The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (37 page)

His hand rested on the green skin, but not
one spine pierced it. They flexed down, bending away from his
touch. The plant itself...
needle spire.
The words came to
Dayn's mind unbidden, but somehow felt right. He could feel
moisture within the plant's interior, although too bitter to drink.
Some birds had hollowed their nest into the top of it, but the
damage to the plant itself was unimportant. They kept the plant
free of sandbeetles, but their chicks had fallen prey to―

Dayn jerked his palm away, completely
uninjured. He heard the servants snicker loudly behind him. “We
warned you,” another called. Dayn ignored them, staring at his
shaking hand. The spines of the needle spire flexed back into
place.

Sand and ash! I knew this plant as though
I raised it from a sprout
! The thought brought a new,
troublesome insight that dried his mouth far more than the Aran sun
could account for.
The Seed.
Dayn reached for it
immediately, but stopped before pulling it all the way out of his
pocket.
Peace keep me, look how brightly it glows!

He looked up quickly. Several of the Aran
servants now spoke with the guards near the entrance, pointing in
his direction. He began to walk casually away from the courtyard,
hoping they would not follow. Surely the guards would not hesitate
to take the Seed, if they discovered it. He wanted to avoid
questions about the needle spire, and his hand, too.

The white stone path meandered along the
outer wall of the gardens. He followed it around a corner, away
from the Arans’ prying eyes. The redstone parapet along the top of
the wall stood perhaps ten spans above him. The faint sound of
someone practicing with a flute drifted to his ears from the other
side. He felt confident that the Aran ground was weaker than
Suralose.

“The guards will see you.”

Dayn turned at a musical voice. He found a
servant eying him, her arms piled high with red and yellow silks.
Dayn could not decide if her eyes were green or hazel, they seemed
to shift in the morning light. Freckles danced upon the cinnamon
tones of her oval face, and she looked as though she laughed often.
The young woman wore a plain white dress with no sleeves, and the
curls of her dark auburn hair were mostly hidden beneath a matching
white scarf.

“I was told I could walk here,” Dayn said. He
looked beyond her anxiously, but saw no signs of the two
swordsmen.

“I'm sure you were,” the servant said
sweetly, “but you’re planning to climb that wall. I don't know why
the guards are on edge today, but doing that will land you on their
bad side as surely as hugging one of the High.”

“You won't tell, will you?” Dayn asked,
flashing a smile that would make Joam proud. The Aran arched an
eyebrow at him in such a way that the smile slid right off his
face. He thought about saying he was a guest of the Highest, but
something told him this servant would care less.

“I only want to see the city.”

“It wouldn’t matter if I told or not. The
redstone is rough down here, but look higher. There are no
handholds for the last two spans. See?”

“Well, it's a good thing I'm not going to
climb it. Now are you going to tell those guards, or not?”

She pursed her lips. “What do you think you
are, some Isunduran cliff diver? You don’t have the look of that
world, and you’re too skinny. I promise you, that wall is too high
to climb.”

“Watch me.” Dayn strode closer to the wall.
He could bound it easily. Well, he was mostly sure he could. The
trick would be balancing on the very top. If he leaped completely
over, he could very well break his legs on the other side.

The young woman followed him off the path,
ignoring the pebbles beneath her bare feet.

“Don't you need to prepare for the festival?”
Dayn asked irritably.

“Ten bits says you fall flat on your
back.”

“Done!”

The servant shifted her pile of silks so she
could spit in her hand and proffer it to him. Dayn stared at her
for a moment, but still sealed the bizarre handshake. Though he
would not spit! She gave a delighted laugh, like chimes upon the
wind.

Dayn peered up at his goal. I
can do this,
I've coursed in the torrent! Peace, I don't even know what a bit is
worth!
Certainly his gems could cover the wager, should he
slip.

“Second thoughts, I see? Too late to go back
on your bet, cliff diver.”

