The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (30 page)

Long moments passed before the Overlord
spoke. Not knowing what else to do, Dayn returned the Seed to his
pack. Nassir and Lurec stood there quietly, waiting. “So Thar’Kur
attacks worldhearts in the Belt. It’s too fantastic to believe,
coming from a farmer’s son, no less.” Feerthul turned to his
advisors, who all regarded Dayn with somber expressions. “That is
why I can actually...accept it. Look at him. His words ring as
clear and true as those of a Preceptor.”

The Overlord gave Lurec the briefest of
glances and the Ringman nodded. Somehow Dayn knew the slight
exchange passed as an apology for Feerthul's earlier insult.

“You understand our urgency now,” Nassir
said. He gestured to the prisoners. “If Ara fears a failed treaty,
imagine what the rest of the Belt broods over in their trade
councils? How long before Montollos invades Quello for control of
their mines? When will the Eadrinn Gohr demand a fifth of Shard's
harvest? A common threat still conspires against all of our
peoples. The Ring stands in its proper place, but I fear that is
not enough. Your losses here are great, but I ask you not to
retaliate against Ara. Strife in the Belt is exactly what Thar’Kur
wants.”

“You ask much, Defender. The other
worlds...you would visit them all?” Feerthul asked. Several of his
advisors smirked openly at the notion.

“As many as we can,” Nassir replied
earnestly. “The Lord Ascendant bade us journey to Ista Cham next,
but we will bear straight for Ara. Our presence will help end this
conflict.”

“And put to rest these claims of Consort
plotting,” Lurec added.

Feerthul’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded
slowly. The Overlord spoke so the entire room could hear. “I hold
to the will of the Ring. Suralose will stand against this threat,
and keep to covenant so long as there’s a Belt to keep.” He looked
at Dayn, eying his pack where the Seed rested once more. “And so
long as there is hope for the worlds to be as one.”

Nassir and Lurec both bowed deeply, and Dayn
did the same after a moment.

“We must depart at once to Ara,” Nassir said
briskly. “To prevent further attacks.”

“My man said your transport was destroyed,”
Feerthul said. He gestured to the rubble near the wall. “As is
ours, buried there. We’ve no Sending personnel here, and this
storehouse contained our remaining liftriders. We’re effectively
cut off from the rest of Suralose until our main lift returns in
two weeks. I sympathize with your troubles Defender, but I am
powerless to aid you for the moment. We must collapse this room in
order to survive the night. There’s no guarantee that other
strongholds on Suralose fare any better.”

Nassir frowned, his face twisted in
thought.

“Can the Ring be...diverted, again?” Dayn
asked hopefully.

The Defender shook his head dismissively. “I
would do it without hesitation, but there are no means to reach
them, Shardian. No Sending personnel.”

“Sending? What’s that?” Dayn asked.

Nassir stared at him a moment, muttering
under his breath before turning back to Overlord Feerthul. “Do you
have sheath?”

“Copious amounts. We have little use for it,
though it may be all that keeps us from freezing in our beds
tonight.”

“No.” Lurec's face turned to ash. “You cannot
possibly mean to―”

Nassir rounded on the Preceptor. “Stay if you
like. Our fastest means to reach Ara is the torrent. If we course,
we’ll reach the Aran High before the day is over.”

Exhilaration and fear swirled in Dayn's
chest. He spoke with no hesitation. “I'm going. I want to see this
done.”

“Well spoken, young Shardian.” Overlord
Feerthul gave Dayn an appraising look. “In all my days I never
thought to see a coursing, seedbearing prince! It seems the old
stories show us the way forward.”

“But the torrent is unsafe...we cannot
possibly...” Lurec stammered, looking near ready to faint.

“The Preceptor speaks true.”

Every head turned to a weary voice among the
Arans, the captured rockrider. “The resonance wake overtook most of
our force just before we came down. We were mad to ever attempt
this strike. The torrent moved so fast it caught fire, and turned
three transports of warhorses and their riders to ash. We lost ten
times our number to that wretched storm. We were mad to think we
could brave it.”

Stillness dominated the storeroom as the
Suralosans digested his words. The day might have gone much
differently if those forces had reached ground. Dayn knew nothing
of a resonance wake, but the terror on Lurec's face told him
enough.

