The Seedbearing Prince: Part I

by DaVaun Sanders

  “It,” the Highest interrupted harshly once more. Lurec suppressed an irritated sigh. “It was never alive.”

  “Shardian, how many of them were near Shard’s worldheart?” Nassir asked. “Your best guess.”

  “More than a dozen, at least, but most of them were already dead because of the explosion in the heartrock.”

  Shir-Hun shook his head in amazement. “A dozen darklurkers near the worldheart? You’ve seen more adventure in this week than most have in a lifetime, young Shardian.” He turned to Lurec, his face grim. “You will have this corpse, Preceptor. I will ensure it remains intact until the Ring can see to it.”

  Lurec bowed deeply. He looked at the corpse for a moment, nodding to himself. “I would ask that you do not preserve it in ice. I’ve seen no signs of decomposition, and we don’t know how it will react to moisture.”

  “I...” Shir-Hun's eyes widened. “Of course, Preceptor. I shall see it done.”

  Dayn looked away, not wanting to embarrass the Highest while he blinked dampness from his eyes. Shir-Hun may not have ordered the attack on Suralose, but every drop of water must be scarce for one of his High to risk such action without the knowledge of the others. The Ring would be considered cruel indeed to demand ice in such difficult times.

  Lurec's gesture was small, but touched right to the heart of Ara. “Thank you, Highest,” he said simply. Now it was Shir-Hun's turn to bow.

  “Would a complete covering of this armor substitute for the sheath we use in the torrent?” Nassir asked.

  “Yes,” Lurec said immediately. “Without question.”

  “Every generation they return stronger. Four hundred years ago, a Defender could serve until he was silver-haired and perhaps catch glimpse of a single voidwalker. Those Thar’Kuri would hide at the merest threat of being attacked, while these newer warriors relish conflict. Within the last five years, we’ve killed twenty-six.”

  “Woe that I lived to see such days,” the Highest said. He sounded like a man shaken to his core. “Who has been to Thar'Kur? What have we learned of them through all this time? Nothing.”

  “The Belt is fragmented when the worlds need to be one,” Nassir said.

  The Highest nodded gravely. “One. You still dream the old dream, then?” Nassir gave no reply, and ignored the Preceptor’s searching gaze. Shir-Hun glanced at Dayn with a sad smile. “I wonder what the young dream of in these strange days.”

  Abruptly Shir-Hun’s voice hardened. “Emissaries will be sent to Suralose at once. Hopefully Overlord Feerthul will forgive the wounds of our...zealousness.” He grimaced over the corpse. “I shall see a transport prepared for your use, though it might cost me my seat. You’ll depart at once for Panen, assuredly?”

  The Ringmen looked at each other in surprise. “How did you―” Lurec began.

  Shir-Hun smirked. “This old man isn’t so poorly informed of the Ring's doings, as he is of his own world’s, at least. You must see the Seed secured, now more than ever.”

  Nassir shook his head emphatically. “No. We will make for Montollos.”

  Lurec’s eyes shot up in clear displeasure.

  “And here I’d forgotten you were my most irascible student.” Shir-Hun gave the Defender a curious look. “What are you up to?”

  “Yes,” Lurec said dryly. “Since there are clearly not enough forces set against us already.”

  “Our numbers are small, and the strength of our foe is unknown. We must consider Thar'Kur may know more of the Seed than we do presently.” Nassir looked at Dayn evenly. “I’m sorry, Shardian, but I would ask even more of you. Montollos is no friend to the Ring, but they shelter ambassadors from Porinis, Quello, and nine other worlds.”

  Lurec inhaled sharply. “You mean to seek an audience within the Consul’s Tower?”

  Shir-Hun folded his arms. “That is a terrible risk. What would keep the Regents from taking the Seed by force?”

  “A promise of the Lord Ascendant’s retribution has stayed greater hands from such poorly thought actions.”

  Dayn pulled his gaze away from the dead voidwalker's sightless eyes. “I’ll do whatever you need me to. I’m ready.”

  “Are you?” Shir-Hun asked.

  Dayn met his stare without blinking. “Every new world we go to brings more trouble, and it will only get worse now that Moridos knows about the Seed. So why not go where we can reach all of the worlds at once?”

