The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (41 page)

Nassir noticed his expression. “You are not
so honored on Shard?”

“Nothing like this,” Dayn replied. Many of
these Aran folk had journeyed for days to reach Olende, he had
overheard several travelers say as much in the splits. “Milchamah
hosts a big dinner at his house. Half of the people who go to see
our staffs away really just want to look at the transport.”

The High all stood then, and the crowd
followed suit. Dayn began to rise, but Nassir caught his arm. “Not
for offworlders, Shardian,” he murmured.

“These Five would represent Ara!” Highest
Shir-Hun shouted. “What say the High?”

The High replied as a group, “Whom shall we
send?”

“Here am I,” Gorhaj stepped forward, at the
center of the Five. All of them were sauntering now, drinking in
the crowd’s adulation. All except the Marshal General, at least.
Gorhaj drew his sword, and held it in both hands as though making
an offering of it to the people. “Send me!” he bellowed.

“Go!” The High commanded, echoed by the
commoners above. “Go!”

“Here am I,” the Marshall General's gravelly
voice filled the Echowind Split. His sword glinted in the air.
“Send me.”

“Go! Go!”

This continued for the remaining three, then
the Highest raised his hands a final time. “Ara herself blesses our
Sending. Feel the wind, and let the shells sooth your souls.”

At that moment, a rush of air gusted down
from the northern end of the split, sweeping peoples' loose hair
and pulling at Shir-Hun's cloak. Stillness settled in as though the
wind never was, but then it returned, blowing from the crossing
split, as if the wind were breathing.

Three dozen women padded silently out to the
plaza from every direction, standing in a line to face the
amphitheater. A new gust descended, and the crowd murmured
appreciatively as the tinkling of a thousand chimes rippled through
the dancers.

Their fitted costumes reminded Dayn of
whisperleaf's translucent yellow blossoms. Golden chimes encircled
the dancers' ankles and hips. Thin strings of golden chain streamed
from their arms, adorned with all manner of bells and a countless
number of radiant white shells. Powdered gold dust adorned them at
the waist and shoulders, so the waning sun remade them into statues
of brilliant fire.

They slowly rose their arms in unison. The
echoing wind rushed through the dancers like a musician caressing a
most prized instrument, and the bells came to life.

Drums began to pound out a captivating
rhythm. The Aran dancers swayed easily on bare feet, their single
line melting into interwoven circles like an unfolding rose. Then
they halted suddenly, with each dancer's wrists crossed languidly
overhead. The shells and gold streaming from their arms concealed
their faces. The echoing wind swept through them once more, and
their costumes sung, rippling together like a golden field of
milkwheat.

“Magnificent,” Lurec breathed. Dayn only
nodded as he watched―no one else spoke as the women resumed their
dance. The bells at their arms, hips and ankles were all pitched
differently, so every new movement created a fresh blend of sound.
“Such a degree of timing with the echoing wind...” The Preceptor
trailed off in approving murmurs.

The dancers paused in repose again as the
wind gusted through them. Next they swirled into a star-shaped
pattern centered on the lead dancer. Dayn's breath caught.

To the lead dancer's left, one girl raised
her arms slowly, rolling her hips in time to the outer dancers'
slow clap. A slight sheen of sweat made her features glow as she
spun slowly, completely concentrated on the movement.

Peace, the girl from the garden
, Dayn
realized.
She’s no servant!
Henna decorations adorned the
young woman's outstretched arms. The interwoven strings of gold and
shells flowed around her slender form.

For a split second, her eyes rested on Dayn.
All he could do was stare back. The wind died, breaking the spell.
She abruptly glided away as the arms of the star curled, the women
all spinning, folding into the center.

The echoing wind continued to pulse stronger.
The dancers' tempo increased to match it, and they added leaps to
their steps and clapping. Dayn could not help but follow the young
woman as the formation enveloped and released her time and again.
For Dayn, the dance dragged along until she emerged once more.
While he hoped for it, she never met his eyes again.

The women no longer stopped to let the wind
whip through their musical costumes, instead they blended each new
rush of air into their movement. With a final flourish of clapping,
the Dance of Shells drew to an end.

