Dayn could not help but smile. “I like the sound of that.”
“You’ve represented your world proudly, Shardian.” The Preceptor stretched by the fire. “All of the rest will soon come.”
“The Ring couldn’t have known the Seed would be found, even if Preceptors were looking for one this whole time. So what else is the greatship meant to do?”
Dayn looked up when the Preceptor did not answer. Lurec was already fast asleep. Dayn laid out his red cloak, but rest did not come so soon for him. Instead he held the Seed, which ate the fire’s light, yet seemed to grow cool in his hand. He wondered how many other Seedbearers in the past had held this same orb and helped the people of the World Belt. Peace, but I’m just supposed to give it to the Preceptors, and that’s it? Once someone else is the Seedbearer, will I go back to the way I was?
The Seed flashed in his hand. A series of images came to him suddenly, as strong and sure as a Sending. Dayn saw his mother, golden eyes smiling and warm as always, but different somehow. Younger. Hanalene walked arm in arm with a frail woman next to stark white cliffs covered in moss and green creepers. Dayn knew without grasping how that he looked upon his mother and grandmother, Wynese. Their eyes burned into Dayn’s, full of sadness and strength and hope.
The Seed flashed again. His mother was gone. Wynese remained, only the gray in her tight curls was vanished. She stood next to a matronly woman Dayn did not recognize, her face all stern angles chiseled into brown freckled skin. Their eyes met his and—
Dayn let the Seed fall from his fingers. The flashing stopped and the strange visions ceased immediately. He could not be sure if his Sending had triggered some new aspect of the Seed’s powers, or…Peace, could it be that it was Sending to me? What was I supposed to see?
“Shardian?” Dayn nearly leaped out of his skin at Nassir’s silent approach. The Defender looked at him in worry, then glanced pointedly down to where the Seed fell. “Are you alright?”
Dayn gasped in dismay. “Oh, clusterthorn!” The Seed had fallen in the dying embers. Before he even considered what he was doing, Dayn reached in and yanked it out.
Now it was Nassir’s turn to gasp. “Shardian, your hand…”
His skin should be blistered, but no harm had come to him. The Seed was still cool to the touch. It offered more questions than answers, but it did protect Dayn, of that he felt sure. He took a deep breath and met Nassir’s eyes. “I’m fine.”
The Defender’s eyes narrowed, but he merely nodded. “Fair enough. Tomorrow we enter Peyha and board the transport. Rest now. In a day you will behold the greatest city ever imagined by men.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Montollos
‘What makes you so much better than me? Your purple cape and finery?
Your purple tongue and weak heart ground? I’ll work for you no more!’
‘Not my gown of state, nor my velvet tongue, but the towers you've built instead of your sons.
Aren’t you proud of the work you’ve done? Now build for me one more!’
-Quello miner’s song
Shardian, you've been twisting in place for the last hour,” Nassir grated. “Stop. You're making the navigators nervous.”
“We're nearly there,” Lurec said. He chuckled as Dayn folded his arms. “You act as though it will fall from the Belt.”
“Peace, but I wish we could see it,” Dayn said. After the weeks of bounding, he could scarcely contain himself. He would pace if not for the boxes full of Aran glasswork that filled most of the hold. “Why do the transports have no windows in the hold?” The two Ringmen just looked at him, Lurec with amusement and Nassir with barely contained irritation. Even the Defender's annoyance could not dampen Dayn's spirits.
“Nearly ready to place down,” one of the Aran navigators called out. A surprisingly tall man with red hair, his gray eyes fixed Dayn in place for a moment before he turned back around. The two barely glanced at their vapor array. The transport had guided itself for nearly the entire journey. They were absorbed in some Aran dice game and spared little attention for their passengers. Dayn was surprised to feel at ease in the craft, after the fate of the transport at Suralose.
The other navigator was a gnarled looking man with shifty hands. The dice rattled, and he scooped up a handful of silver bits. “I win again, Lews,” he laughed.
