The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (16 page)

“We’ve chosen a guide to get you to Misthaven
in time to be rid of that thing. Here.” Laman reached for a pack
set by the door that Dayn did not notice before. “You’ve enough
food and water for the road north, and clothes for a summer with
your aunts.”

Laman and Buril had clearly made up their
minds, but they would not send him away unless Hanalene agreed.
“Father, I―” Dayn began, but Laman's voice remained firm.

“It’s for the best. You leave tonight.”

Dayn knew better than to argue. He had never
stayed outside of Wia Wells for longer than a few days. Leaving for
a festival or the harvest in Misthaven always excited him, but this
was completely different. A whole summer away from home.

“The Misthavener stay-overs want to question
you as if they were Elders, and I won’t allow that.” Laman’s voice
softened a fraction. “Elder Buril’s written a letter which should
satisfy the Ring's laws, although he may be stepped down for
it.”

“Were you going to leave without saying
goodbye?” Tela called weakly from her pallet. Hanalene came to her
side in a flash, easing her back down.

“No, Tela.” Dayn did his best to put on a
cheerful face. “How are you feeling?”

“My arm hurts.” She flexed it experimentally,
then stopped with a slight groan. “You’ll bring me something from
another world, won't you?”

“She’s confused,” Hanalene murmured. “Her
fever’s getting worse.”

“Your brother’s going to Greenshadow, just
for the summer.” Laman said soothingly. They were all circled
around her pallet now, and Dayn felt a terrible sense of loss,
realizing these sad moments together were going to be their last
for some time.

“When I come back, we'll go to the Sliding
Rocks whenever you want.” He could barely keep his voice from
cracking.

“That will be fun.” Tela brightened a little.
“Take your red cloak, too,” she said earnestly. “I helped mother
make it, you know. It’ll bring you good luck.”

“I will, Tela.”

A cautious knock came at the door. Dayn
kissed her on the cheek, then embraced his parents in the most
awkward farewell he could imagine. The door creaked open, to reveal
old Nerlin, holding a pale staff and dressed for travel. He carried
packs slung over each shoulder.

“The village is asleep. Come now!” The old
farmer peered furtively back into the night. No signs of life
stirred in the ruined shops and homes, but Nerlin still looked
tense. Dayn donned his cloak and hefted his pack, then took his
silverpine staff from where it leaned against the wall. He ventured
one last look at his parents, his mouth awash with everything he
wanted to say.

“I'm so sorry, father. I should have―” he
started in a rush, but Laman waved his words away.

“What's done is done. We love you, son. No
matter what comes, remember that,” he said. Hanalene nodded
fiercely in agreement. Laman took up his own staff by the door and
stared wordlessly at the carved names. Dayn could barely meet his
father’s eyes when he looked up. “I gave this to you before you
were ready. I hope you’ll give me a reason to change my mind.”

His mother brushed her fingertips on his
cheek. Raw emotion rushed through her hazel gaze, grief and love
all mixed together. “Journey well,” she said. “We’ll manage the
harvest well enough once Tela is better. The summer will pass
before you know it.”

At that moment, Dayn truly grasped how deeply
his actions had wounded his parents. Not for his failing to become
an Attendant, or shaming the Ro’Halan name. He had broken their
trust. He silently vowed to never again be the cause of the look he
saw in their eyes.

Nerlin made an impatient sound, and Dayn
turned away from his family. He secured the Seed in his pack before
stepping into the waiting darkness.

First Mist

The mist season on Shard is steadfast, generous, and
nothing short of miraculous. Without Shard's Pledge, the World
Belt’s food supplies would last fifteen years at best.

-Consort Prelus, Observations on World Belt
Commerce

H
eap of trouble
you’re in, eh?” Nerlin looked over Dayn briefly before they set
off. A luminous shroud of fog blanketed the ground, reflecting the
light of a ragged, crescent moon.

“First Mist,” Dayn whispered. His summer as
an Attendant would have started at dawn.

“Aye, arrived earlier than I've ever seen.
I’ll wager the tremors brought it on.” The old farmer peered
cautiously up the street. “What are you waiting for, drummers and
torch bearers? Step quietly now, and don't light this lamp until I
say.”

