

## The Seedbearing Prince: Part I

By DaVaun Sanders

Copyright 2012 DaVaun Sanders

Smashwords Edition

*****

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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

*****

# TABLE OF CONTENTS

**PROLOGUE**

Chapter 1: Laman's Well

Chapter 2: A Day for Hunters

Chapter 3: Evensong

Chapter 4: The Midnight Sun

Chapter 5: Strangers

Chapter 6: Voidwalkers

Chapter 7: First Mist

Chapter 8: The Leap Point

Chapter 9: A Hero's Welcome

Chapter 10: The Detritus Chamber

Chapter 11: The Crystal Walk

Chapter 12: First World

Chapter 13: An Old Saying

Chapter 14: Speed Kills

Chapter 15: The Torrent

Chapter 16: Ara

Chapter 17: Chimes Upon the Wind

Chapter 18: The Burshee Split

Chapter 19: The Dance of Shells

Chapter 20: Shir-Hun's Study

Chapter 21: Thirty-Eight Worlds

Chapter 22: The Weep

Chapter 23: Montollos

Chapter 24: Probabilities

Chapter 25: Flutterbird Takes the Nectar

Chapter 26: A Shardian's Heart

Chapter 27: The Rain Shoppe

About the Author

Acknowledgements

# PROLOGUE

The torrent shifted again, and a thousand shards of onyx flashed to fire as Corian swept through a roiling field of ice and stone. The sheath on his worn black armor held, but would not last much longer. The stream of rock in the space between the worlds drifted slower here, and boasted several floating mountains large enough to hold a layer of air. Green ferns covered the surface of the nearest, providing plenty of cover. Corian was tempted to stop and rest, but crater wolves likely roamed in such thick foliage. The entire World Belt hung on the message he bore to the Ring, and he could rest after his task was done.

A field of red granite stretched in the space above him like the bizarre clouds of some nightmare, the individual boulders careening off each other by the hundreds. Only the hardest minerals and metals endured the endless pounding of the rock flow, and only the most foolish men would brave such a swath of torrent. They were moving the direction he needed to go, into the flow where the rock moved fastest. _In the torrent, speed kills,_ he reminded himself. He was the best courser among the Ring's Guardians, but the rock never cared.

Corian deftly attached a new talon to what remained of his silver wingline, then heaved it. The metal hook took hold, his wingline snapped taut, and the boulder yanked Corian into the flow. He repeated the process, each time roping a boulder moving faster, until his last guide rock pulled him along at hundreds of spans a second. A layer of white frost appeared on his armor and mask in a blink. He reeled himself in and clung to the red surface, like a flea riding a river bison in the middle of a stampeding herd. He watched every direction at once from his perch, digging his gauntlets into the crumbling surface. The boulder was actually some ancient rusted metal, not granite as he first thought. The torrent here was so thick he could barely see the stars, and it filled his ears with a distant roar.

He sped along this way for some time, until he spied a pockmarked mass of stone and iron, large as a dwarf moon. A cleft right down the middle threatened to split the entire thing in half. A tower in the northern axis had seen more than its fair share of rust, but the light strobing from it pulsed regularly, illuminating the smaller rocks orbiting around it. As a whole, the wayfinder was ugly and old, but the mass of rock was the most blessed sight Corian could imagine after a week of surviving the torrent's attempts to grind him to powder.

His next wingline took him closer. If the wayfinder was powered as well as he suspected, he could use the array inside it to find out where he was in the torrent, and see how close the Ring lay. He might even find food and water, if peace favored him. _A fellow Guardian must stop here often for such an old wayfinder to be this well preserved,_ he thought.

Smaller debris pelted the wayfinder's old crust, disintegrating in flashes of light. The surface shone with hundreds of impacts, large and small. Corian chose a crater near the old tower, perhaps seventy spans deep with high walls that would offer good angles to slow himself as he approached.

As he prepared to throw out another talon, dark shapes poured from the wayfinder's cleft. He stared for a moment, incredulous. There could be no crater wolves on a wayfinder, with no game to hunt, unless they were marooned after striking some other erratic in the torrent. No, those shapes moved with a military precision, more lethal than the deadliest pack. He could see them clearly now, massive men covered in black. "No. Not here!" Corian barely recognized his own weary voice.

The voidwalkers had seen him. A pinprick of light shone on the wayfinder's surface, brighter than the tower's regular strobe. He eyed it mistrustfully as he searched for a place to throw his next wingline and change his momentum. He spotted a tumbling boulder half covered with ice, moving away from the wayfinder too fast.

The light near the voidwalkers flashed. A beam of energy rushed into Corian's path, hot as molten steel. A lifetime of coursing experience kicked in, and he curled his legs up until his knees touched his ears, rolling forward. The strange fire passed underneath him by less than a span. He could feel the heat of it through his protective layer of sheath. The beam burned past, and slammed into a rock fifty spans away. The tumbling boulder barely even slowed in its course, but the spot where the weapon struck—for there was no question that is what it was—glowed red hot at the edges. The glistening center had cooled quick as glass.

Another pinprick of light. He twisted around in the weightlessness of the void to point his feet back toward the wayfinder and make himself a smaller target. It did no good. The beam rushed straight at him, and his world turned red with pain.

An impact jarred him awake. Another. Corian opened his eyes. _I'm much too cold._ The voidwalker weapon had burned away his sheath. Layers of his black armor were peeling away from the metal plates like paper curled in a fire. He had been caught in a tangle of purple-rooted vines intertwined in a mile long cluster of the floating rock, what Jendini coursers called a knotted forest. The roots were nearly hard as stone in places. Dusty old bones from animals Corian did not even recognize littered the tangles. Debris from the torrent stretched around the forest in every direction, and errant stones pelted the mass of vines, which he immediately recognized. _Courser's nap, the whole forest is covered with it._

Corian reached into a compartment on his armored belt and removed his last flask of sheath. He applied the clear liquid to his ruined armor in quick, smooth motions, not leaving one inch exposed. The sheath locked together in small patches of light, and his body's heat immediately began to warm the interior of the invisible, protective barrier. Once the sheath was gone, his armor would not prevent the smallest pebble from killing him, if one struck him moving fast enough. For the first time, Corian considered that he may not survive.

This was to be his last circuit as a Guardian for the Ring, and he held the hope that he would look into his grandchildren's eyes back on Jendini now that his service was finished. Yet his duty hung over him, heavier than ever. In the distance he could see the world of Shard, verdant and green just beyond the torrent's chaos. His resolve hardened.

He slipped a speechcaster into his mouth and began to speak as he worked himself free of the tangled vines. The small wafer could hold his words in secret for a few days, should things go badly here.

"I am Corian Nightsong, a Guardian of the Ring. There are Thar'Kuri warriors on the world of Nemoc. The voidwalkers have built a device that allows them to...teleport themselves at will through the Belt. They are gathering in numbers, preparing for an attack. There are captives from all over the worlds imprisoned on Nemoc. The voidwalkers have weapons unlike anything known from the Ring. They use energy and can attack over great distances. They must have been made in the age before the Breach.

If you knew where to look for this message, you must deliver it with all haste to Force Lord Adazia on the Ring. The worlds all depend on you, for I have failed them." The admission filled Corian with bitterness, but he forced a strength he no longer felt into his words. "My sons and daughters live in Denkstone, on Jendini. Tell them...their father served well."

One of the vines tangled around his torso began to quiver. Corian looked down, fearing a leaf, but instead he saw a voidwalker, climbing toward him. Corian was tall, but the hulking brute easily overtopped him by a head. His glistening black armor looked as if it were melted to his frame, and covered him from head to toe save two dark slits for his eyes. The vines broke like dried mud in the voidwalker's grasp.

Corian began to climb, scrambling further into the vines. He did not bother to draw his sword, the voidwalker would overpower him in moments if they were to fight.

"So afraid of an old courser?" Corian shouted. He pulled at every vine in his path as he fled, but most of them were stiff and gray. Living vines of the courser's nap were purple and sticky, but the true danger lay with the leaves.

The voidwalker's gravelly voice called to Corian, cold as an orphan's gravestone. "Come to me, degenerate."

Corian drew his sword, and began slashing his way through the vines. They sparked as his blade struck, but gave way. He leapt through an open space nearly ten spans across. The voidwalker followed without hesitation. _So strong._ Corian knew the brute meant to take him alive. He could not allow that.

He landed on a solid gray swath, fleshy beneath his feet. He rolled and lunged just as the leaf stirred. A row of spikes slipped out of the edges, thick as Corian's leg and sharp enough to cleave a horse in two. Corian barely cleared them. The voidwalker was not so lucky. His momentum carried him right into the center of the carnivorous plant, which enveloped him with a twist of blue-veined leaf. Steam issued from the folds near the plant's edges as it fed.

More pods of the courser's nap were coming to life, enlivened by the voidwalker's screams. Corian avoided the leaves wherever they stirred. He climbed and lunged and dived through the vines, soon pulling himself to the edge of the knotted forest. Pure torrent lay before him, an endless landscape of chaotic rock. There was no clear flow in any direction, the individual boulders in the skyscape crashed into each other in a hundred shattering impacts. _I'll leap blind and pray that my sheath holds._

Another voidwalker tore himself out of the vines a few spans away. _Peace, but look at the size of him!_ The voidwalker's armor looked as chewed up as the oldest rocks of the torrent, endless dents and scratches plastered the black surface.

"I've enjoyed hunting you, degenerate."

Another courser's leaf reared up behind the voidwalker as he lumbered toward Corian. The leaf lunged and took the voidwalker up, curling round and round as the folds of leaf tightened. Corian allowed himself a moment of elation, but it was short lived. A pale hand appeared on the side of the courser's nap, and bright green fluid poured out. The leaf whipped back and forth, emitting a piercing shriek as the voidwalker pulled it apart piece by piece from the inside. Corian needed to see no more. He leaped, and prayed the torrent would show him mercy.

# CHAPTER ONE

Laman's Well

The roiling rock and the quickening sun

despise the old and outmatch the young,

In the sky you'll grow into a man, my son!

When you're a' coursing in the torrent.

-Jendini coursing song

On the world of Shard, dawn teased the sleepy Lowlands and whispered promises of a rich harvest. Dayn Ro'Halan walked the family land, wondering if this was finally the time to level with his father, Laman. A welcome breeze carried the first songs of gold-breasted chimebirds to their ears, notes of approval to find such early risers. The spring air tasted of sweet barbwood blossoms and creeping winkleaf, but even more of expectation.

Laman's mood remained hidden in the early light. No farmer's son would dare ask what Dayn sought, permission to leave Shard to seek offworld adventure. _Not just permission,_ Dayn reminded himself, _a blessing._

His pace slowed as his brown eyes drifted upward. The sky teetered between deepest black and blue gray, but the entire eastern horizon shimmered as if sparks from a massive bonfire swirled in a great ribbon, flowing from northern to southern sky. The torrent. One day he would race in it, too—just like the coursers in the stories.

Dayn rose early every morning to gaze at the mass of rock that floated between the worlds of the Belt. Thoughts of leaping and lassoing his way through boulders bigger than the village inn, flowing faster than a river, or outwitting the dangerous creatures that lived among the streams of rock gave him a thrill that crops and harvest never could. _It's the closest I'll ever come to flying without wings. Another summer of practice, and I'll be ready to enter the Course of Blades with the bravest coursers. Even if I don't win the race my first time, the whole World Belt will see—_

Laman cleared his throat loudly and Dayn jumped. His father stood several paces ahead, waiting for Dayn to rejoin him. "I suppose every lad in Wia Wells is witless the morning of Evensong," Laman said. His eyes held an amused twinkle.

"Sorry, I was watching the torrent." Dayn grinned apologetically as he hurried to catch up. He did not feel ready, but this was as good a time as any to feel his father out. "It's always such a sight."

"We've no time for getting lost in the sky this season, now that the Council's seen fit to free up our land again."

Dayn cringed at his father's words. _How do I tell him that getting lost in the sky is_ exactly _what I mean to do?_

"It is a sight, though. The crumbling bones of old worlds, if the stories are true." Laman softened as he followed Dayn's gaze skyward, but his face left no doubt as to what he thought of the old stories. "I never cared either way, so long as it stays in the sky where it belongs. Our fields have enough rocks as it is."

"I don't think the torrent would ever strike Shard," Dayn said. He watched Laman carefully for any reaction to his next words. "Wouldn't it be something, to see it up close?"

"More interesting than a field survey, I suppose," Laman said, leaning on his silverpine staff. The grain of the staff was old and strong, passed down through six generations of Ro'Halans. Carefully carved names from Laman's line banded around the wood, so the memory of their ancestors always felt near. Dayn hoped they would approve of him after today.

"Does the farm weigh on you, son?" The question made Dayn's heart skip. "A Shardian's calling is not so easy to bear. Does a life in the capital interest you?" Laman chuckled at the grimace on Dayn's face. "Something else, then?"

"I wouldn't forsake Shard's covenant," Dayn said quickly. The moment felt perfect to speak of coursing, especially with the torrent itself urging him on in the distance. "One day I'll have a farm of my own, but...I tire of it, sometimes. Father, don't you ever want more than this?"

"So that's what is eating at you." His father sounded pleased, and Dayn brightened hopefully. "Your mother thought it was some girl from Southforte. She'll learn not to wager against me one day." Laman nodded to himself before continuing. "Do you want to leave the village?"

"How did you know?" Dayn breathed. The fear that his parents would take his dreams to race in the torrent for young foolishness began to waver. "I've been meaning to tell you."

"I guess right about things half as much as I guess wrong," Laman said with a wink. "Keep that to yourself, though. It would be a shame for the Elders to find that out _after_ my first year on the Village Council."

They shared a grin. Sunrise began to paint the edges of the horizon with gray light, but the torrent still shone. Laman watched it as he continued.

"Times are changing in Wia Wells―changing for the better. Our lads keep putting the rest of Shard to shame almost every harvest. And if I do say so, you are among the best. The Elders say you finish your lessons before anyone else your age is halfway through."

"I never really noticed." Dayn's face flushed furiously. Fortunately, his father's eyes remained on the torrent. Laman's pride would dry up like water in a cracked gourd if he knew Dayn flew through his lessons only to free more time to practice coursing. Yet Dayn gladly accepted the unexpected praise. Half a season remained before his seventeenth naming day, but he still felt surprised to stand of a height with his father, or be trusted to help with so much around the farm.

Laman gave a firm nod. "You just keep at it. One day these fields won't seem so small."

"Yes, father." Dayn wore the same worn field linens as Laman, simple and faded from the Shardian sun, and his skin already held the rich brown tones of a seasoned farmer. Freshly braided cornrows held down his unruly black hair, which reached his shoulders once fully combed out. His strong jaw and restless brown eyes were unmistakable hallmarks of Laman's bloodline, too—although his high cheekbones favored his mother, Hanalene.

"Ah, look. The sun's beat us to work," Laman said, a frown crossing his brow. He set off again as the first sliver of sunlight peeked over the eastern horizon. Dayn followed, disappointed with himself. The torrent gradually faded into the pale blue of gathering dawn.

"We must hurry," Laman said, oblivious to Dayn's dismay. "Be a shame to be late for Evensong...Wia Wells hasn't hosted since I was your age, and I don't care to dwell on how many years ago that's been. First time I laid eyes on your mother. Or she laid eyes on me, I should say." He arched an eyebrow at Dayn. "With all those families down from Misthaven, you better watch yourself."

Dayn shook his head ruefully. "Joam's the one with that luck." Mistland women used Evensong to matchmake, although no one ever said so. Unmarried men often took on a hunted look long before the merrymaking ended. "Ever since he won Sweetwater, half the girls from Wia Wells want to do his chores or braid his hair."

"The lad's talented with the staff," Laman said diplomatically. He studied Dayn from the corner of his eye as they walked.

"His boasting will be ten times worse tonight," Dayn grumbled. Joam Ro'Gem was Dayn's best friend, but a touch of envy still edged into his voice.

"I'd imagine you'd be excited to go offworld, too," Laman replied. Joam father Milchamah was a fast friend of Laman, at least when they were not arguing over some wrinkle of Council business. "The deserving always find their way to victory at Montollos."

"He thinks he's deserving, alright."

"But as for you..."His father fixed his steady brown gaze on Dayn. Whenever Laman used that even tone, things went better when Dayn took heed. "You'll honor our family name farming in the Mistlands―or competing along with your friend in the Cycle, whichever you set your mind to. I figured Joam is helping you with the staff, as much as you're gone these days." Thankfully, Dayn's guilt-ridden silence went unnoticed. "Your path will work itself out, once your head is settled on which way is best to go."

They walked quietly for a moment. Excitement stirred within Dayn as he mulled over his father's outlook. _He'd let me go to Montollos and enter the Cycle, sure as mist rises. Only, I'd enter the coursing race instead of the weapons tournament. Joam had urged Dayn to reveal his coursing plans for weeks._ Dayn gathered his words, newly encouraged.

"Some Elders say this summer we'll see a skytear at night, and next season it will be bright enough to see during the day." Dayn spoke lightly, but _peace_ how his heart pounded! Skytears passed through the World Belt once or twice a lifetime, sprouting tails as they neared the sun. It seemed the easiest way to steer the talk back to the torrent, then coursing. "Elder Kaynerin said a skytear means that strange days are coming. Could it get trapped in the torrent?"

Laman snorted. "Elder Kaynerin enjoys too much wine. He'll be first to blame the skytear if stripeworms take his crops, or a ridgecat steals into one of his sheep pens. That sorry talk is no better than Misthaven folk wagging their tongues about the Dreadfall."

Laman reached down to scoop a handful of the reddish-brown earth. The gray in his hair stood out more than Dayn had noticed before. His father's voice grew resonant with feeling as the soil sifted through his outstretched fingers.

"The torrent, the skytear. It's fine talk for stories with Defenders or fool coursers, but this is real. This is who we are. Our Pledge is the oldest covenant in the World Belt. No Shardian has ever known a day of hunger, of thirst, or wanted for anything their whole life. In return, we give freely of the harvest to the Belt."

All mention of coursing died on Dayn's lips. Fool coursers. _So that's what he thinks._ The remaining earth sifted out of Laman's fingers, just more dust on the wind.

Laman kissed his teeth irritably at sight of the sun peering over the horizon. _The morning isn't what either of us expected,_ Dayn thought numbly.

"I mean to be to the northern edge well before noon. Go find your sister, she's supposed to be fetching survey jars from the barn."

"Yes, father." The Village Council tested each farm's soil to ensure the land's fertility. "I was wondering why we left them behind."

"Tela wanted to help load your mother's paintings for Evensong, but she needs to take on more of the chores. You won't be around here forever." Laman gave Dayn an unreadable look. "Here. Take this, lad."

Dayn easily caught his father's silverpine staff. It felt heavier than mere wood could account for. Dayn imagined he could hear six generations of Ro'Halans, their disapproving whispers swirling around him. Laman had never before entrusted him with the family staff. He spoke to the question in Dayn's eyes.

"Grahm killed a gravespinner this big―" his father formed a space between his hands large enough to cradle a ripe dewmelon "―digging in his woodpile last night. It had an egg sack."

"Oh, no." Dayn groaned at the ill news. If the spiders infested Grahm's land, they would quickly spread. To the north, gravespinner webs blanketed the wilds for leagues. No chimebirds sang in the redbranch there.

"That's why I wanted to finish our survey early. If silk traps need burning out, we best do it now. I'm sure it was chance for a spinner to venture this far from the nidus caves, but all the same—find her quick. The jars are in the old barn. Check there first."

"Yes, father." Dayn swallowed hard, and angled south. The morning was growing worse faster than the sun could climb.

The old south barn provided the perfect hiding place for his coursing gear, and Tela loved to snoop. Dayn quickened his pace, imagining her prancing around with his wingline or harness. If she ran off to show his parents, tonight's festival would be a miserable affair.

Unplowed soil blurred beneath his feet. He noted several patches of inkroot poking through the covering clover, but the weeds would have to wait.

"Tela!"

Halfway to the barn, a movement to the west caught Dayn's eye. A formless gray shape slid along the lip of the old Ro'Halan well then dropped to the earth. "Tela? You better not be hiding."

He twirled his father's staff apprehensively and crept closer to the rough white flagstone. _What in peace's reach... a cave crab?_ Dayn watched in stunned amusement as the plate-sized creature scuttled right past him, as though it meant to abandon its drab shell for more speed. It would not last long away from the water. He could think of a dozen good pranks a creature with those pincers could offer, but let it pass. A sound made Dayn look back toward the well. His grin melted away.

Dozens more of the gray crabs spilled over the well's edge, dropping to the earth in small puffs of dust. They skittered away in every direction, a handful streaming past Dayn as though he did not exist. He hopped out of their paths, not wanting to lose a toe, and soon found himself near the edge of the well. Hands tightening on his father's staff, he leaned over for a look inside.

Oddly enough, the well ran higher than usual this morning. Dayn could easily scoop out a drink without the bucket. Calm ripples cradled the gathering sunlight and returned his reflection. No cave crabs remained.

"Nothing here but us farmers," Dayn said with a puzzled look. _I'll ask father about this, later._ He shrugged and made a face at his rippling twin below. "Are you ready for the Course of Blades?"

The mouth did not move.

Dayn watched in horror as his reflection melted away to reveal death lurking beneath the water. A drowned man floated in Laman's well. The gray face hung close enough to touch, obscured by Dayn's own staring reflection. The bloated body hung motionless in the water, suspended in shadow.

The eyes opened and snapped onto Dayn's face. The cinder-black pupils turned his spine to mush. Dayn instinctively recoiled, but—

_It won't let me move!_ He willed his legs to run, but an unseen force trapped him in place. A bone-white hand, covered in cuts and sores, broke the surface of the water to grasp the flagstone. Drowning had not bloated the gray man's body, as Dayn first thought. He now saw a hulking and brutish frame, covered in a black layer that looked more crust than skin. The powerful arm shook with effort, and thick pieces of the scabrous black coating sloughed away and sank in the well. Terrible pain lanced the man's face, which looked grotesquely human to Dayn's eyes as he watched, frozen helplessly.

The man's features contorted in loathing as he examined Dayn's face. "Were never...my brother. I—" Green slurry poured from his mouth and into the water. His stare never left Dayn, even as his hold on the flagstone weakened. Unbidden thoughts began to spawn in Dayn's mind, as though a putrid bog seeped into him through that stare.

What...what is he doing to me? Get out of my head!

Froth surged along the water's surface, churning up more crabs, all dead. Shock interrupted the gray man's gaze, and the invisible bonds holding Dayn vanished. Before he could back away, the snarling man lunged up to seize his arm as the water surged back into the well's depths.

Dayn shouted as the gray man pulled him down. The flagstone walls spun crazily around him. He cried out as pain bolted through his shoulder. His plunge abruptly stopped, and the man's cold grasp slipped from his wrist.

"Peace be praised," Dayn croaked. His father's staff, splayed across the mouth of the well, had saved him from the fall. The grain sagged under Dayn's weight, and his shoulder felt ready to wrench free of its socket. Panting, he pulled himself closer to the well's coarse flagstone.

A horrible, fetid odor overpowered the air, as if the receding water had uncovered some deep rot within the earth. Dayn's stomach heaved and fresh terror replaced his relief. The gurgling well water echoed beneath him. _Clusterthorn. It's rising again!_

His feet churned for a toehold on the slick rock. A wild lunge of his hand knocked Laman's staff aside. It clattered past him and down into the well. The echoed splash came much too soon.

Dayn heaved himself over the edge, flopping onto the ground with a grunt. He leaped to his feet and lurched into a sprint. Thirty spans later, he stopped to peer back. No sound broke the early morning calm, save his heart thudding against his chest.

Dust and blood! What was that?

"Hey, boy!"

Dayn spun around, relief washing over him. He spotted his best friend Joam Ro'Gem approaching from the village road, an excited bob in his step. Joam's father Milchamah strolled alongside him. They each carried a staff. Dayn rushed over to them and skidded to a stop.

"What's wrong?" Joam looked at him quizzically. "You look like a ridgecat just tried to braid your hair."

"Have you...have you..."

"Easy boy, catch your breath. Those great bounds of yours would carry you to the moon on any world but Shard." Milchamah thumped the end of his staff into the loamy soil for emphasis. "One day she might let you go."

"Have you seen my sister?" Dayn finally managed.

"No," Joam said, frowning. "We passed your mother on the road. Another fine batch of her paintings for Evensong, it looks like. Maybe she can favor me with a portrait tonight. For my new standing as champion."

"Quiet, boy," Milchamah said. "I didn't come all this way to watch your gums flap in the breeze. Let the boy spit out why he's so worked up." Only a few years older than Laman, fine wrinkles rested lightly on Milchamah's sun-browned face, from years of good farming and rough humor. Gray strands threaded through his long braids, just visible under his wide straw hat. He spoke around a sweet tree twig which Dayn never saw him without. "Now what's so important to break your neck over the morning of Evensong?"

Dayn pointed, but quickly let his hand drop when he saw how badly it still shook. _Peace, but I've never been so afraid in my life!_ Milchamah and Joam both looked curiously at the well.

"A man was in there. The water sucked him away, there was this awful smell, and..." Dayn trailed off.

"Spill surge." The old farmer said after a moment. "The worst ones could make a well overflow for weeks. But if you say someone drowned, I better take a look." Milchamah made straight for the well.

"I didn't say he drowned," Dayn said faintly. Joam and Milchamah shared a long look that made his face burn.

"Strange things dance around skytears," Joam offered. Dayn waited for some joke at his expense, but Joam just chattered on as they strode over. "You won't believe what happened at Urlan's farm this morning―"

"Boy, if I want your opinion I'll snap my fingers. Skytears," Milchamah growled in disgust. "And I already warned you to keep that other matter quiet." His scowl widened to include Dayn. "The less people who know, the later our _guests_ find out."

"Sorry, father," Joam said with a wounded look.

"Spill surge could cough up some Misthavener's lost cuddlebear, maybe even some heartrock from the deepest water." Milchamah reached the well and snorted. Dayn sidled up to it anxiously. The water lay still.

Gone. I know I didn't imagine it. He or it, whatever it was, felt real.

"What could give Shard a fever?" Dayn asked.

Instead of answering, Milchamah pitched forward, suddenly shoulder deep in the water. Dayn and Joam both jumped back with a yelp. The rangy farmer straightened, his sleeve soaked, and Laman's staff in his hand.

"See, all kinds of things get lost," Milchamah said, his face tight. Joam's jaw hung open at sight of the carved silverpine.

Dayn took the staff, mortified. _Peace! Father just gave it to me this morning! I need to dry it before the grain warps!_

"I know what I saw," Dayn mumbled as he toweled the staff off with his shirt.

"No one's missing, boy. Don't you think word would spread if someone fell down another well? And how would they end up here?"

"It's easy for our eyes to play tricks at dawn," Joam suggested, after a wary look at Milchamah. Joam stood a foot taller than either of them but acted meek as a day-old kitten around his father. "And you know how Tela wanders when she catches a notion," he added. He was a good friend, saving face for Dayn.

"She's not the only one catching notions," Milchamah observed.

Dayn dropped his eyes. He could offer no ready answers.

Milchamah seemed to argue with himself for a moment as he frowned at the waterlogged staff in Dayn's hands. "Son, are you sure about this?" he asked.

Joam nodded eagerly. "Sure as the mist rises."

Milchamah spat around his sweet tree twig. "What I'm seeing now doesn't help much."

Dayn looked uncertainly between the two. The mischievous light in Joam's brown eyes made him nervous. "Sure about what?" he asked.

"You should know by now." The rangy farmer studied him openly. Sweat began to form on Dayn's back. "I'm here about Montollos."

"Montollos?" Dayn fought down a flash of panic. He shot Joam a searching look, but his friend chose the moment to start counting his toes.

"Joam told me all about what you've been planning," Milchamah continued somberly. The rangy farmer glanced to the south, to the _barn,_ and that made everything plain.

Dayn's mouth went dry. _He knows about my coursing gear! This dustbrained whelp let something slip, and now Milchamah's here to tell father. They'll never let me leave the farm after this!_ "Joam, you didn't―"

"Best find Laman, boy. Did you think you could hide forever?"

Numb fury crept over Dayn as Joam stood there with a too-innocent grin spreading over his face. The rest of Milchamah's words washed soundlessly over Dayn as he stared murder at his best friend.

# CHAPTER TWO

A Day For Hunters

Deadwisp in the lake, deadwisp in the river, go home, go home, you're making me shiver.

Deadwisp in the well, deadwisp in the deep, go home, go home, don't steal me in my sleep.

-Highland children's rhyme on Shard

I don't believe you," Dayn growled. He clenched Laman's staff so hard his hands shook. That was the only thing keeping them from Joam's throat. "I was going to tell father everything today. Peace confound it all, you've ruined everything!"

"Sure you were." Joam had the gall to actually _smile!_ He held up his hands defensively after a good look at Dayn's face. "But if I didn't say something before tonight, you―"

Milchamah cleared his throat loudly, his annoyance plain. Joam shut his mouth so fast, his teeth clicked. "No need for this fuss. _I'll_ talk to Laman. That doesn't mean things will go easy."

"As easy as for Joam?" Dayn asked bitterly. _Why didn't I speak to father when I had the chance?_

"Cinch up your tongue, boy. There's no call for that. Before a festival, no less."

"Yeah, Dayn," Joam echoed with a wink.

Before Dayn could throttle him, Milchamah's sparring staff descended smoothly between them. Irregular notches and slashes crisscrossed the honey-colored grain. Dayn might trounce Joam briefly, but Milchamah would ensure he paid dearly for it.

"He already vouched for you, boy." Milchamah withdrew his staff, giving Dayn an odd look. "There's nothing else to prove."

"Vouched for me?" Dayn blinked in confusion.

Joam stepped forward hastily, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "You've been chosen for sparring camp! Why else would we be here so early?"

"I...what?" Dayn felt so relieved he could not decide whether to laugh or weep. "Thank you, Elder!"

"Don't call me Elder," Milchamah said gruffly. Weaponmasters the Belt over chose the best fighters to represent their worlds in the Binder's Cycle at Montollos. Joam's father did not look the part, but he was the best weaponmaster on all of Shard.

"Sorry. I didn't understand."

Milchamah nodded and spat, which was as good as a handshake from any other man. Dayn shifted his gaze to include Joam in the apology, too. His friend winked, and Dayn shook his head ruefully. _Did he ever fool me. I should still throttle him, making me think his father knew about my coursing gear!_

"No worries, brother," Joam said. "It's a lot to take in." The two friends were easily the best pranksters in Wia Wells. Years might pass before Dayn managed to get Joam back for this.

"You caught my eye when you kept your wits at Sweetwater, even after that Sheercrest miner broke your staff," Milchamah said. "He said you would've beat him if the fight weren't stopped."

"I remember." Dayn kept his face smooth, but it took an effort. Fighters from Northforte to Greenshadow came to the Sweetwater tourney after harvest. Dayn distinctly recalled his last match there, for Milchamah happened to be the ringmaster who ended his fight. In fairness, or some such nonsense.

"I like people who aren't afraid to improvise," Milchamah said.

"It's not like Sweetwater at all, brother!" Joam broke in. He lived for the staff, which came as no surprise to anyone, considering his father's prowess. "Swordsmen from Ara, Badaian axe fists, Dervishi bladebreakers―the best fighters from all the World Belt. We'll face them all at Montollos!"

Milchamah afforded his son a rare, approving grin. Dayn felt a twinge of envy. _Would father be so proud of me for coursing?_

"You'd be going with us next year, boy," Milchamah added. "Your very first Cycle, just like Joam here. But you hold back in your matches. Hesitation and victory may share a bed for the night, but one always leaves before dawn." Dayn blinked uncertainly, and Milchamah sighed. "Never mind that. More practice is the best thing for you right now. I wouldn't be here at all, except...my boy tells me you actually beat him awhile back?"

"I was lucky," Dayn said, giving Joam a surprised look. "A lucky thrust, that's all."

"Well, is that a fact now." Milchamah said dryly. Dayn instantly regretted his words. In truth, he had hounded Joam for three days straight before finally besting him, just to prove he could. Sometimes Joam's head gained pounds by the week―it was a wonder he held it up at all with his boasting. Admitting a defeat to his father would not have been easy. He deserved better than Dayn laying his victory to chance. "It was a fair fight, though."

"That much I'm sure about, at least. The day is short, boy," Milchamah prodded. "What do you say? Practice begins in two weeks."

"Father will need help on the farm," Dayn said reluctantly. _There's no way I can do this_ and _practice coursing._ The World Belt took the Cycle's fighting competition quite seriously, some fighters were chosen from birth to bring a golden Victor's Sash home from Montollos. Training on the Shardian team did not ensure Dayn would also get to go offworld, like Joam. Accepting Milchamah's offer would only doom his own dreams. "We're farthest away from Wia Wells, with just one neighbor, really."

Joam's smile faltered. Milchamah's eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise, but he gave a ready response. "Already settled. The Elders agreed Laman's land can lie fallow for another year, once I give them the word. They know that sorry offworlder isn't much help out here."

"But my father couldn't bear that. You know how the Village Council expects him to tend everything but his own crops. I shouldn't leave him with only Grahm to help."

The words sounded noble enough, but tasted bitter on Dayn's tongue. _You wouldn't worry so if this was for the Course of Blades,_ a small voice chided him. He pushed it away. "I cannot be in the camp. At least...not this year."

Joam's voice was incredulous. "But this is the _Cycle._ The Prevailer's Gauntlet! In five years you could go to Montollos and―"

Dayn cut him off. "I'm sorry you both came so far."

"As am I," Milchamah said. He directed a look of complete disappointment not at Dayn, but at his son. Joam looked back and forth between them both, completely stricken. Dayn imagined how hard Joam pressed Milchamah for this, backed it with his own good word. He shifted on his feet guiltily as the silence stretched.

"Happy Evensong!" Tela burst out of nowhere, already dressed in feastday clothes with red ribbons threaded through her tiny braids. From her golden eyes to her cheerful smile, she looked the perfect miniature of their mother, Hanalene. Tension sprouted among the men like kniferoot, but she did not sense it.

"Peace, Tela―where have you been?" Dayn felt immense relief to see his little sister unharmed. For once, she could not have picked a better time to appear.

"Helping mother with paintings. You came to help me with survey jars, didn't you? You are so _sweet!"_ Tela gave Dayn a crushing hug, then favored the Ro'Gems with a merry laugh and skipped over to them, arms wide. They returned her festival greeting awkwardly, Joam not bothering to fix his scowl.

"I've been looking for you. Have you seen anything...strange?" Dayn asked. Milchamah snorted.

"No, but I _smell_ something strange." Tela wrinkled her nose and giggled. Dayn glanced toward the well at her words. Joam noticed, and rolled his eyes. "It's alright, big brother. Mother had me stop home to fetch you this."

She extended the package beneath her arm. A quick pull of the string revealed a fine set of feastday clothes, pressed and folded. "She said we have a freeday after I take father the jars. Did he tell you this morning? Can you wait for Evensong? I can't wait. Can _you_ wait, Joam? I wish we were in Wia Wells right now!"

Milchamah cut in, clearly ready to be elsewhere. "Your dedication to the land is...admirable," he said gruffly. "There will always be another season to plant, for as long as Shard shelters the Belt. A man's gifted with ability enough to fill a river, but only a handful of days to use it." Milchamah spat around his sweet tree twig, peering at Dayn from beneath his hat as if to see whether his words would take root. "Think it over, boy―but think fast. Peace willing, we'll begin training in two weeks."

"I'll talk to my father," Dayn promised. Joam rolled his eyes again.

"Fair enough. Happy Evensong. You better work that staff through some forms if you want it to dry, which I trust you do. _Fast_ forms. I was there when your grandfather―peace shade his wreath―gave it to your father."

Dayn swallowed heavily and nodded.

The weaponmaster turned to his son. "Be sure to remember what I said." Joam nodded dutifully. Milchamah motioned to Tela, who looked at Dayn with a face full of questions. "Come, girl. I'll help you. I swear your old withered root of a father would plant all the way to the edge of the Dreadfall if it were up to him. Lead the way."

"Father's not _old_ , Elder! Isn't your hair grayer than his?"

Dayn and Joam watched them go, Tela cartwheeling and skipping around the farmer's steady gait. Joam's eyes glinted dangerously.

"You know I mean to course," Dayn began. "If I spend the summer collecting bruises so _you_ can go to Montollos, how am I―"

"I gave my _word_ you were the best!" Joam shouted. "You, brother. Out of some twenty staffs from Wia Wells and Southforte. Father convinced the _entire Council_ to lighten your field work. You think Laman will stand against sparring, after that? All you ever talk about is Montollos. This is your chance to go, and what do you do? Peace!"

Dayn bristled. "I mean to enter the Cycle for coursing, not the staff—and you know it!"

"No Shardian has entered the Course of Blades in two hundred years! Entered, Dayn! Let alone won a Victor's Sash. Besides, you wouldn't know torrent if a rock fell from the sky and split open your fool head!"

"Then I will just have to be the first to win, won't I?" Dayn snapped. Joam's words cut closer than he cared to admit.

"I think a rock hit you on the head already! Not one pebble of Shard looks like the torrent, a one-tooth toddler knows that. Jumping your way through floating boulders that could smash you dead—since when is that supposed to be fun? Better to take a transport from the Ring. I'd bet coursers wouldn't even exist if not for your stupid race. There's no air to breathe in most of the torrent. The sun will melt away your skin, and the rock moves faster than you can even think! Tell me how you train for _that!"_

"Coursers can do it, so why can't I? I already have the right rope, and—don't you look at me like that!" The wonders that drew Dayn to the torrent were also the most compelling reasons for him to fail there. Joam echoed exactly what Dayn expected to hear from his own father. What was worse, Dayn could not argue. Joam spoke peace's own truth, and showed no sign of slowing.

"What do you think the Elders will do if they find out you've been _training―_ " Joam slathered the word with scorn "―in the Dreadfall?"

"The cliffs aren't as dangerous as they say," Dayn retorted. "You just remember who helped filch the tools I needed."

Joam's eyes flashed. "You wouldn't―"

"—do anything to get my friend in trouble." Dayn pressed his advantage while Joam stammered. The two had earned their share of strappings when they were younger, but now any trouble that threatened Joam's staff work positively terrified him. "That's more than I can say for you! What were you thinking with that prank just now? I nearly gave myself away to your father!"

"I should have done you the favor," Joam muttered. A pleased expression abruptly broke through his scowl. "It was still a fine prank. If you had only seen your...oh, alright! Don't go giving me the stinkeye over a little fun. You owe me as much, with all the sneaking around we've done for your coursing. I don't know how you stand it."

"Me either. Just...never do that again," Dayn said. "Your father is the last one I need poking around. It's hard enough hiding everything from Tela."

"Why haven't you told Laman?" Joam gave a resigned sigh at Dayn's shrug." He'll say no, and that will be that. In five years, you can come to Montollos with me."

"Sparring would be just a hair more fun than watching the Village Council yammer for the whole summer." Joam gave him an unreadable look. "Peace, Joam. I didn't mean it like that. You'll go to Montollos next year and every Binder's Cycle after until you drop. I don't love the staff like you do, and I'm not half as good."

"Peace knows that for truth." Joam rubbed his chin. "You still didn't answer my question."

"I'll tell him tonight at Evensong," Dayn said. Joam's eyebrows rose doubtfully. "No more sneaking around."

"Sure you will," Joam said with a smirk. "Just remember, I gave you a chance."

Dayn knew they would argue no more. Angry spells with Joam never lasted more than a day, their friendship had always been that way. Dayn trusted no one more, especially with his dreams to course. Joam's eyes shifted to Dayn's bundled feastday clothes.

"Well at least you have a freeday. Are you going to wash up so we can go?"

"No," Dayn said quickly. He could stand a quick wash, but his skin squealed at the thought of touching that water.

"A drowned man, really?" Joam took Laman's staff and twirled it through forms at Dayn's consenting nod. Silverpine resisted rot well, Shard's mist would topple any tree that could not.

"He scared me, brother. And he wasn't drowned. He almost pulled me back in with him, that's how I lost father's staff. See?" Dayn held up his hands to show where the well's flagstone had dug into his palms.

Joam took in his proof with open doubt. "Well, something has people acting odd this morning, I'll give you that. Some even as foolish as you." Dayn carefully buttoned his shirt. Joam continued somewhat grumpily once it became clear that Dayn refused to be baited. "Your crazy offworlder neighbor is one of them. We saw him creeping around his fields on the way here, holding a scythe like it was a sword! He looked awful. I'll bet you a moondrop he slept in those clothes for at least a week."

"No bet. That's nothing strange," Dayn said, slightly disappointed. "Father said Grahm saw a gravespinner near their farm. He's probably never seen one before. And him being a new father, too? I was small when Tela was born, but I couldn't imagine watching three of her. That's all?"

"I wasn't finished," Joam said as Dayn smoothed his clothes. Hanalene's bundle included a wooden comb and a small vial of smellgoods made from herbs in her garden. His mother thought of everything. "The Southforte folk say they saw an amber light in the sky two nights ago. Like a falling star, but bigger." Joam traced his finger from west to east.

"That couldn't be the skytear, right?" Dayn asked as they started toward his home. When the skytear appeared in the skies, it came with a long tail behind it, but Elders never mentioned it being any color or lasting just one night.

"Exactly what I said. The next morning, half the Southforte herds and flocks had broken out of their pens. There's not a hen in Southforte can find its own coop―they all pecked each other's eyes out." Dayn's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "Sheep and goats are scattered all over the swamp. Nobody knows what scared them so bad."

"I know what scared them," Dayn breathed. He could imagine a herd going into a frenzy around the man he saw. "The man I saw scared enough cave crabs out of our well to feed Wia Wells for a week!"

Joam gave a derisive snort. "Oh, so now there were _crabs,_ too?"

"Milchamah wasn't going to hear anything I said, not after seeing my father's staff in the water." They neared the Ro'Halan home, a sturdy dwelling of more white flagstone with wooden slats for roofing. Dayn opened the window to his room just wide enough to toss in his clothes. Joam returned Laman's staff, and the two started down the road to the village. "What does he mean to keep quiet?"

"Joam hesitated. Well...you remember Urlan Ro'Lett's family? His little brother, Yonas?"

"Sure I do. Urlan always looks like he just ate a bad berrycake when he sees me, because I beat him so bad at Sweetwater. Yonas plays with Tela on the tangletoy."

"He said he saw a man made of smoke jump out of their well and run into the woods."

Dayn stopped twirling the silverpine. "You might have mentioned that when your father was all but naming me a liar!" he spluttered.

"I meant to, if you don't remember," Joam replied. "Not that he would listen. You haven't been to Wia Wells yet, you don't understand. The Elders are all frothing at the mouth with worry over the Misthaveners enjoying Evensong. And my father decides what I'm thinking before I do, most times."

"So does mine," Dayn admitted. He started twirling Laman's staff again, but Joam still noticed his hands were shaking again and smirked. "I saw a man, and I felt weak as a hatchling that couldn't peck open its own egg. We need to tell the Elders. I don't know what that man was doing, but he's not here just to go swimming in the well."

"That may be, but keep it quiet, or we'll never see an Evensong here again." Joam pressed on before Dayn could retort. "Peace, I mean it! What do you think the Misthaveners will make of you? If you frighten off capital folk by asking after drowned smoke men, the whole of Wia Wells will never forgive you."

"You're right," Dayn said grudgingly.

A tension left Joam's eyes. "I would believe you brother, but who ever saw such a thing?"

A fresh thought stopped Dayn in his tracks. "I know who might."

"Dayn, wait..." Joam groaned as Dayn veered north, toward their neighbor Grahm's fields. "Come on. We'll get there faster bounding. I'll bet you an ember-eye I can bound higher than you!"

"Fine." Surprisingly, Joam agreed. He might place in Sweetwater every year for the staff, but Dayn could bound circles around him. It was the closest thing to coursing on Shard. Dayn took two gathering steps and leaped powerfully into the air. The ground pulled away beneath him smoothly as he rose three spans high. "Let's see you top that, brother!" he shouted.

Dayn held out his arms to steady himself as he descended, enjoying a cooling breeze that blew from the north. A familiar, rancid odor tickled his nose. _Just like inside the well._ He landed heavily, crashing to the ground in a spray of dirt. Laman's staff flew from his grasp.

"Ha! The courser who cannot land!" Joam hooted, skipping easily back to the ground beside him. Dayn grimaced, his friend had not even broken Grahm's careful furrows.

"Stow it, will you?" Dayn looked his festival clothes in dismay, now filthy with dirt.

"No balance! They'll come for miles to see! Why bother with the journey to Montollos? Dayn Ro'Halan, the great―peace, what is that smell?"

"It's the same as―hey, wait. Where are you going?" Dayn asked in alarm. Joam strode purposefully to the north, further into Grahm's fields. Laman had become fast friends with his offworlder neighbor over the past two seasons. Grahm and Dayn often learned the land side by side from his father, and Dayn knew Grahm's fields just as well as Laman's. Joam was walking straight toward Grahm's well.

Joam called back over his shoulder. "We've got to find out what that is. It smells like...rot. Elder Buril said that's what a gravespinner cave smells like." Mischievous as Joam could be, he still took his farm work as seriously as any good Shardian. "Grahm can barely tell one end of a spade from the other. Peace, the spinners could spread to your land, too!"

"Grahm's learned a lot! Leave off him. Besides...I know it's not gravespinners." Dayn's stomach churned. As much as he did not want Joam ridiculing him, he could not take a step further.

"Then what, Dayn? Are you telling me—"

"Not gravespinners," called a gruff voice. The two jumped as Grahm descended from a bound to land right beside them. "Wreathweaver. You boys lost?"

Grahm was the first offworlder anyone knew of to settle in the Mistlands and take a Shardian wife. Rumor said he had stepped off a transport in Misthaven with nothing but a few possessions from his native world of Cutremur, and asked to be pointed to Wia Wells. He wore plain brown field linens and kept his black hair cut oddly short. It steeped at his temples although he was quite young. Freckles touched his fair skin as though the sun played tag with his face, instead of merely shining upon it.

"Wreathweavers!" Joam blurted. "This far from the Dreadfall, are you sure?"

"Yes, lad, I can tell what one looks like," Grahm said wryly.

Dayn's relief over avoiding the well proved to be short-lived. Tension shone on Grahm's face, his green eyes were bloodshot and held none of their usual warmth. Dayn's heart jumped as he examined the offworlder further. "Why are you all wet?" he asked.

Grahm glanced at him sharply. "I didn't stumble on the snake itself, peace be praised. But from the size of the clutch, I would say it was twelve hands long, at least. Pretty young." Joam gawked and Dayn felt his own jaw drop, too. "I managed to burn out all the eggs. The smell was so bad, I took a dunk in the well to get it off." Grahm offered a dry laugh. It did not reach his eyes, which never left Dayn the whole time he spoke. "Not sure it worked all that great, though."

"That's something. The same as at Southforte." Joam rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but with the threat gone he was already looking back to the road.

"It's not like a wreathweaver to leave its nest," Dayn said. "What do you think scared it away?"

"No worry to me, so long as it's gone." Grahm frowned openly at him now.

"Us, either," Joam interjected with a warning look for Dayn. "We should get going. Happy Evensong, Grahm. Are you headed to the village soon?"

"After I finish up. My wife already left with your mother. Is this festival really as important as they say? I missed it last year."

"Well, more if you aren't married," Dayn said.

"Ah, one of those," Grahm said, noting Joam's eager grin. "A day for hunters. Happy Evensong, boys." Grahm clapped Dayn on the shoulder. The smell emanating from his clothes made Dayn want to retch. "I better go clean up. Can you tell Kajalynn that I'll be there soon?"

"We will," Joam said, practically dragging Dayn away. Once they were out of earshot, he gave Dayn a sideways look. "What was that all about? There's no deadwisps hiding in his well. He would have said so."

"He's hiding something," Dayn said. "Did you see any smoke, or smell it at all this morning? He didn't burn anything out. He saw one of those men, too."

"Maybe it's just one of his offworld cousins here for Evensong?" Joam sighed when Dayn did not smile. "We're not Elders, Dayn, and neither is Grahm. Let them see to it, they'll do what's best."

"I'm still going to talk with them. Yonas, too, and anyone else I can find." They made their way to the road and headed west.

"You are set on making a mess of Evensong, aren't you?" Joam leaped into a bound before Dayn could respond. Back on the road, Joam soon began chattering about the girls he planned to dance with, and which ones would be best to steal a kiss from. Then again, he was the Sweetwater King, wouldn't that mean they all wanted a kiss? Dayn only half listened.

Grahm must be lying, but why? Usually friendly and easygoing, he seemed more like a rope ready to snap under some hidden strain. _Did he see one of the men, too? Is he keeping it quiet because of Evensong?_

Dayn wanted answers so his friend would not think him crazy, or a liar. But most of all to make sure his family was safe. The man in the well was dangerous, that much he knew. Anything that drove the animals into a frenzy did not bode well for the village. Dayn turned for one more look as Grahm's fields fell behind them. The offworlder still stood there, watching the boys bound away toward Wia Wells and Evensong.

# CHAPTER THREE

Evensong

Palpo the merchant mocked the farmer, saying, 'O to be a Shardian prince! To have the dirt kiss my feet, the sheep pay me homage in their pens, and the trees drop fruit in my waiting hand!'

'Quite right,' the farmer agreed, 'A full belly and an aching back is the life for us.'

' _What is this aching you speak of?' the merchant asked._

-from 'Palpo the Merchant Buys the Belt', an Ista Cham children's story

Sounds of merrymaking floated to their ears as the two approached Wia Wells. Dayn could not help but grin, although the morning's events still had him looking around every corner. He shared an excited look with Joam as the road carried them to the Wustl Square. "You didn't mention how fine the village looked."

A simple place of sturdy wooden homes and workshops with thatched roofs, Wia Wells nestled around a square of wine-colored stone. Flowers of red and deep violet framed every doorway, and golden streamers crisscrossed the paths between booths built especially for festival traders.

"They must have saved the best decorations until now," Joam marveled. The shops that enclosed the Wustl Square all sparkled with fresh coats of whitewash. To the east lay Elder Huwes the shoemaker's shop, Sister Layren's bakery, and a new clothier moved from Southforte by marriage who Dayn did not yet know. Brother Opram the smith had departed for the mines last season, so his windows remained dark until an apprentice could be found from a neighboring village. Jairn the gemcutter held a place next to the Elder's repository, where they stored the village histories and taught lessons.

"Do you see any of the Elders?" Dayn asked.

"I'm sure they'll turn up," Joam said absently. "You know there are offworlders, don't you?"

"Offworlders at Evensong!" Dayn exclaimed. He peered at the crowd with renewed interest, missing Joam's sigh of relief. The Dawnbreak Inn crowned the southern side of the Square, a full story higher than all the rest and painted a magnificent blue. Guests stuffed the village's finest building to the thatch, judging from the people streaming through the front door.

"I'm surprised Laman didn't tell you."

A goodwife from Southforte swept toward them and dropped a garland of blue dayroses on each of their necks. She wore a brown dress and a moondrop necklace. More garlands were looped through her arm, white and blue.

"Welcome!" The goodwife's long dreadlocks swayed as she hugged them both. She gave Dayn an appraising look, only to burst into laughter at his blush. "Oh come now, child. My hair has more gray than both of your parents put together."

"Happy Evensong," Dayn said. Gray hair or not, Dayn knew better than to mention her age. Evensong celebrated Shard's women, and one poorly thought remark could be cause for grave offense during the festival. Men did all of the preparations while their wives and sisters took their ease, although the women ended up prodding them until the decorations and such were to their liking. Which was much like every other festival, now that Dayn thought about it.

"Sister, are there really offworlders here?" he asked.

"There most certainly are." Her smile faded as she took in Dayn's clothes, and he found himself blushing all over again. "You can find yourself a nice new shirt, before the dancing starts. And some trousers, like the ones that fit your tall friend here so well."

"I think his mother made those. Right, Joam? Joam?"

Joam ignored the goodwife at his own peril. While he looked eagerly into the bustling crowd, she contented herself with a firm pinch. Joam yelped in surprise as she swayed off, looking for new quarry to adorn with dayroses.

"Not one word from you," Joam warned. He stood there for an embarrassed moment, furiously rubbing his backside.

"Not one word," Dayn agreed, fighting to hold in his amusement. Teasing Joam with the festival barely begun would be bad luck. The night might hold many more such encounters, and Dayn wanted the final laugh. "I think women invent festivals like this just to give men fits. Even the Sweetwater King."

Joam grinned and set his blue garland just right. "Maybe so, but it sure beats wearing white." White dayroses were for the married, or children still more interested in playing on tangletoys than stealing kisses. "See what I mean?"

A group of girls strolled near, casting glances between Joam and Dayn. Joam grinned so fiercely his face threatened to split in two. His first ever blue Evensong garland came just last year at Southforte, while Dayn had received his a year before that at Kohr Springs. Dayn patted his hair in spite of himself.

"Happy Evensong!" Joam called out. "Where are you from?"

The girls stopped short of the Dawnbreak Inn, making halfhearted attempts at indifference as the two approached. Not one wore white. Competition for the most dances and kisses from the maidens was an unspoken Wia Wells tradition, same as Evensong in any other Mistland village.

"Greenshadow," and "Misthaven, of course," were among the replies. Dayn hid his surprise with a thoughtful nod. Word must have spread among distant kin about their village being chosen to host. The northern journey to Greenshadow took three weeks, much further than Misthaven.

"We've only just now arrived," Dayn said, letting a touch of helplessness enter his voice. "My poor friend here wouldn't know maidenvine if it grew in his hair. Do the blossoms have five petals, or six?"

Two of the girls sniffed loudly and whisked into the inn, but the rest still lingered.

"Six," one replied, batting her eyes at Joam.

"And the flowers are violet with blue spots?"

"No, you have it backwards," another answered with a coy smile for Dayn.

"But they must be violet, picked so early." Dayn put on a confused frown. "Can you show me where some are?"

"I would," said another, wearing a flowing green dress that matched her eyes. She stepped closer to Dayn and looked to be a fine dancer. Her hand reached up to his face. "But only if you find a clean shirt!"

She tugged at Dayn's collar, and a puff of dirt shot into the air. Her friends erupted into a fit of giggles, leaving Dayn to stand sheepishly as they vanished into the Dawnbreak.

"You'll find yourself a mayor's daughter if you keep on like that," Joam said in genuine approval. "Now we know who to dance with!"

"We all know who the Sweetwater King is," Dayn said. He was not so addled over the girls as Joam, but still intended to enjoy seeing the new faces. Shardian villages with the best harvest received honors from the Misthaven Trader's Circle on Evensong, and Wia Wells had long been overlooked. "I have to make sure there's a dance or two saved for the rest of us common farmers."

Joam twirled through a staff form as though to remind the entire village of Sweetwater. The King's Circlet, of all things! Only the most brazen fighter would even think of using it. He offered Dayn a magnanimous smile. "I'll do my best."

The offworlder booths beckoned to Dayn. The two began wading into the festival, but a slender girl with a sulky mouth planted herself directly in their path. She wore a blue garland too, but neither of them were glad to see it.

"Happy Evensong, Milede," Dayn said.

Milede Kaynerin wore a scarlet dress, and her twin black braids shone with fresh beeswax. She stood directly beneath a hanging cluster of purple maidenvine, but Dayn would not steal a kiss from the Elder's daughter if she were the last girl on Shard.

She jabbed a finger into Dayn's chest so hard her bracelets clinked together. "You two better not be pestering every girl in sight. We're to show our best manners, especially _you_ , Dayn!" She abruptly stalked off, leaving Dayn and Joam with their mouths hanging open.

"She's just salty over not being the prettiest girl at festival for a change," Joam said with a smirk. "But she's right, you know. The Elders won't be happy if you—"

Dayn shook his head. "Give up on talking me out of it, alright? For all the Elders know, there's a pair of ridgecats sneaking around Southforte. They won't believe a little boy, but they will listen to me at least."

"But the Elders are all—you know, forget it. Do what you want, I'm through helping you see sense."

"Catch me up after you find your kin," Dayn said. "I want to see the offworlders first."

"They probably can't even stand up straight on our ground," Joam said with a grin. "Sit with us at the storytelling. And remember―you owe me an ember-eye, courser!"

"I will," Dayn said, giving him a shove. Joam laughed as he moved away into the throng.

Dayn turned back to the traders, looking for Elders as he went. Several booths displayed the woven baskets, wreathes and furniture fashioned from the endless redbranch surrounding Wia Wells. Southforte traders bellowed over the quality of the goods they made from the tough plants growing in their swamps. Their rope earned a passing glance, but Dayn would never wear clothes so coarse and itchy. Most people agreed, judging from the frustration apparent on the Southforte folk's faces.

Woodworkers from Misthaven curried the most attention. Many a farmer surrounded those booths, bartering vigorously for new staffs of Highland silverpine. Milchamah stood there, but Dayn ducked away before the weaponmaster saw him.

"Dayn Ro'Halan! Tell me that is not you!"

Dayn winced at the displeasure in his mother's voice. He turned to approach her booth reluctantly as a goodwife moved away, clutching a painting of a single homestead perched on a field of tall, golden grain.

"Do you need my help, mother?" Dayn asked.

"No, but it looks like you need mine," Hanalene replied. She wore a flowing blue dress of some crushed fabric Dayn did not recognize, and her dark hair arranged in a multitude of braids. Honey-colored eyes took in Dayn and read his face as readily as one of her palettes. "Sparring with Joam, again? In the festival clothes I set aside for you?"

Dayn gave a sheepish shrug. "No. He thought to best me in bounding."

"You surely set him straight," she observed. She spread her arms expectantly, and Dayn returned her firm hug. Her own smellgoods mixed with the pleasing scent of dawnlily from her white garland. "At least you smell fine enough to give your mother a hug, but you'll do nothing but sit tonight if you still look like this." She picked a piece of stubble from his braids, then called loudly to an adjoining booth. "Ereyl! One of your fine shirts for my son here, and five changes of clothes for my daughter, to a painting of your choice. Do you find the barter fair?"

"Fair and done!" The wizened Southforte trader nearly tripped in his haste to shake Hanalene's hand. He peered at Dayn a moment before rummaging through a chest in his booth. "I've just your size, lad. Come give it a wear."

Dayn dutifully changed into the fresh tunic before returning to Hanalene's booth. The fabric might feel better if it were made of nettles.

"Please, don't ruin this one. And you'll want this before the night is through." Hanalene pressed another packet of smellgoods into his hand. "One more thing. Have you seen Grahm yet today?"

"We talked to him in the fields," Dayn said carefully. He did not want to worry her with Grahm's behavior―or his own strange morning, for that matter. "He said he would be here soon."

"That's good. Kajalynn said..." Hanalene's face clouded briefly, but more villagers approached to look through her paintings.

She favored them with a welcome smile before turning back to Dayn.

"Is everything alright, mother?"

"Just be careful, my son." She arched an eyebrow and her tone became cool and mysterious. "There are hunters about tonight." With a rich chuckle she bustled him off.

Dayn plunged back into the booths. Evensong beckoned, but his mother's words only added to the unease clouding his thoughts. Yet he did feel better with so many people about, instead of just he and Joam on the open road.

Musicians played over in the Speaker's Turn. Flute, lyre, and drums added to the pleasant drone of milling farmers and craftsmen, along with the occasional stuffy Misthavener. They pressed together so tightly Dayn could only shuffle along.

All manner of delights clamored for his senses. The sharp tang of new leather from a clothier's booth competed with the heady aroma of crushed grapes where winemakers from Greenshadow demonstrated their trade. Toddlers squealed in delight as they hopped about the wide crushing vats with purple stained feet, and a long line of youngsters eagerly awaited their turn at the booth.

Dayn rounded a corner and perfumes assaulted his nose, flowers and oils blended just to make a man lose his wits.

Behind a booth spaced further from the rest, smoke billowed. A massive figure moved deftly through it. Dayn nearly leaped out of his skin until he realized it was Blayle the butcher, sweating over his coals.

Dayn chided himself. _I'll fare worse with the Elders than I did with Milchamah if I act this jumpy._ He sidled up to where Blayle expertly tended over a dozen spits full of slow roasting lamb, goat and chicken. The stocky man paused every so often to wipe sweat from his face with the towel he kept draped over a thick shoulder. Blayle did not get to see any of the other traders, but he looked pleased enough, especially when he glanced across the way at the bored looking berrycake makers from Kohr Springs.

"Hello, Brother Blayle. I won't be surprised when ridgecats sneak into Evensong, as good as it smells here." Dayn's mouth watered so freely he thought his cheeks might start to sweat. The butcher took a good look at him, then sliced a liberal chunk from a roasting goat and skewered it. He slathered it with his family's sauce, known throughout the district, and offered the morsel to Dayn.

"Oh, the ridgecats are here," Blayle said, motioning beneath his booth's counter. Dayn held back a laugh. Stuffed beneath some dirty aprons, he spotted the butcher's blue garland. "They just put dresses on over their fur. Good Evensong to you, lad."

"Have they made off with all of the Elders? I haven't seen one all day."

"Buril has them all circled up," Blayle confided. His eyes rested on Laman's staff a moment before he turned back to minding a spit of lamb. "Important stuff, I'm sure. Best not worry about it, we'll see them soon enough."

Dayn thanked him and went his way. _Maybe the Elders already know._ The thought lifted his spirits, but he still wanted to be sure, so he looked for them in earnest as he ate. The savory spices blended perfectly on his skewer, but the flavor was lost on his tongue. He greeted Wia Wells friends, but felt oddly alone, as though he bore some strange affliction. The music and merriment grew steadily in the Wustl Square, but did not warm him.

"Just the lad I wanted to see!" Jairn the gemcutter beckoned to Dayn from his booth. "I could use some new moondrops, if you've brought any."

Dayn groaned. "I forgot my gems!" Trading was the last thing on his mind after this morning. If he saw something that took his fancy, haggling would prove to be a fine chore.

"Ah, pity. Suppose you've been busy, with all that's going on." He looked away, hiding his disappointment. "Well, it's a big night. Go enjoy it."

A tight-lipped smile reappeared under the gemcutter's white mustache as he turned back to two Misthaveners at his booth. The couple eyed a fine emerald pendant, but loudly questioned its quality. Jairn's teeth began to grind louder than his polishing stones as Dayn moved on.

