Wycaan Master: Book 02 - The First Decree

by Alon Shalev

  Please send my regards to your grandfather. Take care of him and visit often in my absence. He will be lonely and have need of your company. Let him tell his stories even if they do not always make sense.

  Study hard my son. I know I have no need to tell you this.

  I love you.

  Ahad read the letter again more carefully. The final paragraph confused him. His mother never visited or even acknowledged her father-in-law. There had been some argument when Ahad was young. She was never disrespectful toward him and never denied Ahad a visit, but neither had she ever encouraged it.

  Ahad folded the letter and rose from the hammock. He jumped when he found Phineus standing almost exactly where Ahad’s feet touched the ground.

  “A letter, my shadow?” the Prince asked. Shadow was the nickname he had given Ahad because they spent so much time together.

  “From my mother,” Ahad replied. “All is well.”

  “I hope she doesn’t plan to return too soon,” Phineus said and then blushed. “What I mean–”

  “Thank you,” Ahad said sincerely. He could feel a bond growing between them and appreciated knowing Phineus could, too. “Do you have need of me?”

  “No, I was just wondering what you were doing today. It’s Sunday, so don’t suggest studying.”

  “Ha. I was actually planning to visit my grandfather. It has been too long.”

  “He lives in the city?”

  “No,” Ahad replied. “Just outside. May I borrow a horse?”

  “Of course. Maybe I should join you.”

  Ahad hesitated. If he said no, then Phineus might get suspicious. But if he came, Ahad would not be able to ask what he really wanted to know.

  “Sure – my grandfather would be happy to have someone else to give history lessons to. He likes to tell long stories of the campaigns he fought in. He often repeats himself and sometimes dozes off mid-sentence. But I know he would be glad for more company.”

  Phineus shuffled his feet. “I’ll ride with you but won’t come inside. I shouldn’t trouble your grandfather to host royalty. I’ll ride on from there. Please join me at the waterfall when you finish.”

  “What kind of a friend are you to leave me to face my grandfather alone?” Ahad protested with a smile.

  “Oh, I will be your friend, Ahad. I dream sometimes of you and me fighting side-by-side in battle. And right now that seems more attractive than sitting through a senile old man’s war stories.”

  Ahad arrived at his grandfather’s house and began their usual routine sitting in the garden, sipping lemonade. His grandfather read Ahad’s letter and commented loudly how nice it was that Ahad’s mother worried about him.

  They walked to their usual spot at the boundary of his grandfather’s property, Ahad noticing once again that the old man’s health had worsened.

  “Without wishing to open old wounds, grandfather, why would my mother suddenly take an interest in you?”

  “Your mother wrote that letter,” his grandfather turned slowly and smiled, “but she did not send it. It was prepared before she left to get you here if we felt you should come talk with me. And look, it worked.”

  He laughed. “It was my idea. Your mother and I don’t enjoy each other’s company, but we both care about you and have collaborated together regarding our situation. I needed you to come visit.”

  “What have you heard?” Ahad asked. “Is father alright?”

  “Your father is well. News reached the officer’s club yesterday that he leads a massive army to confront the dwarves in their capital city and believes the elf and your old friend Shayth are trying to rally them to form an alliance against the Emperor.”

  “They don’t stand a chance against the might of the Emperor’s army,” Ahad declared, “especially with my father at the helm.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. But unity is a powerful weapon, and the dwarves know they will be enslaved if they lose. It is their capital. They have nowhere to run to. Shayth and the elf have also proved quite adept at eluding your father.”

  “My father will kill Shayth,” Ahad snapped, immediately embarrassed.

  “Maybe,” the old man replied, observing his grandson curiously. “If, that is, he is willing to.”

  “If not, I’ll have no problem doing it for him. I’m training hard. I’m fit and ready.”

  “Ready?” his grandfather replied. “Good. Be ready. Be ready to flee the city. Do you know where you will go?”

  “Yes,” Ahad replied without hesitation. “To find the traitor Shayth. Wherever he is, I will track him down and kill him.”

