The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (34 page)

“You don’t mean for us to bound, Defender?”
Lurec asked anxiously after half an hour of steady walking.

“We must not tax our stamina,” Nassir
replied, glancing at the sun overhead. His armor looked hot enough
to blister Dayn’s fingers.

“I wouldn’t mind bounding,” Dayn muttered.
The heat might be intolerable, but the Preceptor needed to improve
his bounding
sometime.
“There must be better ways to go this
far besides walking. Why not use the flyalong to get there?”

“They’re only suited for travel in the void
between worlds,” Lurec explained as they trudged along. The man
sweated profusely, even worse than Dayn. “On a surface, close to a
worldheart...well, they could easily be outpaced by a cart. So
could a transport.”

Dayn frowned. “But on Montollos, there are
transports for every family and every merchant. How can that be
true, if I can bound faster than one?”

The Ringmen looked at each other in
amusement. “That is not even remotely true, Shardian,” Nassir said.
“The making of transports has been lost for thousands of years.
Every one is precious for trade, or food. Missions such as ours.
The Regents of Montollos would love your notion, but it would be a
terrible waste.”

“I personally could not imagine such chaos.
The sheer number of laws required to prevent accidents would baffle
every Preceptor in the Ring.” Lurec paused to wipe his forehead.
“Montollos itself is built to move. What you would call roads
actually slide past the Ever-Turning Towers. A most remarkable feat
of engineering.”

Anything that so impressed Lurec, easily
aroused Dayn’s curiosity, but Nassir snorted. “Enough Beltbound are
lost to that city’s seduction without you adding to the Regents’
spell, Preceptor.” He handed them both a black, water-soaked
kerchief which Dayn quickly tied around his brow. “We do not bound
because your feet would blister, farmer. Keep to the path.”

Their way was not so poorly marked as Dayn
first thought. He spotted a column of rock thick around as his leg,
and seven spans high. Someone had tied a red flag at the very top,
and he soon made out more marching into the distance.
Peace, I
can feel my skin turning browner!
If Lurec’s flushed cheeks
were any indicator, they needed to reach the city quickly.

The Defender looked troubled as they followed
the trail markers, although he waited some time to speak. “Shir-Hun
is a good man, fair and reasonable. I believe he’s losing control
of the High. I cannot accept he willingly chose to carry out this
attack against Suralose.”

“He is loved on the Ring and in the Belt,”
Lurec replied. “But whatever his situation, we must act
accordingly.”

“Yes...accordingly,” Nassir agreed
reluctantly. “It’s good that you’re here, Preceptor. The Ring might
think me mad to bring a world leader home in chains.”

“Maybe so. I suspect the Montollos Regents
you love so much would be most pleased by such a turn of events.”
Lurec sighed heavily. “Our situation here is...delicate. That
prisoner truly believed Consorts are involved. Could our own be
instigators to begin war? We must consider it.”

“Consorts couldn’t do this, not without the
knowledge of Lord Adazia or the other Force Generals.” He shook his
head with a grimace. They traveled in silence after that, and Dayn
could only wonder at their thoughts.

The land began to rise steadily, and the
golden sand around them gave way to more vibrant rock, streaked
with orange and red. Strange, scrawny-looking goats with curling
horns were sometimes visible now, bounding out of sight into great
cracks along the surface rock. Dayn longed for even a moment's rest
in the shadow the cracks must provide. They stretched for miles in
every direction, giving the land a baked look like a pie left too
long in the oven.

Soon they saw Aran herders tending more
flocks of the rangy creatures, regarding them curiously but keeping
their distance. Nassir ignored them, but Lurec brightened
considerably at sight of the first Arans in over two hours.

“Your story will prove valuable here,” Lurec
said to Dayn. “They may ask about water rights on Shard. I advise
you to tell them truthfully, that you know nothing of such things.
Don’t mention the Seed until Nassir and I determine it’s safe. You
remember clearly what you’re to speak of?” Dayn nodded. “Good. No
need to frown, I have to be sure. And if they ask...” Dayn let the
Ringman’s voice wash over him. The Preceptor's lips were going to
crack down to his gums if he kept talking so much in this heat.