Not five paces away, he spied the offworlder booth and eagerly approached.

Dayn picked up a chunk of gray rock, one of the only items on display. He could see someone stirring in the cart behind the booth. "Peace upon you, offworlder," he called out. "Is this a piece of torrent?"

"Don't touch anything! I'm just getting set up." A balding man with a reddened face and sagging jowls labored into sight and peered at Dayn. Sweat poured down the man's face and stained his shirt, despite the perfect weather. Dayn set the rock back where he found it, somewhat wounded.

"Wait. You Shardians are all so blessed polite." He grinned apologetically. "Name's Flareze, from Ista Cham. First time to your world. I know why you're so friendly. This ground would wear you right down into your graves if you were to fight among each other. How do you stand it? My feet can barely lift my toenails."

"Feels like you're standing up even when you sit down?" Dayn asked, letting the trader's ill manners pass. He remembered how Grahm once complained of the ground.

"Exactly! Say, you look to be local, not jumping over every twitch in the underbrush like the fellows who brought me. Honestly, now. Is it... _safe,_ here? I've heard stories, you see."

"Of course it is," Dayn said. He could imagine the Misthaveners filling this offworlder's head with nonsense. "Why wouldn't it be?

"My...travel companions whisper of a monstrous chasm nearby? They say the land for miles around is cursed, and this whole village might fall into it any day."

"Peace, no," Dayn replied. Misthaven superstition never failed to astound him. "My farm is closest to the Dreadfall, and those cliffs won't budge until the Last Mist rises. Trust me, I've seen―" He snapped his mouth shut. The entire village would take turns skinning Dayn if they discovered how often he explored there. "I mean, I've heard―"

"Heard about this Dreadfall, yes." Flareze gave his nose a knowing tap, smiling at Dayn's slip. "Honest, polite and the worst liars in the Belt. That is peace's own truth. I could do quite well here. That rock is from the torrent, yes. I'll do a special bargain for you."

It was said to count your rings after shaking hands with an Ista Cham trader, and to count your rings _and_ fingers besides if the trader walked away with a smile. Flareze was already smiling. Dayn took a deep breath. "How about this? I'll help you unload the rest of your wares. At the rate you're going, everyone will be asleep before you finish."

A grimace cracked Flareze's grin. "I don't know how this world still turns without money, but we'll make do, you and I. Come." Dayn allowed himself a sigh of relief, then set to lugging four heavy chests with iron locks over from the offworlder's cart. The man's grin slipped even further after Dayn finished the chore. "You didn't even break a sweat."

Dayn shrugged as the man began unlocking the chests. "What's in all of these, more rocks from the torrent?"

"Only a few," Flareze admitted. "That one you held nearly punched a hole in the transport that brought me here, peace's own truth. Those two that glisten, see how they pull at each other?"

To Dayn's astonishment the two fist-sized stones slid next to each other with a _clink_ when the offworlder set them apart. "Only pieces that were once near a worldheart can do that. Common enough, but I figure I'll always find some fool taken enough to—Shardian, don't touch that!"

Dayn's hand froze over the last remaining chest. "I just wanted to help you, like we agreed. This one was heaviest."

"That's because it's lined with lead. There's sickmetal inside. You won't feel anything after a touch, but a week from now a hole will be burned clean through your hand, or worse."

Dayn stepped away and shot the trader an accusing look. "Who would want that? I like things from the torrent, but not if it will make me sick!"

"It wasn't meant for here," Flareze allowed. He gave a conspiratorial wink. "Raiders, lad, from the Eadrinn Gohr. Heard of them, I see. Nothing like you fine folks. A cut from one of their axes will weep blood for weeks. Or they'll hide a pinch in the stew of someone they don't like, or worse yet, make a helm out of the stuff. You can't be around it too long, or it'll drive you mad, see? I couldn't well let it out of my sight with you locals poking around."

"People will leave your things alone," Dayn said, offended. "A thief on Evensong would be the shame of Shard. If that ever happened, you should tell an Elder, so—" A muscle in the Ista Cham man's cheek twitched. _The Elders don't know!_ Dayn stopped with a sudden smile, and stuck his hand out. "Looks like this is all you need?"

"Looks that way." Flareze shook his hand with a rueful grin. "Maybe I won't make out here as well as I thought. Go enjoy your festival, young Shardian."

Dayn moved on, exhaling in relief. _He could've talked me out of all of my gems if given the chance._ A child darted past his knee, leaving behind a trail of staggering adults. He wore a yellow shirt under his white garland. "Yonas?" Dayn pushed after as carefully as he could, filled with sudden doubt. If what Joam said was true, Yonas should be scared out of his wits and sitting somewhere with bandaged feet, not running through Evensong. A dozen more youngsters darted in and out of the crowd, bouncing into hips and knees, laughing as they picked themselves up off the ground.

"Kincatcher, kincatcher, you can't catch me!" They called. "Not one branch on your family tree!"

A goodwife with a motherly face made an attempt to stop the game. "You children know to stay on the tangletoys. Now!" Her voice did not sound motherly at all.

Dayn stopped near a blacksmith from Kohr Springs who took down farmers' orders for tools and repairs. Yonas would reappear soon enough, and then Dayn could ask his questions.

"Got you!" The goodwife emerged from the throng with the kincatcher himself, a boy Dayn did not recognize with a breathtakingly large head. The boy dangled precariously by an earlobe as she marched him on tip toes out of the booths, then firmly deposited him in the grass near the tangletoys. He rubbed his reddened ear vigorously.

Dayn grinned. A new kincatcher, this time a Kohr Springs girl with brown hair and feet that blurred beneath her blue dress, now ran through the booths. Every child she touched would be added to her 'family' until none were left but one. The last to be caught would chant the words to start a new family and they would all scatter again. The game had no end.

"Peace, if I'm not doing an awful lot of work the night of Evensong!" The goodwife said loudly. Several farmers dropped away from the blacksmith to help her.

"You would think a child could play at a festival of all places," one muttered. The first boy had already disappeared from where he sat. Dayn soon spotted a large head bobbing through the crowd in a noble attempt to be stealthy.

Dayn pointed him out to the farmer. "There should be an easy catch."

The farmer laughed. "Don't know why I'm dickering with this blacksmith for a grindstone, with a melon like that on hand. Say, you're Laman's boy, aren't you?" Dayn nodded. "Thought so. Fine work, lad! You'll make us proud."

The Southforte man went off after the boy before Dayn could ask what he meant. A flash of yellow slipped past his knees and Dayn lunged after it before Yonas escaped him again.

"Watch yourself, you big oaf!"

The man Dayn just bumped into straightened himself. The angular cut of his clothes and odd, short-trimmed hair marked him as a Misthavener. A conical cap lay on the ground, and Dayn snatched it up before any passersby could crush it.

"My apologies...Elder," Dayn added the honorific when the man's eyes narrowed. "I will be more careful."

"See that you do," the man snapped, his beady eyes glittering with anger. He snatched the cap away before Dayn could return it, and stomped off. "This Fall-cursed, fly speck village is bad enough without clod-footed farmers and their downcountry manners to deal with!"

Dayn's face burned. Several Wia Wells onlookers―none of them Elders, thankfully―watched the exchange in silence. They lanced him with warning looks before returning to their merriment.

Dayn spotted more Wia Wells boys gathered in the Speaker's Turn, an amphitheater of grass and wooden benches. They stood near the stage full of musicians, who were resting and scarfing down food. Judging from the sweat darkening the offworld trader's shirt, it would be a while yet before he finished unloading. Dayn skirted around the grass where gleeful children swarmed over tangletoys to join his friends.

"Ro'Halan! Just who I wanted to see. Nice shirt." Esane Ro'Thelen's round face seemed built with a permanent grin. Of all the boys their age, he might be the only one who pulled more pranks than Dayn and Joam. Esane made brief introductions for the boys Dayn did not know, some friendly Southforte folk and a few aloof Misthaveners.

"Good Evensong," Dayn said to all. The boys returned to clamoring over who would kiss who, and guessing at the best dancers among the girls. Dayn eyed the musicians tuning while they ate, and felt an itch in his feet. "I'm sure looking forward to some dancing."

"I hope they can carry a tune, or this will be the worst Evensong ever," one of the Misthaven boys said, sneering openly at the platform.

"Thade, you don't mean that," Esane said with a grimace, offering apologetic looks to the group. Several of the boys frowned over the comment, but continued in their debate.

"Who is this lout to you?" Dayn murmured to Esane.

"My cousin Thade from Misthaven," he whispered back. "My mother is making me show him around the village."

"You better show him some manners while you're at it. That talk will earn him a beating."

"I know! What should I do?"

Thade had light brown eyes and what Dayn presumed to be good looks, aside from a pair of unfortunately large ears. Too dull to notice the dangerous silence of the Wia Wells boys around him, the Misthavener continued to question the musicians' skill. Esane looked on, mortified that his charge stood an insult away from a well-deserved flogging.

"We could have brought drummers from Misthaven, at least," Thade was saying. "The girls will be asleep by the third song."

Dayn clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder and used Laman's staff to gesture toward the crowd. "Don't you worry about that. The Mistland girls get tired of the same boring farmers." The Wia Wells and Southforte boys' faces shone with pure affront. "Besides, you haven't really danced until you've taken a Wia Wells maiden around the Turn."

"Really?" Thade asked doubtfully.

"Really. I know just the one, too. She was standing under maidenvine when I first arrived, but I didn't even bother to ask for a kiss. Been going on about you Misthaveners all week."

Several barely suppressed guffaws bubbled from the group as Laman's staff singled out none other than Milede, swishing her skirts through the booths. Thade rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Esane feigned a cough to hide his laugh.

"Maybe this won't be so bad after all," Thade allowed. The Wia Wells boys whooped loudly for the Misthavener as he hurried off after her.

"And I thought Joam was the better prankster of you two," Esane marveled.

"Evensong is no place for fighting," Dayn replied. "I'll help make the village look as good as anyone else. What did you want to see me for?"

The other boys circled close as Esane lowered his voice to avoid the musicians' ears. "Some of these tenderfeet want to go _explore_ tonight." A dozen expectant eyes swung to Dayn, lit with excitement. Dayn quickly glanced at the platform. The musicians were engaged in hot debate over the order of the songs, paying the boys no mind.

"He said you know the wilds best," one of the Misthaven boys urged. "Take us to the Dreadfall, Mistlander."

"I'd rather dance than spend the night getting scratched up in redbranch," Dayn said. He needed to stop Esane from doing something foolish once night fell. "Could be muddy, too. The Elders think the mist will come early this year." Esane gave Dayn a questioning frown.

"But we might never get another chance," one of the Southforte boys whispered. "They say the deadwisps steal away from guarding the heartrock to weep at the midnight sun. Their songs will drive you mad if you listen too long."

Dayn opened his mouth then closed it again with a frown. He could not tell the boy about his foolishness without giving away his own forbidden knowledge.

"They sing about all the worlds lost to the torrent. If they see you with a torch, they'll chase you until dawn!" "Not if you get rid of the clothes you wore there," a Misthaven boy corrected. At Dayn's astonished look, he added, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "So they won't recognize you."

"They'll steal your eyes and hide them in Shard's heartrock. If you go looking for them, they'll cast you down the cliffs."

"You'll fall forever." They all nodded fervently on that point and shivered. "To the other side and back again until the Last Mist rises."

Dayn could scarcely believe his ears. "But how can you look for your eyes, if they've already―" He cut off at a jab from Esane's elbow.

"Sorry, Dayn. I think that flute player is eavesdropping."

Esane must have been pumping these ridiculous stories into their heads for _years._ Dayn could already imagine him tomorrow, chortling about the Misthaveners he tricked into running naked through redbranch in the dark. The other Wia Wells boys' eyes twinkled mischievously, too.

_So they're all in on the prank,_ Dayn thought. _I would be too, if it were any other night. But with that man I saw...peace, maybe he was a deadwisp!_

A doubtful looking Southforte boy, younger than the rest piped up. "We probably couldn't get close enough to spit in the Dreadfall. Some wreathweaver or gravespinner would make a feast of us all, first. If you need an idea of their handiwork, look right there."

Easing himself onto a blanket near the back of the Speaker's Turn, old Nerlin sat in his usual place, muttering to himself as he always did. Furrows creased his weathered brow as he brushed absently at his threadbare feastday clothes. His row always filled last whenever people gathered for stories or open council. Most occasions, it would not fill at all. Nerlin sat stiffly and avoided looking in their direction. Hesitant mutters and doubtful frowns rippled through the group.

"Leave over." Dayn gave the boy a hard look, even though his words may have discouraged Esane's foolish outing. The Misthavener stares bordered on open jeering. They gawked not at Nerlin, but his foot. Or rather, where his foot had once been. "He's done nothing to you, and that came from no wreathweaver."

"What happened then, Mistlander?" One of the Misthaven boys asked. "Caught in a gravespinner's web?"

"If you must know, go ask him yourself."

The Wia Wells boys all echoed their agreement, suddenly remembering themselves. No matter what they disliked about each other, Mistlanders always banded together around outsiders. Especially capital folk. The withered old farmer glanced up so quickly Dayn nearly missed it. A grateful look.

Esane suddenly gave a low, appreciative whistle. "Peace, what I wouldn't give for some maidenvine right now." One of the girls from the Dawnbreak Inn before glided toward them. Nerlin―and the Dreadfall, peace be praised―were instantly forgotten. Dayn swallowed in spite of himself, and unconsciously patted his braids.

"My cousin, Falena." A Misthaven boy stammered through introductions. He clearly did not bother to remember their names. Dayn could not fault him too much, for he did not recall the Misthavener's name, either.

"Falena Ankehl, from Misthaven," she added the last pointedly, looking them all over. Esane, and the rest grinned foolishly, tripping over each other to offer her hugs, but Dayn felt ready to gag over the next Misthavener to announce her city.

"Happy Evensong, sister," he said stiffly. He would ask Milede to dance himself before fawning over any of these haughty strangers.

"Such poor manners, Brel! Forgive my cousin. Happy Evensong," Falena peered up at Dayn expectantly through long eyelashes. Dayn took the hint and hugged her reluctantly. Refusing one would be considered a serious insult. Her fingertips teased his back, making the hairs on his neck stand up.

"What was your name?"

"Dayn Ro'Halan." He could not resist adding, "From Wia Wells, closest village to the Dreadfall."

The Wia Wells boys groaned audibly. Falena's expression faltered, but she recovered smoothly, glancing at the platform for a moment. Singers from Kohr Springs and Southforte now rehearsed with the musicians. A Southforte lute player stared at Falena, and she favored him with a dazzling smile. He yelped an oath when one of his strings snapped.

"Ro'Halan...that name sounds familiar. Your father sits on the Trade Circle, doesn't he?" The village boys' heads bobbed eagerly before Dayn even opened his mouth. They were positively moonstruck over this maiden. "I thought so. He is highly spoken of in Misthaven, Laman is. Even though he's..." She coughed delicately into her hand.

_Even though he's from Wia Wells,_ Dayn finished silently. He suddenly did not care to dance with this Falena at all.

"I suppose he'll be mayor here one day," she continued, playfully twirling her blue garland.

"Our Village Council serves well enough," Dayn said flatly. Several of the boys gave firm nods before catching themselves. Falena affected not to notice them eavesdropping, and Dayn did not care.

"So there's more to you than farming. And I hear you're not in love with wielding the staff like that beanpole Misthavener pestering all of my friends for kisses," Falena said. "Can I sit with you for the storytelling?"

"Everyone, please join us," Elder Buril's resonant voice boomed from the platform of the Speaker's Turn, forestalling Dayn's answer. The Turn immediately began to fill.

Dayn spotted his neighbor Grahm sitting next to his wife, and all of his former worry came rushing back. Kajalynn held one of their triplets and minded two more swaddled in their blankets, concern lining her face. Grahm stared forward with hollow eyes, not responding to her whispers. Dayn could not be more certain his neighbor saw the same thing he did this morning.

Joam waved to Dayn from a bench further off, where he sat with his parents and brothers. He motioned coyly to an empty space nearby as if to say, _there's room for her, too._ Even old Nerlin's row quickly filled. The remaining boys broke away to find more blue garlands to sit near.

"Hello, son."

Dayn started at Laman's voice behind him. His parents had appeared beside Elder Buril, standing in front of the musicians. A sharp tremor of worry snaked through Dayn's chest. "You and your friend may want to sit down," Hanalene said, her eyes twinkling.

"The storytelling is nearly upon us," Elder Buril intoned. A broad-chested man with regal, gray dreadlocks, his resonant baritone made for a booming laugh, and served equally well in bending the Village Council to his wishes. Falena led Dayn to an open space on a nearby bench. A few stragglers hurried over from the booths.

Elder Buril's dark eyes shone proudly as he looked over the expectant faces. "Many of you have journeyed far to celebrate Evensong with us. Wia Wells is honored to host Misthaven this season. There's one small matter to attend before the storytelling.

"The Trade Circle selects worthy apprentices every season, as you all know. This Applicant is chosen to learn the proper running of a village, and how the harvest will best serve the World Belt. Shard's Pledge has flourished under this tradition of guidance for centuries, and will continue to do so for as long as the mist rises."

A murmur of approval ran through the onlookers. Dayn's parents stood quietly as Elder Buril's voice carried easily over the growing rumble of anticipation from the crowd. Dayn felt an odd twinge in the pit of his stomach.

"For the first time in two generations, one of our own is selected as an Applicant. This lad will apprentice with our good neighbors down the road, in Southforte, as well as in Greenshadow, Kohr Springs, and Misthaven."

_Anyone but me._ Dayn swallowed nervously as he felt dozens of farmers lock their eyes on him. A pleased sound escaped Falena's throat, and she held to Dayn's arm with a self-satisfied curl to her lips. _Please, no._

"The choice for this season's Applicant is Dayn Ro'Halan!"

The Turn burst into cheers. Local folks pointed out Dayn to the travelers, who eyed him appraisingly. Laman beamed with pride as he shook Elder Buril's hand, and Hanalene waved excitedly to Dayn. He managed a feeble wave back, not daring to stand. _Peace, my legs feel like jelly. How long have they known?_

Milede stood off by herself, staring at him crossly. _So this is why she snapped at me before,_ Dayn thought. She wanted to sit on the Village Council one day just like Elder Kaynerin, though her father had never been an Applicant.

The Mistland farmers sitting nearby congratulated Dayn, slapping him on the back.

"Do Wia Wells proud, lad!"

"I will," Dayn said numbly.

"We expect nothing less!"

Falena brushed closer to him, murmuring her regards. "I shall enjoy dancing with you." Dayn could almost believe the people were cheering her, from the look on her face.

"You'll do a fine job, lad," Elder Buril beamed. Hanalene and Laman waved once more before stepping toward the back of the platform. The musicians congratulated them as though they had just won Sweetwater. Dayn's heart sank to see the joy on their faces. "Now please, everyone, find your seats―the telling will begin soon!"

Joam trotted over, a pained look on his face. "Happy Evensong, sister," he said with a deep bow for Falena. "Mind if I borrow my brother for just a moment?"

She nodded. They moved off to stand away from the Speaker's Turn, and stood in silence on the grass.

_Just remember, I gave you a chance._ Those were Joam's words from this morning. Dayn looked back into the Turn. Milchamah held his eye for a moment, then shrugged before turning back to Joam's older brothers. Elder Buril still conferred with the musicians from the platform, but watched Dayn and Joam out of the corner of his eye. Dayn's heart sagged as the revelation struck home. His father's awkward talk this morning, followed by Milchamah's untimely visit.

"The whole of Wia Wells was betting on which you would choose," Joam finally said. "The staff or the fields."

"Peace, but I didn't want to fight," he mumbled. "How was I to know about this?"

"You weren't. Laman wanted you to choose for yourself. My father said if you found out you were to be Applicant from _anyone,_ he would make _me_ whittle down every staff I have, and I could forget about sparring, let alone Montollos. I would have told you, but I was so sure you would choose the staff."

"You know that's not what I want."

Sympathy shone plainly on Joam's face. "Peace, I know. But now you'll be tied to a farm for as long as the mist rises. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"I don't see how. We won't see each other the whole summer."

Joam shook his head sadly. "Dust and bones, you're right. Listen, everyone is starting to stare. Let's just sit down, alright? Come on."

Dayn put on a cheerful air for the farmers' sake as he dragged himself back to the Turn. He could never refuse the Trade Circle's decision, not without shaming his family and the village. He could see that now, in the excited clamor of the gathered farmers who had taught him all he knew, the way their eyes flashed with pride when they rested on him. His coursing dreams stood as much chance as a wingless bird in a gravespinner's web.

They returned to where Falena awaited. The Southforte folk sitting nearby offered their congratulations, and complimented Dayn on his shirt. Conveniently enough, the bench held only enough room for Dayn.

"Well, I'll go sit with my family then," Joam said awkwardly. Falena offered her apologies along with another ravishing smile, but Dayn knew better. She acted all honey and cream and charm with him, but any girl wreathed in blue who looked Dayn's way received a frosty stare.

"Wait, Joam." Dayn caught his arm. "You really mean it, that you'll make it up to me?"

Joam's word meant everything to him, same as any self-respecting Shardian. "Peace take my breath if it's not true!"

"Then come over tomorrow, when your chores are done. Tell Milchamah you'll spend the night. I'll need you then, just this once."

Joam searched Dayn's face, then nodded uncertainly before returning to his kin. "This isn't about...the well, right?"

"No, nothing like that. I'll explain everything tomorrow."

"I'll be there."

"Tomorrow," Dayn whispered for himself. Falena cooed inquiringly beside him but he ignored her, pretending to set his attention on Elder Buril. The crowd listened in rapt attention as the storytelling began. Dayn knew what must be done, for any hope of coursing. But he needed to hear himself say the words. "Tomorrow night I'll go to the Dreadfall."

# CHAPTER FOUR

The Midnight Sun

The world beneath my feet is not the world my fathers knew,

my Belt's glory is their sorrow and their tears are mine, anew.

My studies are fraught with grief. I long to be blind and dumb.

For I have learned the truth of the Breach, I have seen the midnight sun.

-last known work of Lakhil Grabin, Shardian poet believed to have thrown himself in the Dreadfall

So let me get this straight." Joam's voice echoed through the surrounding rock formations that heaved into the night, weathered and arthritic. "You didn't steal one kiss from her? Not one?"

"Not one," Dayn replied patiently, surely for the tenth time. He razored his way along the painfully narrow trail. His coursing gear hung between them, dangling on the bundle of poles and the two old sparring staffs held upon their shoulders. Stones dislodged by their feet clattered down slopes fit to splinter limbs.

"Well, why not?" Joam persisted, struggling to keep his voice light. "She was the finest maiden wearing blue, and had eyes for no one else."

"She danced about as fine as a sick goat," Dayn muttered. He welcomed Joam's chatter, it kept him from squinting after imagined stirrings along the path. _He feels it too,_ Dayn thought. _Something is wrong with the night._ Their lantern light faltered before the shadows, which stalked around them like hungry ridgecats.

"Can't say I noticed."

"I should have worn a white garland. She was so busy making sure everyone saw us together, we nearly tripped three times."

"More reason for a kiss," Joam swept his lantern about in sputtering, fitful arcs, as he balanced the poles on his shoulder." Who else passes by so much good fortune, all in the same day? There's something wrong with you."

"Good fortune? Every Elder on the Village Council means for me to become a mayor, the way they act over this Applicant business. Our grandparents would howl in their graves."

"Not with one look at that beauty by your side. You know it's exactly what everyone wants, a fresh union between Wia Wells and Misthaven."

Dayn grunted. "I'm sure Falena would agree."

"A plumb fool would agree."

Dayn offered no reply. Joam fell silent as the trail switchbacked sharply upward to the right, passing through outcrops that looked like broken potshards from some giant's workshop. After an hour of plodding through the dark, they were finally nearing the Dreadfall.

"Peace, but I want my bed," Joam groaned. "Did we really need to do this tonight?"

"Applicant training begins with First Mist, so my father gave me all freedays until then. I won't have a minute alone after that."

"So you'll practice coursing every day until then," Joam said thoughtfully. "I'd do the same thing if it were a lost summer of staff work. I hope the mist is late in rising for you."

"I do, too. Joam...thank you for this," Dayn blurted out. A hopeless feeling that greater forces would forever shape his dreams had finally started to lift, like a loaded wagon rolling off of his chest. "I couldn't do it myself."

"You better make good as a courser, or I'll have you working my land until we're both gray-haired." Joam chuckled.

"You better hope I do course, for your sake!" Dayn said with a snort. "If the Elders stay worked up over this Attendant business, I'll end up as some high and mighty councilor. Like a mayor for all of Shard."

Joam snickered. "Well you never dream small, I'll give you that. We'll find you a big purple cape, like a Montollos Regent."

"The first thing I'll do is banish you to a world with the worst soil in the Belt, for all the lip you'll give me. I'll send Falena, too, to dance with you."

"Just keep my rows plowed straight, Grand Councilor." Their laughter echoed in the ravine below.

Dayn stretched his lantern out to see ahead. The rock formations here towered over them, contorted spires or jumbled piles that rested in the merciful peace of collapse. Most disturbing of all were the caves. They perforated every surface the two shuffled past, refusing to allow his lantern's light inside. The smaller openings worried Dayn most, they were likely places for wreathweaver dens.

"Sand and ash, but this place makes my skin crawl," Joam muttered. "I'm glad we're not carrying this junk back with us. How much farther now?"

"Just a hundred spans from the top of this ridge."

The sloping trail abruptly ended on a windswept plateau that reminded Dayn of a raised scar. Life of a sort festered within the Fall's steep cliffs, but not even hardy redbranch grew on this barren ground.

They stopped fifty spans shy of the edge to rest. Dayn wiped sweat from his face, and Joam took a grateful swig from their waterskin, casting furtive glances ahead.

"So what are we supposed to do with these?" Joam motioned to the four poles they brought, fashioned from the straightest redbranch limbs Dayn could find. Three spans long and thicker than a man's leg, they could each bear Dayn's weight without bending.

"We'll wedge them into the cliff face, so they stick out like a bird's perch. I'll use them to practice my flips. Climbing down will be the hardest part."

"Fair enough. Is the path worse than that goat trail you found to get us here?" Joam asked.

Dayn gave him a level look. "There are no paths into the Dreadfall, Joam. It's all straight down. I'll show you what to do. It's easy."

"If you say so," Joam said, peering at the poles doubtfully. Dayn could tell he would need prodding to do the actual work. "What does a courser need to flip for, anyway? I thought you just roped a boulder and let it pull you through the torrent."

"That's true, but think of it more like swimming in the Silk River," Dayn said. "Only the current is rock instead of water. You need to flip your way through it or be crushed. Every story I've read says so. I may have no torrent, but here I'll be free to swing around just like I was born in it."

"You were born in it," said Joam, full of mock sympathy. "Your parents never had the heart to tell you the truth. One day you just dropped right out of the sky..."

Dayn cuffed him on the shoulder. "Would you stop? We're wasting light."

"Don't be a glumtongue. These lanterns will last hours yet."

"I wasn't talking about the lanterns. We'll need those for the walk back."

"Then what did you mean?"

"Never mind. I need to show you how everything works." Dayn spilled out the contents of their pack, hoping to distract Joam from the unanswered question. It would be better to look over the tools here instead of right next to the edge. The growing doubt on his friend's face worried him.

"I got this at last year's harvest," Dayn said. The Misthaven trader likely thought to sell the frayed wingline as a curiosity from beyond Shard, never guessing Dayn intended to use it. The finely braided fiber glinted silver in the lantern light. Dayn pulled on a span with all of his strength. The wingline stretched reluctantly, then snapped back to its original length once he relaxed. The pack held normal rope, too, but wingline was fifty times stronger.

He passed the entire coil to Joam, who gave it a thoughtful tug. "So thin. Like gravespinner silk."

Next Dayn held up one of the talons, a courser's grappling hook. "This is what you use to catch a rock that will pull you through the torrent," he explained.

"Without getting flattened by a boulder along the way. Did you manage to trade for a Defender's suit of armor, too?"

In response, Dayn opened a small wooden cask. Joam gave a surprised grunt of recognition at the clear, pasty substance within. "By the mist, how did you get this?"

"Last year at the Sealing," Dayn said. "I saw two Misthaven kids chase a rat down with slingshots. They hit it at least ten times and it still got away. They showed me the alley where they first saw it. I found a harvest barrel there that wasn't sealed, and figured the rat got inside."

For the Festival of Sealing, special barrels were used to store the World Belt's portion of the harvest. Preceptors, men of great wisdom from the Ring, used a coating to seal the barrels and preserve crops for transport between worlds. Rumor said a sealed harvest would keep for decades.

"You think this goop will save you in case you swing face first into the cliff?"

"I do. Put it on like this."

"Nasty." Joam wrinkled his nose, backing away before Dayn could explain. "You aren't going to smear that on―hey!" Dayn spread a handful of the sealer on Joam's arm just below the shoulder. He barely held back a laugh as Joam's eyebrows climbed his forehead in disbelief. The mixture _did_ smell rather foul.

Before Joam could wipe the sealer away, Dayn swung his staff in a ferocious, bone-snapping strike that cracked against Joam's arm. Blinding light flashed from the blow, and Joam went sprawling.

He scrambled to his feet with a roar. "You have some nerve! I'm going to..." He stopped short, clutching his arm in wonder. "Hey it...it doesn't even hurt."

"It'll keep us from breaking anything. I'll bet this stuff could stop a much stronger strike. Maybe even turn steel."

"Maybe. You know, I've heard old Nerlin say if you ever fell down the cliffs, you'll starve to death before you hit bottom." Joam glanced toward the Dreadfall's edge with a look like he had just swallowed a handful of rotten fervorberries. "Why won't we need the lanterns? You never said before."

"Come and see." Dayn meant to ease Joam's nerves by showing him the tools, but he could do nothing more. Together they approached the edge.

"Where's the other side? And the bottom..." Joam's eyes slid downward, and widened further than Dayn thought possible. A whimper escaped his throat.

Jagged, crumbling cliffs curled out of sight to the north and south, joining together over ten leagues away to the east. The Dreadfall stretched countless leagues deeper into Shard's heartrock, a refuge of purest shadow.

Dayn shuddered in spite of himself even though he had stood in this very spot dozens of times. Sometimes he imagined he felt the ground here cracking underfoot. The Dreadfall seemed to fester, a wound that expanded slowly as seasons and shadows and burrowing things vainly tried to lick it clean.

"Dayn, what is that?" Joam's voice came too calmly, as though he struggled not to squeak. A pinpoint of light flickered to life deep within the Dreadfall, shining mournfully like the last star in a graven sky. Fear shone in Joam's eyes as he stared into the depths of the Dreadfall, watching the light grow steadily brighter.

"That's the only thing right about the stories," Dayn said. He took a deep breath. "There is no bottom. That light is the midnight sun."

"Peace," Joam said faintly. He recognized the familiar light, seeing the sun below with new eyes, guttering like a candle at the bottom of a mine shaft. He stared at Dayn with a stranger's gaze, then backed away from the cliff edge on leaden feet, mumbling to himself. "I never thought...there's a hole in our world. There's a hole in Shard, and you want to play courser in it!"

Joam grabbed the nearest lantern and his staff, then turned wordlessly back to the trail leading west.

"Wait...don't leave!" Dayn called out in alarm, hurrying after him. Joam rounded suddenly and shook his staff so forcefully that Dayn stopped in his tracks.

"This is mad!" Joam cried. The lantern cast jagged shadows on his face. His eyes burned with fear. "We could...we could really fall."

"We won't," Dayn insisted. "There's a ledge just beneath the cliff where we'll hang the poles. You'll be able to see it when the sun is...brighter. I brought enough rope, I promise you that―"

"No." Joam looked at the ground, then back west.

Dayn felt paralyzed. "Do you want me to beg on my knees? I'll do all your chores for the summer―for two summers!"

"No, Dayn. I'll see if my father can get you in sparring camp, somehow. I promise. I know you ache for this, brother." The pity in Joam's voice stung. "But coursing will never get you to Montollos."

"I just need a few hours―don't _leave,_ Joam!" Dayn pleaded. He hated how desperate the words sounded. Joam started walking again. "Peace, we're so close. There's nothing to fear so long as we're careful. Besides, you barely know the way back!"

"I'm doing you a favor," Joam said roughly. He easily found their trailhead, to Dayn's dismay. "I'll wait for you back at your farm. Forget coursing, Dayn. We are Shardian. Peace, you're an _Applicant,_ now! You're better off throwing all of that junk right into the Dreadfall."

Joam set off down the slope, and the light from his lantern soon succumbed to the shadows. "That's why there won't be any Ro'Gems in the stories!" Dayn shouted. Empty silence answered. He moped back to his gear, slicing his staff through the air in frustration. "Should have readied him, instead of talking about that Misthaven girl the whole way," he muttered.

Dayn returned to the Dreadfall edge, leaning on his staff while he contemplated what to do next. His gear and the cumbersome poles were here, at least. He could still build his training perches, it would just take more than a night without Joam's help.

"I will be a courser. I will go to the Cycle," Dayn said to himself. The words did little to strengthen him, but he repeated them anyway. "I will be a courser. I―"

The Dreadfall shimmered, interrupting Dayn's litany. He looked expectantly to the cliffs. A burst of light blazed from the depths, unmasking the distant walls of the far rim and bathing the rock in yellow, orange and gold. The column of light marched skyward, escorted by a rising wind that tugged at Dayn's clothes. Flashes far overhead, like a flock of ravens caught on fire, marked where the sun illuminated the ever-moving torrent. Dayn marveled at the beauty of the sight.

He shook himself from his reverie and set to his task, newly encouraged. He needed every precious second granted by the false daylight.

Dayn donned his leather harness, inhaling deeply to make sure the straps around his waist and shoulders did not hinder his breathing. He knotted his plain rope through a stake already hammered into the ground on his last trip, then secured the opposite end to the ring on his harness. Next he carefully spread a coating of the pungent seal on his forearms, and after a moment's thought, on his shins, boots and chest. He stopped after spreading some on his forehead, though, before he gagged over the smell. The stuff stifled the wind's coolness as it seeped into his clothes and tingled against his skin. Small bursts of light shone briefly as the seal settled in, which he took for a good sign.

He decided to doff his lucky red cloak, and tied it to the stake, it would only get in his way if the wind picked up. The cloak whipped about in the upward breeze as if to agree. Lastly, he lashed two of the redbranch poles to his back, along with his staff and the mattock Joam had filched for him.

"Montollos, here I come," he whispered. Holding the rope at his chest and waist in either hand, Dayn slowly rappelled over the edge and into the waiting maw of the Dreadfall.

The added weight strapped to his back made it hard to let out his rope. The upward light showed footfalls and handholds just as if the sun stood overhead, which felt quite strange. Redbeak swallows chirped and swooped around him, plucking insects from the night air for their young. Dayn picked his way gingerly through their nests. The birdsong is what led him to explore this area of the cliffs in the first place. It would be poor thanks to crush them.

A quarter-mile section of cliff had split away here, leaving behind a uniform gap twenty spans wide, and perhaps thirty spans straight down. Deep cracks riddled the stone, making it perfect for the swallow nests―and an ideal purchase for wedging his poles. This natural alcove ensured a single mistake would not result in a death drop, and there were plenty of handholds for climbing should anything happen to his rope.

Dayn halted his descent next to the spot he had marked in white chalk several weeks ago. He cinched off his rope with a quick knot. After a few moments of awkward grasping, he jammed his first redbranch pole into a split in the rock. He braced his feet against the cliffside for leverage, and then began to wedge the pole in place with his mattock. Swallows fluttered away from hidden perches as his strikes echoed.

Dayn tested his handiwork, hanging from the pole with his full weight. It held him without so much as a creak. He let go and swung away gently, allowing the rope to assume his weight once more. He could not help but grin over his progress.

It took even less time than he expected. _I should have brought more down._ He dealt the completed pole one last victorious whack. The second pole, along with Dayn's sparring staff, tumbled free of their binding on his back.

"Oh, _blind me."_

He groaned in dismay as they clattered to the ledge ten spans below. Sunlight still shone from the other side of the Dreadfall, perhaps an hour left. There was time to hammer another pole into the cliff side, but not if he wanted to get that staff back.

Strapping the mattock to his back―securely, this time―Dayn descended, losing himself in the rhythm of push and catch as he rappelled down the cliff.

Despite his blunder, he felt exhilarated. These new perches would allow him to practice leaping and roping at the same time, something he could never do on the ground above. Honing this skill brought him a big step closer to coursing. Soon enough, his feet touched mossy rock. This marked the deepest he had explored yet.

"Hello!" he called. The space swallowed his echo. He shouted louder, insistent that the cliffs acknowledge his presence. "Dayn Ro'Halan, the greatest courser in the World Belt!"

As Dayn retrieved his staff, a sudden flash caught his eye, near the ground beyond his fallen pole. He picked his way over to investigate. This looked a poor place to find gems, but anything Dayn found would be a welcome prize after Joam's flight.

The ground began to squelch sickeningly under his feet. Dayn gagged at the sudden, pungent odor in his nostrils. He looked up. The swallow nests were directly above him, bird droppings and dead, fallen nestlings covered the ground. The flash pulled Dayn's eye again, it was coming from a triangle-shaped recess deeper in the cliff. Dampness slicked everything near the opening. He heard a steady dripping beyond the rock.

Something odd tugged at Dayn's gut, a sense of wrongness about this place. Sunlight did not penetrate the recess at all, which made the light emanating from it even more curious. The opening reeked of offal, and Dayn refused to crawl inside, so he held his breath and reached. Slick beetles and the creeping things feeding upon them scurried from his hand. His stomach heaved in protest. Dozens of bulbous mushrooms brushed his grasp, forming an odd cradle around the object he could barely make out. Dayn's hand closed around a smooth, cool surface and he pulled it from the grime in triumph.

He held a strange little orb that fit easily in his palm. Dayn had never seen anything quite like it before. It appeared to be a perfect sphere, despite the feathers and insect shells caked upon it. In the few spots where Dayn could actually see the surface the orb shone with a mysterious red glow. He turned away from the cave to better examine his find in the upward sunlight. Joam's abandonment did not sting so badly now.

"This is better than all of my gems put together. Wait until I show Joam!" Dayn laughed, turning the orb about in his grime-covered fist. It glowed stronger for a moment, close to the dangerous crimson of dewshade berries. He did not hear the stirring behind him in the shadowed recess.

Pain tore into his shoulder, sudden and sharp. Dayn screamed, flailing wildly with his staff. He staggered for balance, but agony forced him to his knees. A sinuous shape unraveled lazily from the opening. Dayn's eyes followed the variegated black scales and bone ridges stretching over powerful coils of muscle. A blunt, wedge-shaped head fastened to his shoulder, full of the teeth that were buried in his flesh. A wreathweaver.

He thrust his staff at the closest eye and missed. His shoulder caught fire with the movement. The wreathweaver's jaws did not budge as it rippled from the recess. It moved laboriously, and looked as long as his house.

Warm blood mixed with the cool dampness on his shirt. Dayn fought panic. He whipped his staff around for another awkward thrust and missed again. A threatening hiss sounded, and the monstrous snake flared its claw-like hood.

Dayn screamed in pain as the bony protrusions dug into his skin, gripping him in place. The wreathweaver shook him like a child's caperdoll. Dayn kept hold of his staff, but the curious orb dropped into the swallow boneyard.

The wreathweaver coiled around Dayn's torso, securing the meal that had skipped into its den. If he did not escape now, his bones would join the doomed fliers at his feet.

Positioning its jaws to swallow him head first, the wreathweaver loosened its hold for the briefest instant. Dayn twisted his body away, ignoring the teeth rending his shoulder. For one sickening moment, the Dreadfall depths filled his entire field of vision.

He tumbled off the ledge. The creature uncoiled fluidly, refusing to completely release Dayn's shoulder, but too weak to pull him up. The leather harness sawed roughly into his chest as his rope snapped taut. He slammed back into the cliff face, crying out as his body sank into the wreathweaver's upper jaw. The creature released him and, retreated back to the ledge above. Dayn's gambit worked, he was free.

The wreathweaver slithered back and forth, its bony hood flared open like the leaves of a flysnare vine. The snake's movement pelted him with a rain of crusted beetles and muck from the ledge floor.

The red orb suddenly dropped down from the ledge. Dayn lunged and caught it.

"Thanks for that!" he crowed. Reclaiming the artifact nearly made him forget the pain of his mangled shoulder. The wreathweaver's cold gaze studied Dayn, and its forked tongue lifted his scent from the air. "Now, how to get past you?"

He stowed the orb in his pocket, then sidestepped horizontally, rappelling back to where he first descended. The wreathweaver trailed him, barring the way up.

"Not as slow as you look," Dayn said, frowning. He swung like a pendulum from his rope, for a moment, but he could not wait the wreathweaver out. The midnight sun would soon pass from the Dreadfall. With no lantern and no moonlight, the darkness would be absolute.

The wreathweaver's tongue flicked out again, deliberate and searching. It followed his rope, matching the rhythm of his sway. Dayn's puzzlement quickly faded to alarm.

"No, no, no..."

It lashed out with primal speed. The rope snapped in its jaws.

Dayn screamed in terror. The Dreadfall blurred around him, the air whipping his clothes. The tattered rope flapped uselessly from his harness like a kite's severed string. A sick numbness spread through his body as he plummeted toward the heart of Shard.

Dayn fell faster than he ever thought possible The cliffs poured past him like water, no matter how he flailed. He lost consciousness, regained it again. Still he fell. Despair settled into his bones, cold and deep.

A sudden thrumming impression saturated Dayn's being, yet seemed to escape his ears. The pit of his stomach quivered, and his teeth began to ache. The very air seemed to vibrate. He twisted his head against the howling wind, looking for the source of sound that was not sound.

Great ripples and folds scored the Dreadfall's unending vertical stone, as though the cliffs here were once molten waves, now frozen in place.

_That's heartrock!_ He had fallen countless miles from the surface. The air began to warm considerably. Dayn found himself clutching for the filthy orb, surprised he still held it in his pocket.

His freefall began to slow. At first Dayn thought he imagined it, but the wind no longer tore at his clothes, and he could make out features in the near cliffs. _If I want to be a courser, I better start thinking like one!_ He stopped flailing and arched his back, allowing the remaining wind to flip him so he no longer fell head first. He held his back rigid as he continued to slow, angling himself at the cliffs.

The Dreadfall shook, a terrifying sound like a thousand cities grinding to dust. A great cloud of steam and dust issued from the nearest cliffs, and massive fissures raced up the sides of the Dreadfall, with molten red light at their depths. Dayn felt a twinge in the pit of his stomach, and his ears popped painfully. He still floated toward the cliffs, but with even less speed than when he first fell, as though Shard's grasp on him were fading away. He glanced into the cliff face, skidding and tumbling until he came to a jarring stop in a flash of white light.

"Peace protect me," Dayn whispered. He ran his hands over his body, incredulous to find no broken bones. The substance from the barrels had done its work. He lay balanced precariously on a jagged pile of scree on a jutting section of cliff, five spans beneath where the Dreadfall was breaking apart. "What's happening?"

He began to pick his way through the mishmash of rubble, but every step felt wrong, as if the ground were only half as strong. He stopped and gaped. Shattered boulders floated through the expanse of the Dreadfall like leaves on a bitter wind, slowly expanding into the larger expanse. More than just rock floated in the air—there were men, still and lifeless. _Same as from the well, at least six of them. What are they doing down here?_

Dayn crept higher, toward the smoke above him. He clung to the cliff face like a beetle, afraid he would float away if he lost his grip. He pulled himself over another ledge, and gasped.

Seven gray men lay still before the mouth of a tunnel made of a metal that Dayn had never seen before. It glowed like an immense furnace. Several hulking silhouettes stood in that light, fists raised. Voices stabbed through Dayn's shock.

"Their own worldheart will shake them to dust!"

"Victory!"

Cheers sounded until a new voice cut in, harsher than the rest. "I am not here to frighten them with trembling ground. I want this world torn from their accursed Belt! Finish your task!"

Dayn needed to hear no more. He immediately turned to flee, but his first bound took him floating into the air as though he were stuck in honey. Soon he would be swept into the floating rubble of the Dreadfall, and silently prayed they did not see him.

Warmth touched his outer thigh as he floated even higher. He reached instinctively for the strange orb and drew it from his pocket. The red pulsing shone through the muck that covered it. _What in peace's reach?_

"Raaluwos, look there." Dayn hastily stuffed the orb back in his pocket, too late.

"What?" The cruel voice again. One of the silhouettes shifted, pointing at Dayn.

"A boy in the air, watching us."

The voices all went abruptly silent. No doubt staring at Dayn as he floated in place.

"Raaluwos!" The biggest of the shadows turned at a shout from deeper within the blinding tunnel. "Something is wrong. The worldheart is resisting us. We must—"

The Dreadfall groaned ominously. More smoke filled the expanse, darkening the midnight sun. The cliffs where the gray men stood exploded, and a swath of burning heartrock three miles wide rushed toward Dayn.

***

Joam stopped to wait for Dayn at the bottom of the trail in the redbranch thickets, and then again at Laman's farm. Once it became clear he would not follow, Joam bounded crossly back to his own home, despite the lateness of the hour and how far he must go.

"I've stuck my neck out for him plenty enough," Joam muttered to himself. He cut quietly through the Wustl Square while the village slumbered, padding along empty streets with his lantern shuttered. With Elders doing backflips to please the visiting Misthaveners, it seemed wise to stay out of sight.

Dayn and his stubborn foolishness. Joam could not possibly fathom the appeal of coursing, not from how Dayn described it. Especially after looking into that monstrous hole, eyes searching vainly for the bottom, for any bottom...

Joam shivered. _I will never go to the Dreadfall again,_ he promised himself. _Not for a city full of Falena's sisters. Not for a Victor's Sash from the Cycle!_

He emerged on the other side of Wia Wells without incident, absorbed in his musings as he bounded home on weary feet. Although the truth would crush him, Dayn's chances of getting to the Course of Blades were about as good as old Nerlin's.

_Laman's reasonable, and fair with a staff besides, when he's not playing at Elder,_ he thought. _I could speak to him._ One season as an Applicant would have Dayn begging for anything that spared him from the fields. What would Laman do then? Laman had heavy ties with the Village Council, after all. Joam recalled the man's face when Elder Buril named Dayn an Attendant. An odd blend of pride, envy, and regret. That last puzzled him, regret―but maybe that meant a chance for Montollos with Joam.

"I shouldn't even bother," Joam muttered, although he knew the words to be false the moment he uttered them. He would do anything for Dayn. Well, anything within reason. He shivered again, and pushed the Dreadfall firmly from his mind.

Finally he turned off the road to his home, and crept soundlessly through his bedroom window, a skill honed through many nights of pulling pranks. Joam listened for creaking floorboards, but his parents and visiting brothers did not stir.

He placed his staff in the corner beside his door, and peeled his boots from miserably sore feet, giddy at the prospect of slumber. Joam groggily wondered how long it would take Dayn to give up. _That surely wasn't sunlight. Why don't the Elders teach us about the Dreadfall? Is it because they don't know what made cliffs so deep?_ Joam gave one last shudder before exhaustion forced his eyelids shut. He would find some excuse for being home in the morning.

Panicked shouts jolted him awake just before he began to snore. He leaped from bed, but the ground lurched under his feet and tossed him back into his blankets.

"Boys, outside!" He heard Milchamah shouting. "Get out of the house!"

Joam looked around in shock. His room looked windswept. Dresser drawers hung crookedly, wooden shelves slipped from their hangings, their contents scattered. His bed now slanted askew, inexplicably shifted away from the wall. Shouting continued throughout the house, and Joam opened his mouth to join in.

The cry died in his throat, cut short by an impossible sight. His darkwood staff no longer leaned in the corner. It floated slowly toward the ceiling as he watched, held in the thrall of some unnatural freedom. More objects began to rise. The broken shelves. His boots and whittling knives. The sight made Joam's hair stand straight up. He clung to his bed, fearful it would stir next. Surprise mingled into his family's screams.

"Peace protect us, the ground has died!" His mother's voice rang with terror, but Joam refused to believe her cries.

The ground trembled again, forcefully enough to rattle his teeth. For some reason, the memory of the Dreadfall brushed his mind, and somehow Joam knew.

"Dayn, whatever mess you've gotten into, peace send you're safe!"

***

Dayn glimpsed only a fleeting impression of rock hurtling toward him, wreathed in fire and dark smoke. Searing wind slammed into his body. The force flung him end over end, pelting him with shattered pieces of the cliff. The fragments glanced harmlessly from his seal-protected limbs in blinding flashes of light. He curled behind his forearms and shins as best he could while gouts of rock from the cliff wall mushroomed in every direction. The explosion propelled him away from the heartrock in a wave of boulders and choking dust.

Something cracked Dayn's head and silver discs speckled his vision. Pain lanced his upper arms and chest, tearing sleeves and skin alike. Another blow glanced off his collarbone just shy of a snapped bone. The tiny fragments needling his body made him painfully aware of every inch of skin not covered in sealer. After whatever the men did to Shard's heart, the explosions pushed him away from the heartrock with dizzying speed.

A firm mass thudded into Dayn's back, stunning him. He twisted around to discover a slab of smoking rock wider around than he could reach. Instinctively, Dayn kicked against it. His momentum shifted immediately, and he angled on a new path through the rock. For the first time since losing his rope, Dayn could control where he moved.

_Up,_ he thought. _I need to go up!_

Dayn began to hurdle clumsily, twisting and pushing to direct himself. He leaped and pushed through the debris, like a frog crossing a flooded river. The air cooled. Stars―blessed stars―were visible above! He was closer to the surface than he could hope for, but feared the rock would carry him past it, maybe even off his world completely and into the void.

He focused on the stars, and finding the cliffside. He kicked off a nearby boulder as big as a house as it sailed past him. The angle put him crossways to the main flow of rock. Fresh explosions thundered out of the Dreadfall's maw below him.

Dayn slammed into a mass that did not budge. He clung to it with all of his strength, feeling the cold rock of a cliff wall scrape his face.

"I did it," he breathed. "I did it." Shadow raced toward him, retaking the cliff walls as the sun below passed away from the Dreadfall. Cold swept in as the light vanished. The world reeled, and a terrible thundering made him lift his head in time to see broken stone and debris crashing its way back down the Dreadfall. Shard no longer let it float free, he could feel the difference in her ground. Blood and sweat covered his body, and pain gouged him from every direction.

Dayn knew he should begin climbing, but exhaustion kept his legs from moving. He heard water flowing swiftly from somewhere behind the cliff wall. He knew that meant something urgent, but the ringing in his ears refused to let him ferret out why. Another thought soon replaced it.

"So that's what coursing feels like." His voice sounded mangled to his own ears. A sickly pungent odor was the last thing Dayn remembered before darkness took him.

# CHAPTER FIVE

Strangers

No one believes it, but the Preceptors are prouder than Defenders and shrewder than Consorts. Of all the Ringmen, they are convinced that they alone keep the Belt from flying apart. They may be right.

-journal entry from the Highest Jusee of Ara

Pain burned through Dayn's shoulder and back, and a horrible throbbing threatened to cleave his head apart. He opened his eyes with a groan and squinted at the sunlight blistering through his bedroom window.

"I'm home," he rasped aloud. He could not remember how he came to be there. His mouth tasted of old blood and his throat felt caked with dust. Bandages engulfed his shoulder and chest where the wreathweaver's teeth had left their mark. More scrapes and cuts made him groan when he shifted slightly under his covers. His skull pounded so fiercely he did not realize he was not alone until Laman cleared his throat.

He struggled to sit up, heart thudding against his chest as he searched his father's face. Milchamah stood there too, leaning just inside the door frame. He halted Dayn with a gesture before he could rise from the bed. Dayn immediately saw why. Laman's face masked a tightly restrained fury.

"Joam may have very well saved your life. When the shaking started, your mother and I were mad with fear over you two until Milchamah and Joam told us about..." Something hard crossed his face. His voice remained calm, but a vein stood out against the muscles of his neck. "Your plans for the Dreadfall."

"We caught Grahm on the road, asked him for help. Turned out he had a cinch and pulley to fish you out," Milchamah said, picking idly at a scabbed over cut on his forearm. His tone grew thoughtful. "Funny thing for an offworlder to keep, but fortunate for you. Still took us all of yesterday to find you and drag you out." Dayn closed his eyes, feebly grasping for memories. Of course the rupture he witnessed would be felt in Wia Wells. "What happened?"

"The whole of Shard shook like a dog ridding herself of fleas."

"This happens to other worlds, but never Shard. I fear it was no ordinary...earthquake." Laman grimaced over the unfamiliar word. "She did not just shudder. Somehow the ground...weakened. The slightest bound would take you sailing for spans. The village has been accounting for damage, but that's not the worst of it. There are children missing."

"Peace," Dayn said numbly. After his own experience, he could easily imagine toddlers floating helplessly through the air. His sister's absence suddenly made Dayn's heart skip. "Tela! Is she alright?"

"Your sister is safe, and a budding hero at that." Laman allowed himself the briefest of smiles before the solemn mask returned. "One of Kajalynn's triplets was nearly lost to the sky. Tela bounded off Grahm's roof to bring him back down."

"Ten spans high, and he never woke for a second." Milchamah shook his head in amazement. A baby that high, in the dark, would be near impossible to see. Tela really was a hero.

_And what were you doing?_ Dayn thought to himself. _Off in the Dreadfall when your neighbors needed you. Your family._ He slumped back into the bed. The two men allowed the silence to linger, punctuating his shame.

Finally, Laman spoke. "She and your mother will return soon. You need to rest now, and heal."

"Father, we need to tell people about the Dreadfall! I saw―"

"Tell them what? That Misthaven has been right all along about Wia Wells stock? Or that you were off to protect us from a deadwisp you saw in the well?" Laman shook the family staff as though calling on the disappointment of his entire bloodline. "An Applicant―no! A _Ro'Halan_ isn't capable of such actions."

"Father, I didn't―" Dayn began to protest, but Laman cut him off with a disgusted gesture.

"We'll speak of this later. There's still need for us in the village. No," Laman said sharply when Dayn started to leave his bed. "You stay here. Four able-bodied men were absent Wia Wells to save you from your foolishness. You've cost everyone enough already."

He nodded at Milchamah, who straightened with a grunt. The two men left him without another word.

"Please tell Joam I said thank you," Dayn called out _. If Joam had stayed, they never would have known where to find me._

A terse exchange flared briefly in the hallway. Milchamah reappeared with a staff in his hand, carved from silverpine, and completely unused.

"Don't lose this one." He flung the staff hard and Dayn caught it reflexively. Brand new and superbly balanced, he could not recall holding a finer grain of wood. The farmer likely acquired it at Evensong. "You're the only real competition for my boy. At least, when you choose to think. Peace only knows you won't be headed anywhere else this season."

Dayn winced as the truth of Milchamah's words settled into him. Rumors spread like tripweed through Wia Wells, same as any Mistland village. Dayn in the Dreadfall, a day after being named Attendant? Grahm would tell his wife Kajalynn, who would spread it to one of her gossiping sisters. Or some Elder would corner Joam and browbeat the story from him. The how of it did not matter, only that the secret Dayn had kept hidden for months would be known through the village by sundown.

Only that would not be the worst of it. When the visiting Misthaveners learned of Dayn's blunder, his time as an Attendant would be the shortest in all the history of Shard. Elder Buril and every hard working Mistland farmer would be hard pressed to forgive him after that. Dayn let out a crestfallen sigh as the old weaponmaster departed.

"Hope it was worth it, boy."

Dayn's head throbbed with newfound intensity. Miserable thoughts of his future as an embarrassment tumbled through his mind. He let the silverpine clatter to the floor, and stuffed his head beneath a pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. Suddenly tired and weak, he sought sleep. His door stood open, and his parents' heated voices trickled through his fading consciousness.

"Joam said all he talks about is coursing of all things! And the Dreadfall..."

Dayn groaned as he slept, too low to be heard in the kitchen. He tossed aside the pillow and sheets in a fitful bid for coolness. Sweat droplets beaded over his skin like a rash.

"...when I return from Wia Wells." Laman's calm baritone. "Imagine how the Belt will suffer if these...quakes...continue? We'll spend more time as masons than farmers."

New spots of crimson bloomed on Dayn's shoulder. He clawed savagely at the bandages covering the wound. The brown skin nearest the dressing took on a sickly, purplish hue.

"...peace send the monster wasn't venomous. Did you ask if he saw the hood, or its coloring? A snake that large..."

Dayn twisted and turned as fever wracked his body. On the shelf Laman built for Dayn's collecting, a new curiosity rested, nestled between his basket of gems and a piece of driftwood that looked like a ridgecat. Ignored since dropping from Dayn's pocket and still caked in grime, the orb from the wreathweaver's perch came to life.

"...Grahm is close by, I'll have him come check on you. Don't let Tela stray far, you can imagine how that shaking stirred up the wilds. I'll be back well before sundown, hopefully with good news."

"Be careful, husband."

The orb pulsed, mirroring Dayn's headache perfectly. Crimson light bathed his room. Hanalene might have noticed if she were not watching Laman bound away toward Wia Wells, lost in her own worried thoughts.

The red glow faded. Dayn's moans stopped and his breathing deepened.

When Hanalene came to look in on him, Dayn did not feel her gentle touch upon his forehead. She hissed over his soaked bandages, but clucked in surprise upon removing them. After pulling Dayn's covers up again, she spared the strange object on her son's shelf a mistrustful glance before closing the door quietly behind her.

Fever dreams soon burned through Dayn's consciousness.

He twisted through the torrent, with mist and darkness for his only companions. Swirling rock formed an inescapable gauntlet as Dayn's wingline pulled him through the void. He risked a look behind him.

Grotesque man-shapes of oily smoke coalesced on his trail, men made of ash and fire. The very torrent bent around their path. Dayn fluttered just beyond their clutches in the fragile dance of prey. Their touch would change him forever, somehow, a truth Dayn understood without knowing how or why. His pursuers edged closer, drinking in his fear.

A sickening snap vibrated through Dayn's being, and the wingline secured to his harness went slack. He drifted in the torrent, the severed wingline floating uselessly before him. Hands closed on his neck from behind, and Dayn could not escape. He turned to face the same stare he knew from his father's well. The gray skin split in the semblance of a smile. Maggots poured from the mouth.

"Ro'Halan," the gray man hissed. "I will tear your heart from the Belt, brother." Pale fingers squeezed around his throat. Dayn's world splintered in pain.

"Brother?"

"No, no!" Dayn thrashed himself awake. His blankets peeled away to reveal Tela, peering down at him with an odd expression in her golden eyes. She yanked away his blanket with a flourish and held it triumphantly, like some captured banner. Dayn glowered as she beamed down at him.

"Sleep all day, time to play!"

"Get off!" Dayn flung a pillow at his sister's head, maybe harder than she deserved. It sailed harmlessly over her sprawling feet as she tumbled backwards off the bed, only to alight nimbly in a back bridge. She scuttled around like a lost-shell river crab, giggling the entire time. A cat might envy her reflexes.

"You'd better get up, brother. You better get up right now!"

"Can't you see I'm supposed to be still?" Dayn growled. In truth, his shoulder felt better than before.

"You don't look hurt to me," Tela observed. "Did you trip while you were bounding again? Your head is much too big to bound properly, brother!"

Dayn knew to respond would only invite more teasing, so he pointedly ignored her goads while he inspected his injuries. No trace of his headache remained, and the carnival of bruises covering his ribs had faded considerably. His mother's herbs made quick work of most cuts or scrapes, but Sister Cari the healer must have been fetched to care for his arm, which he flexed in amazement. Moving it barely hurt.

"Get up! Father's gone to the village," Tela tugged on his good arm insistently, but Dayn slunk back beneath his sheets. She kissed her teeth irritably and gave up, only to begin pulling valiantly on his ankle. Her next words froze Dayn's blood. "The strangers will be here soon!"

"Strangers? What strangers?" he demanded. Tela jumped back, startled by his intensity. "You better not be telling any stories!"

"I'm not! I heard Grahm whispering to father this morning while you were asleep. He looked pale as a deadwisp, too!"

"What did he say?"

"The part I heard? 'It can't be helped, Laman. Tell Buril to let them do whatever they want. Trust me, I know.' Then father saw me, and told me to go outside."

Dayn rose, his head spinning with unanswered questions. Grahm had seen a gray man, nothing could convince Dayn otherwise. He would never forget his ordeal in the Dreadfall, and one memory above all. _I am not here to frighten them with trembling ground,_ the one called Raaluwos had said. _I want this world torn from their accursed Belt._ Dayn did not know how their neighbor was tied to the man, but it could not be good.

"You know who they are, don't you?" Tela asked as Dayn strode by her. "Hey! Where are you going, bighead?"

Dayn called himself nine kinds of idiot for not telling his father about the gray men sooner, for not _forcing_ them to listen about the Dreadfall―

He turned the corner so quickly he nearly sprawled his mother back into the kitchen, a roll of fresh bandages in her hand. Startled, Hanalene quickly regained her composure and fixed him with expectant eyes.

"Mother. I'm sorry, I―" Dayn began, but just then a loud knock sounded at their front door.

"Finally, Grahm comes." Hanalene smoothed her skirts and glided into the front room. "Maybe now we'll have some answers."

Dayn sidestepped her to bar the way before she reached the door. Hanalene's eyes widened in a blend of indignation and surprise.

"We don't know if that's him at all," Dayn said urgently. "Let me check first, to be sure."

"Who are the strangers, brother?" Tela asked, bouncing on her toes.

"What strangers? Dayn, you're being ridiculous!" Hanalene exclaimed. Her golden eyes flashed dangerously, but he held his ground. At a look from Dayn, Tela disappeared into his room before he even uttered the words, returning with the new silverpine staff. A weapon ill-suited for indoors, but better than his bare hands.

At sight of the grain, Hanalene searched his face, suddenly hesitant. She balked at the Sweetwater tournaments, but acknowledged the boys knew when a staff proved necessary. More pounding at the door made them jump.

"Please," Dayn pleaded. "I'll explain everything, but please just go out to the garden and be ready to run if I shout. I don't think that's Grahm."

