The Seedbearing Prince: Part I Read online

  When Dayn described the gray men, and the explosion in the cliffs, the Preceptor's expression hardened, but he did not seem surprised. Hanalene's eyes went wider than Dayn thought possible as she listened.

  “You lied to us,” she said quietly, handing the Seed back to the Preceptor. Not one imperfection marred the red surface, a perfect sphere.

  “Mother, I―”

  Hanalene’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “You lied to your father, when he was so careful to let you choose freely. You don't know how many times he argued with the Elders to allow you to spar with the Ro'Gems. And you weren't even with Joam, you were...oh peace, Dayn. He was so proud of you. To become an Attendant...”

  “I'm sorry, I...” Dayn's tongue failed him.

  Lurec looked studiously at the floor as Hanalene rose, taking the nibbled berries and lukewarm tea into the kitchen. The Seed meant no more than dust to Dayn now, not with his parents’ disappointment as the price for finding it. Thankfully, Preceptor Lurec did not resume his questioning.

  The time stretched far too long, and Dayn began to worry that Tela had fallen to misfortune on the road, or could not find their father. His attention fell to watching the window for her return, so he was the first to see black mar the sky to the west.

  “That's near the village,” Dayn called out in alarm. He flung the door open and sprinted outside, vaguely aware of the Preceptor on his heels. The thick plume sank fear deep into his bones. “Peace, look at the smoke!”

  “Laman! By the heart of Shard, my daughter! Tela!” Hanalene's shrill voice rose as she emerged from the house and rushed mindlessly toward the road. Dayn’s stomach knotted to hear her wail in protest as he grabbed her. “Let go of me!”

  “Mother, wait!” He forced himself not to dwell on what the smoke could mean for everyone they knew in the village.

  “We’ll deal with this later.” Lurec wavered a moment, then slipped the Seed into the pocket of his overcoat before meeting Dayn's eyes. “I’ll help however I can.”

  “I don't care about your Seed! I just want to see my family safe. Mother, I’ll take you over to Grahm's until I know what’s happened!”

  Hanalene's face crumpled, but she retreated inside, reemerging with a cloak and shoes fit for the road, along with Dayn’s silverpine.

  Dayn gestured to the Preceptor. “Come on!” He did not hesitate. The three raced down the road to Wia Wells, watching the smoke rise higher into the sky.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Voidwalkers

  Every world in the Belt has a tradition of lore stretching back thousands of years to explain disappeared loved ones. It stands to reason that the voidwalkers have been among us, and watching us for centuries, but why? Fodder for the monsters our Defenders claim they ride? Or something worse?

  -Master Preceptor Hecster Redren

  For a few tense moments, Hanalene refused to turn aside at Grahm's farm. She finally relented at Dayn's pleading, and the Preceptor's urgings over lost time. The smoke grew so black Dayn feared some great pit of fire would be all that remained of Wia Wells. He ground his teeth whenever the Preceptor's weak offworlder legs slowed their pace. Dayn had never met a worse bounder.

  Lurec clutched his knees during their latest stop to rest, sucking in mouthfuls of air. Frantic as Dayn felt, he still dismissed the temptation to abandon the Ringman entirely. He needed to make sure this Seed did not bring misfortune on his family, and for that to happen the Ringman must explain it to the Elders. “Do you know what did this?” Dayn demanded, resisting the temptation to shout.

  Sweat poured down Lurec’s reddened face, but he straightened determinedly and began to walk. Dayn silently acknowledged the Preceptor’s effort. “You know the answer to that,” Lurec managed to get out. “The men you saw are responsible for the ground, and likely for this fire. Voidwalkers.”

  Dayn nearly tripped over his own feet. He stared at the Preceptor incredulously, palms suddenly clammy around his staff. “Highlanders tell their children that voidwalkers will steal them away to the Shrouded Ten if they skip chores.” The Shrouded Ten were blighted worlds in the Belt where the sun never showed her face, and the dead walked valleys of scorching metal.

  “You think them...nothing more than fables,” Lurec wheezed. “Even after...your own experiences?”

  “There are real things to watch out for in the Mistlands. Ridgecats and gravespinners,” Dayn said uncertainly. Hearing the Preceptor speak of voidwalkers as though they lived down the road unnerved him to no end.

