“A Guardian must patrol from here regularly,” Lurec said as he examined the display. The array showed the positions of every major world on this side of the Belt as blue points spaced out in a swirling field of green. “The blue represents anchors and worldhearts in the torrent,” he explained. He pointed to a disturbance in the green. “This vortex is the resonance wake we just passed. Peace be praised, we only brushed the edge of it.”
“There’s so many,” Dayn said, peering at the display. “There are hundreds of them!”
Lurec nodded absently as he studied the sector of torrent displayed before him. The ripples and eddies among the rock currents were much too pronounced for their location.
“From this position we should come near enough to Ara for a flyalong,” Nassir said. At Dayn's blank look he added, “A craft the Guardians use to reach a world's surface at need. It will be a tight fit for the three of us.”
“Better than coursing the rest of the way,” Lurec muttered. At Dayn's disappointed look he added, “You cannot course all the way to a world's surface, lad. Sheath has limits. Defender, what’s your plan if there is no flyalong here?”
The Defender gave the briefest hesitation, and Lurec's eyes narrowed. Just as I thought. Why did Adazia tie us to such a reckless man?
Before Nassir could proffer an explanation, the most overwhelming sensation of vertigo overcame Lurec. He clutched his knees, willing the feeling to pass.
The Defender frowned―which was as good as any other man crying out in fear―and Dayn gasped, holding the wall for support. He looked ready to retch. “The ground is changing...I feel like I'm standing on Shard again. What's happening?”
Lurec staggered to the array, plunging his hands into the vapor. He touched his thumbs and middle fingers to each other, then expanded them wide. The display zoomed in to show the wayfinder itself in fine detail, from the huge crack that ran over its center, to the light tower embedded in one side. The center of the mass glowed a warning red. “Odd. The anchor at the rock’s core is...unstable.”
“Can you repair it?” Nassir asked.
“Already done.” Lurec touched the center that represented the anchor. Information poured through the vapor. Trajectory. Proximity. Targeted mass. The corrections were simple enough to make, and the ground immediately shifted beneath them. “We'll be within reach of Ara in...twenty minutes. We really should find the flyalong now, if there is one.”
“The anchor, it almost looked to be tampered with,” Nassir observed. He led them further into the crevasse down a narrow passageway. Somewhere above them, the light of the strobe trickled through, providing scant illumination. “Could it be responsible for the strength of the resonance wake?”
Lurec shook his head dismissively. “A wild torrent endangers us all, Defender. Not even Eadrinn Gohr raiders would sabotage a working wayfinder.”
They rounded a corner and Nassir stopped. Dayn let out a startled cry. Lurec peered into the gloom apprehensively, unable to see past the taller men. The sharp odor of dried blood filled his nose. “What is all of the...peace protect us!”
The flyalong lay ahead, a bowl-shaped craft of dull metal with a single opening on the top, small enough to fit into his quarters on the Ring. Above it hung a dead Guardian. Wingline held him in place, stretching all of his limbs taut. The Guardian’s head rested limply on a shredded black chest plate, his mask battered beyond recognition.
“Peace keep his soul,” Dayn said numbly.
“Tortured.” Nassir produced a belt knife and grimly began to cut the Ringman down. The Guardian's arm came free, but remained extended, grown stiff with death. “Dragged through the torrent until his sheath gave out.”
Dayn set down his staff and quietly began to help the Defender. “The voidwalkers did this, didn't they?” He pulled out his own knife and began to cut one of the Guardian's legs free. “I know they did...I can almost smell them.”
“Perhaps. Best to be sure.” The Defender twisted, and the Guardian's body came free and floated eerily down to his feet. He carefully pulled the mask free. Dayn sucked in his breath sharply at sight of the ruined face. “I knew this man. Corian Nightsong was one of the Ring’s best Guardians.”
Nassir felt around the man’s cheek, his face grim. Lurec’s lip curled, but his revulsion turned to shock as the dead Guardian began to speak. “Nightsong…Thar’Kuri warriors…voidwalkers…gathering in…unlike anything known from the Ring…far distances. They must have been made in the age before the Breach.
