The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (40 page)

“Peace, no! We'll take you ourselves. This
way.” Amid speculative murmurs, the two guards led Dayn off to one
side. A hidden fold in the rock revealed a ramp that brought him to
the plaza floor.

Another guard awaited him there, this one
with golden inlays set in his leather armor. The two brothers
returned to their position above after a brief exchange.

“The entire palace has been doing cartwheels
looking for you, Shardian,” the Aran guard growled. His stern
bronze features were at odds with a friendly voice.

“I couldn't miss my first real city,” Dayn
said truthfully. The guard gave Dayn a questioning, sidelong
glance. “I've never seen so many people in one place.”

“Well, if our guards couldn’t manage to catch
you, tall as you are, I suppose you deserve to see it.” He stopped
short of entering the plaza fully, but motioned for Dayn to
continue. “The Ringmen are sitting over there. They do not seem so
angry as before.” Dayn swallowed. “Best luck, offworlder.”

The Preceptor's blue eyes flashed as Dayn
approached. Nassir swung to consider Dayn silently. Even the
Defender’s armor looked furious.

“You left no word.” Nassir spoke calmly,
pitching his voice too low for the surrounding Arans. Dayn cringed,
almost wishing the man would shout instead.

“The Seed is with you―please assure me of
that!” Lurec sighed heavily at Dayn's reassuring nod.

“It's right here, it's safe,” he said,
patting his pocket. “I thought it’d be better than leaving it in
the palace, with everything that’s happened. I'm sorry. I needed to
get out of there, and...take my mind off of yesterday.”

“For all we knew, a voidwalker snatched you
from the palace!” Displeasure still showed greatly on the
Preceptor’s face, but lessened somewhat at seeing the Seed. “You’ve
seen for yourself how they can disappear at will. Our journey is
difficult enough without you wandering off.”

“Poor decisions will only worsen your
circumstances,” Nassir said. “Would you run from every challenge,
even from those sworn to protect you? You endanger everything we
stand to gain.”

No heat touched his voice, but the truth of
the Ringman's words cut deeply.
He’s right. I could’ve been
taken for the High's bounty, if not for Brant. Peace only favors a
fool so far.

“I was wrong and foolish,” Dayn admitted. “I
promise to be more careful.”

Nassir gave a slight nod, and Lurec visibly
relaxed. “Well that’s certainly good to hear. Now we can―”

“Why do you smell as if you've rolled through
a cookfire?” Nassir interrupted.

“I watched an ember tossers’ show in Rela
Run. I didn’t even notice the smoke.” It was probably best to leave
the rest out. If they knew about the High's intentions, Nassir
would truss him up tighter than he had Lurec in the torrent.
“They’re supposed to be here tonight, too.”

The Ringmen glanced at the sky overhead. “So
long as you’ve kept out of sight, Shardian,” Nassir said.

“I truly hope they perform soon,” Lurec
observed. More Arans were now filling the lower seats. “I don’t
want those rods in the air when the anchors draw near.”

Dayn looked fearfully at the sky, remembering
the resonance wake. “You aren't serious?”

“No, not like that. The anchors within the
torrent also exert some influence on the worlds,” Lurec explained.
“They can make waters on the surface of any world surge higher or
lower than normal. On Ara, nearby anchors affect the wind. Long ago
the Arans discovered a peculiar phenomenon in this place and named
it the Echowind Split.”

“Can you feel it?” Nassir asked, showing a
brief flash of amusement at the relief on Dayn's face. “The echoing
wind is falling upon us.”

A gentle breeze rippled at the edge of Dayn’s
awareness. A wispy trail of dust fluttered from the tops of the
facing cliffs, then disappeared. Dayn resisted the temptation to
shrug. He really did not see what was so great about it. A few
stragglers among the Aran elite hurried toward the lower seats,
waved at by impatient companions who held their places.

Lurec watched them thoughtfully. “Perhaps we
can make up the ground we lost in our talks today. The High are
beside themselves after what happened to Orsot.”

“At least there’s no doubt that you are no
puppet of Lord Adazia, Shardian,” Nassir added. “Since you took it
upon yourself to disappear for most of the day.”

“Enough people saw the voidwalker, what would
you need me for?”

“To balance their fear with knowledge that a
Seed has been found. Have you so easily forgotten?”