The red-haired Aran muttered darkly and turned back to the vapor array. He looked out of place for some reason, as though he should be doing something besides navigating a transport. I’ve little room to talk. I should be laying down summer seed back home. Dayn reminded himself of the good he would bring about for the World Belt, and how proud his parents would be upon his return. That helped his own guilt fade somewhat.
“Wait until my family knows I came to Montollos,” Dayn said, rubbing his hands together. “I must bring back something for my sister.”
“You'll certainly have the chance with that ridiculous bag of gems in your pack,” Lurec observed. The dicing navigator perked up at the mention of that. “I imagine you'll be very popular.”
The transport's motion shifted, and Dayn felt the familiar lurch as the craft came to rest. He shifted on his feet eagerly, impatient for the rear hold door to open.
A group of surly laborers lounged next to unmarked crates and barrels just off the landing platform. The Defender swept by them and onto a stone thoroughfare full of transports, some five times larger than the ones he knew from the Ring. More laborers crowded everywhere, with merchants from a dozen worlds shouting at the top of their lungs.
“Have a care with that! It will fetch a fine price in the tallest towers!”
“Is something wrong with your back? The loaders at Porinis are twice the men!”
“Stay close,” Nassir said. He plunged into a teeming crowd, easily the most people Dayn had ever seen in one place.
Dayn found that to be easier said than done. People crossed his path so frequently that he was forced to dodge this way and that just to stay within arm's reach of the Defender. Despite the jostling, Dayn still found time to gawk as Montollos opened up majestically before him.
Regal towers of all sizes dominated the entire horizon, gleaming white. The largest of them looked nearly a mile wide. All were ringed in narrow bands of pale crystal windows.
Intricate walkways of metal and gleaming stone spread out before them, interlinking the towers at countless junctures. They spanned fantastic distances, yet were delicately wrought. Dayn knew little of metalworking, but instinctively felt the walkways were much too thin to hold the vast crowds of Montollene going about their business.
The crowd to Dayn's right parted and he jumped back so quickly he bumped into some Montollene folk, who commented loudly about uncultured offworlders. He could see for miles below―he was actually standing on a platform! Peace, where is the ground? The towers before him all stretched downward, disappearing into a distant haze.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Lurec beamed. Dayn could have mistaken the Preceptor for a Montollos man himself, with how the Ringman prated over such bewildering pathways. “Simple, clean lines on every structure with minimal decoration. The builders knew the precision of the towers to be beautiful enough, on its own.”
“The entire city is moving,” Dayn said in wonder. “It makes Olende look like a termite mound, and Misthaven an ant heap. I never imagined there would be so many people.”
“Indeed. You will never see such structures anywhere else,” Lurec said. The massive tower directly in front of them rose slowly upward, like the handle of a butter churn. Walkways seemed to float everywhere the eye could see, above and below, and they were not always attached to the towers. “Montollos may be impressive for its size, but it is by far the most finely crafted of all the worlds in the Belt. They call these paths ribbons.”
Dayn could not think of a more perfect description. The stone paths looked exactly like some ordinary roads that had freed themselves from the ground to become ribbons in the sky. Wha
t’s holding the whole thing up? he wondered. It must be like the anchors in the torrent, or it would all fall apart.
The Montollene covering every ribbon seemed little afraid of that, although several of the platforms had no rails. They don't worry about falling off? The people themselves were a wonder, of every shade of skin, manner of dress and style of hair. A slightness of stature was the only thing to connect them all, at a glance, anyway.
Maybe that’s because of the weak ground, he mused. It’s worse than Ara. I’d test my strength, but not with no certain place to land!
As the crowd carried them along, Dayn stared intently at the surrounding towers, some rising lazily into the sky or sinking below the horizon. He thumped into Nassir’s outstretched forearm.
“Pay attention, farmer,” the Defender said roughly. “This is an easy place to become lost if you don't learn to find your way.”
“Be easy, Defender,” Lurec chided. “It’s much to take in the first time.”
Dayn frowned. If the crowd continued to fill this plaza, the people near the edges would be pushed off. But the Montollene just chatted away. Lurec caught Dayn's attention, and pointed surreptitiously into the sky. One of the lace metal bridges floated lazily in the distance, edging closer to them.
