Dayn’s eyes were drawn to seven tall, wooden chairs arranged in a wide semi-circle at the far end of the chamber. Behind six of the chairs, freshly lit candles were set in the wall.
“Peace favors us,” Nassir whispered. “The Highest is here, and five of the Seven High. Stop gawking, Shardian. There’s no mistaking your backcountry manner, but you must look to be more than a farmer today.”
Nassir pulled aside a servant, murmuring in the woman's ear until her eyes went very wide. She trotted off past the semi-circle, pink-hemmed skirt swishing in her haste. The middle chair sat taller than the rest, but only slightly. “Each chair represents a region of Ara,” the Preceptor continued quietly. “Shir-Hun is first among equals here, but his family line has long produced the strongest of Ara's leaders. He hears petitions with a fair heart.”
“The High rise before us,” a voice intoned, booming throughout the dome. The chamber's droning silenced immediately. Dayn hoped somewhat sheepishly that no one had seen him jump.
He felt a pinch of disappointment over the nondescript group that appeared from one of the chamber's three entrances, talking casually amongst themselves and flanked by twice their number in sword-toting guards. Two women and four men made up the High, all wearing finely tailored white robes. Dayn had expected a fanfare of trumpets at the very least.
Why are there so many guards? he wondered. They must know Suralose is ready to attack them. One of the guards, a bearded man with olive skin and curly brown hair, gave Dayn's staff and leather armor a hard look. Indignation shone whenever his green eyes touched Dayn's.
Lurec clicked his teeth, and Nassir growled under his breath. “Stay silent until I say. You've already pricked that captain’s honor, pretending to be an Aran guard. We can only pray he doesn’t know the man who used to own that armor. The Marshal-General might be alerted to our presence now, before we can speak.”
Blind me, you’re the one who told me to keep it on! Dayn nearly threw up his hands in frustration. They didn't look twice at Nassir's sword!
The clustered Aran gentry looked at the Ringmen silently, likely realizing that their own business would be deferred for the moment. Many of those faces held scowls.
Nassir and Lurec stood shoulder to shoulder, as odd a pair as ever there could be. The Defender’s black armor seemed to eat the room's light, while the Preceptor glanced about curiously as if taking note of some new specimen in his study.
While their faces betrayed genuine reluctance, the Ringmen also radiated tremendous determination. Lurec’s encouraging nod eased Dayn’s worries immensely. He called to memory the slopes of Mount Patel, and his hand clenched tighter around his staff. Someone needs to speak for the people who fell there.
As one, the six High took their seats. Not a face among them appeared without creases from the years. Their gazes shone with wisdom and authority.
“Present yourselves,” said the Highest Shir-Hun, not unkindly. Every eye in Jemlar's Hall fixed on Nassir. He took a single step forward. His boot echoed beneath the dome.
“I am Nassir Toljem, a Defender of the Ring,” he said.
Lurec stepped forward with the same simple statement. “I am Lurec Obeth, a Preceptor of the Ring.”
Six weathered gazes swung to Dayn. He swallowed and imitated the Ringmen. “I am Dayn Ro’Halan,” he said. Not knowing what else to say, he simply added, “a...friend, from Shard.”
Murmurs rippled throughout the chamber, stopping almost as soon as they began. Dayn started to step back again―he was not nearly so important as the Ringmen, after all―but Lurec caught his sleeve and beckoned him to stay. Dayn and Nassir bracketed the shorter Preceptor as the High studied them all. The chamber fell so quiet Dayn could have forgotten the rest of the Arans were present.
“It’s good to welcome friends in times such as these,” Highest Shir-Hun said. Age and kindness warmed his voice, and he looked upon the Ringmen with fondness in his hazel eyes. His pointed nose and prominent chin lent a hawkish look to his olive tones. “Especially familiar faces, at that. The Lord Ascendant has yet to tie you to the ranks of the Force Generals, Nassir? Nor your sister either, I would imagine.”
“I wish that were true, Highest, but the Force Lord was adamant. Pararsha, at least, has remained a Force Captain. I will be used by the World Belt as my station allows.”
Dayn's jaw dropped, but he quickly composed himself. The Defender in the Crystal Walk was Nassir's sister? How in peace’s reach do I tell him about that?