…deliver it with all haste to Force Lord Adazia on the Ring. The worlds all depend on you, for I have failed them. My sons and daughters live in Denkstone, on Jendini. Tell them…their father served well.”
Dayn’s eyes were wide. “How did—”
“The speechcaster can store a message briefly, if your last words are upon you.” Nassir covered the ruined face with the ruined mask and looked up at Lurec. “They are growing bolder, Preceptor. An attack against Shard, and now they turn the anchors―perhaps the very torrent itself―against us. They would make the Belt into a grave, and lay all the worlds within it. The Force Lord was right to send us on this mission.”
The Defender stared at Lurec with eyes like brown fire. Lurec bit his lip and looked away from the Guardian’s mangled remains, waiting for his stomach to settle. “That may be,” he said evenly. “But fighting them until the void takes us all isn’t the answer. What Dayn carries, the fact that it was even discovered in our lifetime, must be proof of that.”
The Defender just stood there, regarding him with that unreadable face. You need me more than you can admit, don't you? Lurec thought. You would save us all from Thar’Kur even if it meant burning the Belt to do it.
Dayn looked between both of them uncertainly, and Lurec sighed. “Best I make sure this vessel is not damaged as well, or we'll never reach Ara.”
Nassir nodded and secreted his knife within his armor. “Good. Be prepared, Shardian. There may be resistance on the surface.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ara
We are the High only because the low see us as such when they look up.
-The Highest Shir-Hun
The flyalong ride to Ara's surface proved rather dull after the pure exhilaration of coursing. Dayn feared the craft sabotaged by voidwalkers after seeing the Guardian’s fate. Lurec had insisted on its soundness, although he tensed up terribly whenever stray torrent pinged against the sheath-cured hull. Before long a growing roar of air signaled they were passing through Ara's clouds. The entire flight took perhaps an hour.
Dayn hated traveling blind. He wondered what sights they were missing, stuffed knees to chin in the near darkness, facing one another in the circular, windowless interior. The flyalong merely contained a palm-sized vapor array, which the Preceptor had monitored feverishly.
“We should be five miles outside of Olende,” Nassir said, once the craft touched down with a rough thump. He tapped the metal hatch then pushed it open and clambered out into the blinding light. Dayn followed, eager to stretch his legs. “If that heap's vapor array didn’t deceive us.”
The stunning Aran landscape stood in complete contrast to Suralose. Flat, rolling sand stretched in every direction, and the horizon shimmered with heat. The dry air burned his nostrils.
Lurec exited the flyalong and immediately leaned over to lose his breakfast. Dayn’s stomach heaved at sight of the Preceptor turning himself inside out. He instantly bent in two and proceeded to noisily sick up.
“Nothing to worry over,” Nassir said gruffly. “It’s no easy thing to adjust to the turn of a new world, especially coming straight from the torrent.”
“I'm just relieved to know we’ve landed on the right world,” Lurec said dryly. He closed the flyalong hatch, and the craft slowly floated into the sky after he hopped off. The Preceptor looked happy to be out of the torrent and facing the same direction as everyone else again. “It’s quite impossible to mistake Ara for anywhere else.”
“
The day is still early here. We must move quickly to Olende before the heat overcomes us. No, Shardian. Leave your cloak on, and your leather. It will protect you from the sun. Preceptor...discard that armor. It’s too heavy, and the metal will cook you in your clothes.” The two complied quickly, as they were already beginning to sweat. To Dayn's surprise, Nassir kept his own armor on.
Mesas and strange rock formations took shape around them as they walked. Dayn amended his original impression of a featureless sandy wasteland. Great rifts cut sharply through windswept areas, exposing orange and red layers of rock.
Just looking at the landscape made him thirsty. A well dug a mile deep might not find a drop of water. What would they do without water from Suralose?
Nassir noticed his face. “So you see the Belt is not so simple a place.”
“No, it’s not,” Dayn said. The road to Olende was barely distinguishable to his eyes, with so much sand and no points on the horizon to guide them. Once again, they had to remain content in following Nassir's lead.
Dayn rummaged through his pack for his water from Mount Patel, but the Defender admonished him. “No. For now we ration our stores.”
