The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (54 page)

“I’m here to declare,” Dayn panted. “I'm a
courser. Dayn Ro'Halan, from Shard.”

“Oh, yes. I remember you from before, but I
didn’t think...you’re serious.” Open skepticism painted the man’s
face as he took in Dayn's appearance. “No courser from Shard has
entered the Cycle in two hundred years.” Some of the Montollene
milling about snickered loudly and sauntered over to watch.

“Well, more reason for me to declare,” Dayn
retorted. He reached for the ledger, but the man stopped his
hand.

“You said your name was...Dayn? How quaint.”
He began what sounded like an often rehearsed speech. “There’s no
parlay in the torrent. The Course of Blades does not suffer fools
or the unskilled. One careless move will put you at the mercy
of―”

“Can you just show me where to sign my name?”
Dayn said impatiently.

The man scowled. “There are certain
qualifications to be met. You’ve fared in the torrent before, I
dearly hope for your sake?”

“Yes, and the Dreadfall on Shard. The
Breach.” Dayn added that last, remembering how Lurec described it
to Feerthul. The man’s eyes boggled, and several onlookers glanced
at one another in disbelief.
That got his attention. I’ll have
to ask Lurec why offworlders call it that.

“Very well. Where’s your equipment? It must
be inspected, you know.” Dayn emptied his pack on the man's desk.
Pursing his lips distastefully, the Montollene picked through the
worn wingline he had bartered for on Shard, his leather harness,
Nerlin's old face guard, and what remained of the sheath from
Suralose. Skeptical murmuring arose from every side at sight of
Dayn’s frayed wingline.

“A bit old.” The man eyed the gear dubiously.
“You can’t mean to bring that with you?”

“You asked for my equipment,” Dayn said
bluntly.

“This might be the worst I’ve ever seen, but
it passes.” A sneer twisted his lips. “Now, what about your
witnesses?”

Dayn blinked. “What witnesses?”

“Three sworn witnesses are required to enter
the Course of Blades. Or one of high standing. Because of the
danger, you understand. A true courser would know that. Maybe
you’ll be ready in a cycle or two―though this equipment may be
worthless by then!”

Some of the bystanders laughed, but Dayn was
already thinking furiously. His kin could not have gotten far. Even
with Milchamah’s distaste for coursing, surely he could...

“By my sight, he is able,” a voice intoned.
The Montollene man stared past Dayn.

“By my sight, he is able.”

Dayn smiled as a most satisfactory look of
shock spread over the man’s face. “A Preceptor and a Defender will
suit you?” he asked innocently. The man nodded numbly.

“As well it should,” Lurec said solemnly as
he stepped forward. He wore his gray overcoat once more, and looked
every inch the Preceptor. “The Regents would not be pleased to
incur a Query of Procedure upon the Cycle from the Halls of
Understanding.”

The man was still stammering apologies after
Dayn had signed his name on the ledger and gathered his gear. Even
walking off with Nassir and Lurec at his side, he could hardly
believe his good fortune. In less than a year’s time, he could race
in the Cycle’s Course of Blades.

“Thank you,” Dayn said to the Ringmen. He
could not stop glancing at the two as they took the long corridor
to the outer plaza. “You don’t know what this means for me.”

“A small thing we can do,” Nassir replied.
“After all you have done for us.”

“A Preceptor’s mandate is to negotiate
disputes throughout the Belt,” Lurec added. A pleased grin crept
onto his face. “Surely this isn’t too far afield.”

I trust you found the Achen Isee impressive?”
Nassir asked. “What did you see while we were away?”

“There were some bouts.” Dayn’s voice
wavered. “I watched some of the fighters. Up close. Your forms
were...ah...I saw a lot of what you showed me in the caves.”

“You’ll have to tell us of it, once our task
is finished,” Lurec said solemnly.

The Defender’s eyes twinkled, but to Dayn’s
relief he asked no more questions. “Our talks were...victorious.
The Consuls will be assembled to see you after sundown. There’s
time to see some of the city, if you wish,” Nassir stopped,
examining Dayn's face. “What? Why do you look as if you’ve just
swallowed a toad?”

“There’s one more thing I need to ask,” Dayn
said breathlessly.

“Well, out with it, Shardian,” Nassir said.
The Ringmen gave each other considering looks as Dayn explained his
request.

