Wycaan Master: Book 03 - Ashbar

by Alon Shalev

  He slowly nodded and the hand over his mouth withdrew, though the knife remained precariously close. Shayth shut his eyes and lay his pounding head down. He actually dozed off and when he woke, it was dark.

  He couldn’t make out the others in what he now thought might be a small cave, but he could sense they were there. His throat was dry and raw. “Water,” he whispered.

  Out of the darkness came a hand at the end of a thin, young arm, and a water skin. Shayth took the skin and drank slowly. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw two faces staring at him. They were young, much younger than him–maybe eight or ten. A third, even younger, was curled in the corner, asleep.

  “Are the soldiers still around?” Shayth whispered.

  “Maybe,” the girl said, but her expression suggested otherwise.

  “I-I think you saved my life,” Shayth said. “Thank you.”

  He tried to sit up. The girl again brought the knife out and pointed it at him. He rubbed his head. “May I sit up and lean against the wall? Please?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “You saved my life,” Shayth said. “I won’t hurt you. Ouch!” He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”

  The boy and girl exchanged glances. She began to lower the knife, but the boy shook his head, and she raised the blade again.

  “I’m going to guess that you’re running from the soldiers,” Shayth said quietly. “So am I. You saw that.”

  “We know who you are,” the boy said. “We ‘eard them soldiers ‘n we’ve seen wanted parchments wiv your face on it. You murder innocent people ‘n kids. You’re Shayth, the traitor.”

  “I am Shayth, that’s true,” Shayth took another gulp of water. “But remember that the people who call me traitor are the same people you’re hiding from. Why are you running?”

  “Soldiers came to our village. Our mum’s a blacksmith ‘n they gave ‘er work to do shoeing ‘orses. She’s the best blacksmith in Odessiya ‘n when they moved on, they told ‘er she’d ‘ave to join ‘em. They threatened to burn the ‘ole village if she didn’t go. They’re short of blacksmiths ‘ere ‘n said it was for the Emperor.”

  “I’m very sorry,” Shayth said. “But why did you leave the village?”

  “We’re going to rescue ‘er,” the girl said.

  “The three of you?”

  “We ‘ave knives,” she said brandishing the blade, “and now we ‘ave you.”

  “Am I a prisoner, or one of your gang?” Shayth tried not to smile.

  They hesitated and looked at each other. Then the girl looked at him, her eyes hopeful and innocent. “You decide,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Shayth led the three children through the forest. The older two chatted about their mother and life in the village. The youngest followed behind and said nothing. Shayth had to keep glancing behind to make sure that he was still there.

  Only when they were near the dwarf’s resistance cell did it occur to Shayth what he was doing.

  “Let’s rest here,” he said, and promptly sat down on a log.

  “But we ‘ad a break just before,” the girl protested.

  “Maybe the prince gets tired ‘cause ‘e’s royal,” the older boy said.

  “I’m not royal,” Shayth snapped, and then felt bad when they cringed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t like being reminded of my past. Let’s just take a moment, okay?”

  “I think ‘e’s just weak,” the youngest said.

  “Are you ganging up on me?” Shayth asked, trying to lighten his own tone.

  “Why don’tcha like bein’ called a prince?” the girl asked.

  “I wanna be called a prince,” the youngest said, sitting next to Shayth, their legs touching.

  Shayth ruffled his hand through his hair, making the spikes rebel and stand up even straighter.

  “I lost my father and mother, and I’m convinced that the Emperor murdered them.”

  All three children were staring at him now. The youngest shook his head. “But wasn’t the Emperor your father’s big brother? He wouldn’t ‘ave. . .” he glanced over at his own big brother, his expression wide-eyed.

  “Anyway,” Shayth said. “That’s why I don’t like being called a prince. I gave it up and ran away from the palace forever.”

  “You were our age when y’ran away, weren’tcha?” the girl asked.

  Shayth nodded.

  “And then. . . and then you. . .” she didn’t know how to continue, so Shayth did it for her.