Hanalene let Tela lead her away through the kitchen. Dayn took a deep breath and turned to face the door, wishing it were twice as thick and made of stone. Gripping his staff, Dayn flung it open, and stopped short. An odd little man stepped back in surprise, gawking so anxiously at sight of the staff that Dayn expected him to turn and run.

"Oh...oh, my. I can assure you there's no need for that," the man said carefully. He stood slight of build with fair skin, a round, clean-shaven face and meticulously cut sandy hair. His crisp manner of speaking cried offworlder to Dayn's ears. "I would be most unable to defend myself. I'm a Preceptor from the Ring, and my name is Lurec. We've come to investigate the trouble upon your world."

"The Ring?" Dayn lowered his staff hesitantly. Preceptors were men of great learning, spending their lives in studious solitude upon the Ring, the ancient fortress that floated between the worlds.

"Yes, we took the road from Misthaven this morning." The man certainly fit how Dayn imagined a Preceptor would appear. His clothes were a simple, neatly-cut affair of the palest gray. This Lurec looked as though he never spent a day outside. His boots, black beneath a thick layer of red dust from the road, were not broken in at all.

"Why have you come all the way out here?" Dayn could not help his suspicions, Preceptor or not. The last offworlder he met, the Ista Cham trader, had nearly tricked him. Grahm was another offworlder, but he was different. Well, Dayn hoped he was different. "How do I know you really come from the Ring?"

"I assure you, Wia Wells is exactly where I'm needed. All will be explained." The man did not seem surprised by Dayn's mistrust. "May I come in?"

A strong grip unexpectedly yanked Dayn backwards, and he stumbled away from the door. "I should thump you silly with that great stick!" Hanalene hissed. With an exasperated twitch of her hair she beckoned to the offworlder. Tela peeked out from behind her skirts.

"Forgive my son's manners, Ringman. Our wits are in short supply after what's happened. Dayn―put that away!" At Hanalene's curt sniff, Dayn leaned his staff on the wall. "Please, come in. Please."

"It's quite alright. I'm pleased to find your family home, goodwife―and not chasing me down the road at that." The Preceptor pointedly avoided looking at Dayn. "I heard a fair number of dogs at the last homestead I meant to visit, and decided the attempt was not worth the risk. My legs are ill-suited to Shard's ground, I'm afraid I would serve as rather dull prey."

Lurec smiled stiffly, yet somehow still sincere enough for Hanalene to freely return it. The Preceptor's sharp blue eyes scoured every detail of their home as he spoke.

"Grahm's beasts are loud enough," Hanalene replied. "But slobbering you to drowning is all they're good for."

"Fair enough." Lurec offered a friendly nod to Tela, who regarded the offworlder curiously. "I trust your neighbor is unhurt, after the night? Grahm, was it?"

"Peace be praised, his whole family is safe." Hanalene pinched her daughter's cheek fondly. Dayn's face heated at the smug look Tela cast in his direction. "But are times so dire that Ringmen have foregone their names?"

"Forgive me, goodwife. I am Lurec." The Preceptor gave Dayn a reproachful look. "Strange days dance in the World Belt. Even such a beautiful world as Shard will be hard pressed to avoid them, I'm afraid."

"Forgive our...surprise, Ringman. We never receive visitors in the Mistlands. I am Hanalene Ro'Halan, and you are welcome in this home. How may we aid the Ring?"

The Preceptor brightened considerably. "Peace favor you for your kindness, goodwife. It is also―how did you say it? In short supply this morning," he murmured. Then he intoned, "I tread upon this world only at the Ring's behest. Not for the world of my birth, nor for personal gain. I accept your assistance as does the World Belt which I serve."

Dayn recognized the traditional forms from one of his adventure books, _An Account of Guardian Benlor's Third Circuit._ Ringmen were servants to the World Belt who renounced all ties to hearth and homeworld. They were always afforded the highest respect for their devotion. And Dayn had met him at the door with a staff. The Preceptor probably counted it as one of the worst greetings of his life.

"As Shard goes, so the Belt follows." Lurec's serious words held the sound of an old saying, although Dayn had never heard the like before. "Some of my fellows believe a Query needs to take place. They confer with your Misthaven leaders as we speak. Your village has been named more than once in those...considerations."

"But why?" Hanalene looked stricken. "There's no fighting for the Ring to punish."

"To find the truth and deliver aid, nothing more. There are Defenders on Shard, but upon my word, they are only here for our protection. We understand Mistland beasts are rather dangerous."

Hanalene regained her composure, clearly relieved. "The wilds are not nearly what those Misthaveners make of them. Certainly not enough to rouse Defenders from the Ring."

"You needn't worry about them," Lurec replied dryly. "I've left them in the capital for the time being."

_A Preceptor's word is as sure as fruit on the tree_ , the saying went. Dayn did not believe every story he read, but somehow he believed this man, and felt himself relax. Defenders were great and terrible warriors, some of the most feared in the World Belt. Dayn hoped never to see one in his life.

The Preceptor's knowing blue eyes latched onto Dayn's bandaged shoulder. "Seems like you could tell me about Shard's fauna firsthand! Dayn, was it? Did you come about these injuries in the troubles?"

"Not really," Dayn began, just as his mother cut in.

"A wreathweaver―"

They stopped awkwardly as Lurec looked on, silent and thoughtful. Dayn suddenly did not want this Preceptor and his Ring to know of his time within the Dreadfall at all. _If the Misthaveners speak poison against Wia Wells, who knows what this Ringman thinks about the Dreadfall? He probably won't believe a word I tell him._ Dayn flashed his mother a quick look. Judging by Hanalene's face, she was considering the same thing.

"Wreathweaver..." The Preceptor pursed his lips. "So fatal to encounter, they are named after the ceremonial markers you Shardians place upon your graves." Lurec spoke as though reciting a passage from some ancient book. Hanalene favored him with a dry look he did not notice.

"Yes, that's right," Dayn said.

"You Shardians are truly hardy to dismiss such obvious wounds," Lurec marveled. "It seems fortunate Defenders came after all. I wouldn't know what to do if confronted by such a creature."

"Wreathweavers would never attack anyone on the roads," Dayn admitted. He knew himself to be a poor liar, and sought to steer the conversation away from anything to do with the Dreadfall. "Gravespinners are worse, and there are more of them besides. Hundreds more. They infest the redbranch for leagues to the north of here."

The Preceptor's brow crinkled in disdain. "Another aberration, and just as aptly named. There are similar creatures on the world of Feralos, though I doubt they grow so large as here, due to―" Lurec abruptly stopped, muttering to himself. "Forgive my prattling. I have a fascination with the Belt's fauna. I recall that wreathweavers prefer rocky terrain. I've seen nothing surrounding here but woodlands, this...redbranch. Did your encounter occur nearby?"

To Dayn's dismay, Tela chose that moment to speak. "Tell him, brother!" The Preceptor regarded her expectantly. "Just before the Southforte swamps. That's where it's rocky." She beamed at Lurec. "Dayn took me there once."

"Is that so?" Hanalene asked, in a too-sweet voice. Her scathing gold eyes were not exactly a Query, but promised sharp words once the Preceptor departed.

"Southforte folks call it the Slide Rocks." Dayn spoke hesitantly under his mother's frown. "The swamps undercut the bluffs there, and all kinds of things get churned up during floods. Sometimes we find relics, but mostly moondrops and ember-eyes. Our gemcutter trades well for them."

"But there are relics, you say?" Lurec asked, eyebrows rising speculatively. "Relics interest me."

"Dayn has the best collection in all the Mistlands," Tela added proudly.

_Peace keep you,_ Tela, Dayn thought.

"Then my son will be certain to show them to you," Hanalene said. "You have traveled far, Preceptor. I'll prepare you a suitable meal." Lurec began to protest, but she shushed him firmly. "No, I insist. Ringmen still eat, I imagine? My husband will return soon. He's part of the Village Council and can give you a full account of the...quake."

"Shardian hospitality is highly spoken of, and rightly so. I thank you." Lurec bowed graciously, although Dayn noticed him glance outside, measuring the daylight. "Please, Dayn. Show me this collection of yours."

Hanalene nodded briskly, and swept out to the garden. Reluctantly, Dayn beckoned the Preceptor down to his bedroom, with Tela trailing behind as though she meant to guard him.

Three sturdy shelves, each carved with Laman's precise scrollwork, were laden with Dayn's rarest discoveries. The collection boasted mostly stones with eye-catching, speckled patterns. The Preceptor dismissed them with a glance. He fixed on the truly unique even faster than Dayn expected.

"Quite impressive. Many Preceptors in the Halls of Safeguarding might trade you a limb for such a specimen." He inspected a lime-colored rock wide enough to cover Dayn's palm, crisscrossed with yellow flecks that played tricks on the eyes. From certain angles, the rock looked as if a baby lizard's bones were trapped inside it.

A small woven basket held Dayn's assortment of gems, mostly firedrops, moondrops, and ember-eyes. To Dayn's surprise, they all went entirely ignored by the Preceptor. He would expect any offworlder to drool over just one or two of the stones. But then, this man was not just any offworlder.

"You're afraid of me, afraid of why I'm here. But I don't believe you're deceitful." Lurec traced a finger along Laman's carving as he spoke.

"I think everyone's afraid after last night," Dayn said cautiously. Something about the Preceptor's manner made him nervous.

"May I...?" The Ringman lifted a six-sided cylindrical object from the lower shelf at Dayn's consenting nod. A metallic sheen covered it in patches, and curious angular markings were etched into a surface smoothed by untold ages.

"I will say this. You did not exaggerate. Few people of the Belt could dream of such finds. Few Ringmen, for that matter. The Halls of Understanding have overlooked Shard to our detriment, it appears."

"That one's pretty!" Tela said. "Do you know what it is?"

A sad smile crossed Lurec's lips. "An angel tear, one of only a few thousand from a sad age long forgotten. I would tell you of its history, if time permitted. Another day, perhaps." He returned the object, unconsciously wiping his hands on his coat like someone who had just handled filth.

"The Elders I asked all said they didn't know where it came from," Dayn mused. "But I think they just didn't want to tell me."

"They have their reasons. Some stories are fit to make the stones weep," Lurec replied, giving the remaining shelves a disinterested sweep. "I see your heart as true, young Shardian. Tell me, why were you in the Dreadfall?"

Tela gasped, and Dayn's mouth went dry. "It's bad luck to go there," he stammered. "I find plenty of gems by the swamps of Southforte. There's no reason to go east."

Lurec nodded patiently. Preceptors were said to remember every page of a book after reading it only once, and they could pick out one dishonest man from a dozen with a single question. "I hoped you would be more forthcoming without your mother present. Please, do not lie to me."

"Don't take my brother away!" Tela suddenly burst into tears. She darted unexpectedly to Dayn, wrapping herself around his waist. Still somewhat weak, Dayn reached out to steady himself. His basket of gems tumbled to the floor. "Please! He won't go there again! Promise him, brother. Say you won't!"

"Child, I―" The Preceptor looked positively mortified, but made no move to quiet Tela. He ignored her sobs completely, staring at the scattered gems.

"Peace embrace us all," He whispered, a stunned look on his face. "Do you know what this is?"

The Preceptor's hands trembled as he reached for an object Dayn had thought never to see again. He stared dumbly at the small red orb once more.

"No, I...I just barely found it. I thought I lost it in the Fall." Dayn gently pulled free of Tela's protective embrace. The Preceptor looked ready to faint right where he stood, so Dayn took hold of his arm to steady him. He then scooped up the Seed and handed it to the Ringman once it became clear Lurec was too stunned to take hold of it. Wonder lit the Preceptor's face as he left the room wordlessly, with suddenly purposeful strides.

Dayn followed, completely bewildered as he attempted to comfort Tela. _Am I in trouble or not?_ he wondered.

"Preceptor?" Hanalene stood in the kitchen, holding a tray of freshly plucked fervorberries and steaming tea. She looked understandably perplexed as the Ringman waved the grime-covered orb in the air like he held the lost key to an Ista Cham palace.

"I must return to the Ring at once!" Lurec said urgently. Feverish intensity shone in his eyes.

"What? Why?"

"I'm honor-bound against interference upon your world. But your son has brought something to my attention, something I must be allowed to procure with the utmost haste."

"Nothing good ever comes from the Fall," Hanalene whispered. "I nearly went there to throw that back in myself. Take it."

"We are good Shard folk, we don't want trouble here," Dayn chimed in. "You can have it. I'll give it to you."

The Preceptor let loose an anguished laugh. "I cannot. I am bound to Ring law, you must understand." He cradled the orb carefully, as though it might shatter from a gust of wind. "Your husband can free you of this burden, as he holds some position of authority on your world. Peace send he returns soon. Dayn here can accompany me down the road to meet him. I need to know everything about where he found it."

"No!" Hanalene said sharply, before remembering herself. "He has...he needs to stay until my husband returns. Please. The village will look upon him harshly for being near the Dreadfall in the first place. If this thing is important, I believe you. But our folk may not agree, and we must live with them long after you are gone."

"The longer I remain, the more attention will fall on this district, goodwife," Lurec warned. "Attention that will not soon be forgotten. I am forbidden to take possession of Dayn's property, but he mustn't leave my sight until that restriction is lifted."

Hanalene's shoulders slumped in resignation. "Tela, go to the village. Find your father and bring him home." Tela nodded solemnly, then sprinted off to grab her shoes.

"Mother, I can get there twice as quickly," Dayn protested. "I should be the one to go!"

Lurec cleared his throat. "For that to happen, young Shardian, I shall be obliged to accompany you."

"He's not leaving here," Hanalene said firmly. "Dayn, she'll be fine on the road. Especially if you trust her on the Sliding Rocks," she added in a dry tone. "It's best you stay away from the village for a while, until things are...settled."

"I'll come back soon, mother!" Tela entered the room, prancing triumphantly before she left. Dayn watched her from the window, bounding swiftly westward until she was out of sight.

Lurec sat on their worn couch at Hanalene's urging. The Preceptor remained polite enough, commenting absently on how delicious the refreshments were, but Dayn's artifact clearly commanded all of his attention.

"What is it?" Dayn asked finally, as he joined the Preceptor. Hanalene sat across from them in Laman's padded leather chair.

"This is...a Seed." As he took in their blank looks, regret filled Lurec's blue eyes. "It's very old, and very powerful. It was conceived during an age of great peace, days like the World Belt has never known. Some believe it to be a weapon, but there's more knowledge contained within it than all the repositories of the Belt combined."

"But what does it do?" The Preceptor's words begged more questions than they answered. Dayn certainly did not want to be known for finding a weapon. That would make his time in the Dreadfall look that much worse. He did not see how the strange orb could compare to a Defender's sword, or even a staff.

"All of the Seeds were thought to be lost thousands of years ago. If this one is fully functional, I—" Lurec stopped himself with a grimace. "I'll say no more until your father arrives. For now, you will tell me how you came to be in the Dreadfall. Your discovery will impact the World Belt for years to come. But it's still not enough to ignore the tremors of a worldheart."

"I wanted to course, is all. I was supposed to begin Attendant training on First Mist, so my best friend and I..." Dayn retold his adventure. He cringed to see the hurt in his mother's face deepen as the Preceptor's piercing inquiry forced him to reveal how long he had secretly prepared himself for the Dreadfall.

Lurec asked very particular questions about the Seed, as well. He seemed very satisfied to hear about the swarming creatures and toadstools where Dayn found it, for some reason. Lurec balked at giving up the Seed, but even a Preceptor of the Ring could not refuse Hanalene's insistence for long. She began to clean the orb as Dayn spoke.

When Dayn described the gray men, and the explosion in the cliffs, the Preceptor's expression hardened, but he did not seem surprised. Hanalene's eyes went wider than Dayn thought possible as she listened.

"You lied to us," she said quietly, handing the Seed back to the Preceptor. Not one imperfection marred the red surface, a perfect sphere.

"Mother, I―"

Hanalene's eyes brimmed with unshed tears. "You lied to your father, when he was so careful to let you choose freely. You don't know how many times he argued with the Elders to allow you to spar with the Ro'Gems. And you weren't even with Joam, you were...oh peace, Dayn. He was so proud of you. To become an Attendant..."

"I'm sorry, I..." Dayn's tongue failed him.

Lurec looked studiously at the floor as Hanalene rose, taking the nibbled berries and lukewarm tea into the kitchen. The Seed meant no more than dust to Dayn now, not with his parents' disappointment as the price for finding it. Thankfully, Preceptor Lurec did not resume his questioning.

The time stretched far too long, and Dayn began to worry that Tela had fallen to misfortune on the road, or could not find their father. His attention fell to watching the window for her return, so he was the first to see black mar the sky to the west.

"That's near the village," Dayn called out in alarm. He flung the door open and sprinted outside, vaguely aware of the Preceptor on his heels. The thick plume sank fear deep into his bones. "Peace, look at the smoke!"

"Laman! By the heart of Shard, my daughter! Tela!" Hanalene's shrill voice rose as she emerged from the house and rushed mindlessly toward the road. Dayn's stomach knotted to hear her wail in protest as he grabbed her. "Let go of me!"

"Mother, wait!" He forced himself not to dwell on what the smoke could mean for everyone they knew in the village.

"We'll deal with this later." Lurec wavered a moment, then slipped the Seed into the pocket of his overcoat before meeting Dayn's eyes. "I'll help however I can."

"I don't care about your Seed! I just want to see my family safe. Mother, I'll take you over to Grahm's until I know what's happened!"

Hanalene's face crumpled, but she retreated inside, reemerging with a cloak and shoes fit for the road, along with Dayn's silverpine.

Dayn gestured to the Preceptor. "Come on!" He did not hesitate. The three raced down the road to Wia Wells, watching the smoke rise higher into the sky.

# CHAPTER SIX

Voidwalkers

Every world in the Belt has a tradition of lore stretching back thousands of years to explain disappeared loved ones. It stands to reason that the voidwalkers have been among us, and watching us for centuries, but why? Fodder for the monsters our Defenders claim they ride? Or something worse?

-Master Preceptor Hecster Redren

For a few tense moments, Hanalene refused to turn aside at Grahm's farm. She finally relented at Dayn's pleading, and the Preceptor's urgings over lost time. The smoke grew so black Dayn feared some great pit of fire would be all that remained of Wia Wells. He ground his teeth whenever the Preceptor's weak offworlder legs slowed their pace. Dayn had never met a worse bounder.

Lurec clutched his knees during their latest stop to rest, sucking in mouthfuls of air. Frantic as Dayn felt, he still dismissed the temptation to abandon the Ringman entirely. He needed to make sure this Seed did not bring misfortune on his family, and for that to happen the Ringman must explain it to the Elders. "Do you know what did this?" Dayn demanded, resisting the temptation to shout.

Sweat poured down Lurec's reddened face, but he straightened determinedly and began to walk. Dayn silently acknowledged the Preceptor's effort. "You know the answer to that," Lurec managed to get out. "The men you saw are responsible for the ground, and likely for this fire. Voidwalkers."

Dayn nearly tripped over his own feet. He stared at the Preceptor incredulously, palms suddenly clammy around his staff. "Highlanders tell their children that voidwalkers will steal them away to the Shrouded Ten if they skip chores." The Shrouded Ten were blighted worlds in the Belt where the sun never showed her face, and the dead walked valleys of scorching metal.

"You think them...nothing more than fables," Lurec wheezed. "Even after...your own experiences?"

"There are real things to watch out for in the Mistlands. Ridgecats and gravespinners," Dayn said uncertainly. Hearing the Preceptor speak of voidwalkers as though they lived down the road unnerved him to no end.

Lurec seemed to read all of his fears in a single glance. The Ringman looked...resigned. "They are known by a hundred different names. Darklurker. Rotwalker. Deadwisp." The scent of charred wood weighed heavy in the air, and the offworlder coughed. "Most of the stories are incorrect. Their true nature is far more frightening. A voidwalker can survive in conditions that would kill the hardiest Defender. I've heard reports of them enduring the torrent with no air to speak of, and a dozen more unnatural acts."

Dayn shuddered. "What are they?"

"They were men once, before hatred and the clouds of their world twisted them forever. I believe the World Belt reminds them of what they have lost by their own choosing. So they seek to destroy everything you hold dear, everything the Ring is sworn to protect. Now, please. Allow me to focus on the road, unless you plan to tie me to your back for the rest of the way!"

Dayn let the familiar rhythm of bounding settle his thoughts. Voidwalkers, on his world, in his village. _Peace! Can the Ring keep us safe?_

The Preceptor kept up, doggedly remaining a leap or two behind and gasping for air. The thickening smoke burned Dayn's lungs and taxed his endurance. The last mile leading up to the village proved more difficult than all those before it, and he slowed reluctantly. The first buildings soon peeked fearfully out of the haze. Dayn rushed ahead of Lurec, fearing the worst.

"Oh, no." Orange flames wreathed every building around the Wustl Square, clinging greedily to burned out homes and shops. A line of soot-covered men fought to save the Dawnbreak Inn, passing wretchedly small buckets of water to toss on the fire. Piles of ash and cinder marked the tangletoys and vendor booths that held so much joy only three nights ago. "The voidwalkers, you think they did this?"

The Preceptor stumbled to a halt behind him, coughing terribly in the smoke. "To silence any voices that might spread warning of their presence, I suspect. Take heart, lad. Defenders are here."

Men who appeared to be covered in soot, were in fact wearing dull black armor, making an odd contrast with the goodwives and farmers. The imposing men―and women, Dayn noted in surprise―also dotted the water line as if it were their own village ablaze. Preceptors stood near the Square's wells, wearing the same gray overcoats as Lurec and decidedly unhappy looks. A filthy man broke away from them and trotted close.

"Dayn! Peace be praised." Elder Buril barely passed for recognizable, his silver dreadlocks streaked with ash. He nodded hesitantly to Lurec, who bowed simply in return. "We've managed to save the village histories, but we could use your help on the water line."

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that cause is lost," Lurec said, pointing. Balen the innkeeper waved off the people in the line with a weary face. One by one, villagers and dark-armored Defenders stopped to watch the Dawnbreak burn. Dayn searched for his father and sister, but haze and grime masked every face in the Square.

"So it is. After all those weeks of painting for Evensong." Elder Buril let out a defeated sigh. "At least it didn't happen at night, with everyone still sleeping."

"I don't wish to make light of your troubles, Elder—but I require this lad here, and his father if he's to be found," Lurec said. The Preceptor placed a hand on Dayn's shoulder, earning a suspicious frown from Elder Buril.

"Require him, you say? For what purpose, Ringman?" The Elder deliberately let his resonant voice carry. Haggard villagers looked their way as surely as though he had just struck a gong.

"Elder Buril, it's alright," Dayn whispered fiercely. His heart began to thud as people encircled them. Weariness and shock owned every face Dayn saw. "He really needs to talk with us."

"Are you sure, lad?" Elder Buril asked in a troubled voice. The Defenders continued to shovel dirt on smaller blazes, unconcerned with the villagers. The dozen or so Preceptors standing over by the wells cowered like frightened sheep. "I mean you no disrespect, Preceptor," he continued, "but Ringmen ask after people, especially young people, for one of two reasons. I'm quite sure Dayn here does not wish to become a Defender!"

"No, my intent is to..."

Dayn stopped listening once he saw Joam skirting toward him through the villagers.

"Dayn, you're alright." Relief flooded Joam's voice, contrasting with the glare he offered Lurec. "People are saying fire came out of the wells, can you believe it? Come away from that offworlder, brother. For all we know, they're the ones who caused it."

"That isn't true," Dayn said, surprised at his own insistence. "The ground shaking started in Shard's heart when―"

"Troublemakers, one and all! Skulking wolves!" Dayn recognized the voice of the beady-eyed Misthavener. He prodded more villagers near, no longer wearing the cap Dayn accidentally knocked off at Evensong.

"Now those are fool accusations, Payter Merk!" Elder Buril drew himself up angrily. "I've seen Defenders carry our people from burning shops two at a time, while you barely have a smudge on your clothes!"

"But why are they here, Elder?" Someone demanded loudly from within the growing press of villagers. The Misthavener had lost some of his bluster, but his words had clearly emboldened the crowd. Lurec stepped forward, hands wide in supplication.

"The Ring is fully prepared to aid you," he called out. He did not get the chance to finish. Even Joam joined in the angry shouts.

"Aid us how?" A Southforte man shouted. Dayn recognized him, the vendor who bartered with Hanalene for his scratchy shirt at Evensong. "Tying the wreaths upon our graves?"

"Not the most skilled orator, are you?" Elder Buril muttered. Dayn stepped away before hearing Lurec's reply. He did not see his father among the throng, nor his sister.

"The Ring has long protected the Belt, and they protect us now!" Elder Buril intoned. He and Lurec were so absorbed in their efforts to calm everyone that neither noticed three new Defenders enter the Square from the western road. The agitated villagers did not see them, either.

The middle Defender surveyed the scene, then raised a gauntleted fist high. His fingers flickered through a series of rapid movements.

The Defenders had all worked so silently up to this point that most of the villagers had forgotten nearly twenty armored offworlders stood in their midst. At the new Ringman's signal, they sprang into motion as one. Goodwives cried out, and even the sturdiest of farmers yelped in surprise as the Defenders melted deftly through them. The unlikely makings of a riot faltered. The Defenders now surrounded all the Preceptors save Lurec.

Dayn shared a stunned look with Joam. _So fast,_ Joam mouthed. He held his staff less certainly than before. He and the rest of the villagers scrambled aside as the lead Defender strode toward Lurec.

To Dayn's relief, some villagers retreated altogether, drifting away to search through the rubble, weeping quietly over lost loved ones. The Square returned to a mournful quiet, underscored by the remaining flames picking over the Dawnbreak's guts. Dayn still saw no sign of his father or Tela anywhere.

The lead Defender addressed Lurec in a hard voice. "This was an ill-advised venture on your part, to travel to these...Mistlands. Without my escort. The Ring deals sparingly with Shard for good reason. Your actions make our presence here even more tenuous."

"My dictates never required your presence, Defender," Lurec said. "The Lord Ascendant instructed me to determine the cause of these events. That task is complete, without the help of your men."

Dayn goggled and even Elder Buril's eyebrows rose at the heat in the Preceptor's tone. The Defender stood of a height with most Shardians, a true rarity for an offworlder. His brown eyes frosted at Lurec's words. From behind the circled Defenders, several of the Preceptors appeared ready to swoon at the exchange.

"You overstep―"

"Our orders are nothing compared to this young man's discovery," Lurec cut in, gesturing at Dayn for the entire Square to see.

"Leave them to this," Elder Buril hissed, appearing suddenly at Dayn's arm. "It's Ring business." He began to pull Dayn away, but too late. The Preceptor's words marked him apart, and suspicion showed in every Shardian gaze that met Dayn's eyes. The Preceptor beckoned him forward.

"Nassir, this is Dayn," he said. "He's found something you need to see. Something that may turn the tide in favor of the World Belt."

Dayn stepped forward on suddenly weak legs, intimidated like never before in his life. Nassir looked powerfully built beneath the unforgiving black armor that fit him like a second skin. A fine layer of ash had settled on the dark brown dreadlocks that hung past his shoulders, framing his honey-hued face. Command radiated from his eyes as he regarded Dayn, so the other warriors' deference―along with the Preceptors' cowering―seemed only natural. The Defender abruptly stuck out his hand.

"Well met, young Shardian." Nassir said simply. Dayn fumbled the greeting. The Defender did not shake his hand in the Mistland way, but rather clasped hand to forearm. Dayn's arm felt like a dry twig ready to snap in Nassir's black metal gauntlet. He looked at Dayn expectantly. "So how would you awe me?"

"I...I gave it to him. Preceptor Lurec."

"What do your dictates say about that, Preceptor?" the Defender asked. Lurec fumbled at his overcoat pocket, flushing as the Defender's gaze skewered him in place. Several of the Preceptors peered at Dayn in an interested way that unnerved him. They reminded him of Tela at the pond, deciding what to do with a newly captured tadpole.

_Where are my kin?_ Dayn began to slink away into the onlooking villagers, but Elder Buril stopped him with a slight shake of his head.

"Do not belittle me!" Lurec spluttered, still fumbling through his pockets. "It's here, I have it here."

"Something important enough to obtain without a Defender's presence and you lose it?" Nassir inquired coolly.

A new commotion turned the onlookers back toward where the eastern road met the Square. Dayn stared in shock as his mother and Kajalynn appeared, their dresses dirtied from the road. Once Kajalynn saw Nassir, she began to shriek at the top of her lungs.

"My husband!" she screamed. "Oh peace help me, they took my husband!"

The Square erupted like a kicked anthill. Farmers surged forward with staffs in hand. They boiled toward Lurec, Nassir, and even the Defenders' impassive circle. Not one Wia Wells man hesitated at charging the Ringmen after seeing the distraught wives, and the Southforte folk were only half a step behind.

"Offworlder filth! Back to the sky with you!"

"Keep the Preceptors from harm, we must not―"

Something knocked Dayn to the ground, he did not see who or what. Shouts sounded out all around him as he regained his feet. Complete bedlam engulfed the Wustl Square.

"My wife! Let me go to my wife!"

Dayn heard Laman's bellow over the tumult and spotted him forcing his way through the Square. He felt immense relief to see his father, covered in ash, but otherwise unharmed.

A farmer blocked Dayn's view as he rushed Nassir. The Defender calmly sidestepped the farmer's staff and planted a boot in the man's rump. His momentum carried him unceremoniously to the ground.

"Please, please!" Elder Buril shouted, but the frenzy drowned him out. Nassir turned to Dayn, feet planted easily in a fighting stance that Dayn recognized immediately. Leopard's Embrace. Milchamah used the stance often when he taught―a mocking invitation to strike reserved for an inferior opponent.

Dayn felt the Defender's eyes sift him for a moment. He swallowed, holding his staff uncertainly. Nassir abruptly turned away, making measured progress toward the circle of Defenders, dodging and sidestepping as he went. Never once did he attack a Shardian.

Another one of the Defenders struggled through the crowd, protecting himself from the fists and staffs buffeting him from every side. Defenders took oaths to never raise arms against a world, but any fool could see how this would turn out. The Defender lost his feet to a farmer's staff and went down. Nearby villagers set to pummeling the Ringman with kicks.

Nassir gestured sharply to his circled men. Two of the Defenders broke into the throng after their comrade. Metallic pings echoed through the Wustl Square as the crowd fell on them with fists.

"Stop!" Dayn found himself joining the shouts.

The fallen Defender had left the safety of their circle to retrieve Lurec. The Preceptor stood alone and exposed in the throng as the two Defenders waded toward them both.

"Leave Shard, offworlder!"

"You've brought enough grief to our village!"

Things were happening too fast. Joam crept toward Nassir's back, unnoticed while the Defender signaled orders with those strange hand signals. Joam stood high, his favorite darkwood staff in his hand. Nassir's focus lay entirely on his men.

"Joam, _no!"_ Dayn lurched into motion. Joam drew his staff back to swing straight for the back of the Defender's unprotected head.

He could not block Joam in time, so Dayn threw himself into Swallow in the Wind. The strike lanced Joam perfectly in the ribs. A vicious move, particularly for an unsuspecting foe―no worse than what Joam intended for the Defender.

Joam crumpled to the ground, clutching his side, his darkwood dropped in the village ashes. Blayle the butcher and several other Wia Wells folk stared at Dayn as though he had just sprouted horns. Joam flopped onto his back, eyes rolling in bewilderment and pain. Dayn dropped his staff.

"Why did you...?" Joam rasped.

"I'm sorry, brother! I couldn't let you," Dayn said. Nassir looked on for a moment, then turned back to his men without a word. "Peace knows I'm sorry."

"Enough of this!" Elder Buril's booming voice finally broke through the tumult, though only a few Wia Wells folk stilled themselves to listen. "What are you doing, scared witless by a fire and biting the hand reached out to help you? The Ring is here for harm as surely as you are, Henner! Or you, Cael."

"There's nothing we could have done!" Lurec still sought to reason with the people who jostled him from every side. He stepped out beside Elder Buril, even further from the Defenders still pushing to reach him. "On my word as a Preceptor!"

"You're not wanted here―go back to the Ring! Take your filthy offworlder ways someplace else!" Dayn recognized the voice of the beady-eyed Misthavener, calling from the back of the crowd.

Confusion still ruled the Square. People rushed toward Hanalene and Kajalynn, or threw themselves at the Defenders. Others pulled dumbstruck villagers from harm's way. A Southforte man lunged for Lurec, pulling him savagely by the collar. The Preceptor struggled in vain as the man raised a fist.

Lurec's head snapped back so violently that Dayn cried out. The Preceptor's body went limp for a moment before he regained his feet. He held his hands up weakly to ward off another blow.

Dayn did not blink or turn his gaze, but somehow Nassir simply appeared next to the farmer. The Defender had slipped through the crowd like greased wind. His black gauntlet rested on the man's shoulder as though he were reasoning with an old friend. His hand tightened.

Spasms marched down the farmer's arm. He snarled in pain as his grip convulsed open, and Lurec staggered over to his fellow Preceptors.

But the corded muscles in the Southforte man's arm continued to contort of their own free will. He ran howling from the Square, casting fearful looks over his shoulder for signs of Defender pursuit.

"Peace embrace us," Elder Buril breathed. The same thought flashed across every farmer's face that Dayn could see. _If a single Defender could do that with a touch, what happens if he looses them all?_

"Proud of yourselves? Worked up by some fool Misthavener's words?" Milchamah demanded loudly. Things were truly upside down for the weaponmaster to become the voice of reason. He stood with Elder Buril between the villagers and the Ringmen. Laman and other members of the Village Council joined them. Many villagers still angrily demanded to know Grahm's whereabouts, but order was finally returning.

Dayn looked regretfully at his own staff, wondering over a better way to stop Joam. It was too late now, though.

One of the Defenders broke from their circle to approach Nassir. "The Preceptors are all accounted for...but our force took none of these villagers prisoner, sir. What do they mean?"

"Another innocent the true enemy would lay at our feet. Move us out, Haenlin." Nassir tapped two fingers absently on his cheek and muttered to himself before speaking aloud again. "Jetar will meet us on the northern road. We'll stay in the capital until morning before returning to the sky."

He never stopped watching the crowd. Villagers shrank away wherever his gaze rested. Finally satisfied with what he perceived, the Defender turned back. His stare fell on Dayn. Dayn swallowed hard as those hard brown eyes weighed him to the ounce. _Take the Seed and go,_ he thought. _You need never see any of us again._

"Forgive us this day, Elder," Nassir, turning his focus to Buril. His tone was more command than apology. "The Ring still serves." For once, Elder Buril stood speechless as the Defenders flowed like water into positions around Nassir. They watched the crowd impassively for any stray stones or fists, but no fight remained in Wia Wells. The Preceptors allowed themselves to be herded away wordlessly.

"No, we must stay here!" From somewhere within the cluster of retreating figures, Lurec shouted at the top of his lungs. "We'll lose―" His voice cut off sharply. Dayn could imagine why, after seeing Nassir dispatch the Southforte man. The Defenders soon disappeared beyond the last ruined dwellings, watching every direction at once.

"Provoking Defenders!" Jairn exclaimed, before stomping off to his ruined gem shop. "What were we thinking?"

Some started to debate hotly with Elder Buril about Grahm. "What's he done? Taken with no Elder permission, and three new toddlers to look after? They have no right!" Milchamah, of all people, argued the loudest. He had never uttered a word of praise for the offworlder before today.

_Another innocent the true enemy would lay at our feet, that Defender said._ Dayn did not want to believe the gray men, these voidwalkers, did something to Grahm. Guilt washed over him for being so suspicious over his neighbor's odd behavior. _Peace, he helped me out of the Dreadfall. What will Kajalynn do without him?_ He moved to join his parents, but stopped short.

Joam glowered at him, holding his side as he stood near the wells in the middle of the Square. Neither of them made a move to walk closer, or speak. Finally, Joam stalked away.

Dayn sighed heavily. He did not know which would be more difficult to repair, the burned out village or their friendship. A glint of warmth caught his attention, hidden in the remains of an Evensong booth. He raised his foot to stamp out the hot ember, glad for the chance to lash out at something, but halted at the last moment. Dayn could not believe what he saw.

The Seed glowed up at him from beneath the ash. The Preceptor had lost it in the fight. Dayn quickly looked around. _Peace, why did I have to see it? Let someone else find it, I have enough to worry about!_ After a moment of agonized deliberation, he scooped the Seed up and slipped it in his pocket.

"Dust and blood, but that might have gone better." The sound of Elder Buril's tired voice behind him made Dayn jump. "Are you alright, my boy? That Preceptor was awfully interested in you."

"I...I'm not sure," Dayn said. "Elder I need to show you what he wanted. He left it here on accident." Dayn reached in his pocket, but Elder Buril shook his head sternly as more men approached them. _Not now,_ his eyes said. The Elder rounded on the newcomers and Dayn groaned, wanting to slink away. More Misthaveners.

"What do you want, Payter? Our village burning down around our ears just once isn't enough for you? You would have the Ring to rain down fire from the sky and salt our land while they're at it?"

The Misthaven man cringed as Elder Buril's voice brought sharp eyes from every corner of the Square.

"I wish no harm on any good folk of Shard," Payter protested. His eyes glittered like tiny black stones. "What I want, Buril, is to know the reason this boy raised a staff against one from his own world." He gave Dayn a cruel smile. "We all saw him. What business have you with these offworlders? I've seen nothing of you since the ground faltered."

"That is a Wia Wells matter, you meddling fool! Keep your nose out of it!" More people took notice, except for the knot clustered around Hanalene and Kajalynn. Despite his indignation, Elder Buril began to prod Dayn from the Square.

"A fine choice you've made for Attendant, Elder!" Payter's voice taunted them the whole way. "Don't think I didn't see you, boy―using your new title to blind my niece during the dances! Where were you when this village shook to pieces around us? Skulking with Ringmen? Something is amiss with you, boy―and I intend to find out what!"

"That Preceptor. Of all the people on Shard for you to arrive with." The Elder's face turned sour as he led Dayn away from the crowd. "Payter is a plumb fool. I saw what you did with Joam, stopping him from caving in that Defender's skull. They came to help us, that's what Defenders do—but they might have made the whole village regret this day, even so."

"I don't think they would," Dayn said. The Defender Nassir repeatedly forbade confrontation, even as his Ringmen took blows themselves.

"Well, no one ever accused you of having an overabundance of wits. Though I'm still convinced that may pass one day." The Elder snorted as he turned into a pocket of the village spared from the fire. They moved swiftly toward Sister Cari's shop.

"Your father told me about your...adventures. Even that I could forgive, but the whole village will know by nightfall." The Elder sighed heavily. "Dreadfall or no, the worst part is you were not here when the ground failed us, my boy. Who knows what people will think by week's end?"

Elder Buril looked back the way they came. "See to your sister, while I fetch your parents."

Dayn's initial worries came rushing back. "She's here? Is she hurt?" He resisted an impulse to trample the Elder to get inside the shop.

"She...will live." Elder Buril's face sagged in sudden, deep despair. "She was near the tangletoy when that fire struck the Square. Many of the children were. She fares better than most, but she's badly burned, lad. It was a fire that water wouldn't touch." Dayn rushed inside. Elder Buril closed the door behind him.

Sister Cari's modest shop consisted mainly of rows and rows of dried herbs along the walls. Pallets were squeezed onto every possibly inch of the wooden floor. Tela rested upon one, taking shallow breaths. Bandages covered her entire right arm, and her neck all the way up to her jaw. Dayn's stomach roiled to see the pain on her face, and the fragile heaving of her chest.

"Forgive me, Tela," he whispered. "I should have been here, not you. This is all my fault!" He took the stool at his sister's side, and carefully checked her bandages. The ones near her ribs were not bloody at all, but milky with pus.

He wondered nervously where his parents were. The shop soon began to feel like a trap. He half expected that Misthavener Payter to fling open the door at any moment, rumpled hat and all, to drag him away. Dayn wanted nothing more than to go back to the farm and forget this entire day. _Peace, the whole week!_

Dayn hated not being able to explain everything to the village, but consigned himself to waiting. He took out the Seed and examined it to pass the time. A rippling stirred within it that reminded Dayn of when mist curled and eddied above the Silk River's spring floods. Kohr Springs villagers who lived close would warn their children that the mist billowed because of deadwisps hiding in the river, hoping to drag them in the flood waters.

The orb looked filled to bursting, but the weight felt wrong to be hollow or full of liquid. Yet the innards were not fully solid, for they quavered and began to glow as though responding to his touch. He wondered if anything lay hidden within the Seed, waiting to pull him in, too.

Tela groaned as the Seed's light washed over her. Dayn quickly hid it back in his pocket. He tried his hand at a lullaby to soothe her, but it rang false in his ears, so he let the melody fade. Long moments passed. Dayn found his own eyelids growing heavy.

"Wake up, son." His parents were returned, along with Elder Buril and the healer. Dusk shone through the windows, now. Hanalene motioned for Dayn to rise, and Sister Cari took his place, peering over Tela's bandages like a graying bird.

"She's doing better than most, your Tela is. My salves are about as much good for her skin as the water was for the Dawnbreak. I had hoped for healers from the Ring to arrive by now, but I suppose Misthaven has a say on where they will lend aid." Her face twisted, wrinkled hands tightening in frustration around the soiled bandages. "We'll just have to look after ourselves as best we can. Same as we've always done." Her brown eyes flickered to Dayn. "Most of us, that is." Her words stung like a hot whip.

"All of us," Laman said firmly. "Thank you for your help, sister. We're indebted to you. I'll see to my family now."

"She's not to be moved, mind you," the healer said crisply.

"My daughter will rest better in her own bed."

Sister Cari drew in a breath that meant a long lecture, but she relented at Hanalene's gentle touch upon her arm. "I won't wake her over this. Remember how many weren't so fortunate before you do something foolish."

"You needn't antagonize her," Elder Buril muttered after she left. He looked cautiously out the windows with the look of a man with an unpleasant task to carry out. "I'm the one who shall hear about it later."

"I'm grateful to be so near our healer, that's peace's own truth," Laman said tersely. "But for the Council to use my daughter to keep us close, the notion is―!"

Laman stopped short at Hanalene's reproving look. "She needs her rest if we're to leave soon, husband," she said.

"You won't be seeing your farm tonight, I'm afraid. Half the Council wants you to stay in the village, until they decide what to do about..." Elder Buril's worry melted into disgust as he lit the healer's lamps. Full dark would be upon the village soon. "To think I voted for some of the fools myself!"

Hanalene's brow furrowed in anger. "We've been stricken as surely as anyone else." Her hand swept to Tela for emphasis.

"It's because of me," Dayn said quietly. They all regarded him, faces still in the lamps' yellow glow. "Just because I was in the Dreadfall when this happened! I know I shouldn't have gone, but...it's not fair."

"You're right on both counts." Elder Buril eased himself onto an empty pallet. "People rarely act like themselves when fear clouds their minds."

"What did that Preceptor want with you?" Laman asked.

"What I found in the Dreadfall," Dayn said, reaching into his pocket. "He called it a Seed." He extended the little red orb. Laman palmed it curiously, getting a feel for the weight. Elder Buril declined to touch it at all.

"Certainly not a seed for planting," Laman observed. "All that trouble for some Regent's lost earring?"

"He said it could be a tool for the Belt, or a weapon."

"A...Seed." Elder Buril assumed the weight Dayn bestowed upon the word, though he appeared just as mystified as Laman. His face took on a speculative look. "I can't say I've ever heard of such a thing. Did he say anything else?"

Dayn hesitated, but his mother nodded encouragingly. "I was there, too. Tell them."

"He thinks that voidwalkers are to blame for how Shard shook."

Laman's face went very still. Elder Buril's brow wrinkled in doubt. "How could anything do that to an entire world? To Shard?"

"I saw them when I fell. Heard them. They said they meant to tear Shard from the Belt. That was before everything exploded. There was rock everywhere, and...I think they all died. It was like Shard was defending her own heart from them."

"I suppose you'll tell me next that you visited the other side of the Dreadfall! No one can survive so close to a worldheart, you'd be crushed! And the heat—"

"Elder, forgive me, but he could. I told you what he was covered in when we pulled him out." Dayn flinched at his father's droll glance. "He planned well enough, I'll give him that."

"The Ringman listened to every word of his story without so much as a twitch," Hanalene put in. "Peace keep us all. Who would believe such a tale?"

"Yonas," Dayn offered. "Joam said he saw a man made of smoke, but I never got to speak with him at Evensong."

"The Ro'Lett lad, you say?" Elder Buril rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I'll send for him at once."

"He was on the tangletoy with Tela," Laman said quietly. Hanalene bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. Then Dayn understood, and looked down at the floor. The burned buildings were one thing, but losing children might prove more than Wia Wells could bear.

"Peace keep him forever." The Elder sighed heavily. He gave Dayn a considering look. "So your word will stand alone. That Preceptor doesn't seem to be too popular among his fellows, either. That seals the decision, I think."

"Yes. We will still return to our farm." Laman fell silent for a moment, watching his daughter sleep. Relief flooded Dayn to hear the decision. He always found the best response to a situation. That is why his father's next words came as a complete shock.

"You're not coming with us." Laman let loose a defeated sigh, looking at Hanalene. Dayn's mother nodded her confirmation, though anguish shone in her eyes. "You need to be away from Wia Wells, until things settle down."

"And our kinfolk's senses return," Elder Buril added.

Dayn's head swiveled back and forth between the three of them. "But I don't want to go!" he blurted out.

"It's already decided, and you seem well enough to journey," Laman said, a note of puzzlement entering his voice. "We made preparations while you slept. You'll stay with your mother's sisters, in Greenshadow. We'll send for you at Sealing time. Surely this will die down by then."

"Yes. That will work splendidly," Elder Buril said. Haggard as he looked, the man seemed to brighten somewhat―at the prospect of Dayn leaving the village. "But Laman, we still must consider what to do with this...Seed."

"I've done nothing wrong!" Dayn protested, a lump rising in his throat. "He came to our farm, I didn't seek him out. I wanted to come and get father, but the Preceptor was so worried about the Seed, and now...I..."

"Lad, if you have any other suggestions, my ears are ready!" Elder Buril said, looking sternly at Dayn. Hanalene began to weep silently, and Laman moved to hold her, his face wooden.

Elder Buril sighed as he continued. "No? I thought not. What's more, you haven't heard the people talking outside. The Misthaven folk and your friends, agreeing with each other. 'That Ro'Halan boy, he's at the heart of it.' What do you suppose they'll make of this Seed? If it's half what the Preceptor says? Those Ringmen will return for it if he's as persistent as I suspect. They may not be so kind to us next time."

"We don't know that," Laman muttered, "not for certain."

"Such things will stick to a man for all of his days." Elder Buril fixed Dayn with a cool stare. "Stick to his name. You need to be rid of this Seed at once. Wia Wells needs to be rid of it!"

Dayn's heart sank as the two men nodded.

"I'd hurl it back into the Fall myself, if it would do any good," Laman said darkly. "I know what's proper for us to do, yet I fear to involve Misthaven. Something warns against it. Forgive me if I speak out of place, Elder."

"No, we're in agreement," Buril replied. "But you know how the Council would decide."

Laman nodded." The Ringmen are our best course. That Preceptor seemed reasonable enough, though that may have changed after Charl's fist. I doubt those Defenders will let anyone within a staff's swing of him again."

"He shouldn't be anywhere near Misthaven," Hanalene protested. "All this sneaking to get him to my sister's, only to take such a risk? We might as well invite that fool Payter along!"

"The Ringmen will be there through the morning. We all heard them say so," Laman replied gently. "It's his best chance to be free of it. He'll be halfway to Greenshadow before they even know he's left the village."

"I'll agree to it then, as well." Hanalene nodded uncertainly. Elder Buril exhaled noisily, and Laman squeezed her hand in silent thanks. "I hope you're right."

"It's settled then." Elder Buril rose to his feet. "You should all prepare to depart at once. You'll have a long night ahead of you to make it to Misthaven by morning, my boy. Peace keep your path."

"Peace keep you, Elder," Hanalene murmured. He opened the door, peering cautiously into the burned ruins of Wia Wells before striding away.

"We've chosen a guide to get you to Misthaven in time to be rid of that thing. Here." Laman reached for a pack set by the door that Dayn did not notice before. "You've enough food and water for the road north, and clothes for a summer with your aunts."

Laman and Buril had clearly made up their minds, but they would not send him away unless Hanalene agreed. "Father, I―" Dayn began, but Laman's voice remained firm.

"It's for the best. You leave tonight."

Dayn knew better than to argue. He had never stayed outside of Wia Wells for longer than a few days. Leaving for a festival or the harvest in Misthaven always excited him, but this was completely different. A whole summer away from home.

"The Misthavener stay-overs want to question you as if they were Elders, and I won't allow that." Laman's voice softened a fraction. "Elder Buril's written a letter which should satisfy the Ring's laws, although he may be stepped down for it."

"Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?" Tela called weakly from her pallet. Hanalene came to her side in a flash, easing her back down.

"No, Tela." Dayn did his best to put on a cheerful face. "How are you feeling?"

"My arm hurts." She flexed it experimentally, then stopped with a slight groan. "You'll bring me something from another world, won't you?"

"She's confused," Hanalene murmured. "Her fever's getting worse."

"Your brother's going to Greenshadow, just for the summer." Laman said soothingly. They were all circled around her pallet now, and Dayn felt a terrible sense of loss, realizing these sad moments together were going to be their last for some time.

"When I come back, we'll go to the Sliding Rocks whenever you want." He could barely keep his voice from cracking.

"That will be fun." Tela brightened a little. "Take your red cloak, too," she said earnestly. "I helped mother make it, you know. It'll bring you good luck."

"I will, Tela."

A cautious knock came at the door. Dayn kissed her on the cheek, then embraced his parents in the most awkward farewell he could imagine. The door creaked open, to reveal old Nerlin, holding a pale staff and dressed for travel. He carried packs slung over each shoulder.

"The village is asleep. Come now!" The old farmer peered furtively back into the night. No signs of life stirred in the ruined shops and homes, but Nerlin still looked tense. Dayn donned his cloak and hefted his pack, then took his silverpine staff from where it leaned against the wall. He ventured one last look at his parents, his mouth awash with everything he wanted to say.

"I'm so sorry, father. I should have―" he started in a rush, but Laman waved his words away.

"What's done is done. We love you, son. No matter what comes, remember that," he said. Hanalene nodded fiercely in agreement. Laman took up his own staff by the door and stared wordlessly at the carved names. Dayn could barely meet his father's eyes when he looked up. "I gave this to you before you were ready. I hope you'll give me a reason to change my mind."

His mother brushed her fingertips on his cheek. Raw emotion rushed through her hazel gaze, grief and love all mixed together. "Journey well," she said. "We'll manage the harvest well enough once Tela is better. The summer will pass before you know it."

At that moment, Dayn truly grasped how deeply his actions had wounded his parents. Not for his failing to become an Attendant, or shaming the Ro'Halan name. He had broken their trust. He silently vowed to never again be the cause of the look he saw in their eyes.

Nerlin made an impatient sound, and Dayn turned away from his family. He secured the Seed in his pack before stepping into the waiting darkness.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

First Mist

The mist season on Shard is steadfast, generous, and nothing short of miraculous. Without Shard's Pledge, the World Belt's food supplies would last fifteen years at best.

-Consort Prelus, Observations on World Belt Commerce

Heap of trouble you're in, eh?" Nerlin looked over Dayn briefly before they set off. A luminous shroud of fog blanketed the ground, reflecting the light of a ragged, crescent moon.

"First Mist," Dayn whispered. His summer as an Attendant would have started at dawn.

"Aye, arrived earlier than I've ever seen. I'll wager the tremors brought it on." The old farmer peered cautiously up the street. "What are you waiting for, drummers and torch bearers? Step quietly now, and don't light this lamp until I say."

Despite Nerlin's sour disposition, his presence made Dayn's departure from the village feel less like running away, somehow. They stole into the night, skirting the edge of the Square and picking past burned out buildings toward the road west. The mist dampened their footfalls, swallowing their bodies from the waist down. Ahead of him, Nerlin appeared to float rather than walk.

"The Misthaveners, are they looking for me?" Dayn asked.

"Yes, and they aren't alone," came the terse reply. "Buril could only keep Sister Cari quiet for so long, she's off and told the Council he's up to something. When they find Laman gone, they'll go out to his farm, most likely. Should buy us some time if your flapping gums don't give us away."

Dayn clamped his mouth shut. He expected to be halted by men with torches around every corner, and feared to see Joam's face among those seeking him out. There were few buildings left standing. Dayn pictured how Wia Wells looked before the fire, whole and happy. He did not want these ruins to pass for home in his memories.

They swiftly passed out of the village's pitiful remains with no pursuit. For that at least, Dayn felt a measure of relief. He spoke once he felt certain they were far enough along the road. "Thank you for your help."

"Don't thank me just yet, boy." The old man snorted, not slowing his pace. "If your old man and Buril don't calm those fools, it may be the whole of Shard come looking for you at Greenshadow."

Dayn swallowed. "You think they'd stay angry for that long?"

"Fools never take kindly to reason," Nerlin replied. He glanced back at Dayn's face and barked a laugh. "No worry left to waste over it now, though. I'll get you north in one piece. Peace take these old legs if I don't. Now, let me see it."

"See what?"

"Don't play me stupid, boy. The trinket."

Dayn produced the Seed and proffered it to Nerlin. He could not wait to hand it over to the Ringmen for good. Nerlin peered at it intently, but the old farmer made no move to take it. "Good. Easy to hide."

Dayn frowned. "Elder Buril didn't touch it, either." The Preceptor never quite told him what the Seed was for, but anything worth risking a Defender's wrath must be terribly important. "Why?"

"There's an old look to it. An old feel. Old powers can take a liking to you." Nerlin cocked his head doubtfully for a moment, then turned back to the road. Dayn returned the Seed to his pack. "Don't tell me what it is, either. I don't want to know."

They set out again at a measured, ground-eating trot. Dense redbranch thickets grew on either side of the road to Misthaven, so tangled they might as well be walls of granite. Nerlin moved easier than expected, given his limp, as the road snaked north.

Dayn itched to move faster, but only the foolhardy risked bounding in mist. That rule applied three times over at night. One jutting stone could snap an ankle like straw after a high leap, and the mist could hide a ten span drop in the terrain, make it appear to be level ground.

Breaking branches pierced the heavy silence. Nerlin halted immediately and peered behind them, searching for movement.

"Did you hear that?" Dayn whispered nervously. Even the worst fool in Misthaven would not leave the road tonight, but the sound was unmistakable.

"Of course I hear it!" Nerlin snapped. He refused to light his lamp. "Did you stop to think if it might have heard you, before opening your trap?"

He muttered for a moment about gravespinners venturing too close to the road, but did not seem convinced of his own words. "There's an evil about tonight," the farmer finally conceded. "An evil in the mist."

"We should bound. The Preceptor told me voidwalkers might be on Shard," Dayn said. "I...I think they want the Seed."

"You don't say." Nerlin's face tightened. Dayn followed his gaze back to the road ahead.

A figure barred their path less than ten spans away, completely shrouded in a black cowl. The sounds of snapping branches behind them stopped.

They spun around to see another voidwalker emerge from the redbranch, just as massive and hulking as the first. This one wore no cloak, only a strange, glistening black armor. Organic and jagged, the metal reminded Dayn of a silverpine's coarse bark. The covering swallowed the voidwalker to the chest with no visible straps or joins. Its shoulders, hands, and hairless head were unprotected and deathly pale as the moonlit mist. A strange steam issued from the voidwalker, as though he were boiling in his own skin.

"I knew guilt would grant speed to your feet, boy, if you still lived." Dayn recognized one of the voices from the Dreadfall, guttural and cruel. "And here you stand unscathed, when so many of Thar'Kur's warriors are dead. I would know what secrets protect you."

"I can...feel his eyes on me," Nerlin mumbled thickly.

Dayn felt an odd sensation spider along his senses. "Peace, no...get out of my head!" Something vile brushed the edges of his mind, searching for purchase. Before he could utter another word, the voidwalker's unseen attack crumpled him to the ground in agony.

Nerlin sank to his knees in the mist next to Dayn, arms hugged around his chest. Blood trickled from the farmer's ears and ran down the stubble on his face.

"All this trouble to burn them out of that hovel, and you won't kill him now?" The second voidwalker's voice rang out behind them, impatient.

"Wait. See how he resists us? They both do."

Dayn knew he might as well be a born-blind lamb in their clutches. No matter how he strained, he could not move.

"Get up, boy!" Nerlin's fearful cry cut through the fog in Dayn's mind. "For your life, get up!" Nerlin grabbed Dayn by the arm and darted off the road. The undergrowth raked their skin as they stumbled into the wilds. Dayn held his staff before him, but it proved a poor tool for pushing through the redbranch. His mind cleared the further they ran from the road.

"Go, go! They're right behind us!"

Nerlin dropped his lantern to better grasp his staff as he shouted back at Dayn. "Stay close, and for the love of Shard don't tread on the silver ground!"

The old farmer gathered himself in a crouch, then bounded forcefully out of sight. Dayn leaped after him, ignoring the branches that clutched at his clothing, tearing at his hair and skin. He barely broke through. For a moment he sailed free, the wind on his face and the crescent moon overhead. But the pull of Shard's ground dragged him back into the shadowed wilds and mist.

He landed with a crash, stumbling to his feet only to leap again in the direction he believed Nerlin took. Branches snatched at his pack with every bound, but he dared not stop to secure it. Only the Seed inside prevented him from flinging it away to run faster.

Dayn listened for Nerlin's guiding shouts ahead as he pitched through the wilds like a crazed mule. The more noise he made, the less he could hear from behind, but he knew the voidwalkers were still there. He could feel them.

The two fled blindly along ground Dayn felt sure no Shardian had ever walked. They might fare better bounding through fences than the snarled redbranch. Silk strands soon drooped from every branch, sticky and viscous, threatening to snare him. Peace _guide my step, it's thicker than rope!_ Silver ground warned of nidus, the underground caverns where gravespinners lurked and laid their egg clutches. Dayn strained to keep Nerlin in sight, ignoring the cuts crisscrossing his skin. His right ankle folded on a dead branch. Sweat stung his wounds, and his strength began to flag.

"Blind me! I heard you were the Mistland's best bounder!" The farmer's voice stabbed out from the dark, goading him on. "Keep up!"

"Where are you?" Dayn cried. His sprain felt bad, but he could not risk stopping to check the ankle. His staff streamed ragged strands of silk. He felt things squish underfoot or lunge for his legs every time he leaped into another bound.

"Ease back, boy. Ease back!"

Dayn skidded to a stop, chest heaving. "We can't stop here, they'll catch us!" His legs burned as though he carried a pack full of river stones. The clearing looked free of spinner traps, but the wilds around them practically quivered. The feeling set Dayn's teeth on edge. Silk covered the landscape in every direction. "What are you doing?"

"Getting a handle on our bearings," Nerlin said. The man looked an absolute wreck, with broken twigs and silk strands clinging to his shredded clothes. He stared into the night sky, face completely aghast. "Peace protect us...the stars are all wrong! Shayla's Daughters are too low in the sky for this time of year. I thought we were angling back toward the road, but now..." He trailed off.

Dayn finally broke the silence. "They did something to Shard, the voidwalkers in the Dreadfall. I saw them in her heartrock."

Nerlin gave him a hard look. "I picked a fine night to do Buril's bidding," he muttered, starting off at a brisk walk. Dayn hurried after, looking everywhere for trapdoors. "A fine night. Well, there's less web in the redbranch here, which means good for us."

"I don't see how."

"There's refuge ahead, with a little luck. We need to get distance between us and those things. You ready to bound more?" Little escaped the farmer's notice. Dayn stretched out his ankle, it would begin to swell soon if they did not keep moving.

"I'll be fine."

Nerlin turned, squatting to bound again. A voidwalker burst from the shadows to pluck the farmer right out of the air, one hand gripped tightly around Nerlin's neck.

"No! Let go of him!" Dayn sprang forward without thought. He swung his staff with all the force he could muster. The blow bounced off the voidwalker's black armor. The brute did not even notice.

"My brother thinks you degenerates are special." The voidwalker leered at Nerlin. His massive hand engulfed the farmer's neck, twisting Nerlin's head from side to side as though checking him for blemishes. "I think you are frail, and your pathetic world only spins by chance!"

Nerlin drew just enough breath to spit in the voidwalker's face.

The brute snarled, and slammed him into the ground. Dayn struck at him again. The voidwalker swept his arm around casually. Dayn flew back, crashing into a redbranch trunk.

The voidwalker wasted no more words. He picked Nerlin up, drew him high overhead. His left knee rose, ready to break the farmer's back. Not knowing what else to do, Dayn threw his staff. The voidwalker shifted scornfully. The staff missed the cruel face by inches.

"Watch closely, degenerate. This is the easiest way to feed you to a fleshweep."

But Dayn never intended to hit the voidwalker. His staff had sailed past, and into the shadowy center of a vortex of silk. The redbranch around it began to tremble violently.

The voidwalker sensed the movement and turned. A gravespinner flashed out of the den, taller than a man's knee. Its mandibles dug vainly at the black armor, and it skittered back from a kick. Then the spinner began to climb. Its barbed, spindly legs crawled up the torso in an instant to find the voidwalker's unprotected neck.

With one arm the voidwalker tore the spinner away from his shoulders, then threw it into the trees with such force the leg tore off in his hand. The den began to vibrate again. Another spinner rushed out. The voidwalker threw Nerlin toward the den's mouth, and he landed in the silk. Wide-eyed and stuck, but alive.

"In your pack, get a knife!"

Dayn ripped open his pack. The second spinner ignored him and pounced straight for the voidwalker. The brute caught the spider in midair and tore it in half. Dark blue entrails sprayed over the ground.

"Peace take you, boy! Quit fumbling and cut me out! Cut me out!" Nerlin's voice grew shrill with panic. More spinners rushed over him, at least five, all heading straight for the voidwalker. For the first time, Dayn saw fear in the gray man's eyes. "What do you think they'll do when they finish him off, curtsy for us?"

A light drew Dayn's attention back to the pack. The Seed, glowing red. Next to it lay a small belt knife. "I've got it!"

"Moridos!" The voidwalker shouted as Dayn rushed toward Nerlin. Dayn did not look back. He spit on the blade and set to cutting the gravespinner threads for all he was worth.