  Lurec seemed to read all of his fears in a single glance. The Ringman looked...resigned. “They are known by a hundred different names. Darklurker. Rotwalker. Deadwisp.” The scent of charred wood weighed heavy in the air, and the offworlder coughed. “Most of the stories are incorrect. Their true nature is far more frightening. A voidwalker can survive in conditions that would kill the hardiest Defender. I've heard reports of them enduring the torrent with no air to speak of, and a dozen more unnatural acts.”

  Dayn shuddered. “What are they?”

  “They were men once, before hatred and the clouds of their world twisted them forever. I believe the World Belt reminds them of what they have lost by their own choosing. So they seek to destroy everything you hold dear, everything the Ring is sworn to protect. Now, please. Allow me to focus on the road, unless you plan to tie me to your back for the rest of the way!”

  Dayn let the familiar rhythm of bounding settle his thoughts. Voidwalkers, on his world, in his village. Peace! Can the Ring keep us safe?

  The Preceptor kept up, doggedly remaining a leap or two behind and gasping for air. The thickening smoke burned Dayn's lungs and taxed his endurance. The last mile leading up to the village proved more difficult than all those before it, and he slowed reluctantly. The first buildings soon peeked fearfully out of the haze. Dayn rushed ahead of Lurec, fearing the worst.

  “Oh, no.” Orange flames wreathed every building around the Wustl Square, clinging greedily to burned out homes and shops. A line of soot-covered men fought to save the Dawnbreak Inn, passing wretchedly small buckets of water to toss on the fire. Piles of ash and cinder marked the tangletoys and vendor booths that held so much joy only three nights ago. “The voidwalkers, you think they did this?”

  The Preceptor stumbled to a halt behind him, coughing terribly in the smoke. “To silence any voices that might spread warning of their presence, I suspect. Take heart, lad. Defenders are here.”

  Men who appeared to be covered in soot, were in fact wearing dull black armor, making an odd contrast with the goodwives and farmers. The imposing men―and women, Dayn noted in surprise―also dotted the water line as if it were their own village ablaze. Preceptors stood near the Square’s wells, wearing the same gray overcoats as Lurec and decidedly unhappy looks. A filthy man broke away from them and trotted close.

  “Dayn! Peace be praised.” Elder Buril barely passed for recognizable, his silver dreadlocks streaked with ash. He nodded hesitantly to Lurec, who bowed simply in return. “We've managed to save the village histories, but we could use your help on the water line.”

  “I’m sorry, but I'm afraid that cause is lost,” Lurec said, pointing. Balen the innkeeper waved off the people in the line with a weary face. One by one, villagers and dark-armored Defenders stopped to watch the Dawnbreak burn. Dayn searched for his father and sister, but haze and grime masked every face in the Square.

  “So it is. After all those weeks of painting for Evensong.” Elder Buril let out a defeated sigh. “At least it didn’t happen at night, with everyone still sleeping.”

  “I don’t wish to make light of your troubles, Elder—but I require this lad here, and his father if he’s to be found,” Lurec said. The Preceptor placed a hand on Dayn's shoulder, earning a suspicious frown from Elder Buril.

  “Require him, you say? For what purpose, Ringman?” The Elder deliberately let his resonant voice carry. Haggard villagers looked their way as surely as though he had just struck a gong.

&
nbsp; “Elder Buril, it's alright,” Dayn whispered fiercely. His heart began to thud as people encircled them. Weariness and shock owned every face Dayn saw. “He really needs to talk with us.”

  “Are you sure, lad?” Elder Buril asked in a troubled voice. The Defenders continued to shovel dirt on smaller blazes, unconcerned with the villagers. The dozen or so Preceptors standing over by the wells cowered like frightened sheep. “I mean you no disrespect, Preceptor,” he continued, “but Ringmen ask after people, especially young people, for one of two reasons. I'm quite sure Dayn here does not wish to become a Defender!”

  “No, my intent is to...”

  Dayn stopped listening once he saw Joam skirting toward him through the villagers.

  “Dayn, you’re alright.” Relief flooded Joam's voice, contrasting with the glare he offered Lurec. “People are saying fire came out of the wells, can you believe it? Come away from that offworlder, brother. For all we know, they’re the ones who caused it.”

