Wycaan Master: Book 02 - The First Decree

by Alon Shalev

  Everyone was looking at him.

  “Dwarves do not ordinarily excel above ground,” Ballendir answered.

  “They have as many dwarf soldiers as we do,” Shayth replied, catching on to Seanchai’s idea. “The trolls are slow, and the pictorians, while deadly in combat, are little more than large targets from afar.”

  “But where could we lead them?” Rus’ik asked, beginning to come around to the idea.

  There was silence for a while, and then Ziskagen spoke. “To the Fog Marshes of Oblinzt.”

  This was met by a murmur of either excitement or fear – Seanchai couldn’t tell which.

  “What are the Fog Marshes of Oblinzt?” he asked, turning to Ballendir.

  Ballendir sighed. “They are a good place to die.”

  FIFTY NINE

  Seanchai watched as the warriors in the room transformed from hopelessness to excitement. Led by Rus’ik Armsgarten, the group moved from model to model, expounding on how the enemy could be engaged at different spots along the way.

  Seanchai gathered that it would take only two or three days to reach the Fog Marshes of Oblinzt, and that there were several points along the way where they could engage the enemy with guerilla hit-and-run tactics. Once in the swamps, it would be a very different battle.

  “We can only send our youngest and fittest troops,” Rus’ik Armsgarten said. “It will be hard moving and fighting on such terrain.”

  “Older, more experienced troops can help in the beginning,” Dugenminsk suggested and pointed to the areas he was suggesting. “We can help engage at this, this and this point, and then double back to either secure Hothengold or to attack from the rear. But only the fittest will last all the way. It will be very dangerous for them.”

  “I will be with them,” Seanchai said. “And the elves and Shayth are better suited out in the open than fighting in narrow passages underground.”

  “Also, if we are to ask the young troops to go and do so much, let them see Seanchai leading them,” Shayth replied.

  A look passed among some of the dwarves.

  “What is it, Rus’ik?” Seanchai asked, suddenly alarmed.

  Rus’ik shuffled his feet and searched for the right words. “I’m worried how it will be perceived,” he said, clearly choosing his words. “You come here and urge us to fight, bring a large army in your wake, and then you leave.”

  “I will be with the youn–”

  “He doesn’t trust you, Seanchai,” Shayth interjected. “We could all just run off and leave them. The war goes badly, and we cut our losses and flee. Is that right, Rus’ik?”

  “But . . . I gave you my word,” Seanchai said, hurt.

  “It’s a matter of perception,” Rus’ik answered, folding his beard furiously. “I’m not good at diplomacy. I’m a soldier, not a politician.”

  “Maybe your mate could stay and help defend the city?” Dugenminsk said. “We have seen the love that exists between you. If she stays, the dwarves of the city will be assured that you’ll not forsake them.”

  Seanchai stared at him. “But then Tarlach will come after her and the ones left here, won’t he?” he said.

  “I think it’s safe to assume there’ll be some sort of assault on the city,” Rus’ik said, “even if you succeed in leading them away.”

  “But we can make it look like an evacuation,” Seanchai suggested. “Have some dressed as women, older dwarfes, and younglings, and give them packages to carry.”

  “Don’t underestimate the tenacity of our elders or our females.” Ballendir growled. “Shayth? Will the general commit all his forces to the chase?”

  Shayth shook his head. “No, he will want to see Hothengold buried.”

  “You can’t be serious?”

  At this precise moment, Seanchai would have rather faced a hundred pictorians than Ilana this angry and hurt. “You agreed to this?” Her hands were clenched into tight fists on her arched waist.

  “I said I would talk to you about it,” Seanchai replied. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but . . .”

  “But what?” she demanded.

  He sighed. “I understand why they’re requesting it. Look, I hate to be away from you. I don’t want to ever again feel how I felt when you languished in a dungeon at Galbrieth, but I think there is something to their request. You can give inspiration and hope to the people penned in here at Hothengold. They have not seen combat, and you are skilled at being amazingly calm one minute and a ferocious warrior the next.”