“You don’t mean for us to bound, Defender?” Lurec asked anxiously after half an hour of steady walking.
“We must not tax our stamina,” Nassir replied, glancing at the sun overhead. His armor looked hot enough to blister Dayn’s fingers.
“I wouldn’t mind bounding,” Dayn muttered. The heat might be intolerable, but the Preceptor needed to improve his bounding sometime. “There must be better ways to go this far besides walking. Why not use the flyalong to get there?”
“They’re only suited for travel in the void between worlds,” Lurec explained as they trudged along. The man sweated profusely, even worse than Dayn. “On a surface, close to a worldheart...well, they could easily be outpaced by a cart. So could a transport.”
Dayn frowned. “But on Montollos, there are transports for every family and every merchant. How can that be true, if I can bound faster than one?”
The Ringmen looked at each other in amusement. “That is not even remotely true, Shardian,” Nassir said. “The making of transports has been lost for thousands of years. Every one is precious for trade, or food. Missions such as ours. The Regents of Montollos would love your notion, but it would be a terrible waste.”
“I personally could not imagine such chaos. The sheer number of laws required to prevent accidents would baffle every Preceptor in the Ring.” Lurec paused to wipe his forehead. “Montollos itself is built to move. What you would call roads actually slide past the Ever-Turning Towers. A most remarkable feat of engineering.”
Anything that so impressed Lurec, easily aroused Dayn’s curiosity, but Nassir snorted. “Enough Beltbound are lost to that city’s seduction without you adding to the Regents’ spell, Preceptor.” He handed them both a black, water-soaked kerchief which Dayn quickly tied around his brow. “We do not bound because your feet would blister, farmer. Keep to the path.”
Their way was not so poorly marked as Dayn first thought. He spotted a column of rock thick around as his leg, and seven spans high. Someone had tied a red flag at the very top, and he soon made out more marching into the distance. Peace, I can feel my skin turning browner! If Lurec’s flushed cheeks were any indicator, they needed to reach the city quickly.
The Defender looked troubled as they followed the trail markers, although he waited some time to speak. “Shir-Hun is a good man, fair and reasonable. I believe he’s losing control of the High. I cannot accept he willingly chose to carry out this attack against Suralose.”
“He is loved on the Ring and in the Belt,” Lurec replied. “But whatever his situation, we must act accordingly.”
“Yes...accordingly,” Nassir agreed reluctantly. “It’s good that you’re here, Preceptor. The Ring might think me mad to bring a world leader home in chains.”
“Maybe so. I suspect the Montollos Regents you love so much would be most pleased by such a turn of events.” Lurec sighed heavily. “Our situation here is...delicate. That prisoner truly believed Consorts are involved. Could our own be instigators to begin war? We must consider it.”
“Consorts couldn’t do this, not without the knowledge of Lord Adazia or the other Force Generals.” He shook his head with a grimace. They traveled in silence after that, and Dayn could only wonder at their thoughts.
The land began to rise steadily, and the golden sand around them gave way to more vibrant rock, streaked with orange and red. Strange, scrawny-looking goats with curling horns were sometimes visible now, bounding out of sight into great cracks along the surface rock. Dayn longed for even a moment's rest in the shadow the cracks must provide. They stretched for miles in every direction, giving the land a baked look like a pie left too long in the oven.
Soon they saw Aran herders tending more flocks of the rangy creatures, regarding them curiously but keeping their distance. Nassir ignored them, but Lurec brightened considerably at sight of the first Arans in over two hours.
“Your story will prove valuable here,” Lurec said to Dayn. “They may ask about water rights on Shard. I advise you to tell them truthfully, that you know nothing of such things. Don’t mention the Seed until Nassir and I determine it’s safe. You remember clearly what you’re to speak of?” Dayn nodded. “Good. No need to frown, I have to be sure. And if they ask...” Dayn let the Ringman’s voice wash over him. The Preceptor's lips were going to crack down to his gums if he kept talking so much in this heat.
Their path descended into one of the large cracks, forming a steep-sided canyon with blessed shade near the bottom. Ahead were a series of tall, fluted columns carved right into the redstone, and a large stonework bridge. Two bored-looking guards watched them curiously from the bridge’s far side, wearing the same hardened leather armor as Dayn. The bridge passed over a still deeper fissure.