  “That isn't true,” Dayn said, surprised at his own insistence. “The ground shaking started in Shard's heart when―”

  “Troublemakers, one and all! Skulking wolves!” Dayn recognized the voice of the beady-eyed Misthavener. He prodded more villagers near, no longer wearing the cap Dayn accidentally knocked off at Evensong.

  “Now those are fool accusations, Payter Merk!” Elder Buril drew himself up angrily. “I've seen Defenders carry our people from burning shops two at a time, while you barely have a smudge on your clothes!”

  “But why are they here, Elder?” Someone demanded loudly from within the growing press of villagers. The Misthavener had lost some of his bluster, but his words had clearly emboldened the crowd. Lurec stepped forward, hands wide in supplication.

  “The Ring is fully prepared to aid you,” he called out. He did not get the chance to finish. Even Joam joined in the angry shouts.

  “Aid us how?” A Southforte man shouted. Dayn recognized him, the vendor who bartered with Hanalene for his scratchy shirt at Evensong. “Tying the wreaths upon our graves?”

  “Not the most skilled orator, are you?” Elder Buril muttered. Dayn stepped away before hearing Lurec’s reply. He did not see his father among the throng, nor his sister.

  “The Ring has long protected the Belt, and they protect us now!” Elder Buril intoned. He and Lurec were so absorbed in their efforts to calm everyone that neither noticed three new Defenders enter the Square from the western road. The agitated villagers did not see them, either.

  The middle Defender surveyed the scene, then raised a gauntleted fist high. His fingers flickered through a series of rapid movements.

  The Defenders had all worked so silently up to this point that most of the villagers had forgotten nearly twenty armored offworlders stood in their midst. At the new Ringman's signal, they sprang into motion as one. Goodwives cried out, and even the sturdiest of farmers yelped in surprise as the Defenders melted deftly through them. The unlikely makings of a riot faltered. The Defenders now surrounded all the Preceptors save Lurec.

  Dayn shared a stunned look with Joam. So fast, Joam mouthed. He held his staff less certainly than before. He and the rest of the villagers scrambled aside as the lead Defender strode toward Lurec.

  To Dayn's relief, some villagers retreated altogether, drifting away to search through the rubble, weeping quietly over lost loved ones. The Square returned to a mournful quiet, underscored by the remaining flames picking over the Dawnbreak's guts. Dayn still saw no sign of his father or Tela anywhere.

  The lead Defender addressed Lurec in a hard voice. “This was an ill-advised venture on your part, to travel to these...Mistlands. Without my escort. The Ring deals sparingly with Shard for good reason. Your actions make our presence here even more tenuous.”

  “My dictates never required your presence, Defender,” Lurec said. “The Lord Ascendant instructed me to determine the cause of these events. That task is complete, without the help of your men.”

  Dayn goggled and even Elder Buril's eyebrows rose at the heat in the Preceptor's tone. The Defender stood of a height with most Shardians, a true rarity for an offworlder. His brown eyes frosted at Lurec’s words. From behind the circled Defenders, several of the Preceptors appeared ready to swoon at the exchange.

  “You overstep―”

  “Our orders are nothing compared to this young man's discovery,” Lurec cut in, gesturing at Dayn for the entire Square to see.

  “Leave them to this,” Elder Buril hissed, appearing suddenly at Dayn's arm. “It's Ring business.” He began to pull Dayn away, but too late. The Preceptor's words marked him apart, and suspicion showed in every Shardian gaze that met Dayn's eyes. The Preceptor beckoned him forward.

  “Nassir, this is Dayn,” he said. “He’s found something you need to see. Something that may turn the tide in favor of the World Belt.”

  Dayn stepped forward on suddenly weak legs, intimidated like never before in his life. Nassir looked powerfully built beneath the unforgiving black armor that fit him like a second skin. A fine layer of ash had settled on the dark brown dreadlocks that hung past his shoulders, framing his honey-hued face. Command radiated from his eyes as he regarded Dayn, so the other warriors' deference―along with the Preceptors' cowering―seemed only natural. The Defender abruptly stuck out his hand.