No, Dayn realized. It’s we who are moving closer to the bridge.
“You start to see now, don’t you? Good.” The Defender gave a satisfied nod. Dayn just stopped himself from smiling at the praise.
“Everything is moving,” he said. The bridge―no, the plaza―ghosted to a stop, and the mass of Montollene pressed forward. Looking downward made Dayn dizzy. More bridges and plazas floated in the gray haze between towers, creating an intricate lace that suggested depths beyond the reaches of sunlight. A look upward showed the same view, only the floating ribbons lost themselves in blue sky. “The towers...they turn, too!”
“To shorten the ribbon walkers’ journey,” Nassir explained. “The movement of tower and ribbons allows any destination to become close, if you choose the right path.”
“I would think everyone courses in a place like this,” Dayn observed. In all his dreams, he could never have imagined such wonders. He pitied any Montollene with a poor head for heights―they were truly born on the wrong world. “There’s barely a patch of ground to call flat.”
“The outer steppes are still...intact. You feel the weakness of the ground?” Nassir asked. Dayn nodded, and the Defender lowered his voice. “Remember the people of a world are usually a measure of the ground they walk upon. Montollene are a fragile lot.”
“Except for the Prevailers,” Lurec corrected. A muscle in Nassir's jaw twitched. Lurec smiled pleasantly. The two had gelled somewhat on Ara, but Dayn doubted the men would ever fully stop provoking one another. They crossed the bridge and paused on another plaza which angled west, toward a distant tower.
“The Montollos Regents created the Prevailers long ago,” the Defender allowed, “to lessen a need for Defenders from the Ring.”
“They don't mix well, either,” Lurec said. “Defenders and Prevailers, that is. I would avoid them myself. Montollos always finds ways to set itself against the Ring.”
Nassir gave the Preceptor a long look, but his words were for Dayn. “You would do well to keep that in mind for as long as we’re here.”
Dayn shrugged. “I will. I bear no ill will on any man.” His eyes narrowed as he studied the white spire they were approaching. The plaza they stood upon floated like a chunk of driftwood on a deep river. The sensation bothered Dayn. For all of the intricacies of these ribbons, he felt powerless to control his own movement. Frowning, he pointed in the distance. “That tower. It’s not moving at all.”
“The Tower Axios is especially for offworlders,” Lurec said. “It’s the central point of Montollos, and the only tower connected to the bedrock.”
“Is that where we’re going?”
“Peace, no.” Lurec glanced at Nassir. The plaza began curving to their left, edging away from the Tower Axios. “Offworld dignitaries must add their names to the Great Registry. That’s touted as a point of honor.”
Nassir snorted. “Yet required by Regent law, so offworlder movements can be tracked. Especially guests from the Ring.”
“You really think they’ll listen to us?” Dayn asked. “Maybe we should’ve gone back to the Ring.”
The Defender rounded on him suddenly. “As much as I despise this place, I would keep the Seed in the Prevailer's Sanctum itself than see it given over to our true enemies. Have you forgotten the Echowind Split so easily?”
The Defender turned around, waiting for the plaza to rest again. Lurec placed a hand on Dayn's shoulder and murmured in his ear.
“The World Belt is not so simple a place as you wish it to be. Some enmities run deep, lad. It is good we are here. With Prevailers to keep the order, Montollos is one of the safest cities in the World Belt. If peace favors us, your voice will spread to every world from here.”
Dayn nodded reluctantly. He hated feeling like he was not living up to his promise with the Lord Ascendant, but understood the Defender’s sense of urgency.
Lurec nodded toward a bored looking Montollene man who stood to one side of the platform. He wore a yellow tabard over a crisp white shirt. “That man is a wayfinder.” Dayn blinked at the familiar term. “Or pathman, as the Montollene call them. Ask and they can direct you to your destination.” Dayn nodded dubiously. The man looked like he might fall asleep at my moment.