  Ilana looked at his earnest expression and suddenly burst out laughing. “Is this how you woo a young elfe?” She moved closer and hugged him tightly. “You will come back?”

  “Of course,” he whispered in her ear.

  “And if I manage to help repel the troops sent here, I’ll come after you.”

  “Not by yourself,” Seanchai gasped.

  She laughed. “I love you,” she said and pulled him even closer.

  “I will ask Sellia to stay with you,” Seanchai said. “You shouldn’t be the only one left here.”

  Ilana abruptly pulled away. She was frowning and fiddling with strands of her hair.

  “What is it, Ilana?” he asked, recognizing the signs.

  “I want Sellia to go with you,” Ilana said. “She is quick and more experienced in guerilla tactics than any of you. Maybe Rhoddan could stay with me. I’m comfortable with him, and he’ll make a better fighter close up.”

  Seanchai examined her face. She was holding something back and he was tempted to scry, but stopped himself. Rhoddan was a good fighter in any environment, but Ilana had always been closer to Sellia.

  “Please,” she said, and Seanchai thought he saw tears beginning to well in her eyes. “Don’t question me. I agree to stay behind without arguing, but you allow me to keep who I choose.”

  Seanchai stroked her cheek and twisted her hair behind her pointed ear. “Okay.”

  The spy was quite adapt at leaving Hothengold and even more so in penetrating the guards of the Emperor’s army. Wrapped in a dark cloak, he made his way to the tent that he recognized from past visits to the general.

  Two tall sentries stood outside the tent, and the spy could see silhouettes of a number of figures inside. The spy retreated into the shadows, waiting for the meeting to end. He was cold and hungry, but he could wait. He wouldn’t reveal himself to any more than the two who knew him.

  After a half hour, a small, rotund man exited with a pile of scrolls balanced precariously. The spy followed him and waited until no one else would overhear their conversation.

  “Well met, Master Bortand,” he hissed.

  Bortand jumped and promptly dropped several scrolls in the wet dirt. When he looked around, there was no one there. “Very funny!” he called out. “I’m sure General Tarlach will want to know how his paperwork got dirty.”

  “I think General Tarlach has more important things on his plate right now,” the voice whispered from the darkness between two tents. “Please inform the general that he has an uninvited visitor.”

  Bortand stared into the darkness, but saw no one. He hesitated for a moment before returning to the general’s command tent. When Tarlach saw him enter, he detached himself from the officer standing around the model of the mountain.

  “Gentlemen,” he announced after Bortand had whispered the message. “Enough for tonight. Please leave me. We shall resume at first light tomorrow.”

  The tent quickly emptied. Continuing their discussions as they left the tent, no one noticed the hooded figure only two feet from them.

  When the tent was empty, Tarlach came and stood outside the entrance between the two guards. The spy appeared before him, fully cloaked and hooded.

  “Let him pass,” Tarlach said and returned inside.

  The figure followed and closed the tent flaps. Then he turned to the expectant general and removed his hood.

  “Jermona,” General Tarlach said, showing no surprise. “You have returned. I thought you might
have changed your colors.”

  The boy’s eyes flashed. “I’m a ranger, general. A ranger before anything.”

  “And you bring information so that I’ll forgive your indiscretions?”

  “Oh, yes,” Jermona replied with a smile. “Valuable information.”

  SIXTY

  When General Tarlach’s officers reconvened the following morning, they found their commander considerably more upbeat. The general had called them in well before dawn, but had breakfast waiting for them. He watched with satisfaction as the officers piled up their plates with great enthusiasm.

  A couple of younger officers sidled over to where the general stood.

  “Thank you, sir,” one ventured, raising his plate.

  “Are we celebrating something, sir?” another asked.

  Tarlach nodded. He had barely slept after his meeting with Jermona. Having imparted the information that the general craved, Jermona had asked to rejoin the general’s personal staff as his chief ranger.

