Dayn's heart sank as the two men nodded.
“I’d hurl it back into the Fall myself, if it would do any good,” Laman said darkly. “I know what’s proper for us to do, yet I fear to involve Misthaven. Something warns against it. Forgive me if I speak out of place, Elder.”
“No, we’re in agreement,” Buril replied. “But you know how the Council would decide.”
Laman nodded.” The Ringmen are our best course. That Preceptor seemed reasonable enough, though that may have changed after Charl's fist. I doubt those Defenders will let anyone within a staff's swing of him again.”
“He shouldn’t be anywhere near Misthaven,” Hanalene protested. “All this sneaking to get him to my sister's, only to take such a risk? We might as well invite that fool Payter along!”
“The Ringmen will be there through the morning. We all heard them say so,” Laman replied gently. “It's his best chance to be free of it. He’ll be halfway to Greenshadow before they even know he’s left the village.”
“I’ll agree to it then, as well.” Hanalene nodded uncertainly. Elder Buril exhaled noisily, and Laman squeezed her hand in silent thanks. “I hope you’re right.”
“It's settled then.” Elder Buril rose to his feet. “You should all prepare to depart at once. You’ll have a long night ahead of you to make it to Misthaven by morning, my boy. Peace keep your path.”
“Peace keep you, Elder,” Hanalene murmured. He opened the door, peering cautiously into the burned ruins of Wia Wells before striding away.
“We’ve chosen a guide to get you to Misthaven in time to be rid of that thing. Here.” Laman reached for a pack set by the door that Dayn did not notice before. “You’ve enough food and water for the road north, and clothes for a summer with your aunts.”
Laman and Buril had clearly made up their minds, but they would not send him away unless Hanalene agreed. “Father, I―” Dayn began, but Laman's voice remained firm.
“It’s for the best. You leave tonight.”
Dayn knew better than to argue. He had never stayed outside of Wia Wells for longer than a few days. Leaving for a festival or the harvest in Misthaven always excited him, but this was completely different. A whole summer away from home.
“The Misthavener stay-overs want to question you as if they were Elders, and I won’t allow that.” Laman’s voice softened a fraction. “Elder Buril’s written a letter which should satisfy the Ring's laws, although he may be stepped down for it.”
“Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?” Tela called weakly from her pallet. Hanalene came to her side in a flash, easing her back down.
“No, Tela.” Dayn did his best to put on a cheerful face. “How are you feeling?”
“My arm hurts.” She flexed it experimentally, then stopped with a slight groan. “You’ll bring me something from another world, won't you?”
“She’s confused,” Hanalene murmured. “Her fever’s getting worse.”
“Your brother’s going to Greenshadow, just for the summer.” Laman said soothingly. They were all circled around her pallet now, and Dayn felt a terrible sense of loss, realizing these sad moments together were going to be their last for some time.
“When I come back, we'll go to the Sliding Rocks whenever you want.” He could barely keep his voice from cracking.
“That will be fun.” Tela brightened a little. “Take your red cloak, too,” she said earnestly. “I helped mother make it, you know. It’ll bring you good luck.”
“I will, Tela.”
A cautious knock came at the door. Dayn kissed her on the cheek, then embraced his parents in the most awkward farewell he could imagine. The door creaked open, to reveal old Nerlin, holding a pale staff and dressed for travel. He carried packs slung over each shoulder.
“The village is asleep. Come now!” The old farmer peered furtively back into the night. No signs of life stirred in the ruined shops and homes, but Nerlin still looked tense. Dayn donned his cloak and hefted his pack, then took his silverpine staff from where it leaned against the wall. He ventured one last look at his parents, his mouth awash with everything he wanted to say.
“I'm so sorry, father. I should have―” he started in a rush, but Laman waved his words away.
“What's done is done. We love you, son. No matter what comes, remember that,” he said. Hanalene nodded fiercely in agreement. Laman took up his own staff by the door and stared wordlessly at the carved names. Dayn could barely meet his father’s eyes when he looked up. “I gave this to you before you were ready. I hope you’ll give me a reason to change my mind.”
