Wycaan Master: Book 03 - Ashbar

by Alon Shalev

  He knew how much his father had enjoyed the trust and loyalty of his finest general, and Phineus wanted to bind Ahad to him in a similar way. Surely Ahad would possess the strategic mind of his father. He would be a powerful asset when the Crown Prince took the throne.

  Phineus headed toward the showers. He knew where to find Ahad, but he also knew that his friend needed to calm down. A hand on his shoulder pulled him short of his next step. He didn’t turn around. He could smell the pipe weed that caught in the Sword Master’s bushy moustache.

  “I can teach him many things, my prince, but what he needs most right now, only you can give him.”

  Chapter Five

  “It’s me, Phineus,” the Crown Prince said softly as he neared the huge tomb in the cemetery.

  Ahad stared down at his friend from atop the stone cube where he was perched. The Crown Prince hated his name and rarely used it. He was making a conciliatory statement, and Ahad knew he should appreciate it. His legs dangled over the side of the oversized tomb as he stared down on the plot where his father was buried, the earth still free of weeds, still fresh.

  There was no tombstone yet. Traditionally, the grave remained unmarked for a year. But there was a mass of flowers and ornaments, constant reminders that the great General Tarlach had many friends and admirers. At first, Ahad had come and read the notes left behind by fellow officers, soldiers who had served under his command, and commoners who felt they owed him their lives.

  In the streets, people had approached him to offer condolences and tributes to his father’s generous deeds. It irked Ahad, as much as he hated to admit it, because these people seemed to know his father better than he did. He soon began to walk the streets with a hood on, his head hidden deep within his cowl, and he stopped reading the letters left on his father’s tomb.

  “My father is worried you might try to leave on your own.” Phineus said. “I would counsel you against this. Even when you finish your training with the assassins, you should wait for his orders.”

  Ahad did not reply. The Crown Prince jumped nimbly up onto the tomb and sat beside his friend. He waited a while, but the silence irked him.

  “You have not visited your grandfather of late. He is recovering well and has the finest physicians. But he misses you. He has lost his son. You should not deny him his only grandson while you are still in the capital.”

  No reply.

  “Ahad, I’m talking to you . . . as your friend.”

  “I know,” Ahad whispered. “I appreciate your patience, and the Emperor’s. It was a nice gesture to bring my grandfather into the palace.”

  “Then you should thank him for it yourself,” Phineus replied. “He will return in a week or so, and you should seek out an audience with him.”

  Ahad nodded, but did not respond. Then, as he digested what the Crown Prince had said, he stopped dangling his legs.

  “I didn’t know the Emperor was abroad.”

  “He doesn’t advertise it. In fact, he has doubles wandering around the palace and replacing him in ceremonies so that no one knows. He fears his enemies might try to take advantage of his absence.”

  “Where does he go?”

  “Not sure. But before he leaves, he is grumpy and short-tempered. When he returns, he is more relaxed and has more energy. He even looks younger. It’s kind of cool.”

  Ahad stared at his friend. He wondered how well Phineus knew his own father. The Emperor had revealed to Ahad that he was a Wycaan himself and that only he could now defeat the elf who rode with Shayth. He had ordered Ahad never to reveal this secret, so Ahad couldn’t even ask Phineus if he knew.

  The Emperor had given him permission to kill Shayth, the Emperor’s nephew and sent him to study with the Emperor’s assassins. His training was almost over and Ahad pondered whether he would be allowed to leave and track his father’s murderer. But his thoughts went to his grandfather.

  “I have not been to see my grandfather because I am ashamed that his son is dead and I stay in the palace doing nothing,” he conceded to the Crown Prince.

  “There is another reason, is there not?”

  “Yes,” Ahad sighed. “I fear that when I leave, he’ll give up the will to live.”

  “Then,” the Crown Prince said enthusiastically, “you should go and seek his permission to leave, and then ask my father to let you go. I think you will show respect by asking.”

