“Stop squirming,” Soong admonished. “I'm nearly done. It’s not good to suffer injury on another world, you know. There are different sicknesses that even a Shardian may not be able to withstand so easily.”
“Peace, I didn't know that,” Dayn muttered. He must seem a backcountry lout, but she never made him feel that way. “Is that why they offer such poor food here? Are they afraid of our harvest? My friends said they’ve seen none of Shard's blessing on Montollos at all.”
The bodyguards gave each other troubled glances as Soong answered. “The Regents choose not to accept every transport from Shard,” she said carefully. “Some fear that Shard will use the Pledge to shackle the Belt to her.”
“But why would they think that?” Dayn asked, completely bewildered. The bodyguards would not meet his eyes. If my father or Elder Buril were to hear this, they would be undone. “A Shardian's heart is in his fields. We live for the harvest, for the service we do for the Belt.” He was surprised at the passion of his own words.
Do you live for Shard's Pledge? A small voice pricked his thoughts, but he shoved it away. I'm still serving Shard, just in a different way. Peace, the crops won't wither away just because I missed a single harvest.
“Your fields are power. Ara would just be another lifeless erratic in the torrent without Shard. Some leaders fear Shard because, in their hearts, they know how they would use the Pledge if it were theirs to give.” Soong looked at him for a long time, her eyes showing in the Montollene sun. They wavered between hazel and green, he could not decide which color was stronger. “I've looked after this scrape,” she said. “It was small enough. But it will be easier to tend with your hair properly braided.”
A quick look at the bodyguards told Dayn how displeased they were at the idea. “Are you sure?” Dayn said doubtfully. “My head is tender. I wouldn't want to impose, and―”
“Oh, sit down.”
Soong worked through his hair with surprisingly nimble fingers. A quick word to one of her servants sent the woman running.
“Your hair could stand a proper washing,” Soong murmured as she pulled apart his braids. “There’s so much sand in your hair, I’m surprised you can hold your head up.”
Dayn flushed in embarrassment. “We don’t have such sandstorms back home. I’ll be better prepared, next time.”
Soong clucked sadly. “No one showed you the Aran secret to keeping sand out of your hair?”
“No.”
“It’s easy. Stay inside.” The guards chuckled roughly at that. She set to combing out his hair, and the servant soon returned with sweet smelling oil, water and towels. After cleaning his hair, Soong braided in straight cornrows, which relieved him a great deal. Men had sported many other styles in Olende, swooping loops and maze-like patterns, but he for one did not want to look like an overgrown child.
Dayn imagined how odd the scene must look for any passersby. An Aran lady in silks, surrounded by her guardsmen, braiding a Shardian farmer's hair. He would have laughed at the absurdity of it, but did not want to spoil the moment.
“I think more world leaders could do well to meet you, Dayn Ro'Halan.” Soong said after a while. Nearly finished, her fingers were already tickling the nape of his neck. “My father refused to tell me what those Ringmen are playing at, but I cannot say I trust them. Don't become entangled in their schemes.”
“They mean well, I'm sure of it.”
“Meaning well and doing well are two different things.”
“Heiress, we must leave soon,” the elder bodyguard stepped forward quietly. “There is the offworld curfew to consider. The Marshal General will toss the four of us from the Tower Axios should we miss it.”
“And my brother would do worse than that.” Soong sighed, patting Dayn's shoulders. “Well, these are done at least. I would have finished sooner if you didn’t squirm so much. You should have told me your head was so tender.”
“I...” Dayn decided not to argue the point. He rose, feeling his new braids. They were smartly done, though tight enough to tug at his eyebrows. They would easily last for weeks. “I've kept you longer than I should.”
“I meant to visit the Rain Shoppe.” Soong shrugged, lingering on from the bench. “It’s a store of curiosities Nnendi spoke of fondly.”
“Heiress, the curfew,” the bodyguard repeated.
Confound the man, Dayn thought, as they began moving out of the garden tower. He noted with some satisfaction that Soong also lingered.