"That's it, that's it!" The silk was frayed, in a way they were fortunate to be caught in older dens. Dayn finally pulled Nerlin free, then wrenched at his staff. It came loose of the gravespinner den on the first tug.

"Moridos, I'm here!" Gravespinners covered the voidwalker, his hands were stained with their guts. For every one he crushed, two more appeared to take its place. "Brother, help me!"

"Let's go," Dayn urged. A spinner sunk its mandibles into the voidwalker's shoulder above the armor. He screamed.

"Moridos!"

Distant crashing to the south jerked them into action. They scooped up their packs and bounded in the opposite direction. They left the voidwalker screaming, as the gravespinners set about cocooning him into the redbranch.

Dayn and Nerlin bounded perhaps half a mile, driven by blind fear. Nerlin's ragged call drew Dayn up short. "May Shard be forever kind to her sons," Nerlin rasped. "Look there."

A bowl-shaped valley stretched before them for miles, cradling the ruins of some ancient city. Crumbling towers and spires rose from the mist, forming a forest of broken, shadows.

"What is this place?" Dayn whispered.

"Terabin Round." Nerlin said. He cocked his head for a moment, listening for pursuit. Only gravespinner infested lands could offer such total silence. Nothing sounded behind them, not even a cricket's chirp.

"Not all of the great cities were in the Highlands. This was one of the largest cities in the World Belt, thousands of years ago. Right here in the Mistlands." Nerlin picked his way down the slope, moving with new confidence. He kept his voice low and spared sharp looks for Dayn whenever one of his exhausted steps sent loose rock tumbling down the slope.

"None of my lessons from the Elders speak of this place," Dayn said. The ruins appeared to offer little safety. "We can't be that far away from Wia Wells, and I've never seen this on a map. Why would people leave?"

"There's more to history than what an Elder sees fit to tell you, boy," Nerlin replied gruffly. "The torrent could fall on some worlds in the Belt, those days. The people searched out cliffs that could shelter them better, in places like Greenshadow and Sheercrest. Otherwise, this might still be the capital of Shard."

"Misthaveners sure wouldn't like to hear that."

"No, I imagine they wouldn't." Redbranch stopped well short of a once proud wall, which lay in ruins beneath the mist, crunching underfoot. In past glory, the city easily held ten times the splendor of Misthaven. "I was a bit of an explorer in my day, before Shard saw fit to slow me down."

Dayn heard a hollow wooden _thunk._ He could not see below his knees in the mist, but knew Nerlin had tapped his wooden boot. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it? How different things would be if Shardians lasted longer here? Maybe we would boss all the councils around, and Misthaven would be the village with bad luck."

The notion almost made Dayn laugh. He wondered how much exploring Nerlin had done in his past. "Are there other cities like this on Shard?"

"Not a one. I never meant to cut through the nidus to reach this place again. I approached it from the northern side, years ago. There's good land all around here, enough for Wia Wells, Southforte and Kohr Springs combined. But Terabin Round might as well be on another world, with all of the gravespinners surrounding it."

Dayn nodded, his eyes fixed on the ruins. The buildings were all crafted from the same white stonework, which glittered proudly in the moonlight. Only a few of the taller structures still stood, with crumbling holes in their upper heights, large enough to fit a wagon through. Dayn supposed those were old wounds from the torrent.

"I mean to thank you for back there," Nerlin said. "I'll meet my end one day, but watching my bones get sucked out of me like soup is the last way I'd choose. I almost feel bad for that thing chasing us."

"That's because you didn't see what he almost did to you," Dayn said. "And think nothing of it. If it weren't for you, we'd never have gotten away from them on the road. Were they...in your head, too?" Nerlin nodded. "How did you free yourself?"

"I honestly couldn't say. The only thought that came into my head was remembering how badly my wife wanted to plant, before the fever took her. Twelve years ago, and I'm still sitting on fallow ground. I thought to myself, 'you can't die on this road. What would she think?' I suppose that's what kept them from splitting my head open, I didn't want them to badly enough. She helped me remember it wasn't my time to go."

"Peace keep her wreath," Dayn said quietly. They fell silent for a while, taking in the broken city.

Even in ruin, Terabin Round held more grandeur than Misthaven could ever hope for. Buildings were sometimes crowned with domes, or precise six-sided spires. Dayn felt a connection to this place he could not explain, and found himself constantly angling his neck upward to see the heights of every tower they walked past.

Nerlin led him across a main thoroughfare wider than the Wustl Square. Every so often he gave Dayn a considering glance. They heard no sound save their own breathing and muffled footfalls.

"You're not as soft as I thought," Nerlin said finally. A collapsed building lay in their chosen road, with no clue as to whether it fell yesterday or a hundred years ago. Jagged stone of every size filled the street. As Nerlin slowed to pick the easiest way through the rubble, his next words took Dayn by surprise. "You truly mean to cut your luck in the Course of Blades?"

"I did. I mean I do. Peace, I don't know what I mean!" Dayn grimaced. "A week ago, that's all I wanted." The farmer waited as though he would actually hear him out, so Dayn continued. "There will never be an Attendant from Wia Wells again, thanks to me. The Village Council won't see me fit to haul water after this. One day, I could have gone to Montollos for the staff, but now...coursing doesn't even seem like a good idea anymore."

"Time will tell," Nerlin replied. He abruptly turned left into a side street, leaving Dayn to wonder at his private thoughts. Crumbling walls lined the narrow way, threatening collapse at any moment. Nerlin knew his way around, and took pains to follow a circuitous route.

"You don't think we've escaped them, do you?" Dayn's heart sank when the farmer shook his head no.

"You heard them in the redbranch. They don't bound, boy. Every offworlder I know of labors on Shardian ground." Nerlin scratched his chin. "They didn't look tired at all to me. No bet on if the spinners slowed them down, either."

"I hope they're both wrapped in silk for good," Dayn said. He did not remember seeing any cuts on the skin of either voidwalker after the redbranch. _They may not even breathe,_ he reminded himself. The Defenders in the Square did not tire after fighting a fire, and quelling a riot. If those were ordinary men, what further strengths did the voidwalkers possess?

Nerlin stopped and peered into the recesses of a building with somewhat sturdier walls. "We'll wait here until morning, and then strike out again. Let the gravespinners do what they do best."

"But the Ringmen will be gone by then!" Dayn protested. Things would get better, once he was rid of the Seed. He clung to the notion, regardless of how foolish it seemed. "You heard the voidwalkers, back on the road. The village might have been burned down because of me! If we don't get it back to Lurec, all of that was for nothing."

Nerlin kissed his teeth in exasperation. "They warned me you were stubborn, but this is bordering on rock-stupid. I'd wager those Preceptors couldn't jump a transport fast enough after their little picnic in the Mistlands." He eyed Dayn's pack. "Whatever that thing is, it's not worth waking up in a cocoon. And if those fine fellows from the road survive, I intend to see them coming from a good long way off. We wait."

"Morning, then." Dayn said reluctantly. He followed as Nerlin dipped inside. He really had no other choice, these wilds were completely unknown to him.

Little of the building's interior revealed itself to Dayn's eyes, but at Nerlin's call he padded toward some stairs near the wall. Most of the second floor and upper walls had given way under the weight of the collapsed roof, but a portion remained intact enough to walk upon.

The entire top now lay open to the stars, but more importantly, they could see nearly half a mile in every direction across the ruins. Old char marks marred the white rock in one corner, proof of Nerlin's past campfires.

The farmer saw him notice and shook his head. "Not tonight." Dayn pulled his cloak tighter and suppressed a shiver. His clothes were sodden after running through the mist, and Terabin Round's white stone seemed to suck the heat from his body. Without panic surging through him, aches and pains announced themselves throughout his limbs, and every cut and scrape bickered for attention.

"This is yours," Nerlin said. He thrust the spare pack toward Dayn. "I'm tired of carrying it."

He returned to his silent watch of the surrounding ruins as Dayn opened the bag. His eyebrows climbed as he took in a harness, wingline... _my coursing gear!_

"I don't understand," Dayn said numbly. "I could get skinned just for having most of this."

"Your father gathered what he could from the Dreadfall," Nerlin replied. "He doesn't know a lick about coursing, but there are good cliffs near Greenshadow. He thought this might help your summer pass quickly."

Dayn closed the pack, flooded with guilt over his father's parting kindness. "He would have let me go if I'd only asked," he mumbled. Laman had even packed the sealer. "He stood by me at every turn. He let me train with Joam, and my mother hates the staff, Nerlin. I made him look like the biggest fool in the Mistlands."

"The Village Council is a fine assortment of fools," Nerlin said judiciously. "But Laman is one of the most fair minded farmers I've known. You could have done better by him, boy."

"I will." Being rid of the Seed loomed that much more important in his mind now. "As the mist rises, somehow I will."

# CHAPTER EIGHT

The Leap Point

The Seedbearer laughed and rain fell to quench the forest. Seeds sprouted and took leaf to catch his footfalls, and flowers bloomed when he came near, in case his gaze might fall on them.

-Master Irwin Dosay's Compendium of Seedlore

They rested on the caved in roof for some time. Dayn worked his ankle to keep it from growing stiff, while Nerlin kept a silent vigil of the surrounding ruins. A frenzied scrabbling in the distance pulled Dayn from his thoughts.

Nerlin stared off to the west, worry etching deep lines into his brow. "What new trickery is this?" he muttered.

"Shardians!" A roar echoed among the buildings. "Show yourselves!"

"Moridos," Dayn whispered. Fear tightened his chest, but Nerlin just shrugged.

"Guess his brother didn't make it."

The redbranch lining the valley rim roiled and twisted with unnatural movement for a mile across. Dayn's mouth dried at the thought of how many voidwalkers hunted them now. Nerlin glanced at Dayn's pack again. "Still not too late to toss it."

"No," Dayn said firmly. "I have to return it." He locked eyes with the farmer, who sighed before hefting his own pack.

In the distance, the tree line suddenly erupted. Confused animals tumbled down the slope and scattered into Terabin Round, several herds of antelope, fluttering birds, even a yowling ridgecat.

A seething mass of gravespinners rushed after them, a river of hard, shiny bodies on spindly black legs. They easily numbered in the hundreds, enough to churn the mist to froth. Seeing so many made Dayn's skin creep. The spinners lunged halfheartedly at the animals in their midst, but seemed intent only on fleeing the redbranch.

"Peace protect us. Even the animals are afraid of them," Dayn whispered. The thought of another voidwalker encounter left him sick with dread. "I don't know if I can face them again!"

"Me neither. We cannot bound all the way to Misthaven." After a few tense moments of thought, Nerlin turned back to the steps. "I have an idea. This way!"

The old farmer scampered down, and Dayn followed, perplexed at his words. He kept a wary eye out as he followed Nerlin's sprint through the ruins of Terabin Round. Thankfully they crossed paths with nothing save a terrified antelope. The poor creature bounded over a wall as soon as they chanced upon it.

"Shardians!" Moridos's voice thundered from every corner. "Face me, cowards!"

After several twists and turns through the streets, the farmer stopped. An impressive circular plaza spread before them, large enough to fit their entire village with room to spare. The mist here streamed over their boots, pulled thin by an unseen current.

Beneath their feet, the white stone looked flawless. Diamond-shaped tiles spiraled inward toward a shadowed hole in the center about twenty paces across. Mist from the entire plaza poured into it.

"Peace send it still works!" Nerlin exclaimed. He ducked into a small, lone structure on the edge of the plaza, with Dayn fast behind. Pure darkness swallowed Dayn as he followed the farmer down a curving hallway.

"Do you mean for us to hide in here?"

"No more hiding." The sound of water pouring onto stone reached Dayn's ears. He heard the distinct leathery flop of an empty waterskin being tossed to the ground.

"What...what are you doing?" Dayn blurted out. "We need that!"

"Saving your hide. Keep quiet while I figure this out. I know it's dark, but find that sealer. What I wouldn't give for my lantern back."

Dayn dug through his pack and quickly found the wooden cask. He could only hear faint splashing in the dark. He began to wonder if the voidwalker's assault on their minds had stolen Nerlin's wits.

"I...I have the sealer, there's more than half left."

"Good. You'll need it all." Blue and green light suddenly illuminated the center of the room. Water rippled upon a circular slab of stone that stood waist high, glowing brilliantly. A mixture of relief and triumph shone on Nerlin's face as the stone surface grew steadily brighter. Dayn backed away from the glowing water despite the farmer's ease.

"What is that?"

"It's called a leap point," Nerlin explained, as he gingerly touched the stone surface. Light jumped to his fingers in an electric texture of green and reddish bronze. The farmer worked his fingers over the water as though he were writing, or painting with finger dyes. The thin layer of moisture rippled outward in three perfect circles across the slab, and he stepped back.

"Before the Ringmen found the transports, traders used leap points to travel short distances through the Belt―or great distances on a single world. Peace only knows what the old builders made them for in the first place. If this works, I can send you to Greenshadow in a blink. No need to bother with Misthaven, now that the Ringmen are gone. Stand back, it works the same as a transport's vapor array."

The water abruptly jumped from the slab, gliding outward into the chamber in a spray that dampened Dayn's face. Countless pinpoints of vapor, finer than his eyes could account for, filled the entire room, floating in the air. They rippled through a range of colors, reflecting off the walls in a rhythm akin to a heartbeat.

"Peace," Dayn breathed. He recalled stories of rainbows upon other worlds or in the torrent, but never imagined he would stand in the middle of one. Colors swirled before his face as the droplets floated away from his breath.

"We'll need to find a spot away from the northern road, but not so far that you'll get lost ," Nerlin said. He held his fist outstretched above the stone and rotated it slowly. The fine spray pinwheeled oddly throughout the chamber, following the turn of his hand like a flock of birds.

He slowly pulled back, as if readying to break a man's nose with his open palm. Dayn gasped as the fine spray rippled, then finally coalesced into an image of a firmly packed road. Majestic silverpine towered on either side.

"So it's like a map?" Dayn asked. Nerlin nodded, intent on the image, guiding it with his hand to follow the road closer to Misthaven. The vapor painted such a clear image, Dayn could almost see the needles on the individual trees. A ruffle of movement passed through the scene, blurring it, then disappeared. "What was that?"

"I'm not sure. Let's see." Nerlin pointed two fingers at the slab and circled his wrist. The scene shimmered, pulling away from the road to show more of the surrounding forest. "There's not enough water to keep this up for long."

"Peace, look there! It's a transport!"

"Blind me, but you have the most upside down luck I've ever seen," Nerlin groaned. "To find the Preceptors, just as they're leaving for the Ring. Peace!" More details came into focus as Nerlin manipulated the vapor. The transport reminded Dayn of a dragonfly with no wings, but flattened and angular. A small crystal partition rested between the 'eyes', but drab, gray metal formed the rest of the long hull.

Nerlin made a twisting motion with his wrist, and let his hands fall. The vapor remained centered on the transport. Dayn's eyes widened. He could see Lurec's face through the front crystal of the craft! The image began to brighten enough to make them both squint.

"Dawn's coming," Dayn said. The night had felt like an eternity that would never end. "Those grassy hills beneath them are west of the road from Kohr Springs. Maybe they're coming back to Wia Wells."

"No, see the angle? They're climbing." Nerlin looked at the water droplets around them in consternation. They were steadily evaporating, the image growing dim at the edges of the room. Whatever powered the ancient leap point, the water Nerlin needed would soon be spent.

"If this thing can send me to Greenshadow—"

"Shoot you, like a slingshot."

"Can it get me to the transport, too?"

Nerlin looked ready to spit. "I barely know what I'm doing here, boy! You could hope the Ringman navigator has enough sense to see you coming, but getting you to Greenshadow is already chancing some broken bones. Missing the transport could mean a lot worse."

Dayn knew what he needed to do. "I won't sleep another night if I don't risk it. The Defenders will be able to help with the voidwalkers, and I've got to take the Seed back to Lurec. It's important, I know it."

"Are you sure? There's a lot I can tell you in Greenshadow, things you need to know. About the voidwalkers, especially. The Elders all know about them, lad, though no one ever thought to see one here. You need to know about the World Belt, too. The worlds aren't what you believe they are!"

The farmer's words paralyzed Dayn. He could not afford to make another bad choice. "Do you know about the Seed? What it's for?"

"No," Nerlin admitted. "But your aunts might. Greenshadow, boy. It's for the best."

Dayn watched the image of the transport as it steadily climbed higher. Soon the Ringmen would be gone for good, likely never to return to Shard. "I have to do this. I'm sorry."

"Had a feeling the wind would blow that way," Nerlin muttered, but a twinkle lit his eye. "Well, If you have the heart to brave the Dreadfall, this should be easy sport. Put on your gear, quickly!"

Nerlin dug into his pack and pulled a band of dark red metal, attached to a piece of clear crystal. _For my face,_ Dayn realized.

"To keep your mouth free of flies. Here, like this." Nerlin adjusted the circlet on Dayn's forehead until he heard a click. Oddly enough, the crystal face plate did not fog from his breath.

"This is almost like a Defender's mask, isn't it?"

"Almost," Nerlin acknowledged. "But it's made special, for a courser. It...used to be mine. I'm giving it to you."

Dayn gaped. "You've been offworld?"

The farmer's face softened, just for an instant. "You'll get your chance, boy, I'm sure of it," he said. "But we must hurry. The leap point will draw that monster to us."

The light of the room began to fade, as water dried from the stone and the air. Nerlin reached beneath his cloak and produced a small leather pouch, which he proffered to Dayn.

"These are wind draughts." Dayn plucked out a pebble-sized, pale blue pellet. It felt strangely cool on his palm. The pouch held a few dozen more inside. "Strong lungs are a lost art in coursing. You held your wind well enough in the redbranch, and few can keep up with me. Hold one in your mouth when your air is gone."

The old farmer bent over the water, scrawling designs on the wet stone, but paused to bore his eyes into Dayn's as he spoke. "Some people panic when they cannot breathe, and think more is better. Not with wind draughts! Two will make your head float so bad you couldn't grasp a wingline if it were tied around your fingers. Three will leave you giggling like a one-tooth toddler. More than that...you'll sleep forever."

"I understand," Dayn said. He secreted the draughts in his belt pouch. "I could have used these in the Dreadfall."

"On the edge of your very last breath, mind you! These aren't sweet twigs. Make sure you sit or lie down. Standing will break your legs."

Dayn finished securing his harness, and looked at Nerlin in utter confusion. "You want me to lie down now?"

"Peace, boy―in the plaza! These are just the controls. There's a platform in the center. Get your wingline ready. You'll need it to rope the transport." Nerlin barked a laugh as he began to manipulate the controls once more. Blue light swirled around the chamber.

"What if I fall?"

"The sealer―cover yourself from head to toe with it. Use it all! There's enough there to survive a mountain dropping on you." The room's imagery shifted as Nerlin painted the air with his fingers. The ground rumbled beneath their feet. "The voidwalker will hear that. Our water's nearly gone. Hurry!"

"But what about you?" Dayn shouted to be heard over the rumbling. Fearful as he was, he could not leave the old farmer to face Moridos alone.

"I'll be fine, boy." Nerlin shoved Dayn unceremoniously toward the door. "Go! You must reach the plaza center before it turns red."

"Remember, you have to plant this year." Dayn choked out the words as he took in the fact that Nerlin needed to stay behind and operate the leap point. "You said you would."

"I will boy, that's a promise. Now if you miss the Ringmen, you'll drop somewhere north of Kohr Springs. The sealer will protect you. I'll let the Ringmen know to look for you, if I can. Deal firmly with them, boy―you are of Shard. Show them you're no mudwit farmer. Be ready with that wingline―the transport will come up on you fast. Go!"

Dayn lurched into a run. Outside, the plaza glowed with new life beneath the mist, the intricate diamond patterns pulsing in shades of blue. Dayn reached the center. After peering over the edge, he easily hopped down the three spans and onto a platform wide enough to hold an inn.

He spread the sealer over his clothes, ignoring the pungent odor. He applied it everywhere he could reach quickly, smearing it over his chest and removing the face guard to apply it to his head. The strange stuff tingled faintly upon his skin and flashed faintly upon his clothes.

Remembering Nerlin's words, Dayn lay on his back, holding his staff tightly to his chest. The rumbling ceased, and he heard nothing but his own breathing.

The platform jerked, swooping downward and falling hundreds of spans in seconds. The surface beneath him angled sharply. He imagined Nerlin aiming the leap point toward the transport, guiding the vapor inside the room.

Lights along the inner wall suddenly glowed red. In a moment of wracking pain, all of Dayn's bones felt as though they would fly apart. Wind suddenly rushed forcefully against him, pushing at the clear mask and whipping his cloak. The strap of his packs sawed into his shoulder. He looked beneath him in shock. Terabin Round was nothing but a white speck on the southern horizon. It disappeared within seconds, swallowed by redbranch wilds. _I'm flying! The leap point worked!_

He saw no sign of the transport anywhere as he sped through the sky. Dayn fumbled with his wingline as the wind tugged on it. Heart thundering in his chest, he desperately searched the breaking dawn before his flight became a fall.

***

Brooding silence hung over Nassir Toljem's transport as it ghosted away from Misthaven. The quiet suited his mood, although his present company did not. The navigators, Jetar and Samli, usually traded jokes no matter the hour, but they steered somberly now. Nassir did not care. Nor was he concerned with these Preceptors, who wasted the seats he could have used to bring twenty more Defenders to Shard. The gray-coated men broke into new fits of sweat every time his eyes touched theirs. All except for this Lurec, who looked back at him defiantly.

Lurec's speech and sharp blue eyes placed him from the world of Uhrau, likely the Sael province, which told Nassir little. He noted the absence of gray in the Preceptor's pale hair. He must have shown exceptional promise to achieve his ranking so young. Typically the most gifted students from Uhrau were invited to study under the Lore Keeper on the world of Hutan, a discrepancy Nassir filed away for future consideration.

Decades would be needed to repair the damage caused by this Preceptor's little jaunt. Both for the Ring, and Nassir's own plans. Even worse, Lurec would not utter one word of his discovery until he could speak with his superiors, and the Lord Ascendant herself! Nassir was half tempted to toss the upstart from the hold and watch him plummet to the ground.

_As Shard goes, so the Belt follows_ , he thought. _At least her heart is strong._ Evidence of Thar'Kuri warriors screamed throughout Shard, mostly to the south, from villages with wells purported to run exceptionally deep. Nassir did not know how the Lord Ascendant uncovered their plot to destroy Shard's worldheart, but the voidwalkers had come perilously close to achieving their aims. With not one voidwalker captured or killed, the Lord Ascendant's reaction to his report would be legendary.

Lurec rubbed his neck and glared at Nassir darkly. The Preceptor had required additional persuasion to board the transport. Nassir favored him with an expressionless gaze, and the man wisely dropped his eyes.

The sense of foreboding within the transport's hold hinged on even greater concerns. Every Preceptor's face showed it. Nassir regretted the lost opportunity to inquire in Wia Wells personally, particularly that farmer's son who so fascinated this Lurec. A young boy, with a red cloak.

Nassir had questioned two farmers in Kohr Springs who complained of their livestock refusing to drink well water. Haenlin reported the same as far away as Pelmarsh, to the west of Southforte. These farmers laughed about their eyes playing tricks on them, but signs of Thar'Kuri were plain to anyone who cared to see. Children convinced a 'deadwisp' lived in the springs they swam in, wild animals roaming into village greens, strange lights in the night sky―the accounts went on and on. The Shardians did not even realize that Nassir stood ready to empty the Ring of Defenders for their safety.

He dismissed any hopes of finding corpses near the worldheart. A dead voidwalker to display for unconvinced world leaders might be too much to wish for, but he would send men to look, anyway. The use of a transport would be a small cost, considering the voidwalkers nearly tore Shard from her orbit. _Oh yes, the World Belt will take heed if that day ever occurs._

Nassir allowed himself a brief flash of anger. The Preceptor's rash action wasted entirely too much time in the south. He should locate that young farmer again. A tall youth, but that was little use. Nearly all Shardians were tall. He carried a wooden dueling staff and two heavy packs. An urgent, focused look about him.

Nassir blinked, realizing how lost his thoughts were becoming. _Something isn't right._ The boy's face had radiated fear in the village plaza, not urgency. Nassir closed his eyes, sifting his memories.

He signaled to the flash force. No weapons. Ash choked the air, stung his eyes. No use wasting their throats. He imagined how his Defenders must look to these farmers, warriors from the sky with black armor and hard faces lit by the flames of their burning village. These farmers needed something to strike out at, as he once did.

A groan sounded to Nassir's back, and he pivoted into Swan's Flight to dodge another blow. He respected the dueling staffs these farmers carried more than they realized.

" _I'm sorry, brother," a Shardian youth was saying. "I couldn't let you."_

Nassir took quick inventory of this...Dayn. Despite the remorse on his face, his posture looked sure enough. The boy could test several of his men, Nassir believed, if pressed. Something else tugged at him about the boy, though he could not name it. Steady brown eyes and dark complexion noted of Shardian farmers, plain clothes. He held his right arm stiffly, an injury from staff training perhaps? The Shardian did not attempt to strike, so Nassir dismissed him, moving on to salvage this debacle.

Nassir frowned as he realized why his memories felt askew. _He was not dressed for a journey._ Confused murmurings among the Preceptors brought his attention back to the transport hold.

"Am I alone in recalling a certain Mistland farmboy?" Nassir asked. Several of the Preceptors blinked in surprise, nodding agreement. They were all from the group taken to Wia Wells.

"A Sending," Lurec said in disbelief, "but from a Sender as weak as a learning infant." A penchant for stating the obvious often proved to be a flaw of his kind. "Someone is communicating with us about Dayn!"

"To what end?" Nassir asked. The Preceptor opened his mouth, but then thought better of it. _His need is so dire, yet he refuses to speak of it. Why?_

The navigators typically ignored Preceptors unless addressed, so their shouts in the hold came as a surprise.

"By night's own peace! What is that?" Jetar blurted out. Transport navigators tended to be even tempered―a necessary trait for flying the torrent. Jetar had piloted for Nassir on many a mission, and did not give in to needless exclamation. Nassir rose immediately to see the source of their alarm.

"How did he get up here? There are no liftriders on this world!" Samli exclaimed, pointing out of the transport's front window. Lurec appeared by Nassir's side in the navigator area. Together they stared into the Shardian dawn as a red streak sailed out of the blanketing mist, rushing toward them at tremendous speed. The Shardian farmboy.

"I don't believe it," Lurec whispered. "Peace shines on my folly." Nassir frowned at his words, but stood transfixed. The Shardian appeared to be fumbling with a wingline lasso in one hand, a task made quite impossible by the staff he carried.

Nassir could not fathom how the boy planned to survive such a leap.

He realized both of the navigators were staring up at him, waiting for his orders. "We cannot let him fall," he said. Samli and Lurec both exhaled in relief, which Nassir found irritating. "Jetar, alter our path as best as you can to match his flight. Help me, Samli."

The transport leaned beneath their feet as it angled starboard. The navigator followed him nervously to the back of the hold, through the questioning murmurs of the Preceptors. The transport lay nearly ten miles above the surface of Shard, not yet high enough for the outside air to freeze. Fortunately, for this Shardian's sake. _Where in peace's reach does a farmer find wingline?_

"Prepare your Preceptors, Master Lurec, we must open the hold. It would be a shame for one of you to fall out."

Nassir secured a breathing mask over his face and stepped through the protective crystal door and Samli followed. They both flanked the hold door and waved ready to Jetar in the front. The crystal barrier slid shut. A great gust of wind roared through them both as the door hissed open. Predictably, the Preceptors cried out in alarm at the sound, although they were in no real danger. Samli's eyes twinkled above his mask as the wind whipped through his curly red hair.

"Here he comes!" Jetar shouted from the controls, his voice barely audible above the roar.

A frayed wingline appeared suddenly within their view, looping around the lower rear stanchion of the transport. Nassir shared a brief look of surprise with Samli before the Shardian whipped into view, a preposterous red cloak tangled hopelessly over his head. Samli whistled, and Nassir shook his head in disgust. Only a highly skilled courser could lasso the transport at this speed, but the boy's appearance made it obvious that he owed his snag to little more than blind luck.

Nassir cast his own wingline out, and the simpleton found enough sense to grab hold. Together they reeled him in. The transport door closed, stilling the wind's tumult. The Preceptors peered at the boy in astonishment, all except for Lurec. A profound sense of vindication filled his blue eyes.

"My name is Dayn Ro'Halan," the boy panted, fixing his cloak and peeling off an antiquated courser's faceguard. Nassir looked down at him, curiosity losing out to his displeasure. Life held too many ways to die without resorting to such foolishness.

"I know who you are," Nassir replied flatly. "Tell me why I shouldn't cast you back into your fields."

"You came to our village yesterday." The Shardian rose unsteadily to his feet. He looked absolutely wretched, his torn cloak covered in brambles and thick strands of silk. He reeked of enough old sheath to course the torrent naked. Nassir waited, and the boy continued uncertainly.

"I brought...I brought this." He fished beneath his cloak with trembling, wind-frozen hands. What he pulled out was...impossible.

The Preceptors gave a collective gasp of recognition. Lurec sat down hard, a strange blend of relief and awe on his face. "I knew peace would not forsake us utterly."

The navigator looked back and forth between the shocked Preceptors and Nassir, confusion on his face. Nassir quickly reduced his expression to smoothness. The less people who knew the import of this small, blood-red orb, the better.

"You see now?" Lurec whispered softly. "I'm convinced it's fully functional. Everything will change." Nassir nodded. This explained the Preceptor's adamant refusal to leave the village. A wasted effort, made evident by the other Preceptors' calculating looks.

"Preceptor Lurec, you must have lost this in your...fight. My Village Council tasked me as a messenger, to return it to you." The youth fished a letter from his pack and handed it to Lurec, who tore the missive open and quickly scanned the contents.

"Voidwalkers chased us on the road," the boy said, no doubt reading Nassir's eyes. His face suddenly wilted. "My friend found a...a leap point, but he could only get me away. I don't know if he escaped the ruins himself. Peace, the voidwalkers did things to our heads. If they caught him again..."

He trailed off. The Preceptors' worried mutterings filled the hold. Samli's eyes looked ready to fall from his head.

"You did well, young Shardian." Lurec passed the letter to Nassir, genuine sympathy in his voice. "Peace send your friend is unharmed."

"Elder Buril said this letter should 'satisfy your protocol.' That's how he put it."

Nassir scanned the neat script. Even the Lord Ascendant could not have suggested better wording.

"Can you take me to Greenshadow?" The farmboy held out the Seed, then lowered his hand in confusion when not one Preceptor stepped forward to accept it.

"No," he said. "Certain questions must be answered first, by the highest authorities." Hope drained from the boy's face.

"Peace. They already mean to flay me in Misthaven," he muttered. "I'd hoped you would take me back home, at least."

"You misunderstand me, Shardian. We're not returning to your world." Nassir kept his voice bereft of assurances. "Since no official is here in your stead, you must now answer to the Lord Ascendant."

# CHAPTER NINE

A Hero's Welcome

The Ring was born and broken in one blow by Thar'Kur. Who can know what glory it might have achieved, if not for the Breach?

-journal entry of the ninth Lore Keeper of Hutan

The Preceptors sitting across from Dayn murmured worriedly among themselves, indifferent to the transport's peculiar motion. Liberal amounts of silver touched the hair of the eight Ringmen. Dayn could mistake them all for Elders, except for their gray overcoats and the hungry looks they shot at his pack when they thought he was not looking. He could feel the pull of Shard's ground leaving him. The sensation made his eyes water, and his stomach tried to sink through his boots.

No openings were present in the transport's barren hold, although simple metal benches lined either side of the interior. A wide hatch made up the entire rear wall, which was partitioned by an inner crystal door. He could almost see outside through the forward window, at least, which lay ahead of where vapor misted around the two navigators operating the craft. The other Preceptors stared forward as well, but for far different reasons.

Nassir and Lurec argued steadily, stopping only to ask questions of the two navigators seated before them in their curved seats. "...back to his district at once," Lurec was saying.

The transport jerked imperceptibly, and Dayn squeezed his eyes shut with a gasp. He once believed a transport ride would be exhilarating, but he did not count on his fluttering stomach. Dayn missed the rest of Lurec's words, but some of the eavesdropping Preceptors nodded to themselves.

"Protocol must be followed to the letter, and he will give account to the Throne. Pray the Lord Ascendant doesn't heed my counsel, for I would see you stripped of your position and sent back to your homeworld in shame."

"But I―"

"Take your place!"

The other Preceptors' speculative whispers died out as Lurec sat beside Dayn, his face stricken. None of his fellows met his eyes.

Dayn felt guilty, for he was glad Lurec lost the argument. Nothing but shame awaited him at Wia Wells. This Lord Ascendant might easily be the most powerful man in the World Belt. Not a world leader, but still in command of the Ring. Surely Dayn's delivery of the Seed would earn some favor, and a measure of forgiveness once he returned to Shard.

Nassir obscured the transport's clear crystal pane, but Dayn could still see the sky outside as it shifted from Shard's steady, familiar blue to an indistinct gray, which soon gave way to night. Dayn gazed at the stars, entranced.

"I'm sorry if I've brought you trouble," he finally ventured.

"Lad, I would face a force of such men for the gift you've brought us," Lurec said. His face tightened as Nassir returned from the navigators, but quiet resolve filled his voice. "Your service will bring great reward."

"I've known nothing but trouble since the night I found it," Dayn replied, just as quietly. "I don't care who I have to talk to, so long as I'm rid of it. That will be best for me and my village." Lurec offered a thoughtful nod, but lapsed back into silence. Sitting across the hold, the Defender regarded Dayn with unreadable eyes.

Dayn sat straighter, remembering Nerlin's words. _I won't be taken for some backcountry lout,_ he silently promised. Nerlin might very well be dead by Moridos's hand, alone in the ruins of Terabin Round with no wreath for his grave.

_No. That is what the voidwalkers want me to believe,_ Dayn upbraided himself. _They turn your thoughts against you. I won't help them by doing it to myself._ He pictured Nerlin whole, making his way back to Wia Wells under cover of mist.

"Watch yourselves," the navigator called out, running a damp hand through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. His green eyes were set in a kindly, fair-skinned face that looked wrinkled before its time. "The Ring is about to pull free of Shard's shadow. The glare can hurt your eyes." Dayn leaned forward with rapt anticipation despite the warning.

Through the forward window, stars fled from the transport's path, winking out along the edges of an ominous black mass. Shard's shadow abruptly withdrew, unveiling the World Belt's greatest fortress.

The Ring floated silently before them, gleaming metal reaching out of sight to either side and looming ten miles high. The fortress looked like a bristling mountain range torn from the spine of some world, beaten and shaped by the hands of men. Granite towers of impossible size dominated the top at irregular intervals.

Dayn stepped forward in awe, craning his neck to see the edges of the shaped stone and metal.

"Your gaping craw is going to throw off my readings, farmboy." The other navigator growled. He had helped pull Dayn into the transport, but looked at Dayn now like he would a beetle under his shoe. Lean and whip-like, he had the reddest hair Dayn had ever seen. Both navigators wore plain blue overcoats. "No Beltbound in the hangdeck."

"He's fine, Samli," the older navigator barked, flashing a wink at Dayn. "It wasn't so long ago you were fogging up my vapor array, your own self. Mind your pitch."

"A thousand Sheercrest miners could work their whole lives and not build such a place," Dayn said. The Ring's surface came into further detail as the transport drew closer. Soon Dayn could see nothing else. Embedded bands of metal glinted against the rock in brilliant hues of white and silver.

"The sight can be overwhelming, the first time. Is it not, Jetar?" Lurec joined Dayn behind the navigators. Samli scowled at him, but minded his controls. Glowing droplets spread on the metal surface surrounding the navigators' chairs, forming complex patterns of symbols that rippled at their touch. Samli manipulated the suspended web of droplets under Jetar's watchful gaze.

"Sectional levels a mile thick, and a hundred miles across," Jetar said proudly. "It's not completely hollowed out of course, many sections are solid rock."

"I'd thought it to be an actual ring, but it looks more like a giant slab of wall," Dayn observed. Samli and Jetar shared a long look, but said nothing. "It's as big as a world, isn't it?"

"Not nearly, mudfoot," Samli muttered.

The transport slowly drew within a few hundred feet of the Ring. Crystal channels crisscrossed the surface. Dayn marveled to see Ringmen behind them, moving about their tasks in the hallways like termites in a fallen silverpine log. Jetar cleared his throat, and Lurec nudged Dayn back into the hold.

A metal gateway nearly two hundred feet wide slid upward to reveal a shadowed chamber within. They passed through, and the metal rumbled to a close behind them. Another identical portal opened before them, revealing a brightly lit cavern and hundreds of transports.

They touched down with a thump. Samli muttered something that made Jetar laugh. A hiss of air, and the Preceptors pressed eagerly toward the hold door. They avoided making eye contact with the Defender, and looked tremendously relieved to escape his presence. Dayn wondered if he should share their feelings.

"Peace upon your path," Jetar called to them. A flash of pity touched his face when he saw Dayn peering nervously out of the hold door. "Stand tall, young Shardian!"

Dayn waved goodbye to them both, and filed out between Lurec and Nassir, clutching his packs and staff. The Defender suddenly grabbed Lurec's arm, and leaned over to whisper briefly in his ear. Judging from how the Preceptor's eyebrows rose, pleasant words were not chosen. Dayn stood by uncertainly until Nassir strode off, reminding Dayn of a hunting ridgecat. He would not miss the Ringman one bit.

"I will see you before a Query if I must, Defender," Lurec said to the man's back. "If you believe―" he cut off sharply after a glimpse of Dayn's round eyes.

"You needn't hear all of that, I suppose," Lurec sighed. He touched the bruise on his forehead with a wince. "I'm sorry you were brought here in this manner, young Shardian. Certainly not a hero's welcome, but that's what you are, whether _he_ realizes it or not. We can at least examine the Seed while the Ring slumbers. It is night here, and most everyone should be resting, except for the Defenders. I've never seen a Defender sleep." He frowned in the direction Nassir had disappeared. "Do not worry about the Lord Ascendant. Tell your story truly, and you will return to Shard within the day."

"What about the voidwalkers?" Dayn asked. "Will the Defenders help my village if they come back?"

"They would not be Defenders if they did not. Now come. Let others worry about such things."

Lurec walked quickly through the transports, spaced in neat rows. Huge stalactites spilled from the ceiling two hundred feet above, piercing the dull metal floor in random places. The combination of unadorned rock and gleaming metal felt unfinished, somehow.

Powerful lights shone out from the stalactites so hardly a shadow touched the bay. Several navigators milled along Lurec's chosen route. They eyed Dayn curiously―especially his staff―but said nothing as they passed.

"Is that cross coupling tight?" A woman's voice sounded from deep within a transport's hold as Dayn walked by. He heard splashing sounds inside.

"It is," another navigator shouted back, scrambling beneath the transport. "Peace, I've checked it three times!"

"Then why are we still losing water?"

The reply was lost as Dayn turned a corner, following closely in Lurec's wake. Driven by his own thoughts, the Preceptor nearly walked head on into a dozen circled navigators. They all looked as different from each other as they did from Dayn. _They could be from different worlds or the same world, for all I know._ Lurec murmured apologies before passing through.

"Beg pardon, Preceptor." A burly man with a thick black beard nodded politely. The other navigators crowded close again once Dayn passed. "So he asks me, 'How was I to know we were in their migration path?' I says back, 'Boy, ever since you grazed that erratic, our hold has looked like the finest nest in the torrent this side of Tu'um!'"

The navigators all roared as the burly man pointed to the transport above them. Dayn gaped at the hull. Fist-sized holes pockmarked the metal and looked...gnawed on. _What in peace's reach could chew through metal?_

"I thought they were going to eat us," another navigator said peevishly. Embarrassment lit his face so badly, Dayn could scarcely see his freckles. "But they went straight for the ore." More laughter sounded as the group fell away behind them. Dayn wanted to hear more, but Lurec did not even slow. New oddities soon demanded his interest.

They passed another transport where a bleary-eyed navigator carefully peeled away what looked like enormous palm fronds from the front of his craft. He yelped when one of them twitched, then continued at his task, more warily than before. The veins of the fibrous leaves pulsed regularly, and the bony protrusions along each edge looked like sharp, green teeth.

Down another row, Dayn spied two navigators scrubbing the hold of another transport vigorously with long-handled brushes. Their hair looked like curly rays of sunshine, and their honey-colored skin shone with sweat. They worked together in the familiar manner of husband and wife. The repulsive orange lichen they were scraping at began to eat through the transport's belly, and they both started to swear profusely. The sound of boots echoed through the bay as more navigators rushed over to help.

Dayn could only imagine what other curiosities the navigators dealt with, but the Preceptor did not stop once. They passed out of the chamber through a large metal door that made Dayn jump when it slid open with a hiss.

Lurec turned left down a dimly lit hall of formed stone, and to Dayn's surprise, began to bound. Nondescript hallways constantly split away from his route, as though they were moving through an anthill. They saw no other Ringmen.

"I think every house ever built on the whole of Shard could fit in here," Dayn called out.

"I'm sure that's not true." Lurec slowed his pace to talk. His mood seemed much improved, closer to the man Dayn first met back in the Mistlands. He gestured to the surrounding halls. "We're now in the Outer Walk, the largest section of the Ring. Our Consorts hear petitions over trade disputes, merchant's rights, transport requests and the like. You've seen the Consorts on Shard, assuredly, when it's time to take in the Pledge?"

"Once. We store the harvest in your barrels, at the Festival of Sealing in Misthaven, but the Consorts always come down after everyone leaves Misthaven."

"I see," Lurec said, nodding thoughtfully.

_Defenders and Preceptors might have all the brawn and brains, but the Consorts keep the bread._ Dayn had heard a Misthaven Elder tell his father that once, and wondered what the Preceptor would think of it. "Everyone bounds here?" he asked instead.

"After a fashion, yes. But the ground is strong enough to walk normally, as most still prefer. We also use these."

The hall ramped upward, with metal rails attached to either wall about waist high. The Preceptor bounded up the ramp, using the rail to pull himself along. His feet never touched the ground until he finally came to rest at the top. Dayn followed him easily, and launched himself with a single leap to where Lurec waited.

"Enjoy showing off, don't you? The ground on the Ring is not kept so strong as Shard, except for the halls where the Defenders train." The Preceptor cast furtive glances down the intersecting hallway at the top of the ramp. "We need to be quiet now, and walk quickly. Everyone will know of your discovery, soon enough. There's no telling what will happen to the Seed then, thanks to that insufferable Defender. The Lord Ascendant will summon you once he gives his account. Until then, any Preceptor who stands higher than I can requisition the Seed, and I would be powerless to stop them. So for now, I would prefer not to be seen by any of my fellows. Do you understand?"

Dayn nodded. "I know when to keep my mouth shut."

"Good lad. My study is in the Middle Halls, the Preceptor's domain. Let's hope the same luck that saw you to the transport holds."

They ghosted quietly down the halls. No one chanced upon them as they crept along.

"Ah, here." The Preceptor stopped in front of a door of a dull blue set into the simply cut umber rock. Nothing distinguished it from any other door in the hallway that Dayn could tell. It whisked aside at Lurec's touch. Dayn entered the dark interior at the Preceptor's beckoning.

"Welcome to my study."

A warm glow illuminated the spacious room as the door closed itself, although Dayn could see no lamps. He peered around curiously as the Preceptor took off his gray overcoat and tossed it on a stool. Lurec's study would have made Dayn's mother cringe. Open, leatherbound books with cramped notes scrawled neatly in the margins formed precarious heaps on every available surface. Pinned insects and leaves encased in glass littered a huge stone table in the center of the room.

"It's...nice," Dayn managed. An enclosure surrounded by clear crystal panes took up one wall of the room, complete with dreary plants, and a hopelessly scum-filled pond. It reminded Dayn of the swamps around Southforte. A pallet with crisply folded blankets stood nestled away in a corner, between bookcases filled to bursting.

"You sleep in here?"

"When the need arises."

Lurec removed a tower of books from a stool beside the table and motioned for Dayn to sit. He swept aside some dusty scrolls that made them both sneeze, revealing a circular metal bowl built into the table top. Dayn set his packs and staff near the door and settled on the stool.

"Dayn, would you...? Thank you." He placed the Seed into the bowl at the Preceptor's prompting. Lurec rummaged through some glass containers on a shelf until he found the one he sought. He applied the clear paste within to the bruise on his forehead and sighed in relief.

"Why will no one else touch the Seed?" Dayn asked. He could not help but stare as the Preceptor's bruise faded right before his eyes. "I almost think people are afraid of it. Should I be, too?"

"Afraid? Certainly not. Think of it as respect. The less people who handle the Seed, the better. At least, until we understand precisely how it works." Lurec poured water from a small flask into the bowl. The water's surface dimpled and flashed around the red orb. It glowed more vibrantly, pulsing in a regular rhythm.

Dayn grew nervous, as Lurec studied the water intently. Something about the glow made him uneasy. "Well, does it work? You sounded like you didn't know before."

"I was certain this specimen was intact from the moment I laid eyes on it." Lurec sat back, clearly satisfied with whatever he saw. "And I am right. I cannot thank you enough. My every conscious moment shall be devoted to this treasure you've found!"

"What is it?" Dayn asked, watching the Seed's light. He rubbed his shoulder absently. It occurred to him that he needed to change he bandages beneath his shirt, although he no longer felt the wreathweaver's bite. "You never told me, after everything that happened."

"Yes, of course. The Seed...where do I begin?" The Preceptor laced his fingers behind his head and pursed his lips. He glanced over at his swampy enclosure. A hidden frog croaked from somewhere within the mire. "You must understand that the Seed predates the Ring by thousands of years. All of its powers are not fully understood. Perhaps it is simplest to think of it as a living repository. A record of the entire World Belt's plants and animals―many long dead. I imagine a farmer would appreciate that aspect most of all."

"I thought it'd be for more than just study," Dayn said dubiously. "I thought it would _do_ something. Even our Elders keep a bestiary, and Wia Wells is small. We're taught everything they know about plants before our first Sealing."

"That is impressive." Lurec leaned forward intently. "Yet how would you tend crops that you are not as learned about? From Shard's Highlands, her swamps or caves? Do you have a lifetime to master each of those environments, should your skills be called upon elsewhere? Or on another world, perhaps?"

"Well, no," Dayn admitted. "But I could learn in a season or two. What good is—"

"Perhaps a test is in order. A demonstration." Lurec stood and plucked the Seed from its strange bath. The rippling water immediately stilled. Dayn followed him over to the habitat. The Preceptor lifted the crystal top, and the fetid smell of rot and standing water immediately wrinkled Dayn's nose. Lurec unceremoniously plunked the Seed into his odd little swamp. The red glow showed dimly through the murky water. He peered at it with a thoughtful expression before closing the top. "Curious. I've never read of one pulsing this way. I hope it is truly undamaged.

"Not much is recorded about the Seeds, not even in the Ring's earliest chronicles. But every story mentions their power to give living things new vigor."

They peered into the enclosure together. The surface of the water convulsed, and a layer of pink algae bloomed upon it, creeping halfway up the crystal before finally stopping.

Dayn gasped. "That should take days, not seconds!"

Lurec nodded speculatively. "I submit to your expertise. Let us see what else happens." Shapes flickered through the water, which looked less murky than before. Perhaps a dozen tadpoles flitted by the crystal near Dayn's face, followed by a school of minnows. One of the dreary plants shook for a second, and he thought it would burst into bloom. Instead a sleepy old turtle appeared, looking surprised at the sudden activity in the water.

"Remarkable," Lurec breathed. "A balance among living things exists, Dayn. You know better than most how sensitive the scales are. My fully grown specimens lived well enough in this world I've attempted to fashion. It took immeasurable time to attain what you see here. None of their eggs have ever successfully hatched, until now. You see the results of mere moments near the Seed."

The red glow persisted from beneath the water. Dayn set aside his unease over the Seed's light as his mind grasped the possibilities. "You're saying it's like...a hothouse for all of the creatures in here?"

"A suitable comparison."

Dayn's head reeled with questions. Those fish should fare poorly in such stagnant water, yet the minnows zipped around inside like they were holding festival races. Algae made the water even less hospitable. The Seed either chased the algae out, or did something to the water. "Could it do this for a crop, or stop blight?"

"Now you begin to see. The Seed is a tool that gives us great power to do good in the Belt." Lurec's eyes took on a faraway look as he gazed into the makeshift swamp. Even the frogs seemed to croak louder. "Great power, to make our world anew."

"You were right to fight for it. The Misthaveners would never have given this up if they knew of it." Once the Preceptors fully understood the Seed, there might never be drought in the World Belt again. _What will Shard's Pledge mean then?_ Another thought filled him with dread. "The voidwalkers who chased me. Do they know about this, too?"

The Preceptor's brow furrowed, but a chime sounded before he could answer. Lurec looked at the door in surprise. "At this hour, who could...?" His eyes met Dayn's in a moment of panic.

"The other Preceptors from the transport?"

"I'll have to turn them away!" The Seed pulsed quickly and brightly now, filling the room with crimson tones. "Hide it if you can."

Dayn stared at Lurec in disbelief. He would have to climb into the enclosure to fish the orb out of the mud. "You can't be serious. How?"

"I don't know!" Lurec snapped as he strode to the door. The chime sounded again. "Peace, it chooses now to shine brighter? Throw some mud over it!"

"I'm no Southforte folk," Dayn muttered. He rummaged frantically for something to block the Seed's light, toppling books as he searched. He refused to wade into the muck. _He dropped it in there, he can scoop it out himself!_

He spread his red cloak over the top of the crystal, then grabbed the Preceptor's doffed overcoat and tossed it on as well. He looked on helplessly as the Preceptor reached the door. The Seed's light still shone through the habitat. "Wait, there's nothing else to hide it with!"

The door swished open to reveal a young woman in the unrelieved black Dayn associated with Defenders. She wore no armor, just trousers and a long-sleeved shirt that buttoned down the front. She hastily snatched her hand down from hiding a yawn.

"Preceptor Lurec? I am Eriya. The Lord Ascendant ordered me to escort your guest to his quarters."

"Yes, yes. Please enter, Initiate." Lurec nodded graciously, exhaling loudly as she strode into his study.

_He's relieved she's not a Preceptor,_ Dayn thought. _Should I be, too?_

Lurec looked at his swamp, then back at Eriya curiously. The frogs had grown silent at her presence. Her manner reminded Dayn of a prowling ridgecat. She wore her black hair in thinly woven braids, tied neatly into a ponytail. Eriya's brown eyes rested above proud cheekbones, and turned wide as saucers at the Seed's glow, only to narrow again as she took in Dayn. A ruddy tone brushed her cinnamon skin, somehow reminding him of the roses in his mother's garden. Dayn supposed Eriya to be quite beautiful, except that her bearish expression took away from a smooth jaw and full lips. _It's late here,_ Dayn reminded himself. _She must have just been pulled from bed._

"It's past time the Defenders redressed such a poor display of hospitality," the Preceptor said. He turned to Dayn, and in so doing missed Eriya's eyes nearly pop from her skull in outrage. "I'm sure you'll be well looked after. Breakfast shall be served in many of the dining halls soon."

The Preceptor walked Dayn to the door in a show of politeness, but the man looked ready to dance now that he could continue his examination of the Seed undisturbed.

"You've not eaten yet?" Eriya asked Dayn. She gave Lurec a scandalized look when Dayn shook his head no. Her fingers reached up and plucked a bit of twig from Dayn's braids. He cringed, imagining how his torn clothes and cloak must look. "Preceptor Lurec, you would have him stand before the Veiled Throne looking like this?"

"I'm a little hungry," he admitted. Eriya shook her head and motioned him into the hall, giving the Preceptor's study one last dubious sweep.

Lurec's face reddened. "I'm sorry, lad. I'm rather pressed for time, and—"

"No matter. I'll clean him up." Dayn retrieved his cloak, then grabbed his staff and packs. The Seed's light did not pulse quite as strongly as before. "I understand. But aren't you going to eat?" he asked Lurec.

Lurec laughed heartily. "Only if I must! I plan to be in study for the next several months. Peace favor you, young Shardian." The Preceptor bowed, his attention already riveted on the Seed before the door to his study fully closed.

"Peace favor you," Dayn said. He should have felt relieved at his dismissal, but he finally realized what bothered him about Lurec's test in the makeshift pond. The Seed's pulsing red light perfectly matched the rhythm of his own heartbeat. _Old powers can take a liking to you. That's what Nerlin said._ He was glad to be free of the Seed.

Eriya regarded him for a moment, hiding another yawn behind her fist. "You are the first Shardian I have met," she said finally.

He extended his arm to greet in the Defender manner he remembered from Nassir. Eriya blinked at that.

"What world are you from?" he asked.

"Dervish."

Dayn hastily jerked his hand away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any offense," he said hastily. Dervishi folk were known to be extremely touchy, especially the women. He did not want her to attack him over some imagined slight.

Her eyes narrowed. "Offense? For stealing my sleep, or pulling me down to the Preceptor's halls?" She continued on over Dayn's stammering. "Surely you're important for the Lord Ascendant to order a personal escort at this hour."

"Me? No, I'm not important. I'm a farmer."

"As you say. This way." She favored him with a wry expression. "I will not bite you, Shardian."

Dayn hurried to keep up as Eriya swept down the hall, recalling what little he knew of her world. He remembered that a Dervishi took grave insult from a stranger's touch, but that obviously was not true. Dervishi fighters were considered among the fiercest in the Belt, and the proudest.

Dervish itself spun faster than any other world of the Belt, and their capital city was carved of old heartrock. Such useless tidbits served Dayn poorly now, and he regretted not listening more to his father's lessons. Dervishi held little regard for coursing, so Dayn held little regard for Dervish.

Eriya cast uncomfortable glances around each corner. She appeared eager to leave the Preceptor's halls. "Misthaven is your city?" she asked. Her boots echoed off of the plain stone.

"Peace, no," Dayn blurted out. She gave him a surprised look, and Dayn considered how his words must sound. He did not want to cast his homeworld in a bad light, he might be the only person she ever met from Shard. _Besides, I'm the offworlder now,_ he reminded himself. "It's the capital, but I don't live there. I'm from the Mistlands, to the south. My village is Wia Wells. Misthaven's a good place, though." Dayn could scarcely believe his own lips.

"Your time upon the Ring will be difficult if you know so little of the Belt. Very difficult."

"I won't be here long," Dayn replied. "After I talk to the Lord Ascendant, Lurec said I'll go back to Shard."

Eriya's face was expressionless. "Of course."

They came to an intersection with six archways, each with a hallway leading deeper into the Ring. Eriya paused uncertainly before choosing the way to their immediate left. A scene carved into the archway's stone depicted a robed man sitting crosslegged with a sprouting plant in one hand, and a scroll in the other. A sword handle jutted out from behind his shoulder.

"Defenders are very learned about the customs of every world. Next year is my first trial as an Initiate," Eriya said. Dayn knew of Initiates, at least, folk from the Belt who were tested to become Defenders. "Speaking with you may bring me advantage. Teach me of your Shard, and I will teach you of the Ring. Will you make this agreement with me?" Eriya turned to face him, and placed her right palm on her chest, looking at him expectantly.

"I will tell you as much as I can," Dayn promised, mirroring the motion. _Peace, she might get angry if I don't,_ he thought. Besides, the only two Ringmen he knew were absorbed in far more important matters than answering his questions. "I don't know what good it will do, though. Shard is probably dull compared to the rest of the Belt."

"Good!" Eriya's face shone with delight. "You have been given guestright aboard the Ring. This is my home now, so you may ask of me first."

Dayn had no idea what guestright meant, but he did not hesitate. "Will the Lord Ascendant talk to my Village Council? He could explain to the Elders what...what really happened."

Eriya winced. "Shardian the Lord Ascendant is―" Abruptly she cut off, and fixed Dayn with her brown eyes. "Wait... _you_ are involved with why the Ring is here?" She tensed, as if suddenly realizing she shared the hall with a hungry wolf.

"No!" Dayn exclaimed. "I'm only here to return an...artifact that Lurec lost. He told me about...the rest, but I barely understand it all. I'm not sure if I even want to."

"They say Shardians could teach Preceptors lessons in honesty," Eriya murmured. She closed the space between them and looked deeply into his eyes. Dayn felt as though her brown gaze plucked the thoughts from his very mind. "Did you see one?" she whispered.

Dayn's shoulders loosened in relief. "Two chased us off the road. One of them died in a spinner's web, but..." Words caught in Dayn's throat at the thought of Nerlin. "I think the other one killed my friend. He stayed behind so that I could make it here."

"That explains much." Eriya glanced at his torn clothes, nodding to herself. She began to walk down the hall again. "It would be improper of me to speak for the Veiled Throne. What is this artifact you speak of? Did it come from Thar'Kur?" Her eyes gleamed hopefully.

"Thar what?"

"The voidwalker world, may blight strike its heart. Most people believe they are spawned upon Tu'um, the Deadworld, but that is fable."

"I don't know where it came from." Lurec never mentioned it, but the possibility made sense. "There were a dozen more of them, near Shard's heartrock. Whatever they were doing didn't work, or Shard would be...gone."

"Blight and ash, you saw―" Eriya stopped herself, although she could not hide her incredulous look. "It is forbidden for me to speak of Thar'Kur with the Beltbound." She shrugged. "I am sorry."

"Well this agreement didn't help me out very much then, did it?" Dayn said, frowning. "I'll still tell you about Shard, though."

"I meant no deception, Shardian. I did not think you would ask such things of me. I am only an Initiate. There are Defenders who do not yet know what you have shared with me, nor why you are here. The Lord Ascendant only orders a course diversion for the utmost importance."

"A course diversion?"

Eriya looked at him as though he did not know water was wet. "The Ring moves along a fixed path between the worlds of the Belt," she explained patiently, "Almost like a world itself. But the anchors holding it to that path can be shifted, so the Ring can go to wherever the Belt requires aid."

Dayn regretted his curt words. Eriya knew a great deal, even if she could not speak about his current predicament. "Can you tell me about the torrent, too?"

This time she only frowned at him like a mother who had just watched her child put his trousers on backwards. "Defenders travel in the torrent only at the direst need, Shardian. There are faster ways besides, though transports are the safest." She paused and her voice became overly polite. "You've seen transports before, besides the one that brought you here? Perhaps you wish to become a navigator?"

"No, I don't." Dayn flushed. It seemed every other word out of his mouth made him look more the fool. The Initiate averted her eyes to avoid embarrassing him, which did not help. He felt cheated somehow, to know nothing of what other peoples of the Belt thought of as ordinary. "Transports come during Sealing time for the harvests. But they land away from the city, so there's room for the festival."

"Then why do you ask about the torrent?" Eriya asked, confusion evident on her face.

"You said you would answer my questions," he said defensively. Their path came to another ramp, which Eriya bounded up effortlessly. Dervish did not boast of strong ground, but she moved with deceptive reserves of strength. "That's what we agreed to, isn't it?"

"But only navigators and coursers..." Eriya peered into his face. "You wish to course?"

"For as long as I can remember," Dayn admitted. "I may not leave Shard for many seasons, after the Lord Ascendant lets me return home. I figure this is my best chance to see the torrent up close."

His own words suddenly weighed upon him. _The Lord Ascendant could escort me home himself, but Mistland folk still wouldn't care._ Dayn would need years to regain the trust of his family and the village Elders. The Course of Blades would be an offworlder's fairy tale for the rest of his life. "My only chance," he added quietly.

"So I see." Eriya held his gaze for a moment, and Dayn wondered what she saw within his eyes. The Dervishi Initiate swept off, her former tiredness melted away. "Come this way, Shardian. I will show you something of the torrent."

# CHAPTER TEN

The Detritus Chamber

In the days before the Breach, people once buried their failures in the world's guts. Devices older than worldhearts, poisons worse than sickmetal. Now those old world bones are scattered in the torrent's soup, doing peace knows what to the animals and us coursers. All the more flavor, I say.

-Froncis Bul, Jendini coursing champion

A small smile curled Eriya's lips as she led Dayn deeper into the Ring. The playfulness in her eye piqued his curiosity, and he gladly followed despite his growing exhaustion. For anything to do with the torrent, he would walk leagues.

They wove through endless, dimly lit halls, up and down ramps, past metal doors and stark rock. Dayn wondered over the lack of adornments, but reminded himself that he walked the halls of a fortress. His mother would weep to see so many barren walls. Eriya bounded smoothly through them all until finally they stopped before two arched silver doors. Dayn prided himself on not jumping when they hissed aside. He followed Eriya into the adjoining space, and the doors closed behind them.

This new hallway stretched perhaps a quarter mile with no visible doors. Crystal panes formed the entire left wall. Beyond the crystal lay a cylindrical chamber of green-tinted metal, like an enormous barrel resting on its side. It extended as long as the hallway, and a hundred feet wide. Broken chunks of stone littered the floor inside, but Dayn paid it little heed once he realized someone stood among them.

Eriya quickly flicked her hand across the closed door in a series of rapid movements, like painting. The hallway lighting instantly dimmed around them and she stood very still, listening. "This is a gauntlet created to train Defenders for the torrent. The Detritus Chamber," she whispered. "You are fortunate these ones are here, although they are not doing lessons at this hour with no weaponmaster present." Her brow wrinkled in disapproval. "Shardian, you must never tell anyone I brought you here. Understand?"

Dayn nodded eagerly. The lone Initiate waited in the middle of the chamber, fully armored and idly twirling a length of wingline. He wore a dark mask, featureless except for one narrow eyeslit and a diamond carved on the brow. Hair bright as straw spilled wildly from the back of his mask and down to his shoulders.

Dayn edged closer to the crystal, curling his neck in order to see the top of the chamber. "Is that where the rocks come from?" he asked, barely able to contain his growing excitement.

Eriya promptly cuffed him in the ribs. "I warned you," she growled.

"Why'd you do that?" he demanded, clutching his side. The beginnings of a new bruise began to throb beneath his hand. "I only wanted to see better!"

"Those Initiates must not know we are here." Eriya pointed directly across the chamber. More Ringmen dressed the same as Eriya milled behind a matching hall on the opposite side. "Keep away from the crystal."

Dayn backed away scowling, but held his tongue.

