Nassir's exasperated voice broke through Lurec's droning. “Peace, enough! Preceptor, we have our differences―but you must promise to leave your study more often. Shardian, wait. Where are you going?”
Dayn halted two steps onto the plaza. He half turned to answer, not wanting to pull his eyes from the young woman lest he lose her in the crowd. “Sorry, I’ll come back soon. The girl from the garden...I never told her my name.”
Lurec’s face paled, and Nassir followed Dayn's gaze. His eyebrows rose. “And why in peace's reach would she ask your name? Farmer, do you know who that is?”
Dayn shrugged. “She owes me a wager.”
“What?” Nassir demanded, but Dayn was already moving through the gentry. “Shardian, you bound where there’s nothing to catch your fall!”
Dayn walked swiftly across the plaza, half expecting the Defender to tackle him from behind. Recognition touched the eyes of some Arans he passed, tinged with dismay and curiosity. So she’s some famous dancer. A bet’s a bet. I just want to know her name, and thank her for not calling on the guards this morning. That's all. Despite his reasoning, Dayn's heart began to pound. As he drew near, she gave a laugh that made her ornaments shake.
The surrounding dancers were all dazzling in their own right, including the lead woman who stood at the center of the star. Smile lines touched the corners of her mouth and eyes. She quirked an eyebrow in interest as Dayn approached.
“My dear,” the woman said, politely interrupting the conversation. “You have an audience.”
The young woman turned to regard Dayn, and the other dancers faded away like candles before the sun. Her considering gaze swallowed him up. Peace, but she’s beautiful. Why didn’t I see it before?
Her fellow dancers looked at him doubtfully. Very doubtfully. Dayn realized he had not yet spoken. “Peace,” he said hastily, extending a hand. “Peace upon Ara.”
She looked at him uncertainly for a moment before finally deciding to accept his hand. The henna traced upon her skin depicted vines and flowers, and umber dye covered her fingertips, like they were dipped in sunset. Despite all of these graceful accents, her grip was quite strong.
“Your dance was wonderful. I’ve never seen the like before. All of you were wonderful,” Dayn added the last quickly, and was glad for it. The warning flicker in the other dancers’ eyes subsided, although the lead watched Dayn with a hawk-like expression. An irritated hawk. The rest were merely skeptical.
“I am Soong,” the young woman said, her voice overly polite. She carried herself differently now, with a stiffness that reminded Dayn of Misthaven Elders. “Soong Shir-Hun. A pity I learned your name only now in the announcement. My father told me you brought us an important matter, emissary. I hope to hear it for myself.”
“I would be...honored.” Dayn barely kept himself from gaping like some Southforte lout at his first Evensong.
“May I have my hand back, please?”
Dayn let go hastily, silently calling himself nine kinds of idiot. “Sorry...I...” he stammered, searching for better words. Soong's fellow dancers looked ready to wave over the plaza guards. “I only meant to give you this. I think you dropped it in the gardens this morning.”
The lead dancer's lips parted as Dayn proffered Soong's bits. “Your uncle's silver pouch?” she asked.
“Yes, Nnendi,” the young woman said softly, brushing the worn linen. She looked at Dayn levelly. “Thank you. This is...meaningful to me.”
Dayn bowed his head slightly, an awkward feat considering Soong's height. “Of course I'll be expecting a reward for that.”
“Offworlder, you dare?” One of the dancers hissed.
Nnendi fingered the chain of shells dangling from her wrists, as though deciding if Dayn was worth the bother of strangling. “I don't know who you think you are, but―”
“—ten silver bits would settle it,” Dayn continued quickly. Soong looked at him, her eyes turbulent and unreadable. “Wouldn't you say?”
“Agreed.”
To the shock of the surrounding dancers, she stuck out her hand. Dayn grinned to himself. Their eyes would fall out if they saw our first handshake. He bowed and shook his head, refusing her hand. “I already know your word is good.”
She gazed up at him, cheeks suddenly flushed. Nnendi studied her thoughtfully. The dancer appeared to be some sort of mentor to the young woman. Whatever Soong's thoughts, she quickly resumed her cool exterior. “So. A Shardian with matters of great importance, to be seen by six of the seven High. No one person has received that kind of audience since before I was born.”
