Wycaan Master: Book 03 - Ashbar

by Alon Shalev

  “Shathea,” she replied. “It comes fr–”

  “I know the name. One of my closest friends is a human called Shayth. His fa–”

  “Are you planning to defeat your enemies by talking them to death?” Cheriuk taunted Seanchai, and there was a round of laughter. “Come, show me how an Eastern elf fights.”

  They began to spar slowly, with Cheriuk leading. Even though the pace was comfortable, Seanchai knew almost immediately that his opponent was better than him. As they settled into a rhythm, Seanchai struggled to swallow his pride and learn from his opponent.

  Gradually, Cheriuk sped up and began to use new forms and combinations. Seanchai was clearly on the back foot, but managed to hold his own. The Weapons Master moved among the pairs, but spent a good deal of her time watching Seanchai. Finally, she called for a break, and everyone moved toward a table with water and fruit.

  Shathea walked alongside Seanchai and Cheriuk. “You fight well,” she said pleasantly to Seanchai, and Seanchai saw a dark expression cross Cheriuk’s face.

  “Not as well as I’d like,” Seanchai replied. “My sword training was brief, and my teacher did not know the way of the Win Dao swords. Cheriuk here could have finished me quickly if he had wanted to.”

  “Then why choose swords that your teacher does not know?” Cheriuk asked.

  “Often the Wycaan does not choose the sword; the sword chooses the Wycaan,” Seanchai answered, keeping his voice pleasant. He might not have the skill of Cheriuk, but he had experience. “These swords claimed me at my. . . my transformation.”

  “You went through a ceremony?” another asked.

  “Didn’t you all?”

  “No. We are natural born Wycaans. Our hair is white from birth and as young calhei we display certain characteristics in our abilities.”

  “It doesn’t seem to be that way in the East,” Seanchai replied.

  “You went through a transformation, and then Mhari gave you the swords?” The Weapons Master asked.

  “No,” Seanchai replied. “They came to me during the ceremony, when I was under the water.”

  “I’ve never heard of that,” the Weapons Master said, shaking her head. “They must be meant for you.”

  “Mhari said it was very rare, and she had never witnessed it either.”

  “And you have used them in battle?” another elf asked.

  “Too many times,” Seanchai answered. “They have felled common soldiers and pictorians, but they alone are not enough to face the Emperor.”

  “Pictorians?”

  “They are often eight foot tall, with a horn on their heads and battle in their hearts. They served the Emperor until. . .” he trailed off.

  “I have fought pictorians,” the Weapons Master said. “They are fearsome enemies. Do they not still serve the Emperor?”

  “No,” Seanchai replied, suddenly aware of and embarrassed about how much he was talking about himself. “At the battle of Hothengold, I, um, I convinced the First Boar to remove his troops from the battle. Then, before Sellia and I came here, I went before their high council and persuaded them to join the Alliance. I am hoping they can keep the Emperor’s forces busy until I return.”

  “Have you persuaded anyone else to join you?” Cheriuk’s voice was cynical.

  “The dwarf nation has risen. I was with them in the Bordan Mountains and at the Battle of Hothengold. The Aqua’lansis have also promised help.”

  “You’ve been very busy,” Cheriuk replied.

  “Perhaps, then, you can forgive him for losing his training guards?” Shathea rebuked Cheriuk mildly, and the others laughed. He forced a smile.

  “Cheriuk,” Seanchai said, his voice earnest. “My master, Mhari, said that my ability to create friendships, trust, and alliances was a more powerful weapon than anything else we Wycaans possess.

  “The day will come when I must face the Emperor, and I will need to be the best warrior I can be. Can you set aside your derision while we train and at least help me master the Win Dao swords?”

  Cheriuk stared at him, and Seanchai met his gaze. The group was silent.

  “It’s not about me, Cheriuk. It never was. There are elves, dwarves, and humans who live demeaning lives as slaves and serfs. They crave the freedom you take for granted. Put aide your animosity and help me. If not for me, then for the elves of Odessiya, who pray each night for the return of the Wycaans.”

