The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (12 page)

“Why have you come all the way out here?”
Dayn could not help his suspicions, Preceptor or not. The last
offworlder he met, the Ista Cham trader, had nearly tricked him.
Grahm was another offworlder, but he was different. Well, Dayn
hoped he was different. “How do I know you really come from the
Ring?”

“I assure you, Wia Wells is exactly where I’m
needed. All will be explained.” The man did not seem surprised by
Dayn's mistrust. “May I come in?”

A strong grip unexpectedly yanked Dayn
backwards, and he stumbled away from the door. “I should thump you
silly with that great stick!” Hanalene hissed. With an exasperated
twitch of her hair she beckoned to the offworlder. Tela peeked out
from behind her skirts.

“Forgive my son's manners, Ringman. Our wits
are in short supply after what’s happened. Dayn―put that away!” At
Hanalene's curt sniff, Dayn leaned his staff on the wall. “Please,
come in. Please.”

“It’s quite alright. I’m pleased to find your
family home, goodwife―and not chasing me down the road at that.”
The Preceptor pointedly avoided looking at Dayn. “I heard a fair
number of dogs at the last homestead I meant to visit, and decided
the attempt was not worth the risk. My legs are ill-suited to
Shard's ground, I'm afraid I would serve as rather dull prey.”

Lurec smiled stiffly, yet somehow still
sincere enough for Hanalene to freely return it. The Preceptor’s
sharp blue eyes scoured every detail of their home as he spoke.

“Grahm's beasts are loud enough,” Hanalene
replied. “But slobbering you to drowning is all they're good
for.”

“Fair enough.” Lurec offered a friendly nod
to Tela, who regarded the offworlder curiously. “I trust your
neighbor is unhurt, after the night? Grahm, was it?”

“Peace be praised, his whole family is safe.”
Hanalene pinched her daughter's cheek fondly. Dayn’s face heated at
the smug look Tela cast in his direction. “But are times so dire
that Ringmen have foregone their names?”

“Forgive me, goodwife. I am Lurec.” The
Preceptor gave Dayn a reproachful look. “Strange days dance in the
World Belt. Even such a beautiful world as Shard will be hard
pressed to avoid them, I'm afraid.”

“Forgive our...surprise, Ringman. We never
receive visitors in the Mistlands. I am Hanalene Ro'Halan, and you
are welcome in this home. How may we aid the Ring?”

The Preceptor brightened considerably. “Peace
favor you for your kindness, goodwife. It is also―how did you say
it? In short supply this morning,” he murmured. Then he intoned, “I
tread upon this world only at the Ring's behest. Not for the world
of my birth, nor for personal gain. I accept your assistance as
does the World Belt which I serve.”

Dayn recognized the traditional forms from
one of his adventure books,
An Account of Guardian Benlor's
Third Circuit.
Ringmen were servants to the World Belt who
renounced all ties to hearth and homeworld. They were always
afforded the highest respect for their devotion. And Dayn had met
him at the door with a staff. The Preceptor probably counted it as
one of the worst greetings of his life.

“As Shard goes, so the Belt follows.” Lurec’s
serious words held the sound of an old saying, although Dayn had
never heard the like before. “Some of my fellows believe a Query
needs to take place. They confer with your Misthaven leaders as we
speak. Your village has been named more than once in
those...considerations.”

“But why?” Hanalene looked stricken. “There’s
no fighting for the Ring to punish.”

“To find the truth and deliver aid, nothing
more. There are Defenders on Shard, but upon my word, they are only
here for our protection. We understand Mistland beasts are rather
dangerous.”

Hanalene regained her composure, clearly
relieved. “The wilds are not nearly what those Misthaveners make of
them. Certainly not enough to rouse Defenders from the Ring.”

“You needn't worry about them,” Lurec replied
dryly. “I've left them in the capital for the time being.”

A Preceptor's word is as sure as fruit on
the tree
, the saying went. Dayn did not believe every story he
read, but somehow he believed this man, and felt himself relax.
Defenders were great and terrible warriors, some of the most feared
in the World Belt. Dayn hoped never to see one in his life.

The Preceptor's knowing blue eyes latched
onto Dayn’s bandaged shoulder. “Seems like you could tell me about
Shard's fauna firsthand! Dayn, was it? Did you come about these
injuries in the troubles?”

“Not really,” Dayn began, just as his mother
cut in.