The guard who led them to the Overlord spoke
up suddenly. “My uncle navigated for Montollos, before he took to
guard duty. 'When your vapor array turns black, curse the cargo and
find your way back.' That's what he used to say about a wake.”

“Like walking uphill through an avalanche,
but along with the snow and ice, there are a thousand more of these
smiling down at you,” another guard muttered, nodding at the
rockrider’s boulder.

Every eye fixed on Nassir then, from the
Overlord to the prisoners, the guards and milling ice melters. He
regarded them all coolly, looking every bit the hero Dayn imagined
when he read of Defenders in the stories.

“No goal eludes the Ring, and no task is too
great for a Defender,” Nassir intoned. His words held the feel of
an old saying. “Our time is short. Please, if you can spare a man
to bring the sheath and take us to your leap point? Preceptor,
Shardian, come.”

Overlord Feerthul and Nassir set off among
the crowd in silence. Dayn and Lurec followed.

“Peace upon the Ring!” A husky voice broke
the silence.

“Peace upon Shard!” said another. Slowly the
Suralosans began to cheer. Dayn would have enjoyed the encouraging
shouts, but he could not help but notice the haunted light in the
eyes of the Aran captives.

Speed Kills

Of all her new charges, Adazia must beware the
brother and sister named Toljem. Nassir and Pararsha are an all
consuming fire, and the Force Lord ignores their appetite at the
Ring's peril.

-private memoirs of Lord Ascendant Phontra

T
he storeroom burst
into motion as Suralosans scampered to fulfill Overlord Feerthul's
brisk commands. “I want everything of value in this room cleared
well before sunset. Well before! Bring me the Defender’s protection
for the torrent. Quickly!”

“This shall be more than adequate.” Nassir
carefully dipped sheath from a great vat carried in by a pair of
fur clad ice melters. He secreted small casks of the stuff within
his monstrous scabbard. Dayn wondered that the liquid did not
freeze in the cold. “And the rest?”

The Suralosan guards proffered an overlarge
bronze breastplate to fit Lurec, overcoat and all. Kenit rushed
over, puffing out frozen air. The herald held a leather and metal
chestpiece, with matching coverings for Dayn’s arms and legs.

“You don't want to know where I found it,
young Shardian,” the herald said, his eyes sliding away from a dark
stain on the leather chestpiece. “Better to have something besides
your skin between the torrent and the sheath.”

“You’re probably right,” Dayn said uneasily.
He avoided lingering on the stain, too. Several Arans gave him dark
looks as they were prodded past. But others, strangely enough, were
looks of wonder. Wonder and hope.

Nassir gave them both an impatient glance,
and Kenit swallowed. “Best see if it fits. Does that Defender
always look so serious? His scowl could drain the marrow from my
bones!”

“He does,” Dayn replied as he slid into the
armor. Kenit inspected the fit with a satisfactory nod. The touch
of the frozen leather pierced easily through his layered shirts.
Dayn quickly pulled his red cloak back on, shivering. “Who do you
think would win a staring match, Nassir or Feerthul?”

Kenit chuckled as Dayn checked his pack for
the Seed. He straightened to find Overlord Feerthul planted
directly in front of him.

“Overlord,” he gulped, managing a slight bow.
His face grew hot as he realized the Suralosan leader may have
heard him jesting.

“You’ve honored us with your visit, Dayn
Ro'Halan,” Feerthul said formally. The man showed no hint of
displeasure, and Dayn let himself breathe again. Kenit gave him a
rueful look. “I would see you off properly, but our tasks for
Suralose are as dire as yours are for the Belt.” He handed Dayn a
waterskin that showed a sigil of the same blue wolf that adorned
the Overlord's breastplate. “Mount Patel is the foremost of our
source waters, and this stronghold must be repaired with all haste.
Journey well, and may Suralose waters always quench your
thirst.”

“Thank you,” Dayn said in an awed voice.
“Traders back home say a messenger can bound for days with water
from Mount Patel.”

“Well, let us hope you don’t need to bound
away from the next Arans you meet,” Feerthul said dryly, “or they
will not receive another drop from our transports so long as peace
grants me breath. Fair well, Seedbearer.” Feerthul looked at him a
moment more, then broke off with a sweep of his fur-lined cloak,
barking orders as he went. “Why are those prisoners still in my
sight? I want this wall down if we must set fire to it!” He
disappeared among the bustling workers and guards.

