The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (46 page)

“Do you remember the first time you were face
to face with a voidwalker?” Lurec asked.

Dayn nodded slowly. “Yes, the morning of
Evensong. It wasn't nearly so bad as this...this last time.”

“There are many weapons among the Belt.
Quello folk and their mauls, Dervishi bladebreakers, Aran swords.
But the best weaponmaster is worthless without preparation against
a voidwalker's influence on the mind. What the Defenders call the
void thrall.”

“Preceptor, if I may?” Nassir continued at
Lurec's nod. “Your most powerful tool is not your body, it is your
will. Your spirit. A man who controls his own spirit is stronger
than a warrior who overwhelms five people with swords. Stronger
than one who takes a city by force.”

The Defender’s words surprised Dayn, but he
listened raptly.

“You know something of what I'm to teach you
already,” Lurec said. “Your friend, when you fled the village in
the night―he signaled us of your leap. Do you know how?”

Dayn drew a breath, barely hiding his
impatience as he recalled his last night in Wia Wells. “I never
thought about it. Nerlin used the leap point. It worked the same as
the navigators and their vapor array. What does that have to do
with—”

“That’s not all he used. It begins with a
stillness of your mind.”

The Ringmen said nothing more. They both just
stared into the sputtering fire. Dayn joined them for a moment,
imitating as best he could. Milchamah often spoke of quieting his
senses, but it never helped Dayn's fighting any. He stared into the
fire, but his focus began to waver, and his mind drifted.

“That’s good,” Lurec spoke suddenly, his eyes
intent on the fire. “Find the stillness.”

Dayn straightened where he sat somewhat
guiltily, but his thoughts soon drifted away from the fire once
more. He imagined the torrent again, flickering like fireflies
caught in a high wind. He could almost feel the rock sweeping past
him, dark and jagged shadows that moved faster than a blink. A
wingline, taut and frayed, swinging into the void. At the end of it
a Vatdra Collar, hauling a boy in a worn red cloak...

“Peace!” Dayn exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
“That was me, in the torrent―”

“Through my eyes, yes.” Lurec's expression
sagged, as though he had just expended a great effort. He directed
a tired but pleased look at Dayn.

“I’ve never heard of a successful bridging on
a first attempt.” Nassir regarded Lurec with new respect in his
brown eyes. “You are truly skilled, Preceptor.”

“You will learn this in time, lad,” Lurec
said. “The best trained can touch another's mind over fantastic
distances, if the proper affinity is created. The Ring employs many
Senders throughout the Belt with such talent, to warn of danger to
the worlds. The dreamlacers of Hutan are the most powerful of them.
It’s said they can touch any mind in the World Belt with their
Sending, given time to channel their ability. This first night is
only to show you how powerful your mind truly is. I believe your
potential in Sending is strong. Perhaps a benefit of the Seed, or
something you already possessed a gift for.”

“It’s an old practice, ancient and forgotten
to all but a few,” Nassir added. “It’s not surprising that the gift
would run strong in Shard's sons.”

“How will this help me against a voidwalker?”
Dayn asked.

“Their thrall is a twisted form of Sending,
evil and cancerous to all it touches,” the Defender said. “Ringmen
are taught to ward against such assaults.

“What you withstood in the Echowind Split has
broken the strongest Defenders. Some are driven mad on the spot.
Others are wounded in the mind, in ways that only reveal themselves
over time. It is a wretched way to end your days.”

Dayn remembered the stricken guards back in
the plaza, staring at nothing as the Aran healers whispered over
them. He sat back down. “I will learn,” he promised. “Sand and ash
but I will.”

“Good,” Lurec said. He seemed to relax. “Your
first exercise will involve mastering your senses. Lose yourself in
the fire. Release your thoughts with each breath...”

So the days went, a routine simple enough to
madden the dullest farmer on Shard. Every muscle in Dayn’s legs was
tied in knots when they finally stopped before sunrise, and he fell
asleep soon after Lurec’s training. The Preceptor’s lessons soon
proved more taxing than the Defender’s bounding.

Dayn had never really
thought
about
his thoughts, but the Preceptor bade him to dredge up every memory
he could remember, his hopes and darkest fears, in order to
understand them. Lurec also made him imagine a house with a
thousand rooms. Each room held a painting or a statue that
represented a moment in his life, or a feeling, or a person.