Despite Nerlin’s sour disposition, his
presence made Dayn’s departure from the village feel less like
running away, somehow. They stole into the night, skirting the edge
of the Square and picking past burned out buildings toward the road
west. The mist dampened their footfalls, swallowing their bodies
from the waist down. Ahead of him, Nerlin appeared to float rather
than walk.

“The Misthaveners, are they looking for me?”
Dayn asked.

“Yes, and they aren't alone,” came the terse
reply. “Buril could only keep Sister Cari quiet for so long, she’s
off and told the Council he’s up to something. When they find Laman
gone, they'll go out to his farm, most likely. Should buy us some
time if your flapping gums don't give us away.”

Dayn clamped his mouth shut. He expected to
be halted by men with torches around every corner, and feared to
see Joam's face among those seeking him out. There were few
buildings left standing. Dayn pictured how Wia Wells looked before
the fire, whole and happy. He did not want these ruins to pass for
home in his memories.

They swiftly passed out of the village’s
pitiful remains with no pursuit. For that at least, Dayn felt a
measure of relief. He spoke once he felt certain they were far
enough along the road. “Thank you for your help.”

“Don't thank me just yet, boy.” The old man
snorted, not slowing his pace. “If your old man and Buril don't
calm those fools, it may be the whole of Shard come looking for you
at Greenshadow.”

Dayn swallowed. “You think they’d stay angry
for that long?”

“Fools never take kindly to reason,” Nerlin
replied. He glanced back at Dayn's face and barked a laugh. “No
worry left to waste over it now, though. I'll get you north in one
piece. Peace take these old legs if I don't. Now, let me see
it.”

“See what?”

“Don't play me stupid, boy. The trinket.”

Dayn produced the Seed and proffered it to
Nerlin. He could not wait to hand it over to the Ringmen for good.
Nerlin peered at it intently, but the old farmer made no move to
take it. “Good. Easy to hide.”

Dayn frowned. “Elder Buril didn't touch it,
either.” The Preceptor never quite told him what the Seed was for,
but anything worth risking a Defender's wrath must be terribly
important. “Why?”

“There's an old look to it. An old feel. Old
powers can take a liking to you.” Nerlin cocked his head doubtfully
for a moment, then turned back to the road. Dayn returned the Seed
to his pack. “Don't tell me what it is, either. I don't want to
know.”

They set out again at a measured,
ground-eating trot. Dense redbranch thickets grew on either side of
the road to Misthaven, so tangled they might as well be walls of
granite. Nerlin moved easier than expected, given his limp, as the
road snaked north.

Dayn itched to move faster, but only the
foolhardy risked bounding in mist. That rule applied three times
over at night. One jutting stone could snap an ankle like straw
after a high leap, and the mist could hide a ten span drop in the
terrain, make it appear to be level ground.

Breaking branches pierced the heavy silence.
Nerlin halted immediately and peered behind them, searching for
movement.

“Did you hear that?” Dayn whispered
nervously. Even the worst fool in Misthaven would not leave the
road tonight, but the sound was unmistakable.

“Of course I hear it!” Nerlin snapped. He
refused to light his lamp. “Did you stop to think if it might have
heard you, before opening your trap?”

He muttered for a moment about gravespinners
venturing too close to the road, but did not seem convinced of his
own words. “There's an evil about tonight,” the farmer finally
conceded. “An evil in the mist.”

“We should bound. The Preceptor told me
voidwalkers might be on Shard,” Dayn said. “I...I think they want
the Seed.”

“You don't say.” Nerlin's face tightened.
Dayn followed his gaze back to the road ahead.

A figure barred their path less than ten
spans away, completely shrouded in a black cowl. The sounds of
snapping branches behind them stopped.

They spun around to see another voidwalker
emerge from the redbranch, just as massive and hulking as the
first. This one wore no cloak, only a strange, glistening black
armor. Organic and jagged, the metal reminded Dayn of a
silverpine's coarse bark. The covering swallowed the voidwalker to
the chest with no visible straps or joins. Its shoulders, hands,
and hairless head were unprotected and deathly pale as the moonlit
mist. A strange steam issued from the voidwalker, as though he were
boiling in his own skin.

