Wycaan Master: Book 03 - Ashbar

by Alon Shalev

  “Young Phineus,” Shayth replied. “I’m surprised to see you so near a battle, and all alone. Why are you creeping off? Did you plan to hide until your dear father cleans up out there?”

  “You insult me, cousin. It has been a long time and I have passed through the academy. I left my fear back with my diapers. And you assume much if you think that, unlike you, I would be alone.” He nodded behind Shayth.

  “I’ve been waiting a long time to face the boy who bullied me all those years,” Ahad said, removing black leather gloves. “Now that we have him cornered, he looks quite pathetic, doesn’t he, Phineus?”

  The Crown Prince laughed, but Ahad was serious. “I might not have bothered, but I heard you asked the elf to let you fight and kill my father. Did you really ask the Wycaan to let you kill him, Shayth? The Wycaan didn’t force you, did he? You wanted it. Tell me true. I need to know.”

  “I did,” Shayth replied slowly. “Would you also like to know why, Ahad? Your father was no noble knight from a child’s fairytale. He killed tens of thousands of men, women, and children without remorse. He tortured and abused anyone who got in his way, including his own soldiers. And though he swore an oath to protect me as a boy, he stood aside when little Phini’s father murdered his own brother to quench his thirst for power. Your father was a murderer and an oath-breaker. Nothing more.

  “Yes, I asked to fight him, but I’m not sure if the Wycaan would have allowed me to if his mate hadn’t been poisoned by your dear father. She lay writhing in pain at your father’s feet. The Wycaan had to make a choice between surrender and the antidote, and he, dear Ahad, is no oath-breaker. He had sworn to Ilana that he would not sacrifice his work to save her, and he walked away from his soul mate. Only then did I step forward and fight your father.”

  Shayth stared into Ahad’s eyes. “You know I tell the truth, don’t you? You are not like him.” There was surprise in his voice. “Ahad. Your father was responsible for all his choices. To his credit, I believe he would agree with me on that. He never begged for mercy, denied any accusations, or made excuses for his actions. But I don’t believe he would want you to walk the same path.

  “The Emperor is going to fall. He has a son woefully inadequate to take over, so who will rule the new Odessiya?” Shayth saw Ahad stay the Crown Prince, who was ready to spring.

  “Do you think it will be you, Prince Shindell?” Ahad asked sarcastically. “I hear people drop to their knees before you. Rather premature, no?”

  “Him?” Phineus said, circling Shayth cautiously. “He has left a trail of blood and violence in his path. All Odessiya waits for him to hang and will celebrate his death.”

  Shayth spoke only to Ahad. “I regret much of what I have done since my parents were murdered. But the Wycaan has changed me. It’s the most powerful part of his magic. When you meet him, you will understand. He is the moral face of Odessiya, so unlike the three of us. Meet him, Ahad. I promise you safe passage if you leave him. I also give you my word that I will not claim the throne if you take it and become a just ruler.”

  “Why would you do that?” Ahad asked.

  Shayth noted that Ahad had not questioned whether he could trust Shayth’s promises. “Because I believe you struggle with what is right and wrong. Because I am convinced you have more of your mother in you than your father. But even your father was never purely evil. I believe he had many good traits, and I believe. . .” Shayth’s voice broke. He was so shocked at the revelation and heard his own voice waiver. “I believe that he really regretted his choices. He loved my father, and I believe they’re both up there in the next world rooting for us to form our own alliance.”

  Ahad didn’t move.

  “This is crazy,” Phineus cried. “He’s toying with you, you fool. I will kill him.” He produced a small bow from his hip and aimed at Shayth. “My father will rejoice that I killed you, and, after you, I will find that pathetic elf and do what Ahad’s father was too weak to do. I am the Crown Prince of Odessiya. I know what must be done. I was born for this.”

  He raised the crossbow, but the arrow he fired careened into the sky. The Crown Prince of Odessiya froze and, eyes wide open, fell backward, an assassin’s shryken death disc protruding from his forehead.