“As is a fitting response, for all of those within earshot. I see that your political acumen is already increasing.” Nassir's eyes narrowed slightly at the wry tone of the Highest, and he briefly showed his teeth―the closest Dayn had ever seen the Defender come to a full smile. Open amusement shone among the High, but the rest of the Arans remained prudently silent.
The Highest did not spare the Preceptor, either. “Lurec, it is well to see you whole. I feared your eyebrows wouldn’t grow back after the last news I heard of your studies into vapor infusion.”
Lurec colored slightly, but not in anger. The rest of the High smiled even wider. The Highest Shir-Hun conversed like a kindly grandfather, and obviously knew both Ringmen quite well.
“And finally...Ro’Halan, is it? You bless us with your presence, young planter. Never before has Ara welcomed a prince of Shard.” The room rippled with chuckles, punctuated by a few loud guffaws before the Arans managed to quiet themselves again. So it’s fine to laugh at me, is it? Dayn grumbled inwardly. They’ve all been holding it in long enough!
Dayn opened his mouth to say he was no such thing, but the Highest continued smoothly, already addressing the Ringmen again. “I’m pleased you are here, my former pupils. The outer provinces of Ara are gathered in for the Sending―your timing is fortunate. Otherwise it would take weeks to send for the High Chairs and hear the Ring's petition. As it is, the High Crina is not present due to urgent affairs in the south. I hope six chairs will suffice.”
“They will serve,” Lurec said. “It is good to see you, Highest. I hear rumors that your son Gorhaj is selected for next season's Cycle?”
To Dayn's surprise, the Defender did not bristle at Lurec's continued banter. The Highest isn’t acting like he just ordered an attack, he thought with a frown. Did the horsemen trick us? Maybe they’re from another world.
The Ringmen both wore the pained faces of men who could find no way to avoid an unpleasant task. Shir-Hun beamed, oblivious to their consternation. The surrounding High Seats, however, scrutinized the Ringmen's every expression with mounting concern.
“Yes, yes! I recall now you were such an avid fan of the tournaments, Preceptor. My son will prove to be quite the challenge for those bloodthirsty Dervishi. They won’t surprise us as they did last Cycle. You should see him, Nassir. The sword looks as though it could melt in his hand. He flows through forms with his eyes closed, and―”
The Highest almost looked ready to demonstrate, but caught himself before actually standing. “Well, yes...but we can talk of that later, you shall meet him during tomorrow's ceremonies. I insist you stay as guests. The Ring’s turning can wait a single day. Now, what is your petition?”
Nassir inclined his head to the Aran gentry gathered behind them, awaiting their turn to address the High. “The matter is best spoken with the High alone.”
“Nonsense. You would not be here so unexpectedly without a great need. How may Ara aid the Ring?”
Dayn suddenly felt queasy, watching all of the High lean forward in their chairs expectantly. They’ve no idea why we are here. Lurec frowned, bracing himself as Nassir drew a deep breath, unable to delay his duty.
“The Ring has found Ara in breach of the Treaty of Irshev by way of unwarranted hostilities against the sovereign world of Suralose. I call the High to account for these crimes, and require the Highest Shir-Hun to submit himself to the Lord Ascendant for judgment.” Nassir spoke his accusations with enough force, but seemed to drag that last bit out of himself.
Shocked cries of indignation and outrage sounded throughout the chamber, but cut off sharply when Lurec stepped forward. Dayn recalled an old saying, even the wisest men do not whisper when a Preceptor's lips part to speak.
“A Preceptor of the Ring bears witness to these events firsthand. I merit the accusations to be just. Punishment is deserved.”
His words were taken worse than a physical blow, judging from the faces of the High. The earlier calm masks were completely dissolved as their angry shouts echoed throughout the hall.
“Preposterous!” One of the High roared, a man with a silver widow's peak and purpling face, sitting to the far right. The rest of his words were drowned out as the Aran gentry protested in growing waves. A quick glance around the room showed distraught faces everywhere, except for the Highest himself. The guards fingered their sword hilts and stared coldly at Nassir.