  Tarlach had been impressed with the young man’s ambition, but somewhat puzzled by his request. This was not ranger behavior. But then, the boy was young and definitely talented.

  He had sent Jermona back to Hothengold despite the young man’s protests. Once the fighting began, he could slip away and join the general during the mayhem of battle. “Lay low,” he had said. “You have disappeared without reason. You will need a story. Keep it simple and sullen.”

  Now the general turned to his officers. “Gentlemen,” he said, “to business.”

  They gathered around the big model.

  “Last night, I received more information. The dwarves are divided about what to do. Most do not want to stay and fight underground after what we did to the Zu’Reising clan and their miserable mountain.

  “Many will try and leave. They plan to move all their gold and treasure from Hothengold. One might assume they will rename it, simply, Hothen.”

  The officers laughed.

  “They plan to evacuate their old and young first in small groups. We suspect they have already begun to leave. The main body will be leaving with most of their military. The extremists will stay and hope that either we will not bother to attack them, or will allow them to negotiate a surrender.”

  “Probably the traders,” one soldier suggested. “Will we let them live?”

  “No,” General Tarlach replied, his voice firm. “There are many other dwarf colonies that do not yet know the true potential of the Emperor. These dwarves must be made an example of.

  “Tomorrow morning, we will enter the Hoth mountain range and leave a company of dwarves, cave trolls, and explosives masters.

  “The men and pictorians will circle behind the mountain range to confront those who are escaping. They must be leaving through an exit on the other side of Mount Hoth, or else we would have noticed. But I also want to be ready to attack their army when they do choose to leave.”

  There was nodding and murmurs of assent. Several officers started discussing different points of the mountain. General Shiftan, however, was standing to one side, detached from the excitement. Tarlach walked over to him.

  “What is it, my friend?” Tarlach asked.

  General Shiftan turned away from the other soldiers. He took a plate and threw on a piece of bread, some cheese and eggs. But he was clearly not hungry. Then he sat at a small table at the opposite end. Tarlach sat opposite him.

  “Are you sure about your source?” Shiftan asked quietly, forcing General Tarlach to lean forward.

  “My spy? Yes. Why?”

  “Do you remember the dwarf officer that I had with us at Mount Zu’Reising? Let me bring him in here and explain what we have discovered. I will only inform him of the facts, but I want to see his reaction. I think he may have a different idea of what’s happening.”

  “Very well, my friend,” Tarlach said. “But while we wait for him to come you should eat. That food is hot.”

  Shiftan smiled. “How many times have you and I eaten cold food in the field.” He turned and signaled to one of his younger officers.

  Five minutes later, as General Shiftan finished his last forkful of eggs, the dwarf appeared, wearing his gold leaf on a cloak. He saluted both generals. Much to Tarlach’s annoyance, General Shiftan sent the dwarf to fill a plate for himself.

  The dwarf returned with a heaping plate. “Eat while it is hot,” Shiftan said, “but listen carefully while you do. I want to share some secret information that we have just received and gauge your reaction. You should feel free to speak openly with us, but say nothing once you leave this tent. Understood?”

  The dwarf nodded. He could do little else since his mouth was full.

  “We understand that the dwarves of Hothengold are divided. Most are leaving and taking the gold, and only a small fanatical contingent is staying to defend the capital.”

  The dwarf was frowning around his huge bite of food. Tarlach reached over and stayed the next loaded fork on its way to the dwarf’s mouth.

  “Steady on. Why are you frowning?”

  “Sir,” the dwarf said after swallowing his food and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “It’s been a long time since I lived in dwarf society, but yeh story sounds a bit suspect. Begging yeh pardon, sir,” he added quickly to Shiftan.

  “I ordered you to speak freely,” Shiftan replied.

  “Very well, sir. There hasn’t been a Clansfelt in fifty years, but . . .”

  “Wait. This gathering of clans is a Clansfelt?”

