The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (45 page)

Knowing Tela, she was probably out of her
sick bed by now, with or without the healer’s say-so. Dayn would
bet a moondrop that she was adding her own touches to Hanalene’s
paintings, or hiding stripeworms in Laman’s boots.

A pang of homesickness pulled away Dayn's
fond thoughts.
Peace, how long have I been gone? A week?
The
short time felt like an eternity.

The Defender’s hand on his shoulder brought
Dayn out of his pondering. “Time to depart, Shardian,” Nassir said.
“Before the sand can scorch your feet.”

“Be vigilant, Ringmen. Dust storms are
unpredictable this time of season.” The grizzled Aran guards nodded
farewell. After a whispered debate, they stepped forward and
bowed
to Dayn! He gawked at them a moment, flushing yet
again when Nassir and Lurec looked at him with expressionless
faces.

Not knowing what else to do, Dayn bowed right
back. Now it was the Arans turn to gape, before breaking into
chuckles about the High and their odd humor. Dayn shook his head
incredulously as they passed through the gate.

“What was that all about?” he asked. The
quiet stirrings of the city gave way to utter silence as they set
out into open desert.

“Rumor is a strange thing,” Nassir said over
his shoulder. “Half of Olende thinks you are a fledgling Defender,
the other half that you’re truly a Shardian prince.” Nassir’s voice
made it obvious which he considered the greater affront.

“What, in disguise?” Dayn looked doubtfully
at his Aran clothes. The vest and trousers he had worn to the Dance
of Shells were ruined, but the palace servants had replaced
them.

“Most folk of the World Belt rarely leave
their homeworld,” Lurec explained. “Only merchants or ambassadors.
So why else would a Shardian be in Olende? He must be of some
importance.”

Dayn could not argue with that. “I never
thought other worlds would be the same as home.”

“You are set apart it seems, young Shardian.”
The Defender raised an eyebrow. “Especially with whispers of the
Heir to the Highest speaking of men for the first time in
years.”

Dayn's jaw dropped. “Soong? Peace! I―”

“There will be time enough to talk during the
days ahead, farmer. You must not attract any more attention to us
in order for our ruse to work. You know what’s at stake.” The three
began bounding through the desert, weary shadows in the Aran
night.

Thirty-Eight
Worlds

The Seed whispers with no voice, acts with no hands,
heals with no mercy. The bearer holds the Seed, and the Seed steers
the bearer.

-Master Irwin Dosay's Compendium of Seedlore

N
assir slowed after a
mile of hard bounding to distance them from the city. The three of
them carried scant rations for their journey, and Lurec voiced his
worry over their water, but Nassir affirmed they would replenish
their stores easily through the coming weeks.

Sifting through his pack, Dayn could not help
but notice what little remained from Shard, and how worn his things
looked. A belt knife, still gummed up from cutting the
gravespinner’s silk, his bag of gems and lucky red cloak, torn and
fraying at the hem. Nerlin’s coursing gear was still in good shape,
at least. His clothes from home were gone, and he had discarded the
Aran armor at Nassir’s advice. He doubted he would ever get used to
the baggy Aran trousers or vest, but they were much cooler. Next to
Overlord Feerthul’s waterskin, the Seed glowed with the quiet
promise of a rising sun. He would never get used to that,
either.

The Defender set a hard pace, squeezing every
ounce of effort from Lurec. Dayn found it enjoyable to stretch his
legs and feel the wind on his face, especially after the stifling
heat of Olende. To his credit, Lurec kept up, although the weak
Aran ground certainly helped. When the Preceptor's panting grew too
great, Nassir traded bounding for a brisk walk. Brilliant starlight
lit the roadway, eliminating the need for torches.

“The stars are much clearer on the smaller
worlds,” Lurec said. “Of course, they are best viewed from the
Ring.”

Dayn's reply was cut short when Nassir
skidded to a stop ahead of them, straining to see further
ahead.

“Off the road, quickly!” he hissed. The land
sloped sharply away on either side after about five paces, but Dayn
and Lurec hastily obeyed. The barren landscape offered little in
the way of cover, save the night itself. They held still, scarcely
daring to breathe. After a few minutes that seemed an eternity,
Nassir came scrambling to join them.