A high-pitched whine flooded the Detritus Chamber. The lone Initiate motioned at the other hallway in a rapid series of hand signals. The sound increased, then cut out completely. The entire chamber began to rotate, picking up speed, except for a few stationary bands that circled the interior. Scattered rock began to slide past the Initiate's steady stance. A burst of light shone from the distant end of the Detritus Chamber.

"Now you will see a glimpse of the torrent for yourself," Eriya said.

The Initiate crouched low like a loaded spring. Fragments of tumbling rock began to shoot down the length of the chamber as if carried along by a powerful wind. Small debris pinged off of his armor in brief flashes of light. "Hey, he's wearing barrel sealer!" Dayn exclaimed.

"It's called sheath," Eriya corrected. "How do you know of it?"

"The Consorts use it to preserve Shard's gift for the Belt. Or something like it, anyway." Dayn shrugged.

More rock filled the air, sparking where it struck the sides of the Detritus Chamber, which continued spinning faster. Larger boulders sailed toward the Initiate with frightening speed. He avoided them easily, contorting his body and sidestepping to dodge direct strikes.

"I knew it would be fast," Dayn breathed. The Ringman maneuvered with astonishing agility, still holding his wingline at the ready.

"This is a shadow of the true torrent." Eriya folded her arms, watching quietly while the Initiate slipped through oncoming boulders as though his bones were made of water. "There's no sure air to breathe, nor steady ground under your feet. Gerrit is a blustery one. He's earned his armor, but I will earn my sword before him." Eriya glanced at Dayn's spellbound expression and laughed softly under her breath. "The Lord Ascendant would personally thrash the whole lot of them if this were known. Watch."

Eriya's brown eyes flitted toward the distant source of debris. A boulder flashed down the chamber, large as a barn and howling through the intervening air. The Initiate did not move from its path. Across the chamber his fellows pressed close to the crystal. Gerrit took two light steps, and leaped straight into the oncoming collision.

Dayn leaned forward, forgetting Eriya's admonishment. Seconds from being crushed, Gerrit crossed his forearms and raised his knees, so his limbs formed a protective wall before him. A flash of light pierced the chamber as he slammed into the boulder.

Brilliant white cracks splayed across the boulder's surface. In the next instant it exploded, pelting the gauntlet walls with dust, sparks and fragments. A hot, caustic smell reached Dayn's nose.

The chamber's spinning immediately began to slow. On the far side, the other Initiates raised their fists high or pounded on the crystal. The straw-haired Initiate rose slowly from the destroyed core of the boulder, for one moment the very picture of unyielding might. Gerrit was covered in dust, but unharmed.

"I'd never get hurt again with sheath on," Dayn whispered. The Initiate began to pick his way out of the pulverized rock. The scene struck him oddly, to see the Ringman walking so carefully after such an inhuman feat.

"Blight take his eyes," Eriya muttered, staring into the chamber. Gerrit dusted himself off slowly, but his mask fixed right on them.

"It's dark in here yet. He hasn't seen us." They began to creep away from the crystal. The Initiate peered at them, tilting his head to one side like a bird. Dayn could not tell if he looked angry or alarmed.

"Surely, Shardian. Time to go!"

Eriya shoved Dayn through the large double doors toward the nearest ramp. They bounded for five floors straight up without stopping. Only then they paused, straining to hear above the sound of their panting.

"Maybe they were more afraid of trouble than us," Eriya said, allowing herself a grin.

"Seeing that was worth the chase. Thank you, Eriya. I'll probably never get the chance again." She looked away, and his smile faltered. "Can someone really survive an impact like that in the torrent?"

"Yes, but only as a last option. A courser struck by something that large deserves to be flogged with their own wingline." Eriya set off around another corner. "There are limits to sheath. It will fume away from your armor in a few hours if you do not apply more. If you strike something too large or too slow, your sheath will fail. Strike too fast, you will boil in your own skin."

"And too slow?"

"Sheath will not keep a dagger from sliding between your ribs."

Dayn's stomach twisted at the thought. The sealer back in the Dreadfall that saved his life might just as easily have killed him if things went any differently. His ignorance could have cost him his life. "There's so much I don't know," he muttered. "How will I ever catch up?"

"Most of the Beltbound know nothing of sheath," Eriya offered. "It's surprising that you do. Coursing is one of the old ways, from the days before the first Defenders found the Ring's transports. Are you so in love with danger, Shardian? Rock pummeling you senseless; moving faster than you can see coming? I cannot imagine a worse way to meet my end." She shook her head. "Perhaps I'll be able to show you something new. Unless you want to go to your room now?"

Dayn shook his head. "Lead the way. I'd rather see as much as I can before I go back home."

They did not walk nearly so far, but Eriya lacked her former confidence. He soon saw why. She approached doors similar to the Detritus Chamber's observation hall, but this time, two bleary-eyed guards stood before them. They wore long, dark blue overcoats that fell past their knees like robes, and no armor. They could be Initiates like Eriya, but lacked her dangerous grace.

The first peered at them with a permanently sour expression, a hefty, pale-hued man with thinning brown hair. The second sported close-cropped black hair, and looked as though he could fall asleep on his feet at any given moment. His dull gray eyes contrasted with his bronze complexion. They stiffened at Eriya's approach.

"No entrance to the Aviary," the hefty guard said roughly. "Especially Beltbound." They both eyed Dayn suspiciously, taking in his packs and staff. Eriya held up her hands as if to placate them, but the guards set their jaws stubbornly.

"Orders of Adrian herself," the gray-eyed guard added, not unkindly. "Sorry, Initiate."

"I'm under direct orders from the Lord Ascendant to guide this Shardian through the Ring," Eriya replied calmly. She gave each man a hard look, and spoke with new authority. The two could not be Defenders of any rank. "He's to be given the highest guestright."

"Peace bind my bones, do we look like such great fools? We let you bring in lamb gobbets all the time, Initiate! Would you see us flogged for―"

"The _highest_ guestright," she repeated. A harried look shone in the second guard's gray eyes. He appeared on the verge of relenting until his fellow interjected smoothly.

"Force Captain Adrian must be notified." His lip curled in smug triumph. "If you remain here..."

"We will return another time," Eriya said, but she flashed her teeth at the guard. "When we do, I'll ask Adrian herself for you to help us feed them."

"Feed what?" Dayn asked. An otherworldly shriek pierced the door, and Dayn almost leaped out of his boots. A look of pure misery assailed the guards' faces. _Peace, this Dervishi might be as crazy as the stories say!_ Dayn thought. The Ring could keep monsters from the torrent under lock and key for all he knew.

"Look what you've done now, Blen!" The gray-eyed man complained. Sweat appeared on his brow.

"Only this once Dervishi, alright?" The hefty man shifted nervously, revealing a sling on his right arm, bandaged and hidden under his overcoat. Blen was all smiles now. "Guestright for your friend, we understand that."

Dayn spoke quickly. "You know, I haven't eaten myself for the whole day now. Does guestright get me breakfast, too?"

Eriya stopped short of the door, her triumphant look fading as utter mortification spread over her face. She turned promptly on her heel, leaving behind both fear-stricken guards.

"That Preceptor! You would have wasted away in his study forever if I were not sent for you." She gave a disgusted snort. "Let's get some food in you, and I'm sure you'll want to clean up after. We'll come here some other time."

The gray-eyed man mouthed a silent _thank you_ to Dayn as they walked off. Gratitude show immensely in Blen's eyes as well.

"Peace keep you both," he called. Eriya snorted again. She brushed her temple unconsciously, as if to push back errant braids, though her ponytail still held her hair in place. Dayn managed a wave to the men before he rounded a corner and they were gone.

They soon came to a sprawling hall full of stone tables, interspersed around columns that spilled from the rough ceiling in places like stony teeth. Dozens of servants pushed carts filled with enough steaming trays of food for a whole festival. There were few people around at this hour, so a man with a cart trundled over just as soon as they sat down.

Eriya watched in amusement as Dayn set to shoveling steaming seasoned potatoes in his mouth, taking pauses only to wash it down with hot tea. His insides gurgled in contentment.

"I suppose a Shardian has never tasted a day of hunger," she said. Dayn's cheeks heated in embarrassment, and he looked forlornly at his plate. The Initiate laughed out loud. "Your face! I only meant to tease you Shardian, be easy."

"You're right, though. I've never known famine. No one I know has. Have you?"

"Thankfully not, and peace keep it so. Shard's Pledge fed my parents for two seasons though, when I was too young to remember. A fire destroyed my clan's food stores. I would be a runt without the Pledge, or worse." Eriya nodded at the scattered remains on Dayn's plate. "Those are likely from Shard, too."

"Yes, they are." Dayn bit into the brown skin of the potato, and let the flavor settle on his tongue. "These were harvested seven seasons ago. The Highlands, by Northforte." He chewed thoughtfully, not noticing Eriya's eyes on him. Another servant with a cart full of plates stopped to clear their table. "I remember my father saying how the farmers threw dewberries into the compost before that season, and what a waste it was that the Trade Council didn't have enough sealed barrels on hand."

He picked up a last bit from Eriya's plate and popped it in his mouth before the servant took it away. She had barely touched her food. "A farmer with a rusty spade hit this one when it was early."

"How do you know all of that?" Eriya stared at him with open disbelief. The servant looked at the leavings on his cart as though ready to challenge Dayn on their origins, too.

The food lost its savor. _What have I been saying? That was only my first season helping father in the fields._ The wasted dewberry pickings were a shadow of a memory, something he once overheard some Elders talking about. His impression about the spade was impossible, but he knew it for true.

"I don't know," he said.

"Are you to become a Preceptor?" The servant blurted out. Both Ringman's eyes were on Dayn as he floundered for a response.

"He is Shardian," Eriya said, as if that settled the matter. She shook her head in wonder, placing her cup on the servant's cart.

The servant nodded knowingly. "Why, I should have realized. A thousand blessings on your family, young master." The servant bowed deeply and departed. Dayn stared after him.

"What was that about?"

"He is Aran," Eriya explained.

"Do they talk to everyone like that? Like I'm some Highland Elder?"

"They do not." Eriya sighed. "Peace surely set me in your path, Shardian. Ara has suffered drought since before either of us were born. The world would hold no people without the Pledge. If you knew a tenth of the Belt what you did about your breakfast, you would be―"

"By Tu'um's shadow, there you are!" Five Ringmen appeared around their table, all dressed in the same Initiate black as Eriya.

"I'm glad an Attendant tipped us that you might be here, or we would be hours yet searching you out." One spoke in a reproving tone as Eriya looked at him flatly. "This is why you were pulled from bed? Who is he?" Curious stares abounded as they took in Dayn's clothes and staff.

"This is Dayn. Don't look at him like that, he's no Montollos brat here to play-fight with us. Does he look like a Regent's son? We all know only one thing would divert the Ring to Shard." Considering looks passed between the Initiates. "He's here to...avenge his world. Don't ask anymore, because he's not allowed to say."

Surprised murmurs flitted throughout the group, and the Initiates looked at Dayn with sudden approval. Several hands were thrust toward him at once.

"Well met," the first Initiate said earnestly. A zealous light shone in his green eyes as he grasped Dayn's forearm. "I am Mabrac. From Quello." He looked of an age with Joam, and might have been a close cousin if not for those eyes and olive complexion. Where Joam was exceptionally tall, Mabrac was incredibly wide, and his dark shirt bulged with hidden muscles. The Initiates were all surprisingly young, most looked near Dayn's age.

Mabrac turned back to Eriya. "So, is he coming with us?"

"He's to stand before the Veiled Throne." Some of the Initiates shuddered in spite of themselves. "The Lord Ascendant bade me not to leave his side until he's summoned."

Several of the Initiates groaned aloud, and Mabrac sighed. "I told you scatterwits she didn't know."

"What?"

"Weaponmaster Seib summoned us. We've been looking for you all morning."

Eriya sprang to her feet with a wail. "Blight and fire!"

At Dayn's confused look, Mabrac explained. "We're to have our martial forms tested, but no one thought Seib would choose us so soon. Our flash force is still undefeated."

"We'll be the first Initiates to earn our swords this year," another of the group put in, a slender girl with dusky skin and a striking smile.

"He may bend to an order from the Veiled Throne." Mabrac suggested, but he made a poor effort at sounding hopeful.

"Or he might make the other flash force hold out _their_ very best fighter."

"Or make us all spar weaponless for arriving incomplete," another Initiate added unhappily. "We should go now, and prepare the best we can without her."

"I can just come with you," Dayn offered. Eriya's sudden transformation astonished him, she looked close to tears. "I know about sparring, and I don't mind watching."

Several barely suppressed guffaws leaked from Eriya's flash force. Mabrac looked doubtfully at his staff. Dayn frowned. "I _do_ know how to spar."

"Seib would have my hide," Eriya said.

"The Lord Ascendant would flail whatever was left," Mabrac put in. "A contest may take all day, and there's no way to know when he'll be summoned."

"If Adrian were to find out..." Eriya trailed off, touching her temple wistfully.

"Then just tell me where to find my quarters," Dayn insisted. His last two hours were a jumble of nameless hallways in his head. He made his voice sound confident, although he would likely fare better in a redbranch thicket. "I'll wait there for the summons, or until you're done with your contest."

Eriya lifted her head to gaze at him. "You're sure?"

"I'll find my way."

Something in Eriya's expression changed, quiet as a leaf falling from a tree, or a flutterbird finding rest on a branch. Though Dayn might never see her again, he knew he had at least one friend upon the Ring.

"It's not far from here," she said. "Listen to me keenly. Take the hall over there with the Kemarahan grass above it, you see? Then turn to..."

Eriya proceeded to issue a flurry of directions that made Dayn's head spin. His memory served him well at first, until two more Initiates broke in with what they believed were certainly better routes. That started an argument between Eriya and Mabrac, which grew loud enough to provoke a bark from a nearby Defender to quiet down.

More Ringmen were trickling into the hall for breakfast. They looked at the gathering curiously, eyes immediately latching onto Dayn. Their stares made him feel like one of the pinned butterflies on Lurec's table. Eriya gave Dayn a searching look. "It's too much. I should ask an attendant to take him." Dayn blinked. _These servants are called attendants on the Ring?_ He found the coincidence odd, but supposed an Attendant on Shard was still a servant in the end.

"So Lord Adazia finds out you left your escort?" Mabrac asked. "You'll never be a rider then."

"I'll be alright," Dayn said reassuringly. "You better get moving." _I've no idea which way to go. I'm surprised they don't see it on my face._

The Initiates immediately peeled away, remarking on how good Dayn was to help her. Eriya trailed hesitantly in their wake, uncertainty and relief warring on her face.

"Did I hear you use his name?" The only other girl among the Initiates cooed playfully. Her grin melted at Eriya's glower.

"He spoke the same to me first! I...I was only being respectful. He knows nothing of Dervishi ways, and―"

"He's handsome," the first tittered. "Although he could stand a good scrubbing. Would you do your duty if that was part of guestright, Initiate? For the Ring?" Eriya gave her a dangerous look as the Initiates all disappeared down a hallway.

Mabrac alone still lingered. "Whoever decided to put girls from Ista Cham and Dervish in the same flash force must be proud of the fine joke they've played on the rest of us. Peace keep you, until we meet again." He grimaced, then hurried after them.

The dining hall returned to silence. A handful of Defenders spoke together in quiet tones, and individual Preceptors sipped tea as they stared at little metal tablets, reading perhaps. A pang rose in Dayn's chest as loneliness settled upon him. For the first time since boarding the Ring, nothing arose to distract him from his own troubles. He gathered his belongings and set to finding his room.

There was no point in wallowing over what he could not change. The Lord Ascendant would ask his questions, thank Dayn for delivering the Seed, and send him home. _Then I'll set to restoring my family name. I may not be an Attendant, but I'll work harder than whoever Misthaven chooses in my place._

"Excuse me, which way to the Crystal Walk?" Dayn called to one of the Ring servants. He believed Eriya's directions were best, but wanted to confirm them. The attendant looked at him curiously.

"Lost your escort have you? That's not good, not good. Let me see to assigning you another."

"No, I haven't lost her," Dayn said hastily. He did not want Eriya in any trouble on his account. "I'm to meet her after the Preceptor Lurec speaks with me."

Several heads in the dining hall bobbed up in sudden interest, and Dayn winced. _Poor lies from poor liars find the hottest coals in the fire._ The old saying came unbidden to his mind. "Only the Preceptor has not shown."

"Not surprising," the attendant murmured as he pointed. "You see the plants? Follow it to the first left turn, then right up the ramp. Another right will bring you to the Crystal Walk. You should really take an escort, it's not wise to go without—"

"Thank you," Dayn said.

As he set out a voice behind him demanded, "Here, you. What did he want?"

Dayn walked even faster from the hall. Passing under the frieze, he saw a scene of tall, fern-like plants with a viper hidden among the leaves. An engraving on the frieze read: "The Kemarahan Grass." _That's what Eriya said, good._ Dayn wondered at a world where grass could grow as tall as a man, it looked completely unnatural. Thankfully, no one pursued him, and he set to recalling the rest of the directions to his quarters.

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Crystal Walk

And so the man stood upon his dying world and wept his vow upon the earth. The heart of his world heard him, and released him to the sky as it died. He went to and fro amidst the torrent, and came upon the broken Ring. The Penitent Ones received him, and saw his pure heart, and taught him of their ways. And they named him Lord Ascendant, for he rose to lead the Ring and watch over the new worlds. Every Force Lord since was named thusly, and swore the vow to serve.

-fragment from the Book of Lost Days

Dayn hoped to see murals or pictures along the way, but the Ring's halls still offered only unadorned rock. Occasionally he passed some old coat of battered armor with a description of the soul who once wore it. Dayn cared little for such things, and so did not tarry.

The attendant's directions brought him to an especially narrow hallway with ceilings carved high overhead, and one side made entirely of thick crystal. Beyond that lay an endless night of stars. Alcoves were built into the opposite wall, harboring chairs, pillows, unlit candles and incense.

The Crystal Walk held a soothing air, as if centuries of prayer and meditation had seeped into the very stone. Every alcove Dayn passed lay empty, though. He reminded himself that most of the Ringmen slumbered in the dead of morning, although his body still held to the midday of Shard.

The Walk ended in a descending ramp that split into three different directions. Dayn stopped to dwell upon the stars outside. They shone brighter and more numerous than he ever thought possible from the ground. He wondered where the Ring lay in the World Belt, for he could not see Shard, nor the moon. He longed for a glimpse of the torrent, but suspected this to be a poor place to see it.

Dayn caught sight of some movement in the darkness and squinted hopefully. Torrent? No, a shadowed reflection in the crystal. A low voice rasped behind him. "Your presence is forbidden in these halls, Beltbound."

Dayn spun around, startled to see two hulking Defenders standing within arm's reach. Armor swallowed each man from crown to heel, and the masks they wore made Dayn question the nature of the men beneath. One mask looked like a snarling ridgecat, with spots etched into the visage instead of stripes. The other wore a leering fool's face, twisted into a painful grin.

Dayn cowered, heart pounding. Cold crystal touched his back. "I've gotten lost. If you can show me―"

"Why are you sneaking through Defender halls? What world are you from?"

"I...I'm from Shard. I'm supposed to speak with the Lord Ascendant. She's supposed to ask me about—" Dayn cut off, remembering Lurec's words about the Seed.

The two Ringmen glanced at each other. "What would the Force Lord want with a farmer?"

"Nothing, unless..." Fool-mask stepped forward threateningly. "What do you know of Thar'Kur, Beltbound?"

"What? Nothing." Dayn shifted into Lout in the Square, a deceptive stance for fooling aggressors, and hoped the rest of Milchamah's training felt as effortless. He made his voice match how these Defenders must see him, a moonstruck farmer, offworld for the first time. "Is that a world? Will I see it from the transport?"

The Ringmen looked at each other for a moment, hesitating. For one hopeful second Dayn thought his ruse worked. "He lies!" the fool-mask growled, reaching for Dayn. He moved carelessly, as though Dayn carried a mere walking stick.

Dayn twisted one of his packs around to fill the Defender's grasping hands. He sidestepped and took a middle hold on his staff, crouching into Wreathweaver's Coil. The Defender tossed aside his pack and rushed him again. His wrists were vulnerable.

Dayn swung weakly for his ankles, anticipating that a trained fighter would dodge. The fool-masked Defender leaped mockingly over the feint, just as he had hoped. Dayn noted how the Ring's weak ground slowed his descent.

"Stupid farmer―"

Dayn pulled his torso through the form. For one fearful breath he exposed his back as his momentum carried him around, but then the high end of his staff struck home. The loud _crack_ of silverpine against the Defender's mask echoed through the Crystal Walk. The Ringman stumbled, grasping his head.

Dayn pivoted smoothly to meet the ridgecat-masked Defender, already two steps into a charge. Dayn brought his staff up solidly between the Ringman's legs. The brute grunted, then yanked at Dayn's staff with an enraged growl. The armor covered him _entirely._ The first Defender regained his feet.

Run.

Dayn freed his staff with a quick twitch of his wrist that made the Defender howl in anger. He shot off down the hall. He would rather be lost in the Ring than cornered.

Hope of escape abandoned Dayn as one of them tackled him from behind. A gauntleted hand closed on his calf so powerfully that Dayn cried out in pain. The Defender slapped away his staff thrust and slammed him into the crystal. Dayn felt the air rush from his lungs on the impact. The Ringman's strength astonished him.

"Now we get to bruise you, farmboy," the ridgecat-masked Defender said in an ugly voice. A knee in the stomach bent Dayn in two. Black spots swallowed his vision. The Defender pulled him upright and placed a cold hand across Dayn's throat.

"Careful," fool mask warned in a hoarse voice. "He nearly broke my jaw with that!" Dayn's captor squeezed until he saw dark circles and shapes in the shadows of the Crystal Walk. His staff clattered to the floor. He struggled uselessly, but the Defender's arm felt as though it were carved from the Ring's very stone.

Silver flecks swam in Dayn's vision. Moments from blacking out, his heels drummed on the crystal. Some of the spots in his eyes floated in unison, stirring in one of the shadowed alcoves behind Dayn's assailants.

"Is the Ring's guestright so empty?" A woman's voice filled the Crystal Walk. The grip on his neck spasmed open instantly, and Dayn sucked in air with a gasp. He could breathe again, but the Defender still held him pinned against the crystal wall.

"He claims the Force Lord means to question him." The voice behind the fool's mask held a defensive quality about it now. "Yet we find him here in Defender halls, instead of waiting to be summoned to the Veiled Throne. Now he's sneaking away―"

"To tell Thar'Kur all he's learned of the Ring's secrets?" the woman cut in. Dayn could just make her out within the alcove. She sat crosslegged, her open hands resting on her knees and two middle fingers touching each thumb. Her silken robe glowed faintly white in the shadows. The woman was barely clothed, yet the fully armored men regarded her as warily as a pack of crater wolves. But Dayn's biggest shock came when she leaned forward to say more. The woman wore a _blindfold!_

"My blade is not sheathed," she said warningly. "Release him."

Only then did Dayn see what lay on the ground before her, concealed in the folds of silk. A long, one-sided blade rested upon the alcove's wool rug. It added a venomous radiance to the woman, and Dayn could not decide which was more dangerous, or beautiful. The metal looked wrought of moonlight and spun rather than forged, reminding him of an elegant lace.

"You would raise your hand against a fellow Defender?" Ridgecat mask demanded, peering back at the woman. The grip on Dayn's neck loosened even more.

"Strange days dance, why should the Ring be spared? Protecting the Belt is my sworn purpose, even if it must be protected from your stupidity. I would not kill you, but you may bleed to death before a healer is found."

"We'll let the mudfoot go, but not before I show him the price of trespassing in our halls." The fool-masked Defender drew back a gauntleted fist and swung. Dayn wrenched his head as far to the side as his neck allowed.

Crystal exploded by his left ear. Light flashed throughout the Crystal Walk. A great roaring rush of air filled the hallway. His throat suddenly free, Dayn scrambled away, hands over his ears. The Defender's fist had smashed through the crystal, which looked to be at least five inches thick.

The gusting wind began to lessen. Dayn stared in disbelief as the crystal slowly sealed over the ragged hole, like ice forming over the banks of a river.

"You witless fool, There's _sheath_ on your gloves!" The ridgecat-masked Defender shouted. "His brains would've been scattered across the torrent!"

Instead of replying, the fool-masked Defender began to scream. He sunk to his knees, clutching his hand.

His fellow moved to help him, but never came close.

The woman had finally risen, only to take hold of the Defender from behind as tenderly as an embracing lover, with her delicate sword poised upon his throat. He stood perfectly motionless. Dayn could see the whites of his eyes through the holes in his mask as he searched for the blade resting beneath his chin.

"You know who I am," the woman whispered in his ear. "I have not seen your face yet, nor your mask. I do not know your voice. You may speak softly in the Ring now, and pray we never meet again."

"Yes...yes, Pararsha." The man fell away at a stumble as she released him, and helped his still screaming cohort from the floor.

"See to your friend quickly, or his hand will be wasted!" She called after them down the hall.

Serenity returned to the Crystal Walk as the retreating Defender's howls faded. "Peace if I won't forget your masks," Dayn muttered. The stars shone clearly once more. Not so much as a crack marred the great crystal panes.

"The crystal used to forge much of the Ring is sentient, in the barest sense of the word. It knows its purpose is to seal. It doesn't consider intervening flesh." Dayn turned to his mysterious benefactor, then just as quickly jerked his eyes back to the stars. This new Defender―for she must be that―stood behind him thoughtfully, her reflection faintly visible behind his own. Dayn's face grew hot. He heard the sound of rustling silk.

"I thought Shardians to be well-mannered folk," she said. Pararsha, the Defender had called her.

Flushing even more, Dayn slowly turned. With a sigh of relief, he saw that her robe was properly closed.

"I do thank you," Dayn said, staring in spite of himself. The sheer cascades of the woman's robe hinted at hard muscles beneath as she finally removed the blindfold. Pararsha's dark eyes held a challenging fire that looked impossible to quell. Her dreadlocks were the color of aged amber, and her skin reminded Dayn of the way sunrise lit the Silk River near Kohr Springs, when silt floods turned the waters gold.

"Heed me, Shardian. Your presence is not fully understood here, after what happened on your world." She paused, but Dayn held his silence, unsure of whether to trust this mysterious Defender. Pararsha continued in a voice like frozen chimes as she returned to her alcove, melting back into the shadows. "You would do well to keep your own counsel on the news you carry, and never again walk these halls alone."

The Defender methodically wrapped her blindfold around her strange blade and closed her eyes. Realizing she would say no more, Dayn reclaimed his scattered possessions and departed with a head full of unanswered questions.

Eriya's directions were fuddled more than ever in his mind. He took the ramp up, caring little which way he went. He could not stop thinking about the two Defenders, and Pararsha's words of warning. _Maybe coming here was a mistake. Mother was right, better to throw the Seed back into the Dreadfall._ Such were Dayn's thoughts as he searched for Eriya's landmarks.

He spied movement ahead of him in this latest hall, and his hands tensed on his staff. A frail-looking man in attendant's blue bounded toward him, taking in his staff and clothes with hopeful eyes.

"Dayn? Dayn Ro'Halan of Shard?" the attendant asked breathlessly.

"I've been searching all over for you! You are summoned to the Lord Ascendant!"

Dayn permitted the insistent little man to lead him. They bounded through more passages―Dayn hoped never again to see so many halls―past more attendants who ignored them both, busy about their own duties.

"Here," the man panted. He wrung his hands and produced a handkerchief from his blue overcoat. "Here we are."

The last hallway terminated in a major anteroom with a high arched ceiling and large tapestries all around. Two tall, imposing metal doors lay directly across from them, buried in rough stone. The attendant dabbed sweat from his face and composed himself somewhat, then reached for Dayn's staff. He yanked it away. "What are you doing? Stop that."

"Young sir, it's not permitted! No weapons are allowed before the Veiled Throne." Dayn relented, leaning his staff on the wall next to one of the paintings. Dayn did not want to offend the Lord Ascendant. After all, his favor might gain a kind word back home. The attendant sighed in relief.

Dayn took a moment to brush himself off despite the Ringman's impatience. His red cloak and his trousers were a lost cause. He could do little to hide the fact that he had bounded through miles of redbranch, not without more time to clean up. Dayn glanced at one of the tapestries absently as he checked his braids for bits of twig.

It showed a lone Defender wearing a hawk-faced mask, wielding his wingline in the torrent. The Ring hovered protectively in the background, but still a safe distance from the field of variegated rock, which threatened to crush the Defender. His wingline disappeared into a house-sized crater on the largest of the rocks. Eerie creatures like rippling pillowcases were also pictured, perched on many of the rocks. They did not look particularly menacing, but barbed tendrils trailed after them, and dead animals were trapped within the rope-like coils. Flowing script at the bottom of the tapestry read 'Crell's Knot'. Looking at the scene, 'knot' looked to be putting it nicely. Most stories claimed that creatures in the torrent were ten times more dangerous than their cousins on the worlds of the Belt, because conditions were so harsh. Dayn supposed that measure held true for Defenders, too, and now he was to meet the leader of them all.

"Please, young sir!" The attendant whispered urgently.

At Dayn's nod, the man touched his palm to the massive double doors, and they silently swung apart.

Dayn stepped inside a chamber covered with six-sided crystal columns growing haphazardly from every inch of the walls and arched ceiling. Thick as tree trunks and glowing a vivid turquoise, the columns made him feel as though he stood inside a gigantic geode. A great marble disk covered the open floor before him, carved all around with sigils and crests, none of which Dayn recognized. His feet rang upon its surface as the attendant led him further inside. Nassir and Lurec stood upon the disk, waiting. Neither looked at all happy.

A gossamer swath of blue fabric hung from the ceiling, dividing the room in half and separating them from the Veiled Throne. Dayn could only glimpse the barest shadow of the Lord Ascendant, for the room's sole light source blazed from behind his seat. The shadowed Lord rested in a formidable stillness, like a dark moon eclipsing the sun.

Dayn licked his lips nervously as the attendant directed him forward. The man looked positively terrified. Dayn wondered that his own knees did not tremble, he felt as though he were stepping into a red bear's den.

"Finally, you are here," Nassir growled under his breath. "You could have at least washed yourself. This wasn't an invitation to come play in the village tangletoy, farmer."

Dayn glowered at the Defender as memories of the Wustl Square and Tela's horrible burns came flooding back to him. His hand ached for his staff, leaning uselessly outside.

"He's here, that is enough," Lurec whispered with an irritated look. He appeared sullen, likely eager to return back to the study and his precious Seed. Dayn suddenly could not wait to be away from this place.

Six more Defenders entered past the wide-eyed attendant and stood informally off to their right. They watched Dayn imperiously, two women and four men. Dayn wondered if his own knot would be as bad as the picture of the courser outside.

"Do you intend to linger, after performing your task so poorly?" The attendant jumped as the Lord Ascendant's voice sounded behind the blue veil. Dayn chided himself for being surprised. He should hardly blink to discover the voice coming from the Veiled Throne belonged to a woman. An extremely angry woman.

"Apologies, Lord Ascendant!"

The attendant backpedaled out, bowing himself in two. He shot an accusing look at Dayn as the doors closed in front of him. The Lord Ascendant muttered to herself in disgust. "Lingerers."

Dayn caught the barest hint of movement behind the veil, and felt the Lord Ascendant's eyes upon him, like knives searching for space between his ribs. Not knowing what else to do, Dayn bowed slightly. "Lord Ascendant, I―"

"My time here is short, young Shardian. Step forward."

He complied with new nervousness in his heart. The woman's every word sounded like an iron mallet covered in the barest film of silk. Dayn heard metal scrape harshly against the Veiled Throne as she leaned back, resting a shadowy jaw in her hand while she examined him. The Veiled Throne could not be very comfortable, especially wearing armor.

"You claim to have seen darklurkers with your own eyes," she said. "Do you know there are Ringmen who have served an entire lifetime without such reports? The most hardened Defenders, in their hundredth naming day. Thar'Kuri are all but forgotten in the Belt, save fables to frighten spoiled children into their beds at night. My Force General tells me you shun Shard's customs, and now cry 'voidwalker' to cover up your lies. I would expect more from a Shardian. From a covenant keeper."

"That's what he told you?" Dayn bristled as he glanced at Nassir. The Ringman faced forward, imperious as a wall of stone. Disdain leached from the other Defenders as their eyes considered Dayn.

The Lord Ascendant leaned forward, challenge in her voice. "Is it true? Are you a silly village brat up past his bedtime?"

Dayn opened his mouth to retort, but stopped when the Lord Ascendant leaned in even closer. _She means to anger me,_ Dayn realized. _Calling me a liar. Why?_

"Well?"

"Speak up, farmboy," Nassir growled.

_I represent Shard now,_ Dayn told himself. Whatever _she wants, I'm no village lout._ He took a deep breath, choosing careful words.

"I didn't know what to call them, until Preceptor Lurec told me," Dayn said. "They were gray-skinned men who could breathe underwater. They ran through redbranch faster than I could on an open road." The throne room grew deathly silent. Every eye bored into him. "When they chased us last night, my mind felt split open by them, somehow. It felt like they pulled every vile thought I could imagine from my head all at once. It...it made my insides feel like they were rotting away." Dayn shuddered at the memory. Of all the ordeals since his encounter at the well, First Mist held the most terror by far. He spoke confidently, though, knowing he told the truth. "I'll leave you to tell me if they were voidwalkers or not."

His words had a remarkable effect on the Defenders. They whispered among each other, looking at Dayn as though seeing him for the first time. All except one, a woman who stared at him with open malice. Silver feathers were worked into her braids, and a tattoo on her right temple reminded Dayn of a talon. Silence returned once the Lord Ascendant raised a gauntleted hand.

"I believe your words," she said, standing from the throne. Dayn's neck craned back. Not only did the throne rise several feet above the surrounding marble, but the Lord Ascendant proved to be the tallest woman Dayn had ever seen. She descended a few steps, but remained behind the blue veil. Her voice echoed forcefully through the chamber. "You've done an immeasurable service to the Ring, and the World Belt. Will you continue serving Shard faithfully?"

"Peace, yes!" Dayn said in a rush. "I'll return to the harvest as soon as you let me go."

"He wishes to return home, Force Lord―as I said he would," Nassir put in. The Lord Ascendant ignored him as she addressed Dayn.

"The Ring exists to protect the World Belt. This is known from Montollos to Ista Cham. Right now the Belt is fractured, when the people need to be as one. Rumors of raiders from the Eadrinn Gohr abound in the torrent. Worldhearts grow weaker every year. The Regents of Montollos sow discord against the Ring, scheming to rule the Belt as though they were kings, and their influence spreads." Scornful muttering rippled throughout the Defenders as she continued.

"Defenders are seen as relics from another age, while Preceptors have become so lost in their studies, the Belt no longer misses their absence. Our Consorts still oversee commerce, but they are trusted grudgingly, within the Ring and without. You have seen our halls, but most of the doors you have passed lead to empty rooms. Few hear the call to serve the World Belt. The Ring is not as it once was, and Thar'Kuri strength grows. Their warriors are stronger, fearless. We once hunted the darklurkers, but now it seems that they hunt us. Their attack on your world proves what we all fear most, that they are capable of destroying the Belt." The Defenders' sullen silence told the truth of her words.

Though the Lord Ascendant's face remained hidden, Dayn felt her eyes testing him, like a blacksmith searching out imperfections in a new tool. He almost believed a smile played on her lips. "Now a Shardian, keeper of the oldest covenant in all the worlds...that is a new voice, and unexpected. One the worlds will heed. There is a saying among our Consorts. 'As Shard goes, so the Belt follows.' Do you know this?"

"I'd never really thought about it before," Dayn admitted. "But if Shard were lost, the worlds that receive her Pledge would all starve."

"It's more than that. Shard is first among her sisters, the largest and strongest. Her people, _your_ people, are the oldest in all the Belt. When the worlds learn of this attack, and the plight they face, the Belt will unite once more and throw them back, with the Ring's guidance. I am certain of this. The threat of Thar'Kur must be known among the people, high or common. Do you believe this, Dayn Ro'Halan?"

"I'll tell everyone I know about them when I go back to Greenshadow, and my village, too. Even Misthaven, if you want."

The Lord Ascendant stiffened. "You misunderstand me. I want you to tell the World Belt about the night of Shard's attack in your own words, so the Beltbound are prepared for the days ahead. That is what I ask."

Dayn frowned. "You just want me to tell people what happened in Wia Wells?" It seemed simple enough. The gathered Defenders watched him silently. Nassir might as well be a statue for all the emotion he showed. _She really believes my word alone will sway people from other worlds?_ Dayn thought doubtfully. _Peace, I would never believe in a voidwalker if I hadn't seen them for myself!_

"As I said. In your own words, Shardian."

Dayn's thoughts touched hopefully on home. Staying on the Ring might not be so bad, and returning with her blessing would surely restore his family's honor. "If I do, will you tell the Elders at home how I helped you? And the Misthaven Elders, too?"

The Lord Ascendant nodded. "As I stand before the Veil, it will be done."

Helping the Ring would look much better than spending a summer hiding with his aunts at Greenshadow. Dayn surprised himself with how quickly he decided. "I don't think people will come here from all over the World Belt to listen to me, but I'll do it."

"Indeed." Her voice was wry. "That's why you will journey to them. You will speak with world leaders in their assemblies and fortresses and palaces. You will be seen by the people in their markets, taverns and streets. Make the Beltbound understand that Thar'Kur will destroy their worlds one by one if they do not act, just as they almost destroyed yours." Dayn's jaw dropped. He felt sure the Lord Ascendant smiled this time. She reached for something at her waist. "I won't ask you to spread a message of despair and fear. So I entrust you with hope, Shardian, which you have already borne so faithfully to the Ring."

Dayn stared in dismay at the familiar orb in the Lord Ascendant's hand, glowing behind the veil and painting the room's crystals a deep red. _Will I ever be free of it?_ He was already beginning to loathe it.

"It is...unfortunate that Seedlore is lost upon Shard. Other worlds still dream of an age before the evil of Thar'Kur changed us forever. An age of peace like the World Belt has never seen. In our chronicles, a Seedbearer was highly spoken of, just like the ancient kings, world finders, and the most powerful dreamlacers. The World Belt must remember the Ring will always turn for the greater good of us all."

The Lord Ascendant gestured to Lurec and Nassir. "These two will serve as both guide and guardian for you and what you carry. Our purpose was always meant for these two things, instruction and protection. The worlds must see the Ring in that light once more."

"Force Lord, if I may," Lurec piped up. "My presence is really not necessary for―"

"You may _not,_ Master Lurec!" The Lord Ascendant's voice rang through the chamber. Dayn thought the Preceptor's eyes might pop from his head as she laid into him.

"A Preceptor will take part of this undertaking. _Mus_ t take part. Your own Halls agree with me on this, though they bicker more than Consorts on everything else. It was their decision to choose you, not mine―I suspect because of your role in procuring the Seed. But heed me keenly, Preceptor. Choose to act on your own whim again, and Nassir will not be as forgiving."

Lurec stiffened. "Yes, Lord Ascendant."

"Young Shardian, you accept so quickly? You must have questions."

"I still accept. Thank you, sister."

Dayn immediately wished the words back. A heavy silence filled the room. Dayn groaned inwardly. People on some worlds―especially women―were insulted by the title of elder, so he picked the natural alternative by habit. Saying "Lord Ascendant" just felt odd in his mouth. She wasn't his Lord, after all. Her face remained unreadable behind the veil.

"My family," Dayn said quickly, hoping to press past his blunder. "I need to make sure they know of this. They'll worry if I'm not to Greenshadow."

"I've already dispatched a message to your village." Nassir did not protest once over the Lord Ascendant's decision, but displeasure weighed heavily in his voice. At his new task, or Dayn's misstep―Dayn could not tell. "They'll be told of your whereabouts, and your purpose here. We'll return before the Shardian harvest."

"Preceptor," The Lord Ascendant interjected. "Nassir knows the worlds you will journey to. Once your task is complete, you will deliver the Seed to Master Irwin Dosay on Panen. I'm sure you realize how important the Seed will be for the Ring's endeavors on that world."

Lurec's eyes widened as far as they could go. "Yes, Lord Ascendant!"

_Why is he suddenly so eager now?_ Dayn wondered. There were hardly any people on the world of Panen that Dayn knew of. The Lord Ascendant abruptly ended the audience before he could ask questions.

"There is nothing else then? Good." She stood briskly. "You leave to Suralose at once. I've sanctioned the use of a transport for your entire journey. Nassir, you're free to choose your navigators."

"Yes, Force Lord." Nassir bowed deeply.

"We know the price of failure should we fail to rouse the worlds. Thar'Kur will return us to the days of the Breach, or worse." She raised her arms to include them all, holding the Seed like some strange and ancient scepter. "Peace protect you, Light of the Ring," she intoned.

The Lord Ascendant stepped down from the dais. She tossed the Seed to Dayn, unceremoniously looping it beneath the hanging veil. He caught it automatically, surprised. A choking sound bubbled in Lurec's throat. Dayn could see her faintly now, standing so close to the veil. The Force Lord's dark eyes shone with encouragement, her voice was hard as steel. "You are a Seedbearer now. Though we offer guidance, you do not serve the Ring. The entire World Belt hangs on your words. Be true in your task, Dayn Ro'Halan. Peace protect you, also...brother."

Shock shone on every Defender's face.

"Depart to serve!" the Lord Ascendant barked as she turned back to the Veiled Throne, an edge of amusement in her voice.

The Preceptor and Defenders all replied in unison. "We serve the worlds."

"I serve my world," Dayn added. The Ringmen all stared at him strangely, and he flushed. Their eyes seemed to accuse him of selfishness, as if he declared Shard more important than the rest. He would remember that in the future, even though he was no Defender. But it still sounded like the right thing to say.

Nassir planted himself in front of Dayn as the other Defenders filed out. Dayn opened his mouth to explain himself, but the Defender spoke first.

"The transport is already prepared. We meet in the transport bay by first bell. An attendant will be sent for you." He abruptly strode out after the other Defenders, nearly trampling Lurec.

The Preceptor glared after him for a moment, then sighed and clapped his hand cheerfully on Dayn's back. Dayn could tell it took an effort for Lurec not to snatch the Seed from his hand as they left the throne room together. Another attendant met Dayn's eyes and nodded silently.

"I'll have to find someone to monitor my studies," Lurec murmured. He called out to Nassir and the Defender turned impatiently. "Force General! When will we arrive to Suralose?"

"Midday, by their turn," Nassir said gruffly. His eyes flickered back to Dayn. "Sleep, if you can. It is difficult to adjust to the turn of a new world." He walked off once more, intent on catching up to his fellows.

"Is that all he's going to say?" Dayn muttered.

Nassir's voice floated down the hallway. "Dress warm." Then he was gone, leaving Dayn and Lurec alone in the antechamber.

# CHAPTER TWELVE

First World

The worst beasts of the torrent defy reason. They are born with iron hides, likely iron lungs, and barely resemble their Beltbound progenitors. I doubt they truly came from the same stock, before the Breach. Either that or the torrent has twisted them. Crater wolves with glowing red eyes and silver teeth hunt in the largest erratics. A ragehawk's beak can bite a Defender's armor in half.

-excerpt from Guardian Benlor's Third Circuit

Dayn's own room was half the size of Lurec's study but just as full of curiosities. He insisted that the bleary-eyed attendant who escorted him demonstrate everything.

There was a crystal panel worked into the room's stone that 'remembered' his touch and turned on lights hidden in the walls. The room also boasted a bath of green-glazed stone set in its own corner. The Ringman showed how it swirled steaming water in a tight circle from floor to ceiling, strong enough to all but do his scrubbing for him. Everything else about the room seemed dull after that wonder, a plainly sheeted bed and two shelves along the wall, all chiseled from the same dreary stone.

"That will wash your clothes as well, and we've provided more. Initiate blacks, I'm afraid, but it's all we have on hand that could fit you." The attendant pointed out the change of clothes, folded crisply alongside dark towels, then took his leave. Dayn eagerly peeled off his torn field linens and met his second surprise.

All of his bruises from the Dreadfall were gone. Only a jagged arc of pink scars stood out on the brown skin of his shoulder and chest from the wreathweaver's bite. The scrapes and cuts he had suffered in the redbranch were all vanished as well, when there should at least be scabs.

He could not stop staring at his scars as he washed, and wondered if they would fade away before his eyes. Dayn decided against telling Lurec. Somehow the Seed had clearly healed him, but he did not want to be locked away with tadpoles and minnows for some study.

After touching the wall for darkness, Dayn suspected he slept less than an hour before another attendant was at his door. He chose to wear clothes from home, two shirts and a fleece-lined brown overcoat. Along with his lucky red cloak, of course. The crusted mud on his boots had not yet dried, but he had no time to clean them, and they were the only ones he owned. He put his coursing gear and gems into one pack along with the Seed. He took up his staff, and left the Initiate blacks where they lay.

Dayn whisked off down the Ring's halls after the attendant, receiving more curious stares than a ridgecat shaved bald. He boarded a transport that already held his waiting Ringman protectors. A nod from Lurec and a grunt from Nassir, and they lifted off.

"First time to Suralose, Shardian?" The navigator Samli called over his shoulder from the vapor array of the transport, after an hour or so of silence.

"First time anywhere." Dayn eagerly piped up. Outside of checking Dayn's pack, Nassir acted as though he did not exist. Lurec murmured a few encouraging words after the transport lifted, but had since lapsed into his own thoughts. He frowned now as though he could not get an unpleasant taste from his mouth.

Neither Ringman shared words even now, and their foul mood grew faster than tripthorn vines. Dayn could not decide what irked the Ringmen more, the Lord Ascendant's command or their mutual dislike for each other.

The navigators, Samli and Cedrek, looked at each other sagely. "You sure you brought enough clothes?"

"Peace, I hope so."

"Hope won't keep you warm for long," Samli observed.

"Nor will peace, lad," Cedrek added.

Dayn sneaked a look at his Ringmen protectors. Lurec wore a thick overcoat, sporting a hood that enveloped his face in a ring of gray and white fur. From the little Dayn could see of him, it made the man sweat profusely.

Nassir's armor looked unchanged, but upon closer examination, he saw black sleeves poking out beneath the metal cuffs. Dayn felt less embarrassed about his own extra clothing. A Defender's ebon mask rested on Nassir's chest, with a wicked brow over angular eyeslits that promised violence. Intricate symbols that Dayn could not decipher were etched in straight lines across the cheekbones and temples, and seven inch-long spikes made a row from chin to forehead. _Almost improves his face,_ Dayn thought with a smirk.

Nassir's only effects consisted of a long, cumbersome pack strapped crosswise down his back. Dayn fell somewhere between the sparsity of the Defender and Lurec's ridiculous overcoat. The Preceptor had also brought enough metal trunks to fill a wagon, likely more of his tools to study the Seed between each world they visited.

"I think I'll manage just fine," Dayn said.

"You might need an extra cloak," Cedrek laughed. He looked out of place in the navigator's chair, and could have easily passed for a Mistland farmer, aside from his short height and round belly. He wore a completely shaved head, except for an odd-looking tuft under his chin.

"If it were as cold as you say, people wouldn't live there." Dayn suspected the pair just meant to nettle him, so he gave their words little weight.

"That may be true, but your thin Shardian skin is what troubles us," Samli replied. "You see, there's a wager in the transport bay. Some of us think you'll manage all the way to the stronghold. Suralose flight decrees won't let us take you right outside the front door, foolish as their reasons are. So you walk." He chuckled. "Most wager you won't get two steps past our hold door."

"Personally, I think those two―" Cedrek nodded at the two Ringmen "―will spend most of the day thawing you out."

Dayn dug in his pack for his bag of gems. _Mother always thinks of everything._ He pulled one out without looking at it and tossed it to the navigators. With a muffled oath, Samli pulled a hand from the vapor array to catch it. The transport pitched slightly to one side.

"By Tu'um's shadow, Shardian!" Cedrek barked. "Don't ever do that if you want to see ground again!" The navigators glanced nervously into the hold, but Nassir did not even look up.

Dayn shrugged apologetically. "That wager says I'll last outside as long as the Ringmen. Is it enough?" Samli stared down into his palm. "Or is it too late to bet on myself?"

"I could live like a Regent with this," Samli said slowly. He shook his head before tossing the gem back to Dayn, a clouded ember-eye.

"But it's bad manners to give back a gem," Dayn protested. "Even if it's just a bet."

"We gamble for bits and favors, Shardian," Samli explained. "Better to not flash your treasure around so freely, especially where he plans to take you." He nodded meaningfully at the Defender and looked as though he might say more until Cedrek harrumphed loudly.

"Mind your nose, tenderwing. The torrent looks odd today."

"Yes, sir."

_What could worry them so?_ Dayn thought. Nassir appeared to be highly regarded, although the Defender clearly disdained this quest. Dayn imagined that a general must rank highly.

"What about you, Samli?" Dayn asked, deciding not to press the matter further. "Where's your bet?"

"Well, I don't think you'll buckle in the cold, not after what I saw when we first picked you up," the navigator replied, ignoring Cedrek's snort. "In fact, I'd stake my flight badge that the first person to go is the Pre―"

Cedrek removed a hand from his vapor cloud just long enough to cuff Samli in the ribs. Samli wheezed and snapped his mouth shut.

"Every world lends some special strength to its people." Nassir spoke so suddenly Dayn jumped. He fixed Dayn in place with his somber gaze.

"Suralose began as an outpost, dedicated to mining and replenishing ice for the World Belt. Once, the worlds cast lots on who would send new overseers every ten years. Over the centuries, the different groups intermingled through marriage and friendship, until they eventually chose to stay and govern themselves. Suralosans exist due to generations of service, ensuring the World Belt will never suffer drought."

"Not quite the same tradition as Shard, but the closest by far," Lurec added, finally stirring from his own thoughts. "Suralose water rations may not save as many lives as your Pledge, but they are no less important."

"Yes." Nassir said. His eyes bored uncomfortably into Dayn. "Do you see why Lord Adazia chose this world as your first destination?"

"We are both covenant worlds," Dayn said, recalling his trade lessons. "If voidwalkers threatened us both, the whole Belt would stop to listen."

"Simply put, but good enough for our purposes." The expression on Nassir's face reminded Dayn of his neighbor Grahm, once he finally taught the dullest puppy of a new litter to fetch sticks. "I suppose that's what the Force Lord intended."

Lurec nodded placidly as though Nassir had just proclaimed that water was wet. "I hope Lord Adazia is right, I truly do." He frowned at the Defender's contemptuous snort. "How many of the Seed's secrets could I be unlocking this moment? We leave the protection of a thousand Defenders to fly naked through the torrent for this unwarranted effort at diplomacy. You know my words for truth, Defender―admit it!"

The navigators both stared back into the hold with concern.

Nassir's voice frosted the cramped interior. "Do you question the Lord Ascendant's gesture of goodwill? Would you choose where the Seed is gifted, Preceptor?"

Lurec's face colored red. "That's not what I intended, I―" he stopped with a sullen look.

Dayn sighed as the silence descended once more. Even the navigators' high spirits faltered, their banter replaced by mutterings.

"By the Mandrel Tower, they never said it was valuable!" Samli whispered fiercely. "They can put that Seed on top of his staff and call it a scepter for all I care! What about the Eadrinn Gohr?"

Dayn's pulse quickened. He bent down to scratch absently at his boot so his eavesdropping did not look too obvious. The Eadrinn Gohr were the peoples of two separate worlds in the Belt, whose inhabitants refused all trade or contact, even Shard's Pledge. They were said to kill anyone who ventured to their worlds, and pirated transports they captured in the torrent.

"Quit your nattering," Cedrek murmured. "Look at our route."

Dayn wished he could understand the bright points of light in the vapor surrounding the two Ringmen. The display reminded him of the leap point in Terabin Round, but much more complicated.

"We're going around Feralos. Against the turn? It will take weeks to get to all of the worlds he means to reach."

"Maybe, but it'll be safe from Eadrinn Gohr raiders. So find your ease."

Dayn began to daydream about Suralose, and meeting a leader from another world. _Will he truly listen to some Mistland farmer's son? Dayn Ro'Halan, the Seedbearer._ The notion seemed ridiculous.

The transport shook. Dayn's stomach took a nervous somersault, and a moan rumbled from inside Lurec's cavernous overcoat.

"Sorry about that," Cedrek called out. Nassir watched the navigators calmly as the transport pitched. Their hands moved precisely within the suspended water droplets of the array. "The torrent is strange today, I've never seen it drift so close to a world. Sir, it would be wise for the Ring to dispatch a Guardian to watch it more closely."

"Very well," said Nassir. "Do so upon your return."

"Is it dangerous?" Lurec asked.

"No," Cedrek said, peering intently into the vapor array. Dayn edged forward, straining for a glimpse of the torrent through the navigator's crystal viewport. For the hundredth time, he wondered why they built no windows into the transport holds. "Sit down, Shardian," Samli said sharply.

"I just want to see," Dayn complained.

"I would Shardian, but...rules are rules." The navigator shrugged. His eyes flickered to the Ringmen before returning to his steering.

_What could it hurt to watch?_ Dayn thought. _If they won't even trust me on the transport, how much worse will it be on a new world?_

Dayn marveled that the Defender allowed him to carry the Seed at all. He would rather the Preceptor kept it, especially after realizing the Seed mirrored his own heartbeat, and somehow swept away a month's worth of injuries in just a few days. He did not like not knowing how it worked.

"We're through the worst of it, Preceptor. A few erratics broke away from the detritus stream for a moment."

"Could it be a resonance wake?" Samli asked.

Lurec shook his head. "Those fall near Ara this time of year. The ripples wouldn't range so close."

"He's still a little green, Preceptor," Cedrek allowed.

"Surely, he'll be as trusted a navigator as you," Lurec replied absently.

"Time will tell." Dayn detected a wry note in the navigator's response.

The inside of the transport began to glow with harsh light, until the stars were all lost to the glare. Dayn felt a tug in his stomach, the pull of Suralose's worldheart.

"Our placedown is coming up soon, sit easy." Samli gave Dayn a wink. "We'll land as close to the front door as we can for you, Shardian."

"Watch that vector," Cedrek barked. He scrutinized every move his charge made now. "She's through the upper air currents, you can ease back. You've flown the clouds over Badai, right? These winds aren't half so fierce."

After one last shuddering rumble, the transport came to a rest. The rear hatch opened and the crystal door slid aside. Glaring light poured into the hold, accompanied by a piercing wind. Cold bit through Dayn's coat and set his teeth to rattling, like he had gooseflesh fever. _Peace, but it's cold!_

Nassir stood, motioning for Lurec and Dayn to follow. The Suralose air tore into Dayn's lungs with every breath, making him shiver even more. A particularly strong gust of wind rushed into the hold, making both navigators yelp an oath. Nassir's eyes flickered in the briefest mirth before he disappeared into the harsh light. Dayn braced himself and stepped out, the Preceptor followed reluctantly.

The hold door began to retract before Lurec even passed fully through. Samli shouted to Dayn through the closing gap, exultation in his voice.

"I'll collect large back at the Ring, thanks to you. Wiggle your toes while you walk, that'll keep them from freezing! We'll be back to pick you up before nightfall." The transport lifted smoothly, angling forward as it climbed into the sky.

Dayn took in the foreign landscape around him. They stood upon the slope of an enormous mountain that reached so high the peak disappeared into the overcast sky. Clouds were a curiosity upon Shard, but here they spread in every direction as though the world's mist had chosen to leave the ground for good. Ice blanketed the surrounding mountains, stretching for hundreds of leagues in every direction.

"This whole world is frozen!" Dayn exclaimed. His very _breath_ had turned white in the cold.

Several deep fissures stood out in the nearby ice. They glowed a vivid blue, cleaving the mountainside with exotic stripes. Frozen brown stone jutted into the landscape as if the mountain fought mightily to rid itself of ice completely.

"Must we be so far away?" Lurec asked. A mile down slope, an unadorned, dome-like structure blended meekly into the massive expanse of surrounding slope. Men stood in front, dark specks at this distance.

_Guards,_ Dayn realized. Lurec gazed toward them unhappily.

"To prevent accidents," Nassir replied. Dayn could see tendrils of white frost beginning to form on the Ringman's armor. Nassir set off down the slope and he hurried to follow. Lurec trundled along after them like a plump little bear with gray fur. "Our navigators are the best pilots in the Belt―except for the raiders of the Eadrinn Gohr―but Suralose would still blame the Ring if some reckless liftrider collided with a transport."

"What's a liftrider?" Dayn asked.

"Do they not teach the barest knowledge of the worlds in your village? You'll see one soon enough."

"There's no need to insult him," Lurec said, scowling at Nassir as best he could from within his furry hood. "An underground river flows in the tunnels beneath the mountain. The Suralose ice melters guide it to the stronghold below. They use liftriders to fly themselves to the top. Defender, I trust you've already dispatched a Sender to announce our presence?"

"There's been no Sender assigned to this world for months. Their numbers are too few, and Lord Adazia has need of them elsewhere. That will change, with the voidwalkers stirring."

Lurec nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing as he focused on his next step. Dayn's staff proved useful for balance on the slick ground. He could not imagine anyone braving this mountain day after day. They saw no one nearby, though Lurec pointed out more guards gathering to watch their approach below.

When Dayn saw his first Suralose folk up close, he nearly tripped over his staff. Thickly bundled men floated through the air, propelled by a strange device strapped to their backs. A harness fit around each man's waist and shoulders, reminding Dayn of his coursing gear. The harness attached to three pearl-colored rings on each man's back. A column of shimmering air, like heat rising off the ground in summer, poured through the bands and pushed the men into the air.

Dayn waved at one of the closer Suralose men despite Nassir's scowl. The man waved back, watching them curiously before his liftrider carried him further up the slope and out of sight. "I'd freeze stiff, waiting for that thing to take me anywhere. Better to bound. Why do they move so slowly?"

Nassir produced a strip of fabric and proffered it to Dayn, then wrapped another around his own face and neck. Lurec grinned smugly at them both from the depths of his furry hood.

"Frostbite will claim your tongue with so many questions, Shardian. This will keep your face from freezing," the Defender said. "Keep your thoughts on completing the Lord Ascendant's task."

"Thank you," Dayn managed. _Maybe he's from Suralose, the cold fits him._ They trudged closer to the stronghold below. Dayn remembered the navigator's advice and wiggled his toes. It actually helped against the cold.

He twirled his staff through Eddies in the River to keep warm until the Defender's sharp admonition halted him. "Your height is bad enough, Shardian. Stop drawing attention to us."

Dayn gritted his teeth, but he obeyed. He felt often in his belt pouch for the Seed as they walked. His mind might be playing tricks, but it felt warm whenever he brushed it.

They were only a quarter of the way to the stronghold when the ground trembled beneath Dayn's feet. He looked down to see steam hissing from a hole in the ice a span across. He backed away as the melting edges rapidly widened, showing vibrant hues of the older blue ice beneath.

"Well that is curious, isn't it?" Lurec leaned interestedly over the hole, which continued to emit steam.

"Find cover, now!" Nassir shouted. The Defender shoved them both toward an outcrop that looked more ice than stone. Steam filled the air as the hole continued to hiss. He sprinted off toward a smaller overhang as though death itself were melting out of the ice. The Defender pressed himself into the rock twenty spans away, but paid no attention to the ground. Dayn followed his eyes to the sky.

Oily flames spiderwebbed along the transport's angular hull. Even at this distance, Dayn could make out the shattered crystal surrounding the navigator's hangdeck. It glittered weakly in the sun as the transport plunged toward Suralose, spewing dark smoke as it burned.

"What happened to it?" Dayn cried. More wreckage seared through the sky, leaving purpled streaks on his vision. He barely covered his face in time as ice fragments showered him from every side.

"The torrent is brushing against this world!" Lurec shouted, his eyes round with terror. Debris continued slamming into the ground.

Distant screams sounded faintly between impacts. Craters wide enough to swallow buildings bloomed everywhere, and the mountain groaned beneath their feet. Lurec and Dayn cowered against the rock, pressing themselves into the shallow bluff.

"The transport!" Dayn shouted to be heard over the tumult. "We have to see if Samli and Cedrek are alright!"

"Don't move, Dayn! See how the rock burns from falling so far? The transport's sheath has failed. Even if our men still live, the crash will end them. Remember the Seed!" Lurec grabbed Dayn as if to restrain him, though Dayn could easily free himself from the weaker man's grasp. He could not so easily escape the Preceptor's logic. Rock hissed through the sky as though the torrent meant to pound Suralose to dust. A sharp, acrid tinge filled Dayn's nostrils, and he feared the very air might burst into flame.

Peering between his fingers, Dayn saw that Nassir fared no better where he crouched. He caught glimpses of the Defender making smooth, methodical motions down his arms and over his chest, like someone covered in dirt wiping themselves clean. He donned his mask.

"That man is equal parts foolish and dangerous, but today I fear the fool sits greater." Lurec shouted across the slope. His words did not carry well, with the deafening reports around them. "Stay there, Nassir! The sheath may not be enough to protect you!"

The barrage lulled for a moment, and the Defender took advantage. He ran toward them in a low, careful sprint, dodging around hissing craters and steaming blue fissures in the ice. Blinding light flashed around the Ringman's frame as falling rock struck his layer of sheath. The pieces exploded brilliantly, threatening to drive Nassir into the ground as he advanced toward them.

On the horizon, the surrounding mountain ranges were covered in dust and powder. Dayn spotted smoke on a far distant slope, though he doubted anything could catch fire on this world. His heart sank as he realized the transport must have finally crashed.

"Are you injured? The Seed is accounted for?" Nassir demanded, his voice oddly muffled behind his mask.

Dayn nodded fearfully as the Defender examined him intently from head to toe. "Is it over?"

"Far from it." Nassir looked impassively at the trail of smoke left by the transport. Dayn whispered a prayer of final peace on the two navigators. Lurec was right, they could not have survived.

A deafening boom shook the mountain to its foundations, sending all three of them sprawling. Lurec slid on his back like a flipped turtle, yelping in alarm, and would have gone further if not for Dayn's extended staff. Nassir immediately regained his feet, staring intently up the slope.

"Thank you, young Shardian," Lurec panted. The Preceptor pulled himself upright and scampered back to safety, looking fearfully at the sky.