“A palace in the sky, an underwater city, a
cave with walls made of fire,” Lurec said. “What you surround your
rooms with does not matter, so long as you can recall what is
inside each of them, and fill them all. Your fears and desires must
have their rooms, too. They are the sum of who you will become.
Commit them perfectly to your memory.”

Dayn used people most often, for they were
easiest to remember. He quickly ran out of friends and family from
Wia Wells, and soon turned to more recent acquaintances. In one
room he imagined Eriya in a Defender’s black armor. She rode a
great red bear that ran in circles, because her world was Dervish.
Another room opened into the torrent, and within it he imagined
Nerlin coursing, with both of his feet whole and a Victor’s Sash on
his shoulder, laughing.

“You must visit the thousand rooms every
day,” Lurec would say. “A voidwalker’s thrall twists your mind
until you can no longer grasp reality. Your world is only as real
as your perception allows. The clearer your rooms become in your
mind, the less influence the thrall will exert over you.”

Dayn awoke every night to Nassir’s boot
nudging his ribs. Despite falling asleep exhausted, he awoke with
new stores of energy. Lurec seemed to as well, and agreed that the
Seed was lending them more strength than their dried meat and bread
could account for. “Dayn, may I have the Seed for a while? I’ll
return it to you at the end of the day. If there’s any way to help
you carry it, I’ll find it.”

Dayn fished the Seed from his pack and turned
it over in his hands. It glowed as it always did when he handled
it, but dimmed as soon as Lurec took it.
Almost like it wants to
stay close.
Dayn felt a sudden impulse to snatch it back from
the Preceptor, but he could not decide if that was to keep the Seed
for himself or throw it into one of Ara’s splits. He barely nibbled
at some bread before he was fast asleep.

Lurec studied the Seed for the next three
days, scribbling in his journal before returning it. The third
morning he gave it back to Dayn for good, with an exasperated look
on his face. “I’ve done everything within my means, short of
breaking it open to see what’s inside.”

“If it can be broken.” Nassir proffered his
scabbard to the Preceptor, who ignored him.

“Keep it close, Dayn,” Lurec urged.
“Seedbearers in the stories could banish decay with a touch, or
guide the migration of birds with a thought. I suspect that in
time, you will be able to tell us more of it than we can.”

The Preceptor did not complain once over
their relentless pace. Dayn’s bruises and scrapes from their fight
with the voidwalkers healed faster than he thought possible, as did
the Ringmen’s. Dayn and Lurec woke just before nightfall each night
refreshed, and although he never saw the Defender sleep, Dayn felt
certain the Seed’s effects strengthened him, too. Nassir never said
as much, but Dayn saw it in the contemplative look that touched the
Defender’s eyes whenever Dayn took out the Seed to hold it.

Their routine changed abruptly when the dust
storms descended. The billowing gusts of wind pinned them in caves
for days on end, leaving the Defender gritting his teeth over the
time lost. “There’s no guarantee the transport will wait for us,”
he would growl.

Nearly a week after they left Olende, the
Defender returned to their latest shelter. He bore several long
strips of wood, although they had already gathered a few brittle
branches and some dried dung to burn just before this latest
storm.

“We’ll make the most of this time,” he
announced, squatting to pick through his pack. He made a tight
bundle of half the strips using wingline fibers, then tossed the
finished product to Dayn. Lurec looked on thoughtfully as he held
the Seed.

Dayn looked at the bundled sticks for a
moment before placing them on the ground. “My father said that a
man who chooses a sword at his beginning will be chosen by a sword
at his end.”

“A wise man.” Nassir studied Dayn as he
fashioned a second practice sword. Finally, he stood and stretched.
Red sand spilled around his feet as he removed his armor. He shook
more out of his dreadlocks with a grimace as the storm howled
outside.

The Defender reached for his scabbard where
it leaned upon a wall and drew his ugly blade. The screeching metal
echoed through the cave, setting Dayn's teeth on edge. The
Defender's sword gleamed dully in the fire’s weak light as Nassir
turned it in his hands.

“At another time in my life, I might have
agreed with your father. But your path is different than his, a
journey that may cross many swords. Once you’ve shunned the hilt,
how will you avoid the tip?”

“This suits me fine,” Dayn said, nodding
toward his silverpine staff. “But maybe you could teach me how to
guard against a sword. There’s no need for such weapons on
Shard.”