“Offworlders are supposed to stay at the Tower Axios, but you’re hiding in the Great City with these Ringmen. Why?” The Heiress High's directness took Dayn aback, but he answered with little hesitation.
“You know better than I that Montollos doesn’t favor the Ring. Nassir thought it best this way.”
“So it’s not because of...” She glanced pointedly at the bodyguards.
Peace, she means the voidwalkers, Dayn thought. He wondered how much the Highest had told her of them. “No, peace be praised.” The answer was only a partial truth, but Dayn did not want to frighten her. “Why are you here? Do you follow the Cycle?”
Soong shook her head, watching a ribbon glide toward the garden tower's portal. “Hardly. I love my brother dearly, but there are better things he could do with his time. Better for him and Ara. The Marshal General says swordwork builds good character, and my father will not break with the tradition, so I say nothing. My father thought it would be good for me to journey to Montollos. Safer than...you know. There are many places I could have traveled, but I thought...”
Her servant was leaning in curiously, and Soong favored the woman with a scorching glare. “Are you so afraid of the ribbon's edge?”
The woman hopped back, mortified to be caught eavesdropping. “No, Heiress!”
“I'm anxious to leave the towers myself,” Dayn said quickly. The poor woman looked ready to trip over her own feet, and that would not do at all. “All these ribbons; it’s quite a thing to get used to, walking in this place.”
“Please, Shardian. I saw you spinning about in that contest. The Marshal General spoke of nothing else afterward, how he should have gone first.” Soong laughed, the same melodious sound Dayn remembered from the palace garden. Behind her, the Aran servant gave Dayn a gratified look for diverting Soong’s displeasure. “You were the talk of the arena.”
Dayn frowned at that unwelcome news. “I doubt that. Not with the Heiress High of Ara there,” he said.
“This isn't Ara. If not for my father's guard, I could play cards and throw dice in the filthiest haventower. Speaking of which...I owe you a lost wager.” She began to ruffle in her skirts, but Dayn placed a hand on her arm.
“There’s no need, it was all in good fun.”
Soong pursed her lips thoughtfully. “So is Shard as carefree of a place as the stories say?”
“I wouldn't know, outside of the Mistlands,” Dayn replied. “Do the stories say anything of Aran beauty?”
Soong stammered, and her bodyguards all quickly found points in the horizon to gaze at while she composed herself. “I...I...wouldn't know, either,” she said.
Dayn nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a beautiful world, after all.”
Soong's mouth fell open, and she peered up at Dayn through long eyelashes. He rather enjoyed seeing her be the one stumbling over what to say, for once.
“Give me your hand,” he said. Her eyes narrowed, but eagerness tugged at her expression as Dayn dug through his pack.
“I cannot accept this!” Soong exclaimed. Her henna-covered palm trembled, cradling a single blue moondrop. “It makes our wager a grain of sand by comparison.”
The stone was one of Jairn’s finest cuts, an oval shape with translucent lines that cradled sunlight. The enormous gem nearly covered her palm. Save that for someone special, my boy, Dayn remembered the gemcutter's words and the meaningful wink he gave upon returning the finished stone. And I don't mean the next time you’re in trouble with Hanalene!
Taking in
Soong's face, Dayn was thankful for the gemcutter’s advice. He clasped his hands behind his back as she thrust the gem back toward him.
“It’s considered quite rude to return a gift on Shard,” he said in all seriousness. Or pass an unwanted one to someone else, he almost added, after noticing a speculative light blossom in the eyes of her stunned retinue.
“But I have nothing to give in return!”
“Well, there is one thing I could ask of the Heiress High. My kinfolk mean me to visit them at the Tower Axios tonight,” Dayn ventured. “Perhaps you’ll be free of the Regents then?”
“So you wish to see me again?” Soong asked, smiling openly now as they walked.
“Peace, who said that? I just know I’m going to be awake tonight, that’s all,” Dayn said, putting on a mock frown. He gestured to his cornrows. “These braids have my skin stretched so tight, it’s going to be a chore to shut my eyes.”
Soong blinked. “What―”
“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” Dayn teased. “If you wanted to see me again, you could have asked.”