  “I was hurt, and angry, and afraid. I had no one to guide me–not like the three of you, who have each other. I did some very bad things, and I’m ashamed of them now. I was an angry boy–mean, and looking for a fight. But when I met the Wycaan, I found a fight for a cause nobler than anger and revenge. Can you understand?”

  He stopped. He himself was shocked at this revelation. The four of them went very quiet. Then the girl moved and sat next to Shayth. She put her thin hand on his arm.

  “Our mother says people can change, ‘specially when they’re young,” the girl said quietly. “I think you’re a better person now.”

  “I’m not sure I–”

  “And maybe y’are still the prince,” she continued. “You just need a chance t’ let the prince-ness come out. Maybe fighting for the Wycaan will do that.”

  Shayth patted her hand. “Thank you,” he said, and meant it. “You’re very kind, but I don’t think I’m meant to be a ruler.”

  “Would you take a mother away from three little children?” the smallest asked. Shayth shook his head, and the little boy continued. “Then I think you can be a prince. Those soldiers took our mummy ‘cause the Emperor wanted ‘em to. They said so. I think you’d make a nicer Emperor.”

  “Me, too,” his brother said.

  “And me,” said a voice from behind them.

  The children jumped, but Shayth didn’t move. “This is my friend Rhoddan. He’s an elf, and they have very good hearing. Sometimes too good.”

  They all rose and found the big elf in a green cloak that only partially concealed his hefty broadsword. Rhoddan never felt comfortable around children.

  “Greetings,” he said with a stiff smile that somehow made him look fiercer. “I need to speak to you, Shayth.”

  They moved to the side, away from the children.

  “A scout has been tracking you and Ballendir is adamant. You can’t bring these children to the camp. Once they join us, we cannot let them leave and give us away. You have to leave them here, now, or take them back to wherever you found them.”

  “They’re going to rescue their mother, who was conscripted as a blacksmith.”

  Rhoddan glanced back at the children. The girl smiled and waved. He leaned closer to Shayth. “I’m not sure I fancy their chances. Let’s get them back to their village.”

  “Are you going to persuade them?”

  Rhoddan walked over to the children, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Listen, brave humans, your mother is safe.”

  “’ow do you know?” the older boy asked.

  “Because the army desperately needs a good blacksmith, and she’s good, right?”

  “She’s the best,” the youngest said, almost offended by the question.

  “You can’t rescue her,” Rhoddan said, raising his hands as he saw them bristle. “It’s not because you’re not brave. If she runs away, the army will come to the village and take revenge. They do that, you know.

  “Your mother would never want that to happen. She’d prefer for you to live safely in the village until she can return for you.”

  “But who’ll look after us?” the little girl asked.

  “We’ll take care of that,” Rhoddan said. “Shayth, um–the prince–and I will escort you back and take care of everything.”

  “We will?” Shayth asked, glaring at Rhoddan for calling him a prince.

  The children looked from one to the other and agreed. They immediately set o
ff back the way they had come. That evening, they camped near the spot where the children had found Shayth. As they sat around the fire, the children peppered Shayth with questions about the palace and royal life. Shayth answered them with truth when he could and stories when he couldn’t. He didn’t remember much from his childhood; neither did he want to dig into his past to try. But he humored them.

  They walked the whole of the next day and camped in a deep wood. Shayth hunted and caught a young deer, which they cooked over a spit. Again, the children plied him with questions, often the same ones and he spun more stories.

  The following morning, they walked until nearly midday, when they passed through rough, but cultivated fields. Another day and a half of walking and questions, and then they were passing thatched huts and small enclaves for animals.

  “That’s our house,” the girl exclaimed, and pulled Shayth inside. The place was empty, but nothing inside had been touched. The children all gravitated toward toys and the single table.

  Shayth went back outside to stand with Rhoddan. A few villagers were approaching them, all wearing stern expressions.