Their path descended into one of the large
cracks, forming a steep-sided canyon with blessed shade near the
bottom. Ahead were a series of tall, fluted columns carved right
into the redstone, and a large stonework bridge. Two bored-looking
guards watched them curiously from the bridge’s far side, wearing
the same hardened leather armor as Dayn. The bridge passed over a
still deeper fissure.

“Peace upon the Ring,” one of the guards
called out, a leather-faced man with searching eyes. His companion,
a black-haired man with the same reddish skin looked hard at Dayn's
Aran armor but said nothing.

As Dayn passed between them, he noticed the
curved blade each man wore belted to their hip.
The same swords
as the horsemen back on Mount Patel.

“Peace upon Ara,” Nassir said, giving the two
guards the briefest of nods. “It’s good to see faithful watchmen at
the gate, when lesser men might sneak away to join the revelry. May
the low always uphold the High.”

Dayn did not understand the exchange one bit,
but the guards straightened visibly, clearly taking pride in
Nassir's words. They passed without incident into Olende. Lurec
breathed a huge sigh of relief.

The city itself crisscrossed through the
sheer canyons, effectively hiding the Arans from a fair amount of
the sun's unforgiving rays. Stairways, ladders and ramps were
prominent all along the walls. People were teeming everywhere,
poking in and out of shops along the canyon floor that were carved
right into the orange-red stone. A buzz quickly surrounded their
party as the Arans took notice of Nassir's black armor.

“Peace favor the Ring!” People called. Women
in loose-fitting blouses and patterned longskirts blew kisses,
while men in baggy trousers and sleeveless vests nodded approvingly
as they passed by on some task or carrying wares. Nassir did not
look surprised by their reception. “Hail, Ringmen! Hail,
Defender!”

Will their favor for the Ring last, once
it’s known the Ring is here to bring the High to account?
Dayn
wondered. From the wooden expression on Lurec's face, he thought
the exact same thing.

Nassir guided them through Olende quickly,
not once getting lost in the bustling canyons that spiderwebbed
away from their chosen road. Dayn found it difficult to think of
the place as a city at all, although he could not deny how many
Arans they passed. The number of people along just the one road
easily dwarfed Misthaven's numbers.

Nassir stopped in front of a sheer wall that
looked no different than any other, except that there were no other
shops surrounding a lone entrance. Four Aran guards emerged as they
approached it, watching the Defender cautiously. Their armor looked
less worn than the guards at the gate.

“Peace upon Ara,” Nassir called. “Are the
High assembling in Jemlar's Hall?” The guards looked at each other
in surprise. “I request petition be given to the Ring at once.”

“How did you...? Yes, they’re assembled,
Defender.” Two of the guards motioned them into the cooler air.
Lurec nodded to himself as though he had just solved a puzzle.

Dayn frowned, considering the cheerful people
outside and the guards' confused expressions.
They have no idea
what their leaders are doing,
he thought. Somehow that angered
him a great deal. The Suralosan lords could strike Ara in
retaliation in the coming days, and the people outside would be
none the wiser.

The guards led them into an impressive,
circular receiving chamber before retreating back to their posts. A
smooth hewn dome ten spans high towered over the space. The walls
were made of glazed red panels that alternated with rock so smooth
and glassy, it looked like black mirror. The red panels depicted
past Aran leaders, accounting for hundreds of years. “Bloodlines of
the High,” an inscription read.

Most of the faces belonged to overly serious
men and women, but Dayn was drawn to the oldest of them. Mauren the
Beloved was shown next to a fountain in Ara with actual running
water, five hundred years ago. Another panel a hundred years after
that depicted Olegran the Proud, a pucker-faced man holding up a
hand in refusal to four Preceptors bearing food. An open transport
stood behind them, full of barrels that Dayn instantly recognized,
for they were the very same used to store the Pledge.
How does a
world go completely barren in a few hundred years?
If the Seed
could stop a drought, the Arans would be overjoyed to see it.
They’ll do whatever the Ring wants, I’d wager. He frowned at that,
remembering the Suralosan advisor’s words.
I’m no caperdoll on
Ring strings. I’ll help as best as I can.

Dozens of people dressed in colorful robes
stood everywhere, absorbed in quiet conversation. Ten square
openings in the overhead dome emitted just enough light to reflect
from the walls and floor, giving the entire room a tranquil, russet
glow. Weak shadows still abounded, cast in countless directions
around the cool interior. Even they seemed to glow.