Soong let her extended hand fall to her waist, her ringed fingers finally closing around Dayn's gift. She shook her head as if arguing with herself, then looked up at Dayn with an expression that would surely linger in his thoughts for weeks to come.
“I will see you again, Dayn Ro'Halan,” she said. A collective gasp rippled through the retinue as the Heiress High stood on tiptoes to kiss him lightly on the cheek. She swept away in that abrupt Aran manner. The bodyguards and servants fell in smoothly around her, a river of silk and swords carrying an orange starwatcher blossom along on its current. Dayn stood there watching, with Soong's pearlpetal scent still tickling his nose. He did not move until she disappeared, ascending another skybridge that soon faded in the distance.
For the second time, Dayn considered dancing on the spot. Given how well things were unfolding, he could hardly wait to share his story with the Consuls tonight. If the Ringmen believed the worlds were properly warned, they might even let him return home to Shard with his friends.
Whistling, Dayn found another ribbon, which quickly swept him into the heart of Montollos. He watched for a pathman to show him the way to Vake's haven, although rejoining the Ringmen was not quite on his mind just yet. The sun was high overhead and there was a city to explore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Rain Shoppe
A Thar'Kuri warrior fears just five things, his bondleader is greatest of these. A bondleader fears only one thing, and that is me.
-Force General Nassir Toljem
Dayn wandered for a while, marveling over the Great City, but his conscience soon began to pull at him. He stopped to ask a pathman the way to the haventowers.
“Just beyond the fifty-ninth plaza,” the man said. “Less than five minutes from here.”
Dayn brightened at the news. He could explore a little while longer. “Have you heard of the Rain Shoppe?”
“You have peace's own luck, offworlder. Hop this next skybridge.” The man pointed at the bridge resting near the edge of the plaza they stood upon. “Take the ascending ribbon from the plaza. You'll see merchant signs on the tower you’re brought to. Quickly, or you'll miss it!”
Dayn reached the bridge just before it slipped away. Minutes later he stood before a tower with signs hanging above every door. He finally found the one he sought, decorated with a smattering of silver drops covering a field of blue. It almost looks like the mist back home, he mused. Peace only knows what those drops might be.
He entered the Rain Shoppe through a thin metal door. A cool brass teardrop formed the handle, which turned smoothly in his palm. Too smoothly, for the door escaped him to thud softly against the inner wall, bringing an assortment of hanging bells and chimes to life. Dimly lit rows of shelves filled the room, covered with all manner of jewelry and knickknacks, enough trinkets to fill Wia Wells from now until the last Sealing. Two patrons rummaged quietly through the Rain Shoppe's offerings, backs bent over the shelves as though they were gleaning fields after a harvest.
“Welcome!” A woman called out in a voice that matched her smile, full and warm. She sat mending a piece of jewelry at a table to the rear of the shop.
Dayn offered a polite nod as he surveyed the Rain Shoppe. “Can you help me find gifts for my family back home?” He paused, scratching the nape of his neck sheepishly. “And for a...sister I have met.”
“Of course. Evlyn is my name.” She wore her white hair in a plain bun and her blue dress was simply cut. Her eyes were sharp, although one watered, so that she dabbed at it constantly. “Buying patrons are a rarity these days!” She said the last loudly, for the benefit of the Montollene men still hunched over their foraging. Neither of them bothered to look up. She sighed. “Now, this piece was made for...”
The door chimes rang. Evelyn paused to wave at more customers with that same cheery smile. Dayn considered the blue-flecked ring she held. Mother might like it. “Would a painter want a painting for a gift?” he asked.
He looked up when the shopkeeper failed to answer. Evlyn's face was unchanged, but her fingers betrayed the slightest quiver. A smothering perfume suddenly filled the Rain Shoppe. Dayn immediately recognized the rankness it was meant to cover.
“No,” he whispered.
The two Montollene men both stared at the doorway. Water slipped from Evlyn's eye, she did not wipe it away as she turned toward the door. A half-dozen men crowded into the shop, but not one looked at the wares.