  As Phineus’s body hit the dirt, a ground-shaking roar filled the air. Shayth turned to Ahad, whose throwing hand was frozen in front of him. “Get out of here. The Emperor comes to avenge the death of his son. I will face him.”

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  “Congratulations,” the ice-cold voice came from behind him, and Shayth swung round. The Emperor of Odessiya jumped down from the rock he stood on and stooped to check Phineus’ pulse in one fluid motion and gently closed his son’s eyes.

  “He could not have ruled after me, I know, but he was my son all the same.” He covered the boy’s head with his hood. Then he turned to Shayth and sighed.

  “The irony is that, had he not been born, you and your father would have succeeded me in time. His birth set off a series of regrettable events that left none of us in a flattering position.” He glanced at his son and sighed again, shaking his head.

  “You have also sentenced Ahad to death and so prevented him from staking his claim. He, at least, had potential. So, Shayth, what do we do? I actually think I could train you and that you might even become a good leader for the people. Succession is back in your hands, and we are where we would have been if he had not been born. How ironic don’t you think?”

  “That roar,” Shayth said, ignoring the question, “it came from you?”

  The Emperor answered by slowly unraveling his turban. His hair was snow white, shiny, and vibrant. “I, too, am a Wycaan. Another irony. You needed one to heal your wounds and bring you within grasp of fulfilling your destiny. You traveled so far to find one, and yet there was one in the family all this time.”

  He laughed, but stopped at Shayth’s scowl. “I did not need any Wycaan, Uncle. I know little of your order, but I suspect there are good Wycaans and bad.”

  “Oh come now, Shayth. It’s far more complex than simply right and wrong. But I concede, your friend seems to have certain qualities that maybe I don’t. Still, in the end that will not prove to be enough. I roared because I wanted Ahad to run and, in truth, you as well. And I wanted the young elf to come scurrying to protect you.

  “He comes as I wished, but you are still here. Don’t fight me Shayth. I am infinitely more powerful than you despite your big heart. This is one fight you cannot take on for him. I am not General Tarlach, and he is not the lost elf he was back then.

  “Walk away for now, and I will give him the chance to come with me to the palace. We are two Wycaans, and he needs a teacher.”

  “And if he refuses?”

  The Emperor shrugged. “I will kill him.”

  “There are other Wycaans back there, you know.”

  “Yes, I have watched closely. Only one is a master. I can assure you that I will not underestimate her, but she is old and not my match any more, if she ever was. I roared, Shayth, but I can do far more than just make noise. It is the mark of a Wycaan Master. I am the only one who can sustain an animal form, and mine is formidable.

  “The Wycaan approaches, nephew. Go with Ahad. If you both make your way to the capital, I will take you under my wing and maybe Ahad as well, for his father’s sake. Go. This is not your fight.”

  Shayth hesitated, broadsword in hand, though he couldn’t recall drawing it from its sheath. He flexed his sword hand. The hilt was comfortable in his grasp, but he knew he could not win.

  “He’s right, Shayth,” Seanchai said, walking into the gorge, his voice calm and measured. “Please leave us. And take Rhoddan with you.”

  Rhoddan began to object, but Shayth turned to Seanchai.

  “You sure?” he said quietly.

  “If you are here, he will use you against me,” Seanchai whispered. He put an arm on Shayth’s shoulder and his other on Rhoddan. “Mhari warned me that my loyalties wou
ld be my downfall. I need you both safely out of the way.”

  “Can you take him?” Rhoddan asked. “Honestly, now.”

  Seanchai’s smile was grim. “I don’t know. He’s more certain than me, but that might be to my advantage. Please go. Try to finish the battle while the Emperor and I fight. Then get everyone out of here. Okay? And Rhoddan, Sellia found her family back in the Forest of Markwin. Take her back there and help her make a new start.”

  Rhoddan nodded. Seanchai squeezed his shoulder. “Tell her I love her.”

  Rhoddan’s eyes were full of tears. He was a warrior through and through, but at this moment, he was first and foremost Seanchai’s closest friend.

  “Promise me you’ll go, Rhoddan. Say it.”

  Rhoddan took a deep breath. “Ashbar,” he said, and let go of Seanchai. He drew his broadsword and ran back to the battle.