_Rock pummeling you senseless, moving faster than you can see coming?_ Eriya's words echoed in Dayn's panicked thoughts. _I cannot imagine a worse way to meet my end._

Suralose folk poured out of the stronghold below, their confused cries echoing weakly up the slope. Great clouds of powdered ice and steam clung to the pinnacle above, overshadowing the mountaintop. A cacophony of murderous shouts billowed in that haze, making Dayn's heart leap.

"By peace's embrace!" Lurec exclaimed, as an ominous rumbling trembled the bones of Dayn's every joint. "How could anyone survive that?"

"Powerful attackers, to twist the torrent against us," Nassir said, his voice grim. Icy particles and debris trembled around their feet as the sound deepened. Torrent fragments continued to burn through the sky. Plumes of ice appeared wherever they struck the mountainside. The Defender's eyes rested on Dayn. "We shall soon know what they seek."

The shouting grew louder. Dozens of Suralose men came bounding and running down the slope, driven by a fear of something greater than the torrent.

"Run, offworlders!" A wild-eyed Suralosan rushed past them so quickly his scarf trailed behind him like a cape. "There's safety in the stronghold!"

"I see something up there." Dayn squinted into the haze, which now billowed down the mountainside. Wraith-like figures lurked through the smoke and fog. The fleeing workers saw them too, and ran that much harder.

"Thar'Kuri?" Nassir asked without looking up. He seemed intent on securing his pack.

"We would know." Lurec's voice was tight. "We'd feel them coming."

One of the Suralose liftriders emerged from the roiling fog as the rumbling grew louder. Cries from his fellows on foot urged him on. "Rouse the guards!" Behind the liftrider, a man on horseback shot out of the summit's haze at a dead gallop. The horse gathered itself and pounced. Metal flashed in the rider's hand as he bounded toward the liftrider. The Suralosan screamed. He fell from the sky to thud limply in the snow. The horse arced past him, the rider's sword now wet with blood.

The horseman descended in a spray of snow further down the slope. He wore leather armor, and brown fur covered his body and hid his face. He looked at his handiwork, then wheeled his horse back down the slope. Dappled white and sienna, the fierce stallion gathered on powerful haunches and sprang some ten spans into the air.

"Horsemen from the torrent?" Dayn said, stunned. Light flashed around the horseman as his mount glided down the mountain. More followed, whooping and shouting, cutting down any fleeing Suralosans in their path. "Peace, they're wearing sheath!"

"Go down to the stronghold," Nassir ordered. The shaking grew ominously louder, but there were too few horsemen to account for it.

The Preceptor looked up the slope in alarm. "Defender, I must insist we stay together!" Dayn nodded in fervent agreement.

"Can you use that twig, Shardian?" The Defender jabbed a gauntleted finger at Dayn's silverpine.

"I...know all my forms. What about―"

"Quickly, show me Crane's Stance!" The Defender's bark triggered a reflex born from hours of staff training with Milchamah and Joam. Dayn snapped into the defensive position, feet spread further than shoulder width. Satisfied, Nassir spun on his heel. "Stay close."

The Defender ascended the mountain with a predatory gait. He reached for the pack strapped to his back, and made a quick twisting motion. Dayn momentarily forgot the pandemonium around him as Nassir pulled free the largest sword Dayn had ever seen.

Lurec made a strangled noise at sight of the hulking sword. "A sickmetal blade?" The ragged metal shifted between black and deep blue, like a piece of midnight, wrought by fire. The blade's edge appeared sharp, but the rest of it looked unfinished, more prone to rip and tear than cut.

Dayn's staff felt even more fragile as he followed hesitantly in the Defender's wake. Perhaps fifty horsemen charged down the slope, kicking up great gouts of snow as they pursued the ice melters, whooping at the top of their lungs. Nassir's confident advance did not slow.

"I don't know if my staff is..." Dayn looked back toward the stronghold, wondering if they should flee with the Suralosans. "Preceptor, you have no weapon. We―"

A shadow fell across Dayn's vision and he looked skyward. A rider sailed straight toward them. Lurec stood frozen as the stallion descended. Dayn tackled the Preceptor without thinking, sending them both sprawling onto the slope. The horse's hooves slammed into the ground where they stood just moments before. The rider swore.

Powerful, rippling haunches and strange metal horseshoes that gripped the ice with treacherous hooks filled Dayn's vision. He nearly vomited at the thought of what the animal might have done to his chest. The horse vaulted majestically into another bound as the rider continued on down the mountainside.

"Well done," Lurec gasped. "Well done."

The two scrambled to their feet. Other horses swept past, but the riders seemed more intent on reaching the mountain's base. "They cannot hope to breach the stronghold walls!" Lurec said.

"Shardian!" Nassir's warning shout bid them to look up. The galloping horses were not the cause of the thundering that shook the ground.

Well behind the charging horsemen, a monstrous boulder careened down the slope and straight for Nassir. The surface glowed red with heat, and great gouts of steam hissed out from where it churned through the snow and ice. The whole thing easily reached the height of the Dawnbreak Inn. A pockmarked band of metal encircled the boulder's width, fixed in place as it rolled. Coiling cables looped from the band to the very top. A lone rider there directed the boulder, seated within a metal cage. He rested above the mass of stone like some strange spider perched upon a spinning egg. It descended upon them with a speed that made Dayn's knees go to mush.

"Siege implement! Avoid it!" Nassir's shout floated back to his ears. The Defender had already moved away from the rockrider's path. Dayn moved to follow, but the Preceptor just stared at the oncoming device with a slack face.

"Come on!" Dayn cried, yanking at him roughly. Lurec pulled out of his trance to hasten after him. With a roar that swallowed all other sound, the rockrider swept past them. They staggered drunkenly in its wake. Dayn could not imagine a wall thick enough to survive the impending collision.

The Preceptor's eyes bulged in sudden warning as he looked past Dayn's shoulder. "Dayn..."

Instinctively Dayn ducked. A sword whistled through the air above him, and he heard a grunt of effort. Dayn spun around, hands trembling on his staff. The horseman's attempt to remove Dayn's head nearly pulled him from his saddle. The chestnut mare struggled to regain her balance.

Dayn rolled smoothly and rose behind the outstretched rider as the man sawed savagely on the reins in an effort to right himself. He was already too late. Dayn swung fluidly into Sun's Rise and Fall, arcing the end of his staff toward the base of the horseman's neck. The man spilled from his mount like a ripped sack of milkwheat.

The agitated horse shook off the rider's nerveless grip and began a confused trot down the slope, following the melted trough left by the boulder. Dayn stared at the man who lay unconscious at his feet. _Milchamah told us never to do that, except for when animals attack. Never against a man._

"You saved me again, Shardian," The Preceptor said as he approached. He looked more closely when Dayn remained still. "You're not hurt. I believe that Defender will leave us here if we tarry. Better to take our chances at the stronghold below. What's wrong?"

"I've never...I didn't mean to..." Dayn's hands shook as he looked down at the motionless form lying before him upon the ice. _Oh peace, I don't think he's breathing. Get up!_ The weakness of the ground on this world made Dayn stronger than he ever thought possible. He wanted to throw his staff as far away as he could.

"Come, lad," The Preceptor said, more gently. "We must hurry."

A new rumbling grew beneath their feet, and they peered anxiously up the slope. Although the torrent appeared to have ceased falling from the sky, a second guided boulder approached.

Dayn nodded bleakly as he searched for the Defender. Nassir steadily trudged upslope, three hundred yards distant. _He did leave us, just like Lurec said. So much for being my protector._ "We should stay together," Dayn mumbled. "Besides, all of those horsemen are down there. Is that really where you want to go?"

"Peace, no!" Lurec said. "But would you rather us follow that madman? Look!" He pointed up the slope.

The Defender stopped, almost as if he heard Lurec's words. Another rockrider rushed toward him, moving even faster in the runnel created by the first. To Dayn's disbelief, the Defender charged. "He's going to be crushed!"

Just before the boulder's shadow swallowed him, Nassir bounded. He surged into the air so powerfully he seemed to fly rather than leap, floating with a deadly grace, arms raised and sword held ready.

The Defender timed his bound masterfully. The boulder swept harmlessly underneath him. In a moment of shock, the rockrider fumbled at his rein-like controls before Nassir crashed into him. The two pitched from the boulder's top and fell. The boulder spun crazily past Dayn and Lurec, following a drunken angle away from the stronghold. They ran toward the Defender, who had already regained his feet.

Dayn quickly outpaced the Preceptor. By the time he reached Nassir, the Defender had roughly tied the rockrider's arms behind his back with wingline. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and blood covered most of the honey-colored skin of his face. Nassir tensed at Dayn's approach, displeased by his presence.

Dayn swallowed, wondering if the man's bleeding came from the fall or the Defender. The rockrider looked at Nassir's sword fearfully, jammed blade-first into the snow.

Lurec wheezed to Dayn's side, taking in the scene with wide eyes. He accosted the captured man angrily. "Why have you done this? This attack has broken a treaty nearly four hundred years old!"

The man looked at Lurec dispassionately. "We fight for the Eadrinn Gohr. Your treaties don't concern us, Ringman. Gharin the War King does as he will within the Belt." Dayn's eyes widened. He knew the Eadrinn Gohr scoffed at trade, but he could not imagine they would attack another world directly.

The man's defiant glower faltered somewhat at Nassir's dismissive grunt.

"Gharin was murdered in his sleep two months ago, and no Eadrinn Gohr man ever spoke with your lilting tongue." Nassir flipped the man onto his back, then pressed his boot down so hard on the man's chest that his ribs popped. Nassir made no effort to reach for his sword, but turned toward it casually, as though to remind the man it was well within his grasp should he need it.

He removed his mask. "I have not taken your life, so you know who I am. You would be wise not to twist your words, Aran." The rider licked his lips nervously as the Defender gave him a wolfish grin. "No amount of sheath can save you from me."

Lurec looked at the man in disbelief. "You're from Ara?"

Equally stunned, Dayn could recall little of use about the world. Arans traded fine glasswork and other luxuries, but relied heavily on the Belt for the most basic of goods, including food. This man certainly looked like no artisan, but no matter how he snarled at Nassir, he did not make a convincing marauder, either.

"Which seats stood for this attack?" Nassir pressed, but the Aran man said nothing. The Defender ground his boot down harder. Dayn shared an uncomfortable look with Lurec. He had imagined Defenders to be unyielding warriors, but never cruel. But then I never thought one world would attack another, not before today. _How does a Defender sworn to protect_ all _of the worlds act then?_

Nassir looked ready to provide an answer by reaching for his sword. The Aran's one good eye bulged in alarm, but he still held his silence with tight-jawed contempt.

Lurec threw up his hands. "Peace, Defender! Will we stand here until he freezes to death?"

"Any Beltbound who will not claim his own world may be in league with voidwalkers," Nassir stated flatly. "Our mission could be of more import to them than I thought."

"Voidwalkers?" The Aran choked out a laugh. "A precious sort of madness grips you and your Ring." Nassir's fist clenched around his sword.

"He's bleeding badly," Dayn said. The Aran frowned at him, and Nassir blinked. To Dayn's relief, he released his sword.

"We make for the stronghold. Get up." Nassir released his boot and the Aran's face brimmed with a sort of gasping triumph. Nassir hoisted him up roughly by his bound arms. Dayn noticed how the man worked his fingers feverishly, to keep from freezing in his bonds. "Certainly the Overlord will be glad of another prisoner to interrogate. A cold man, bred for this world. I know him well. He'll want to oversee the matter personally."

The Aran's triumphant look vanished instantly. Nassir gestured down the mountain with his sword before returning it to the scabbard behind him. The captured Aran picked his way glumly down the slope, careful to avoid slipping. Dayn resolved to help the man to his feet should he stumble. He doubted either Ringman would.

An eerie silence marked their descent after the torrent and rockriders. Below them, a gaping hole lay in the stronghold's dome where the first boulder breached the wall. Red stains in the ice and still bodies made for a sorrowful path down the slope. The Aran's face tightened as they drew near, and he kept his gaze upon his feet. There were no signs of movement outside of the stronghold.

Pain touched Lurec's eyes whenever they rested upon another Suralose victim of the assault, and the Defender's face hardened in cold anger. Dayn changed his mind about helping the Aran up if he fell after all.

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN

An Old Saying

So the Regent took the farmer from Badai to Ista Cham, and all over the Belt people cheered him and called the farmer prince. The Regent vowed he shall never work another day, but the farmer returned to Shard after that, lest the Regent insult him further.

-from Mari's Lessons, a collection of Belt stories from Badai

They moved down the slope quickly, even with Nassir dragging his Aran captive along. The way leveled off in front of the stronghold entrance, the only visible opening in a pale dome half-buried within the surrounding ice. There were no signs of fighting, which struck Dayn oddly after the chaos that ruled the mountain just moments before. A slight man wrapped crown to heel in thick furs rushed out to meet them, calling out in an anxious voice.

"Master Defender! Master...Preceptor?" The man looked at Lurec with open astonishment. Dayn, he ignored completely. "We were given word of your arrival just before these savages attacked us. I am Kenit, herald to Feerthul, the Overseer of Suralose."

Before Nassir could reply, a dozen Suralose guards spilled from the entrance. Kenit backed away with a yelp. They were all burly men wearing bronze breastplates and draped in pale furs that exposed nothing save their eyes. Each of them brandished long, steel-tipped spears.

"Stand aside, herald," one of the guards drawled, watching Nassir cautiously. "We'll take the prisoners from here."

"These are Ringmen," Kenit protested. "Their transport was laid waste in the storm―I saw it myself!"

The guard pulled his furs down to glower at Kenit, revealing a curly beard that matched his dark eyes. "That may be, but the Overlord will decide what to do with them. Now stand aside, I say!"

"This is outrageous!" Lurec spluttered. Nassir touched his arm, then widened his piercing gaze to include Dayn before addressing the guard.

"We go willingly in your custody. The Ring is here to serve." He gave the guardsman a level look. "Although you would choose poorly to ask for my sword."

The guard's face reddened, teetering between relief and affront. "This way," he spat. The Suralose men encircled them to provide escort into the stronghold depths. Dayn shivered. The air actually seemed to grow colder further inside the structure. Cold looked to be the least of their worries at the moment.

"How bad is it, Kenit?" Nassir spoke as though they were not prisoners alongside the captured Aran. The Suralosan guards watched the Defender closely, as if they feared he could singlehandedly dispatch twelve men.

Kenit stabbed a vengeful glare at the Aran rockrider. "We're still accounting for the dead and wounded here, though we've yet to pull most of our drivers from the slope. All of these fiends have been captured or killed thanks to our guards. Overlord Feerthul is surveying the damage now. That infernal stone nearly brought down the entire keep!"

"An impressive strategy, unleashing the torrent upon a world." Nassir looked aggrieved that he had not come upon the notion first. He gazed thoughtfully into the corridor's blue shadows at something only he could see. "A simple thing, to manipulate enough anchors in the stream to turn the torrent loose. Dangerous, but simple."

"Best not say that in front of Feerthul, Master Defender."

"Silence your tongues until the Overlord bids you speak!" The lead guard said over his shoulder. "Move away from them, herald, or you will be moved."

The corridor spilled into an enormous storeroom strewn with blocks of stone and powdered ice. Weak sunlight shone through the caved in ceiling thirty spans above. Dayn glimpsed the steaming boulder of the first rockrider protruding from the destroyed wall.

Bundled guards with murder in their eyes watched more Aran prisoners, perhaps thirty men bound on their knees in a corner. Ice melters searched through the rubble with dazed expressions. Sympathy washed over Dayn. He remembered seeing the same looks among his friends, after the voidwalker's fire laid waste to Wia Wells. He jerked his eyes away from where two drivers tugged at an oddly twisted, red shape. More than supplies lay buried in the wall.

A rigid man picked his way through the storeroom, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the damage. He wore a long gray cloak over the same bronze breastplate as the guards, except for a blue insignia on his chest of a howling, lone wolf. His hood seemed thrown back in contempt of the cold, and flowing silver hair did nothing to soften his harsh features. The guards marched straight toward him.

"Overlord Feerthul," Nassir murmured for Dayn's benefit.

The Overlord listened halfheartedly to a cluster of men and women as they pointed out cracks in the wall that a blind man could see. Or feel, at least. The air in the storeroom grew colder by the second.

"...we already sent for workers from the nearest strongholds," one of the advisors said from behind a curly brown mustache. "With their help we can repair this wall within a week's time."

Dayn reached for the Seed involuntarily, but released it when a guard growled and poked him with a spear. He could no longer ignore the truth. The Seed definitely felt warm to the touch. _I'll ask Lurec about it, once we're free of this clusterthorn._ For now, the Ringmen listened intently to the Overlord's advisors, so Dayn did the same.

"A week's time?" The Overlord repeated in a gravelly voice. He fixed his advisor with a steely glare, the man nearly wilted in his boots. "We will all freeze to death if this hole is not sealed by _nightfall."_

The lead guard cleared his throat, and the Overlord looked their way. "Emissaries from the Ring, come to save us?"

"Peace upon you, Overlord Feerthul," Nassir intoned, bowing his head. "My sorrow for your losses in this vile attack."

"What peace do you see in this?" Feerthul snapped.

Nassir's eyes narrowed, but Lurec stepped forward before he could reply. "On my word, our mission of goodwill put our lives in the same peril as your own men."

"On your word, Preceptor?" Feerthul sneered. Lurec's face reddened at his tone. "Yet here you stand, unscathed. The Ring's words mean little if it cannot protect Suralose from these...raiders."

"Overlord, beg pardon," Kenit piped up. "But I did see the Ringmen's transport fall from the sky, lost to the torrent. It was―"

"Be silent!" The Overlord snapped. Kenit hunched back like a river crab squeezing into an outgrown shell. The Overlord's gaze fell on the captured Aran rockrider, and he regained his frozen calm. "Take that filth to the others. They will seal this hole with their bodies, if necessary."

Nassir looked upon the shivering Arans thoughtfully. He appeared to reconsider his words before speaking again. "Overlord, you must ensure that the Treaty of Irshev remains intact. The World Belt will fall into chaos without Suralose water."

"You cannot be serious." Genuine surprise threatened to raise Feerthul's eyebrows clean off his scalp. "That treaty is as broken as the torrent, and withered as the dead men who wrote it."

"Your disregard for the old ways will be the undoing of your world, old man!" the Aran rockrider shouted. One of the guards kicked him swiftly in the ribs before he could say more. The Overlord immediately swept over to the man, Nassir and Lurec at his heels. For a relief, the guards let them pass.

"Another Aran with his sense cooked away by the sun," Feerthul said dryly. The guards all chuckled roughly as the rockrider glared angrily up at him, gasping for breath. "At least this one speaks. What madness guides you, young fool? Speak quickly, and I shall make you brick for my new wall instead of mortar."

Blood drained from the Aran's face, but he did not hesitate. "You Suralosans are selling water rights to the Belt, when Ara has known only drought since before my grandparents were born! The High sent us to remind you of your duty, and stake a rightful claim to what is ours."

"I issued no such decree." Surprise showed once more on the Overlord's face. "Nor have any of the Underlords even suggested such an idea. Your High are all fools to think otherwise. There is ice enough to sell and fulfill the treaty, but not without more transports, and more men to work the mountain. Even then, the ice will not last forever."

"All lies. Our High were given the truth by Consorts." Blood leaked from a corner of the Aran's mouth as he grinned at Nassir. "We were warned by Consorts from the Ring."

"That is grave news." Overlord Feerthul gave the slightest nod as he turned away from the captives. The Suralose guards immediately surrounded the Ringmen and Dayn once more. They held their spears with the grim determination of men ready to do violence. "And most unfortunate for you, Defender. A moment, please."

"Oh, peace," Dayn groaned. Silence embraced the entire room as the Suralosan workers stopped their salvage efforts to watch. The Overlord's advisors whispered heatedly in his ear, casting baleful looks at Nassir and Lurec. To Dayn's dismay, the Overlord nodded frequently. "What are we going to do now?"

Lurec edged away from a spear tip too close for his liking, his blue eyes large as moondrops. "This is what comes of you dealing with that Aran so roughly," he muttered to Nassir. "What in peace's reach is he talking about? Consorts?"

"Lies to sow mistrust. Our Consorts may do their work with little oversight, but they would not risk the Force Lord's wrath," Nassir replied. He stood casually, as though waiting for his turn at a festival game. It took Dayn a moment to realize the man held a fighting stance, The Mongoose Lies in Wait. Several of the guards eased slightly, convinced by the Defender's demeanor that he did not mean to flee.

Lurec swallowed. "Who would move so boldly? The Regents?"

"Who else? If things go badly here, they may succeed in killing me." Nassir's face remained unperturbed, a man planning the morning chores. "Offer no resistance, so your lives will be spared." Dayn opened his mouth to protest, but Nassir fixed him with a stare. "Shardian, do not argue!"

The Overlord suddenly burst through his advisors to yank the Aran rockrider to his feet and hold him face to face. The show of strength surprised Dayn, especially for a silver-haired man on a world with such weak ground.

"My wife is gone to visit her sister in Pelz," Feerthul snarled. "If they've been harmed, you will pay dearly. Tell me where else you've attacked! Torrent blind you, where?"

The man held his silence, although fear covered his face.

"No answers, of course." Feerthul released the Aran, who spilled abruptly back to the ground. For the first time, the Overlord of Suralose made eye contact with Dayn. He frowned, reassessing what he saw. Dayn suspected the man thought him to be some servant, maybe Lurec's assistant. "Perhaps this Shardian prince holds the answers I seek. What is your purpose here?"

Dayn waited for the guards' loud guffaws to still. _Prince?_ he thought. _What's so funny about that?_

"The Ring asked me to come and tell you about my village," Dayn said. The Overlord blinked, casting a confused glance at Nassir and Lurec. Dayn knew himself to be plainspoken, not eloquent like Elder Buril. He imagined how his father would speak to the Overlord, polite but blunt. _Honest._

"My name is Dayn Ro'Halan. I farm my father's land in the Mistlands. I'm sorry for your trouble here, and...peace send your wife and sister are safe. I wish I brought good news from Shard, but it's not."

"You're certainly no dignitary..." The Overlord folded his arms and gave Dayn a hard look. "Speak, then. But know that I will bury offworlder schemers in my new wall if I do not like what I hear."

Dayn looked to Nassir and Lurec. They both stood tense and silent, eyes urging him on. "Five days ago, I saw a voidwalker in my father's well. They stink and steam, like the air singes their skin. They're strong enough to tear a person in half with their bare hands. No one in my village believed me, either. Their faces looked just like all of yours do now." Feerthul's frown deepened, but Dayn pressed on before he could interrupt. "Four days ago, I fell down some cliffs on Shard that we call the Dreadfall. It's a hole that goes all the way through our world."

"He speaks of the Breach," Lurec supplied. The Overlord's face went pale.

"There were voidwalkers in Shard's heartrock. They—"

"Impossible!" One of the advisors spat. "The pressure alone would kill you, if the heat didn't burn you to cinders first."

"It was hot," Dayn allowed. "And bright near the worldheart, like a red sun, too bright to see. The heartrock looks like a river frozen in place. At least it did, until the voidwalkers made it all explode."

People from every corner of the room edged closer to hear Dayn's tale, squeezing between the stunned guards and the Overlord's advisors, drinking in every word. "They were there to tear Shard from the World Belt, and whatever they did to the worldheart almost worked. The ground...it _died._ People floated out of their beds, back in my village. The Dreadfall was full of smoke and fire, and the heartrock was broken in a thousand pieces. Many of the voidwalkers died, but not all. I would never have made it out if not for my sheath."

"How did you escape?" Kenit rasped.

Dayn licked his lips. "I...Shard's heart is strong. I climbed my way back up and would have floated off into the sky, too, but she fought back. And I think this helped her...right herself."

Dayn withdrew the Seed. Gasps sounded throughout the space, even from the shivering Aran captives. Dayn spoke loudly so they could hear, too. "I found it in the Dreadfall."

Feerthul shook his head. "I don't believe it. No Seed could exist in an age of sorrow such as ours."

"Our age is whatever we make it," Lurec said forcefully. "The discovery of such a tool is proof of that."

"He's a Shardian caperdoll on strings that stretch back to the Ring, Overlord," one of the advisors suggested.

"I barely know anything about Consorts, and I won't say I like Defenders very much." Some of the guards chortled at Dayn's words before remembering themselves. He flushed, and avoided looking at Nassir. "The Lord Ascendant wanted all the worlds to know what's happened, and see what I've found. Even if you don't trust the Ring, I swear by my first harvest that you can trust that the voidwalkers are real. That's why they've brought me here, to warn you. If voidwalkers can come so close to ending Shard, imagine what they are planning for you while you're fighting like this?"

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.

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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

The 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?"

"Rock big enough to resist the torrent's pull. Big enough to hide in, too," Dayn answered at once. He knew that easily, from _Guardian Benlor's Third Circuit,_ his favorite book back in the Elder's repository. "They are larger than mountains, and there's some strength to their ground."

"You are not completely ignorant, good. You'll move faster than you've ever imagined, and breath will be fleeting."

Dayn fished in his pack for Nerlin's leather pouch. "I have these. Wind draughts."

Kenit gaped at him, and Lurec's morose expression gave way to surprise.

Nassir blinked. "Do not interrupt again, farmer. The greatest mistake of many coursers is to pay mind only to the very large. Small things, invisible things, hold equal danger. Dust clouds can blind you, or overheat your sheath. They harbor the worst sorts of creatures. Avoid space that shimmers, but has no color. Do you understand?"

Dayn swallowed, nodding. The tunnel rumbled around them, a whisper in comparison to the Aran rockrider's assault. Kenit paused, listening. "Overlord Feerthul has collapsed the storeroom. Forgive me Ringmen, but we must hurry. I don't fancy being trapped in this tunnel should more of the mountain's ice fail us."

Nassir continued issuing directions as the herald broke into a trot. "One thing you must remember, Shardian. Speed kills in the torrent. Coursing against the natural current of rock is certain death. Avoid oncoming debris, unless you want to test the quality of Suralose sheath."

Dayn nodded, silently thanking Eriya once more. He knew so little of the Belt, but her help made him feel less a fool, along with Nerlin's wind draughts. _They didn't expect me to have those, did they?_ He tucked the wind draughts back into the pouch, allowing himself a grin.

Dayn wished the Preceptor would offer something more than Nassir's terse warnings, and he brightened when Lurec spoke up. "And if we do not find a wayfinder, Defender?" he asked. "What then?"

Nassir said nothing. The herald risked a look back at them, a strange mixture of awe and disbelief on his face. _Peace,_ Dayn thought. _I wish Lurec had kept his silence after all._

"We're here. The leap point is just outside." Kenit pulled his furs closer about him. The tunnel dead ended abruptly, with only a metal ladder fixed to the ice before them. Kenit bounded to the top, then brushed his hand over a metal hatch which immediately groaned open. Frigid air poured in. They followed him into the blinding light.

Dayn's eyes quickly adjusted, and he took in a bleak horizon. They stood upon a slippery area hewn from the mountainside, but with none of the striking blue crevasses they saw earlier. An ice crusted structure with a stone dome stood next to plunging cliffs on their left. The size of a small inn, Dayn guessed it held another vapor room. He looked around expectantly for a hole like the plaza in Terabin Round as they approached.

"Where is it?" he asked.

"Not all workmanship in the Belt is...equal," Lurec said carefully. Nassir disappeared inside. The Preceptor followed after heaving one last resigned sigh. Dayn lingered a moment longer, watching his frozen breath gust away on the howling wind.

_Did I decide too rashly, following along this way?_ Dayn wondered. Lurec acted as if waiting for another transport from the Ring was the better choice. Yet if the Arans mounted another attack before the Ring found out, Nassir's decision proved wiser. The Preceptor all but accused him of being a madman, rushing headlong into this storm...this resonance wake. _Perhaps he's just afraid? Maybe I should be more afraid, too._

The Lord Ascendant's charge returned to mind. _The threat of Thar'Kur must be known among the people, high or common._ Dayn believed her more than ever, especially after how the Overlord changed.

Hiding on Suralose while the voidwalkers ran free...the thought made Dayn sick. His decision felt right. "I gave her my word."

"Shardian, I was just about to come find you." Kenit reappeared in the entrance. "Are you alright?"

Dayn nodded. "I didn't think I'd get to see the torrent so soon. Kenit, what's a Vatdra Collar?"

"Oh." The herald hesitated. "It's a series of knots made with wingline. When coursers have no proper harness, they'll use it to pull along someone who is injured. Shall we go?"

"But why is it called that?" Dayn persisted.

"Well," Kenit said reluctantly. "Vatdra was a renowned Jendini courser with an unfaithful husband. As the stories go, whenever she learned of some new mistress, she would string the dull fellow through the torrent until he begged for his life." Kenit shrugged. "But she always brought him back. You see, a Vatdra collar will never break, but the courser who holds it had better like you." He shrugged. "I don't know, Shardian. Coursing humor is rather...rough."

Dayn frowned unhappily. "I don't think the Defender likes me at all."

"At least he didn't call the collar a birth cord," Kenit offered. "That's what they say when you don't belong in the torrent at all. Please, Shardian. The Belt turns."

The herald led Dayn into a rounded room with dozens of dark vertical scores on the white stone walls. Nassir already sat in the center, with the flustered Preceptor attempting to retain some measure of dignity.

The herald fought to hold back laughter, and Dayn hid a smile with his hand. The Ringmen sat back to back, and with Lurec's oversize armor, they looked like two turtles fighting to squeeze into the same shell. The Defender spoke calmly as he wound his wingline around them, back and forth, securing Lurec to his back.

"Sit, Shardian, so the herald can be free of us." Dayn plucked Nerlin's old face guard from his pack and snapped it in place upon his brow. "Follow my lead and all will go well." He tied the wingline off. Lurec gave a loud squawk.

The room began to hum. Kenit bowed deeply before backing away. "Peace protect you, Ringmen. Peace protect you, Seedbearer!" He all but ran out of the room. Slowly the domed roof above them split into seven sections, like the petals of a starwatcher lily, exposing the featureless white sky.

"The countdown has started. Come here. Your armor, and sheath, quickly!" Under the Defender's watchful eye, Dayn awkwardly donned the rest of the unfamiliar armor that Kenit had found for him, arm braces and jambeaus that covered his calves to the knee. They matched the leather chestpiece, which portrayed two rearing stallions etched in silver.

The Preceptor's eyes held a sad look as Dayn tightened the straps. "You look less a farmer every moment you're with us, young Shardian," he said quietly.

"No world will escape the days that face the Belt," Nassir said in a somber tone. "Not even Shard."

Lurec harrumphed but said nothing. The Defender nimbly tied several coils of wingline to Dayn's waist, so that three individual lengths connected them, one knotted at the belly and two at each hip.

"That staff is a wasted hand," Nassir grunted as Dayn settled on the platform. "The torrent cares nothing for sentiment, Shardian."

"You have your sword," Dayn said defensively. He set his silverpine across his knees, he did not want to lose it. The wind would pull it from his hands, he remembered that from Terabin Round. Some sheath remained, so he smeared that along the grain. "I'll manage. I can drop it if I need to."

Nassir shrugged dismissively, then held up three small cream-colored wafers, each just bigger than a fingernail. Ignoring Dayn's questioning look, he pressed them to Dayn's chest for a few seconds, then to his forehead.

"In your mouth." Nassir demonstrated, sliding a wafer between his teeth and cheek. Dayn complied as the Defender handed the last one to Lurec. The wafer immediately began to bubble unpleasantly on Dayn's tongue. The Defender spoke louder to be heard above the increasing hum in the room.

"Speechcasters. These will allow us to speak and be heard over great distances in the torrent. If the sound grows faint, let it foam until you can hear clearly." Dayn worked his tongue around uneasily. Nassir's voice echoed faintly from inside his mouth! "Cover your mouth if you're facing a high wind so that your words are not lost."

Lurec craned his neck around awkwardly. "Do not manage to swallow one without chewing it completely first, or you'll get the most imaginative sort of bellyache."

"Take a wind draught," Nassir commanded. "We will pass through several hundred leagues of void before we reach the torrent." Dayn did so. The blue pellet felt cool in his mouth, and oddly refreshing.

The humming reached an intense pitch, and Nassir looked upward expectantly. He donned his mask. The Preceptor fiddled with his hood until a clear face plate clicked into place. He hastily smeared it with sheath.

The spread tips of the roof glowed in a familiar blue. A sudden wind pressed down on them, whipping Dayn's cloak about. Blue light shot down the scored walls, shifting from violet to red as it neared the floor.

Dayn wondered if the platform was broken, for it did not budge. He turned to shout the question and received another surprise. The very air was thick as jelly around him!

Lurec gave a miserable groan as a brilliant scarlet shone from the walls and platform. The air squeezed as though it meant to crush them. Dayn thought it might if not for the sheath.

A hollow boom filled his ears, and the Suralose sky rushed into his vision with a roar. His staff pushed against his waist. The wind swirled around him, but the sheath made it feel like a distant sensation. He risked a look down. Mount Patel pulled away beneath them at an alarming rate. _We must be moving ten times faster than my first leap!_

"Steady yourself, Shardian." The Defender's gravelly voice echoed strangely from Dayn's mouth. The Ringmen sailed forward just ahead of him, the Vatdra collar joining them together. The white sky soon faded into an eternal night as they escaped the pull of Suralose's heart. They were being pushed by the leap point, through the nothingness between the worlds. "Soon we will face the torrent."

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Torrent

As I feared, the anchors are failing, and I'm convinced the worldhearts will soon follow. From the rate of decay I have witnessed, in a hundred years there will be more torrent in the Belt than there are worlds.

-field notes from the Preceptor Lurec

Lurec Obeth watched Suralose shrink away beneath his feet until he could look no more. Raw terror filled his heart. _I am a Preceptor of the First Order, discoverer of the first known Seed in three thousand years! I should be in my study, not lashed to the back of a deranged Force General!_

The last blue tinges of Suralose's air faded rapidly to the void between worlds. Lurec had hoped the leap point would be damaged―indeed, he would have dismantled the vapor array himself if given the opportunity―but it aimed true.

He would never understand the Shardian's fixation on coursing. He himself had cataloged the torrent with great interest during his early studies, to help complete the Ring's bestiary. He found it fascinating how so many creatures had adapted over the millennia, building tolerance to unfiltered sunlight, and establishing migration patterns that followed the scant air pockets. Lensfinders made that work rather enjoyable, but from a suitably safe distance.

He had brought his finest handheld lensfinder and the best of his other tools, but they were now scattered across Mount Patel's ice in the transport's wreckage. His overcoat and an old notebook were all that remained of his most prized possessions.

A shadowed boulder shot soundlessly past them. "Peace take you, Defender! Be careful!" He craned his head around, but could still see nothing of their path. Tied to the man's back like...like an infant!

"Shardian, are you alright?" Nassir asked, ignoring Lurec completely. "We'll pass through the void soon enough. The emptiness can be unsettling to some. The darkness."

His tone left no doubt to whom he referred. Lurec pressed his lips tight, just barely holding his tongue. He had never met a more infuriating man.

"I'm fine. Peace, I can see the torrent ahead!" Dayn's voice crackled excitedly back through the speechcaster. "There's so much color, more than I expected. I feel like a flea about to swim through the middle of an hourglass!"

The whites of Dayn's eyes were visible, although he trailed Nassir by nearly three spans of wingline, too distant in Lurec's opinion. His breath came jagged and anxious. _Much like my own,_ Lurec thought. Sudden guilt assailed him as he watched Dayn clutch the wingline and his staff. _He wouldn't be in this predicament if not for my actions. I must do my part to keep him whole. He deserves no less for bringing the Seed so selflessly. I'm a Preceptor, I must exude confidence even when I feel none._

He spied some fragile boulders of the outermost layer of the torrent whisking by him now, what coursers called spinners, along with a few plodders covered in dead vines. These were smaller pieces, calved away from larger masses, or pulverized from impacts.

"We're passing through the outer rind," Nassir said for Dayn's benefit. There were a thousand descriptions for the variegated rock and detritus stream that made up the torrent, most of them fairly intuitive. "We'll have little time for words once we reach the pulp. Remember everything around you, Shardian. Do you see the half dozen pale rocks about to cross our path? Moving away from our sunward side?"

"They're all moving together, like a flock of sheep." Dayn's reply came timidly through the speechcaster.

"Those are called chasers, you see how they don't spin? Their paths are influenced by something larger. That makes them perfect for a talon. We're moving close enough to their speed. Watch and learn. I'll cast out a talon to bring us fully into the flow."

Lurec did not strain to see for himself, lest he throw off Nassir's ropework by jostling him. Besides, plenty of rock occupied his own vision as the Defender delved deeper into the torrent.

A pockmarked granite drunkard arced a haphazard path below their course. Fifty spans wide, it just missed striking a cloud of thousands of glinting obsidian hornet stones that swept a half mile beneath them, close enough to make Lurec moan. Rock swept past them in every direction now, as though they were caught in the middle of a living, breathing landslide.

Six jagged darts―he could not decide whether ice or gemstones made their surface sparkle―streaked straight down beyond Dayn, like some sleeker transport design. They were a hundred spans away, but again, much too close for comfort.

The debris grew impossibly thick, and much larger in size. More dust and random matter that could be a hundred different things began to appear. Soon they would hardly be able to see the stars.

"What in peace's reach is _that?"_ The boy gestured with his ridiculous staff. Lurec looked off to his own right. A globule of liquid three hundred spans across shone brightly perhaps two miles away, surrounded by swirling mossy rock. Lurec could just see shadowed shapes within the water, if it were indeed water.

"Preceptor, my angle is poor," Nassir said. He felt the Defender move at his back. "Are we in danger?"

"No. An anchor. It doesn't look to pull us closer," Lurec said. "Dayn, the strength of ground fluctuates within the torrent, because of the largest stones, or the hearts of old worlds. There are also ancient...devices, called anchors. They act like worldhearts, and help lock the torrent within the Belt. Without them there would be chaos, storms on every world like we witnessed on Suralose. Most are built into wayfinders, but the one you see is an orphan."

"They can provide drinkable water if your need is great," Nassir added, "but you can drown if the anchor is in flux. Or the water may flash to steam."

"I think I can see _fish_ swimming inside of it," Dayn marveled.

The anchor swept out of sight _. Ironic to encounter something so rare on the way to Ara,_ Lurec mused. His stomach tugged, and the view of the horizon jerked around him.

The Defender must have latched his wingline to one of his targeted stones. They would soon be pulled into the core of the torrent where the fastest moving objects lay, like rapids in a river. The tapestries on the Ring that showed coursers gliding languidly through the torrent seemed the worst kind of lie right now.

"To your left," Nassir said. Another tug. Lurec strained to see. He felt the impression of moving faster. They now kept pace with the surrounding torrent, which grew even more intimidating.

The surroundings now looked like dismembered mountain ranges. The awesome slabs of jagged stone were pocked with fearsome craters, like ancient warriors flaunting their battle wounds, or perhaps begging for someone to heal them. Sometimes angular masses several miles wide billowed yellow and blue jets of gas from the massive cracks in their surface.

The torrent made Lurec painfully aware of his own fragility, sheath or not. The Defender's breathing remained easy and measured despite the fact that rock abounded in every direction.

Still trailing them on the wingline, the Shardian craned his neck. He arced away from their backtrail whenever the Defender changed course, but seemed to take it in stride. "Farmer, what do you see?" Nassir asked.

Dayn answered after a moment of gazing. "There's a clear space in the flow. It's swirling away from the rest, like something is draining it away."

Relief flooded Lurec. "A loop eddy?" If that were true, an erratic must be close.

"Yes. At this distance, maybe six miles wide. We will easily catch it from here." Nassir paused. "Mind your breath, Shardian. You don't want your draught to air out now."

The Defender heaved his wingline. After a slow lurch, Lurec could see the bottom edge of the eddy taking shape around him, as though they were passing beneath a flowing sheet of boulders. Several of them were crusted with turquoise lichen, but he did not spy any torrent snails feeding on it, peace be praised. The creatures were harmless, but often attracted dangerous predators.

Dayn gripped his staff nervously as Nassir's wingline pulled him along. He began to twirl in place. The Shardian flailed his arms for balance, but that motion accomplished nothing in the weightlessness of the void, and his spinning slowly grew worse.

"I don't know which way is up," Dayn rasped. He jerked his head around rapidly, and appeared to be on the edge of panic.

"Calm yourself," Lurec urged. "Look past your feet, back toward Suralose to get your bearings."

He felt a tug in the pit of his stomach as the Defender cast out again, latching onto another guide rock. Lurec could not deny his skill, nor even begin to calculate how many leagues they covered each minute. They were gaining speed, and closing the gap between them and the erratic's safety.

"Do you see more lichen above us, Preceptor?"

Lurec peered up toward the rocks, stretching above them like a landslide of giant sapphires, frozen and still. Green lichen coated the sunward side of the field liberally, several feet thick.

Cold sweat broke out on Lurec's back. "Not one snail grazing on it."

"Completely picked over," Nassir agreed. Dayn looked up at the sluggards, but wisely just listened to the Defender. "We must be cautious. This erratic may be hawk-infested."

Lurec licked his lips. _Ragehawks in the torrent! Why did the Force Lord dream up my involvement in this dreadful undertaking?_

Humor carried in Dayn's voice through the speechcaster. He still twirled at the edge of the rope, but the motion no longer bothered him. "Hawks that eat snails? I could lend you my staff."

"Don't dismiss them so easily, lad. If you ever saw―" A shadow passed over them suddenly, and Lurec's heart jumped.

To his back, he felt Nassir freeze. "Shardian, for the love of peace, you must stop spinning."

"Clusterthorn," Dayn whispered, barely audible through Lurec's speechcaster. He grabbed onto the Vatdra collar and soon recovered his balance. Just watching him spin made Lurec's stomach lurch, but the farmer kept his calm. They all watched as two monstrous birds tailed perhaps half a mile above them. Their feathers glinted with a greenish hue, and metallic talons flashed in the sunlight. Dayn's efforts meant nothing, for the ragehawks passed them by.

"I suppose we weren't worth the effort," Lurec ventured.

"Or they're fleeing something," Dayn put in. "There are no birds that big on Shard. I can't imagine them skipping any meals."

"Likely, they've already fed. Ragehawks have been known to pry open transports if they wanted the navigators badly enough, or felt their territory threatened."

"Peace, protect us," Lurec said faintly. He wished Nassir would keep those tidbits of information to himself.

"I see the erratic ahead!" Dayn exclaimed. "It's huge!"

"This course will align us with it perfectly," Nassir said in his self-satisfied way. Lurec strained for a glimpse―he positively _abhorred_ this arrangement! "Stillness, Preceptor. You'll throw off our course. The fissures look to be old and deep. Stable. We'll pass through the torrent swiftly within it."

"Something is wrong," Dayn said suddenly.

"What? What do you see?" Lurec asked in alarm.

"Calm yourself, Shardian. That's only―"

"Look at the edges!" Dayn shouted. The speechcaster rang painfully in Lurec's ear. "Peace! It's breaking apart!"

Lurec's body wrenched savagely to one side as the Defender cut a new course. Dayn groaned as the Vatdra collar sawed forcefully against his torso. Lurec could finally see the erratic now on his right, and felt fear gnaw at his stomach.

The mass swallowed his entire field of vision, a dreadfully ugly mixture of worn gray and black mineral. Deep cracks along the surface looked almost organic. Gas streamed from the sunward side, forming a strange blue nimbus along the edges.

The edges... _Dayn is right._ The entire erratic appeared to shimmer as though near boiling.

Realization dawned on Lurec. "The resonance wake is upon us! It's pelting the erratic from the other side."

"We must find a new guide rock," Nassir said, still calm. "Help me look, Preceptor."

Lurec wanted to scream at him. The erratic began to splinter into thousands of great fragments. Dust and shattered bits washed over them, lighting their sheath brilliantly. His entire body grew noticeably warmer, a warning sign. The sheath could withstand the smaller bits, but any of those larger fragments would end them as surely as a boot would squash a beetle. "Look? You fool, I can't see anything!"

Jagged pieces of the erratic drifted toward them, each several miles wide. Lurec could hear the wake faintly now, a terrifying, angry sound. The torrent beyond the shattered erratic churned violently, driving air currents toward them.

"Nassir!" Dayn cried out. He whipped around roughly in the debris, trailing behind them like a torn kite. A cloud of obsidian darts swallowed him from view. He reemerged, and immediately pulled his legs high, just avoiding a sand-colored dart five spans long that almost cut him in half. A fist-sized chunk of rock took him directly in the chest. Light exploded around the sheath, illuminating the terror on Dayn's face. A spray of dust flashed around them all and Lurec squeezed his eyes shut.

"Brace yourselves, I've lassoed another―" Nassir's words were cut off as they changed direction so sharply Lurec feared for the Defender's arm sockets.

"Nassir, my sheath. It's hot!" Another cloud of dust and rock swallowed Dayn. His sheath glowed yellow.

"You must help him!" Lurec cried. "He's being pummeled to death!" Nassir did not respond, for at that moment a spinner seven spans wide slammed into them both. Lurec cried out in terror as they were enveloped in rock and light. The sheath sizzled, and he felt his body being squeezed within it.

Then just as suddenly they pulled free. The sheath broke through the spinner. _How much more of this can we survive?_ Lurec wondered.

Their new guide rock moved on a path angling away from the storm. Then Lurec saw the wingline flailing behind them.

"No! Defender he's lost to us! Dayn, can you hear me?"

"He's in the slipstream ahead of us―look to your right. I see a wayfinder ahead, too." Tension filled Nassir's voice. "Shardian, I'm coming. Curl yourself so the sheath can protect you!"

"I think I can reach you," Dayn said.

"Just stay there," Nassir commanded. He heaved his wingline. Lurec watched in dismay as the talon clinked off his intended guide rock. It held fast to a column-shaped drunkard, about fifty spans across and covered with purple roots. The Defender pulled mightily to free it, but to no avail. The wingline went taut in his grip and they lurched into the slipstream.

"I see him now!" Lurec said, craning his neck. Nassir moved frighteningly fast, closing the space between them and Dayn in seconds. The tumbling drunkard pulled their wingline at an angle, so they curved out behind it.

Dayn seemed uninjured. He had snagged a small guide rock with his own wingline, but they were approaching much too―

"Look out!" Dayn shouted.

An axe-shaped chunk of granite covered with fiery cracks dropped toward Nassir. It obliterated the drunkard pulling his wingline in a shower of sparks. Nassir released his hold too late. The collision jerked them into a new course. They now careened straight toward Dayn.

Lurec held his arms up protectively. The impact of two sheath-covered surfaces at this speed could have unpredictable, fatal results.

He barely fathomed what happened next. He caught a glimpse of Dayn, jabbing his staff at a fragment of purple-veined rock blurring past him. The silver grain flared brilliantly on impact, pushing Dayn upward.

The Shardian arched his back. Lurec saw the briefest blur of Aran leather and red cloak as Dayn flashed past them. Lurec heard the boy strain with exertion through the speechcaster. Nassir passed within inches of the small of his back.

"Peace be praised," Dayn's relieved voice croaked. "Are you two alright?"

"You...you covered your staff in sheath," Lurec managed feebly. A collision at that speed―sparks might have flown from the three of them as well!

The Defender said nothing. Lurec was sure that Dayn's maneuver had rendered him speechless. They had been travelling towards one another at hundreds of feet per second. The reflexes the boy would require to deliberately avoid a collision were simply impossible.

"Favor certainly sees you, farmer," Nassir finally said. "Quickly, hold out your staff!"

Lurec heard a faint burst of compressed air. The Defender's talon cast out from his clutch, an arcing coil of wingline snaking behind it. "Got it!" Dayn called out. He nimbly snagged the line as it floated through his path and retied it to his original Vatdra Collar.

Nassir exhaled imperceptibly, no doubt relieved his foray into the torrent did not cost them everything. They moved further from the resonance wake, and the torrent appeared to settle around them.

"Do you see that light, flashing through the sunward side of the torrent? Look toward your feet, Shardian."

"I see it. What is it?"

"A wayfinder. We should do better there, it appears to have strong ground."

Lurec strained to see. "The torrent is much calmer around it," he observed.

Little distinguished the wayfinder from any other erratic. With rounded edges, it was smaller than the one they had just escaped, although still massive at a quarter of a mile wide. A large fissure nearly ran across the entire mass so it looked in danger of breaking in half. The battered tower built into the top held a powerful, strobing light.

"Hold onto your staff. Preceptor, take this wingline." The Defender made quick work of the intervening space, hooking the boulders orbiting the wayfinder to course his way to it. "Watch the sentinels, Shardian. Preceptor, don't lose him."

"Of course I won't," Lurec snapped irritably. He wrapped the wingline around his wrist, silently vowing never to let the Defender separate him from the Seed again. He could feel the wayfinder's anchor pulling at him, the ground might be strong enough to bound.

Their momentum shifted and suddenly the Defender ran instead of floating. They lurched to a stop. Lurec saw porous brown rock all around him, they were inside the wayfinder. The crevasse Nassir landed them in went deeper inside, forming a passage. Nassir untied him, and he dropped to the rough ground, happy to stand on his own two feet. The Defender took the wingline back, and turned immediately to Dayn.

"You're nearly here!" Nassir called. "Just relax and let me reel you in."

"I should have thought of that," Dayn muttered. He swept rapidly toward them now. Lurec held a hand out and he caught it gratefully, looking just as relieved to feel ground under his feet again. He moved his left arm experimentally and drew a deep breath.

"Are you alright?" Lurec asked anxiously. He did not want to sound calloused and ask after the Seed, not right away. He hardly believed it, but the boy appeared little worse for the wear.

"That was fantastic!" Dayn hooted, his eyes shone with excitement. He was panting hard―they all were. "Lurec you should have seen your sheath. It was brighter than the sun!"

"So was yours." Lurec shook his head in disbelief. _Pure madmen surround me, would-be coursers and Defenders._ Peace! "I'm glad you're safe."

Nassir removed his mask, but his jaw clenched at sight of the wingline hanging at Dayn's waist. "You cut the collar, farmer. Why?"

"You needed to be free of me, with Lurec already to account for," Dayn stammered defensively. "And I couldn't do anything to protect myself without throwing you off."

_Not even Guardian Benlor could course the way he did just now_ , Lurec thought. He lamented to be so far from Master Irwin Dosay's counsel, or at the very least, a repository full of books that touched on Seedlore. He took little stock in myths about the wonders before the Breach, but now he was seeing them come to life before his very eyes. _The Seed's influence is upon him, without question. Is it enhancing his abilities, or is it bending the torrent around itself?_

A contemplative light shone in Nassir's brown eyes. "You'll represent Shard well in the Course of Blades." He spit out the speechcaster before half floating, and half stepping deeper into the erratic.

"This is a wayfinder?" Dayn asked doubtfully as they picked their way after him. He removed his face guard. A distant light provided scant illumination for the dusty, rough-hewn granite beneath their feet. "I expected there to be more to it."

"A wayfinder is not your village inn, Shardian," Nassir replied, his voice echoing. "The Guardians use them for only the briefest stay overs."

The boy's face crumpled, but he smoothed it when he saw Lurec watching. _Must you be so heartless about his burned village, Defender?_ Lurec lamented silently.

Nassir stopped before a crude vapor array, flat stone a span across carved into a nook of a wider chamber. "Favor smiles on us," Nassir said. This section of the wayfinder appeared to be maintained, at least. A water source was in place, the vapor lit up at Nassir's touch.

"A Guardian must patrol from here regularly," Lurec said as he examined the display. The array showed the positions of every major world on this side of the Belt as blue points spaced out in a swirling field of green. "The blue represents anchors and worldhearts in the torrent," he explained. He pointed to a disturbance in the green. "This vortex is the resonance wake we just passed. Peace be praised, we only brushed the edge of it."

"There's so many," Dayn said, peering at the display. "There are hundreds of them!"

Lurec nodded absently as he studied the sector of torrent displayed before him. The ripples and eddies among the rock currents were much too pronounced for their location.

"From this position we should come near enough to Ara for a flyalong," Nassir said. At Dayn's blank look he added, "A craft the Guardians use to reach a world's surface at need. It will be a tight fit for the three of us."

"Better than coursing the rest of the way," Lurec muttered. At Dayn's disappointed look he added, "You cannot course all the way to a world's surface, lad. Sheath has limits. Defender, what's your plan if there is no flyalong here?"

The Defender gave the briefest hesitation, and Lurec's eyes narrowed. _Just as I thought. Why did Adazia tie us to such a reckless man?_

Before Nassir could proffer an explanation, the most overwhelming sensation of vertigo overcame Lurec. He clutched his knees, willing the feeling to pass.

The Defender frowned―which was as good as any other man crying out in fear―and Dayn gasped, holding the wall for support. He looked ready to retch. "The ground is changing...I feel like I'm standing on Shard again. What's happening?"

Lurec staggered to the array, plunging his hands into the vapor. He touched his thumbs and middle fingers to each other, then expanded them wide. The display zoomed in to show the wayfinder itself in fine detail, from the huge crack that ran over its center, to the light tower embedded in one side. The center of the mass glowed a warning red. "Odd. The anchor at the rock's core is...unstable."

"Can you repair it?" Nassir asked.

"Already done." Lurec touched the center that represented the anchor. Information poured through the vapor. Trajectory. Proximity. Targeted mass. The corrections were simple enough to make, and the ground immediately shifted beneath them. "We'll be within reach of Ara in...twenty minutes. We really should find the flyalong now, if there is one."

"The anchor, it almost looked to be tampered with," Nassir observed. He led them further into the crevasse down a narrow passageway. Somewhere above them, the light of the strobe trickled through, providing scant illumination. "Could it be responsible for the strength of the resonance wake?"

Lurec shook his head dismissively. "A wild torrent endangers us all, Defender. Not even Eadrinn Gohr raiders would sabotage a working wayfinder."

They rounded a corner and Nassir stopped. Dayn let out a startled cry. Lurec peered into the gloom apprehensively, unable to see past the taller men. The sharp odor of dried blood filled his nose. "What is all of the...peace protect us!"

The flyalong lay ahead, a bowl-shaped craft of dull metal with a single opening on the top, small enough to fit into his quarters on the Ring. Above it hung a dead Guardian. Wingline held him in place, stretching all of his limbs taut. The Guardian's head rested limply on a shredded black chest plate, his mask battered beyond recognition.

"Peace keep his soul," Dayn said numbly.

"Tortured." Nassir produced a belt knife and grimly began to cut the Ringman down. The Guardian's arm came free, but remained extended, grown stiff with death. "Dragged through the torrent until his sheath gave out."

Dayn set down his staff and quietly began to help the Defender. "The voidwalkers did this, didn't they?" He pulled out his own knife and began to cut one of the Guardian's legs free. "I know they did...I can almost smell them."

"Perhaps. Best to be sure." The Defender twisted, and the Guardian's body came free and floated eerily down to his feet. He carefully pulled the mask free. Dayn sucked in his breath sharply at sight of the ruined face. "I knew this man. Corian Nightsong was one of the Ring's best Guardians."

Nassir felt around the man's cheek, his face grim. Lurec's lip curled, but his revulsion turned to shock as the dead Guardian began to speak. "Nightsong...Thar'Kuri warriors...voidwalkers...gathering in...unlike anything known from the Ring...far distances. They must have been made in the age before the Breach.

...deliver it with all haste to Force Lord Adazia on the Ring. The worlds all depend on you, for I have failed them. My sons and daughters live in Denkstone, on Jendini. Tell them...their father served well."

Dayn's eyes were wide. "How did—"

"The speechcaster can store a message briefly, if your last words are upon you." Nassir covered the ruined face with the ruined mask and looked up at Lurec. "They are growing bolder, Preceptor. An attack against Shard, and now they turn the anchors―perhaps the very torrent itself―against us. They would make the Belt into a grave, and lay all the worlds within it. The Force Lord was right to send us on this mission."

The Defender stared at Lurec with eyes like brown fire. Lurec bit his lip and looked away from the Guardian's mangled remains, waiting for his stomach to settle. "That may be," he said evenly. "But fighting them until the void takes us all isn't the answer. What Dayn carries, the fact that it was even discovered in our lifetime, must be proof of that."

The Defender just stood there, regarding him with that unreadable face. _You need me more than you can admit, don't you?_ Lurec thought. _You would save us all from Thar'Kur even if it meant burning the Belt to do it._

Dayn looked between both of them uncertainly, and Lurec sighed. "Best I make sure this vessel is not damaged as well, or we'll never reach Ara."

Nassir nodded and secreted his knife within his armor. "Good. Be prepared, Shardian. There may be resistance on the surface."

# CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ara

We are the High only because the low see us as such when they look up.

-The Highest Shir-Hun

The flyalong ride to Ara's surface proved rather dull after the pure exhilaration of coursing. Dayn feared the craft sabotaged by voidwalkers after seeing the Guardian's fate. Lurec had insisted on its soundness, although he tensed up terribly whenever stray torrent pinged against the sheath-cured hull. Before long a growing roar of air signaled they were passing through Ara's clouds. The entire flight took perhaps an hour.

Dayn hated traveling blind. He wondered what sights they were missing, stuffed knees to chin in the near darkness, facing one another in the circular, windowless interior. The flyalong merely contained a palm-sized vapor array, which the Preceptor had monitored feverishly.

"We should be five miles outside of Olende," Nassir said, once the craft touched down with a rough thump. He tapped the metal hatch then pushed it open and clambered out into the blinding light. Dayn followed, eager to stretch his legs. "If that heap's vapor array didn't deceive us."

The stunning Aran landscape stood in complete contrast to Suralose. Flat, rolling sand stretched in every direction, and the horizon shimmered with heat. The dry air burned his nostrils.

Lurec exited the flyalong and immediately leaned over to lose his breakfast. Dayn's stomach heaved at sight of the Preceptor turning himself inside out. He instantly bent in two and proceeded to noisily sick up.

"Nothing to worry over," Nassir said gruffly. "It's no easy thing to adjust to the turn of a new world, especially coming straight from the torrent."

"I'm just relieved to know we've landed on the right world," Lurec said dryly. He closed the flyalong hatch, and the craft slowly floated into the sky after he hopped off. The Preceptor looked happy to be out of the torrent and facing the same direction as everyone else again. "It's quite impossible to mistake Ara for anywhere else."

"The day is still early here. We must move quickly to Olende before the heat overcomes us. No, Shardian. Leave your cloak on, and your leather. It will protect you from the sun. Preceptor...discard that armor. It's too heavy, and the metal will cook you in your clothes." The two complied quickly, as they were already beginning to sweat. To Dayn's surprise, Nassir kept his own armor on.

Mesas and strange rock formations took shape around them as they walked. Dayn amended his original impression of a featureless sandy wasteland. Great rifts cut sharply through windswept areas, exposing orange and red layers of rock.

Just looking at the landscape made him thirsty. _A well dug a mile deep might not find a drop of water. What would they do without water from Suralose?_

Nassir noticed his face. "So you see the Belt is not so simple a place."

"No, it's not," Dayn said. The road to Olende was barely distinguishable to his eyes, with so much sand and no points on the horizon to guide them. Once again, they had to remain content in following Nassir's lead.

Dayn rummaged through his pack for his water from Mount Patel, but the Defender admonished him. "No. For now we ration our stores."

"You don't mean for us to bound, Defender?" Lurec asked anxiously after half an hour of steady walking.

"We must not tax our stamina," Nassir replied, glancing at the sun overhead. His armor looked hot enough to blister Dayn's fingers.

"I wouldn't mind bounding," Dayn muttered. The heat might be intolerable, but the Preceptor needed to improve his bounding _sometime._ "There must be better ways to go this far besides walking. Why not use the flyalong to get there?"

"They're only suited for travel in the void between worlds," Lurec explained as they trudged along. The man sweated profusely, even worse than Dayn. "On a surface, close to a worldheart...well, they could easily be outpaced by a cart. So could a transport."

Dayn frowned. "But on Montollos, there are transports for every family and every merchant. How can that be true, if I can bound faster than one?"

The Ringmen looked at each other in amusement. "That is not even remotely true, Shardian," Nassir said. "The making of transports has been lost for thousands of years. Every one is precious for trade, or food. Missions such as ours. The Regents of Montollos would love your notion, but it would be a terrible waste."

"I personally could not imagine such chaos. The sheer number of laws required to prevent accidents would baffle every Preceptor in the Ring." Lurec paused to wipe his forehead. "Montollos itself is built to move. What you would call roads actually slide past the Ever-Turning Towers. A most remarkable feat of engineering."

Anything that so impressed Lurec, easily aroused Dayn's curiosity, but Nassir snorted. "Enough Beltbound are lost to that city's seduction without you adding to the Regents' spell, Preceptor." He handed them both a black, water-soaked kerchief which Dayn quickly tied around his brow. "We do not bound because your feet would blister, farmer. Keep to the path."

Their way was not so poorly marked as Dayn first thought. He spotted a column of rock thick around as his leg, and seven spans high. Someone had tied a red flag at the very top, and he soon made out more marching into the distance. _Peace, I can feel my skin turning browner!_ If Lurec's flushed cheeks were any indicator, they needed to reach the city quickly.

The Defender looked troubled as they followed the trail markers, although he waited some time to speak. "Shir-Hun is a good man, fair and reasonable. I believe he's losing control of the High. I cannot accept he willingly chose to carry out this attack against Suralose."

"He is loved on the Ring and in the Belt," Lurec replied. "But whatever his situation, we must act accordingly."

"Yes...accordingly," Nassir agreed reluctantly. "It's good that you're here, Preceptor. The Ring might think me mad to bring a world leader home in chains."

"Maybe so. I suspect the Montollos Regents you love so much would be most pleased by such a turn of events." Lurec sighed heavily. "Our situation here is...delicate. That prisoner truly believed Consorts are involved. Could our own be instigators to begin war? We must consider it."

"Consorts couldn't do this, not without the knowledge of Lord Adazia or the other Force Generals." He shook his head with a grimace. They traveled in silence after that, and Dayn could only wonder at their thoughts.

The land began to rise steadily, and the golden sand around them gave way to more vibrant rock, streaked with orange and red. Strange, scrawny-looking goats with curling horns were sometimes visible now, bounding out of sight into great cracks along the surface rock. Dayn longed for even a moment's rest in the shadow the cracks must provide. They stretched for miles in every direction, giving the land a baked look like a pie left too long in the oven.