“Come, farmer.” Nassir's hard grip fell on
Dayn's shoulder. “I have much to prepare you for and little time to
do it.”

“I will guide the vapor for you myself,”
Kenit said. “The leap point is this way.”

To Dayn's relief they stayed inside, snaking
through cramped, frozen hallways that forced him and Nassir to duck
in places. The tunnels were rippled and smooth, melted right
through the ice. Dayn could still see his breath, but better this
than the deeper cold outside. The Preceptor looked truly miserable,
as though a thief had stolen all the scrolls in his study.

“Shardian, your interest in coursing
confounds me,” Nassir said, handing him a fist-sized cask of
sheath. “But you shall have your fill soon enough.”

Dayn glanced at him in surprise.
I didn’t
think he knew anything about me.
Nassir handed another cask to
Lurec, who seemed to move his feet by sheer force of will
alone.

“Preceptor! Quit fretting and pay attention,
or I shall leave you behind.”

Lurec's face reddened with anger. Despite how
well the Preceptor pretended to agree with Nassir in the Overlord's
presence, there were limits to his submission. “You clearly value
our lives less than your own, but at least pause and consider the
Seed! It is infinitely more important than a water treaty between
worlds—more important than any one world! This decision reeks of
poor judgment.”

Nassir spun around, eyes burning. Dayn
cringed, expecting the worst. Kenit hopped anxiously from foot to
foot like an alarmed bird. Dayn could not decide if the Defender's
expression reminded him more of a ridgecat defending a fresh kill,
or one gone mad with foaming sickness. Lurec faced him down
obstinately, which Dayn silently commended. He himself would rather
face the ridgecat.

“You forget yourself, Preceptor,” Nassir
said, his voice colder than the Suralose air. “The Ring is days
from learning of this assault, days more from responding. We can
stand before the High within
hours.
The Force Lord herself
directed you to follow my orders, yet you balk now, when we are
needed most!”

“I can hold my own in the torrent. I meant to
go to Montollos, and enter the Course of Blades,” Dayn blurted out.
The herald's eyes widened, and the two Ringmen turned together to
stare at him. “I've practiced a lot. You already know I'm good with
a rope, from the transport. I―I've seen the Detritus Chamber too,
so I know what to expect. We'll keep the Seed safe, Lurec. I know
we will.”

“Beltbound are not to wander about the Ring
like some Ista Cham pleasure garden.” Nassir's eyes bored holes
into Dayn, and Lurec mirrored the Defender’s disapproval.

Forgive me for bringing you trouble,
Eriya,
Dayn thought. Yet his admission worked, distracting the
Ringmen enough to break their stalemate, at least for the moment.
Their stern looks mirrored one another perfectly.

“Ringmen, please,” Kenit urged. “The Belt
turns against us. Suralose needs your aid, should these Aran madmen
strike again. Feerthul will not stay his retribution long.” The
herald spun on his heel, and they followed, quickened by his
pleading. The tunnel sloped gradually upward.

“We could not have picked a worse time for
this,” Lurec muttered. Face ashen, he looked as though he were
walking into a gravespinner's nest.

Kenit peered at the Preceptor before
addressing Nassir delicately. “Defender, I do not doubt your
abilities within the torrent, and I will aim you as far away from
the resonance wake as possible. But...ah...how exactly do you plan
to survive?”

“The boy does have some talent with a
wingline,” Nassir conceded. “I'll tether him with a Vatdra Collar
until we find an erratic.” The Defender bared his teeth at Lurec,
who frowned uncertainly. “I'll keep the Preceptor much closer.”

“Yes, of course,” Kenit said, but he still
looked doubtful.

“Heed me, Shardian. A resonance wake makes
the torrent unpredictable. Stable rock will careen wildly, and
breathable air comes and goes in a heartbeat. Swarms of animals can
appear suddenly, fleeing the storm.”

Lurec flinched at each new danger, but Dayn's
heart just beat faster at the anticipated challenge.

Nassir glowered at Dayn's grin. “The torrent
will temper your eagerness soon enough. We’ll search out erratics
to shelter us until we’re close enough to a wayfinder. From there,
we can travel easily to Ara. Do you at least know what an erratic
is?”