“A wreathweaver―”

They stopped awkwardly as Lurec looked on,
silent and thoughtful. Dayn suddenly did not want this Preceptor
and his Ring to know of his time within the Dreadfall at all.
If
the Misthaveners speak poison against Wia Wells, who knows what
this Ringman thinks about the Dreadfall? He probably won’t believe
a word I tell him.
Dayn flashed his mother a quick look.
Judging by Hanalene’s face, she was considering the same thing.

“Wreathweaver...” The Preceptor pursed his
lips. “So fatal to encounter, they are named after the ceremonial
markers you Shardians place upon your graves.” Lurec spoke as
though reciting a passage from some ancient book. Hanalene favored
him with a dry look he did not notice.

“Yes, that's right,” Dayn said.

“You Shardians are truly hardy to dismiss
such obvious wounds,” Lurec marveled. “It seems fortunate Defenders
came after all. I wouldn’t know what to do if confronted by such a
creature.”

“Wreathweavers would never attack anyone on
the roads,” Dayn admitted. He knew himself to be a poor liar, and
sought to steer the conversation away from anything to do with the
Dreadfall. “Gravespinners are worse, and there are more of them
besides. Hundreds more. They infest the redbranch for leagues to
the north of here.”

The Preceptor's brow crinkled in disdain.
“Another aberration, and just as aptly named. There are similar
creatures on the world of Feralos, though I doubt they grow so
large as here, due to―” Lurec abruptly stopped, muttering to
himself. “Forgive my prattling. I have a fascination with the
Belt's fauna. I recall that wreathweavers prefer rocky terrain.
I've seen nothing surrounding here but woodlands, this...redbranch.
Did your encounter occur nearby?”

To Dayn's dismay, Tela chose that moment to
speak. “Tell him, brother!” The Preceptor regarded her expectantly.
“Just before the Southforte swamps. That's where it’s rocky.” She
beamed at Lurec. “Dayn took me there once.”

“Is that so?” Hanalene asked, in a too-sweet
voice. Her scathing gold eyes were not exactly a Query, but
promised sharp words once the Preceptor departed.

“Southforte folks call it the Slide Rocks.”
Dayn spoke hesitantly under his mother's frown. “The swamps
undercut the bluffs there, and all kinds of things get churned up
during floods. Sometimes we find relics, but mostly moondrops and
ember-eyes. Our gemcutter trades well for them.”

“But there are relics, you say?” Lurec asked,
eyebrows rising speculatively. “Relics interest me.”

“Dayn has the best collection in all the
Mistlands,” Tela added proudly.

Peace keep you,
Tela, Dayn
thought.

“Then my son will be certain to show them to
you,” Hanalene said. “You have traveled far, Preceptor. I’ll
prepare you a suitable meal.” Lurec began to protest, but she
shushed him firmly. “No, I insist. Ringmen still eat, I imagine? My
husband will return soon. He’s part of the Village Council and can
give you a full account of the...quake.”

“Shardian hospitality is highly spoken of,
and rightly so. I thank you.” Lurec bowed graciously, although Dayn
noticed him glance outside, measuring the daylight. “Please, Dayn.
Show me this collection of yours.”

Hanalene nodded briskly, and swept out to the
garden. Reluctantly, Dayn beckoned the Preceptor down to his
bedroom, with Tela trailing behind as though she meant to guard
him.

Three sturdy shelves, each carved with
Laman's precise scrollwork, were laden with Dayn's rarest
discoveries. The collection boasted mostly stones with
eye-catching, speckled patterns. The Preceptor dismissed them with
a glance. He fixed on the truly unique even faster than Dayn
expected.

“Quite impressive. Many Preceptors in the
Halls of Safeguarding might trade you a limb for such a specimen.”
He inspected a lime-colored rock wide enough to cover Dayn's palm,
crisscrossed with yellow flecks that played tricks on the eyes.
From certain angles, the rock looked as if a baby lizard’s bones
were trapped inside it.

A small woven basket held Dayn's assortment
of gems, mostly firedrops, moondrops, and ember-eyes. To Dayn's
surprise, they all went entirely ignored by the Preceptor. He would
expect any offworlder to drool over just one or two of the stones.
But then, this man was not just any offworlder.

“You’re afraid of me, afraid of why I’m here.
But I don’t believe you’re deceitful.” Lurec traced a finger along
Laman’s carving as he spoke.