A Shardian’s
Heart

Peace shall always favor your world, so long as
Montollos keeps the peace.

-inscription on the entrance to the Tower Axios

N
assir peered
intently at Soong's retinue, measuring the worth of the men in
silks. They straightened under his gaze, hiding any irritation they
likely felt at his blunt questioning.

“You. How many ropes can you dance?” He
nodded to the blue-eyed man who appeared to be first among them.
Silver touched the curly black hair at the man’s temples. A sword
handle flashed within his billowing trousers, so fast Dayn doubted
he saw it.

“Three.”

“And you?”

The younger gave a tight smile. Short auburn
dreadlocks barely touched his shoulders. “Two, Defender.”

“You will do.” Nassir nodded approvingly. He
did not bother to question the remaining two, which Dayn found odd.
“This Shardian would be under my personal protection if urgent
business did not also require my time.”

“I can take care of myself,” Dayn put in. He
almost wished the Defender had seen him fight. The Ringmen would be
furious over the attention, but Dayn doubted it mattered. He did
not stand out on a team full of Shardians.

“Wandering one arena is an entirely different
matter than getting lost in a city with no love for the Ring,
Shardian.”

The older Aran cleared his throat. “A friend
in the presence of the Heiress High will be given the same safety
as though he himself were High.”

“Oh, are his chances that good?” Lurec
murmured behind Dayn. He hid a grin when Dayn shot him a look.

“We thank you for that.” Nassir's voice was
bland, but was there a flicker of mirth in his eyes, too? “Do not
tarry long, the Consul’s tower will be impatient enough. Ask any
pathman for directions to the haventowers. Make your return before
sunset. Come, Preceptor.” They bowed slightly to the Heiress High,
and immediately set off for the nearest ribbon.

Before Dayn could open his mouth, Soong
raised a hand. “Walk with me.” The retinue enclosed them as she
made for a ribbon heading in a different direction.

He glanced at the Aran bodyguards. “The
Ringmen told me Montollos is safe.”

“My father takes no chances, especially with
such strife in the Belt. Gorhaj is not the only one who will lead
one day,” Soong said with a wry smile. “I must be aware of the
Belt's turnings, so I may best serve Ara.”

The ribbon passed beneath the shadow of a
tower, and Dayn saw a sight that left him stunned. A Montollene man
wearing nothing but rags crouched ahead of them, his grimy hands
held out to beg for bits.

Distaste painted the faces of Soong's
retinue. Her eyes shone with a moment's distress before flickering
ahead. “These days especially, anyone can find themselves
lowered.”

“Of course,” Dayn said hoarsely. He kept
forgetting her station, and how different their lives must be. He
stuffed a hand into his pack, digging for his pouch of gems. The
Montollene man caught the moondrop he tossed with trembling
hands.

“Peace keep you, offworlder!”

“Why did you do that?” Soong searched Dayn's
face. “Even if he uses it to buy food, the Prevailers will likely
think he stole it. He'll be thrown in the Tower of Chastening.”

“If he's not beaten senseless for it by his
fellows, first,” the gray-haired Aran bodyguard muttered. Soong
shot him an icy stare, but he just shrugged.

“I didn't think of that,” Dayn admitted. He
watched the beggar scuttling in the opposite direction down the
ribbon, heading for another plaza. “He looked like he needed it.
Would bits serve better?”

Dayn ruffled through his pack again, until he
produced some of the coins he still had from the ember tosser’s
show.

“That is kind,” Soong said, “but those are
Aran coins. They would be next to worthless on Montollos because…”
She trailed off as he dug out another fistful. Most of them were
silver, with the face of some ancient High on one side and a
rearing stallion on the other. Soong stared at him wordlessly, and
the younger of the two guards whistled softly.

Dayn returned the coins to his pack, abashed.
“Should I take the gem back?”

“It's too late, now. Peace will protect him,
if he’s deserving.”

I did what I thought best. Hopefully, that
will be enough
. Dayn forgot the beggar for the moment, as the
ribbon floated upward past the tower.

Montollos spread before them, towers rising
and falling in the distance as more ribbons drifted all around
them. Dayn felt as though he were in the workings of a monstrous
clock. They stepped onto a plaza, which swept off in another
direction, southwest as far as he could tell.