His mother brushed her fingertips on his cheek. Raw emotion rushed through her hazel gaze, grief and love all mixed together. “Journey well,” she said. “We’ll manage the harvest well enough once Tela is better. The summer will pass before you know it.”
At that moment, Dayn truly grasped how deeply his actions had wounded his parents. Not for his failing to become an Attendant, or shaming the Ro’Halan name. He had broken their trust. He silently vowed to never again be the cause of the look he saw in their eyes.
Nerlin made an impatient sound, and Dayn turned away from his family. He secured the Seed in his pack before stepping into the waiting darkness.
CHAPTER SEVEN
First Mist
The mist season on Shard is steadfast, generous, and nothing short of miraculous. Without Shard's Pledge, the World Belt’s food supplies would last fifteen years at best.
-Consort Prelus, Observations on World Belt Commerce
Heap of trouble you’re in, eh?” Nerlin looked over Dayn briefly before they set off. A luminous shroud of fog blanketed the ground, reflecting the light of a ragged, crescent moon.
“First Mist,” Dayn whispered. His summer as an Attendant would have started at dawn.
“Aye, arrived earlier than I've ever seen. I’ll wager the tremors brought it on.” The old farmer peered cautiously up the street. “What are you waiting for, drummers and torch bearers? Step quietly now, and don't light this lamp until I say.”
Despite Nerlin’s sour disposition, his presence made Dayn’s departure from the village feel less like running away, somehow. They stole into the night, skirting the edge of the Square and picking past burned out buildings toward the road west. The mist dampened their footfalls, swallowing their bodies from the waist down. Ahead of him, Nerlin appeared to float rather than walk.
“The Misthaveners, are they looking for me?” Dayn asked.
“Yes, and they aren't alone,” came the terse reply. “Buril could only keep Sister Cari quiet for so long, she’s off and told the Council he’s up to something. When they find Laman gone, they'll go out to his farm, most likely. Should buy us some time if your flapping gums don't give us away.”
Dayn clamped his mouth shut. He expected to be halted by men with torches around every corner, and feared to see Joam's face among those seeking him out. There were few buildings left standing. Dayn pictured how Wia Wells looked before the fire, whole and happy. He did not want these ruins to pass for home in his memories.
They swiftly passed out of the village’s pitiful remains with no pursuit. For that at least, Dayn felt a measure of relief. He spoke once he felt certain they were far enough along the road. “Thank you for your help.”
“Don't thank me just yet, boy.” The old man snorted, not slowing his pace. “If your old man and Buril don't calm those fools, it may be the whole of Shard come looking for you at Greenshadow.”
Dayn swallowed. “You think they’d stay angry for that long?”
“Fools never take kindly to reason,” Nerlin replied. He glanced back at Dayn's face and barked a laugh. “No worry left to waste over it now, though. I'll get you north in one piece. Peace take these old legs if I don't. Now, let me see it.”
“See what?”
“Don't play me stupid, boy. The trinket.”
Dayn produced the Seed and proffered it to Nerlin. He could not wait to hand it over to the Ring
men for good. Nerlin peered at it intently, but the old farmer made no move to take it. “Good. Easy to hide.”
Dayn frowned. “Elder Buril didn't touch it, either.” The Preceptor never quite told him what the Seed was for, but anything worth risking a Defender's wrath must be terribly important. “Why?”
“There's an old look to it. An old feel. Old powers can take a liking to you.” Nerlin cocked his head doubtfully for a moment, then turned back to the road. Dayn returned the Seed to his pack. “Don't tell me what it is, either. I don't want to know.”
They set out again at a measured, ground-eating trot. Dense redbranch thickets grew on either side of the road to Misthaven, so tangled they might as well be walls of granite. Nerlin moved easier than expected, given his limp, as the road snaked north.
Dayn itched to move faster, but only the foolhardy risked bounding in mist. That rule applied three times over at night. One jutting stone could snap an ankle like straw after a high leap, and the mist could hide a ten span drop in the terrain, make it appear to be level ground.
Breaking branches pierced the heavy silence. Nerlin halted immediately and peered behind them, searching for movement.