“We witnessed the attack ourselves,” Lurec spoke loudly enough for the Highs' ears. “Aran men, on unmistakably Aran horses. The rockstorm they caused destroyed our transport and killed two Ring navigators. Many Suralosan lives were lost.”
Veins bulged on the neck of the purple-faced High. “So you bring such accusations on the eve of the First Prince's farewell? You would take our Highest in shackles before the Veiled Throne? We’ll not stand for it, Ringbound! I shall―”
“I shall have this hall silent.” The Highest's deliberate words immediately quieted the room.
Dayn’s uneasiness grew, a hard knot tying itself into the folds of his stomach. Peace, is this how it will be for us on every new world? The five High quickly regained their composure. The guards remained in place. Yet somehow, Dayn knew this would go much worse than Suralose. He glanced to the crowd. The Arans all quivered with fury and confusion, waiting intently for the Highest's next words.
“Defender, I will answer for these charges,” Shir-Hun said levelly. Pensive lines creased the Highest's forehead. “I suspect I know the reason for High Crina's absence now. So rash...always so rash.” He motioned to the empty chair on the left of the semi-circle absently, and worried mutterings filled the chamber.
The Highest fixed Dayn with a razor sharp gaze. “And what of this one’s presence, Ringmen? Have the actions of one of our own somehow endangered Shard? Peace rebuke us all, if that is so!”
Dayn’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he felt every eye in Jemlar’s Hall swing to him.
“No,” the Defender said. “He is on a journey of goodwill, sent by the Lord Ascendant herself.” The Highest's eyebrows raised speculatively. “You’ll find his story timely. Too much danger lurks within the World Belt for our treaties to crumble now.”
“Now, or ever.” The Highest nodded in agreement, sighing heavily. With his former exuberance vanished, he now looked as though the whole of Ara weighed down upon him. “Our young men dream only for a small chance to compete in the Cycle. They burn for the rest of the Belt to regard Ara as strong, as if a moment's fleeting glory with a sword would heal all that ails our world.”
Dayn looked at his feet, abashed. The Highest could just as easily be talking about his own desire to course.
“This sadness I’ve seen with my own eyes,” Shir-Hun continued, his somber gaze fixed on Dayn. “Our young do not know the scars others chose to bear so peace remains assured. They do not remember the blood spilled for the sand. I trust in the Force Lord―and the Halls of Understanding, by your presence, Preceptor. But the Ring speaks goodwill and calls for my blood in the same breath.”
Jemlar's Hall thundered dangerously in agreement. The Aran guards looked around grimly. Dayn could see that every swordsman in the room would willingly die on Nassir's sword before allowing the Highest to be taken to the Ring.
The Defender looked back, motioning for Dayn to begin his story. The back of Dayn's neck prickled, and he wiped sudden sweat from his brow. He cleared his throat a few times, finally opening his mouth.
“Highest, I must protest this travesty!” The eruption came from the same High Seat as before, and Shir-Hun rounded on him angrily.
“Thannil, that is enough.” Shir-Hun lanced the man with a withering look, but he still persisted.
“Forgiveness, but Crina is not present to defend herself from the accusations of these Ringbound.” Nassir and Lurec's eyes both narrowed, and High Thannil continued hurriedly. “Peace shade my soul, I don’t doubt the Preceptor's word. But to take you in her place is unreasonable, Highest.”
The rest of the High Seats sternly nodded their agreement. Highest Shir-Hun sighed again. “Is it unreasonable for the High to be held to account? If not I, then who?”
“But Highest, I―”
“We dispatched a dozen rockstormers, and cavalry with them,” another of the Aran High Seats blurted out, a balding man with tufts of white hair above his ears and wide brown eyes. They grew even wider as a shocked silence descended.
“And you, Orsot?” Highest Shir-Hun looked utterly aghast. “Rockstormers, why? To destroy the very strongholds which keep Ara alive?”
“I told Crina it was too much,” High Orsot muttered, hanging his head in shame. But he gathered himself, and pointed accusingly at the Ringmen. “She claimed the water treaty would soon be broken by Suralose, and promised the Ring would affirm our actions.”
Shir-Hun leaned back, genuinely surprised. “You have proof of this?”
“Our actions were affirmed by Consorts! Yet these two stand here as though the Consorts’ words are false. I say that the Ring is no longer trustworthy, and we must see to ourselves!”