Not one person remained seated in the
amphitheater, from the commoners above to the High below. Elated
dancers dabbed sweat from their faces and waved, some blowing
kisses into the crowd. The recipients of those were looked upon
with envy by men both common and High alike.

“Peace, but I've never seen so much beauty in
one place,” Dayn finally breathed. In the amphitheatre above, the
gathered thousands began to drift back into Olende for more
revelry. The Aran gentry in the closer seats made their way into
the plaza to congratulate the dancers, except Highest Shir-Hun, who
spoke with a few people before leaving with a contingent of palace
guards. The echoing wind and waning sun together made the
temperature surprisingly agreeable. Twilight would not touch the
plaza for some time yet.

“Astonishing, isn’t it?” Lurec marveled,
while Dayn searched eagerly among the Arans. “I can scarcely fathom
the training necessary to master such a performance. And the
wind...the pattern is similar to the divided tides of Kembar. You
see, resonance wakes in the torrent are seasonal things,
and...what?” Lurec trailed off as Nassir and Dayn both stared at
him. “What?”

The Defender arched an eyebrow. “Only a
Preceptor could speak of wind and tides after a dance such as
that.”

“I appreciate the...subtleties of the
performers' form, Defender, but that is only one part of the
overall effect,” Lurec insisted. “You must admit that the timing,
combined with the...”

Dayn could only shake his head.
Incredible.
He turned to scan the crowd as Nassir buried his
face in his hands. Dayn soon found whom he sought. The young woman
stood among a knot of the performers, still breathing hard from
exertion. The bare skin of her shoulders sparkled in the sun’s
fading rays.

Nassir's exasperated voice broke through
Lurec's droning. “Peace, enough! Preceptor, we have our
differences―but you must promise to leave your study more often.
Shardian, wait. Where are you going?”

Dayn halted two steps onto the plaza. He half
turned to answer, not wanting to pull his eyes from the young woman
lest he lose her in the crowd. “Sorry, I’ll come back soon. The
girl from the garden...I never told her my name.”

Lurec’s face paled, and Nassir followed
Dayn's gaze. His eyebrows rose. “And why in peace's reach would she
ask your name? Farmer, do you know who that is?”

Dayn shrugged. “She owes me a wager.”

“What?” Nassir demanded, but Dayn was already
moving through the gentry. “Shardian, you bound where there’s
nothing to catch your fall!”

Dayn walked swiftly across the plaza, half
expecting the Defender to tackle him from behind. Recognition
touched the eyes of some Arans he passed, tinged with dismay and
curiosity.
So she’s some famous dancer. A bet’s a bet. I just
want to know her name, and thank her for not calling on the guards
this morning. That's all.
Despite his reasoning, Dayn's heart
began to pound. As he drew near, she gave a laugh that made her
ornaments shake.

The surrounding dancers were all dazzling in
their own right, including the lead woman who stood at the center
of the star. Smile lines touched the corners of her mouth and eyes.
She quirked an eyebrow in interest as Dayn approached.

“My dear,” the woman said, politely
interrupting the conversation. “You have an audience.”

The young woman turned to regard Dayn, and
the other dancers faded away like candles before the sun. Her
considering gaze swallowed him up.
Peace, but she’s beautiful.
Why didn’t I see it before?

Her fellow dancers looked at him doubtfully.
Very doubtfully. Dayn realized he had not yet spoken. “Peace,” he
said hastily, extending a hand. “Peace upon Ara.”

She looked at him uncertainly for a moment
before finally deciding to accept his hand. The henna traced upon
her skin depicted vines and flowers, and umber dye covered her
fingertips, like they were dipped in sunset. Despite all of these
graceful accents, her grip was quite strong.

“Your dance was wonderful. I’ve never seen
the like before. All of you were wonderful,” Dayn added the last
quickly, and was glad for it. The warning flicker in the other
dancers’ eyes subsided, although the lead watched Dayn with a
hawk-like expression. An irritated hawk. The rest were merely
skeptical.

“I am Soong,” the young woman said, her voice
overly polite. She carried herself differently now, with a
stiffness that reminded Dayn of Misthaven Elders. “Soong Shir-Hun.
A pity I learned your name only now in the announcement. My father
told me you brought us an important matter, emissary. I hope to
hear it for myself.”

“I would be...honored.” Dayn barely kept
himself from gaping like some Southforte lout at his first
Evensong.