“I hope you can throw your bits that high,”
Dayn growled. She shrugged, watching him silently with her teasing
eyes.
A running start is best,
he decided. Too much could go
wrong if he bounded straight up. He retreated from the wall several
spans and steeled himself. Starting with short steps, he took two
light hops and dropped low to gather all the strength he could
muster from his legs. He heard the servant gasp as he leaped.

Peace finally shone on Dayn. He planned his
jump perfectly―landing was the problem. For all of his coursing and
bounding practice, finding his feet after a long bound always gave
him trouble.

He soared to the top of his arc above the
palace wall, which proved to be blessedly wide. His boots touched
down on the top, but he promptly slipped and fell on his backside.
He scrambled to his feet and turned back to the edge, waving
triumphantly at the servant far below him.

“How...how did you do that?” she spluttered.
Dayn sighed in relief―she did not see his fall. “On his best day,
my brother couldn’t reach the top of that wall!”

“I am Shardian,” Dayn called with a shrug. It
was hard not to grin as she shook her fist at him. “Don't be angry,
Aran! You should have given me your wager before I leaped.”

The girl flung down her bundle of silks and
started rummaging through the garden pebbles while Dayn looked on
quizzically. Did she mean to throw rocks at him?

“Here!”

Dayn caught her toss, she had a surprisingly
strong arm. The small linen pouch she threw held a few silver coins
inside. The pebbles she added allowed it to carry far enough.

“I...I'm sorry. I don't have it all,” she
said sheepishly. He nodded judiciously, for he would not have known
the difference. “Those are my lucky bits. But I will return to my
rooms and―”

A few surprised shouts from the courtyard
pulled Dayn's eyes from her. The rest of the servants had finally
noticed his new perch.
Time for me to go.
He hoped the
guards were not better bounders than this young woman's
brother.

“See you at the Dance of Shells, Aran. I will
collect the rest of our bet then!”

“Wait! I don't even know your name!” she
protested. Dayn did not hear for he had already spotted a way to
get off of the wall. He made his leap down and into the city before
any guards could follow.

The Burshee Split

Shard thrives precisely because of her isolation,
and her people are bred to work themselves down into the earth.
Much of the arable land lies unused, it is true. But to settle
people from other worlds with new ideas among her people would be
the height of folly.

-Consort Prelus, Observations on Belt Commerce

D
ayn gradually
relaxed as he lost himself in the early morning crowds of Olende.
The city appeared to keep farmer’s hours, likely to avoid the
hottest part of the day. Some Olende folk went about their
merrymaking in the wide-eyed way of people eager to forget hard
times. He wondered if news of Jemlar's Hall had spread.

More than one Aran took in Dayn’s height with
a speculative look, but their stares were merely curious, not
unfriendly. Young women tittered behind their hands as he passed,
but he decided against stopping to chat. It almost felt like
Evensong, save that dayroses could never bloom in such heat.

For the most part, people talked and laughed
in the canyon shade. Some of the Arans wore slack faces. The sun
stood only a little way above the horizon, it was much too early
for wine.

Olende proved incredibly confusing for Dayn
to navigate at first. The main thoroughfares slanted off
haphazardly as they followed the natural splitting of the cliffs.
Dwellings and shops were hollowed right out of the rock face, four
or five levels high in places with especially tall canyon
walls.

Arched tunnels bore straight through the
redstone to join major streets. Their interiors showed flowing,
curvilinear designs that were carved around strange, light emitting
stones set within the ceilings. Dayn quickly gathered that these
tunnels were called runs, while the canyon bottom streets were
called splits.

The largest of the runs held taverns, bawdy
places that echoed with laughter and rough singing. Guards always
happened to patrol the longest runs, but Dayn doubted drunkards or
brawlers would sprout up so early. Shir-Hun probably had the guards
searching for signs of the voidwalker. They might even be looking
for him after how he left the palace, so he avoided them all the
same.

The walking soon made his belly rumble, and
Dayn began looking at split vendors' trays with greater interest.
He chided himself for not taking breakfast before leaving the
palace. At least the coins he won in his bet would prove to be of
some use.