“Did you hear that?” Dayn whispered nervously. Even the worst fool in Misthaven would not leave the road tonight, but the sound was unmistakable.
“Of course I hear it!” Nerlin snapped. He refused to light his lamp. “Did you stop to think if it might have heard you, before opening your trap?”
He muttered for a moment about gravespinners venturing too close to the road, but did not seem convinced of his own words. “There's an evil about tonight,” the farmer finally conceded. “An evil in the mist.”
“We should bound. The Preceptor told me voidwalkers might be on Shard,” Dayn said. “I...I think they want the Seed.”
“You don't say.” Nerlin's face tightened. Dayn followed his gaze back to the road ahead.
A figure barred their path less than ten spans away, completely shrouded in a black cowl. The sounds of snapping branches behind them stopped.
They spun around to see another voidwalker emerge from the redbranch, just as massive and hulking as the first. This one wore no cloak, only a strange, glistening black armor. Organic and jagged, the metal reminded Dayn of a silverpine's coarse bark. The covering swallowed the voidwalker to the chest with no visible straps or joins. Its shoulders, hands, and hairless head were unprotected and deathly pale as the moonlit mist. A strange steam issued from the voidwalker, as though he were boiling in his own skin.
“I knew guilt would grant speed to your feet, boy, if you still lived.” Dayn recognized one of the voices from the Dreadfall, guttural and cruel. “And here you stand unscathed, when so many of Thar’Kur’s warriors are dead. I would know what secrets protect you.”
“I can...feel his eyes on me,” Nerlin mumbled thickly.
Dayn felt an odd sensation spider along his senses. “Peace, no...get out of my head!” Something vile brushed the edges of his mind, searching for purchase. Before he could utter another word, the voidwalker’s unseen attack crumpled him to the ground in agony.
Nerlin sank to his knees in the mist next to Dayn, arms hugged around his chest. Blood trickled from the farmer's ears and ran down the stubble on his face.
“All this trouble to burn them out of that hovel, and you won’t kill him now?” The second voidwalker’s voice rang out behind them, impatient.
“Wait. See how he resists us? They both do.”
Dayn knew he might as well be a born-blind lamb in their clutches. No matter how he strained, he could not move.
“Get up, boy!” Nerlin's fearful cry cut through the fog in Dayn's mind. “For your life, get up!” Nerlin grabbed Dayn by the arm and darted off the road. The undergrowth raked their skin as they stumbled into the wilds. Dayn held his staff before him, but it proved a poor tool for pushing through the redbranch. His mind cleared the further they ran from the road.
“Go, go! They’re right behind us!”
Nerlin dropped his lantern to better grasp his staff as he shouted back at Dayn. “Stay close, and for the love of Shard don't tread on the silver ground!”
The old farmer gathered himself in a crouch, then bounded forcefully out of sight. Dayn leaped after him, ignoring the branches that clutched at his clothing, tearing at his hair and skin. He barely broke through. For a moment he sailed free, the wind on his face and the crescent moon overhead. But the pull of Shard’s ground dragged him back into the shadowed wilds and mist.
He landed with a crash, stumbling to his feet only to leap again in the direction he believed Nerlin took. Branches snatched at his pack with every bound, but he dared not stop to secure it. Only the Seed inside prevented him from flinging it away to run faster.
Dayn listened for Nerlin's guiding shouts ahead as he pitched through the wilds like a crazed mule. The more noise he made, the less he could hear from behind, but he knew the voidwalkers were still there. He could feel them.
The two fled blindly along ground Dayn felt sure no Shardian had ever walked. They might fare better bounding through fences than the snarled redbranch. Silk strands soon drooped from every branch, sticky and viscous, threatening to snare him. Peace guide my step, it’s thicker than rope! Silver ground warned of nidus, the underground caverns where gravespinners lurked and laid their egg clutches. Dayn strained to keep Nerlin in sight, ignoring the cuts crisscrossing his skin. His right ankle folded on a dead branch. Sweat stung his wounds, and his strength began to flag.
“Blind me! I heard you were the Mistland's best bounder!” The farmer's voice stabbed out from the dark, goading him on. “Keep up!”
