more with curiosity and anticipation.

  They stopped to allow a procession of brown-clad dwarves spreading incense pass before them.

  “Dan Zu’Reiltan?” Seanchai muttered, and one of the guards nodded curtly.

  In the middle were four masked, black-clad dwarves like Rothendir had described. They stopped when they saw Seanchai. One stepped forward, and the guards were hesitant about whether to give way or not.

  “It’s okay,” Seanchai said. “Let him approach.”

  They moved aside and the masked face turned up to look at Seanchai.

  “Greetings,” Seanchai said, holding his hands out to his side, palms facing the dwarf.

  The dwarf slowly regarded Seanchai’s hands before lifting his mask just enough to spit on the ground.

  “Your presence defiles our city and people. You should go back above ground with the other tall ones. Leave, or there will be blood shed.”

  “Blood will be shed either way,” Seanchai replied, loud enough for all to hear. “There are thousands of troops marching to the Hoth Mountains as we speak.”

  “They come for you, not us. You bring them upon us.”

  “The Emperor seeks total domination. He already has thousands of dwarves in servitude.”

  “They went above ground and so lost the protection of the gods.”

  “You don’t understand the intentions of the Emperor,” Seanchai couldn’t hide his frustration.

  “And you do not understand the intentions of our gods,” the priest snapped back. “Go back to where you came from, or the gods will send you by our hands.”

  Again, he spat on the ground, turned, and rejoined the others. The chanting and procession continued. When they had passed, Seanchai turned to his guards.

  “What do you think of them?”

  “They are priests,” one replied, without enthusiasm. “We must respect them.”

  “Why?”

  “They have the ear of the gods,” another replied. “Please come, the King is waiting.”

  The path sloped upward sharply and leveled out onto a plateau near the wall of the great cavern with a simple stone garden, benches, and tall columns. All were decorated with carvings or gems. Sculptured rocks were arranged in various patterns. They approached a small group of dwarves who parted at their approach.

  In the middle stood the King, crowned by a round band of gold that held several shining stones. He smiled at Seanchai, and then told his retinue to leave them.

  “Your Majesty,” Seanchai bowed. “I was not expecting to meet you so soon. I have not been counseled in how to address you, or your customs.”

  “Do not worry, at least when we’re alone,” the King replied. “These are pressing times, and we need to act fast. My people need a strong leader, and I must understand what is transpiring above ground. Please join me over at that bench.”

  As they walked together, Seanchai saw a diminutive figure on the bench. The King extended a hand. “I believe you’ve met my cherished friend and councilor, Master Onyxei.”

  FORTY FIVE

  “Master Onyxei,” Seanchai said, and again bowed.

  The King settled on the bench next to the old Wycaan, and Seanchai knelt on the floor. Even in such a position, he was almost at head height with his two companions.

  “Before I was crowned, I led a small group of dwarves to secretly learn more of the other races. This is how I met Onyxei.”

  “You rescued me, to be more accurate,” Onyxei said as he stroked his white beard, “and you have taken care of me all these years.”

  “I went to Master Onyxei’s chambers when you arrived, and we sat for many hours. He told me of your quest to reforge the Alliance and spoke of the Wycaans.

  “I grew up with stories of when the races lived together in harmony, but never imagined I’d see the day one worked to unite us all again. And you come in such dire circumstances. Had you come
here by yourself and without real cause, you would not have been received well. In fact, you may well not have been received at all.

  “But there are two huge armies at your back with dwarf soldiers willing to raise their axes against their own. Our considerable defenses were never built to stave off other dwarves.”

  “They also come with explosives,” Seanchai added. “I’m sure they’ll have learned a few things from their attack on Den Zu’Reising. Fighting underground makes you particularly vulnerable to explosives.”

  The King nodded. “You ask me to accept you and your friends underground, then you ask that we all join you above ground to fight a massive army of our own people? You aren’t too demanding, are you?”

  He laughed and Onyxei smiled, shaking his white beard. “For centuries, it has fallen to the Wycaans to bring bad tidings and warnings and Seanchai is a Wycaan. But we are often simply messengers. You knew the Empire would come eventually. The training of dwarves and the exploration of explosives as a means of war illustrates that this has been planned for some time.”