  FIFTY TWO

  “My Lord, High King of the Dwarves, Clan leaders, and trusted advisors. I understand how hard it is for you that I, Seanchai, son of Seantai, an elf of Markwin Wood, stands before you today, and that my friends including Shayth, a human, are underground. I am aware of your history. I am aware of the First Decree. I am aware of your history.

  “Centuries ago, your ancestors, a brave and noble people, stood on the Plains of Mirylyn. They marched into a battle against tyranny together with the rest of the free nations. When thousands of brave dwarf soldiers lay slain and strewn across the sweeping valley, King Hothen took the survivors underground to protect themselves. Your rich culture and tradition tell us that their souls sit to this day in the great hall of your ancestors, feasting with your gods.”

  There were murmurs around the table. Even Clan Dan Zu’Reiltan’s priests nodded their heads in agreement. Seanchai put his hand on his long knife and took a breath.

  “Now, you have discovered that this strategy which has kept your people safe since that great battle will endure no more. You have discovered that many of your people are already slaves to the will of the Emperor. Worst yet, he has trained them to fight against you, to spill the blood of their brothers and sisters. At the battle of Mount Zu’Reising, they struck with axe and sword, dwarf against dwarf. You know this to be true. You have heard the words of Rothendir, Clan Leader of Den Zu’Reising.”

  A wave of comments passed around the hall. Seanchai paused to allow the crowd’s murmurs to cease.

  “And they came with effective and well-thought-out ways to destroy your defenses. They have learned from the conscripted dwarves how to use explosives to break seam lines and widen tunnels. This allows them to attack with pictorians and cave trolls. All this, you now know to be true.

  “The Emperor has not known the bitter taste of defeat and will not take kindly to it. For too long has he ruled over man, abused elves, and disclaimed the dwarves. For too long he has wielded his power for evil.

  “But this will be his undoing. Some among you say that this army was sent not to attack you, but to capture and kill Shayth, his brother’s son, and myself. But consider this: The Emperor murdered Shayth’s father and mother – his own blood – and, though he seeks to wipe this branch of his family from the face of the earth, he would not send out an entire army when an assassin would be more appropriate.

  “He fears me. The Emperor understands history and knows that in times of darkness, the races have always looked to the Wycaan Masters for direction, for protection, and for moral guidance.

  “Moreover, he knows that the only way the races can cast off their bonds is to unite. Only a Wycaan can achieve this.”

  Seanchai stopped and sipped from a flagon of water. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stared around the room.

  “Do not delude yourselves into thinking that the Emperor and his general are not preparing to attack you. It took time to conscript, train, and dominate dwarves so that they would fight other dwarves. It took time to experiment and learn how to use explosives. And it took time for General Tarlach and his armies to find where you were. I did not lead them to you – I just gave them a reason to get here faster.

  “What I say to you is disturbing. What I say is uncomfortable. But you know in your hearts that I speak the truth. I am a Wycaan – not a Master like Master Onyxei – but I am trained, I am young, an
d I am determined.”

  Seanchai paused again and reflected on the steely reserve in his voice as it echoed back from the stone cavern’s walls.

  “As a Wycaan, I am committed to reforging the Alliance, to bringing the free men together with the Tutans from the Southern Desert, the Aqua’lansis, the elves of Odessiya, and the Shanrea – the elves of the West.”

  “Ha!” the bark of laughter came from the far end from Clan Dan Zu’Ornagen.

  The King looked over and frowned. No one had asked permission to speak. One of them stood up.

  “My apologies, Your Majesty,” he bowed and then turned to Seanchai. “To you as well, Wycaan. I should not have interrupted. My clan is one of great scholarly practice and I myself have dedicated my life to studying the ancient races. I have read about and seen these antiquities you speak of, but never beyond the pages of storybooks and legends.”

  He sat down, and Seanchai pondered how to respond. He wanted to secure the vote of Clan Dan Zu’Ornagen, not alienate them with a cutting reply.

  “What is your name, sire?”