  “They’re right,” Lurec said. “I’d rather a Regent control the Seed than Thar’Kur.” He did not look pleased with the prospect, but nodded his consent to Nassir.

  “Our transport bound for Montollos will not even depart from Olende,” Shir-Hun protested. “You must travel several weeks to the south to reach it, on foot and through sand storms no offworlder will easily endure. But I could have you to Panen in a week’s time, and―”

  “And light a beacon of our whereabouts for the entire Belt to see,” Nassir interrupted. “Talk of your order would be on every navigator’s lips from here to Ista Cham. Any direct route, to the Ring or any world, will only hinder our purpose.”

  Lurec rubbed his chin. “It’s for the best. The Belt turns against us, but seeking refuge in the Great City is completely unexpected. Thar’Kur must know that the Regents wouldn’t willingly give us sanctuary.”

  “A sad day for Ara if Montollos outshines us when it comes to kindness.” Warmth broke through Shir-Hun’s grim face for just a moment before vanishing. He deftly scrawled a new missive at his desk, and passed it to Nassir. “As though the days are not sad enough. Very well. I will play my part in this ruse. I believe this to be the greatest threat facing the World Belt since the days of the Breach. You can trust that the blood of Shir-Hun will raise Aran swords to see the World Belt through it.”

  “Peace upon Ara,” Nassir intoned.

  Shir-Hun turned to Dayn, weighing him with his eyes again. “Young Shardian, you bear a strong standard for your kin and your world.” Dayn straightened at the Highest's words. “Our Consul on Montollos is Bargis. Show him that letter, and he will aid you. I will have servants see to your provisions. My friends, may you be blessed in your travels.”

  He turned back to the window in clear dismissal. They left the Highest Shir-Hun to stand alone in his study with the voidwalker corpse.

  ***

  The Ringmen wasted no time, bidding Dayn to fetch his pack and staff so they could steal out of Olende under the shroud of darkness. They struck out into the splits, well past midnight.

  The shops and dwellings were all closed for the night, and the streets were empty of vendors. They moved east through a metalworker’s district full of echoed clanging and craftsmen who preferred cool nights to the unforgiving Aran sun.

  Other travelers proved rare. The few they passed never made eye contact, too intent on unloading supplies from pack teams to notice the Ringmen. I can only imagine how odd we must look, Dayn thought. An armored Defender with his arm in a sling, a Preceptor with stubble on his chin. His own height stood out worst of all.

  Nassir led with his usual briskness. He stopped them several times to wait for patrolling Aran swordsmen to pass. It seemed wise, with the Aran High Seats circulating vague descriptions of men in black armor causing trouble in Olende. The fact that the High knew about the voidwalker threat and chose to hide it confounded him. At least tell others, give them a chance to prepare themselves!

  A few more twists through the splits finally led to a main gate carved right into the redstone and guarded by two grizzled Arans. The men tensed at first, but bowed formally after a closer look at Nassir's armor.

  “Peace and favor upon Ara,” Nassir said. “How far of a journey to Peyha?”

  “Peyha, you say?” The gray-bearded guard cocked his head to one side in thought. He took in Dayn and Lurec with a dubious look. “What do you think, Sern?”

  Sern’s bronzed skin looked more worn than his leather armor. “Hmmm. Two weeks, three at most. If your bounding is sure.” The Arans looked meanin
gfully at Dayn and Lurec again.

  “It is,” Nassir said firmly.

  “Strange questions to ask in the dead of night.” Sern glanced at a brass bell hanging from the nearby redstone wall. “Don't you think, Hanl?”

  He means to raise the alarm against us, Dayn realized. The wall to Olende itself stood five spans thick. Several doorways and windows perforated the nearby base―Dayn imagined the inner rooms held more sleeping guards.

  “Strange indeed,” Hanl said. “Especially when the High ordered no one to leave Olende after the day's trouble. There's a killer needs catching. An offworlder, they say.”

  Nassir shifted imperceptibly in the darkness. Dayn wondered if the Arans had noticed his wounded arm. “I do not wish blood on your sand, Aran,” he said softly.

  The two men rested hands on the curved swords at their hips. Hanl continued casually. “As you say, brother Defender. I would rouse the entire barracks to stop you, and I've no doubts it would take all of us to do just that.” Dayn's hands tensed on his staff, and Lurec groaned.