Soon they saw Aran herders tending more flocks of the rangy creatures, regarding them curiously but keeping their distance. Nassir ignored them, but Lurec brightened considerably at sight of the first Arans in over two hours.

"Your story will prove valuable here," Lurec said to Dayn. "They may ask about water rights on Shard. I advise you to tell them truthfully, that you know nothing of such things. Don't mention the Seed until Nassir and I determine it's safe. You remember clearly what you're to speak of?" Dayn nodded. "Good. No need to frown, I have to be sure. And if they ask..." Dayn let the Ringman's voice wash over him. The Preceptor's lips were going to crack down to his gums if he kept talking so much in this heat.

Their path descended into one of the large cracks, forming a steep-sided canyon with blessed shade near the bottom. Ahead were a series of tall, fluted columns carved right into the redstone, and a large stonework bridge. Two bored-looking guards watched them curiously from the bridge's far side, wearing the same hardened leather armor as Dayn. The bridge passed over a still deeper fissure.

"Peace upon the Ring," one of the guards called out, a leather-faced man with searching eyes. His companion, a black-haired man with the same reddish skin looked hard at Dayn's Aran armor but said nothing.

As Dayn passed between them, he noticed the curved blade each man wore belted to their hip. _The same swords as the horsemen back on Mount Patel._

"Peace upon Ara," Nassir said, giving the two guards the briefest of nods. "It's good to see faithful watchmen at the gate, when lesser men might sneak away to join the revelry. May the low always uphold the High."

Dayn did not understand the exchange one bit, but the guards straightened visibly, clearly taking pride in Nassir's words. They passed without incident into Olende. Lurec breathed a huge sigh of relief.

The city itself crisscrossed through the sheer canyons, effectively hiding the Arans from a fair amount of the sun's unforgiving rays. Stairways, ladders and ramps were prominent all along the walls. People were teeming everywhere, poking in and out of shops along the canyon floor that were carved right into the orange-red stone. A buzz quickly surrounded their party as the Arans took notice of Nassir's black armor.

"Peace favor the Ring!" People called. Women in loose-fitting blouses and patterned longskirts blew kisses, while men in baggy trousers and sleeveless vests nodded approvingly as they passed by on some task or carrying wares. Nassir did not look surprised by their reception. "Hail, Ringmen! Hail, Defender!"

_Will their favor for the Ring last, once it's known the Ring is here to bring the High to account?_ Dayn wondered. From the wooden expression on Lurec's face, he thought the exact same thing.

Nassir guided them through Olende quickly, not once getting lost in the bustling canyons that spiderwebbed away from their chosen road. Dayn found it difficult to think of the place as a city at all, although he could not deny how many Arans they passed. The number of people along just the one road easily dwarfed Misthaven's numbers.

Nassir stopped in front of a sheer wall that looked no different than any other, except that there were no other shops surrounding a lone entrance. Four Aran guards emerged as they approached it, watching the Defender cautiously. Their armor looked less worn than the guards at the gate.

"Peace upon Ara," Nassir called. "Are the High assembling in Jemlar's Hall?" The guards looked at each other in surprise. "I request petition be given to the Ring at once."

"How did you...? Yes, they're assembled, Defender." Two of the guards motioned them into the cooler air. Lurec nodded to himself as though he had just solved a puzzle.

Dayn frowned, considering the cheerful people outside and the guards' confused expressions. _They have no idea what their leaders are doing,_ he thought. Somehow that angered him a great deal. The Suralosan lords could strike Ara in retaliation in the coming days, and the people outside would be none the wiser.

The guards led them into an impressive, circular receiving chamber before retreating back to their posts. A smooth hewn dome ten spans high towered over the space. The walls were made of glazed red panels that alternated with rock so smooth and glassy, it looked like black mirror. The red panels depicted past Aran leaders, accounting for hundreds of years. "Bloodlines of the High," an inscription read.

Most of the faces belonged to overly serious men and women, but Dayn was drawn to the oldest of them. Mauren the Beloved was shown next to a fountain in Ara with actual running water, five hundred years ago. Another panel a hundred years after that depicted Olegran the Proud, a pucker-faced man holding up a hand in refusal to four Preceptors bearing food. An open transport stood behind them, full of barrels that Dayn instantly recognized, for they were the very same used to store the Pledge. _How does a world go completely barren in a few hundred years?_ If the Seed could stop a drought, the Arans would be overjoyed to see it. They'll do whatever the Ring wants, I'd wager. He frowned at that, remembering the Suralosan advisor's words. _I'm no caperdoll on Ring strings. I'll help as best as I can._

Dozens of people dressed in colorful robes stood everywhere, absorbed in quiet conversation. Ten square openings in the overhead dome emitted just enough light to reflect from the walls and floor, giving the entire room a tranquil, russet glow. Weak shadows still abounded, cast in countless directions around the cool interior. Even they seemed to glow.

Dayn's eyes were drawn to seven tall, wooden chairs arranged in a wide semi-circle at the far end of the chamber. Behind six of the chairs, freshly lit candles were set in the wall.

"Peace favors us," Nassir whispered. "The Highest is here, and five of the Seven High. Stop gawking, Shardian. There's no mistaking your backcountry manner, but you must look to be more than a farmer today."

Nassir pulled aside a servant, murmuring in the woman's ear until her eyes went very wide. She trotted off past the semi-circle, pink-hemmed skirt swishing in her haste. The middle chair sat taller than the rest, but only slightly. "Each chair represents a region of Ara," the Preceptor continued quietly. "Shir-Hun is first among equals here, but his family line has long produced the strongest of Ara's leaders. He hears petitions with a fair heart."

"The High rise before us," a voice intoned, booming throughout the dome. The chamber's droning silenced immediately. Dayn hoped somewhat sheepishly that no one had seen him jump.

He felt a pinch of disappointment over the nondescript group that appeared from one of the chamber's three entrances, talking casually amongst themselves and flanked by twice their number in sword-toting guards. Two women and four men made up the High, all wearing finely tailored white robes. Dayn had expected a fanfare of trumpets at the very least.

_Why are there so many guards?_ he wondered. _They must know Suralose is ready to attack them._ One of the guards, a bearded man with olive skin and curly brown hair, gave Dayn's staff and leather armor a hard look. Indignation shone whenever his green eyes touched Dayn's.

Lurec clicked his teeth, and Nassir growled under his breath. "Stay silent until I say. You've already pricked that captain's honor, pretending to be an Aran guard. We can only pray he doesn't know the man who used to own that armor. The Marshal-General might be alerted to our presence now, before we can speak."

_Blind me, you're the one who told me to keep it on_! Dayn nearly threw up his hands in frustration. They didn't look twice at Nassir's sword!

The clustered Aran gentry looked at the Ringmen silently, likely realizing that their own business would be deferred for the moment. Many of those faces held scowls.

Nassir and Lurec stood shoulder to shoulder, as odd a pair as ever there could be. The Defender's black armor seemed to eat the room's light, while the Preceptor glanced about curiously as if taking note of some new specimen in his study.

While their faces betrayed genuine reluctance, the Ringmen also radiated tremendous determination. Lurec's encouraging nod eased Dayn's worries immensely. He called to memory the slopes of Mount Patel, and his hand clenched tighter around his staff _. Someone needs to speak for the people who fell there._

As one, the six High took their seats. Not a face among them appeared without creases from the years. Their gazes shone with wisdom and authority.

"Present yourselves," said the Highest Shir-Hun, not unkindly. Every eye in Jemlar's Hall fixed on Nassir. He took a single step forward. His boot echoed beneath the dome.

"I am Nassir Toljem, a Defender of the Ring," he said.

Lurec stepped forward with the same simple statement. "I am Lurec Obeth, a Preceptor of the Ring."

Six weathered gazes swung to Dayn. He swallowed and imitated the Ringmen. "I am Dayn Ro'Halan," he said. Not knowing what else to say, he simply added, "a...friend, from Shard."

Murmurs rippled throughout the chamber, stopping almost as soon as they began. Dayn started to step back again―he was not nearly so important as the Ringmen, after all―but Lurec caught his sleeve and beckoned him to stay. Dayn and Nassir bracketed the shorter Preceptor as the High studied them all. The chamber fell so quiet Dayn could have forgotten the rest of the Arans were present.

"It's good to welcome friends in times such as these," Highest Shir-Hun said. Age and kindness warmed his voice, and he looked upon the Ringmen with fondness in his hazel eyes. His pointed nose and prominent chin lent a hawkish look to his olive tones. "Especially familiar faces, at that. The Lord Ascendant has yet to tie you to the ranks of the Force Generals, Nassir? Nor your sister either, I would imagine."

"I wish that were true, Highest, but the Force Lord was adamant. Pararsha, at least, has remained a Force Captain. I will be used by the World Belt as my station allows."

Dayn's jaw dropped, but he quickly composed himself. _The Defender in the Crystal Walk was Nassir's_ sister? _How in peace's reach do I tell him about that?_

"As is a fitting response, for all of those within earshot. I see that your political acumen is already increasing." Nassir's eyes narrowed slightly at the wry tone of the Highest, and he briefly showed his teeth―the closest Dayn had ever seen the Defender come to a full smile. Open amusement shone among the High, but the rest of the Arans remained prudently silent.

The Highest did not spare the Preceptor, either. "Lurec, it is well to see you whole. I feared your eyebrows wouldn't grow back after the last news I heard of your studies into vapor infusion."

Lurec colored slightly, but not in anger. The rest of the High smiled even wider. The Highest Shir-Hun conversed like a kindly grandfather, and obviously knew both Ringmen quite well.

"And finally...Ro'Halan, is it? You bless us with your presence, young planter. Never before has Ara welcomed a prince of Shard." The room rippled with chuckles, punctuated by a few loud guffaws before the Arans managed to quiet themselves again. _So it's fine to laugh at me, is it?_ Dayn grumbled inwardly. _They've all been holding it in long enough!_

Dayn opened his mouth to say he was no such thing, but the Highest continued smoothly, already addressing the Ringmen again. "I'm pleased you are here, my former pupils. The outer provinces of Ara are gathered in for the Sending―your timing is fortunate. Otherwise it would take weeks to send for the High Chairs and hear the Ring's petition. As it is, the High Crina is not present due to urgent affairs in the south. I hope six chairs will suffice."

"They will serve," Lurec said. "It is good to see you, Highest. I hear rumors that your son Gorhaj is selected for next season's Cycle?"

To Dayn's surprise, the Defender did not bristle at Lurec's continued banter. _The Highest isn't acting like he just ordered an attack,_ he thought with a frown. _Did the horsemen trick us? Maybe they're from another world._

The Ringmen both wore the pained faces of men who could find no way to avoid an unpleasant task. Shir-Hun beamed, oblivious to their consternation. The surrounding High Seats, however, scrutinized the Ringmen's every expression with mounting concern.

"Yes, yes! I recall now you were such an avid fan of the tournaments, Preceptor. My son will prove to be quite the challenge for those bloodthirsty Dervishi. They won't surprise us as they did last Cycle. You should see him, Nassir. The sword looks as though it could melt in his hand. He flows through forms with his eyes closed, and―"

The Highest almost looked ready to demonstrate, but caught himself before actually standing. "Well, yes...but we can talk of that later, you shall meet him during tomorrow's ceremonies. I insist you stay as guests. The Ring's turning can wait a single day. Now, what is your petition?"

Nassir inclined his head to the Aran gentry gathered behind them, awaiting their turn to address the High. "The matter is best spoken with the High alone."

"Nonsense. You would not be here so unexpectedly without a great need. How may Ara aid the Ring?"

Dayn suddenly felt queasy, watching all of the High lean forward in their chairs expectantly. _They've no idea why we are here._ Lurec frowned, bracing himself as Nassir drew a deep breath, unable to delay his duty.

"The Ring has found Ara in breach of the Treaty of Irshev by way of unwarranted hostilities against the sovereign world of Suralose. I call the High to account for these crimes, and require the Highest Shir-Hun to submit himself to the Lord Ascendant for judgment." Nassir spoke his accusations with enough force, but seemed to drag that last bit out of himself.

Shocked cries of indignation and outrage sounded throughout the chamber, but cut off sharply when Lurec stepped forward. Dayn recalled an old saying, _even the wisest men do not whisper when a Preceptor's lips part to speak._

"A Preceptor of the Ring bears witness to these events firsthand. I merit the accusations to be just. Punishment is deserved."

His words were taken worse than a physical blow, judging from the faces of the High. The earlier calm masks were completely dissolved as their angry shouts echoed throughout the hall.

"Preposterous!" One of the High roared, a man with a silver widow's peak and purpling face, sitting to the far right. The rest of his words were drowned out as the Aran gentry protested in growing waves. A quick glance around the room showed distraught faces everywhere, except for the Highest himself. The guards fingered their sword hilts and stared coldly at Nassir.

"We witnessed the attack ourselves," Lurec spoke loudly enough for the Highs' ears. "Aran men, on unmistakably Aran horses. The rockstorm they caused destroyed our transport and killed two Ring navigators. Many Suralosan lives were lost."

Veins bulged on the neck of the purple-faced High. "So you bring such accusations on the eve of the First Prince's farewell? You would take our Highest in shackles before the Veiled Throne? We'll not stand for it, Ringbound! I shall―"

"I shall have this hall _silent."_ The Highest's deliberate words immediately quieted the room.

Dayn's uneasiness grew, a hard knot tying itself into the folds of his stomach. _Peace, is this how it will be for us on every new world?_ The five High quickly regained their composure. The guards remained in place. Yet somehow, Dayn knew this would go much worse than Suralose. He glanced to the crowd. The Arans all quivered with fury and confusion, waiting intently for the Highest's next words.

"Defender, I will answer for these charges," Shir-Hun said levelly. Pensive lines creased the Highest's forehead. "I suspect I know the reason for High Crina's absence now. So rash...always so rash." He motioned to the empty chair on the left of the semi-circle absently, and worried mutterings filled the chamber.

The Highest fixed Dayn with a razor sharp gaze. "And what of this one's presence, Ringmen? Have the actions of one of our own somehow endangered Shard? Peace rebuke us all, if that is so!"

Dayn's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he felt every eye in Jemlar's Hall swing to him.

"No," the Defender said. "He is on a journey of goodwill, sent by the Lord Ascendant herself." The Highest's eyebrows raised speculatively. "You'll find his story timely. Too much danger lurks within the World Belt for our treaties to crumble now."

"Now, or ever." The Highest nodded in agreement, sighing heavily. With his former exuberance vanished, he now looked as though the whole of Ara weighed down upon him. "Our young men dream only for a small chance to compete in the Cycle. They burn for the rest of the Belt to regard Ara as strong, as if a moment's fleeting glory with a sword would heal all that ails our world."

Dayn looked at his feet, abashed. The Highest could just as easily be talking about his own desire to course.

"This sadness I've seen with my own eyes," Shir-Hun continued, his somber gaze fixed on Dayn. "Our young do not know the scars others chose to bear so peace remains assured. They do not remember the blood spilled for the sand. I trust in the Force Lord―and the Halls of Understanding, by your presence, Preceptor. But the Ring speaks goodwill and calls for my blood in the same breath."

Jemlar's Hall thundered dangerously in agreement. The Aran guards looked around grimly. Dayn could see that every swordsman in the room would willingly die on Nassir's sword before allowing the Highest to be taken to the Ring.

The Defender looked back, motioning for Dayn to begin his story. The back of Dayn's neck prickled, and he wiped sudden sweat from his brow. He cleared his throat a few times, finally opening his mouth.

"Highest, I must protest this travesty!" The eruption came from the same High Seat as before, and Shir-Hun rounded on him angrily.

"Thannil, that is enough." Shir-Hun lanced the man with a withering look, but he still persisted.

"Forgiveness, but Crina is not present to defend herself from the accusations of these Ringbound." Nassir and Lurec's eyes both narrowed, and High Thannil continued hurriedly. "Peace shade my soul, I don't doubt the Preceptor's word. But to take you in her place is unreasonable, Highest."

The rest of the High Seats sternly nodded their agreement. Highest Shir-Hun sighed again. "Is it unreasonable for the High to be held to account? If not I, then who?"

"But Highest, I―"

"We dispatched a dozen rockstormers, and cavalry with them," another of the Aran High Seats blurted out, a balding man with tufts of white hair above his ears and wide brown eyes. They grew even wider as a shocked silence descended.

"And you, Orsot?" Highest Shir-Hun looked utterly aghast. "Rockstormers, why? To destroy the very strongholds which _keep Ara alive?"_

"I told Crina it was too much," High Orsot muttered, hanging his head in shame. But he gathered himself, and pointed accusingly at the Ringmen. "She claimed the water treaty would soon be broken by Suralose, and promised the Ring would affirm our actions."

Shir-Hun leaned back, genuinely surprised. "You have proof of this?"

"Our actions were affirmed by Consorts! Yet these two stand here as though the Consorts' words are false. I say that the Ring is no longer trustworthy, and we must see to ourselves!"

Nassir's face darkened, and Lurec's blue eyes shone with outrage. _They never believed the Aran prisoners,_ Dayn thought. He could not shake his increasing nervousness, and kept glancing over his shoulder. A foul temper had overtaken Jemlar's Hall, and he feared the crowd meant to rush them, dignified Aran gentry or not.

_Something is wrong, but I don't know which weed holds the thorns._ He clenched a fist on his staff unconsciously. _Are the High all lying? Or is Shir-Hun himself tricking the Ringmen, playing the part of old friend?_ Dayn could not bring himself to believe the Highest lied to them.

"No Consort could speak those words and live," Nassir said bluntly, staring High Orsot dead in the eye. The man quailed in his seat. "This I assure you."

The Highest cut off the Aran's retort with an upraised hand. "We will act in good faith, as no place is free of...dispute. Not even the Ring. In good faith, Ara will recompense the loss of a transport."

Several of the High let their mouths fall open at that pronouncement before jerking back to face forward. Shir-Hun paused, then continued. "And in good faith, I will submit myself before the Lord Ascendant without delay." The Highest's words were iron. Not one of the High dared to protest. Indeed the whole chamber grew silent. Shir-Hun looked down a moment, and seemed to age another season before addressing Nassir, his voice finally faltering. "I ask only that you permit me, Brother Defender, to see my son sent to the Cycle first. If it pleases the Ring."

The crowd rippled with anger as the silence stretched. "It is agreed, upon my word." Lurec interjected quickly upon realizing Nassir could not bring forth the words. Torment twisted in the Defender's brown gaze as the Highest looked upon him, shamed and grieved. To come to such a decision, amongst a gathering of Ara's most distinguished...at that moment, Dayn could not imagine a stronger world leader.

Lurec opened his mouth to smooth over the awkward juncture, but his words were lost as one of the High called loudly, the dome amplifying her voice. She thrust a finger toward a cluster of gentry near the High's entrance.

"I see you, attendant! Come forth!"

Aran merchants and gentry blocked Dayn's view. He saw a flash of Aran guards, filling the entranceway from the outside. Confused people melted away from the High's finger.

High Orsot stood, peering into the crowd. "Cham? The Consort's servant? Yes, there you are! Why not stand here with your fellow Ringbound? Where is your master? Come man, step forward!"

The man in question froze. More of the Arans shrank away, and Dayn suddenly understood what made him feel so on edge before. His hands began to shake with fear.

The so-called attendant wore a cumbersome robe that dragged along the ground, with a hood so deep no light penetrated to his face. He stood hunched before High Orsot singled him out, but he now straightened to reveal his true height. The voidwalker stood so close, Dayn's stomach writhed. The opening of that black cowl swung and fastened directly upon him.

"That creature is not of the Ring!" Nassir snarled. The Defender all but tore the massive sword from its moorings on his back. Screams spread through the chamber like a scorchleaf rash. Panic mounted as people cowered from the voidwalker, only to recoil from Nassir and his great black blade.

The High were all on their feet, each shouting to the Aran guards. They hesitated at the conflicting commands, except for the bearded guard who planted himself before Shir-Hun. Some others barred Nassir's way, which made the crowd shout all the louder. More guards appeared at every entrance, blocking the Arans' flight.

"Afraid the attendant will uncover your plot, Ringman?" High Orsot said with a trace of malice.

"You blind fool!" Shir-Hun's voice sounded like a whip. Nassir paused, his attention riveted on the voidwalker, but he clearly did not want to engage the intervening guards.

"Voidwalker!" Lurec finally gave a warning shout after shaking free of his own shock. "Beware the Thar'Kuri!"

The voidwalker raised a single hand to point at Orsot. The High stepped back in fear. The gauntlet looked like charred wood, and the exposed fingers were the color of swollen, overfed maggots. Every Aran within sight screamed.

"But he's the attendant," Orsot spluttered, confusion on his face. "I saw him carrying the Consort's trunk myself. They said the harsh light hurts his skin..." Dayn wanted to tell the man to run, or look away―something. But fear held him rooted to the floor.

The voidwalker's hand twisted, and Orsot began to scream. The din in the chamber subsided briefly as people sought out the source of Orsot's screeching, for it was pitched higher than all the rest. Everyone witnessed High Orsot as he collapsed before his own seat. The poor Aran began to rake long furrows from his bald head all the way down to his chin, as though he meant to tear away his own face.

Nassir used that moment of collective shock to burst past the Aran guards and close with the voidwalker, his every limb coiled to strike. Fear immobilized everyone else in the entire chamber.

"For the sand, Arans! Help me!" Nassir shouted.

The dozen or so swordsmen came to their senses at last, blocking the three exits and surrounding the voidwalker with drawn swords.

"For the sand! Protect the Highest!"

The cloaked figure slunk back, retreating to the farthest end of the chamber beyond the High's chairs. The candles behind every chair suddenly winked out, plunging the room into deeper shadow.

"He's trapped himself," Lurec said grimly at Dayn's side. Neither of them had budged as the scene unfolded. They could barely see the voidwalker in the dim light as the swordsmen closed in.

Nassir slowed when the voidwalker's arm extended from his cloak, tensing for an attack. But the voidwalker only pointed again, this time straight at Dayn.

"I bring a message for the whelp." The voice hissed, like rotting flesh searing on a spit. "Ro'Halan."

Dayn felt a new fear born in his heart as the beginnings of a dry, throat-rending laugh sounded throughout the chamber, echoing louder and louder.

"Moridos. He comes for you."

Nassir lowered his sword and stopped. The Aran swordsmen began to swear fervently as the echoes faded.

Dayn slowly walked forward. The remaining Arans parted for him with fearful stares, some muttering prayers to themselves. He saw loathing among them, too. His name would be forever tainted in their ears, after hearing it uttered from a voidwalker's lips.

Dayn stopped next to Nassir, who gave him a considering look before sheathing his sword. "Peace protect us," Dayn whispered. The voidwalker had disappeared in the shadows.

# CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Chimes Upon the Wind

The worlds of the Belt squabble about which is greatest, in bravery, intrigue, or compassion. None are right, and that's why it's all so breathtakingly tragic. I can scarcely imagine the blessed days before the Breach, even as I plot for their return. I secretly dread the people will never act as one.

-private journal of Master Preceptor Noredeen

The next morning, Dayn found himself lying in the middle of the largest bed he could imagine, after a night of bad sleep and worse dreams. He ran from voidwalkers through grass with rows of sharp little teeth on the leaves that nibbled at his ankles, then again through desert where sucking pits of sand pulled at his boots. Every place he fled through, something rose up to stop him, almost as if each nightmare world wanted the voidwalkers to catch him.

His last dream was the worst one of all. He fell through a jagged rush of torrent, but instead of wingline, he held only the Seed. His hand took on the Seed's glow, and red light raced up his arm and through his veins until his whole body shone brighter than Shard's worldheart. He flung the Seed away from him. The torrent howled around it worse than the resonance wake, shattering a hundred floating mountains into dust. Flecks of black appeared within the Seed until the torrent swallowed it completely. His sheath grew hotter than the Aran sun and the skin of his hands began to boil. Consumed in fire and terrible light, the last thing he remembered was Eriya's voice. _I cannot imagine a worse way to meet my end._

The Aran dawn played gently through the windows of his guest room in the Highest's palace. He had slept the better part of yesterday and last night, which made up for the fact that he had been awake for nearly two days. His body did not seem to know when to rest, moving from world to world without the farm's routine.

Shard felt more distant than ever as he took in his lavish surroundings. The linen sheets felt cool to the touch, and ebony posts marked each corner of his bed. Finely polished redstone with orange and yellow streaks paneled the walls of his spacious room. Fine pieces of famed Aran glasswork decorated every wall, vivid turquoise with clear bubbles trapped within. They looked like dancing trees, or frozen tongues of fire.

A chest of drawers stood beneath the open window, carved gracefully enough to earn his father's admiration. A breeze diminished the overall warmth. Fresh clothes awaited him on top of the chest.

Outside of the heavy purple drapery that covered the entrance to his rooms, a bell tinkled. With wood so scarce, doors were rare on Ara. Dayn suspected the Arans valued the ebony chest and bed far more than their impressive glasswork.

"Good morning, Shardian." Lurec entered at Dayn's assent. The Preceptor had shed his gray overcoat, and wore a blue tunic of Aran cut. His face had grown incredibly red after their walk to the city yesterday, and Dayn feared painful days were in store for the Preceptor if they stayed on Ara long. "How did you sleep?"

"Better than I thought I would. My father used to tell me and Joam that when we were born, our parents guessed at how tall we would turn out, then built our beds a foot shorter." The Preceptor chuckled as Dayn spread his arms wide, taking in the expanse of his bed. "That way if we grew up to be lazy, we wouldn't waste time finding our own land. We would leave just to build beds worth sleeping in." Dayn let his arms drop. His grin at the memory faded. "I wish I could forget about yesterday."

"I slept little myself," Lurec admitted. "I doubt anyone in that room found rest after the...encounter. Can you believe the Arans still speak of finding the _Ringman_ responsible? Hard not to blame them, though. A voidwalker in their midst, completely undetected. Yesterday truly opened a door for us. Otherwise, this Ring Consort might still be to blame for the High's plots on Suralose."

"Has anyone found him?"

"The Consort?" Lurec frowned. "No, not yet. The apartments he occupied in Olende are empty, of course. The bed wasn't even slept in. It's possible the voidwalker controlled the man, if he was truly a Consort in the first place."

Dayn searched the Preceptor's blue eyes, dismayed with what he saw. "That isn't what you think, is it?"

Lurec sighed. "There are...sympathizers, among the World Belt. Those who've befriended Thar'Kur for some foolish hope of gain, or been cowed by their threats. You know better than most how a voidwalker can inspire fear. Distasteful as the idea may be, I cannot discount it. I must consider that such confused souls could be lurking within the Ring."

"Peace protect us." Dayn could scarcely believe his ears.

"Indeed. Who knows where else their influence festers?" The Preceptor shook his head. "The Belt turns against us, but we've done some good here. The Highest has already ordered for High Crina's arrest. That should provide more answers to what spurred her actions."

"Then coursing through the torrent was worth it after all."

Lurec nodded grudgingly. "The most important thing is that we've avoided an open war in the Belt. The treaty will be restored, given time."

Pride over their good deed came and went without lifting Dayn's spirits. His thoughts kept returning to Jemlar's Hall. He _knew_ the exact moment when the voidwalker disappeared in the shadows. Its gaze released him like an engorged leech, drunk from its fill. "Preceptor, they...they know I'm here. Moridos, he said his brother died in the redbranch. That means―"

"Do not fear, young Shardian." Lurec's face filled with sympathy, but quickly gave way to resolve. "I may have my differences with Nassir, but he is uniquely gifted to provide for your safety."

"I hope you're right. I've barely been on Ara and I already want to leave!"

"Let your mind dwell on other things," the Preceptor urged. "The palace is well guarded. Nassir and I will be in mediation with the High throughout most of the day. You may have your run of the grounds until we're finished. There are a hundred different ways to pass the time away. I would recommend the gardens."

Dayn frowned, suspecting the Preceptor had made some sort of joke. "The gardens, why? Because I'm Shardian?"

"No, no. After seeing you course, I doubt any garden will ever again capture your interest. They're not particularly lovely, and rather stifling even though the hour is early. But at least," Lurec gave Dayn a conspiratorial wink, "you'll be able to avoid anyone looking to pry. The High are rather interested in the...attention you received yesterday. The rumors of a Thar'Kuri warrior in Jemlar's Hall will spread in time. They will vary much, but many will agree that the voidwalker knew the name of a boy named Ro'Halan."

"Clusterthorn," Dayn muttered. "The voidwalker wants me dead, and they want to chatter about it? I agreed to be a Seedbearer to help my family name, not stain it further!"

"Be easy, Dayn. The path before us won't be easy, but the work you are doing is good and true. The entire World Belt will soon appreciate what you've done, not just Suralose, Ara and Shard. I didn't see it fully before, but I do now. Stay the course and all will right itself."

The sincerity Lurec spoke with cut through Dayn's gloominess. "Thank you, Preceptor."

"Of course. Don't wander all day, and avoid making a spectacle of yourself. Never let the Seed out of your sight." Dayn flushed, searching his sheets until he finally produced the red orb from beneath his pillow. Lurec nodded approvingly. "Exactly what I would have done in your place. We'll send servants to find you in time for the Dance of Shells."

"What's that?" Dayn asked.

"Why, only one of the greatest festivals in all of the World Belt!" Lurec exclaimed. His sudden burst of enthusiasm took Dayn by surprise. "We'll be guests of honor in the Echowind Split at dusk." Lurec turned to go. "You won't want to miss it."

The brown trousers and honey-colored vest left on top of the chest of drawers fit Dayn perfectly. The black boots were taller than he was used to, but he guiltily admitted they felt much better than his field boots from home.

Certain he looked presentable enough to be seen in his first palace, Dayn dropped the Seed in his pocket. He hesitated a moment over his staff, but finally decided to leave it resting in the corner. He didn't want to look any more out of place than he already did. Giving his vest one last tug, he stepped out of the room.

"Anything I can help you with, young sir?"

Dayn jumped. A fair-haired Aran servant with a prim manner looked up at him expectantly. He had clearly been waiting for Dayn to emerge this entire time.

"The gardens?" Dayn said. The man's brow crinkled querulously, so he added, "I was told they were a fine sight in the palace."

"You were told...well, I suppose you _are_ Shardian," the servant murmured to himself, shaking his head "It's not very peaceful at the moment, I'm afraid. The gardens are filled to bursting with dancers rehearsing for the Sending. The inner studies are much cooler at this time of day. I could certainly take you there, and the High Talor would be happy to―"

"The gardens are fine, thank you," Dayn said firmly, keeping with Lurec's suggestion. He added a bit sarcastically, "Really, I can't wait to see the flowers."

"Flowers? But surely..." The Aran decided not to persist after taking in Dayn's face. "Very well, young sir."

He led Dayn to the palace gardens, murmuring with the Aran guards a moment before they allowed Dayn through. The two swordsmen were willow thin, and stood with a confident grace. They both said nothing as Dayn passed, but watched him with flinty eyes even after his friendly nod.

_This is what passes for a garden on Ara?_ Dayn wondered as he strolled along a footpath of wide white stones. Smooth pink pebbles covered the entire space, except for a central courtyard that bustled with dozens of palace servants. They rushed to and fro excitedly, carrying elaborate dresses and bolts of fabric. Dayn supposed they were making decorations and costumes for the Aran festival, and steered well clear. _The goodwives at Evensong grow fangs whenever people see their work beforehand. I doubt this lot will be any different._

Brown and green speckled plants decorated the gardens like nothing Dayn had ever seen. Instead of leaves, long spines covered every inch of them in bristling rows, and there were no branches to speak of. He stepped close to one over twice his height. The spines were long and black, hardened by the sun. Dayn instinctively reached out to touch the surface.

"Careful―you'll be days picking those needles from your hand!" A servant called out to him from the courtyard. He ignored the Aran's warning and pressed his palm toward the rows of inch-long spines.

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.

# CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

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

Dayn 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."

"I've never seen the like on Shard." Dayn could not believe his good fortune.

"Shard, you say? I've never met a Shardian before." The man made sure of his boy's balance before proffering a hand. "Brant's my name. This here's Kiel. Say hello, son."

The boy gurgled cheerfully, and a string of drool spilled into Brant's curly hair.

"My name's Dayn." He hid a laugh as he returned the man's greeting. Brant frowned slightly at the clasp. _That's what I get for shaking hands like a Defender,_ Dayn thought wryly. He offered a hand to the man's son, too, although he got a palm full of slobber in return. "Hello, Kiel."

"Long way from home, aren't you, Dayn? What brings you to Ara?"

Dayn considered his response, watching the ember tossers stretch their muscles in preparation. The men all wore purple vests and loose-fitting white trousers. "Peace favored me enough to see the World Belt before I start tilling my own land. I couldn't pass over the chance." He knew the answer sounded dubious, but did not want to appear rude.

More questions appeared on Brant's face, but fortunately the leader of the troupe forestalled them. The Aran clapped his hands twice. Half of his men doffed their vests, arranging themselves in a loose circle, batons lit and ready. The rest moved off to one side, four of them began a light rhythm on pale-skinned drums. The last five waited patiently with their own batons, constantly checking how fast they burned.

"Olende! I am Rothash!" The troupe leader bellowed. His clean-shaven head contrasted sharply with a curling brown mustache and wild eyebrows. The man's green eyes looked like they could spot a silver bit in the dust from ten spans away. He wore the same purple vest as his performers, but of a decidedly finer fabric. "Are you prepared to witness the most astonishing spectacle in all of the World Belt?"

More people jostled to get closer, earning a warning grunt from Brant. "Careful, now." The Arans behind them took greater care after that, which struck Dayn as odd.

The crowd clapped excitedly. Rothash scanned the dim interior of the run before turning back to his circle of sweating, bare-chested ember tossers. They traded worried looks with each other.

"I think it's too much for them," he said, shaking his head sadly. He still spoke loud enough so the crowd could hear. "I think it's too hot."

"No, no!" Aran shouts echoed from the ceiling of Rela Run, some ten spans above. Little Kiel waved his arms frantically. His little green vest was damp with drool.

"Maybe we should take our fine show to Porinis? I hear that world has perfect weather this time of year," Rothash mused aloud. "Or perhaps Montollos will like our fire?"

"Olende, that surely isn't true!" one of the drummers cried out. "Shall we stay?"

"Yes, yes!" The crowd responded. The troupe leader gave a satisfied nod and clapped his hands three times.

The main circle of ember tossers let out a shout that boomed through Rela Run. They crouched down, then in unison heaved their lit rods high into the air. The drummers began to pound in earnest.

Up the batons twirled, leaving streaks on Dayn's vision. The entire crowd gasped as the throw came close to hitting the tunnel ceiling. Wide-eyed Kiel gaped as his head tilted back, and Brant whistled appreciatively.

The ember tossers began to clap slowly as soon as the fire left their hands. Once the rods dropped, they clapped even faster. The drummers matched their speed.

The crowd buzzed louder as the fire fell, and Dayn's heart raced with anticipation. The ember tossers refused to ready themselves. Many of the onlookers joined in their clapping, adding to the excitement as every eye watched the ten batons descend.

"Hot," Kiel shouted warningly. The toddler covered his face, but could not resist watching between his chubby fingers. "Hot!"

Just when it looked certain the rods would collide with floor and flesh alike in a shower of sparks, the ember tossers reached up as one. Not one baton hit the stone. The men shouted again, twirling their batons into wheels of fire so hot Dayn felt the warmth on his face. The crowd cheered in approval. Dayn clapped just as loudly as anyone.

"Quite a sight, aren't they?" Brant said with a chuckle.

Rothash surveyed the crowd with a smug look. "Why, I heard the volcanoes of Braende might as well be a cool breeze to Olende folk! Do you want more?"

"More, more!" Brant and Dayn joined with Kiel's shouts.

Immediately the circled performers flung their batons, but this time in lower, faster arcs. They spun so quickly that Dayn could barely tell which end was aflame, but the men caught each other's tosses easily.

The rest of the troupe rejoined the circle now, and just as the batons were thrown into the air a second time, they lifted their own torches to their mouths. Huge gouts of flame lit up the faces of every person standing near. A few Arans backed away with fearful shouts, provoking friendly heckling from other onlookers.

"What's that smell? Someone's cooking in the run!"

"If you're afraid of the fire, let someone else stand closer!"

"Look, look!" Kiel cried.

The troupe exploded into a flurry of pell-mell cartwheels and backflips with fire in hand or in the air, circling and throwing to whoever stood free to catch another baton. Dayn nearly backed away himself at the confusion.

Brant nudged him in the ribs. "Look there. They're placing bets on who will burn themselves first." He pointed out a cluster of young boys watching near the front. Their eyes were fixed on the performers so intently that Dayn threw back his head and laughed.

The men's rush of movement returned to a perfect circle. Not a single torch touched the ground. Everyone cheered loudly.

The ember tossers started their measured clap up again, and the onlookers did not hesitate to join in. Brant reached up to help his son keep time. The troupe tossed their batons across the circle to each other, back and forth. _Oohs_ and _aahs_ sounded every time the batons just missed colliding.

The troupe stopped suddenly and Rela Run rang with cries of disbelief. Every ember tosser held _two_ batons! Brant chuckled and shook his head. "Am I seeing things?"

Dayn had not even noticed the two barrel-chested helpers from earlier, swapping out spent batons for fresh. The flame eaters added the extra batons to their throws without missing a beat.

"Now for the final toss!" Rothash proclaimed. He began the slow clap once more, and every hand in Rela Run joined him. The drummers hurled themselves into another thundering beat.

Again, the ember tossers' shout boomed through the run. Their batons lifted high into the air, racing end over end to brush the ceiling with fire.

A strangled cough brought Dayn's attention back to the performers. One of the flame eaters held his throat, choking violently. He shook his head, roughly shoving away the two helpers.

"I'm fine!" he insisted between ragged gasps. The man continued to wave away help, but his fellows eyed him with growing alarm.

"That doesn't bode well," Brant murmured with a frown. "They need him to catch all of the rods."

"He's alright," Dayn said. "He's already getting back in the circle, see?"

The man resumed his place with a sour expression. The clap continued to speed up as the batons plunged. The flame eater gave a distressed groan and suddenly belched fire. The ember tossers to his right went running with singed breaches and choice oaths. The smell of burnt hair filled Dayn's nose. Panic prevailed, and no one could move in the crush of people. None of the scattered troupe stood anywhere near their original positions.

"Oh no!" Kiel cried.

One helper crashed into yet another ember tosser, and the measured clap broke off raggedly. Wild shouts echoed through the run as the drums beat urgently in countdown. Dayn started to edge away from the front, but onlookers were squeezed together so tightly he could not move a step. Brant looked ready to clear a path with his elbows.

"Remain calm!" Rothash pleaded, his words split between the crowd and his own troupe.

"They need help!"

"Stay back, Shardian. I wouldn't go a step closer to that flame-breathing idiot."

The drummers pounded their skins with both hands and shouted at the top of their lungs in a final go of thunder. The ember-tossers let loose a shout of their own at the same time, stunning everyone in the run.

Not one baton touched the ground! Dayn looked around in utter astonishment. A drummer held one with a smile on his lips. Several of the troupe members had somersaulted back into position to catch theirs just in time. The two helpers and Rothash himself accounted for two batons apiece. Two more ember tossers held batons while lying on the ground!

Last of all, the flame eater held one also, though he still wore a sickly expression. One of the young Aran gamblers shook an angry fist at the man. A drummer brought the flame eater a cup of sour juice. He drank gratefully and gave a luxuriant sigh before bowing deeply to the crowd.

Dayn gaped in spite of himself. "They _planned_ this?" The crowd exploded in laughter and applause.

"Didn't I tell you?" Brant said with a laugh. "Best in all of Ara!" The ember tossers, drummers and helpers formed a line behind the troupe leader, bowing again.

"Good folk of Olende―" Rothash began, but the flame eater belched again. Rothash jumped as fire brushed his backside. The flame eater shrugged apologetically and everyone roared. They gave a final bow, and coins began to sprinkle the performers which the two helpers immediately set about gathering. The betting Aran boys looked at the ground wistfully.

"Thank you, Olende! Thank you!" The troupe leader bowed again with a flourish. "You shall see us again tonight before the Dance of Shells. Peace upon the Sending! Peace embrace Ara."

"You didn't even blink," Dayn said. "Have you seen this show before?"

"I haven't, truly," Brant replied. "But the drums, you see. The drums never stopped."

Rothash glanced about with a frown. The crowd―along with the peoples' coin―was apparently leaving too quickly for his liking. His eyes seized upon Dayn.

"We are truly favored today," Rothash shouted. The Olende folk paused to hear him continue. "I didn't realize our humble show was privy to a High-born offworlder. We must show proper respect!" The performers snickered. Dayn looked around curiously, but all he saw were other speculative faces searching through the crowd. None of the High stood nearby, and everyone in the run wore plain garb.

"Lowly Rothash sees past your disguise, honored one!"

Brant coughed next to Dayn, failing to hide a laugh. _Oh, clusterthorn._ The fool troupe leader was bowing to him!

The ember tossers followed suit, each with a ridiculously solemn face. Dayn cringed as peals of laughter burst from the onlookers, filling the whole run.

"Don't be angry," Brant said, wiping tears from his eyes. "There's a saying, and old tales about a prince that..."

Dayn did not bother to hear the rest. He strode into the midst of the troupe, raising eyebrows among the performers. _So they like pranks, do they?_ he thought. Someone deeper in the run shouted something he did not hear, and laughter rose again. His face flushed, but the taunts did not bother him. _I'll do him one better and play along._

Speculative murmurs abounded as Dayn nodded graciously to Rothash, who blinked uncertainly. The two helpers looked at each other, probably wondering if Dayn actually was some High offworlder. Dayn grabbed an unused baton from the troupe's handcart, then plucked a still burning rod from a dumbstruck ember tosser to light both ends. He planted himself in the midst of the performers, who snickered even louder than before.

"My lord will show us how it's done," Rothash announced loudly, and the crowd rumbled with anticipation. Below the laughter and catcalls, the troupe leader whispered to Dayn, though his smile remained perfectly fixed in place.

"Look boy, those rods burn hot, and leave pretty scars besides. There's no need to embarrass yourself. Let me play down these folks and―"

Rothash cut off with a yelp as Dayn's first twirl sent him scrambling for cover. Olende folk howled at the troupe leader's baleful glower but Dayn just winked at him. He spun the rod fast enough to turn the burning ends into a brilliant wheel of fire. The ember tossers gawked, and the crowd began to cheer.

The baton was pathetically short, but still balanced well enough to pass for a staff. _Milchamah would eat his hat at the sight of this!_ The thought made Dayn grin. _Their moves look like simple staff forms. I'll show them some real ones!_

Dayn spun the baton overhead in the King's Circlet first, covering a bored yawn with one hand. People in the crowd nudged one another, pointing at the ember tossers' expressions. Those scowls were clearly unfeigned, and started to earn their own heckling.

"At least the prince knows not to drop it!"

"Maybe they can teach you lessons on Shard!"

Dayn brought the burning baton to a stop so quickly the flame almost winked out. He picked the flashiest forms, twirling through Flutterbird Circles the Lily, then flowed into Eddy in the Silk. He tossed the baton lightly into the air, spinning to catch it behind his back. Even the performers could not hide their admiration at that. He rolled through staff forms as if in a dance, the Aran cheers urging him on.

Rothash recovered quickly. He whispered to the gawking drummers, who immediately latched on to Dayn's rhythm. Soon the entire crowd joined in, clapping even louder than before. Young Kiel laughed and clapped so hard that he nearly pitched from his father's shoulders.

Abruptly Dayn stopped, and fixed a look of distaste on his face. _They will love this,_ he thought. He looked up and down the length of the baton, then dabbed at his brow. He pretended to wipe away some sweat, and stared at his hand in disbelief.

"In all my days, I never thought I would see one of the High break a sweat!" Someone shouted.

"Peace, look at him. He's never even felt it before!"

The crowd laughed uproariously. Brant fought to hold in his mirth for some reason, but the effort shone upon his face.

With one last disdainful look at the spent baton, Dayn tossed it to Rothash, then carefully smoothed down his braids. He waved to the crowd with a flourish. Rela Run exploded with cheers one last time, and bits rained down even harder than before.

Rothash just stopped himself from bowing in earnest. He took in the coin blanketing the paving stones around his feet, muttering to himself. Abruptly he shook his head and clapped his hands. The helpers jumped out of their trance, and quickly began gathering the bits, looking over their shoulders at Dayn while they swept the coins into large sacks.

Rothash cleared his throat. "Pure fun, you understand. Who would've thought..." The man trailed off, staring at the ground again. "What's your name, lad?" he finally managed.

"Dayn Ro'Halan, of Shard."

The troupe leader proffered his hand and Dayn shook it.

"A lucky guess, then. I've been on this world more years than I care to remember, and could count the Shardians I've seen on one toenail, including you. That was some fine skill with the rod. Put my men to shame. Would you care to do the same, tonight? The crowd will be much larger than this rabble, all of Ara turns out for the Sending. It will be magnificent!"

"Thank you, no. I have to meet my friends before then," Dayn said regretfully. It sounded like fun, but he doubted the Ringmen would approve. _They're probably looking for me in the palace right now. I better get back._

"Ah, yes." The man hid his disappointment by fiddling with his odd mustache, but still persisted. "There will be more than enough coin to be made, lad!" He swung an arm to where the ember tossers were picking up the silver and copper bits lying everywhere. "We can agree to a fair price right now."

Dayn shook his head again. "I don't need it. Can I have some of these bits, to buy a sweet round? And some to get a treat or two for them." The Aran boys who were betting saw him point their way, and suddenly looked ready to bolt. "Maybe I'll see you tonight. It just depends on my friends."

Rothash searched Dayn's face as he pressed a handful of bits into his palm. "Perchance, are...are you a prince in truth, my boy?"

"No, I'm just a farmer." Dayn took his leave, exchanging good-natured nods with the troupe performers who waved as he left. They understood that a good show filled their pockets, no matter who turned out to look the fool in the end. _I'll bet the joke is hardly ever on Rothash, either,_ Dayn thought. _Not with how they're all grinning._

Brant caught his arm in the midst of the Arans circled around to offer praises. "Surprised us all you did, young Shardian. That wasn't part of the show, was it?"

"No, but peace knows I stay away from the short side of a prank if I can help it."

"You looked born to wield fire, lad. I know good training when I see it. On your way to the Cycle, I presume? Going to test our young swordsmen?"

Several more Arans leaned closer in sudden interest, and Dayn hastily shook his head no. "There are fighters on Shard much better than I."

Brant's eyes widened in surprise. "Well a man of many talents, it would seem. I will remember the name. Thank you for making my son laugh again today."

"Peace keep you, Brant," Dayn said. He turned to leave, but Brant's troubled look made him add something he remembered from Nassir. "May the low always uphold the High."

"Wait." The man shifted casually. All of the Arans crowding close suddenly found pressing business elsewhere. Brant wore the curved sword of the Aran guard on his left hip. Dayn wanted to kick himself.

"You truly did not recognize me from yesterday," Brant said quietly, pulling a heavy looking pouch from his belt. Dayn remembered his face now, one of the guards from Jemlar's Hall, the one Nassir named captain. The toddler balanced on his shoulders made for a strange contrast with the man's razor sharp gaze. "There's a bounty on your head, Shardian. This pouch to buy my silence, and twice as much promised to the guard who finds you today."

"Peace take my breath, if I've done anything wrong." Dayn tensed, wondering if he should make a run for the splits.

"The High aren't so sure. I wasn't either, after that...creature spoke to you. But here's what I think of this bounty."

Brant scattered the bag's contents. The helpers' eyes nearly fell out at the sudden wash of silver, but kept right on scooping it up.

"Thank you," Dayn breathed in relief. "I'll be sure to―"

"I haven't released you just yet, Shardian," Brant cut in. "I would follow the High to ruin if they wished it, same as any of the Aran Guard. But they are still men who can bend to fear, just as easily as any of us. They're wrong to fear you, but I must know. Why are you here?"

The other Arans milling around kept their distance, but Dayn lowered his voice, anyway. "The same...men...from Jemlar's Hall meant to tear Shard from the Belt. I saw them with my own eyes, in my village. The Ringmen asked me to help them warn all of the worlds."

"So we're not squabbling over water when there's a sword at our backs." Brant nodded to himself, shuddering. "Peace shade us. Never in my life would I believe the old stories were true. Most of my men still deny what they saw with their own eyes. Your words are needed, more than you know." Brant released his hilt to steady Kiel, and Dayn relaxed. "Keep a low profile in the splits, Dayn Ro'Halan. I'm surprised that beast of a Defender let you leave the palace." Dayn flushed and looked at his feet. Brant barked a laugh. "Ha! Say no more. Enjoy Olende while you can, lad. Don't miss the Dance of Shells tonight."

"I won't," Dayn promised. Brant made his way off, the crowd parting easily before his steady gait. Kiel waved goodbye from his shoulders. Dayn turned to go in the opposite direction, smiling faintly as a few stragglers waved and cheered him. _Peace surely favored me to meet him, instead of another guard._

Outside Rela Run, the sun no longer shone from directly overhead, and people were venturing back into the splits. Dayn did not mind the stifling heat. The fire troupe had rekindled his excitement over seeing a new world, and the people's enthusiasm over the Sending easily caught him up.

As if to prove his changing fortune, the next Aran he asked about the Burshee Split gave much better directions.

"You're just a split away," the young man said. He reminded Dayn of Esane back home, the same shade of skin, only the Aran had gray eyes. "There are split vendors with much tastier fare, you know."

"The sweet rounds are just fine, thank you," Dayn replied. A man could starve waiting to chew what passed for meat here.

He found Burshee Split right where the Aran said. His stomach rumbled fervently. He felt hungrier than ever after the fire troupe's show.

The welcome smell of baking yams filled the air from a shop three levels up on one side of the narrow split. This part of Olende was not so well kept. Rickety ladders joined the upper levels of Burshee Split, where other splits boasted curving stairs or switchbacking ramps. The few people Dayn saw looked to be on their way elsewhere, and quickly.

The terrace stood much shorter than the palace wall. He gathered himself and sprang. A few passersby exclaimed as he passed the terrace by two spans. He managed to catch hold of the ladder so he did not drop straight back down. He gave a sheepish wave to the Olende folk who stared at him from below. _Joam was right. I really am the courser who cannot land._

"Where did you come from?" The owner gawked from inside the shaded interior, clearly surprised to see a patron appear out of thin air. Bells decorated the ladders in most of the upper splits, to let shopkeepers know when people approached. "And here in the heat of the day! What can I get for you?"

"Whatever it is you're baking in there." He followed the Aran inside, checking his pocket for the Seed and his silver bits. Thanks to Rothash, Dayn could pay. He touched the servant girl's pouch and determined to give it back to her. She probably needed all the silver she could spare if she always made such bad bets. The Aran pulled a tray of succulent yams from his kiln. _Everything will right itself in time, just like Lurec said._

The man peppered the meal well enough, but nearly ruined it with honey before Dayn stopped him. The Aran accepted a handful of Dayn's bits with wide, disbelieving eyes. Refreshed and encouraged, Dayn bid him farewell and departed to see more of Olende. This was looking to be a good day after all.

# CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Dance of Shells

All the people gathered from the Belt to choose who would be king. Cried the man from Ista Cham, 'Gather round and kiss my ring.' Said the Regent Montollene, 'No, no, don't be fooled! Crown me king, you simple things, I'll command, and so you'll do.'

Last of all the farmer stood, looking at his feet. He said,' What if I'm the one to grow, so all of you can eat?' 'Our king! Our king, at last!' the people shouted all around, but the farmer took off for his fields as fast as he could bound.

-from the Aran play, Round the Belt We Go

Dayn licked his fingers clean as his stomach rumbled in contentment. More Olende revelers filled the already swollen splits as the sun's heat diminished, mainly glassbreathers, finally closing their shops in time for the evening's ceremony.

He stopped to observe the skill of these famed Aran craftsmen. Bare-chested men puffed mightily into long hollow tubes affixed to molten balls of glass. Their kilns were carved right into the redstone of their shops. Sons and daughters worked a bellows to keep the kiln hot. The glassbreathers spun the tube as they breathed into it, gradually forming a new urn or vase. It looked to be hot, truly miserable work. Yet the finished pieces of these artisans were simply without equal, thin and delicate as silk, but surprisingly strong.

The glasswork would make wonderful keepsakes for home, but Dayn doubted his remaining silver bits were enough to obtain one. Besides, there was no telling how they would leave Ara. A collection of Aran glasswork would be the worst thing to stow in his pack, especially if Nassir decided they course the torrent again. Still, he kept a watch for smaller pieces as he walked.

At times Dayn sensed a veneer-like quality to the Olende folk's merriment, as if they celebrated by rote, and hid some deeper weariness from view. He dismissed the feeling though, believing it to sprout from his own worries.

Directions to the Dance of Shells were easy to come by. Most people were milling the same way, so he followed the flow of festival revelers. He did not realize so much of the day had passed, and remorse nearly led him to make his way back to the palace. The Ringmen were undoubtedly looking for him, but he reasoned that his best chance to find them would be at the ceremony.

Ahead, a blindfolded man juggled some withered melons, while a trio of musicians played pipes and a sitar for all they were worth. Behind them the largest run of stairs Dayn had ever seen were chiseled into a split wall almost five stories high. Some Arans availed themselves of two ramps switchbacking beside the stairs, but most chose to climb. Dayn followed, although his feet itched to bound over the hundreds of people in front of him.

The stairs led to the top rim of a massive amphitheater where perhaps a thousand more Arans already waited. _This makes the Speaker's Turn back home look like a baby's crib,_ Dayn thought. The space looked down upon a circular plaza set within the intersection of two particularly deep splits. The scene was quite breathtaking, and the mixed bands of orange and gold within the redstone glowed brilliantly in the late afternoon sun.

More seating lay further below, on the same plane as the plaza floor itself. Dayn made out more of the Aran gentry nearly seven spans down, conversing among the redstone benches carved into the split's walls. _The Ringmen will be down there._ A metal railing guarded against the drop, but it would be an easy leap.

A sudden voice at his elbow made Dayn jump. "Only guests of the Highest go down there, offworlder." Two Aran guardsmen, swarthy men with curly black hair and patient expressions gestured back to the amphitheater's upper seats. They looked to be brothers. "There are still spots close to the lower rail. You can get one if you hurry."

"He's permitted, let him pass!"

They looked down to see Lurec waving at them from the plaza, standing next to one of the High. Dayn looked at the two guards expectantly. Surprise shone on their faces. "Well, should I jump? The stairs will be too crowded to go back down now."

"Peace, no! We'll take you ourselves. This way." Amid speculative murmurs, the two guards led Dayn off to one side. A hidden fold in the rock revealed a ramp that brought him to the plaza floor.

Another guard awaited him there, this one with golden inlays set in his leather armor. The two brothers returned to their position above after a brief exchange.

"The entire palace has been doing cartwheels looking for you, Shardian," the Aran guard growled. His stern bronze features were at odds with a friendly voice.

"I couldn't miss my first real city," Dayn said truthfully. The guard gave Dayn a questioning, sidelong glance. "I've never seen so many people in one place."

"Well, if our guards couldn't manage to catch you, tall as you are, I suppose you deserve to see it." He stopped short of entering the plaza fully, but motioned for Dayn to continue. "The Ringmen are sitting over there. They do not seem so angry as before." Dayn swallowed. "Best luck, offworlder."

The Preceptor's blue eyes flashed as Dayn approached. Nassir swung to consider Dayn silently. Even the Defender's armor looked furious.

"You left no word." Nassir spoke calmly, pitching his voice too low for the surrounding Arans. Dayn cringed, almost wishing the man would shout instead.

"The Seed is with you―please assure me of that!" Lurec sighed heavily at Dayn's reassuring nod.

"It's right here, it's safe," he said, patting his pocket. "I thought it'd be better than leaving it in the palace, with everything that's happened. I'm sorry. I needed to get out of there, and...take my mind off of yesterday."

"For all we knew, a voidwalker snatched you from the palace!" Displeasure still showed greatly on the Preceptor's face, but lessened somewhat at seeing the Seed. "You've seen for yourself how they can disappear at will. Our journey is difficult enough without you wandering off."

"Poor decisions will only worsen your circumstances," Nassir said. "Would you run from every challenge, even from those sworn to protect you? You endanger everything we stand to gain."

No heat touched his voice, but the truth of the Ringman's words cut deeply. _He's right. I could've been taken for the High's bounty, if not for Brant. Peace only favors a fool so far._

"I was wrong and foolish," Dayn admitted. "I promise to be more careful."

Nassir gave a slight nod, and Lurec visibly relaxed. "Well that's certainly good to hear. Now we can―"

"Why do you smell as if you've rolled through a cookfire?" Nassir interrupted.

"I watched an ember tossers' show in Rela Run. I didn't even notice the smoke." It was probably best to leave the rest out. If they knew about the High's intentions, Nassir would truss him up tighter than he had Lurec in the torrent. "They're supposed to be here tonight, too."

The Ringmen glanced at the sky overhead. "So long as you've kept out of sight, Shardian," Nassir said.

"I truly hope they perform soon," Lurec observed. More Arans were now filling the lower seats. "I don't want those rods in the air when the anchors draw near."

Dayn looked fearfully at the sky, remembering the resonance wake. "You aren't serious?"

"No, not like that. The anchors within the torrent also exert some influence on the worlds," Lurec explained. "They can make waters on the surface of any world surge higher or lower than normal. On Ara, nearby anchors affect the wind. Long ago the Arans discovered a peculiar phenomenon in this place and named it the Echowind Split."

"Can you feel it?" Nassir asked, showing a brief flash of amusement at the relief on Dayn's face. "The echoing wind is falling upon us."

A gentle breeze rippled at the edge of Dayn's awareness. A wispy trail of dust fluttered from the tops of the facing cliffs, then disappeared. Dayn resisted the temptation to shrug. He really did not see what was so great about it. A few stragglers among the Aran elite hurried toward the lower seats, waved at by impatient companions who held their places.

Lurec watched them thoughtfully. "Perhaps we can make up the ground we lost in our talks today. The High are beside themselves after what happened to Orsot."

"At least there's no doubt that you are no puppet of Lord Adazia, Shardian," Nassir added. "Since you took it upon yourself to disappear for most of the day."

"Enough people saw the voidwalker, what would you need me for?"

"To balance their fear with knowledge that a Seed has been found. Have you so easily forgotten?"

Dayn mulled over those words as the troupe of ember tossers appeared from the opposite side of the Echowind Split, spinning batons and cartwheeling nimbly. They paused long enough for Rothash to bow deeply to the Highest Shir-Hun. He nodded amiably, and the performance began. Dayn's attention soon turned back to the Ringmen, for Rothash's men were doing the same routine.

"I believe people will abandon their worlds over time," Lurec was saying to Nassir.

"Belt stubbornness will win out over your logic. You would have Montollos joining arms with Quello, or a Dervishi bladebreaker learning to farm from a Shardian?" The Defender snorted. "Their eyes must be opened first."

"And what will bind them together, once the voidwalker threat passes? If we set ourselves to fighting Thar'Kur and nothing else, the conflict will consume us all."

"I've never considered a life without Thar'Kur."

"Perhaps it's time you should."

_They speak almost as if the Ring won't be able to protect us._ Dayn shuddered at the possibility. _Lurec is so sure the Seed will help make things right, but how can it?_

A flurry of applause signaled the end of the performance. Abruptly Dayn realized that Rothash was peering right at him as he bowed to the crowd, eyebrows raised in a hopeful look. Dayn shook his head with a rueful grin. Disappointment flashed on the troupe leader's face, but he hid it behind a twist of his mustache, as his men departed.

"You make friends quickly," Nassir said flatly.

"They kept saying I was a prince, to make the crowd laugh," Dayn explained. "I don't understand what was so funny. There are no princes on Shard. Whoever heard of such a thing?"

"You must realize that almost no one ventures to Shard," Lurec said delicately. If Dayn did not know better, he would think the Preceptor held in laughter. "People will make up...stories to fill in a world as they imagine it to be."

"Look there." Nassir pointed to a new procession, dozens of men on horseback pouring into the circular plaza. "That man is the closest you'll see to a prince, on Ara or anywhere else. The High are unique among the World Belt. They are all chosen from the same bloodline."

"Though not always direct descendants, peace be praised," Lurec put in. Nassir nodded his agreement. The Olende crowd thundered above them as the procession moved toward the center of the Echowind Split. The High and Aran gentry looked upon the parading horsemen in approval.

"Even a great man can sire a born fool for a son, or daughter," Nassir continued. "But the High are harsh against their own and quick to root out any weakness of intellect or spirit, so the people will not suffer. They're not power hungry like the Regents of Montollos, nor closed from the Belt like Jendini lords. If ever the World Belt thought to raise the call for a single king, they would do well to look among those seated here."

"A world king?" Dayn looked at the surrounding Arans with new eyes. Kings were distant people to him, faded ideas in old stories from well before he was born. "Peace, I couldn't even imagine being a mayor!"

Lurec and Nassir both laughed, then stopped to stare at each other as though surprised to agree on something. "You're a Seedbearer, Dayn," Lurec said after a moment. "There are many who couldn't imagine the responsibility you so blithely carry around in your pocket."

The procession began to cross before the Highest. Ceremonial guards with scarlet capes over their leather armor let their horses prance. Five men swaggered after them on foot. The crowd cheered wildly, but Dayn could not help but remember the same proud animals, charging down the slopes of Mount Patel. "A world king would've stopped the attack on Suralose," He said suddenly, not caring if the Arans seated nearby heard or not. Nassir's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"That incident isn't commonly known yet," Lurec said urgently. "We've agreed to let the High tell their own, as they choose. So long as they make amends to Suralose with all haste."

Dayn watched the ceremony dubiously. The men all wore flowing red capes and matching vests, with beige trousers tucked into dark brown boots. They were a mishmash of ages, two little older than Dayn himself. Plenty of gray touched the elegant braids of the oldest, while the other two were anyone's guess. They all looked more than able to wield the curved swords belted at their waists.

The Highest made his way toward the men, clutching his cloak about him as the oddest wind swept through the plaza, growing in strength. Dayn could tell the prince apart easily now, there was no mistaking Shir-Hun's son. The Highest paid him no more attention than the rest as he addressed the gathered Arans in a strong voice.

"Ara, long have we been blessed to be represented well in the Cycle. Those Dervishi won't be so lucky this time around."