  Cheriuk slowly put his water skin down on the table and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Then he bowed his head slowly. “With the Weapons Master’s permission, I will help train you.”

  They both turned to the Weapons Master. She nodded her head in accordance, and Seanchai thought he saw a new level of respect when she looked at him. If she was testing him in more than weapons, he realized this had not harmed his cause.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  They broke after another hour of sparring. The Weapons Master and Cheriuk both offered Seanchai advice. Cheriuk, while still not exactly friendly, was at least helpful. Several times, he even acknowledged when Seanchai was able to parry well.

  Pyre was waiting to escort Seanchai to lunch, and he was happy when she took his hand. He was even more thrilled when Shathea asked if Seanchai would join her for a walk after they had eaten.

  Lunch was served in the compound with other Wycaans. Seanchai was still not used to seeing so many white-haired elves, but there were few willing to talk with him. He sat with Pyre and those he had trained with, and all ate in silence.

  When he saw Shathea go to clean her plate, he turned to Pyre. “Are you allowed outside the Wycaan compound?”

  “Of course,” she replied. “When I’m not studying, I visit my parents and play with my friends. Why?”

  “I was just wondering how my friend Sellia is doing. Would you check in on her?”

  Pyre seemed excited at the prospect of a mission. She leaned in and whispered, “Any secret message you want to pass on?”

  “No,” Seanchai smiled.

  “Can I tell her that Shathea likes you?” Pyre had a cheeky expression on her face.

  “Definitely not. Just tell her that the Wycaans are being very supportive. Thank you.”

  He put his arm around her shoulder, gave her a squeeze, and then rose to clean his plate. He saw Shathea waiting for him and pondered what Pyre had just said. He liked Shathea, but needed no unnecessary drama.

  They walked together away from the compound and out into the forest. Shathea asked many questions about Odessiya and what he had done before he came to their land. It occurred to Seanchai that she might be fulfilling a role with her questions, but he had nothing to hide.

  They began climbing, and the tree growth became thinner. A river came into view, and Shathea led him up a rock face, an easy climb. When they reached the top, he saw that they were looking down on a waterfall.

  Below, elves of all ages were swimming and cleaning themselves. Most were naked. Seanchai felt the tips of his ears grow hot and was sure he was blushing. He turned his attention further along the river. An elf was fishing like Denalion had. The technique fascinated him.

  “What are you thinking?” Shathea asked. “Have I pried too much?”

  “No,” Seanchai replied. “I’m enjoying your company. The way your people fish fascinates me. Everything about this place fascinates me. Seeing elves who are free, proud, and unbroken is amazing. Your life here is so idyllic. It’s a far cry from where I grew up.”

  “You will go back in the end, won’t you?”

  Seanchai looked at the elfe. He was surprised by the question. “Of course. I must. I have a responsibility, and so do your people.”

  “We won’t give this up,” Shathea said, her voice gentle, but certain. “We have worked so hard to create what we have.”

  “But how can you live here, knowing what’s happening to your kin in the east?”

  “We didn’t know,” she said. “Perhaps we still don’t.”

  “What do you mean? Sellia and I are
here. Mhari, my teacher, and maybe other Wycaans from the east have been here.” He stopped as a thought crossed his mind. “Shathea. Are you certain that your leaders had no idea what was–what is–happening? They were part of it. Defeated, they fled and established elaborate defenses. Maybe they’ve known all along. Maybe that’s why I’m not welcome and why they fear me.”

  As the thought hit him, a chill coursed through his body. “Shathea. Have the Elves of the West been called to arms before? Did those who came before me ask your people to help?”

  Shathea pulled her hair behind her pointed ears and pursed her lips. “It’s not about the fighting, I don’t think. It’s about opening ourselves up to a society we do not believe in. Look at us. There are no rich or poor, no starving or overfed. There’s no crime here, and when any elf is sick, they receive the best herbs and treatment possible. It is an honor, not a privilege, to sit on the council. Do you understand this, Seanchai? Do you understand what we stand to lose?”