  The dwarf stood again and bowed his head. “I am Ziskagen, at your service.”

  “And you are a scholar of the history of our land, of Odessiya?”

  “Of history, yes, and of cultural customs and ancient civic law.”

  “Are you regarded within your clan with great academic respect?”

  The dwarf puffed out his chest. “I could provide a list of my research and my scrolls. Many have been copied and reside in the libraries of my fellow clans.”

  Seanchai smiled. “I hope one day to have the opportunity to study them and learn more of Odessiya from you.”

  The dwarf beamed, but Seanchai held his gaze. He was not finished.

  “As an expert in the lore of this land, are you also acquainted with the social rules surrounding the Wycaan Order?”

  “Indeed I am,” Ziskagen replied. “I was honored to learn and write from the first-hand accounts of Master Onyxei. I recorded many of the vision quests that he went on after he came to live here in Hothengold.”

  “Then answer this for me, Master Ziskagen. From all your studies of the rich history of Odessiya, from all the stories and the legends of the great races, has a Wycaan ever stood before the peoples of Odessiya and not spoken the truth?”

  The question was posed in a soft, respectful tone, but what it lacked in volume, it made up in intent.

  Silence descended on the Great Hall. Seanchai kept his gaze on the scholar as his mind churned through his massive memory. At length, the King turned to Ziskagen.

  “Master Ziskagen, of the most learned Clan Dan Zu’Ornagen, the Clansfelt awaits your reply. In your considerable recollection, has a Wycaan ever lied to the peoples of Odessiya?”

  The scholar turned his gaze to the king and cleared his throat. In a deep, measured voice that resounded through the Great Hall, he said: “No, Your Majesty. A Wycaan has never lied when called to address the races, never in the history of Odessiya.”

  A buzz of voices broke out around the room. The King leaned back and waited, fleetingly locking gazes with Rothendir. Then he brought his heavy axe down on the stone table. Sparks shot from its handle, and the sharp thwack brought the clans instantly back to decorum.

  But the priest of Clan Dan Zu’Reiltan held his black axe in the air. The King sighed and nodded, and Ballendir gently tugged Seanchai back down to his seat.

  “Your Majesty. This is a momentous decision. I request that the Clansfelt adjourn and allow the Clan Head Council to sit and debate.”

  Seanchai felt his brow tighten. He turned to Ballendir, who signaled that he neither speak nor react. Instead, Rothendir raised her silver axe.

  “I will second that,” she said, “as long as it is clear to all the clans that the vote happens here in the full Clansfelt. There shall be no secret casting of ballots.”

  The priest turned and nodded. The big dwarf who stood behind the King with the thick staff pounded it twice on the floor and proclaimed:

  “It is so ordered. The Clansfelt adjourns. All save the clan leaders and the King will leave the hall. The doors will be locked. You will be summoned by the blow of a horn when his Majesty calls the Clansfelt back to session.”

  The staff cracked down on the stone floor twice and the room erupted in debate. Seanchai looked to Ballendir and opened his mouth to speak, but Rothendir whirled round.

  “Ballendir,” she hissed. “Get him out of here. Now.”

  FIFTY THREE

  Ballendir’s iron grip led Seanchai out of the hall. Once outside, Seanchai turned and opened his mouth, but the dwarf cut him off.

  “Not here, Seanchai. Wait until we’re in our clan’s quarters.”

  Seanchai took a deep breath, and, together, they walked through the bustling corridors away from the Great Hall. Outside of the huge stone building, Seanchai looked around. A path opened up in front of them as dwarves scurried out of their way, glancing furtively.

  The facial expressions seemed harder than they had when the delegation of Clan Den Zu’Reising had made their way through the streets on the way to the Clansfelt. Then, he had felt anticipation. Now as the Clansfelt had dragged on, the dwarves not privy to the discussions had found plenty of time to hypothesize on and become afraid of what was transpiring.

  Seanchai tried to walk taller and more purposefully, smiling at those he passed. He received the occasional smile back from young male dwarves and curt nods – if he was acknowledged at all – from everyone else.