  Seanchai turned to Shayth. “Is it true? Do they call you Prince Shindell now?”

  Shayth nodded.

  “What made you change?”

  “You,” Shayth said. “Even with the deaths of your parents, Ilana, and Mhari, you never strayed from your path. And–just maybe–this is the best way I can honor my own father.”

  Seanchai squeezed Shayth’s shoulder. “Then whatever happens now, Prince Shindell, lead your people to freedom, and make your father proud.”

  They hugged, and, when they disengaged, Shayth turned to the Emperor. “If you kill him, I will come to the capital as you request. But it will be with my sword in my hand to avenge the deaths of my parents and best friend.”

  The Emperor shrugged. “I’ll be waiting for you, young prince.”

  Shayth turned away and ran after Rhoddan, back into the thick of the battle.

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Seanchai drew his Win Dao swords and took a defensive stance. But the Emperor turned back to the rock he had jumped from and sat down.

  “Not so fast, young Wycaan. We’ll get to that, but first, let’s talk. You have my word that I will not attack you while we sit here, unless you try first. Ashbar.”

  Seanchai sheathed his swords and moved to sit. The ancient language sounded wrong when spoken by the Emperor, but he was Wycaan trained and therefore bound by the magic of the language.

  The Emperor regarded Seanchai at length before speaking again. “So you made it to the Elves of Markwin and persuaded them to join you,” the Emperor stated. “Well done.”

  “How does that make you feel?” Seanchai asked, anxious to grab the upper hand. “They let me in, accepted me.”

  The Emperor paused a moment and then shook his head. “It doesn’t,” he said simply.

  “Lies will make this conversation meaningless,” Seanchai said.

  The Emperor raised his head, eyes narrowed. Seanchai thought they reflected a faint glimmer of respect, too.

  “It hurt, didn’t it? They rejected you, said you were not worthy. You even failed to penetrate by force.”

  A smile crept across the Emperor’s face. “Very good,” he said. “Yes, it hurt–both their rejection and my failure. That was the first time I was ever defeated. But I was young then, just a bit older than you. It was also the last time I ever lost.

  “Do you ever wonder if they had accepted and taught me, perhaps I might have turned out like you?”

  It had not, and the thought disturbed Seanchai. But he needed to store it for another time. “How did you discover you were Wycaan?”

  The smile on the Emperor’s face disappeared, and he did not answer. Seanchai pushed him. “You seem pretty sure that I’ll be dead soon, so what does it matter?”

  The Emperor relented begrudgingly. “The strain runs strong in my family. My grandfather was Etheral Martwell. Have you ever heard of him?” When Seanchai shook his head, the Emperor smiled a cruel grin. “Have you heard of the Black Emperor? He split the Wycaan order and destroyed the Alliance.

  He was cruel to my father, who did not inherit the power. My father, in turn, took his frustrations out on me. Both were great influences on me. They made me tough and decisive. They taught me there must be a strong and clearly defined social order, that each race must know its place, and that those who rule must do so with clarity.”

  “Clarity?” Seanchai’s brow creased in confusion.

  “Look at you,” said the Emperor. “One minute you talk about alliances and freedom for all. The next moment, you wield your swords and crush those who stand against you. Do you heal people with your powers?”

  “I try to. I still have much to learn.”

  “And I bet you tell people that you would prefer to be a healer than a warrior.”

  Seanchai nodded. “That’s true.”

  “No it’s not,” the Emperor hissed. “You delude them and yourself. Deluding them is fine, but deluding yourself is pathetic.”

  “That’s your opinion. Where is this going?”

  “Are you so eager to die?”

  “No. I can sit here all day. It will allow my friends to escape your reach.”

  “They will never escape my reach, young Wycaan. Shayth will even come to me, apparently.”

  “What is this, then?” Seanchai asked. “If we are just passing the time, then why not do so over an ale? I’ll treat.”

  The Emperor laughed. “I must know if you’re worth keeping alive so I can break your spirit and have you serve me and my successors. A pity you’re an elf and can’t wear the crown.”