  The King nodded. “Still, it is a tough position. I must determine what’s in the best interest of my people, not cater to my own sense of adventure. You know that, my friend. I need to know this is a fight we can win. If not, I must listen to those who counsel for negotiation. And do remember, I am only one voice on the High Council.”

  “But you are a powerful voice,” Onyxei persisted, playing his part in a debate they had clearly been through many times. “Many don’t know you as I do, but they will bind themselves to you when they do.”

  “Even Clan Dan Zu’Reiltan?” Seanchai interrupted.

  “You have met them?” The King asked and frowned.

  “I met a few of their priests just now on my way here.”

  “Did they roll out the welcome mat for you?” The King smiled wryly. “I met with them a few hours ago. It did not go well, but they will be bound by the council’s decision.”

  “Even if it goes against their religious beliefs?”

  Onyxei laughed. “Religions are like water, Seanchai. Despite their strong adherence to traditions, they cannot stand still and remain pure. Defying the council is an extreme step indeed. They would lose considerable influence and power.”

  “And could they try something violent?”

  “Did they threaten you?” Onyxei’s face was immediately serious.

  “Yes, but I’m more worried about the King and any clan leaders who openly support us.”

  Onyxei spoke after a moment of contemplation. “To attack you, Seanchai, yes, I could imagine that. But to assassinate another clan chief or even the King seems very far-fetched.”

  “Yet not beyond the realm of possibility,” the King admitted. “I am going to call the first council meeting tomorrow, Seanchai. You will be allowed to address us once, but only clan members may be present for the debate and proceedings. Know that I will listen closely to your words. You still have to persuade me, too.”

  “Very well,” Seanchai said and bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  The King turned to Onyxei. “Come, my friend. I will walk you back to your chambers.”

  Seanchai watched them slowly walk away and disappear into a tunnel. He headed back to his escorts. As he did, he caught glimpses of silver from behind pillars. The King was obviously keeping up significant security despite his dismissal of an assassination attempt.

  But when he reached his guards, he gasped. All four lay crumpled on the ground, blood dripping from the sides of their mouths and from holes in their necks. Poison. Seanchai crouched and summoned wards to protect himself. He was still not used to creating such defenses but Mhari had told him they could deflect most arrows and darts, though not a broadsword or axe. Scrying the area around him, he discerned that there was no one nearby him.

  He ran back toward the tunnel the King and Onyxei had taken, but realized he wouldn’t know which direction to go if the tunnel split. A group of soldiers were standing at the edge of the park. Seanchai shouted to them. “The King is in danger. To the King.”

  They hurried after him. Inside the tunnel, he tripped over three soldiers’ bodies, then veered toward the sound of a scuffle nearby. The tunnel opened into a wider cavern where the King and the Wycaan dwarf stood back-to-back in the middle. Menacing dark shapes circled them, and there were poison darts on the ground.

  The Wycaan dwarf’s wards were protecting himself and the King, but Seanchai could sense the energy in Onyxei’s wards was weaker than his own.

  He drew his swords and charged a group of dark-clothed dwarves, who fell swiftly under his whirling blades. A second group fled into a nearby tunnel. Seanchai started after them, but quickly realized his mistake and turned back.

  A third group of black-clad dwarves surrounded Onyxei and the King, while a fourth group fought with the guards Seanchai had brought. One held a big iron crossbow. Seanchai knew its heavy arrow would pierce Onyxei’s weakening defenses. The old Wycaan’s head turned to Seanchai. His soundless voice was clear in Seanchai’s mind.

  “The King, Seanchai. Save the King.”

  “No,” Seanchai yelled.

  “I’m a Wycaan Master. I order you, student of Mhari.”

  Seanchai leapt at the same moment the crossbow released its arrow. Time slowed for him. While in midair, he saw that Onyxei had stepped before the King, putting himself in front of the crossbow. And out of Seanchai’s grasp. The ancient Wycaan had made his decision. Seanchai could only save one.

