The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (13 page)

Hanalene's shoulders slumped in resignation.
“Tela, go to the village. Find your father and bring him home.”
Tela nodded solemnly, then sprinted off to grab her shoes.

“Mother, I can get there twice as quickly,”
Dayn protested. “I should be the one to go!”

Lurec cleared his throat. “For that to
happen, young Shardian, I shall be obliged to accompany you.”

“He’s not leaving here,” Hanalene said
firmly. “Dayn, she’ll be fine on the road. Especially if you trust
her on the Sliding Rocks,” she added in a dry tone. “It’s best you
stay away from the village for a while, until things
are...settled.”

“I’ll come back soon, mother!” Tela entered
the room, prancing triumphantly before she left. Dayn watched her
from the window, bounding swiftly westward until she was out of
sight.

Lurec sat on their worn couch at Hanalene’s
urging. The Preceptor remained polite enough, commenting absently
on how delicious the refreshments were, but Dayn's artifact clearly
commanded all of his attention.

“What is it?” Dayn asked finally, as he
joined the Preceptor. Hanalene sat across from them in Laman’s
padded leather chair.

“This is...a Seed.” As he took in their blank
looks, regret filled Lurec’s blue eyes. “It’s very old, and very
powerful. It was conceived during an age of great peace, days like
the World Belt has never known. Some believe it to be a weapon, but
there’s more knowledge contained within it than all the
repositories of the Belt combined.”

“But what does it do?” The Preceptor's words
begged more questions than they answered. Dayn certainly did not
want to be known for finding a weapon. That would make his time in
the Dreadfall look that much worse. He did not see how the strange
orb could compare to a Defender's sword, or even a staff.

“All of the Seeds were thought to be lost
thousands of years ago. If this one is fully functional, I—” Lurec
stopped himself with a grimace. “I’ll say no more until your father
arrives. For now, you will tell me how you came to be in the
Dreadfall. Your discovery will impact the World Belt for years to
come. But it’s still not enough to ignore the tremors of a
worldheart.”

“I wanted to course, is all. I was supposed
to begin Attendant training on First Mist, so my best friend and
I...” Dayn retold his adventure. He cringed to see the hurt in his
mother's face deepen as the Preceptor's piercing inquiry forced him
to reveal how long he had secretly prepared himself for the
Dreadfall.

Lurec asked very particular questions about
the Seed, as well. He seemed very satisfied to hear about the
swarming creatures and toadstools where Dayn found it, for some
reason. Lurec balked at giving up the Seed, but even a Preceptor of
the Ring could not refuse Hanalene’s insistence for long. She began
to clean the orb as Dayn spoke.

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.

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

F
or 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.

“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.