  “I hope you have a good idea,” Shayth said. “It doesn’t look like anyone worried too much when these children ran off.”

  “Put your hood on,” Rhoddan replied.

  The big elf crossed his arms and stared at the ragged bunch, now numbering at least thirty. Some held scythes, pitchforks, and other agricultural tools that could be used for tasks other than what they were made for. The sight of two big and well-armed men didn’t provide much inclination to be hospitable.

  “Who is the council here?” Rhoddan demanded, his voice deep and clear.

  From the crowd, two elderly women stepped forward. “There is another,” one said, “but she’s poorly right now.”

  “The two of you speak for the village?”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “We brought back these three children. You know who they are?”

  The two women nodded, almost in unison.

  “And you know who their mother is and why she is not here?”

  Again they nodded.

  “There are two solutions,” Rhoddan continued. “Either you agree to care for the children until their mother can return, or we’ll go get her and bring her back here to take care of them herself. You should know that if we take her from her conscription, we’ll be followed by a very angry regiment of the Emperor’s finest, who won’t be happy at losing such an accomplished blacksmith.”

  There was a murmur among the crowd. Then one of the old women looked up. “How do we know you would do that?”

  “I am, indeed, a very pleasant chap,” Rhoddan said, peering down at her, “and it might be hard to imagine that I’d do such a thing. But my friend here has a bit of a reputation. He’s been known to be a little crazy.”

  As Shayth removed his hood, the little girl, who had followed him out, announced: “Do you not know who this is? ‘e’s Prince Shayth Shindell.”

  And then, in one movement, the thirty or so villagers went down each on one knee and bowed their heads.

  “You ‘ave our word,” one of the old women said. “We will do the bidding of the prince.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Snow swirled around Seanchai and Sellia. They kept their faces covered and the pictorians’ fur coats wrapped tight. But nothing could stop the penetrating cold. Their eyes watered, their ears rang, and their hands and feet were numb.

  The storm had been raging for hours and there was no sign of it abating. When two horses fell to the ground, Seanchai took out his swords and ended their misery. The final horse pulled the sleigh, but it, too, fell shortly after. Seanchai barely had the strength to drive his blade home this time, and his muscles screamed against the movement.

  He wrapped the thick leather harness around his shoulders. Slowly, he began to drag the sleigh, but Sellia shook her head when she saw him struggling. He took off the harness, undid the furs that covered the sleigh and helped Sellia inside. He crawled in with her and closed the furs around them. Clumsily, they clung to each other desperate to share any body heat.

  “S-s-s-s-so c-o-o-o-o-o-ld,” Sellia chattered.

  Gradually, the furs above them pushed in, weighed down by accumulating snow. Seanchai thought he felt warmer, and dozed off to sleep.

  Seanchai woke to the sounds of scraping and bear grunts instead of howling wind. The furs were pressing in, and it occurred to him that the skins that had saved them might have also attracted their guests. Then he could make out sunlight filtering through the snow. The bears were digging Seanchai and Sellia out.

  A few minutes later, the sounds stopped. Seanchai waited a few moments, and then pushed his way out. He fell onto the ice, his body stiff and uncooperative. Pulling himself up with help from the sleigh, he saw that the horses’ carcasses had been ripped clean. As his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, he could make out four ice bears nearby. They were pure white, except for the red staining their mouths and paws.

  The bears grunted as they gnawed bones. When Seanchai stumbled, they looked up from the carcasses and sniffed the air. A few more grunts and they lumbered away from the dead horses and the Wycaan.

  “Thank you,” Seanchai whispered, unable to speak any louder. He hoped the bears had heard.

  He rose and staggered over to wake Sellia and dig her and the sled out from under the snow. She didn’t stir, but he could see steam escaping her nose as she exhaled. He looked up and saw they were near the end of the ice sheet.

  With renewed hope, Seanchai put the harness around him and began to pull the sleigh. It moaned in protest, but slowly he was able to pull it. He felt around for a source of energy to give himself strength, but there were no trees or water or plants.