“Very well.” Nassir motioned him away from
the fire. When Dayn complained about the lack of space, the
Defender silenced him sharply. “This is no festival contest,
Shardian. To defeat any opponent, you must learn to fight in any
environment. Now, defend yourself!”

Before Dayn could blink, the makeshift sword
came crashing toward his head. He threw himself out of the way,
lunging for the staff the Defender had not even allowed him to
grab. Dayn spun around in just enough time to stop a sliding thrust
to his ribs. The
clack, clack
of wood on wood rang through
the cave as Nassir put Dayn through the paces.

He drove Dayn toward the fire, pinned him
against the wall, even sent him barreling into Lurec. Welts soon
formed on his arms and ribs, painful reminders of every failed
deflection. Despite all of his efforts, Dayn could not stave off
the Defender's attacks. The Ringman was simply too quick.

“I've heard an old saying.” The Defender
regarded him coolly, showing no sign of exertion. “'Strike a
Shardian when he's not looking and he will forgive you. Hide his
staff and he will soon be defeated.' Is that true, farmer?”

“We're not so bloodthirsty as folk from other
worlds,” Dayn retorted. Lurec frowned in disapproval as he
watched.

“But you are trained from your cribs for the
staff.” He raised his makeshift sword high. Dayn felt the wall of
the cave against his back. “Winning a match or tending a herd is
not the same as killing a man. You must learn to attack. Your
opponent will overwhelm you if he knows you will not fight
back.”

Nassir brought his makeshift sword down with
a shout. Dayn raised his staff to meet it with a loud
snap.
He blinked black circles from his vision and looked around, dazed.
The top of his head throbbed in pain. His staff lay broken in two
next to him on the ground.

“The boy is no Initiate, Defender,” Lurec
snapped. His voice came as a muddle. “How is he to learn if you
knock him senseless?”

“Lessons were your idea, Preceptor. We agreed
to train his mind and body. He wouldn’t last two seconds against a
voidwalker without the Seed. Neither would you. Get up, Shardian.
Your lesson is not yet through.”

Dayn began to silently lament whenever fresh
storms slowed their progress. Lurec was adamant that he continue to
fill his thousand rooms, and the training with Nassir continued
even if the space was too cramped to wield the pieces of his
useless staff. Dayn refused to burn the wood, even though he fared
better with his bare hands against the Defender. The broken
silverpine made his heart ache. Looking at it reminded him of home
the most, and another staff he hoped to hold again, with the deeds
of Ro’Halans carved into the grain.

“Voidwalkers use no weapons, Shardian. Don’t
you remember the Echowind Split?”

“Of course I―”

Dayn yelped as Nassir bent his arm at a
dangerous angle behind his back. The Defender proved to be an
expert at grappling as well as the sword. In spite of Nassir’s
instruction, Dayn showed no proficiency for the sword forms, though
the stances at least were familiar.

The days passed, and they were forced in by
yet another storm. “You were right, farmboy,” the Defender said
disgustedly as Dayn’s practice sword went clattering across another
cave floor. “A lifetime under Weaponmaster Seib could not hide your
lack of skill. Best leave you to your staff.”

“Just because I―” Dayn swallowed his retort
when the astonished look on Nassir's face prompted him to turn
around.

Lurec edged around the fire, which cast
flickering shadows over his uncertain face. He turned the practice
sword over in his hands.

“I’ve never been so helpless in all my life
as back in that plaza. Perhaps I should learn something of this,
also.” Upon seeing their faces, he added a bit defensively, “Well,
pardon me if I don’t want to be snapped in two like a twig!” Dayn
held up his hands and stood aside.

“Very well,” was all the Defender said. Dayn
sat down next to their pitiful pile of firewood as Lurec took to
his training with an air of resignation.

Dayn soon found himself taking any opening
just to sleep. Before the caves, the merest hint of daylight would
wake him, but Dayn soon found he could sleep nearly on command. He
threw himself into his mental lessons every day, taking them as
seriously as he would his coursing practice. His latest addition to
the rooms was Samli, wearing a Regent’s purple cloak and flipping a
moondrop in his hand. The navigator was dead now, with no wreathe
for his grave on the cold slopes of Mount Patel, but he won every
wager in Dayn’s thousand rooms.