  “Nooooo,” cried Seanchai once more, as he pushed the King to the ground.

  The elf rolled and was immediately back on his feet, blue stone in hand. “Mereksur,” he yelled, and streams of blue light shattered the crossbow and sent all three dwarves flying.

  Seanchai charged at one with his sword in blind rage, slashing the dwarf as he raised his head. He twirled and struck a second with his other sword. Before he could reach the third, he heard the King roar.

  “Keep him alive.”

  Seanchai’s swords froze, but his boot kicked the dwarf in the chin, sending him crumpling to the ground. Seanchai turned to find the King kneeling over the Wycaan dwarf. He ran over and put his hands over the teacher’s wounds.

  Onyxei sighed and shook his head. “It is done, young Wycaan,” he wheezed. “Save your strength.”

  “I could have saved you,” Seanchai whispered, still panting.

  “No, you had to make a choice and it was the right one,” Onyxei gasped. “Your duty is to the races and to the Alliance. I’m sorry. I would have been proud to teach you.”

  He struggled to breathe, and when he spoke again, his voice was fainter. “Seanchai, stand by the King. He is a dwarf made of gold, as we say. The dwarves will follow him into the Alliance. Stand by him in council and battle. Hothengold must not fall. Win this battle . . . and you will . . . bind the dwarf . . . nation. Stand . . . with . . . the . . . King.”

  The old Wycaan’s body went limp. Seanchai rose and scooped the dwarf up in his arms. The King stood and gently closed the old one’s eyes.

  Seanchai’s voice was cold. “Is the council in session? Now?”

  The King nodded and looked Seanchai in the eyes, trying to discern what he wanted to do. “Follow me,” he said.

  Flanked now by a whole battalion of soldiers, the King led Seanchai down through the park and into a tall stone courtyard. The huge doors to the council building was made of heavy wood and held together by gleaming iron. Two guards sprang to attention and pushed open the doors.

  The many voices inside instantly fell silent. Seanchai barely took in the huge ceiling, ornate carvings, or triangle of benches. The King pointed to a slab of rock in the middle, and Seanchai gently lowered the body of the old dwarf onto it.

  The King walked to his throne but did not sit down. His voice was at once quiet and powerful.

  “A group of dwarves attempted an assassination of the crown just moments ago in the corridors near the park. Some escaped,
and a half dozen lie dead.”

  Seanchai noted that the King did not mention that one attacker was still alive and being interrogated at this moment.

  “To attack a fellow dwarf is heinous; to attack a king, unthinkable. The dwarf nation is a race of noble blood. We will not descend into anarchy – not now, not ever. Tomorrow, the high council will convene and decide our actions on this matter and the case of the Emperor’s approaching armies.”

  Then he turned and pointed to Master Onyxei, and his mournful tone resonated through the hall.

  “But today we will mourn the death of the greatest dwarf to live among us. Behold! Here lies Onyxei, Wycaan Master. All his life he served the interests of the races and ever of the dwarves. Look upon him and bear witness. He died to save my life. His sacrifice will not be in vain. This council will not allow that.”

  A huge staff crashed down on the stone floor echoing off the stone walls and sending sparks into the air. As one, the dwarves bowed their heads.

  “Bear witness. Here lies Onyxei, Wycaan Master,” the King called again. “May he find peace and honor in the halls of our ancestors.”

  And love, Seanchai said to himself, thinking of Onyxei and Ophera’s reunion. And love.

  FORTY SIX

  After his meeting with the Emperor, Ahad wanted nothing more than to be left alone. He assumed Phineus would be waiting for him in his room, so he left the inner keep of the palace and wondered if he could actually walk out the main gate without being stopped.

  “Maybe it’s time to discover whether I really am a prisoner or not,” he muttered to himself.

  Ahad put his hands in his pockets and walked toward the gates, kicking stones as he went. He tried to whistle nonchalantly, but he was never very good at it and figured it a little too forced. There were two guards lounging at the main palace gate and a third was in an arch above the guardhouse. He was armed with a bow and arrows and could release the iron portcullis if his colleagues below couldn’t.