  He heard a growl behind him and focused his thoughts on the great ice bears. Left foot, right foot, left, right. The image of the great bears, bloodstained and staring at him with their ice-blue eyes, filled his senses and gave him the energy as his legs slowly pulled the sledge forward.

  Seanchai finally pulled the sleigh off of the ice by a rock hill. There was no wind, so he untied the fur from the sleigh and pulled out the remaining wood. It was damp, but he piled it into a small mound and, channeling considerable energy, lit it. He pulled Sellia over to lie next to it. He removed her furs and rubbed her arms and legs, breathing heavily from exhaustion. He turned her toward the fire on her side and rubbed her back.

  Finally, he elicited a sigh from her, and it was the most beautiful sigh he could imagine. She moved her body closer to the fire without opening her eyes. Seanchai added the remaining wood and collapsed on the other side. He quickly fell asleep.

  He woke to Sellia pouring a warm liquid down his throat. He coughed and struggled away.

  “Easy, boy,” Sellia said. “I’ve been trying to warm you some, but the wood is almost gone, and I don’t have the energy to give you a rub down. Drink this. We need to move on.”

  Seanchai sat up with considerable effort and tried to open his eyes. He took the mushroom drink, with its spiraling steam, and brought it to his mouth. It filled his insides with warmth, and he began to feel better.

  “We made it, Sellia,” he said. “I wasn’t sure we would.”

  She smiled at him. “That was crazy. I thought we were dead. I kept having strange dreams of ice bears hugging me and rubbing me to stay warm. Ice bears. Weird, no?”

  “Yeah,” Seanchai said, clutching the cup and staring back toward the ice and the bears. “Weird.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Seanchai was able to pull the sleigh up a gentle incline for the next day with relative ease. But the path became considerably steeper on the second day, and, by lunchtime, they were also seeing tracks of other travelers.

  “We need to leave the path,” Sellia said when they saw some mounted horses ahead of them. “What is left in the sleigh?”

  Most of what remained was dried food and fur. They repacked their bags to accommodate the extra suppli
es, and Seanchai rolled up the fur skins.

  “You planning to carry that?” Sellia quipped. “I don’t want you holding me back.”

  Seanchai laughed as he stroked the rich fur. Almost every night now, in his dreams, he ran with the bears, fished with them, and once had hunted down an elk. It was exhilarating.

  “We have ten days of fast walking,” Sellia said. “We’re going to follow a path across the ridge there. I want us off this trail. It’s not supposed to be well used, but Umnesilk thought we might encounter refugees trying to remain unobtrusive.”

  By late afternoon, they had climbed up near the ridge and would soon make it onto the narrow path Sellia was aiming for. As she turned a tight bend, she stopped abruptly, and Seanchai almost knocked into her. There were shouts coming from the main path beneath them.

  A man laughed, and then a woman screamed. Children and another woman cried out for the man to stop whatever he was doing. Seanchai began to move forward, but Sellia grabbed his arm.

  “There’s only one way through, and we’re going to have to pass troops stationed there already. If they find out you’re here now, these hills will be swarming with battalions, and the pass filled with soldiers.

  Another female scream pierced the air and was followed by two men laughing.

  “I can’t walk past whatever’s happening down there,” he hissed. “They’re females, Sellia.”

  She flinched, remembering the two men who had caught her on their way to Uncle’s camp. “Let’s see if we can stop them without you being seen. Come.”

  Sellia threw down her bags and ran along the path, bow in hand. Seanchai did the same, and when he caught up with her, she was leaning against a rock.

  “Let me go alone, Seanchai. I might be able to deal with this. If not, you can jump in and swirl your swords.”

  He nodded and watched as she made her way down from one rock to another. She was so graceful, so balanced. She stopped behind a tall rock and peered around it. Seanchai moved along the ridge above her and now saw the scene below. There were three men, humans in dirty uniforms. Deserters, he guessed, too desperate or stupid to even change clothes.