Nassir’s face darkened, and Lurec’s blue eyes shone with outrage. They never believed the Aran prisoners, Dayn thought. He could not shake his increasing nervousness, and kept glancing over his shoulder. A foul temper had overtaken Jemlar's Hall, and he feared the crowd meant to rush them, dignified Aran gentry or not.
Something is wrong, but I don’t know which weed holds the thorns. He clenched a fist on his staff unconsciously. Are the High all lying? Or is Shir-Hun himself tricking the Ringmen, playing the part of old friend? Dayn could not bring himself to believe the Highest lied to them.
“No Consort could speak those words and live,” Nassir said bluntly, staring High Orsot dead in the eye. The man quailed in his seat. “This I assure you.”
The Highest cut off the Aran's retort with an upraised hand. “We will act in good faith, as no place is free of...dispute. Not even the Ring. In good faith, Ara will recompense the loss of a transport.”
Several of the High let their mouths fall open at that pronouncement before jerking back to face forward. Shir-Hun paused, then continued. “And in good faith, I will submit myself before the Lord Ascendant without delay.” The Highest's words were iron. Not one of the High dared to protest. Indeed the whole chamber grew silent. Shir-Hun looked down a moment, and seemed to age another season before addressing Nassir, his voice finally faltering. “I ask only that you permit me, Brother Defender, to see my son sent to the Cycle first. If it pleases the Ring.”
The crowd rippled with anger as the silence stretched. “It is agreed, upon my word.” Lurec interjected quickly upon realizing Nassir could not bring forth the words. Torment twisted in the Defender's brown gaze as the Highest looked upon him, shamed and grieved. To come to such a decision, amongst a gathering of Ara's most distinguished...at that moment, Dayn could not imagine a stronger world leader.
Lurec opened his mouth to smooth over the awkward juncture, but his words were lost as one of the High called loudly, the dome amplifying her voice. She thrust a finger toward a cluster of gentry near the High’s entrance.
“I see you, attendant! Come forth!”
Aran merchants and gentry blocked Dayn's view. He saw a flash of Aran guards, filling the entranceway from the outside. Confused people melted away from the High's finger.
High Orsot stood, peering into the crowd. “Cham? The Consort's servant? Yes, there you are! Why not stand here with your fellow Ringbound? Where is your master?
Come man, step forward!”
The man in question froze. More of the Arans shrank away, and Dayn suddenly understood what made him feel so on edge before. His hands began to shake with fear.
The so-called attendant wore a cumbersome robe that dragged along the ground, with a hood so deep no light penetrated to his face. He stood hunched before High Orsot singled him out, but he now straightened to reveal his true height. The voidwalker stood so close, Dayn's stomach writhed. The opening of that black cowl swung and fastened directly upon him.
“That creature is not of the Ring!” Nassir snarled. The Defender all but tore the massive sword from its moorings on his back. Screams spread through the chamber like a scorchleaf rash. Panic mounted as people cowered from the voidwalker, only to recoil from Nassir and his great black blade.
The High were all on their feet, each shouting to the Aran guards. They hesitated at the conflicting commands, except for the bearded guard who planted himself before Shir-Hun. Some others barred Nassir's way, which made the crowd shout all the louder. More guards appeared at every entrance, blocking the Arans’ flight.
“Afraid the attendant will uncover your plot, Ringman?” High Orsot said with a trace of malice.
“You blind fool!” Shir-Hun's voice sounded like a whip. Nassir paused, his attention riveted on the voidwalker, but he clearly did not want to engage the intervening guards.
“Voidwalker!” Lurec finally gave a warning shout after shaking free of his own shock. “Beware the Thar'Kuri!”
The voidwalker raised a single hand to point at Orsot. The High stepped back in fear. The gauntlet looked like charred wood, and the exposed fingers were the color of swollen, overfed maggots. Every Aran within sight screamed.
“But he’s the attendant,” Orsot spluttered, confusion on his face. “I saw him carrying the Consort’s trunk myself. They said the harsh light hurts his skin…” Dayn wanted to tell the man to run, or look away―something. But fear held him rooted to the floor.
The Seedbearing Prince: Part I Page 26