“Peace upon the Ring,” one of the guards called out, a leather-faced man with searching eyes. His companion, a black-haired man with the same reddish skin looked hard at Dayn's Aran armor but said nothing.
As Dayn passed between them, he noticed the curved blade each man wore belted to their hip. The same swords as the horsemen back on Mount Patel.
“Peace upon Ara,” Nassir said, giving the two guards the briefest of nods. “It’s good to see faithful watchmen at the gate, when lesser men might sneak away to join the revelry. May the low always uphold the High.”
Dayn did not understand the exchange one bit, but the guards straightened visibly, clearly taking pride in Nassir's words. They passed without incident into Olende. Lurec breathed a huge sigh of relief.
The city itself crisscrossed through the sheer canyons, effectively hiding the Arans from a fair amount of the sun's unforgiving rays. Stairways, ladders and ramps were prominent all along the walls. People were teeming everywhere, poking in and out of shops along the canyon floor that were carved right into the orange-red stone. A buzz quickly surrounded their party as the Arans took notice of Nassir's black armor.
“Peace favor the Ring!” People called. Women in loose-fitting blouses and patterned longskirts blew kisses, while men in baggy trousers and sleeveless vests nodded approvingly as they passed by on some task or carrying wares. Nassir did not look surprised by their reception. “Hail, Ringmen! Hail, Defender!”
Will their favor for the Ring last, once it’s known the Ring is here to bring the High to account? Dayn wondered. From the wooden expression on Lurec's face, he thought the exact same thing.
Nassir guided them through Olende quickly, not once getting lost in the bustling canyons that spiderwebbed away from their chosen road. Dayn found it difficult to think of the place as a city at all, although he could not deny how many Arans they passed. The number of people along just the one road easily dwarfed Misthaven's numbers.
Nassir stopped in front of a sheer wall that looked no different than any other, except that there were no other shops surrounding a lone entra
nce. Four Aran guards emerged as they approached it, watching the Defender cautiously. Their armor looked less worn than the guards at the gate.
“Peace upon Ara,” Nassir called. “Are the High assembling in Jemlar's Hall?” The guards looked at each other in surprise. “I request petition be given to the Ring at once.”
“How did you...? Yes, they’re assembled, Defender.” Two of the guards motioned them into the cooler air. Lurec nodded to himself as though he had just solved a puzzle.
Dayn frowned, considering the cheerful people outside and the guards' confused expressions. They have no idea what their leaders are doing, he thought. Somehow that angered him a great deal. The Suralosan lords could strike Ara in retaliation in the coming days, and the people outside would be none the wiser.
The guards led them into an impressive, circular receiving chamber before retreating back to their posts. A smooth hewn dome ten spans high towered over the space. The walls were made of glazed red panels that alternated with rock so smooth and glassy, it looked like black mirror. The red panels depicted past Aran leaders, accounting for hundreds of years. “Bloodlines of the High,” an inscription read.
Most of the faces belonged to overly serious men and women, but Dayn was drawn to the oldest of them. Mauren the Beloved was shown next to a fountain in Ara with actual running water, five hundred years ago. Another panel a hundred years after that depicted Olegran the Proud, a pucker-faced man holding up a hand in refusal to four Preceptors bearing food. An open transport stood behind them, full of barrels that Dayn instantly recognized, for they were the very same used to store the Pledge. How does a world go completely barren in a few hundred years? If the Seed could stop a drought, the Arans would be overjoyed to see it. They’ll do whatever the Ring wants, I’d wager. He frowned at that, remembering the Suralosan advisor’s words. I’m no caperdoll on Ring strings. I’ll help as best as I can.
Dozens of people dressed in colorful robes stood everywhere, absorbed in quiet conversation. Ten square openings in the overhead dome emitted just enough light to reflect from the walls and floor, giving the entire room a tranquil, russet glow. Weak shadows still abounded, cast in countless directions around the cool interior. Even they seemed to glow.
The Seedbearing Prince: Part I Page 25