“I knew guilt would grant speed to your feet,
boy, if you still lived.” Dayn recognized one of the voices from
the Dreadfall, guttural and cruel. “And here you stand unscathed,
when so many of Thar’Kur’s warriors are dead. I would know what
secrets protect you.”

“I can...feel his eyes on me,” Nerlin mumbled
thickly.

Dayn felt an odd sensation spider along his
senses. “Peace, no...get out of my head!” Something vile brushed
the edges of his mind, searching for purchase. Before he could
utter another word, the voidwalker’s unseen attack crumpled him to
the ground in agony.

Nerlin sank to his knees in the mist next to
Dayn, arms hugged around his chest. Blood trickled from the
farmer's ears and ran down the stubble on his face.

“All this trouble to burn them out of that
hovel, and you won’t kill him now?” The second voidwalker’s voice
rang out behind them, impatient.

“Wait. See how he resists us? They both
do.”

Dayn knew he might as well be a born-blind
lamb in their clutches. No matter how he strained, he could not
move.

“Get up, boy!” Nerlin's fearful cry cut
through the fog in Dayn's mind. “For your life, get up!” Nerlin
grabbed Dayn by the arm and darted off the road. The undergrowth
raked their skin as they stumbled into the wilds. Dayn held his
staff before him, but it proved a poor tool for pushing through the
redbranch. His mind cleared the further they ran from the road.

“Go, go! They’re right behind us!”

Nerlin dropped his lantern to better grasp
his staff as he shouted back at Dayn. “Stay close, and for the love
of Shard don't tread on the silver ground!”

The old farmer gathered himself in a crouch,
then bounded forcefully out of sight. Dayn leaped after him,
ignoring the branches that clutched at his clothing, tearing at his
hair and skin. He barely broke through. For a moment he sailed
free, the wind on his face and the crescent moon overhead. But the
pull of Shard’s ground dragged him back into the shadowed wilds and
mist.

He landed with a crash, stumbling to his feet
only to leap again in the direction he believed Nerlin took.
Branches snatched at his pack with every bound, but he dared not
stop to secure it. Only the Seed inside prevented him from flinging
it away to run faster.

Dayn listened for Nerlin's guiding shouts
ahead as he pitched through the wilds like a crazed mule. The more
noise he made, the less he could hear from behind, but he knew the
voidwalkers were still there. He could feel them.

The two fled blindly along ground Dayn felt
sure no Shardian had ever walked. They might fare better bounding
through fences than the snarled redbranch. Silk strands soon
drooped from every branch, sticky and viscous, threatening to snare
him. Peace
guide my step, it’s thicker than rope!
Silver
ground warned of nidus, the underground caverns where gravespinners
lurked and laid their egg clutches. Dayn strained to keep Nerlin in
sight, ignoring the cuts crisscrossing his skin. His right ankle
folded on a dead branch. Sweat stung his wounds, and his strength
began to flag.

“Blind me! I heard you were the Mistland's
best bounder!” The farmer's voice stabbed out from the dark,
goading him on. “Keep up!”

“Where are you?” Dayn cried. His sprain felt
bad, but he could not risk stopping to check the ankle. His staff
streamed ragged strands of silk. He felt things squish underfoot or
lunge for his legs every time he leaped into another bound.

“Ease back, boy. Ease back!”

Dayn skidded to a stop, chest heaving. “We
can't stop here, they'll catch us!” His legs burned as though he
carried a pack full of river stones. The clearing looked free of
spinner traps, but the wilds around them practically quivered. The
feeling set Dayn's teeth on edge. Silk covered the landscape in
every direction. “What are you doing?”

“Getting a handle on our bearings,” Nerlin
said. The man looked an absolute wreck, with broken twigs and silk
strands clinging to his shredded clothes. He stared into the night
sky, face completely aghast. “Peace protect us...the stars are all
wrong! Shayla's Daughters are too low in the sky for this time of
year. I thought we were angling back toward the road, but now...”
He trailed off.

Dayn finally broke the silence. “They did
something to Shard, the voidwalkers in the Dreadfall. I saw them in
her heartrock.”

Nerlin gave him a hard look. “I picked a fine
night to do Buril's bidding,” he muttered, starting off at a brisk
walk. Dayn hurried after, looking everywhere for trapdoors. “A fine
night. Well, there’s less web in the redbranch here, which means
good for us.”