It made for rough going at first. More than
one split hawker puffed up indignantly at Dayn's dubious looks at
their trays. Dried, stringy meat that made his jaws ache at the
thought of chewing it seemed to be the main fare. The tart sauces
varied from tray to tray, but a whiff of them never failed to make
Dayn’s nose wrinkle.

Peace, they picked the rangiest of the
goats outside the city for the festival
! Dayn did not believe
himself a particular eater. His aunts from Greenshadow were fond of
declaring he had a hollow leg whenever they visited. But he still
refused to take a chance on food that smelled so odd.

Even worse than the goat meat were the rows
of neatly skewered insects―large locusts covered in chocolate or
beetles boiled in salt water. Olende folk clamored for the locusts
especially, but the thought of bugs twitching down his gullet made
Dayn's stomach weak.

Finally, he pulled a passerby aside who was
happily chewing away on a morsel of dried meat to ask a
question.

“Yams, man,” Dayn repeated at the Aran man’s
confused look. He patiently described what he sought, and the man
nodded in recognition.

“Ah, sweet rounds. Why didn't you say so?
They don’t sell those much in Olende. Not from around here, are
you?”

The Aran peered up at him, and Dayn shook his
head.
Sweet rounds?
“No, just visiting. For the
Sending.”

“Good for you. Look around some of the upper
shops on Burshee Split, if the sweet tooth is what takes you. Walk
the Delcheet Run about two splits over, to Vienda Split. Go left
past the columns and head through the plaza. A glassbreather's shop
will be on your right side. Next you’ll take...”

After repeating back his directions, Dayn
thanked the man and left him there, still chewing determinedly.

He got lost after the second turn. He stopped
to ask directions repeatedly and soon found that Burshee Split was
little known in Olende. More than one Aran scratched their head
recalling where it lay. People visiting from other provinces had
never even heard of it.

Before long, the sun shone nearly straight
down to the split bottoms. Between that and the press of bodies,
the heat in the splits grew unbearable. Every Aran not retreating
into a shop or dwelling made for the runs.

Dayn followed their example and ducked into
the nearest, Rela Run, the largest tunnel he had seen yet. The
Arans crowded around run vendors, who rubbed their hands together
over the fresh patronage. Dayn did not care for the sour juice they
offered, but he might consider it before too long. With all the
bodies squeezed inside, he figured the tunnel would not stay cool
forever. Recalling his walk to Olende from the flyalong helped him
decide against leaving.

Drumming drew Dayn to the middle of the run.
Much to his delight, a troupe of nearly twenty Aran ember tossers
and flame eaters were just starting a performance. They held wooden
rods and batons, dipped in oil and carefully lit. The surrounding
redstone glowed with torchlight, pulling even more people over. A
string of young waifs zipped past Dayn. Every space between adult
knees and hips quickly filled with clapping children.

Two Aran men with large arms folded over
their dark vests stood near the performers' implements, and with
good reason. Some of the young Arans' eyes glowed a bit too eagerly
in the light of the fires. Elsewhere in the throng, toddlers used
poor-baby looks to earn better seats, usually upon the shoulders of
fathers with long suffering faces. Older Arans looked on eagerly,
too.

Dayn edged into a place near the very front.
He stood next to a man with just a few gray hairs showing in a
brown beard, and a chubby faced boy atop his shoulders. Between the
man's toddler and Dayn's height, they both earned more than a few
sullen mutters as the Arans behind them shifted for better
views.

Surprise shone on the man's face as he
glanced over, but Dayn had grown quite used to stares in Olende
because he was so tall. He stood almost at eye level with the
youngster perched on the man’s shoulders. The Aran eventually
offered a conspiratorial smile, and Dayn grinned right back.
Neither one of them would budge an inch.

“These are the finest ember tossers in all of
Ara, brought in by the Highest himself for the Sending tonight,”
the bearded Aran said casually. “Peace surely shades us, to see
them today. Only the High get to sit so close to such performers
during the Sending.”