  “Why should I try to please your father?” Ahad snapped, and then felt chagrined by his outburst.

  “Well, to begin with, he’s your Emperor,” Phineus replied patiently. “But there’s another reason. You’re about to make him very angry.”

  “How is that?” Ahad smiled despite his mood. The Crown Prince knew how to make him laugh.

  “By taking me along with you.”

  Ahad turned to his friend and laughed. “Is this a joke? Okay, you made me laugh. I credit you. Right now, that is no easy feat.”

  But Phineus’ face was serious. “Do you think I would let my best friend march alone into battle against a violent psychopath and an elf with strange, formidable powers?

  “Your father was part of a secret, tight-knit group led by my uncle. My father knew of this group and was both threatened and impressed by it.”

  “He knew?” Ahad was shocked, but quickly recovered. “How interesting. Why, then, did he allow it?”

  “Ironically, the group never threatened my father as long as he took care of them. Once they lost their leader, they had no motivation to rebel or challenge their emperor. They were all his best officers, so he promoted them and won their loyalty.”

  “He’s. . .” Ahad searched for the word to reflect his emotions. “He’s very impressive.”

  “Yes,” Phineus agreed. “He’s always several moves ahead of everyone else. I think sometimes that he possesses special powers.” He laughed. “When I was a boy, I would beg him to tell me his secrets. He always promised he would, but he never did, and I stopped asking as I grew older.”

  “You cannot come with me,” Ahad said, returning to their bone of contention. “You are the crown prince and must be groomed, ready to take over one day.”

  “Am I a horse to be groomed?” Phineus laughed. “My uncle learned that you bind people to you through good leadership and bravery in the field. That is why he was so often abroad and in the thick of military campaigns. I plan to be out there, too, with a small band of our best soldiers and future generals. And you, my friend, will be first among them.”

  “I appreciate your strategy,” Ahad replied, “but you won’t slip that past your father.”

  “I actually don’t plan to ask,” the Crown Prince replied.

  “But what if he confronts you? You cannot lie to him. None of us can.”

  “I will tell him that I, too, want to kill Shayth and the elf. He killed the man who was a close friend of my father, an honored general of the Emperor’s army and, most importantly, the father of my best friend.”

  Ahad put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. He knew he was not supposed to touch royalty, but he did it anyway. “I shouldn’t be encouraging you, but thank you,” he said, and actually smiled.

  Chapter Six

  Sellia missed Rhoddan and Shayth. They had not been together for long, but during such intense times they had bonded, and she found them to be good company. Rhoddan was funny when he was not trying so hard to be a great warrior. Shayth was more enigmatic, and this made him intriguing. The time they spent together, when not killing or fleeing soldiers or pictorians, had been comfortable.

  For now, she stared across the smoldering fire pit at Seanchai. He was standing, his eyes closed and his arms in front of him as though hugging a tree. She had hugged him a lot, herself, in these past weeks. She would wake to his quiet sobbing and go to him. Now she slept next to him and when he reached for her, she pulled him close. There was nothing sexual, nothing romantic. Seanchai’s grief was all-consuming.

  During the day they rode without conversatio
n. When he spoke to her, it was to ask the way or inquire after her needs. But otherwise, the steady trotting of their horses was the only sound they made.

  Sellia rose and picked up her bow. Her only enjoyment and escape was hunting. She was good at it; her aim was deadly, her stealth impressive, and she much preferred it to killing humans and pictorians.

  Sellia walked for about ten minutes before she heard running water and made a mental note to replenish their water skins before leaving. She saw that the narrow stream widened as it rounded a bend, and there was a patch of earth free of bushes and trees.

  She gasped at the beautiful stag sipping at the water’s edge. His long tongue elegantly rolled water into its mouth. He stopped regularly and looked around, ears flicking, on constant alert. There was no wind; he could not possibly smell her.

