Wycaan Master: Book 02 - The First Decree

by Alon Shalev

  Ahad shivered when he realized that all three guards were looking at him. He decided to pretend that it was because they weren’t sure if he was a noble or not, and they were trying to decide whether they should stand to attention and salute.

  “Hello,” Ahad said as he approached. “Caught anyone trying to invade?”

  “Not today, young sire,” one replied, a bit uncertainly, as if the question caught him off guard. “The empire is safe and well-guarded.”

  “Very good,” Ahad said, feeling that he needed a follow up.

  “Not trying to escape, are you, young sire?” the second soldier asked.

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do,” Ahad replied as cheerfully as he could muster. “I hate my homework.”

  The soldiers laughed, but stopped when a voice spoke from behind Ahad. “Steady up, men. This be the son of General Tarlach himself, if I not be very much mistaken. Master Ahad, isn’t it?”

  Ahad turned and nodded to the approaching soldier.

  “My son be in your class at the school. Ruen says that you be the best student in the whole school. I bet you devour your homework. Just like your father, I say. General Tarlach is a very smart man. I fought under him in–”

  “Now ’old on there, Javers. I doubt the young master ’as any interest in your battle stories. Run along, little sire. The Emperor’s finest will ’old off the storyteller while you escape.”

  Ahad laughed as he thanked them and walked through the gate. The palace stood on a steep hill overlooking the capital. Ahad didn’t want to walk down the slope because he would have to climb it on his way back. He walked toward the royal cemetery instead. The dead wouldn’t bother him.

  He entered through the huge iron gates and looked around. The cemetery was immaculately maintained, though he could make out which sections were older by the weather-beaten headstones.

  He headed for a section of vaults out of sight of the entrance and sat down with his back against one. The smooth marble cooled his back, and he began to relax. He yawned and closed his eyes. It was hard to feel in danger here, with the warm air, birds singing and – his eyes flew back open.

  He heard voices behind him. A man and woman were talking softly on their way to another part of the cemetery. He sighed. He was still tense, and now also wide-awake. He pulled a piece of grass and began chewing its stem while he waited for them to pass. His eyes wandered to the beautiful stone on the graves next to him.

  Prince Shindell, brother to the Emperor, loyal husband and father. Died in battle.

  Shayth’s father? Ahad leaned forward and read the inscription of the tombstone next to his. Shayth’s mother. He checked the dates. They had died within days of each other, and a quick calculation confirmed that Shayth had been six years old when it happened.

  He leaned back against the marble again. That’s why his father had taken Shayth into their home. He had been a close friend of Prince Shindell and probably felt responsible for his friend’s child. His father was an honorable man. He had opened his house to the boy who now betrayed him.

  “Hiding?” A voice said from above.

  Ahad jumped. He looked up to see Phineus sitting on the vault and laughing at him.

  “You look like you just saw a ghost,” he chortled.

  Ahad smiled. He was surprised to discover that he was happy to see his patron.

  “So, what happened? Was Daddy appreciative of your efforts to reform me?”

  “He seemed pleased with me,” Ahad replied. “He understands the immense challenge I face.”

  “Hey! I’m the Crown Prince of Odessiya. You show respect.”

  Ahad stood up. “Is that the kind of relationship you want?” he asked seriously.

  Phineus frowned. “No,” he said, quietly chagrined. “It was a natural reaction, I guess. I’m not used to having real friends. I want you to sit up here with me. Please.”

  “Isn’t that disrespectful?”

  “No,” the younger man smiled. “I’m sure Baron . . .” he twisted round to read the headstone, but the names were faded. “I’m sure the . . . the good Baron and his wife are honored that the Crown Prince and his friend are sitting here.” He reached out a hand. “Come on.”

  Ahad let himself be pulled up.

  “If we are going to be friends,” Ahad said, “I want something from you. When it’s just the two of us, I want to call you by your name.”