“Where are you taking us?” he asked
curiously.

Soong glanced at him. “Why, are you so eager
to be back in the Arena?”

“I told you, I'm no fighter.”

She sniffed. “Not from what I saw. Gorhaj
will remember you for some time, I'm afraid. I've never seen anyone
press him like that in a match. Except for the Marshal.”

“He’s very good with the sword,” Dayn
allowed.
Of all the people in the Belt, why does
he
have
to be her brother?
He would rather pluck his own eyelashes out
than compliment the First Sword.

Soong favored him with an unreadable gaze. “I
wish he would pay his studies as much attention. Look, we’re nearly
there.”

The plaza floated toward another enormous
tower, but this one looked quite different. Thick vines covered the
stone, the first real vegetation Dayn had seen on Montollos at
all.

They entered through an enormous circular
portal near the center. Dense vegetation covered every inch of the
tower’s hollow core. Unfamiliar birdsong issued from all around.
Benches and fountains were set about for resting. To Dayn's
surprise, not one Montollene occupied the entire space, they had it
all to themselves.

“I thought a green tower would be...pleasing
to you,” Soong said. Dayn held his silence, for the space clearly
enthralled her. “Is your world all so green?”

“Yes, when the season is right. But, it’s
real.”
The Arans all looked at him curiously. Dayn grasped
for words to explain his impression of the tower. He could
feel
the vegetation around him, struggling and no less
desperate than the beggar from before. He knew the Seed’s influence
was at work, and hoped Soong did not think him strange. “These
plants are...forced, somehow. Montollos could do a lot better.”

He looked around for an example, and Soong
gasped. “Look at your head!” Dayn felt behind his left ear, his
palm was sticky with blood when he pulled it away.

“Oh. From the fight.”

“That will take an infection,” the Aran
servant observed. She produced some small vials, looking at Dayn as
though he were a bird with a broken wing. “I have these.”

“It's fine. I'll just―”

“The Regents will hear of this. You’re lucky
my brother didn’t make you a foot shorter. Sit, Shardian.” Dayn’s
eyebrows rose at Soong's change in tone, suddenly brisk and full of
command.

“Right here?” he asked. They were standing in
the middle of the tower's thoroughfare.

“Well...over there.” Soong's face colored as
she gestured to a nearby stone bench. “I assure you, I’m quite
adept.”

Soon Dayn found himself sitting in the midst
of a Montollos garden tower with the Heiress High of Ara perched on
the bench behind him, cleaning a scrape on his scalp. He felt
awkward as a Southforte lad fresh from the swamp gone to his first
Misthaven Evensong, but somehow Soong put him at ease. She was
plainspoken, kind and beautiful.
Peace, if she would only sit
where I could see, I could listen to her all...

“Stop squirming,” Soong admonished. “I'm
nearly done. It’s not good to suffer injury on another world, you
know. There are different sicknesses that even a Shardian may not
be able to withstand so easily.”

“Peace, I didn't know that,” Dayn muttered.
He must seem a backcountry lout, but she never made him feel that
way. “Is that why they offer such poor food here? Are they afraid
of our harvest? My friends said they’ve seen none of Shard's
blessing on Montollos at all.”

The bodyguards gave each other troubled
glances as Soong answered. “The Regents choose not to accept every
transport from Shard,” she said carefully. “Some fear that Shard
will use the Pledge to shackle the Belt to her.”

“But why would they think that?” Dayn asked,
completely bewildered. The bodyguards would not meet his eyes.
If my father or Elder Buril were to hear this, they would be
undone.
“A Shardian's heart is in his fields. We live for the
harvest, for the service we do for the Belt.” He was surprised at
the passion of his own words.

Do you live for Shard's Pledge?
A
small voice pricked his thoughts, but he shoved it away.
I'm
still serving Shard, just in a different way. Peace, the crops
won't wither away just because I missed a single harvest.

“Your fields are power. Ara would just be
another lifeless erratic in the torrent without Shard. Some leaders
fear Shard because, in their hearts, they know how they would use
the Pledge if it were theirs to give.” Soong looked at him for a
long time, her eyes showing in the Montollene sun. They wavered
between hazel and green, he could not decide which color was
stronger. “I've looked after this scrape,” she said. “It was small
enough. But it will be easier to tend with your hair properly
braided.”