  Seanchai looked at the intensity on her face. “I think I do, Shathea. But there are people, with and without pointed ears, who are suffering. What value can you give to your freedom when you know others are denied it?” He realized that she had not answered his earlier question. “Shathea, I need to know. Have the Elves of the West been called to arms before?”

  “I have not seen anyone come from the east during my lifetime. But stories are whispered around the fire at night. The young and restless wonder what our people ran from and what we left behind.”

  Seanchai stared at her, and she could not return his look.

  “You must ask the elders, Seanchai. Start with the Weapons Master, for it is rumored that she wanted to follow her mate back. Now her mate’s student stands before her with the same request. If she regrets her decision to stay before, maybe now she will not allow herself to be refused a second time.”

  “The Weapons Master and Mhari. . .” He set the thought aside for the present. “Shathea. Will the Weapons Master be able to persuade the High Council?”

  “I’m not sure that should be your goal,” Shathea said with more certainty. “Maybe the council shouldn’t decide for everyone. Make friends, Seanchai. It seems this is what you’re good at. Make friends, and then ask the council to release those who want to come with you.”

  “Will they allow that?”

  She turned now and put a hand on his arm. Her light blue eyes were hard. “If not, then it begs the question: how free are the free Elves of the West?”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Shayth couldn’t believe his eyes. He had been watching Ahad and the Crown Prince for an hour, wondering whether to attack and how. He needed to get Rhoddan to a healer, and Ahad had unwittingly camped only a stone’s throw from their small cave. If they were not going to move, he would have no choice, and he didn’t fancy his chances alone against four men, all academy-trained.

  He was about to return to Rhoddan when he saw the ranger approaching. He waited. He couldn’t hear the conversation, but judging from the body language, there was a confrontation. Shayth glanced around. These rangers were so good, another one could be right next to him and he wouldn’t know.

  Then one of the prince’s bodyguards threw a dirk into the ranger’s back. As the ranger fell forward, Ahad and the Crown Prince both instinctively crouched, bracing for an attack.

  Shayth didn’t hesitate. He already had an arrow nocked, and he took out the bodyguard easily. He heard a roar and the other guard came charging into the brush, right in his direction. Shayth’s second arrow ripped through the man at such close range.

  Then Shayth looked at Ahad. The Crown Prince was restraining him. He watched as they both drew swords, but no attack came. Shayth wasn’t sure if there were any rangers around, but if there were, would they dare attack the Crown Prince and a Master Assassin even if one of theirs had been murdered?

  The two who were alive weren’t the ones who had killed the ranger. Ironically, by killing the one who had slain the ranger, Shayth might have just saved their lives. Maybe taking out the guards was enough. Shayth picked up a small rock and through it over to Ahad’s other side. When Ahad and the prince jumped and faced that direction, Shayth retreated.

  It was two against one now, and Shayth was relieved. He heard movement, and the fire behind him was extinguished. Two shadows moved back in the direction of the Cliftean Pass. In the morning, he would be able to move Rhoddan out.

  When he reached the cave, he heard Rhoddan panting. The fever had returned, and the elf was sweating profusely. He lay in both his own and Shayth’s blanket. Shayth felt his pulse. It was too quick, especially for an elf.

  He pulled the makeshift door over of the cave entrance. It was kind of pathetic, he conceded, but for some reason it made him feel safer. He needed some rest. Tomorrow, they would try and reach the village.

  Another roar came from whatever patrolled the skies, and Shayth looked into the darkness of the cave to avoid losing his night vision to the bright fire. They couldn’t travel by night anymore, which would have made it considerably easier.

  The dawn was still gray and unpromising when Shayth woke to Rhoddan gasping. He helped the elf sip water.

  “You’re a mess, my friend,” Shayth said as water dribbled out of Rhoddan’s numb mouth. “Do you understand me?”

  Rhoddan nodded, though his eyes were glazed.