“The Defender knows someone in the city who can find us lodging, away from Regent influence,” Lurec said. “We’ll be able to remain here in secret while we seek out Shir-Hun’s Consul. Soon enough, we’ll―”
“Ho there! Peace favor the Ring!”
Nassir and Lurec both cringed. Their bridge floated to a stop among plenty of stares. Nassir strode quickly toward a waving man, attempting to quiet him. Smile lines crisscrossed his fair skin, and straight white hair flowed around a bald patch on his crown as he came closer, murmuring apologetically whenever his rounded belly bumped a Montollene from his path.
“Vake,” Nassir said. The irritation faded from his face. “It’s been too long, my friend.”
“Aye, it has,” the man knuckled his forehead and gave the slightest of bows. People seemed more concerned with moving around them than with stopping to eavesdrop, fortunately. “I thought that was you, Brother Nassir. Not an easy man to disguise. Wise to shed your armor, or fall victim to Montollos courtesy.”
Nassir made quick introductions. Vake’s deep bow made the Preceptor redden, visible even with his new Aran suntan. Dayn received a hearty handshake, which suited him just fine.
“Welcome to the Great City. Any friend of the Ring is a friend of mine,” Vake said, grinning broadly. Dayn immediately liked the man. They followed him to a different edge of the platform, and stopped to wait for an approaching bridge.
“I'm retired Ringbound myself, used to run transports from Jendini through the torrent. That's how I know Nassir. Once those days was done with―my hands don't work the vapor like they used to―well, I didn’t want to spend the rest of my years without seeing some of the Belt, or finding some other use for these old bones. Life on Ista Cham was too dull, and I could never get used to Dervishi days―or women for that matter―so I ended up here.
“A little bit of everything and everybody,” he continued as they began to walk. The man weaved effortlessly through the crowds with an ease that made Dayn slightly envious. “Used the rest of the Ring's Blessing to open my old flophouse, and been at it ever since. Things have changed a lot since then, though. Did you know there are more Cutremursh living in the city than there are on Cutremur?”
“You’re from Jendini?” Dayn asked. He knew little of the world, except they kept independent of the World Belt. Not quite like the raiders of the Eadrinn Gohr, but Dayn always wondered at any world’s people who refused Shard's gift.
Vake squinted up at him. “I may have been born on a sing
le rock, my boy, but I claim the entire Belt as my own. I'm no Preceptor, but I know my lineage, and―”
“Our needs are pressing.” Nassir cut in quickly before Vake could finish. “I didn’t know you personally owned lodging. We shall purchase several nights' stay.”
“You most certainly shall not,” Vake said indignantly. “I’ll gladly offer my best rooms to you free of charge.”
The Ringmen protested at once, but he would have none of it. “Not that I would stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong, but I’d wager you’re avoiding the Tower Axios.” Nassir said nothing as they walked, but Vake continued on in a conspiratorial whisper. “None of my business, of course. None of my business. But if you ask me, it's past time those fool Regents were brought to bear. Past time. You can stay as long as you like, and I guarantee it will be quiet as you like.” Vake finished with a curt nod.
“Thank you, Vake.” Nassir did not feign the gratitude in his voice. “That will save us more strife than you could possibly know.”
“I thought so.”
“Havenkeeper, we need to gain access to the Consul’s Tower. Particularly the Consul from Ara.”
“Well, it’s fortunate you’re speaking to a well-connected man.” Vake rubbed his chin in thought. “I remember the name now. Bargis. That’s the Aran you seek. He’s related to Shir-Hun, and from what I hear, a heavy gambler at the arena.”
Lurec and Nassir shared a long look.
“Is your haven near the arena?” Lurec inquired. Dayn’s heart skipped at the request. He searched the Preceptor's face.
“Not far at all. When the towers rise, you’ll need to get lucky with the skybridges you take, but we’ll be no more than a half hour away. When the towers fall, just two bridges will have you there in a blink. Going to be crammed with offworlders, though, with how the Regents are tinkering with the Cycle. Grand waste of time if you ask me, but good for business.”
The Seedbearing Prince: Part I Page 36