Dayn’s eyes were drawn to seven tall, wooden
chairs arranged in a wide semi-circle at the far end of the
chamber. Behind six of the chairs, freshly lit candles were set in
the wall.

“Peace favors us,” Nassir whispered. “The
Highest is here, and five of the Seven High. Stop gawking,
Shardian. There’s no mistaking your backcountry manner, but you
must look to be more than a farmer today.”

Nassir pulled aside a servant, murmuring in
the woman's ear until her eyes went very wide. She trotted off past
the semi-circle, pink-hemmed skirt swishing in her haste. The
middle chair sat taller than the rest, but only slightly. “Each
chair represents a region of Ara,” the Preceptor continued quietly.
“Shir-Hun is first among equals here, but his family line has long
produced the strongest of Ara's leaders. He hears petitions with a
fair heart.”

“The High rise before us,” a voice intoned,
booming throughout the dome. The chamber's droning silenced
immediately. Dayn hoped somewhat sheepishly that no one had seen
him jump.

He felt a pinch of disappointment over the
nondescript group that appeared from one of the chamber's three
entrances, talking casually amongst themselves and flanked by twice
their number in sword-toting guards. Two women and four men made up
the High, all wearing finely tailored white robes. Dayn had
expected a fanfare of trumpets at the very least.

Why are there so many guards?
he
wondered.
They must know Suralose is ready to attack them.
One of the guards, a bearded man with olive skin and curly brown
hair, gave Dayn's staff and leather armor a hard look. Indignation
shone whenever his green eyes touched Dayn's.

Lurec clicked his teeth, and Nassir growled
under his breath. “Stay silent until I say. You've already pricked
that captain’s honor, pretending to be an Aran guard. We can only
pray he doesn’t know the man who used to own that armor. The
Marshal-General might be alerted to our presence now, before we can
speak.”

Blind me, you’re the one who told me to
keep it on
! Dayn nearly threw up his hands in frustration. They
didn't look twice at Nassir's sword!

The clustered Aran gentry looked at the
Ringmen silently, likely realizing that their own business would be
deferred for the moment. Many of those faces held scowls.

Nassir and Lurec stood shoulder to shoulder,
as odd a pair as ever there could be. The Defender’s black armor
seemed to eat the room's light, while the Preceptor glanced about
curiously as if taking note of some new specimen in his study.

While their faces betrayed genuine
reluctance, the Ringmen also radiated tremendous determination.
Lurec’s encouraging nod eased Dayn’s worries immensely. He called
to memory the slopes of Mount Patel, and his hand clenched tighter
around his staff
. Someone needs to speak for the people who fell
there.

As one, the six High took their seats. Not a
face among them appeared without creases from the years. Their
gazes shone with wisdom and authority.

“Present yourselves,” said the Highest
Shir-Hun, not unkindly. Every eye in Jemlar's Hall fixed on Nassir.
He took a single step forward. His boot echoed beneath the
dome.

“I am Nassir Toljem, a Defender of the Ring,”
he said.

Lurec stepped forward with the same simple
statement. “I am Lurec Obeth, a Preceptor of the Ring.”

Six weathered gazes swung to Dayn. He
swallowed and imitated the Ringmen. “I am Dayn Ro’Halan,” he said.
Not knowing what else to say, he simply added, “a...friend, from
Shard.”

Murmurs rippled throughout the chamber,
stopping almost as soon as they began. Dayn started to step back
again―he was not nearly so important as the Ringmen, after all―but
Lurec caught his sleeve and beckoned him to stay. Dayn and Nassir
bracketed the shorter Preceptor as the High studied them all. The
chamber fell so quiet Dayn could have forgotten the rest of the
Arans were present.

“It’s good to welcome friends in times such
as these,” Highest Shir-Hun said. Age and kindness warmed his
voice, and he looked upon the Ringmen with fondness in his hazel
eyes. His pointed nose and prominent chin lent a hawkish look to
his olive tones. “Especially familiar faces, at that. The Lord
Ascendant has yet to tie you to the ranks of the Force Generals,
Nassir? Nor your sister either, I would imagine.”