“What is it?” Lurec whispered. Dayn strained
to hear anything over his own worried breathing. Faint yellow light
appeared on the roadway above.

“Merchant’s caravan.”

Dayn heard Lurec’s sigh of relief in the
dark. Some moments later, they heard the steady clop of hooves on
the hard-packed sand, and faint whickers from a team of horses. The
light reached where they had scurried off the slope. Nassir held
them there, long enough for Dayn to count to one hundred, then
crept back up the slope. Even with one good arm, the Defender moved
with more stealth than Lurec and Dayn put together. His low whistle
signaled them to return to the road.

“Was that really necessary?” Lurec
complained. He irritably brushed sand from his clothes and
hair.

“Would you have word of three offworld
travelers in the night reach Olende before we’re a day gone?”
Nassir countered. Lurec could say nothing to that.

They saw no one else that first night of
travel to Peyha, and made good time. When the morning sun became
too hot, they finally left the road for shelter. Nassir guided them
into a nearby split with all confidence. Thankfully the guard’s
directions proved true. They ducked into an opening just a few
spans wide, where the upper redstone walls had fallen in on each
other. The interior was completely shadowed and surprisingly
cool.

“We’ll sleep here,” Nassir announced. He
pulled his pack and scabbard off, then proffered Dayn and Lurec
food. “I’ll return soon.”

“He expects us to sleep on this?” Lurec
muttered once the Defender was gone.

“It's not so bad,” Dayn said. “At least we
didn't have to do this on Suralose. I'd rather be too hot than too
cold.”

The Preceptor gave a mirthless laugh, peering
at the hardened sand as though he might discover a soft spot. “I
suppose you’re right at that.”

Dayn looked at his portion doubtfully, some
hard bread and the dried meat he remembered from Olende's splits.
The meat proved even tougher than he suspected, but after the long
night of travel, he would not complain. “At least we’re not eating
those bugs. You should―”

Dayn stopped abruptly, for the Preceptor was
already fast asleep. Dayn waited awhile for the Defender to return,
but eventually his own eyelids grew too heavy. He slept fitfully as
the heat of the day settled on their hiding place, and men with
gray skin chased him through his dreams.

***

“Wake, Shardian,” Nassir's low voice brought
Dayn back to their retreat. The Defender pointed toward a hole dug
in the far end of the ground. A few handfuls of water filled the
bottom. “I've filled our water stores. Drink your fill before we
set out again. How are your wounds?”

“I still ache, but I feel better than
yesterday.”

Dayn moved sluggishly over for a drink. The
water tasted gritty, but still refreshed him. He scooped another
handful to his lips. It tasted old, and―

He spluttered and coughed. Water spilled down
his chest. Nassir eyed him disapprovingly. “I didn't say to waste
it. A farmer should know better.”

“Are you alright, lad?” Lurec watched him
intently.

“I...” Dayn hesitated. He feared to tell them
what he had just experienced, for reasons he could not explain.
The...impressions he gained of his surroundings were growing
stronger. He looked at the Ringmen; Nassir's face impassive,
Lurec's lined with concern.
If I don’t trust them, why am I even
here?

“I know things I should not know,
about...things,” he began awkwardly. Nassir's eyes narrowed. Dayn
motioned at the water. “I can...
taste
the types of rock this
water passed through to reach the surface. It’s seeping out of a
crack in some limestone, and I know it is about a half mile beneath
the ground. I think it's―”

“The Seed,” Lurec breathed. He and Nassir
shared a long look. “It must be. I knew we should have examined it
more before leaving the Ring. Adazia and all of her maneuvering can
burn, if we fail to―”

“Preceptor,” Nassir interrupted. “We must see
to ourselves at the moment. Night is wasting. Perhaps you can speak
with him, tomorrow?”

Lurec looked ready to argue, but nodded. “I
suppose that will have to do.”

“Are you still prepared to journey?” Nassir's
eyes fixed Dayn in place.