“Oh. Well how―” Dayn shut his mouth with a click. Never ask a woman her age, they hated that. Fortunately she did not notice his near misstep.
“I suppose you’re not to speak of it,” Soong continued. “Perhaps you’re a Defender in training, then? An...Initiate?”
“Peace, never that!” Dayn blurted out. Surprise escaped Soong's calm features, a look mirrored by her companions. He continued hastily. “I mean, the Ring is great, but it's not for me. I hardly know which way to point a sword, anyway.”
“What kind of man can’t wield a sword?” Another dancer muttered. The echoing wind rose again, enveloping Dayn’s ears with all of their chimes.
“There’s more to being a Defender than laying about with a sword, Madele,” Soong retorted promptly. The dancer shrugged. Soong looked up at Dayn intently, as if he was a puzzle she intended to figure out.
“My father speaks highly of the Ringmen who accompany you. It’s a shame you’re not in training to protect the World Belt, Dayn Ro'Halan.” She hesitated, then reached up to touch his face. Her warm fingers rested on his cheek for a moment. “You have a strong spirit.”
In that moment, Soong looked free again, worried over nothing save the dance. Dayn could scarcely pull his eyes from hers.
“Who is this?” A scornful voice demanded. A rough grip snagged the crook of Dayn's elbow from behind and pulled him from behind.
Dayn spun around to see Gorhaj looming over Soong. Her brother, he realized. Every dancer reacted differently, from Nnendi's indignant stare to Madele's approving smirk. For the most part, they just looked embarrassed and ready to make themselves scarce.
“The best of Ara are spurned by you for months,” Gorhaj spat, thumbing over his shoulder at Dayn, “and this filthy offworlder knows your touch? Half the plaza saw!”
“I speak with whom I choose, Gorhaj.” Pure frost covered Soong’s voice as she stared down the First Sword. “You can parade every heir to the High from here to the last split, but it is my choice! Father understands that, why won’t you? Must I order you as Eldest to leave me be?”
The surrounding gentry noticed the spat immediately. Most wore the placid faces of people practiced at eavesdropping. “But you ignore the High at every turn. Always off in the city―”
“Where I’m needed. Olende is rationing water, brother.”
“—when the bloodline must move forward!”
“You would lecture me on succession? After seeing the wenches you allow to clutch your arm?”
Gorhaj flushed red. The exchange stunned Dayn as well as the dancers. Gorhaj opened his mouth angrily to retort, but Dayn took the moment to intervene.
“My apologies, First Sword of the High.” Dayn bowed deeply. This one looked to be the sort who liked that sort of thing. “I was just leaving. There’s no need for―”
The Aran rounded on him and jabbed a finger in Dayn’s chest. Gorhaj easily stood a head shorter than Dayn―one of the tallest people he had seen yet on Ara―but the force of it actually caused him to step back.
“Know your place, Shardian,” Gorhaj sneered.
“My place?” Dayn's hands clenched into fists. Shard's Pledge is probably keeping this whole world alive, and this arrogant―
Suddenly, Soong appeared by Dayn’s side, placing a hand on his arm. “I don't know why you’re here,” she whispered fiercely, “but think about what you’re doing! The Mars
hal would have you beaten!”
Gorhaj's eyes narrowed in amused contempt. “You couldn’t dance a rope with me for ten seconds, farmer.” He pulled Soong back from Dayn. “Do you wish to see?” The wind snapped his crimson cloak aside. His free hand drifted to the sword at his hip. “I’ll even give you time to whittle a branch.”
Soong shook her head urgently at Dayn. Two Aran men joined the worried dancers, and somehow Dayn knew they did not mean to keep the peace. I must not tarnish what the Ring wants me to do, he reminded himself reluctantly.
Dayn took a deep breath, letting the air stretch his chest and raise his shoulders. Gorhaj's eyes narrowed hopefully, but Dayn just stood there and held his calm.
“A good decision, farmer,” he snarled, still holding Soong’s wrist. “Stay away from my sister!”
Gorhaj dragged her off through the crowd, his two bootlickers snickering as they followed. The dancers took their leave also, with sympathetic looks. Nnendi went so far as to put a hand on his shoulder before departing. “You're not the first one he’s chased off,” she murmured. “A thousand blessings on your Pledge, Shardian.”