  The stag kept up its watchful state and several times seemed to look past Sellia toward their camp. Perhaps he had seen or smelled them earlier. She quietly removed her bow and nocked an arrow. The stag looked up again and turned its head. A doe exited the brush and joined him. She was beautiful, a light brown color with white spots. She came to the water and drank while he looked around. When she raised her head, the stag nuzzled her face, and the doe leaned in.

  Sellia lowered her bow and watched. She caught herself recalling how she often slept these days with her head on Seanchai’s chest, and how in his sleep, she was sure, he bent his head to encompass the crown of hers. . . like the stag was doing to his doe.

  Sellia was joined with the elf; she had sworn to be so, and believed she could love him, but still, she was lonely. She was in Seanchai’s presence, but found no entrance into his mind or heart.

  The stag and doe jerked their heads in her direction in unison and fled. She stood, stretching her cramped muscles. Had they discovered her, or. . .? The realization hit her, and, as she swung around, a fist sent her sprawling.

  When she came to, a man was on top of her, holding her hands above her head. A second human, also male, held her bow and knives.

  “A pretty one we ‘ave ‘ere, eh ‘ubert?” said the one straddling her.

  He reached down to touch her cheek, and she bared her teeth.

  “Oooh, she ‘as spirit, too,” he laughed through crooked, yellowing teeth.”’er ears are pointed. Look, ‘ubert, a dark-skinned she-elf. Ain’t never seen one o’ them.”

  “Elfe,” Sellia snapped. The term she-elf was derogatory, and her reaction automatic.

  “Shut up,” the man said and squeezed her mouth with a big, greasy hand. The other trapped her hands. “You’ll use that mouth fer kissin’, sweet’eart, nothin’ else.”

  He bent forward, lips puckered, and Sellia jerked her head to the side. This made the man laugh. His friend leaned forward. “Maybe she jist fancies me, Kullan. You c’n unnerstan’ why.”

  Both men laughed and leered at her, and then Hubert put his knife over her throat. She could feel the coldness of the blade against her skin, and he leaned forward.

  “Not a word, she-elf,” he warned. “We can be nice t’ ya if yer nice t’ us.”

  He turned the blade and cut the string at the top of her shirt. He put his knife between his yellow teeth and slid his hand inside. Sellia gasped and felt rage rising. She was panting now, trying to control both her fear and anger.

  The man stopped, leaving his hand where her chest began to swell. “Kullan? What if she ain’t alone? Don’t think a beauty like this, even wiv a bow ‘n blade, would be out by ‘erself.”

  “You should have thought of that before,” said an icy voice behind them, and the crisp rasp of swords leaving their scabbards sliced through the air.

  Sellia felt the man on top of her shift his weight. Pressing her feet into the ground, she bucked and he fell off. She rolled away from him, but neither man gave her much thought now that they faced a huge, white-haired elf holding two thin, curved swords.

  “All a mistake,” said Kullan, apparently deciding that their tag team wouldn’t have quite the same power over Seanchai as over Sellia.

  “Won’t do that again,” said his friend, backing away.

  “No,” Seanchai growled. “You won’t.”

  Kullan had backed into Sellia, who grabbed a dagger from his belt, jerked his chin up, and cut his throat, all in one smooth and swift movement. Blood sprayed in a fan as he swayed before toppling over. Hubert held his sword in front of him, jerking it from side to side, facing first Seanchai and then Sellia. He feared them both now, and the tip of his sword shook as he glanced down at the blood still trickling from his crumpled partner’s throat.

  “All a mistake,” he said backing up. “Big misunderstanding.”

  He turned and fled. Sellia retrieved her bow and swung her quiver over her back. “I need to hunt,” she said coldly and disappeared after the fleeing man.

  When Sellia returned to their camp, Seanchai had packed everything up and strapped their bags to the two horses that today would not bear the elves. She walked over to one of the horses and began checking the knots.

  Seanchai moved behind her and gently turned her around. He pulled her against him and held her tightly. Suppressed emotions welled up, and she burst out crying. Her whole body shook, and she pulled him tightly to her.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he said quietly into her hair.