  “Well met, young Shardian.” Nassir said simply. Dayn fumbled the greeting. The Defender did not shake his hand in the Mistland way, but rather clasped hand to forearm. Dayn's arm felt like a dry twig ready to snap in Nassir's black metal gauntlet. He looked at Dayn expectantly. “So how would you awe me?”

  “I...I gave it to him. Preceptor Lurec.”

  “What do your dictates say about that, Preceptor?” the Defender asked. Lurec fumbled at his overcoat pocket, flushing as the Defender's gaze skewered him in place. Several of the Preceptors peered at Dayn in an interested way that unnerved him. They reminded him of Tela at the pond, deciding what to do with a newly captured tadpole.

  Where are my kin? Dayn began to slink away into the onlooking villagers, but Elder Buril stopped him with a slight shake of his head.

  “Do not belittle me!” Lurec spluttered, still fumbling through his pockets. “It's here, I have it here.”

  “Something important enough to obtain without a Defender's presence and you lose it?” Nassir inquired coolly.

  A new commotion turned the onlookers back toward where the eastern road met the Square. Dayn stared in shock as his mother and Kajalynn appeared, their dresses dirtied from the road. Once Kajalynn saw Nassir, she began to shriek at the top of her lungs.

  “My husband!” she screamed. “Oh peace help me, they took my husband!”

  The Square erupted like a kicked anthill. Farmers surged forward with staffs in hand. They boiled toward Lurec, Nassir, and even the Defenders' impassive circle. Not one Wia Wells man hesitated at charging the Ringmen after seeing the distraught wives, and the Southforte folk were only half a step behind.

  “Offworlder filth! Back to the sky with you!”

  “Keep the Preceptors from harm, we must not―”

  Something knocked Dayn to the ground, he did not see who or what. Shouts sounded out all around him as he regained his feet. Complete bedlam engulfed the Wustl Square.

  “My wife! Let me go to my wife!”

  Dayn heard Laman's bellow over the tumult and spotted him forcing his way through the Square. He felt immense relief to see his father, covered in ash, but otherwise unharmed.

  A farmer blocked Dayn's view as he rushed Nassir. The Defender calmly sidestepped the farmer's staff and planted a boot in the man's rump. His momentum carried him unceremoniously to the ground.

  “Please, please!” Elder Buril shouted, but the frenzy drowned him out. Nassir turned to Dayn, feet planted easily in a fighting stance that Dayn recognized immediately. Leopard's Embrace. Milchamah used the stance often when he taught―a mocking invitation to strike reserved for an inferior opponent.

  Dayn felt
the Defender's eyes sift him for a moment. He swallowed, holding his staff uncertainly. Nassir abruptly turned away, making measured progress toward the circle of Defenders, dodging and sidestepping as he went. Never once did he attack a Shardian.

  Another one of the Defenders struggled through the crowd, protecting himself from the fists and staffs buffeting him from every side. Defenders took oaths to never raise arms against a world, but any fool could see how this would turn out. The Defender lost his feet to a farmer's staff and went down. Nearby villagers set to pummeling the Ringman with kicks.

  Nassir gestured sharply to his circled men. Two of the Defenders broke into the throng after their comrade. Metallic pings echoed through the Wustl Square as the crowd fell on them with fists.

  “Stop!” Dayn found himself joining the shouts.

  The fallen Defender had left the safety of their circle to retrieve Lurec. The Preceptor stood alone and exposed in the throng as the two Defenders waded toward them both.

  “Leave Shard, offworlder!”

  “You've brought enough grief to our village!”

  Things were happening too fast. Joam crept toward Nassir's back, unnoticed while the Defender signaled orders with those strange hand signals. Joam stood high, his favorite darkwood staff in his hand. Nassir's focus lay entirely on his men.

  “Joam, no!” Dayn lurched into motion. Joam drew his staff back to swing straight for the back of the Defender's unprotected head.

  He could not block Joam in time, so Dayn threw himself into Swallow in the Wind. The strike lanced Joam perfectly in the ribs. A vicious move, particularly for an unsuspecting foe―no worse than what Joam intended for the Defender.

  Joam crumpled to the ground, clutching his side, his darkwood dropped in the village ashes. Blayle the butcher and several other Wia Wells folk stared at Dayn as though he had just sprouted horns. Joam flopped onto his back, eyes rolling in bewilderment and pain. Dayn dropped his staff.