“May I have my hand back, please?”

Dayn let go hastily, silently calling himself
nine kinds of idiot. “Sorry...I...” he stammered, searching for
better words. Soong's fellow dancers looked ready to wave over the
plaza guards. “I only meant to give you this. I think you dropped
it in the gardens this morning.”

The lead dancer's lips parted as Dayn
proffered Soong's bits. “Your uncle's silver pouch?” she asked.

“Yes, Nnendi,” the young woman said softly,
brushing the worn linen. She looked at Dayn levelly. “Thank you.
This is...meaningful to me.”

Dayn bowed his head slightly, an awkward feat
considering Soong's height. “Of course I'll be expecting a reward
for that.”

“Offworlder, you dare?” One of the dancers
hissed.

Nnendi fingered the chain of shells dangling
from her wrists, as though deciding if Dayn was worth the bother of
strangling. “I don't know who you think you are, but―”

“—ten silver bits would settle it,” Dayn
continued quickly. Soong looked at him, her eyes turbulent and
unreadable. “Wouldn't you say?”

“Agreed.”

To the shock of the surrounding dancers, she
stuck out her hand. Dayn grinned to himself.
Their eyes would
fall out if they saw our first handshake.
He bowed and shook
his head, refusing her hand. “I already know your word is
good.”

She gazed up at him, cheeks suddenly flushed.
Nnendi studied her thoughtfully. The dancer appeared to be some
sort of mentor to the young woman. Whatever Soong's thoughts, she
quickly resumed her cool exterior. “So. A Shardian with matters of
great importance, to be seen by six of the seven High. No one
person has received that kind of audience since before I was
born.”

“Oh. Well how―” Dayn shut his mouth with a
click.
Never
ask a woman her age, they hated that.
Fortunately she did not notice his near misstep.

“I suppose you’re not to speak of it,” Soong
continued. “Perhaps you’re a Defender in training, then?
An...Initiate?”

“Peace, never that!” Dayn blurted out.
Surprise escaped Soong's calm features, a look mirrored by her
companions. He continued hastily. “I mean, the Ring is great, but
it's not for me. I hardly know which way to point a sword,
anyway.”

“What kind of man can’t wield a sword?”
Another dancer muttered. The echoing wind rose again, enveloping
Dayn’s ears with all of their chimes.

“There’s more to being a Defender than laying
about with a sword, Madele,” Soong retorted promptly. The dancer
shrugged. Soong looked up at Dayn intently, as if he was a puzzle
she intended to figure out.

“My father speaks highly of the Ringmen who
accompany you. It’s a shame you’re not in training to protect the
World Belt, Dayn Ro'Halan.” She hesitated, then reached up to touch
his face. Her warm fingers rested on his cheek for a moment. “You
have a strong spirit.”

In that moment, Soong looked free again,
worried over nothing save the dance. Dayn could scarcely pull his
eyes from hers.

“Who is this?” A scornful voice demanded. A
rough grip snagged the crook of Dayn's elbow from behind and pulled
him from behind.

Dayn spun around to see Gorhaj looming over
Soong.
Her brother,
he realized. Every dancer reacted
differently, from Nnendi's indignant stare to Madele's approving
smirk. For the most part, they just looked embarrassed and ready to
make themselves scarce.

“The best of Ara are spurned by you for
months,” Gorhaj spat, thumbing over his shoulder at Dayn, “and this
filthy offworlder knows your touch? Half the plaza saw!”

“I speak with whom I choose, Gorhaj.” Pure
frost covered Soong’s voice as she stared down the First Sword.
“You can parade every heir to the High from here to the last split,
but it is
my
choice! Father understands that, why won’t you?
Must I order you as Eldest to leave me be?”

The surrounding gentry noticed the spat
immediately. Most wore the placid faces of people practiced at
eavesdropping. “But you ignore the High at every turn. Always off
in the city―”

“Where I’m needed. Olende is rationing water,
brother.”

“—when the bloodline must move forward!”

“You would lecture me on succession? After
seeing the wenches you allow to clutch your arm?”

Gorhaj flushed red. The exchange stunned Dayn
as well as the dancers. Gorhaj opened his mouth angrily to retort,
but Dayn took the moment to intervene.