  “A fight I’d like to see, myself.” Sern scratched his chin absently. “But an hour ago, a command came down from the Captain of the Palace Guard himself. To let certain parties pass.”

  Nassir muttered to himself and Dayn sighed in relief. “I’m glad the Ring still holds some favor in Jemlar's Hall,” Lurec said with a sniff.

  “As you say, Preceptor,” Hanl replied without a blink. “But the decree isn’t meant for you.”

  The three of them froze. Hanl and Sern watched the Ringmen closely, measuring their reaction. Finally Sern spoke.

  “The decree is intended for...a tall young man who likely carried a staff. A Shardian. I beg pardon Defender, but―” the Aran guard looked past the stunned Ringmen to Dayn. “Young sir, these men are here by your choosing?”

  Dayn's jaw fell open. Captain of the Guard? Who could possibly...? Then he remembered. “Peace keep you, Brant,” he murmured.

  “I'm sorry, young sir. What was that?”

  “Yes,” Dayn said, fighting back a grin. “I suppose they are.”

  The two men immediately released their swords. Nassir and Lurec gave each other a long look, then turned to stare at Dayn. You suppose? the Defender mouthed. Dayn could not hide his smile any longer at that. Lurec shook his head ruefully as one of the Arans produced a small map.

  “You know the shrubs that show where you can dig for water, or those with leaves you can chew?” Sern asked.

  “Yes,” Dayn and Nassir said at the same time. They looked up at him again, and he flushed, embarrassed.

  “Well, I figure a Shardian would know a thing or two about plants. You can follow the road easily enough, but these are the best places for water and forage. Hanl can tell you where to seek shelter.”

  The four men bent to peer at the map, Sern holding a lantern close as he traced the road with a gnarled finger. The night sky soon pulled Dayn away, and he leaned on his staff to gaze up at the stars. The black of night possessed a new texture that Dayn found both mystifying and wondrous.

  It looks different because I’ve been in the torrent, he thought. And now, I'm going to Montollos! Once, that seemed all he could ever hope for. The Course of Blades still beckoned to him, but so much was different since Wia Wells. What good was a Victor’s Sash if his family was not safe? He silently wished them well, searching the night for any sign of his home world.

  Knowing Tela, she was probably out of her sick bed by now, with or without the healer’s say-so. Dayn would bet a moondrop that she was adding her own touches to Hanalene’s paintings, or hiding stripeworms in Laman’s boots.

  A pang of homesickness pulled away Dayn's fond thoughts. Peace, how long have I been gone? A week? The short time felt like an eternity.

  The Defender’s hand on his shoulder brought Dayn out of his pondering. “Time to depart, Shardian,” Nassir said. “Before the sand can scorch your feet.”

  “Be vigilant, Ringmen. Dust storms are unpredictable this time of season.” The grizzled Aran guards nodded farewell. After a whispered debate, they stepped forward and bowed to Dayn! He gawked at them a moment, flushing yet again when Nassir and Lurec looked at him with expressionless faces.

  Not knowing what else to do, Dayn bowed right back. Now it was the Arans turn to gape, before breaking into chuckles about the High and their odd humor. Dayn shook his head incredulously as they passed through the gate.

  “What was that all about?” he asked. The quiet stirrings of the city gave way to utter silence as they set out into open desert.

  “Rumor is a strange thing,” Nassir said over his shoulder. “Half of Olende thinks you are a fledgling Defender, the other half that you’re truly a Shardian prince.” Nassir’s voice made it obvious which he considered the greater affront.

  “What, in disguise?” Dayn looked doubtfully at his Aran clothes. The vest and trousers he had worn to the Dance of Shells were ruined, but the palace servants had replaced them.

  “Most folk of the World Belt rarely leave their homeworld,” Lurec explained. “Only merchants or ambassadors. So why else would a Shardian be in Olende? He must be of some importance.”

  Dayn could not argue with that. “I never thought other worlds would be the same as home.”

  “You are set apart it seems, young Shardian.” The Defender raised an eyebrow. “Especially with whispers of the Heir to the Highest speaking of men for the first time in years.”