Dayn sighed, realizing the surrounding Arans were politely avoiding him. I really need to listen to the Ringmen more, he thought, watching Soong and her brother quarrel. She stopped to look back at Dayn, but Gorhaj yanked her along, gesturing angrily with his free hand as they went. Arans parted to either side as though the siblings' bickering was a common occurrence.
Only one man remained where he stood. Soong nearly collided with him as Gorhaj swept past. The man hunched over, concealing his true height, and wore a black cloak so heavy the echoing wind barely stirred it. Dayn felt fear slide over him like a stream of rancid water. The nearby people shrank from the man as he straightened, realizing something was horribly wrong.
“Voidwalker,” Dayn whispered. Peace, how did he get past the guards? Most of the Arans in the thinning crowd were gossiping in small clusters, completely unaware of the danger in their midst.
The voidwalker unfurled his arms from beneath his cloak. The mottled fingers contorted in front of his chest, curling so the tendons stood out on the back of each hand.
A wave of nausea wracked Dayn. He felt a sudden impulse to run screaming, yet his feet were rooted to the ground. The echoing wind swept through the split again, strong enough to whip at his clothes.
Those claw-like hands clenched into fists. The voidwalker focused on the movement, like someone intent on stoking a flame. His hands slowly spread open. The effects were immediate.
“My eyes...they won't stop crawling in my eyes!” A man with auburn dreadlocks collapsed in a writhing ball to Dayn's right. His robes were blown to disarray, obscuring his face. The winds chose that moment to die down, and Dayn saw that nothing crawled on him at all.
“Peace, someone help me!” Another young man cried out, sitting next to a slumped over merchant. “My uncle’s stopped breathing!”
People began to run blindly for the splits as panic boiled through the plaza, never looking for the source of their fear. The voidwalker's hands continued to expand. The Arans began to scream in earnest, bounding and running away in terror. Fear emanated from the voidwalker like a roiling, evil mist.
He advanced toward Dayn. The creature easily stood taller than Joam. He seemed to drink the fear Dayn knew shone in his eyes. As people fled the plaza in droves, Dayn stood alone, unable to run.
“Ro'Halan,” the voidwalker hissed. The wind gusted, blowing more of the creature's strange vapor into Dayn's face. He smelled like rotting meat soaked in brine.
The voidwalker turned with a snarl as Nassir hurled himself into the brute from a full pace away. They crashed to the ground in a clatter of armor on stone. Dayn felt a great pressure lift from him as the voidwalker’s aura subsided. He was free for the moment.
***
Sidestepping an Olende courtier screaming at the top of her lungs, Lurec watched the growing madness unfold before him. Moments like these were why he seldom set foot outside his study. He had immediately recognized the voidwalker's presence when it first appeared, and mentally rehearsed the fortification exercises every Preceptor knew in his sleep. Still his knees trembled, but he was not ashamed of that. My mind is clear―otherwise I would be halfway to the palace myself, ready to hide under the nearest bed!
Nassir's charge had broken the voidwalker's thrall. The Defender had followed the boy over to save him from embarrassment with Shir Hun’s daughter, but inexplicably dashed off before interfering. Lurec had no idea where the man had stowed his sword, but he was too grateful to care.
The remaining Aran gentry surged out of the plaza in every direction, leaving Dayn and Nassir to face the voidwalker alone. Thankfully most of the common folk in the amphitheatre above had made their way back to the splits as soon as the dance ended. Lurec stared at the Shardian. Dayn should be driven mad or dead like the other figures crumpled on the redstone, but there he stood. Something about that tugged at Lurec’s awareness, but he shoved it away for the moment. Clear thoughts.
The Defender backed away from the voidwalker and drew his sword. His focus did not waver as he held the massive sickmetal blade, point down.
“I know of you, degenerate. My fallen brothers cry for your blood.”
“As mine cry for yours.”
The heavy cloak fell to a pile around the voidwalker’s feet. The brute’s chest and legs were covered by a sinuous, unbroken material that glistened in the deepening twilight. Rippling muscle bulged under the pale skin exposed at the shoulders.