“I think everyone’s afraid after last night,”
Dayn said cautiously. Something about the Preceptor's manner made
him nervous.

“May I...?” The Ringman lifted a six-sided
cylindrical object from the lower shelf at Dayn's consenting nod. A
metallic sheen covered it in patches, and curious angular markings
were etched into a surface smoothed by untold ages.

“I will say this. You did not exaggerate. Few
people of the Belt could dream of such finds. Few Ringmen, for that
matter. The Halls of Understanding have overlooked Shard to our
detriment, it appears.”

“That one’s pretty!” Tela said. “Do you know
what it is?”

A sad smile crossed Lurec’s lips. “An angel
tear, one of only a few thousand from a sad age long forgotten. I
would tell you of its history, if time permitted. Another day,
perhaps.” He returned the object, unconsciously wiping his hands on
his coat like someone who had just handled filth.

“The Elders I asked all said they didn't know
where it came from,” Dayn mused. “But I think they just didn't want
to tell me.”

“They have their reasons. Some stories are
fit to make the stones weep,” Lurec replied, giving the remaining
shelves a disinterested sweep. “I see your heart as true, young
Shardian. Tell me, why were you in the Dreadfall?”

Tela gasped, and Dayn's mouth went dry. “It’s
bad luck to go there,” he stammered. “I find plenty of gems by the
swamps of Southforte. There’s no reason to go east.”

Lurec nodded patiently. Preceptors were said
to remember every page of a book after reading it only once, and
they could pick out one dishonest man from a dozen with a single
question. “I hoped you would be more forthcoming without your
mother present. Please, do not lie to me.”

“Don't take my brother away!” Tela suddenly
burst into tears. She darted unexpectedly to Dayn, wrapping herself
around his waist. Still somewhat weak, Dayn reached out to steady
himself. His basket of gems tumbled to the floor. “Please! He won't
go there again! Promise him, brother. Say you won't!”

“Child, I―” The Preceptor looked positively
mortified, but made no move to quiet Tela. He ignored her sobs
completely, staring at the scattered gems.

“Peace embrace us all,” He whispered, a
stunned look on his face. “Do you know what this is?”

The Preceptor's hands trembled as he reached
for an object Dayn had thought never to see again. He stared dumbly
at the small red orb once more.

“No, I...I just barely found it. I thought I
lost it in the Fall.” Dayn gently pulled free of Tela's protective
embrace. The Preceptor looked ready to faint right where he stood,
so Dayn took hold of his arm to steady him. He then scooped up the
Seed and handed it to the Ringman once it became clear Lurec was
too stunned to take hold of it. Wonder lit the Preceptor’s face as
he left the room wordlessly, with suddenly purposeful strides.

Dayn followed, completely bewildered as he
attempted to comfort Tela.
Am I in trouble or not?
he
wondered.

“Preceptor?” Hanalene stood in the kitchen,
holding a tray of freshly plucked fervorberries and steaming tea.
She looked understandably perplexed as the Ringman waved the
grime-covered orb in the air like he held the lost key to an Ista
Cham palace.

“I must return to the Ring at once!” Lurec
said urgently. Feverish intensity shone in his eyes.

“What? Why?”

“I’m honor-bound against interference upon
your world. But your son has brought something to my attention,
something I must be allowed to procure with the utmost haste.”

“Nothing good ever comes from the Fall,”
Hanalene whispered. “I nearly went there to throw that back in
myself. Take it.”

“We are good Shard folk, we don't want
trouble here,” Dayn chimed in. “You can have it. I’ll give it to
you.”

The Preceptor let loose an anguished laugh.
“I cannot. I am bound to Ring law, you must understand.” He cradled
the orb carefully, as though it might shatter from a gust of wind.
“Your husband can free you of this burden, as he holds some
position of authority on your world. Peace send he returns soon.
Dayn here can accompany me down the road to meet him. I need to
know everything about where he found it.”

“No!” Hanalene said sharply, before
remembering herself. “He has...he needs to stay until my husband
returns. Please. The village will look upon him harshly for being
near the Dreadfall in the first place. If this thing is important,
I believe you. But our folk may not agree, and we must live with
them long after you are gone.”

“The longer I remain, the more attention will
fall on this district, goodwife,” Lurec warned. “Attention that
will not soon be forgotten. I am forbidden to take possession of
Dayn’s property, but he mustn’t leave my sight until that
restriction is lifted.”