Dayn mulled over those words as the troupe of
ember tossers appeared from the opposite side of the Echowind
Split, spinning batons and cartwheeling nimbly. They paused long
enough for Rothash to bow deeply to the Highest Shir-Hun. He nodded
amiably, and the performance began. Dayn’s attention soon turned
back to the Ringmen, for Rothash’s men were doing the same
routine.

“I believe people will abandon their worlds
over time,” Lurec was saying to Nassir.

“Belt stubbornness will win out over your
logic. You would have Montollos joining arms with Quello, or a
Dervishi bladebreaker learning to farm from a Shardian?” The
Defender snorted. “Their eyes must be opened first.”

“And what will bind them together, once the
voidwalker threat passes? If we set ourselves to fighting Thar’Kur
and nothing else, the conflict will consume us all.”

“I’ve never considered a life without
Thar’Kur.”

“Perhaps it’s time you should.”

They speak almost as if the Ring won’t be
able to protect us.
Dayn shuddered at the possibility.
Lurec
is so sure the Seed will help make things right, but how can
it?

A flurry of applause signaled the end of the
performance. Abruptly Dayn realized that Rothash was peering right
at him as he bowed to the crowd, eyebrows raised in a hopeful look.
Dayn shook his head with a rueful grin. Disappointment flashed on
the troupe leader's face, but he hid it behind a twist of his
mustache, as his men departed.

“You make friends quickly,” Nassir said
flatly.

“They kept saying I was a prince, to make the
crowd laugh,” Dayn explained. “I don't understand what was so
funny. There are no princes on Shard. Whoever heard of such a
thing?”

“You must realize that almost no one ventures
to Shard,” Lurec said delicately. If Dayn did not know better, he
would think the Preceptor held in laughter. “People will make
up…stories to fill in a world as they imagine it to be.”

“Look there.” Nassir pointed to a new
procession, dozens of men on horseback pouring into the circular
plaza. “That man is the closest you’ll see to a prince, on Ara or
anywhere else. The High are unique among the World Belt. They are
all chosen from the same bloodline.”

“Though not always direct descendants, peace
be praised,” Lurec put in. Nassir nodded his agreement. The Olende
crowd thundered above them as the procession moved toward the
center of the Echowind Split. The High and Aran gentry looked upon
the parading horsemen in approval.

“Even a great man can sire a born fool for a
son, or daughter,” Nassir continued. “But the High are harsh
against their own and quick to root out any weakness of intellect
or spirit, so the people will not suffer. They’re not power hungry
like the Regents of Montollos, nor closed from the Belt like
Jendini lords. If ever the World Belt thought to raise the call for
a single king, they would do well to look among those seated
here.”

“A world king?” Dayn looked at the
surrounding Arans with new eyes. Kings were distant people to him,
faded ideas in old stories from well before he was born. “Peace, I
couldn't even imagine being a mayor!”

Lurec and Nassir both laughed, then stopped
to stare at each other as though surprised to agree on something.
“You’re a Seedbearer, Dayn,” Lurec said after a moment. “There are
many who couldn’t imagine the responsibility you so blithely carry
around in your pocket.”

The procession began to cross before the
Highest. Ceremonial guards with scarlet capes over their leather
armor let their horses prance. Five men swaggered after them on
foot. The crowd cheered wildly, but Dayn could not help but
remember the same proud animals, charging down the slopes of Mount
Patel. “A world king would’ve stopped the attack on Suralose,” He
said suddenly, not caring if the Arans seated nearby heard or not.
Nassir's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

“That incident isn’t commonly known yet,”
Lurec said urgently. “We’ve agreed to let the High tell their own,
as they choose. So long as they make amends to Suralose with all
haste.”

Dayn watched the ceremony dubiously. The men
all wore flowing red capes and matching vests, with beige trousers
tucked into dark brown boots. They were a mishmash of ages, two
little older than Dayn himself. Plenty of gray touched the elegant
braids of the oldest, while the other two were anyone's guess. They
all looked more than able to wield the curved swords belted at
their waists.

The Highest made his way toward the men,
clutching his cloak about him as the oddest wind swept through the
plaza, growing in strength. Dayn could tell the prince apart easily
now, there was no mistaking Shir-Hun’s son. The Highest paid him no
more attention than the rest as he addressed the gathered Arans in
a strong voice.