“No. I’m not bounding a span more until you
tell me what’s going on!” Dayn thought his heart might leap out of
his chest, but the words came out in a rush before the Ringmen
could stop him. “I won’t ignore it anymore. The Seed is doing
things to me, and no one will say why. I know things about plants,
just by
touching
them. We should all be in a healer’s bed
after the beating we took, but I barely feel the bruises—and I’ll
bet you don’t, either. Your arm was in a sling, and you were both
thrown into the split walls, same as me! And what I did to the
voidwalker, he just…fell apart…” Dayn stopped with a shudder.
“What’s happening to me?”

The Ringmen gazed at each other for a long
moment. Dayn looked down at the hole, already filling with water
again. He began to fill it back in with loose sand so they would
not see his hands shake. The Defender spoke first. “We have little
time—”

“Nassir, we need to make time. We owe him
that much.”

The Defender bristled, then did something
Dayn had never seen before. He relented. “Answer his questions,
then, quickly.” He vanished in the split's entrance.

“Dayn, you must forgive me,” Lurec said after
a moment.

“For what?”

“For not fighting for you harder on the
Ring.” He picked up his pack, clearly troubled by Dayn's
revelation. The Defender was gone, but he still lowered his voice.
“The Lord Ascendant means well, but you should not have come with
us. Years before you or I were born, there were just seventeen. But
now there are thirty-eight. Thirty-eight worlds.”

Dayn shrugged apprehensively. “The smallest
toddler knows the World Belt is big. Worlds are found and lost all
the time. What does that have to do with me, and the Seed?”

“Worlds are not found, they—” Lurec stopped
himself with a grimace. “There’s so much you deserve to know. The
Seed was only created for one world. Specifically, for one region
of one world, to work in concert with other Seeds and their
Seedbearers. There’s no telling what it will do, now that it is
outside of that purpose.”

The Preceptor shouldered his pack. His
expression reminded Dayn of his parents’ faces when he was a boy
and shivering in his bed for a week with wisptouch fever. Healer
Cari brought him through it safely, but everyone was so scared, and
kept Joam and Tela away until the sickness passed.

He saw that same fear in the Preceptor’s eyes
now, only there was no way to be healed from the Seed.
Old
powers can take a liking to you,
Nerlin had once warned
him.

Dayn barely kept his voice calm. “You think
it’s making me sick.”

“No, no. There’s no telling what effect our
travels will have on it, or on you. I suspect your abilities will
continue to grow. But there may be some strain, too. Headaches,
tiredness. I don’t want to frighten you, not until we know more.
You are proving that there may be more truth to Seedlore than we
ever believed. Most of what you’ve experienced does not stray from
myth, except for…what you did to the voidwalker.”

Dayn felt a lump rise in his throat. There
was just one time he had not felt completely helpless since leaving
Shard—with the Seed in his hand, watching Moridos’s shell cleave
from his pale skin. The Seed seemed to create more problems than it
solved, and the uncertainty in Lurec’s eyes did not encourage Dayn
in the least. “What can I do?”

“Don’t let fear rule you,” Lurec said. He
began walking and Dayn followed. “Some principles of the Ring may
aid you, at least. I will gladly teach you what I can, until we
understand the Seed better. Peace send that the Defender agrees
with me, for once.”

***

The road meandered along an eastern route,
avoiding the valleys and ravines that crisscrossed the terrain
surrounding Olende. By the end of the second night, Dayn's legs
were beginning to ache. He thought they could shave days from their
journey by venturing through the splits, and said so.

“Terrible idea, farmer.” The Defender shook
his head as he led them into another hideaway, this time a
collapsed canyon wall. They picked their way through the boulders,
ducking into a small space completely encased in rubble. The
charred remains of a campfire lay in the center. “The splits form a
maze that the most well-traveled Arans avoid. We would be fools to
risk them.”

Dayn set his pack down with a shrug,
wondering how long they could keep this up. Nassir set down the
bits of wood he had collected during their bounding and deftly
started a fire with a piece of flint he kept secreted somewhere in
his armor. The Preceptor motioned for Dayn to join him, and after a
moment the Defender sat, too. Dayn was grateful the sticks did not
give off much smoke nor heat, their space was cool and he wanted it
to stay that way when the sun came to full strength. He looked at
the Preceptor expectantly.