“Where are you?” Dayn cried. His sprain felt bad, but he could not risk stopping to check the ankle. His staff streamed ragged strands of silk. He felt things squish underfoot or lunge for his legs every time he leaped into another bound.
“Ease back, boy. Ease back!”
Dayn skidded to a stop, chest heaving. “We can't stop here, they'll catch us!” His legs burned as though he carried a pack full of river stones. The clearing looked free of spinner traps, but the wilds around them practically quivered. The feeling set Dayn's teeth on edge. Silk covered the landscape in every direction. “What are you doing?”
“Getting a handle on our bearings,” Nerlin said. The man looked an absolute wreck, with broken twigs and silk strands clinging to his shredded clothes. He stared into the night sky, face completely aghast. “Peace protect us...the stars are all wrong! Shayla's Daughters are too low in the sky for this time of year. I thought we were angling back toward the road, but now...” He trailed off.
Dayn finally broke the silence. “They did something to Shard, the voidwalkers in the Dreadfall. I saw them in her heartrock.”
Nerlin gave him a hard look. “I picked a fine night to do Buril's bidding,” he muttered, starting off at a brisk walk. Dayn hurried after, looking everywhere for trapdoors. “A fine night. Well, there’s less web in the redbranch here, which means good for us.”
“I don’t see how.”
“There’s refuge ahead, with a little luck. We need to get distance between us and those things. You ready to bound more?” Little escaped the farmer’s notice. Dayn stretched out his ankle, it would begin to swell soon if they did not keep moving.
“I’ll be fine.”
Nerlin turned, squatting to bound again. A voidwalker burst from the shadows to pluck the farmer right out of the air, one hand gripped tightly around Nerlin’s neck.
“No! Let go of him!” Dayn sprang forward without thought. He swung his staff with all the force he could muster. The blow bounced off the voidwalker’s black armor. The brute did not even notice.
“My brother thinks you degenerates are special.” The voidwalker leered at Nerlin. His massive hand engulfed the farmer’s neck, twisting Nerlin’s head from side to side as though checking him for blemishes. “I think you are frail, and your pathetic world only spins by chance!”
Nerlin drew just enough breath to spit in the voidwalker’s face.
The brute snarled, and slammed him into the ground. Dayn struck at him again. The voidwalker swept his arm around casually. Dayn flew back, crashing into a redbranch trunk.
The voidwalker wasted no more words. He picked Nerlin up, drew him high overhead. His left knee rose, ready to break the farmer’s back. Not knowing what else to do, Dayn threw his staff. The voidwalker shifted scornfully. The staff missed the cruel face by inches.
“Watch closely, degenerate. This is the easiest way to feed you to a fleshweep.”
But Dayn never intended to hit the voidwalker. His staff had sailed past, and into the shadowy center of a vortex of silk. The redbranch around it began to tremble violently.
The voidwalker sensed the movement and turned. A gravespinner flashed out of the den, taller than a man’s knee. Its mandibles dug vainly at the black armor, and it skittered back from a kick. Then the spinner began to climb. Its barbed, spindly legs crawled up the torso in an instant to find the voidwalker’s unprotected neck.
With one arm the voidwalker tore the spinner away from his shoulders, then threw it into the trees with such force the leg tore off in his hand. The den began to vibrate again. Another spinner rushed out. The voidwalker threw Nerlin toward the den’s mouth, and he landed in the silk. Wide-eyed and stuck, but alive.
“In your pack, get a knife!”
Dayn ripped open his pack. The second spinner ignored him and pounced straight for the voidwalker. The brute caught the spider in midair and tore it in half. Dark blue entrails sprayed over the ground.
“Peace take you, boy! Quit fumbling and cut me out! Cut me out!” Nerlin’s voice grew shrill with panic. More spinners rushed over him, at least five, all heading straight for the voidwalker. For the first time, Dayn saw fear in the gray man’s eyes. “What do you think they’ll do when they finish him off, curtsy for us?”
A light drew Dayn’s attention back to the pack. The Seed, glowing red. Next to it lay a small belt knife. “I’ve got it!”
The Seedbearing Prince: Part I Page 12