“Ara, long have we been blessed to be
represented well in the Cycle. Those Dervishi won’t be so lucky
this time around.”

Chuckling rippled through the onlookers.

“Many have traveled far to be here with us on
this blessed day,” Shir-Hun intoned. “Ara welcomes friends from the
Ring, here to support us in such worrisome times.”

Lurec and Nassir both stood and bowed deeply
to the Highest, who nodded to the Ringmen. “Peace shelter the
Ring,” a nearby merchant murmured.

“Ara welcomes Dayn Ro'Halan. An...emissary,
from Shard, whose bounty protects all the Belt.” Dayn froze,
surprised to hear his name at all. Lurec nudged him in the ribs and
he rose to mimic the Ringmen. A rash of loud cheers rang out among
the Olende commoners above, and Dayn hastily sat down.

The Highest motioned forward the only Aran
swordsman with gray in his hair, a man who looked as though he
would rather chew rocks than smile. He gave the crowd a perfunctory
wave.

“Marshal General Toljed, ever devoted to
preserving Aran safety and honor.” Scattered applause rippled as
the Marshal General offered the slightest bow, a man set to carry
out a task and no more.

“The Cycle isn’t until next year,” Dayn said
with a frown.

“Yes,” Lurec acknowledged without taking his
eyes from the ceremony. “This is the first Cycle with preliminary
bouts for the Prevailer’s Gauntlet. The Regents of Montollos will
do anything to make the Belt look as though it turns around
them.”

“It doesn’t seem fair. I doubt Milchamah will
leave his fields for anything but the Cycle.”

“No team will be denied their world right,”
Lurec added. “But those who do well in this exhibition, will earn
some advantage in the tournament rankings.”

The Marshal General stood aside as Shir-Hun
continued.

“Sten Mattes of the Southern province!” A
lean man joined the Marshal General, waving with a flourish that
would have made Rothash proud. “Newly appointed to the Five after
besting Kenl the Savage in a duel of prolix swords on three ropes.”
Exclamations peppered the crowd, but the Highest continued before
Dayn could ask about any of it.
What do ropes have to do with
dueling?

“Hal Orden, one of Olende's own!” A lithe man
with challenging hazel eyes folded his arms smugly, as though a
Victor’s Sash already rested on his shoulders.

“A superb fighter, that one,” Lurec remarked
under the cheers.

Nassir gave him a considering glance. “You
know much of the Cycle. More than any Preceptor I’ve ever
known.”

“Oh? And how many Preceptors have you known,
Defender?”

Lurec looked pleased with himself when Nassir
turned away with a grunt. Dayn rolled his eyes. His hair would turn
gray long before the Ringmen ever tolerated each other.

“Niel Pakalj of the West province, son of
Vadant the Swift. Niel is the only Cycle contender to break a
Dervishi bladebreaker!”

Applause rumbled through the split, mixed
with laughter. Pakalj’s easygoing expression contrasted sharply
with a jagged scar that slashed across his jaw line. Olende folk in
the stands above called, “Breaker, breaker!”

The last swordsman stepped forward, his long
black hair blown about by the peculiar wind. The Olende folk
stilled expectantly.

“His first Cycle, and chosen as the Fifth.”
The Highest failed to keep the pride from his voice. “He defeated
Bandar the Victorious to prove his worthiness, years before the
normal age. Ara's First Sword of the High, Gorhaj Shir-Hun!”

Lurec pursed his lips, and even Nassir’s
eyebrows lifted thoughtfully at that. “Bandar was the last Aran to
win the solo weapons contest,” Lurec explained to Dayn. “To be
chosen Fifth is a great honor, a place of prominence over the
rest.”

“The Marshal General is one of the best
weaponmasters in the Belt,” Nassir added. “For him to acknowledge
young Shir-Hun this way is a sign of sure promise.”

“A shrewd way to position him for leadership
when the Cycle is over,” Lurec allowed. The two Ringmen frowned at
one another before turning back to the plaza, irritated to be
caught in agreement again.

High Shir-Hun raised his arms wide. “Ara, I
give you the Five!”

The crowd exploded. The Olende folk in the
upper amphitheater capered and cheered harder than all the rest,
and their enthusiasm spilled into the seats below. The surrounding
gentry abandoned their polite claps and proceeded to whoop
themselves hoarse. Dayn was completely taken aback.