  “Hmmm,” the Prince frowned. “Okay, you can call me Crown when we’re alone.” He burst out laughing. “Okay, okay,” he said when he saw Ahad was serious. “You may call me, Phineus. Be careful how you use it, though.” Again he laughed.

  “Why are you so jolly? An hour ago you bit my head off.”

  “You got to see my father. I was jealous. Now that I can see it didn’t go well, I’m happier.”

  “Why?”

  “My father respects your father because he’s an excellent general and therefore useful. But he doesn’t trust him. Do you know why?”

  Ahad shook his head.

  “The answer, my dear brilliant student, lies in front of you.”

  Ahad looked at Shayth’s parents’ graves in front of him.

  “That’s right. Your father pledged fealty to mine, but gave his friendship to Prince Shindell. You can serve more than one master, Ahad, but you cannot be friends with two opposing rivals. Understand?”

  Ahad nodded. “But now my father is paying the penalty with Shayth always escaping. I hope he captures him soon.”

  “I don’t think he will capture him. Shayth is too good to be taken alive from what I hear. Do you know why?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Because Shayth knows no fear, only hate and rage. And that makes him too dangerous to be taken alive. Your father will have to kill him, and the question is whether or not the good general has the stomach for it.”

  Ahad stared at Phineus. “If he’s been ordered to kill this murderer, then he will. My father has no fear, either.”

  The Prince smiled. “Very loyal of you. If the great General Tarlach doesn’t kill Shayth, then he will die himself. But if he does kill the boy, then he will have to come here and face his best friend. Even with Prince Shindell dead and buried, it will not be an easy conversation.”

  Ahad frowned. “Do you think Shayth knows that?”

  An evil grin crossed the heir’s face. “I’m sure he does, but I doubt he even cares. If he’s going to die, I think he’ll want it to happen while he’s fighting one of our fathers. What I wonder is, if he ever succeeds and kills the men he blames for becoming an orphan, what will Shayth have to live for?”

  Ahad’s face twisted. When he spoke, his voice was cold and menacing. “Nothing. He’ll live in wait for me. I will kill him and redeem my father’s honor. Shayth will not live if he slays my father.”

  “You? Shayth has left a long trail of dead warriors. What makes you think you can match him if your father can’t?”

  Ahad felt his anger rising. “Because you promised to provide me with the best military training in Odessiya. And you will take great pride in teaching me, because you crave the close friendship Prince Shindell had with my father.”

  The Prince nodded. “I like it. But many others who have fought him have had equal training and more experience – how will you rise above them all?”

  “Because I come armed with the same weapons Shayth fights with and that my father apparently doesn’t.”

  Phineus frowned, puzzled.

  “Hate,” Ahad said, “and revenge.”

  FORTY SEVEN

  “How could you do this?” Seanchai thumped the rock table with his fist, wincing at the pain. “Master Onyxei’s body is still warm.”

  “But his soul is with our ancestors, not here with us,” Rothendir replied calmly. “I must do what I think is best for our clan and the dwarf nation.”

  “You never asked me or–”

  “I do not need your permission, elf. I am clan leader.” There was an edge in Rothendir’s voice.
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br />   “Seanchai,” Ballendir said, “Rothendir is right. Yeh’re grieving the Wycaan. Yeh’re not fit to make such decisions. By agreeing not to bring Clan Dan Zu’Reiltan to justice, Rothendir has secured their vote. With the King implicated in this agreement, we probably have Clan Den Zu’Garten’s support as well.”

  “What about justice?” Seanchai could feel the anger emanating from his flushed face. “Who pays for the slaying of Master Onyxei?”

  “His life has not been taken in vain,” Rothendir said. “His sacrifice, tragic though it is, might have just brought the clans together to act against the Emperor and help you build your alliance. Seanchai, I have been a friend of Master Onyxei for decades, and I think we both know that he would approve of my actions. I had to do what was best for the greater good, though I mourn him, too. You must understand me.”