  He glanced at Ballendir, who was looking straight ahead and clearly anxious to reach their quarters. Seanchai tried to replay the actions of those last few minutes of the Clansfelt.

  Had he alienated the scholarly Clan Dan Zu’Ornagen? There had seemed no way at the time to let Ziskagen’s comment pass. Seanchai shook his head as he walked. At some point, a Wycaan needed to lead and not just request and respond. The exchange with Ziskagen had been that defining moment, but he had not been allowed to continue. What would Master Onyxei have done? Would Mhari, his own teacher, have approached it differently?

  No. He would not apologize or agonize over what had been. The wisdom of the Wycaan Masters was not accessible anymore, and he would have to trust his own judgment and listen to the advice of those around him. A sense of calm descended over Seanchai. He had done his best, and his teachers would have agreed.

  They turned into the Clan Den Zu’Reising compound. In the central square, Rhoddan, Sellia, and Ilana sat in a corner. Rhoddan and Sellia were both sweating. Ilana looked anxious and was talking animatedly. When they saw Ballendir and Seanchai enter, they sprung to their feet.

  “Have they decided already?” Sellia asked with no preliminaries.

  “They have gone behind closed doors,” Seanchai replied, suddenly sullen.

  “Meaning?”

  “I don’t know,” Seanchai said, taking Ilana’s hand. “What do you make of it, Ballendir?”

  “Let’s go inside and talk,” Ballendir said.

  “Where’s Shayth?” Seanchai asked.

  “He and Jermona went out with a dwarf scouting party,” Rhoddan replied. “I would have joined them, but Sellia needs to learn hand-to-hand combat before we engage Tarlach’s army.”

  Sellia smiled. “Show Seanchai your ribs.”

  Rhoddan lifted his shirt and revealed a bruise that closely resembled the sole of a boot.

  “Beautiful colors,” Seanchai said as he leaned down. “You have an artistic streak, Sellia.”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Let me know if you want one to match.”

  Seanchai felt himself calm being with his friends, despite the tension and danger that surrounded them. They entered a small room with a stone table, and Ballendir brought in a flagon and glasses. They each poured some ale and gathered around the table.

  “The lad did well,” Ballendir said at last. “I think he struck the right balance between asking for our support and establishing his role leading the races.�
� Ballendir relayed the exchange with the scholar of Clan Dan Zu’Ornagen and also of Seanchai’s lunch with the artisans of Clan Dan Zu’Ulster. Seanchai showed them the flask and pipe. Then he turned to Ballendir.

  “I still don’t understand why the clan chiefs closed the meeting. What happened?”

  Most likely, there was a shift in alignment within a clan,” Ballendir said. “In other words, one clan had pledged a certain way and now wants to rescind its support to whichever side they chose. If so, that clan will need to be frank with all concerned, and this is best achieved with as few ears as possible.”

  “You think I lost the scholars?” Seanchai asked.

  “Possibly,” the dwarf took another long drink. “Or maybe they weren’t on our side from the beginning and yeh won them over in scholarly debate. I think that might count for more than if yeh had drawn your swords and slain a couple of their delegation, though I like that idea better. Anyway, all we can do now is to trust in Rothendir.”

  “I’m going to go rest,” Seanchai said suddenly and turned to leave.

  “No,” Ballendir said, his voice sharp. “Don’t do it. If they find out, yeh will have betrayed their trust,” he walked over to Seanchai and stared hard into his eyes, “and mine.”

  Seanchai stared back and then bowed his head. “You’re right,” he said. “I apologize. Let’s go sit in the courtyard and imagine some blue sky.”

  “What were you going to do?” Sellia asked as they walked outside.

  “Scry,” he replied.

  She feigned disgust. “You dog,” she said. “How could you even think of it?” Then she put a hand on his shoulder and turned to Ilana. “There’s hope for him yet.”

  Ilana rolled her eyes. It was a wonderful expression, Seanchai thought.