  “You’re never there for me,” she snapped back between breaths, and they were both surprised at her vehemence.

  Seanchai, after a moment of hesitation, pulled her tighter.

  “How long until we reach Uncle’s camp?” he asked.

  She pulled away from him, shocked that he had ignored her revelation. “Two days,” she snapped.

  He reached out, gently cupped her face in his hands, and looked with great intensity into her eyes. “I must face Uncle and beg his forgiveness. It will be one hundred days before we leave his camp, the end of my mourning. Then,” his voice quivered, “I will be there for you. I’ll try and give you what you deserve. However, you may choose to stay with Uncle and reclaim your place with his group.”

  “I took the oath to Ilana,” she reminded him in a whisper. “I swore in the ancient language.”

  Seanchai’s eyes welled with tears.

  “We will never forget her,” Sellia said. “I promise.”

  Chapter Seven

  Seanchai lay awake. They had entered the forest where Uncle’s camp was. Sellia knew every tree. She had lived here for most of her life as one of Uncle’s resistance fighters. But Seanchai had stayed for only a few days, and when he left, he took Ilana, Uncle’s only daughter, with him.

  Now he was returning to break the news that the great man, who had already lost his wife, had also lost his daughter. Seanchai would rather fight a hundred enraged pictorians than give Uncle this news.

  He could have saved her. Tarlach had poisoned Ilana, but he had an antidote. The price he demanded was Seanchai’s surrender to the Emperor. Mhari, Seanchai’s teacher, had warned him that the ruler of Odessiya was more powerful than him. How could anyone be more powerful than a Wycaan?

  He would have gone, though. To save Ilana’s life, he would have freely sacrificed his own. But she had made him swear. Ashbar. He had given his word in the unbreakable ancient language.

  Sellia stirred in his arms. It was cold, and her body sought only warmth. He leaned in and smelled her hair. Though they traveled, the rich, musty scent he had come to associate with her still emanated from her hair and skin.

  Sellia had also sworn a binding oath to Ilana. She had sworn to stay with Seanchai, to be his companion and his consort. He wondered how she felt about that. For now it didn’t matter, because they both mourned Ilana and anything else seemed a million leagues away. But what had she said? You are never there for me.

  She stirred and mumbled something indistinguishable, and he drew her tighter to him.

  Uncle, he thought. He would get no sleep tonight.

  Seanchai knew they would be seen long before they re
ached Uncle’s camp. The rebel leader was vastly experienced and would have sentries posted in every direction. Seanchai wondered what he should say and sighed deeply. His lungs filled with the smell of the forest, of leaf and moss, and his mind suddenly took him back to his home village.

  Seanchai was ashamed that he rarely thought of those who had shielded him all his childhood and sent him into the night to escape the grips of the army. He had been told it was so he could escape conscription, but it occurred to him that they had known. They had known and paid for it with their–

  He felt rather than heard the sudden presence. He reached out with his mind, scrying to distinguish friend or foe. If soldiers or rangers were tracking him, then he could not lead them to Uncle’s base.

  He pulled his horse up and told Sellia in an unnecessarily loud voice that he needed a moment of privacy. He dismounted and gave her both horses. As she took the reins, their eyes met. Seanchai knew that she understood. As he turned to disappear into the brush, he saw her carefully loosen her blades.

  Seanchai skirted the area and came up behind where he had sensed the man. But there was no one there. He began to scry again, but when he heard Sellia laugh, he relaxed and returned to her.

  “Seanchai,” she called as he exited the bushes, “do you remember Chamack?”

  “Well met, Wycaan,” a tall, dark-haired elf said, extending his arms in the universal sign for peace. “You rescued me, Sellia and Luvial from the wolfheids.”

  “Well met, Chamack,” Seanchai replied, his voice steady. “Did we not also fight together outside the walls of Galbrieth?”

  “Indeed, my frien. . .” Chamack stared at his face. “Life has been hard on you.” This was not posed as a question.