  “Why is that? Why can’t an elf rule?”

  The Emperor rolled his eyes. “I told you–rule with clarity. Everyone must know their place in the order of things. It would become complicated if the elves ever decided to restore their long-lost dignity. I don’t want to give them any ideas. So now it’s just a matter of who will take the throne–Ahad or Shayth. And if you are compliant, you could serve whoever rules.”

  “You’ll never break Shayth.”

  “Oh? I can be very. . . persuasive.”

  “Shayth is like his father, and you couldn’t break him. An arrow in the back is the work of a coward, following orders of a coward who has run out of options. He beat you.”

  The Emperor glowered. “Maybe you’re right. But one never knows how a man reacts to torture or the thirst for power. That includes you, young elf. You have never been tortured have you? Maybe I should take you back to the capital and test your mettle there.”

  Seanchai shrugged. “You thrive on power. You breathe power, and it has intoxicated you–made you drunk and single-minded. I am strong and well-trained–powerful in my own right–but I still seek to create alliances, to build friendships. How is it you fail to understand this desire?

  “We are both Wycaans, but our similarity ends with the color of our hair. I strive for peace and equality. You bathe in the pits of your own, lonely darkness. You are pathetic. I actually feel sorry for you.”

  The Emperor exploded. “You arrogant little pup. You can talk. Let’s see how you fight.” He took off his cloak and drew a huge broadsword and a thin axe.

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  As Rhoddan reached the opening of the gorge and surveyed the battle, Shayth swept past him. Guessing that his friend was fueled by fear for Seanchai and rage for their inability to help him, Rhoddan sped up to stay close to the prince, worried he was anything but the calm, focused warrior he needed to be.

  It was hard to see how the battle was progressing. The pictorians were pushing through waves of soldiers, making their way toward the cavalry that stood on the periphery, unable to enter the fray without injuring their own. On the other side, the elves were helping the embattled dwarves. Rhoddan felt a rush of adrenaline and pride at their fluent style and technique.

  Rhoddan and Shayth headed to join the dwarves and soldiers fell to Shayth’s sword. Rhoddan had never seen him fight so fast and fluently, and the elf was hard-pressed to keep up. Shayth made his way to Ballendir.

  “We must finish this quickly while Seanchai fights the Emperor. If he loses, we need to be
gone.”

  Ballendir looked around. “We’ll fall back ta the north ‘n disappear inta the mountains. Does Seanchai have a chance?”

  Shayth shrugged. “I don’t know. I have never seen the Emperor fight, and I don’t know what Seanchai learned with the Elves of Markwin. We should assume the worst.”

  Ballendir summoned his horn-blower and orders passed on. The elves veered to clear a path, and Rhoddan longed to fight alongside them. But he had been ordered to watch out for Shayth, and he was disciplined.

  “The pictorians,” Ballendir called. “They’ve nae changed direction.”

  Rhoddan and Shayth looked over. “The command tent is up on the hill. They might be heading there,” Shayth said. “I will go-”

  “No,” Ballendir yelled back. “Keep moving. They’ll see us. If they choose to attack the command point, then. . .”

  A huge explosion erupted near the pictorians. Bodies and boulders spiraled into the air.

  “It’s a trap ta tempt the boars,” Ballendir shouted. “Keep going.”

  There was a second explosion, followed by a third, and then a fourth. The ground rocked around them. The dwarf with the horn tried to summon the pictorians, but Rhoddan realized that those alive might be temporarily deaf.

  “He’s killing his own troops,” Rhoddan was astonished.

  “That’s my uncle,” Shayth sneered. “Come on. We owe Umnesilk.” He set off through the thickest part of the battle with Rhoddan and six elves close behind. For a moment the soldiers fell back, creating a few moments of respite.

  A dark-haired elfe tapped Shayth. “You Shayth?” she asked.

  Shayth nodded.

  “I’m Shathea. Sellia told me about you. Shame about your ears; we could have been related.”

  She laughed and moved off before he could reply, her thin sword blades gleaming. Shayth smiled while a white-haired elf asked where Seanchai was. Shayth told him.