Strangest of all, the voidwalker’s exposed flesh exuded a fine steam. The echoing wind pulled the ensuing cloud from him in waves, along with a nauseating smell.
Without warning, the voidwalker lunged. Nassir pivoted smoothly. His sword rang out loudly on the voidwalker's back, throwing them both off balance. The voidwalker recovered and gathered himself, a sneer twisting his face. The two circled each other slowly as the echoing winds swirled and subsided, gusting ever stronger.
The Echowind Split sounded with shouts as over twenty Aran guards poured into the plaza. Half of them bounded down from the upper amphitheatre, the others barreled up the split past a handful of gentry stragglers, swords drawn. Lurec sagged in relief, but the voidwalker’s focus never left Nassir.
The brute’s fists trembled before his chest, as though his wrists were bound by an invisible shackle. He expanded his hands slowly, just as before, only now Lurec understood. He shouted urgently at the charging swordsmen. “Beware the voidwalker’s thrall! Don’t give in to it!”
His words were worthless. The thrall slammed into the Arans like a wall made of madness instead of bricks. Lurec shivered as the effect pounded on the fortress of his mind. Six of the swordsmen dropped dead in mid-bound. Their swords went sliding across the redstone. Another seven fell to their knees, screaming and holding their heads as if their skulls would split open. Fear broke those who kept their feet, after more than half of their force was lost before even joining the fight. They turned and fled the split.
Lurec willed himself forward, though every ounce of his logic begged that he should run. He inched closer to where Dayn stood riveted as the voidwalker closed in on Nassir. The Shardian jumped, spinning to look down at him with wild eyes.
“Dayn, we need to leave this to him!” Lurec said urgently.
“I won’t run like a coward! Not again.” Haunted memory flitted through the boy's eyes. His hands clenched unconsciously―he actually wanted to fight!
The voidwalker rushed Nassir again. The Defender feinted a dodge, then brought his sword down on the brute's bare shoulder. Dark, viscous blood spilled out of the gash, only to crust over in seconds. The voidwalker regarded the wound in surprise.
The Defender smiled. “Sickmetal cuts through your rotten Thar’Kuri hide so easily.”
Lurec looked around helplessly. No one else remained in the plaza save a few still forms trampled during the voidwalker's appearance. Only the Defender s
eparated them from the voidwalker. “Think, lad. We must see the Seed safe!”
Nassir's next thrust glanced off the strange armor again. The voidwalker struck with a flying elbow in Nassir's chest that exploded in a spray of sparks. The Defender rolled with the blow and sprang to his feet on the voidwalker's left, slashing again. The brute twisted his body. Nassir's sword clanged off the covering.
“Lurec! Take the boy and go! Rouse the guards!”
“Dayn, we must do as he says.” That finally broke the boy’s trance. They turned to run. Before they had gone two steps, a second voidwalker stepped out of the split, blocking their path to the palace.
“I’m here for you, Shardian.”
“No.” Dayn’s voice cracked with fear. “Moridos.”
“Peace protect us.” Lurec stood paralyzed as Moridos advanced. The voidwalker paid no mind to the convulsing swordsmen at his feet. He looked even taller than the first voidwalker, older somehow. Nassir’s sword still rang out behind them. Against two, the Defender would be hopelessly outmatched.
“The Seed is all that matters!” hissed Lurec. “By the Ring, Shardian, bound!”
Fighting down the greatest terror of his life, Lurec stepped between Moridos and Dayn.
“What are you doing?” Dayn’s voice came behind him. “Stop!”
“Go to the palace, now!” Lurec possessed no weapons save his own trembling fists. I can still raise the call. “Help us! Murder in the plaza!”
Another gust of wind blew the steam from Moridos. He moved forward faster than Lurec could react.
“Preceptor!”
Lurec felt bare rock scrape his face. He lay sprawled among the redstone benches. Dazed, he slowly realized Moridos had swatted him aside like an insect. Pain lanced along his back as he watched the scene unfold through a cloud of pain.
Nassir attacked more forcefully, intent on avoiding his foe’s grasp. The voidwalker’s thrall did not affect the Defender. He moved alarmingly fast for his size, and easily slapped away Nassir's sword. Dark, brackish blood appeared on his hands as they clashed.
The Seedbearing Prince: Part I Page 31