  “Seanchai,” Ballendir leaned over the table. “Tomorrow yeh must address the High Council. Yeh have to put yeh emotions aside and be calm and rational. If anyone tries to rile yeh, yeh can’t respond in anger.”

  “And you must conduct yourself well during the debate, which will be long and tiresome,” Rothendir added.

  “The King said that I would not be allowed to stay after I’ve said my piece,” Seanchai said.

  “The King, wise though he seems, was not aware of a point of law. When Ballendir pledged for you, he essentially asked that you join the clan, and clan members may join the debate. It’s a complex area of law, but I don’t think anyone will argue with Clan Den Zu’Reising at this time.”

  Seanchai sighed. “I barely knew Master Onyxei and yet it seems like I’ve known him for years.”

  “I think there’s something that binds yeh Wycaans,” Ballendir said. “The way yeh speak of your teacher, Mhari, one would be forgiven for thinking that yeh spent years with her.”

  “It was barely a couple of months,” Seanchai said, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. He wiped away a tear. “I must go and prepare for tomorrow.”

  “We are here for you should you wish to consult with us.”

  “Thank you, Clan Leader Rothendir. I know you believe in the path you have chosen. You are far wiser and more experienced than I in the ways of politics and leadership.”

  “Thank you, Wycaan. Though you lack experience, your heart is pure. That is your strength.”

  Seanchai woke and lay staring at the ceiling. He had not slept well; anger seeped into his dreams when he had finally drifted off. He rose while it was still dark and took his swords to an empty room.

  There, he trained with the Win Dao swords, slowly parroting moves that Mhari had taught him before moving into a free flow. He lost track of time and his surroundings as his concentration fused with his movement.

  When he was finished, he put the swords down and assumed the first standing position. But not long after he had settled in his stance, Seanchai heard dwarves bustling outside the room and was instantly reminded that he must attend the Clansfelt.

  Resigned to the fact that he would not regain the serenity he needed, he turned to pick up his shirt. Ilana sat on the floor, hugging her knees.

  “I love to watch you train,” she said, suppressing a yawn. “You let down all your armoring, let all the tension leave you. It’s beautiful to watch.”

  “I’d like one day to teach you,” he replied. “It would be fun to train together.”

  “I’d like that,” she replied, and handed him a cup of tea. “When I brought it for you, it was hot,” she said by way of apology.

  “It tastes great,” Seanchai replied after the first gulp. The tea was bitter enough when it was warm, but even worse at room temperature. He took a moment to heat it with energy through his hands.

  “Seanchai?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been thinking. There is a fair chance that at least one of us isn’t going to come through this. No, listen, please. We’ve seen two Wycaans die in a short time. You’re going to be in constant danger, and I’ll be by your side. You remember the priestess’ words.”

  “Of course I remember,” Seanchai replied moodily. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I want us to make a bond; a pledge. If one of us dies, the other will go on living. As unfathomable as it seems, neither of us should be alone. I want you to promise me that if I die, you’ll try and find someone else. I don’t accept that Wycaans should remain solitary. It’ll be a hard life for your mate, but she’ll be honored to take on that role. Promise me?”

  “Neither of us–”

  “Promise me!” she urged. “You have great powers, Seanchai, but you are not indestructible and cannot make me so. You cannot decide who lives and who dies.”

  He touched her cheek tenderly. “There is no room in my heart for another elfe,” he said quietly. “My heart is full. It would not be fair to her.”

  “You have a big heart. In time, you’ll find a place. At least promise me that you’ll keep yourself open to it.”

  Seanchai drew away and stared hard at her. “Why is this so important to you?”

  “I believe the priestess was seeing something,” Ilana’s voice faltered. “There was a certainty in her voice that I feel inside of me. I would rest easier knowing that you will try to move on.”

  Seanchai thought back to the words of Master Onyxei regarding his relationship with the priestess. “If I promise, can we stop talking about it?”