  “Yes sir. Like I said it’s very rare. The laws surrounding it are ancient and strictly observed. Once a decision is reached, all clans must adhere to it. If they’re splitting their forces, it must be part of a plan.

  “I also can’t believe they’d abandon Hothengold, It’s the capital, the heart of the dwarf nation. It’s beautiful and steeped in history. Also there’re many old and young living there. The march out would be treacherous and destroy the people’s moral.

  “And there is something else, sir,” the dwarf scratched his long, wild hair. “They couldn’t possibly move all the gold and precious metals stored in Hothengold, and dwarves never abandon their wealth.”

  “Where are the elves and Shayth going to be?” Shiftan asked. “Are they staying or going?”

  The dwarf scratched his beard. “I’d expect them to be leaving. They are faster and used to fighting on the run, I reckon.”

  “But if we are wrong as you say,” Tarlach said, “and they will leave a large force to defend the city, or using this ploy of running to distract us, then wouldn’t the dwarves demand some of the elf’s party to stay?”

  “Makes sense. The dwarves are helping the elf and he goes off. Seems like sound business to demand collateral, if yeh take mah meaning.”

  General Shiftan sipped from a cup of steaming chicory. “If some of them are staying, then there’s an expectation to hold Hothengold. From what we’ve seen of this elf, he’s soft when it comes to his friends. He will lead their army out but will plan to return.”

  “So what do you suggest?” Tarlach asked.

  “We must follow the elf,” General Shiftan said. “He poses the biggest threat. If we can discover where he is, we send our main forces there.”

  Tarlach nodded and dismissed the dwarf. When he was alone with Shiftan, he leaned forward.

  “At Galbrieth, I tried to lure the elf by capturing his friends. It worked in that he came. This time it will be different.”

  “How?”

  “I plan to be there to confront him myself. This time there is too much at stake, and I must make sure we succeed. It might also be that only I can defeat him.” Tarlach ripped a chunk of bread from a loaf and squashed the soft dough in a fist. “Shayth too must die.”

  “I will try to take Shayth out for you as I promised.”

  “We must succeed.” Tarlach hissed.

  “We will, my friend, but all the same, let me move Ahad.”

  “You doubt me?”

  Shi
ftan stared back at his old friend. When he spoke, his voice was steady. “No one is infallible.”

  “And if I succeed? What will happen to my son if it is known he fled the palace after the Emperor has been so kind to him? No. There is only one way. I must not fail.”

  SIXTY ONE

  Seanchai completed a strenuous practice routine with his Win Dao swords and was panting and sweating. His body ached satisfyingly from the effort. Rhoddan had been practicing, as well, though they did not spar. According to Ilana, Rhoddan’s ego could not take being beaten too often. Seanchai went and sat next to his friend, who was sitting nearby, sharpening his own blades.

  “Didn’t I see you sharpening these yesterday?”

  “Uh-ha,” Rhoddan confirmed, “and probably the day before that and the day before that and the day before that . . .”

  “Why so often?” Seanchai wiped away sweat with his shirt.

  “It’s the waiting,” Rhoddan answered. “I’m ready to fight. It’s what I’ve trained for all my life. But you can’t train for the waiting.”

  Seanchai nodded. “Thank you for staying with Ilana to defend the city. I regret to say I think it will require more waiting.”

  “Do you think they’ll even attack here, once you’ve engaged them?”

  “I don’t know,” Seanchai replied, “But Shayth is convinced they will. He says Tarlach will feel a need to destroy the city, no matter what. He’ll want to send a message to all the dwarf clans.”

  “Shayth is hardly objective,” Rhoddan said.

  “Totally not objective,” said a human voice from behind them. Shayth’s eyes were coal-black as always when the rage rose. “My fear is that he’ll lead the forces here and not in pursuit of us. If you get the chance, Rhoddan, kill him without hesitation. I might never forgive you for getting to him before me, but strike as soon as you can. And remember, he is very, very good. He trains as much as you and I, and he has a lot of experience.”