“Don’t you fret.” Evlyn patted his arm reassuringly, remembering herself. She returned the ring to its place and glided forward. “Finally, some new business. A moment, offworlder. We’ll find something precious for your kin. And your lady friend, too.”
Not one of the men looked alike. Dayn saw violet eyes he could not place, fair skin from Suralose or perhaps Nevar, and olive complexions that could hail from a dozen other worlds.
The only thing truly linking them was the desperate light in their eyes. And dirt. Why are they all so dirty? Dayn recognized one wrinkly brown face as the man’s eyes fixed on him.
“The beggar,” he breathed.
Evlyn faced the men indignantly, once it became obvious they were not interested in her wares. “Get out of my shop! The Prevailers will―”
“That’s him!” the beggar pointed a twisted finger at Dayn. “A son of Shard, I saw him in the clear man’s Sending. Alive, the clear man said! He's worth twice his weight in silver, and we can keep every stone we find.”
As the men stalked closer, Evelyn reached behind her counter and withdrew a small wooden club. Before she could swing it, one of the men casually backhanded her. Dayn watched in dismay as she crashed into her shelves, then fell still on the floor amid some shattered pottery.
He almost envied her. Alive, the clear man said. Dayn took a step back, the heel of his boot thudding into a display rack. There were no other exits from the shop.
Dayn constructed an image of himself trapped inside the Rain Shoppe, and attempted to push it from his mind, but Lurec’s lessons came to him clumsily. He could not be far from the haventower, but doubted his effort at Sending reached the Ringmen. I need the Seed.
“Clear men never sleep, offworlder,” the beggar cackled. “He whispered your face across the Belt, but I’m the one who’s found you!”
The beggar stood back as his ragged fellows advanced. Eager leers contorted their faces, while their hands opened and closed unconsciously in the way of greedy men. One held a length of rope.
Dayn backpedaled, scrambling for anything he could use as a weapon. There were nothing but trinkets. He lamented over not keeping Milchamah’s staff. He reached out to Send again, but could not concentrate through his fear. The stench of the men overpowered his nose. They let loose a chorus of ugly laughter, relishing the fact that he would struggle. One of the wide-eyed old patrons pointed wordlessly to Dayn’s left.
“Stop playing, you fools―grab him!” the beg
gar called out urgently. Dayn reached for the wall, just as the ragged man grasped his sleeve. Dayn wasted no time doubling him over with a jab to the ribs. That blessed old man had pointed out a curious length of rippled wood with strange markings, just enough for the makings of a short staff.
The rod was horribly balanced, barely strong enough not to snap. It hissed in Dayn's hand, when he twisted it, startling him. He looked questioningly at the Montollene elder.
“Rain stick.” The man shrugged.
“Take him now!” The men frowned over their fallen cohort, but quickly lunged for Dayn. The two Montollene scuttled to one side as another beggar closed, a man with pimples covering his face and a bulbous nose. Dayn brought the rain stick upward between the man's legs. He collapsed with a squeal of pain.
“More for the rest of us. Take him! The clear man wants him alive!”
Whipped into a frenzy by their leader, the men still pressed Dayn. They were woeful fighters compared to the Aran swordsmen, and offered little resistance. One by one they fell, crashing into shelves and knocking paintings from their stands. The man holding the rope was the last to throw himself forward with a desperate cry. The rain stick broke against his temple, and he flopped to the ground like a gutted fish.
Tiny white pebbles poured from the broken haft of the rain stick in a dry hiss. Dayn faced the last beggar. “I helped you earlier,” he growled.
“There’s no help for the World Belt, Shardian. Nothing can save it from the void,” the beggar snarled as he disappeared through the doorway. “It’s already broken. You just don't know it yet!”
Dayn stooped to grab his pack―he barely remembered putting it down before the fight started―and began to rush after the man, but stopped. Evlyn lay still, an ugly purple bruise rising upon her forehead. He feared to move her. The Rain Shoppe was completely wrecked, but the two old men peeked out from behind one of the shelves.
The Seedbearing Prince: Part I Page 41