  “We’re going to move. Maybe the village we circled around yesterday has a healer who can deal with this.”

  Rhoddan muttered something incomprehensible and then shook his head.

  “Either you’re trying to thank me for being such a loyal companion, or telling me to leave you here to haunt these hills. Give it up. I don’t need your thanks, and you don’t need to waste your breath trying to convince me to leave you. I’m going to check if the path is clear.”

  He returned in a couple of minutes. Ahad and the Crown Prince had gone, but Shayth now wondered if rangers were tracking him. He decided not to worry about them, since he wouldn’t find them unless they wanted him to.

  He pulled Rhoddan up onto his feet and began walking, the elf leaning on him heavily. Just maybe, their luck would hold, Shayth thought as they passed through a small wood.

  When they exited the other side of the trees, a sixer of mounted soldiers stared at him. Shayth groaned, and Rhoddan, who had been dozing, moaned. He laid Rhoddan on the ground against a tree and looked around for help.

  The officer took a pace forward. His horse snorted a billow of steam into the crisp air.

  “In the name of the Emperor,” the officer called out, drawing his sword, “Come peacefully, and we won’t harm you.”

  “I’m sure,” Shayth snorted.

  “I said we won’t harm you. What General Shiftan does is his decision.”

  “That’s refreshingly honest of you,” Shayth said. “But I’m not going to be captured again while I’m still alive.” He nocked an arrow. “You and I will go together.”

  “Well, I have no choice,” said the officer straightening up in his saddle. “It is my duty. Know that I leave behind a loving wife and two small boys. You, Prince Shindell, should know what it means to be denied a father.”

  “Can you try to be a bit meaner?” Shayth grimaced. “I prefer to hate someone when I kill them.”

  The officer smiled, but his face was sad. “I take no satisfaction in your capture or from my own death.”

  Just then another soldier maneuvered his horse in front of the officer. He took off his helmet and let it drop, revealing a balding head and weathered face. The helmet bounced on the hard ground. “You can take me, Prince. I be old and can’t stand by while yeh kill a good man. Jetha here be a fine officer and ‘e saved my miserable neck enough times.”

  “Jeez,” Shayth said wearily. He considered lowering his bow, but couldn’t see another way out. “I’m not going to be captured again,” he muttered more to himself. Then out loud: “Let’s end it, then,” he let loose the arrow.

 
The officer and his four remaining soldiers charged. Three fell to arrows that came from the trees behind Shayth, and he, himself, took out the fourth. As the officer reached him, Shayth stepped aside and knocked him from his horse with his bow.

  The man rolled and jumped to his feet, but then froze. Behind Shayth, three rangers approached. Two had bows ready, and a third held a long knife. The officer sighed and threw his sword down. Shayth grabbed the reins of the officer’s horse and offered them to him.

  “Go back to your wife and children, Jetha. For these men’s sacrifices, live an honorable life and teach your boys to do the same.”

  “Take them to the dwarves in the mountains,” one of the rangers said. “I can’t say they’ll be safe, but your sword will be useful.”

  “Take your sword,” Shayth said, throwing it to the man, who was now mounted.

  “Thank you,” Jetha said, looking from Shayth to his fallen friends. “They were all good men,” he said, and then turned and galloped off.

  “Too many of them are,” Shayth replied quietly before turning to face the rangers.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  “I don’t understand,” Shayth said. “Who do you serve?”

  “That’s of no consequence now. You avenged the life of my cousin back there when that scum knifed him in the back. He was merely relaying a message.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss; truly, I am. But if you were shadowing the other ranger, then you work for my uncle, and surely you’ve been given orders what to do should you encounter me.”

  “We’ll help you get your friend to the village. There’s a healer passing through. Rumor tells that she has strange powers. Perhaps she can help him.”

  “Thank you,” Shayth said, as the biggest ranger knelt down, removed Rhoddan’s swords and bag, and pulled the delirious elf up over his shoulder.

  Shayth picked up the pack and swords, and they walked together.