  “Yes.”

  Seanchai took her in his arms and held her tightly. “I don’t believe I’ll ever find someone who can come close to how I feel for you. But if you die, I promise to try and rebuild my life with someone else.”

  “Swear,” she insisted in his ear, “in the ancient language.”

  Seanchai sighed. “Ashbar. I swear.”

  He released her and turned, quickly exiting the room.

  Ilana stood there, hugging herself, tears falling from her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, but only the ancient rock walls of Hothengold bore witness.

  FORTY EIGHT

  The clan guards kept tight watch on Rothendir and Seanchai as Clan Den Zu’Reising paraded to the Clansfelt. Ballendir walked behind Seanchai, providing ongoing commentary.

  Seanchai glanced at Rothendir as she walked by his side, impressed by her stride and the stature that emanated power and intention the likes of which Seanchai had not seen from her before. Clan Den Zu’Reising, though one of the smaller clans, had become a major force following its alliance with Seanchai and the assassination attempt. He could sense her resolute desire to win big today.

  As they paraded through the center of town, the streets were packed, and, everywhere he looked, Seanchai saw worry and apprehension. The dwarves had enjoyed a long period of peace and tranquility while the Emperor’s interests were engaged elsewhere. But Seanchai’s presence and the calling of the Clansfelt was a sign that this time was at an end, whether they liked it or not.

  The clan began their ascent toward the palace. An old dwarfe, heavyset and bent, left the crowd and stood in front of the delegation, glaring at Seanchai. The soldiers went to move her aside, but she put her fists on her hips.

  “Wait,” Seanchai said and walked over to her.

  “Steady,” Ballendir said, keeping close behind him.

  “Do you want to say something?” Seanchai asked politely.

  “Why did you come?” she asked. “Last time your kind walked among us, thousands of my people were captured, tortured, and killed in battle.”

  “As were my people,” Seanchai replied. “I understand your fears. But what are the alternatives?”

  “We have done a good job of protecting our own,” the old dwarfe said.

  “No, you haven’t,” Seanchai replied, projecting his voice for all around to hear. “You have done a good job of delaying the inevitable. The Emperor hadn’t forgotten you. He won’t allow anyone to stay free of his tyranny. Look how prepared he was for the fight at Zu’Reising. He has explosives and a dwarf army of his own. The time for hiding unde
rground has come to an end.” He stood up straight. “The only real choice to be made today is whether you will fight him alone or as part of the Alliance.”

  Seanchai surveyed the crowd as if challenging anyone to argue. None dared and he turned to Rothendir. “Let’s go,” he said.

  “We’re ready,” Ballendir whispered, excitement in his voice.

  “We are,” she replied.

  The Great Hall was a hive of activity. Dwarves milled around in every direction. Seanchai, grateful for his height, could make out a huge seven-sided table with a throne on one side. In the middle was a beautiful stone sculpture of a black and gold forest.

  Each clan had a side of the table with six cube chairs in two equal rows. Clan Den Zu’Reising’s side was facing the throne and the two most powerful clans – a strategic win by Rothendir. She sat in the middle of the front row, and an elder companion of Rothendir’s sat next to her. Ballendir and Seanchai took two seats behind them. The third front seat remained empty.

  “Who will sit there?” Seanchai asked.

  “The clan’s priestess would have,” Ballendir whispered back. “Rothendir feels it is an appropriate statement to leave the chair empty.”

  “A powerful message,” Seanchai agreed.

  Next to Seanchai was one of the leaders who had fought at Zu’Reising. The dwarf gave him a curt nod. Seanchai turned to Ballendir, who leaned in.

  “Not renowned as a smiler,” his friend whispered, “but a very respected warrior.”

  Next to the throne was Clan Den Zu’Garten. Ballendir told Seanchai that he hoped winning over the King would concurrently win over his clan of origin, but judging by the stern faces staring at him, Seanchai wasn’t too convinced this was likely.