  Dayn's jaw dropped. “Soong? Peace! I―”

  “There will be time enough to talk during the days ahead, farmer. You must not attract any more attention to us in order for our ruse to work. You know what’s at stake.” The three began bounding through the desert, weary shadows in the Aran night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Thirty-Eight Worlds

  The Seed whispers with no voice, acts with no hands, heals with no mercy. The bearer holds the Seed, and the Seed steers the bearer.

  -Master Irwin Dosay's Compendium of Seedlore

  Nassir slowed after a mile of hard bounding to distance them from the city. The three of them carried scant rations for their journey, and Lurec voiced his worry over their water, but Nassir affirmed they would replenish their stores easily through the coming weeks.

  Sifting through his pack, Dayn could not help but notice what little remained from Shard, and how worn his things looked. A belt knife, still gummed up from cutting the gravespinner’s silk, his bag of gems and lucky red cloak, torn and fraying at the hem. Nerlin’s coursing gear was still in good shape, at least. His clothes from home were gone, and he had discarded the Aran armor at Nassir’s advice. He doubted he would ever get used to the baggy Aran trousers or vest, but they were much cooler. Next to Overlord Feerthul’s waterskin, the Seed glowed with the quiet promise of a rising sun. He would never get used to that, either.

  The Defender set a hard pace, squeezing every ounce of effort from Lurec. Dayn found it enjoyable to stretch his legs and feel the wind on his face, especially after the stifling heat of Olende. To his credit, Lurec kept up, although the weak Aran ground certainly helped. When the Preceptor's panting grew too great, Nassir traded bounding for a brisk walk. Brilliant starlight lit the roadway, eliminating the need for torches.

  “The stars are much clearer on the smaller worlds,” Lurec said. “Of course, they are best viewed from the Ring.”

  Dayn's reply was cut short when Nassir skidded to a stop ahead of them, straining to see further ahead.

  “Off the road, quickly!” he hissed. The land sloped sharply away on either side after about five paces, but Dayn and Lurec hastily obeyed. The barren landscape offered little in the way of cover, save the night itself. They held still, scarcely daring to breathe. After a few minutes that seemed an eternity, Nassir came scrambling to join them.

  “What is it?” Lurec whispered. Dayn strained to hear anything over his own worried breathing. Faint yellow light appeared on the roadway above.

  “Merchant’s caravan.”


  Dayn heard Lurec’s sigh of relief in the dark. Some moments later, they heard the steady clop of hooves on the hard-packed sand, and faint whickers from a team of horses. The light reached where they had scurried off the slope. Nassir held them there, long enough for Dayn to count to one hundred, then crept back up the slope. Even with one good arm, the Defender moved with more stealth than Lurec and Dayn put together. His low whistle signaled them to return to the road.

  “Was that really necessary?” Lurec complained. He irritably brushed sand from his clothes and hair.

  “Would you have word of three offworld travelers in the night reach Olende before we’re a day gone?” Nassir countered. Lurec could say nothing to that.

  They saw no one else that first night of travel to Peyha, and made good time. When the morning sun became too hot, they finally left the road for shelter. Nassir guided them into a nearby split with all confidence. Thankfully the guard’s directions proved true. They ducked into an opening just a few spans wide, where the upper redstone walls had fallen in on each other. The interior was completely shadowed and surprisingly cool.

  “We’ll sleep here,” Nassir announced. He pulled his pack and scabbard off, then proffered Dayn and Lurec food. “I’ll return soon.”

  “He expects us to sleep on this?” Lurec muttered once the Defender was gone.

  “It's not so bad,” Dayn said. “At least we didn't have to do this on Suralose. I'd rather be too hot than too cold.”

  The Preceptor gave a mirthless laugh, peering at the hardened sand as though he might discover a soft spot. “I suppose you’re right at that.”

  Dayn looked at his portion doubtfully, some hard bread and the dried meat he remembered from Olende's splits. The meat proved even tougher than he suspected, but after the long night of travel, he would not complain. “At least we’re not eating those bugs. You should―”

  Dayn stopped abruptly, for the Preceptor was already fast asleep. Dayn waited awhile for the Defender to return, but eventually his own eyelids grew too heavy. He slept fitfully as the heat of the day settled on their hiding place, and men with gray skin chased him through his dreams.