Chuckling rippled through the onlookers.

"Many have traveled far to be here with us on this blessed day," Shir-Hun intoned. "Ara welcomes friends from the Ring, here to support us in such worrisome times."

Lurec and Nassir both stood and bowed deeply to the Highest, who nodded to the Ringmen. "Peace shelter the Ring," a nearby merchant murmured.

"Ara welcomes Dayn Ro'Halan. An...emissary, from Shard, whose bounty protects all the Belt." Dayn froze, surprised to hear his name at all. Lurec nudged him in the ribs and he rose to mimic the Ringmen. A rash of loud cheers rang out among the Olende commoners above, and Dayn hastily sat down.

The Highest motioned forward the only Aran swordsman with gray in his hair, a man who looked as though he would rather chew rocks than smile. He gave the crowd a perfunctory wave.

"Marshal General Toljed, ever devoted to preserving Aran safety and honor." Scattered applause rippled as the Marshal General offered the slightest bow, a man set to carry out a task and no more.

"The Cycle isn't until next year," Dayn said with a frown.

"Yes," Lurec acknowledged without taking his eyes from the ceremony. "This is the first Cycle with preliminary bouts for the Prevailer's Gauntlet. The Regents of Montollos will do anything to make the Belt look as though it turns around them."

"It doesn't seem fair. I doubt Milchamah will leave his fields for anything but the Cycle."

"No team will be denied their world right," Lurec added. "But those who do well in this exhibition, will earn some advantage in the tournament rankings."

The Marshal General stood aside as Shir-Hun continued.

"Sten Mattes of the Southern province!" A lean man joined the Marshal General, waving with a flourish that would have made Rothash proud. "Newly appointed to the Five after besting Kenl the Savage in a duel of prolix swords on three ropes." Exclamations peppered the crowd, but the Highest continued before Dayn could ask about any of it. _What do ropes have to do with dueling?_

"Hal Orden, one of Olende's own!" A lithe man with challenging hazel eyes folded his arms smugly, as though a Victor's Sash already rested on his shoulders.

"A superb fighter, that one," Lurec remarked under the cheers.

Nassir gave him a considering glance. "You know much of the Cycle. More than any Preceptor I've ever known."

"Oh? And how many Preceptors have you known, Defender?"

Lurec looked pleased with himself when Nassir turned away with a grunt. Dayn rolled his eyes. His hair would turn gray long before the Ringmen ever tolerated each other.

"Niel Pakalj of the West province, son of Vadant the Swift. Niel is the only Cycle contender to break a Dervishi bladebreaker!"

Applause rumbled through the split, mixed with laughter. Pakalj's easygoing expression contrasted sharply with a jagged scar that slashed across his jaw line. Olende folk in the stands above called, "Breaker, breaker!"

The last swordsman stepped forward, his long black hair blown about by the peculiar wind. The Olende folk stilled expectantly.

"His first Cycle, and chosen as the Fifth." The Highest failed to keep the pride from his voice. "He defeated Bandar the Victorious to prove his worthiness, years before the normal age. Ara's First Sword of the High, Gorhaj Shir-Hun!"

Lurec pursed his lips, and even Nassir's eyebrows lifted thoughtfully at that. "Bandar was the last Aran to win the solo weapons contest," Lurec explained to Dayn. "To be chosen Fifth is a great honor, a place of prominence over the rest."

"The Marshal General is one of the best weaponmasters in the Belt," Nassir added. "For him to acknowledge young Shir-Hun this way is a sign of sure promise."

"A shrewd way to position him for leadership when the Cycle is over," Lurec allowed. The two Ringmen frowned at one another before turning back to the plaza, irritated to be caught in agreement again.

High Shir-Hun raised his arms wide. "Ara, I give you the Five!"

The crowd exploded. The Olende folk in the upper amphitheater capered and cheered harder than all the rest, and their enthusiasm spilled into the seats below. The surrounding gentry abandoned their polite claps and proceeded to whoop themselves hoarse. Dayn was completely taken aback.

Nassir noticed his expression. "You are not so honored on Shard?"

"Nothing like this," Dayn replied. Many of these Aran folk had journeyed for days to reach Olende, he had overheard several travelers say as much in the splits. "Milchamah hosts a big dinner at his house. Half of the people who go to see our staffs away really just want to look at the transport."

The High all stood then, and the crowd followed suit. Dayn began to rise, but Nassir caught his arm. "Not for offworlders, Shardian," he murmured.

"These Five would represent Ara!" Highest Shir-Hun shouted. "What say the High?"

The High replied as a group, "Whom shall we send?"

"Here am I," Gorhaj stepped forward, at the center of the Five. All of them were sauntering now, drinking in the crowd's adulation. All except the Marshal General, at least. Gorhaj drew his sword, and held it in both hands as though making an offering of it to the people. "Send me!" he bellowed.

"Go!" The High commanded, echoed by the commoners above. "Go!"

"Here am I," the Marshall General's gravelly voice filled the Echowind Split. His sword glinted in the air. "Send me."

"Go! Go!"

This continued for the remaining three, then the Highest raised his hands a final time. "Ara herself blesses our Sending. Feel the wind, and let the shells sooth your souls."

At that moment, a rush of air gusted down from the northern end of the split, sweeping peoples' loose hair and pulling at Shir-Hun's cloak. Stillness settled in as though the wind never was, but then it returned, blowing from the crossing split, as if the wind were breathing.

Three dozen women padded silently out to the plaza from every direction, standing in a line to face the amphitheater. A new gust descended, and the crowd murmured appreciatively as the tinkling of a thousand chimes rippled through the dancers.

Their fitted costumes reminded Dayn of whisperleaf's translucent yellow blossoms. Golden chimes encircled the dancers' ankles and hips. Thin strings of golden chain streamed from their arms, adorned with all manner of bells and a countless number of radiant white shells. Powdered gold dust adorned them at the waist and shoulders, so the waning sun remade them into statues of brilliant fire.

They slowly rose their arms in unison. The echoing wind rushed through the dancers like a musician caressing a most prized instrument, and the bells came to life.

Drums began to pound out a captivating rhythm. The Aran dancers swayed easily on bare feet, their single line melting into interwoven circles like an unfolding rose. Then they halted suddenly, with each dancer's wrists crossed languidly overhead. The shells and gold streaming from their arms concealed their faces. The echoing wind swept through them once more, and their costumes sung, rippling together like a golden field of milkwheat.

"Magnificent," Lurec breathed. Dayn only nodded as he watched―no one else spoke as the women resumed their dance. The bells at their arms, hips and ankles were all pitched differently, so every new movement created a fresh blend of sound. "Such a degree of timing with the echoing wind..." The Preceptor trailed off in approving murmurs.

The dancers paused in repose again as the wind gusted through them. Next they swirled into a star-shaped pattern centered on the lead dancer. Dayn's breath caught.

To the lead dancer's left, one girl raised her arms slowly, rolling her hips in time to the outer dancers' slow clap. A slight sheen of sweat made her features glow as she spun slowly, completely concentrated on the movement.

_Peace, the girl from the garden_ , Dayn realized. _She's no servant!_ Henna decorations adorned the young woman's outstretched arms. The interwoven strings of gold and shells flowed around her slender form.

For a split second, her eyes rested on Dayn. All he could do was stare back. The wind died, breaking the spell. She abruptly glided away as the arms of the star curled, the women all spinning, folding into the center.

The echoing wind continued to pulse stronger. The dancers' tempo increased to match it, and they added leaps to their steps and clapping. Dayn could not help but follow the young woman as the formation enveloped and released her time and again. For Dayn, the dance dragged along until she emerged once more. While he hoped for it, she never met his eyes again.

The women no longer stopped to let the wind whip through their musical costumes, instead they blended each new rush of air into their movement. With a final flourish of clapping, the Dance of Shells drew to an end.

Not one person remained seated in the amphitheater, from the commoners above to the High below. Elated dancers dabbed sweat from their faces and waved, some blowing kisses into the crowd. The recipients of those were looked upon with envy by men both common and High alike.

"Peace, but I've never seen so much beauty in one place," Dayn finally breathed. In the amphitheatre above, the gathered thousands began to drift back into Olende for more revelry. The Aran gentry in the closer seats made their way into the plaza to congratulate the dancers, except Highest Shir-Hun, who spoke with a few people before leaving with a contingent of palace guards. The echoing wind and waning sun together made the temperature surprisingly agreeable. Twilight would not touch the plaza for some time yet.

"Astonishing, isn't it?" Lurec marveled, while Dayn searched eagerly among the Arans. "I can scarcely fathom the training necessary to master such a performance. And the wind...the pattern is similar to the divided tides of Kembar. You see, resonance wakes in the torrent are seasonal things, and...what?" Lurec trailed off as Nassir and Dayn both stared at him. "What?"

The Defender arched an eyebrow. "Only a Preceptor could speak of wind and tides after a dance such as that."

"I appreciate the...subtleties of the performers' form, Defender, but that is only one part of the overall effect," Lurec insisted. "You must admit that the timing, combined with the..."

Dayn could only shake his head. _Incredible._ He turned to scan the crowd as Nassir buried his face in his hands. Dayn soon found whom he sought. The young woman stood among a knot of the performers, still breathing hard from exertion. The bare skin of her shoulders sparkled in the sun's fading rays.

Nassir's exasperated voice broke through Lurec's droning. "Peace, enough! Preceptor, we have our differences―but you must promise to leave your study more often. Shardian, wait. Where are you going?"

Dayn halted two steps onto the plaza. He half turned to answer, not wanting to pull his eyes from the young woman lest he lose her in the crowd. "Sorry, I'll come back soon. The girl from the garden...I never told her my name."

Lurec's face paled, and Nassir followed Dayn's gaze. His eyebrows rose. "And why in peace's reach would she ask your name? Farmer, do you know who that is?"

Dayn shrugged. "She owes me a wager."

"What?" Nassir demanded, but Dayn was already moving through the gentry. "Shardian, you bound where there's nothing to catch your fall!"

Dayn walked swiftly across the plaza, half expecting the Defender to tackle him from behind. Recognition touched the eyes of some Arans he passed, tinged with dismay and curiosity. _So she's some famous dancer. A bet's a bet. I just want to know her name, and thank her for not calling on the guards this morning. That's all._ Despite his reasoning, Dayn's heart began to pound. As he drew near, she gave a laugh that made her ornaments shake.

The surrounding dancers were all dazzling in their own right, including the lead woman who stood at the center of the star. Smile lines touched the corners of her mouth and eyes. She quirked an eyebrow in interest as Dayn approached.

"My dear," the woman said, politely interrupting the conversation. "You have an audience."

The young woman turned to regard Dayn, and the other dancers faded away like candles before the sun. Her considering gaze swallowed him up. _Peace, but she's beautiful. Why didn't I see it before?_

Her fellow dancers looked at him doubtfully. Very doubtfully. Dayn realized he had not yet spoken. "Peace," he said hastily, extending a hand. "Peace upon Ara."

She looked at him uncertainly for a moment before finally deciding to accept his hand. The henna traced upon her skin depicted vines and flowers, and umber dye covered her fingertips, like they were dipped in sunset. Despite all of these graceful accents, her grip was quite strong.

"Your dance was wonderful. I've never seen the like before. All of you were wonderful," Dayn added the last quickly, and was glad for it. The warning flicker in the other dancers' eyes subsided, although the lead watched Dayn with a hawk-like expression. An irritated hawk. The rest were merely skeptical.

"I am Soong," the young woman said, her voice overly polite. She carried herself differently now, with a stiffness that reminded Dayn of Misthaven Elders. "Soong Shir-Hun. A pity I learned your name only now in the announcement. My father told me you brought us an important matter, emissary. I hope to hear it for myself."

"I would be...honored." Dayn barely kept himself from gaping like some Southforte lout at his first Evensong.

"May I have my hand back, please?"

Dayn let go hastily, silently calling himself nine kinds of idiot. "Sorry...I..." he stammered, searching for better words. Soong's fellow dancers looked ready to wave over the plaza guards. "I only meant to give you this. I think you dropped it in the gardens this morning."

The lead dancer's lips parted as Dayn proffered Soong's bits. "Your uncle's silver pouch?" she asked.

"Yes, Nnendi," the young woman said softly, brushing the worn linen. She looked at Dayn levelly. "Thank you. This is...meaningful to me."

Dayn bowed his head slightly, an awkward feat considering Soong's height. "Of course I'll be expecting a reward for that."

"Offworlder, you dare?" One of the dancers hissed.

Nnendi fingered the chain of shells dangling from her wrists, as though deciding if Dayn was worth the bother of strangling. "I don't know who you think you are, but―"

"—ten silver bits would settle it," Dayn continued quickly. Soong looked at him, her eyes turbulent and unreadable. "Wouldn't you say?"

"Agreed."

To the shock of the surrounding dancers, she stuck out her hand. Dayn grinned to himself. _Their eyes would fall out if they saw our first handshake._ He bowed and shook his head, refusing her hand. "I already know your word is good."

She gazed up at him, cheeks suddenly flushed. Nnendi studied her thoughtfully. The dancer appeared to be some sort of mentor to the young woman. Whatever Soong's thoughts, she quickly resumed her cool exterior. "So. A Shardian with matters of great importance, to be seen by six of the seven High. No one person has received that kind of audience since before I was born."

"Oh. Well how―" Dayn shut his mouth with a click. _Never_ ask a woman her age, they hated that. Fortunately she did not notice his near misstep.

"I suppose you're not to speak of it," Soong continued. "Perhaps you're a Defender in training, then? An...Initiate?"

"Peace, never that!" Dayn blurted out. Surprise escaped Soong's calm features, a look mirrored by her companions. He continued hastily. "I mean, the Ring is great, but it's not for me. I hardly know which way to point a sword, anyway."

"What kind of man can't wield a sword?" Another dancer muttered. The echoing wind rose again, enveloping Dayn's ears with all of their chimes.

"There's more to being a Defender than laying about with a sword, Madele," Soong retorted promptly. The dancer shrugged. Soong looked up at Dayn intently, as if he was a puzzle she intended to figure out.

"My father speaks highly of the Ringmen who accompany you. It's a shame you're not in training to protect the World Belt, Dayn Ro'Halan." She hesitated, then reached up to touch his face. Her warm fingers rested on his cheek for a moment. "You have a strong spirit."

In that moment, Soong looked free again, worried over nothing save the dance. Dayn could scarcely pull his eyes from hers.

"Who is this?" A scornful voice demanded. A rough grip snagged the crook of Dayn's elbow from behind and pulled him from behind.

Dayn spun around to see Gorhaj looming over Soong. _Her brother,_ he realized. Every dancer reacted differently, from Nnendi's indignant stare to Madele's approving smirk. For the most part, they just looked embarrassed and ready to make themselves scarce.

"The best of Ara are spurned by you for months," Gorhaj spat, thumbing over his shoulder at Dayn, "and this filthy offworlder knows your touch? Half the plaza saw!"

"I speak with whom I choose, Gorhaj." Pure frost covered Soong's voice as she stared down the First Sword. "You can parade every heir to the High from here to the last split, but it is _my_ choice! Father understands that, why won't you? Must I order you as Eldest to leave me be?"

The surrounding gentry noticed the spat immediately. Most wore the placid faces of people practiced at eavesdropping. "But you ignore the High at every turn. Always off in the city―"

"Where I'm needed. Olende is rationing water, brother."

"—when the bloodline must move forward!"

"You would lecture me on succession? After seeing the wenches you allow to clutch your arm?"

Gorhaj flushed red. The exchange stunned Dayn as well as the dancers. Gorhaj opened his mouth angrily to retort, but Dayn took the moment to intervene.

"My apologies, First Sword of the High." Dayn bowed deeply. This one looked to be the sort who liked that sort of thing. "I was just leaving. There's no need for―"

The Aran rounded on him and jabbed a finger in Dayn's chest. Gorhaj easily stood a head shorter than Dayn―one of the tallest people he had seen yet on Ara―but the force of it actually caused him to step back.

"Know your place, _Shardian,"_ Gorhaj sneered.

"My place?" Dayn's hands clenched into fists. _Shard's Pledge is probably keeping this whole world alive, and this arrogant_ ―

Suddenly, Soong appeared by Dayn's side, placing a hand on his arm. "I don't know why you're here," she whispered fiercely, "but think about what you're doing! The Marshal would have you beaten!"

Gorhaj's eyes narrowed in amused contempt. "You couldn't dance a rope with me for ten seconds, farmer." He pulled Soong back from Dayn. "Do you wish to see?" The wind snapped his crimson cloak aside. His free hand drifted to the sword at his hip. "I'll even give you time to whittle a branch."

Soong shook her head urgently at Dayn. Two Aran men joined the worried dancers, and somehow Dayn knew they did not mean to keep the peace. _I must not tarnish what the Ring wants me to do,_ he reminded himself reluctantly.

Dayn took a deep breath, letting the air stretch his chest and raise his shoulders. Gorhaj's eyes narrowed hopefully, but Dayn just stood there and held his calm.

"A good decision, farmer," he snarled, still holding Soong's wrist. "Stay away from my sister!"

Gorhaj dragged her off through the crowd, his two bootlickers snickering as they followed. The dancers took their leave also, with sympathetic looks. Nnendi went so far as to put a hand on his shoulder before departing. "You're not the first one he's chased off," she murmured. "A thousand blessings on your Pledge, Shardian."

Dayn sighed, realizing the surrounding Arans were politely avoiding him. _I really need to listen to the Ringmen more,_ he thought, watching Soong and her brother quarrel. She stopped to look back at Dayn, but Gorhaj yanked her along, gesturing angrily with his free hand as they went. Arans parted to either side as though the siblings' bickering was a common occurrence.

Only one man remained where he stood. Soong nearly collided with him as Gorhaj swept past. The man hunched over, concealing his true height, and wore a black cloak so heavy the echoing wind barely stirred it. Dayn felt fear slide over him like a stream of rancid water. The nearby people shrank from the man as he straightened, realizing something was horribly wrong.

"Voidwalker," Dayn whispered. _Peace, how did he get past the guards?_ Most of the Arans in the thinning crowd were gossiping in small clusters, completely unaware of the danger in their midst.

The voidwalker unfurled his arms from beneath his cloak. The mottled fingers contorted in front of his chest, curling so the tendons stood out on the back of each hand.

A wave of nausea wracked Dayn. He felt a sudden impulse to run screaming, yet his feet were rooted to the ground. The echoing wind swept through the split again, strong enough to whip at his clothes.

Those claw-like hands clenched into fists. The voidwalker focused on the movement, like someone intent on stoking a flame. His hands slowly spread open. The effects were immediate.

"My eyes...they won't stop crawling in my eyes!" A man with auburn dreadlocks collapsed in a writhing ball to Dayn's right. His robes were blown to disarray, obscuring his face. The winds chose that moment to die down, and Dayn saw that nothing crawled on him at all.

"Peace, someone help me!" Another young man cried out, sitting next to a slumped over merchant. "My uncle's stopped breathing!"

People began to run blindly for the splits as panic boiled through the plaza, never looking for the source of their fear. The voidwalker's hands continued to expand. The Arans began to scream in earnest, bounding and running away in terror. Fear emanated from the voidwalker like a roiling, evil mist.

He advanced toward Dayn. The creature easily stood taller than Joam. He seemed to drink the fear Dayn knew shone in his eyes. As people fled the plaza in droves, Dayn stood alone, unable to run.

"Ro'Halan," the voidwalker hissed. The wind gusted, blowing more of the creature's strange vapor into Dayn's face. He smelled like rotting meat soaked in brine.

The voidwalker turned with a snarl as Nassir hurled himself into the brute from a full pace away. They crashed to the ground in a clatter of armor on stone. Dayn felt a great pressure lift from him as the voidwalker's aura subsided. He was free for the moment.

***

Sidestepping an Olende courtier screaming at the top of her lungs, Lurec watched the growing madness unfold before him. Moments like these were why he seldom set foot outside his study. He had immediately recognized the voidwalker's presence when it first appeared, and mentally rehearsed the fortification exercises every Preceptor knew in his sleep. Still his knees trembled, but he was not ashamed of that. _My mind is clear―otherwise I would be halfway to the palace myself, ready to hide under the nearest bed!_

Nassir's charge had broken the voidwalker's thrall. The Defender had followed the boy over to save him from embarrassment with Shir Hun's daughter, but inexplicably dashed off before interfering. Lurec had no idea where the man had stowed his sword, but he was too grateful to care.

The remaining Aran gentry surged out of the plaza in every direction, leaving Dayn and Nassir to face the voidwalker alone. Thankfully most of the common folk in the amphitheatre above had made their way back to the splits as soon as the dance ended. Lurec stared at the Shardian. Dayn should be driven mad or dead like the other figures crumpled on the redstone, but there he stood. Something about that tugged at Lurec's awareness, but he shoved it away for the moment. _Clear thoughts._

The Defender backed away from the voidwalker and drew his sword. His focus did not waver as he held the massive sickmetal blade, point down.

"I know of you, degenerate. My fallen brothers cry for your blood."

"As mine cry for yours."

The heavy cloak fell to a pile around the voidwalker's feet. The brute's chest and legs were covered by a sinuous, unbroken material that glistened in the deepening twilight. Rippling muscle bulged under the pale skin exposed at the shoulders.

Strangest of all, the voidwalker's exposed flesh exuded a fine steam. The echoing wind pulled the ensuing cloud from him in waves, along with a nauseating smell.

Without warning, the voidwalker lunged. Nassir pivoted smoothly. His sword rang out loudly on the voidwalker's back, throwing them both off balance. The voidwalker recovered and gathered himself, a sneer twisting his face. The two circled each other slowly as the echoing winds swirled and subsided, gusting ever stronger.

The Echowind Split sounded with shouts as over twenty Aran guards poured into the plaza. Half of them bounded down from the upper amphitheatre, the others barreled up the split past a handful of gentry stragglers, swords drawn. Lurec sagged in relief, but the voidwalker's focus never left Nassir.

The brute's fists trembled before his chest, as though his wrists were bound by an invisible shackle. He expanded his hands slowly, just as before, only now Lurec understood. He shouted urgently at the charging swordsmen. "Beware the voidwalker's thrall! Don't give in to it!"

His words were worthless. The thrall slammed into the Arans like a wall made of madness instead of bricks. Lurec shivered as the effect pounded on the fortress of his mind. Six of the swordsmen dropped dead in mid-bound. Their swords went sliding across the redstone. Another seven fell to their knees, screaming and holding their heads as if their skulls would split open. Fear broke those who kept their feet, after more than half of their force was lost before even joining the fight. They turned and fled the split.

Lurec willed himself forward, though every ounce of his logic begged that he should run. He inched closer to where Dayn stood riveted as the voidwalker closed in on Nassir. The Shardian jumped, spinning to look down at him with wild eyes.

"Dayn, we need to leave this to him!" Lurec said urgently.

"I won't run like a coward! Not again." Haunted memory flitted through the boy's eyes. His hands clenched unconsciously―he actually wanted to fight!

The voidwalker rushed Nassir again. The Defender feinted a dodge, then brought his sword down on the brute's bare shoulder. Dark, viscous blood spilled out of the gash, only to crust over in seconds. The voidwalker regarded the wound in surprise.

The Defender smiled. "Sickmetal cuts through your rotten Thar'Kuri hide so easily."

Lurec looked around helplessly. No one else remained in the plaza save a few still forms trampled during the voidwalker's appearance. Only the Defender separated them from the voidwalker. "Think, lad. We must see the Seed safe!"

Nassir's next thrust glanced off the strange armor again. The voidwalker struck with a flying elbow in Nassir's chest that exploded in a spray of sparks. The Defender rolled with the blow and sprang to his feet on the voidwalker's left, slashing again. The brute twisted his body. Nassir's sword clanged off the covering.

"Lurec! Take the boy and go! Rouse the guards!"

"Dayn, we must do as he says." That finally broke the boy's trance. They turned to run. Before they had gone two steps, a second voidwalker stepped out of the split, blocking their path to the palace.

"I'm here for you, Shardian."

"No." Dayn's voice cracked with fear. "Moridos."

"Peace protect us." Lurec stood paralyzed as Moridos advanced. The voidwalker paid no mind to the convulsing swordsmen at his feet. He looked even taller than the first voidwalker, older somehow. Nassir's sword still rang out behind them. Against two, the Defender would be hopelessly outmatched.

"The Seed is all that matters!" hissed Lurec. "By the Ring, Shardian, bound!"

Fighting down the greatest terror of his life, Lurec stepped between Moridos and Dayn.

"What are you doing?" Dayn's voice came behind him. "Stop!"

"Go to the palace, now!" Lurec possessed no weapons save his own trembling fists. _I can still raise the call._ "Help us! Murder in the plaza!"

Another gust of wind blew the steam from Moridos. He moved forward faster than Lurec could react.

"Preceptor!"

Lurec felt bare rock scrape his face. He lay sprawled among the redstone benches. Dazed, he slowly realized Moridos had swatted him aside like an insect. Pain lanced along his back as he watched the scene unfold through a cloud of pain.

Nassir attacked more forcefully, intent on avoiding his foe's grasp. The voidwalker's thrall did not affect the Defender. He moved alarmingly fast for his size, and easily slapped away Nassir's sword. Dark, brackish blood appeared on his hands as they clashed.

_Where in peace's reach are the rest of the Aran guards?_ Terrified shouts floated back from the distant split, barely audible.

"This way, in the plaza!" Dayn shouted. The echoing wind pulled his words away. "For the sand!"

Lurec willed his lips to move. "Dayn, you must run." Something sticky touched his face, and he could hardly raise himself from where he lay.

Dayn gathered himself and sprang into a bound as Moridos charged. He caught Dayn by the ankle and slammed him viciously back to the ground.

"Shardian!" Nassir shouted, but the second voidwalker allowed him no opening to help.

"Fight back!" Moridos roared. Rage contorted his face. Dayn rolled pitifully on his side, struggling for air. "My brother did not lose his life to a groveling worm!"

He kicked Dayn savagely. The boy slammed into the redstone cliff and slid into a heap at its base, motionless. The voidwalker's fingers clawed the air in a tearing motion. Dayn gave a piteous wail. His head twisted back and forth as the voidwalker's thrall engulfed him. Moridos spat in disgust and turned toward the Defender.

Nassir fought as though no help would come. He twisted his torso, whipping his sword toward the first voidwalker's head in a deadly downward arc. The voidwalker did not even flinch. With a loud _clap,_ he caught the blade just inches from his face. He tore it from Nassir's grip with bloody hands.

The Thar'Kuri grimaced over the weapon a moment, then sent it sailing. Lurec's stomach sank as he watched the sword land in the commoners' amphitheater far above them.

The voidwalker lunged again, quick as a viper, to tear out Nassir's throat. The Defender dodged, but a sickening pop filled the plaza. Nassir's left arm dropped uselessly in the voidwalker's grasp. The voidwalker flung him head first to crash into a redstone wall of the split. Sheath lit the air, and Nassir slumped to the ground in a limp heap of armor.

"Moridos. Help me tear this Defender in half!"

"No. This one first. The boy."

Impossibly, Nassir regained his feet. "We're not so weak as you think, Thar'Kuri." Blood stained his teeth.

"You are shadows of men. Shadows of shadows." The voidwalker faded within his own cloud of foul steam before a new gust blew it away. His eyes teemed with loathing as he spoke. "Your broken existence cries for a merciful end. Your every breath is a curse on our world, the true world."

Lurec's blood ran cold at the words.

The voidwalker swiftly closed with Nassir, whose left arm hung uselessly at his side. There were no more attempts to throw him, the voidwalker simply meant to tear him limb from limb. Lurec looked on helplessly.

"Run, Preceptor!" Nassir shouted, urgent and fatigued.

The voidwalker laughed, an ugly grating sound.

"Run!" The Defender rolled and twisted away from the voidwalker's reach, doing everything possible to give Lurec time to escape. The brute caught hold of Nassir's ankle in the middle of a kick. He slammed the Defender into the ground so hard his sheath flashed, and the split walls echoed with the force of the impact. Nassir somehow recovered, and bounded free of the voidwalker's grasp to crash several spans away toward the northern end of the plaza. He staggered back in a feeble attempt to pull the voidwalkers from the plaza.

Scattered shouts echoed up the walls of the split. A handful of guards finally appeared, eyes wide at sight of the two Thar'Kuri, nightmares given flesh.

"They are flesh and blood! Don't let their tricks cloud your mind!" Lurec shouted. His thoughts were beginning to clear, although his head might as well be stuffed with mud.

Moridos stared down the split, the wind blowing steam from his body in waves. One of the guards broke ranks and fled with a shout. The rest advanced, but their swords trembled in their hands. "Kill the Ringmen," Moridos ordered. He turned to Dayn.

The other voidwalker scowled down the split where Nassir had disappeared. "Coward." He rounded on Lurec. "Time to break your back, little beetle."

Dayn finally regained his feet, just as Moridos's shadow fell on him. The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out the orb. It glowed a brilliant red, bright enough to make the second voidwalker turn away from Lurec.

"This is what protects him? What Raaluwos sent us for?"

Moridos stopped at the light, his lips curling in a snarl. "Nothing protects him. He's just a boy, with a worthless old―"

The Seed flashed in Dayn's hand. He held it up to Moridos. The voidwalker lurched, and looked down at his chest. Cracks formed along the surface of his black armor, like brittle parchment curling before a candle's flame. He screamed as steam hissed out of the fissures spreading across his chest.

"Dayn, _no!"_ Somehow Lurec knew this was all terribly wrong.

"Moridos!" The second voidwalker ran forward to help, even as Moridos staggered back from the Seed's light. He stopped in his tracks as his own armor began to fracture.

The sound of thrumming boots echoed up the split―Nassir must have rallied the guards. Lurec shouted out, urging them to hurry. "This way! Murder in the plaza!"

A shadow flickered over the face of the setting sun. From the corner of his eye, Lurec saw Nassir swooping down, his sword retrieved from the stands above. At the last instant, the voidwalker looked up to see the Defender, death falling from the sky, sword raised high for a critical strike.

"Enter oblivion!" Nassir shouted, driving his blade down. The sword plunged through the flesh of the voidwalker's exposed gullet, straight into his abdomen.

In one motion Nassir released the hilt of his sword and slammed his boot in the voidwalker's torso. The hulking brute sputtered and collapsed, still clutching at the sickmetal blade driven through his jaw. Hot steam billowed from the horrific wound, and the pale skin bubbled and hissed wherever it touched the noxious metal.

Lurec's world went white with pain. He realized the mournful howl echoing from the canyon walls issued from his own throat. He writhed on the ground, clutching his head. A thousand slivers of agony drove through his skull, so sharp he could not draw breath. His mental defenses were useless.

Suddenly the sensation vanished. Somehow Lurec willed his hands to uncover his ears and feel over his body. He expected to find cuts, or perhaps burn marks. Nothing.

The Defender stood over him, extending a hand. Lurec numbly rose to his feet. "What happened to us?" The Echowind Split lay unchanged.

Dayn wept softly where he lay, the Seed held tightly in his hand.

Nassir sank to one knee next to Lurec, cradling his damaged arm. His chest heaved raggedly. "The death scream of a voidwalker is no easy thing to forget," he said. His voice was exhausted but steady. "The foul energy contorted within them doesn't leave willingly."

"You've saved our lives," Lurec said. "I'm indebted to you."

"I would do the same for any Ringman, as would you." Nassir nodded to where Dayn lay. "But the farmboy is who saved us. I didn't know the Seed was a weapon."

"It's not, or at least I have never heard of such."

A cloud of death cloaked the voidwalker's corpse. As the echoing wind faded, it cleared away the noxious fumes until none remained. The armor that turned aside Nassir's monstrous sword had shattered like Aran glass after a brush with the Seed's power. Lurec knew he should feel lucky to be alive, but a sense of dread ruled him. He forced himself to find calm once more. "This is an unprecedented opportunity for study. I must have you―"

Nassir raised an eyebrow and Lurec hesitated, choosing different words. "We should speak with Shir-Hun at once, before the High reach his ear. They will seek to hide this blunder from the Belt. After their plotting against Suralose, the worlds may turn against Ara."

Nassir nodded. "Whatever knowledge you gain will be invaluable, Preceptor. People likely felt this deathscream a hundred spans away. Show us how to defeat them without succumbing to it. I've seen the death of just one Thar'Kuri warrior wipe out a whole force squadron of Defenders. Thar'Kuri fare poorly in the torrent, but his parting shot left our force helpless to even grasp their talons. Stunned as they were, the torrent ground them all to dust." The Defender closed his eyes for a moment, lost in thought. "We would fare even worse on the ground. The World Belt is not prepared to face them in greater numbers, which will soon come."

Lurec had never considered battlefield strategies, but his mind worked over the scenarios. Nassir made sense about a great many things he did not care to admit. "It seems some are more sensitive than others."

Dayn lay still. His eyes were closed, and he was pulled into himself, as though to protect the Seed. He did not look injured, but Lurec suspected the voidwalker's wounds lay far deeper than his own comprehension.

"See to him," Nassir said, rising to his feet. He waved over the Aran guards who were moving numbly through the plaza, checking the fallen. They could barely bring their eyes to rest on the Ringmen, or the dead voidwalker. Their faces, haggard and defeated, told him more than enough.

_The Defender's right,_ Lurec thought as he knelt to touch the Seedbearer, _We're not ready._

"I wish he'd dispatched the other one. Moridos. A blood debt drives him. He won't stop until his thirst is sated."

Lurec turned his back hastily while the Defender set about freeing his sword. Nassir spoke calmly over the wet, gurgling noises. "We must speak about the Seed. It must be...reconsidered, now."

Dayn did not move. The Seed pulsed regularly in his hand, offering no assurances of its true nature.

# CHAPTER TWENTY

Shir-Hun's Study

The voidwalker's thrall literally unhinges the mind of his foes. The victim will suffer delusions pulled from memory or imagination, yet experience them as real. For those who are weak of mind or heart, the encounter will be fatal, instantly or years afterward.

-field notes from the Preceptor Lurec

A cool breeze rippled fitfully through the windows of the Highest Shir-Hun's private study. The voidwalker's stare haunted Dayn, burned into his vision like a child who had allowed his gaze to linger too long on the sun. He turned away from the window and back to his opulent surroundings, but his eyes slid away from where the Ringmen conferred with the Highest.

"There's no need to apologize," Lurec was saying. He stood at the head of the carved stone table in the middle of the room. "These circumstances were not of your doing."

Once order returned, the Ringmen had met privately with Shir-Hun for hours. Dayn had joined them just moments ago, but now wished to be anywhere but Shir-Hun's study. He could not dwell long on the voidwalker encounter without breaking into new fits of shaking and sweating. Lurec and Nassir never asked him to speak, though they glanced his way frequently. Dayn clenched his hands into fists to stop them from trembling, but that only seemed to worry the Ringmen more.

"My grandfather served the Ring for many years," Shir-Hun said quietly. "As a child he would sit me on his knee, and scare me with stories of darklurkers. I hoped never to see one in all my days."

"Any world could be just as easily deceived," Nassir said. His wounded arm hung in a sling, bandaged from shoulder to wrist. He took a measured breath before continuing. "Or...even the Ring. Ara is the first to root them out."

"A pitiful solace in that." The Highest's brow furrowed in distaste. "The High urge me to bury this whole matter. I alone oppose their consensus, but I am bound by our laws. I am of little use to you now, Ringmen. They intend to claim the whole thing was a panic, as if a thousand witnesses could be talked into believing they saw some apparition, or a demon from a children's fable."

Nassir spoke softly. "What need for demons, with men such as these?"

"Thar'Kuri are not men, Defender!" The Highest visibly composed himself. The Ringmen stood in stunned silence at Shir-Hun's shout. "Not anymore. They gave up the right to be called men when they abandoned us before the Breach."

Dayn swallowed bile and forced himself to join the three men. _If they can bear the stench, so will I._ He moved stiffly, his ribs ached as though he had been run over by a wagon.

The study's table held the voidwalker's monstrous corpse. Nassir's sword had torn the throat wide, exposing pale green innards from the ruined palate to the breastbone. More pieces of the ruined armor along the voidwalker's front had been carefully removed and laid next to it on the table, exposing a ruinous mass of twisted muscle and guts. One of the pale hands had been carefully severed at the wrist. Strangely, no flies drew near the remains despite the reek.

"Of course, the Ring cannot interfere with the High," Lurec said. He had replaced his gray overcoat with a heavy rubber apron, similar to what a blacksmith might wear at the forge. Green streaks covered the material, but the Preceptor did not seem to care.

Shir-Hun's face grew even stonier as he stared at the corpse. "Tied to your oaths, Preceptor, when swift action is needed more than ever?"

Lurec exchanged a wordless glance with Nassir. "If we lose the principles that guide us, all the worlds of the Belt will join Thar'Kur in darkness. I would ask you to preserve this...specimen, as a personal favor to me. Whether the High reveal the voidwalkers to Ara or not, this body will provide us with centuries of knowledge."

"Are they really so different from us?" Dayn finally brought himself to speak. Even in death, the voidwalker terrified him. Over fifty guards now manned the outer walls of Shir-Hun's study, but Dayn felt trapped inside rather than protected.

"Use your eyes, Shardian," Nassir said roughly. "You cannot afford to be so innocent. This Moridos now knows what you carry can hurt Thar'Kur. They'll send more than just scouts. Probably a bondleader that will tear Olende apart to find you."

The Highest walked over to the lone window and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the darkened landscape. This section of the palace faced the open desert, unlike other wings which conjoined with Olende's warren of splits.

"We will be of little aid in stopping them, if it came to that," Shir-Hun said. "My captains tells me our men were worthless when the voidwalker touched their minds. Some of them died. Others are no longer fit to be guards."

"Highest, this is as good a place to make a stand as any," Nassir ventured. "With the Seed at their backs, the Aran Guard will be encouraged."

"Perhaps. But I fear this is a dark path we ponder." He glanced at Dayn, eyebrows raised in consideration. "In all of my studies, I can recall nothing of the Seedbearer mentioned as a...warmonger."

"Nor I," Lurec put in. "The Seed restores balance and fosters life. Not death."

"Such days have fallen to us," Nassir said grimly. "What good is our ancestors' past glory, if there are no descendants left to remember it?"

Shir-Hun and Lurec offered no ready reply. Dayn took the opening to ask a question of his own. "How did he disappear in the shadow?"

"I've only speculation," Lurec confessed. Frustration shadowed his blue eyes. At the Highest's request, he had studied the corpse hours ago in this very room. Shir-Hun's books and personal effects were everywhere, he would never be rid of the stench. Perhaps that's what the Highest wanted. He picked up the voidwalker's severed hand and frowned over it. An incision splayed open the palm. Strands of coiled black metal in angular patterns were intertwined within the fibers of muscle. "You saw his gestures, how he used them to strengthen his thrall? I suspect some device, and this is my evidence. Their abilities are utterly different than anything the World Belt knows. It is based on _metal_ instead of crystal and water, but the poison wrought on their bodies would—"

The voidwalker's severed hand twitched, and Lurec dropped it with a yelp. Shir-Hun gasped as the exposed slivers began to hum, emitting black ripples in the air. A hole into nothingness opened in the palm, gradually expanding to swallow the fingers.

"Stand back!" Nassir yanked Dayn roughly behind him. The hand winked out of existence with an electric sensation that Dayn sensed more than saw, a feeling that made his bones itch.

"Tu'um's shadow, I wish I knew how that happened," Lurec muttered. He looked apologetically at Nassir, but a wolfish grin appeared on the Defender's face.

"Another hand still remains. Well done, Preceptor. What else have you learned?"

"The only thing I know for certain is that they are bred to move in the void between worlds. Consider this material." Lurec rapped on the shiny black armor. The surface brought to mind the rough pulp of a wasp's nest. It might have been smooth as polished obsidian once, but now sported numerous chips and pockmarks among the organic folds. "Quite nearly a carapace, made of hardening resin. I suspect it grows like fingernails or hair with us."

"Only it's hard enough to turn steel," Nassir added.

"Like...a beetle?" Dayn asked. "Or a turtle?"

"A shellfish, maybe," Lurec replied. He pointed out the elbows, hips and knees. The voidwalker's armor formed curved ridges at those points. "It looks to be secreted at the bones. I would imagine removing it to be incredibly painful. You see the cracks. More reason for them to fear the Seed, after the plaza. The real differences are internal, though."

"What could be worse than this crusted hide?" Nassir muttered.

The Preceptor prodded gingerly among the reeking innards, absorbed in pure study. Dayn fought down the sickness rising in his stomach. _I need to learn as much as I can about it._

"Everything we know about life in the Halls of Understanding dictates that the tissue of this thing is in essence, dead." Nassir and the Highest both shot the Preceptor a dubious look. _"Before_ his run in with your sword. Some of the organs are gelled together, and the bone and muscle form a type of―"

"It," the Highest interrupted harshly once more. Lurec suppressed an irritated sigh. " _It_ was never alive."

"Shardian, how many of them were near Shard's worldheart?" Nassir asked. "Your best guess."

"More than a dozen, at least, but most of them were already dead because of the explosion in the heartrock."

Shir-Hun shook his head in amazement. "A dozen darklurkers near the worldheart? You've seen more adventure in this week than most have in a lifetime, young Shardian." He turned to Lurec, his face grim. "You will have this corpse, Preceptor. I will ensure it remains intact until the Ring can see to it."

Lurec bowed deeply. He looked at the corpse for a moment, nodding to himself. "I would ask that you do not preserve it in ice. I've seen no signs of decomposition, and we don't know how it will react to moisture."

"I..." Shir-Hun's eyes widened. "Of course, Preceptor. I shall see it done."

Dayn looked away, not wanting to embarrass the Highest while he blinked dampness from his eyes. Shir-Hun may not have ordered the attack on Suralose, but every drop of water must be scarce for one of his High to risk such action without the knowledge of the others. The Ring would be considered cruel indeed to demand ice in such difficult times.

Lurec's gesture was small, but touched right to the heart of Ara. "Thank you, Highest," he said simply. Now it was Shir-Hun's turn to bow.

"Would a complete covering of this armor substitute for the sheath we use in the torrent?" Nassir asked.

"Yes," Lurec said immediately. "Without question."

"Every generation they return stronger. Four hundred years ago, a Defender could serve until he was silver-haired and _perhaps_ catch glimpse of a single voidwalker. Those Thar'Kuri would hide at the merest threat of being attacked, while these newer warriors relish conflict. Within the last five years, we've killed twenty-six."

"Woe that I lived to see such days," the Highest said. He sounded like a man shaken to his core. "Who has been to Thar'Kur? What have we learned of them through all this time? Nothing."

"The Belt is fragmented when the worlds need to be one," Nassir said.

The Highest nodded gravely. "One. You still dream the old dream, then?" Nassir gave no reply, and ignored the Preceptor's searching gaze. Shir-Hun glanced at Dayn with a sad smile. "I wonder what the young dream of in these strange days."

Abruptly Shir-Hun's voice hardened. "Emissaries will be sent to Suralose at once. Hopefully Overlord Feerthul will forgive the wounds of our...zealousness." He grimaced over the corpse. "I shall see a transport prepared for your use, though it might cost me my seat. You'll depart at once for Panen, assuredly?"

The Ringmen looked at each other in surprise. "How did you―" Lurec began.

Shir-Hun smirked. "This old man isn't so poorly informed of the Ring's doings, as he is of his own world's, at least. You must see the Seed secured, now more than ever."

Nassir shook his head emphatically. "No. We will make for Montollos."

Lurec's eyes shot up in clear displeasure.

"And here I'd forgotten you were my most irascible student." Shir-Hun gave the Defender a curious look. "What are you up to?"

"Yes," Lurec said dryly. "Since there are clearly not enough forces set against us already."

"Our numbers are small, and the strength of our foe is unknown. We must consider Thar'Kur may know more of the Seed than we do presently." Nassir looked at Dayn evenly. "I'm sorry, Shardian, but I would ask even more of you. Montollos is no friend to the Ring, but they shelter ambassadors from Porinis, Quello, and nine other worlds."

Lurec inhaled sharply. "You mean to seek an audience within the Consul's Tower?"

Shir-Hun folded his arms. "That is a terrible risk. What would keep the Regents from taking the Seed by force?"

"A promise of the Lord Ascendant's retribution has stayed greater hands from such poorly thought actions."

Dayn pulled his gaze away from the dead voidwalker's sightless eyes. "I'll do whatever you need me to. I'm ready."

"Are you?" Shir-Hun asked.

Dayn met his stare without blinking. "Every new world we go to brings more trouble, and it will only get worse now that Moridos knows about the Seed. So why not go where we can reach all of the worlds at once?"

"They're right," Lurec said. "I'd rather a Regent control the Seed than Thar'Kur." He did not look pleased with the prospect, but nodded his consent to Nassir.

"Our transport bound for Montollos will not even depart from Olende," Shir-Hun protested. "You must travel several weeks to the south to reach it, on foot and through sand storms no offworlder will easily endure. But I could have you to Panen in a week's time, and―"

"And light a beacon of our whereabouts for the entire Belt to see," Nassir interrupted. "Talk of your order would be on every navigator's lips from here to Ista Cham. Any direct route, to the Ring or any world, will only hinder our purpose."

Lurec rubbed his chin. "It's for the best. The Belt turns against us, but seeking refuge in the Great City is completely unexpected. Thar'Kur must know that the Regents wouldn't willingly give us sanctuary."

"A sad day for Ara if Montollos outshines us when it comes to kindness." Warmth broke through Shir-Hun's grim face for just a moment before vanishing. He deftly scrawled a new missive at his desk, and passed it to Nassir. "As though the days are not sad enough. Very well. I will play my part in this ruse. I believe this to be the greatest threat facing the World Belt since the days of the Breach. You can trust that the blood of Shir-Hun will raise Aran swords to see the World Belt through it."

"Peace upon Ara," Nassir intoned.

Shir-Hun turned to Dayn, weighing him with his eyes again. "Young Shardian, you bear a strong standard for your kin and your world." Dayn straightened at the Highest's words. "Our Consul on Montollos is Bargis. Show him that letter, and he will aid you. I will have servants see to your provisions. My friends, may you be blessed in your travels."

He turned back to the window in clear dismissal. They left the Highest Shir-Hun to stand alone in his study with the voidwalker corpse.

***

The Ringmen wasted no time, bidding Dayn to fetch his pack and staff so they could steal out of Olende under the shroud of darkness. They struck out into the splits, well past midnight.

The shops and dwellings were all closed for the night, and the streets were empty of vendors. They moved east through a metalworker's district full of echoed clanging and craftsmen who preferred cool nights to the unforgiving Aran sun.

Other travelers proved rare. The few they passed never made eye contact, too intent on unloading supplies from pack teams to notice the Ringmen. _I can only imagine how odd we must look,_ Dayn thought. An armored Defender with his arm in a sling, a Preceptor with stubble on his chin. His own height stood out worst of all.

Nassir led with his usual briskness. He stopped them several times to wait for patrolling Aran swordsmen to pass. It seemed wise, with the Aran High Seats circulating vague descriptions of men in black armor causing trouble in Olende. The fact that the High knew about the voidwalker threat and chose to hide it confounded him. _At least tell others, give them a chance to prepare themselves!_

A few more twists through the splits finally led to a main gate carved right into the redstone and guarded by two grizzled Arans. The men tensed at first, but bowed formally after a closer look at Nassir's armor.

"Peace and favor upon Ara," Nassir said. "How far of a journey to Peyha?"

"Peyha, you say?" The gray-bearded guard cocked his head to one side in thought. He took in Dayn and Lurec with a dubious look. "What do you think, Sern?"

Sern's bronzed skin looked more worn than his leather armor. "Hmmm. Two weeks, three at most. If your bounding is sure." The Arans looked meaningfully at Dayn and Lurec again.

"It is," Nassir said firmly.

"Strange questions to ask in the dead of night." Sern glanced at a brass bell hanging from the nearby redstone wall. "Don't you think, Hanl?"

_He means to raise the alarm against us,_ Dayn realized. The wall to Olende itself stood five spans thick. Several doorways and windows perforated the nearby base―Dayn imagined the inner rooms held more sleeping guards.

"Strange indeed," Hanl said. "Especially when the High ordered no one to leave Olende after the day's trouble. There's a killer needs catching. An offworlder, they say."

Nassir shifted imperceptibly in the darkness. Dayn wondered if the Arans had noticed his wounded arm. "I do not wish blood on your sand, Aran," he said softly.

The two men rested hands on the curved swords at their hips. Hanl continued casually. "As you say, brother Defender. I would rouse the entire barracks to stop you, and I've no doubts it would take all of us to do just that." Dayn's hands tensed on his staff, and Lurec groaned.

"A fight I'd like to see, myself." Sern scratched his chin absently. "But an hour ago, a command came down from the Captain of the Palace Guard himself. To let certain parties pass."

Nassir muttered to himself and Dayn sighed in relief. "I'm glad the Ring still holds some favor in Jemlar's Hall," Lurec said with a sniff.

"As you say, Preceptor," Hanl replied without a blink. "But the decree isn't meant for you."

The three of them froze. Hanl and Sern watched the Ringmen closely, measuring their reaction. Finally Sern spoke.

"The decree is intended for...a tall young man who likely carried a staff. A Shardian. I beg pardon Defender, but―" the Aran guard looked past the stunned Ringmen to Dayn. "Young sir, these men are here by your choosing?"

Dayn's jaw fell open. _Captain of the Guard? Who could possibly...?_ Then he remembered. "Peace keep you, Brant," he murmured.

"I'm sorry, young sir. What was that?"

"Yes," Dayn said, fighting back a grin. "I suppose they are."

The two men immediately released their swords. Nassir and Lurec gave each other a long look, then turned to stare at Dayn. _You suppose?_ the Defender mouthed. Dayn could not hide his smile any longer at that. Lurec shook his head ruefully as one of the Arans produced a small map.

"You know the shrubs that show where you can dig for water, or those with leaves you can chew?" Sern asked.

"Yes," Dayn and Nassir said at the same time. They looked up at him again, and he flushed, embarrassed.

"Well, I figure a Shardian would know a thing or two about plants. You can follow the road easily enough, but these are the best places for water and forage. Hanl can tell you where to seek shelter."

The four men bent to peer at the map, Sern holding a lantern close as he traced the road with a gnarled finger. The night sky soon pulled Dayn away, and he leaned on his staff to gaze up at the stars. The black of night possessed a new texture that Dayn found both mystifying and wondrous.

_It looks different because I've been in the torrent,_ he thought. _And now, I'm going to Montollos!_ Once, that seemed all he could ever hope for. The Course of Blades still beckoned to him, but so much was different since Wia Wells. What good was a Victor's Sash if his family was not safe? He silently wished them well, searching the night for any sign of his home world.

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.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

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

Nassir 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.

"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.

The house in his mind usually took the form of his home on Shard, only with endless wooden halls marching away from the hearth room. Sometimes he used the Ring because the warren of halls and ramps was easier to order, and other times he used the torrent, where the craters on a thousand erratics opened into his thousand rooms. He could not decide between them.

Another night found the Preceptor bravely holding his own in the shelter of a deep split. This latest camp offered only the barest protection, errant wind often gusted in to blow sparks from the fire.

"Mind your feet," Nassir barked, dancing Lurec into a corner. Dayn knew his own sword play to be weak, but he had trounced Lurec easily whenever they sparred. The Preceptor would certainly never make a weaponmaster, and likely not even become more than a middling opponent, but he set about his lessons with a determination that surprised Dayn. And, he improved. The Defender pressed Lurec just as hard as Dayn, though when they were done he often looked at the Preceptor as though he did not recognize him.

When it was not Dayn's turn to be tossed around, or shown how to bound into kicks, he practiced with the halves of his staff. The two long sticks were awkward, but if a voidwalker broke his staff as easily as Nassir could―without even using a sword―Dayn wanted any added prowess he could muster.

A crack across his shin brought him back to his latest practice session.

"Focus, Shardian," Nassir called out, already dodging back out of reach of Dayn's thrust.

"You almost touched him, Dayn," the Preceptor urged. "Keep at it." He had committed himself entirely to the training. Sometimes Lurec and Dayn squared off while Nassir barked direction over the echoed clatter of wood. Other times, they took on the Defender as a team, or paired with Nassir to go against each other.

Lurec always pressed for more if the Defender was not firm. "This isn't the torrent for me to strap you to my back, Preceptor," Nassir would say. "Rest. We cannot afford to leave you behind."

With their food running low, Dayn began to worry whether they would reach Peyha in time. For every three or four days of bounding, they were guaranteed a sand storm that forced them into the splits. The worst of the storms lasted four whole days, virtually remaking the landscape. What they saw after finally emerging from their dusty cave changed everything.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Weep

I've walked the sickmetal valleys of Tu'um, and coursed through Crell's Knot. But if there is a hell in all the World Belt, it's in the belly of a fleshweep.

-Guardian Benlor

Nassir and Lurec stared at the windswept road on the evening after that worst storm. The sun sank rapidly in a clear blue sky. No dust would mar the stars as in weeks before. Dayn reached up to touch a red flag hanging from one of the narrow stone columns that marked the way to Peyha.

"A week ago I couldn't reach this high on my best bound," he said. Over twelve spans of new sand lay under their feet. "Sometimes I wonder how there is any of Ara left. It could all just be blown into the torrent, and...what is it?"

The two Ringmen ignored Dayn completely. They stood before an outcrop of rock, likely a low hill before the sandstorm buried it. The peak curled to the north and shielded a flat swath from being completely windblown. There were odd furrows in the sand.

"We are being hunted," Nassir said. Dayn stepped closer to behold the strangest tracks he had ever seen, made by some sort of massive, wickedly split hoof. But the front protruded sideways, so it appeared two of the same creature stood back to back as they shuffled. Unless...Dayn's eyes widened in dismay.

Lurec read his face with a glance. "Ah, so you see. Yes, this creature has more than four legs. We think, at least."

Dayn quickly eyed the distance where the belly would be, between the outward facing hoofprints. "But that would mean it's six spans wide!"

"Yes," Nassir agreed, his face even stonier than usual. "Twice the size of a ragehawk."

Dayn peered at the tracks. The depression in the sand between the two tracks looked compacted and smooth. _Almost like a toad on its belly._ He found it difficult to picture the creature at all. Something about it felt...wrong, in a way he could not describe. "What leaves tracks like this?"

"A weep," Lurec said. "It's feeding, and from what we can see here..." He pointed to where the strange furrows disappeared. The Preceptor sounded troubled, and genuinely afraid. "It can fly."

The tracks looked lost to the drifting sand at that point, but Dayn saw that the Preceptor was right. They simply stopped.

"Defender, this is most troubling. I believed these creatures myth."

"Peace shelters us," Nassir replied. "I first saw tracks two days outside of Olende, but they were random. It's riderless." The Defender looked Dayn in the eye. "Voidwalkers have...mounts, Shardian. On the Ring, we call them fleshweep. Dread creatures, spawned in the caves of Thar'Kur itself. We've only seen them sparingly over the decades. Weep are hard for the voidwalkers to control, and just as likely to kill their riders as one of us."

"I suppose it changes nothing for our journey at this point," Lurec said.

"Yes. The night still protects us. Their bodies glow with an orange hue, once they have...fed." Nassir rose from his squat and wordlessly started off through the sand, following the red flags.

The Defender's words made Dayn swallow. They brought to mind a memory of Joam on the road, before Evensong. The _Southforte folk say they saw an amber light in the sky._ The voidwalkers had been around them the whole time, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Dayn decided not to press the subject further, after a good look at the sick pallor of Lurec's face.

That night they made poor time, trudging over the hill-sized dunes deposited by the sandstorm. There were no caves to take shelter in before daylight, so they pressed through the early morning sun at Nassir's insistence. Dayn's exhaustion robbed him of sleep when they did finally find shade, two hours past dawn. The Defender pressed them to move further each new day.

One morning they stopped to rest at a spring bubbling up from a crevasse in the shade of a cliff. Lurec nearly giggled in relief over spotting the spindly trees the Aran guards told them to look for. They had not seen another living soul these past weeks, so Dayn was not surprised they had the water source to themselves. He filled a skin eagerly and plunked himself down on a rock to drain it dry. Sweet and cold, the water made his teeth ache, but he panted gratefully and gulped all the more.

"Peyha is only an hour away," Nassir announced upon returning from his customary scout. He brought new food with him, spotted apples and a white cheese from Peyha's goats. The apples were bruised and the cheese was sharp enough to make a ridgecat spit, but Dayn could not ask for a finer feast. "The transport is still there. We'll rest here until it leaves, in three days. I don't want to attract notice among the Arans by taking lodging in the city."

"Peace be praised." Dayn sighed in relief. The journey had wearied him to the bone, weak Aran ground or not. He wondered how the Defender did not melt under all of his armor. Nassir favored Dayn with a knowing look that made him frown.

"To think I once complained about the pallet in my study." Lurec lay flopped on his back. The Aran sun had dealt harshly with his fair skin, and he looked ready to begin peeling on the spot.

At the Preceptor's request, Nassir actually permitted an open campfire―a small one―so they sat among the stars. Dayn watched the sky in awe. A great black mass had appeared along the northern horizon, swallowing up the stars as it moved silently through the night. Pinpricks of light in a radial pattern twinkled within the middle of it, as though the darkness carried its own stars within.

"We never see other worlds so close back home," Dayn said. "Only the torrent."

"Magnificent, is it not?" Lurec followed Dayn's gaze. "Montollos. Soon you will walk the ribbons and ride the skybridges between the endless towers of the Great City." True appreciation resonated in the Preceptor's words. Dayn looked on eagerly, amazed that people were capable of building such marvels.

"I believe you are ready to attempt another Sending." Lurec sat near the fire, his blue eyes steady and focused.

"Why did you wait so long?" Dayn asked.

"On the Ring, a new Preceptor must perfectly recount his thousand rooms in front of the Masters of the Halls before he is judged fit to learn the Sending. We must ensure a soundness of mind and steadfast heart in order for such an ability to be taught. Your circumstances are decidedly...different, but you should still be trained."

"Sending can be used for evil, Shardian," Nassir cautioned. "To whisper poisonous thoughts into the mind of another, or sway a person's intentions without their knowledge. A Sender who does this is no better than a voidwalker."

"Are you ready?" Lurec asked.

Dayn licked his lips and nodded. He stilled his mind, looking into the fire once more. The Preceptor's Sending came so quickly that Dayn doubted it at first. In his mind's eye, he saw an elderly man with a stooped back, surrounded by six younger people, boys and girls with the same sandy hair. They waved, all smiling, though one of the younger boys fought away tears.

Behind them, rose a monument ten spans high, of three naked granite figures, two women and one man holding a broken white disk of marble, stretching their arms forth as though to join the pieces back together. The long limbed birds lining the figures' arms rose in flight, just as the door of a transport closed shut.

Dayn opened his eyes. "I saw...what was that?"

Lurec smiled. "Good. I was not always a Preceptor. That's the Remembrance Crypt on my world, Uhrau. The people you saw were my family, come to see me off to the Ring."

"They didn't want you to go?"

"My cousin Telron took it hard," Lurec admitted. "This Sending is one of my fondest memories. I've not seen my family in ten years. I wanted you to understand that we are...sympathetic to what you are doing for the Ring. You have not sworn our oaths, but that makes the role you play all the more meaningful."

Dayn nodded, staring into the red and white coals. The faint breeze faded out of his hearing, lost within the rhythm of his own heartbeat. Montollos passed silently overhead, a dark swath of gridded stars. The Defender's lips parted, but then his face grew wooden, and the moment passed with his words still unspoken. Lurec sighed and shook his head. "Time for you to practice, lad. Start with the stillness."

They stayed several nights under the protection of the leaning cliffside. The overhang sheltered them well from the sun, and the spring's water was cool and deep, surrounded by tough leaved plants and more needle spires that helped keep the air cool. The Defender believed the fleshweep would avoid straying too close to Peyha, and his instincts proved true, for they saw no more tracks.

Dayn's attempts at Sending ended in failure no matter how he stilled his mind, or how simple the image or memory he formed to share with the Ringmen. The Preceptor's lessons were taxing, like working a newly discovered muscle, but Dayn attacked the mental exercises with a determined grimness. He did not want to be at the mercy of a voidwalker again.

The third night, the Ringmen regarded him silently as he sat crosslegged, staring into the fire. Dayn had chosen the easiest image he could think of to impress in the Ringmen's minds, the Highest Shir-Hun. The choice did not prove to be wise because his thoughts inevitably drifted to Soong, and _that_ would not do well for his first Sending at all.

"My luck was better with the sword." Dayn gave an exasperated sigh and would have stood up, but Lurec's raised eyebrows kept him in place by the fire.

"You are doing better than you know. Stillness."

Dayn gritted his teeth, but slowed his breathing as Lurec had shown him.

The Defender sat some distance away from them at the Preceptor's insistence, for he was sharpening his sickmetal blade. "Some talents are as natural as breathing, while others take years to master." His whetstone rasping over the ugly metal did little to help Dayn's concentration. He closed his eyes. "I've thought little about what I would do after this conflict with Thar'Kur is finished. My wife will always have her hawks to tend, but I have no love for those monsters. I've often envied you farmers, your simple life. Maybe one day you will teach me how to grow things in the soil, Shardian."

"You will pick it up easily, if you have the patience for it." Dayn could not help himself—the thought of Nassir popped into his head, wearing his Defender's armor and spiked mask. Great gouts of dirt flew all around him as he hacked away at some poor inkroot with his giant sword. A strangled noise made Dayn open his eyes.

The Preceptor's face had turned purple, and he held his sides as if his ribs would split from silent laughter. Dayn looked at him in utter confusion. Lurec composed himself hastily, wiping tears from his eyes before announcing, "He's done it, Defender. A first Sending, and a memorable one at that. Well done, young Shardian."

Dayn winced, but Lurec just smiled and gave him a wink. The Defender did not even look up from his sword. "He grows in leaps and bounds," he observed. "Is it the affinity, Preceptor, or the Seed's influence?"

Lurec scratched his chin thoughtfully. "A bit of both, in my estimates. Who can say? Affinity is a strange thing, a confluence of mind and spirit among close companions."

"What does that mean?" Dayn asked. He allowed himself a moment of pride over the accomplishment, and took relief in the knowledge that the Defender did not seem to care what his Sending consisted of in the least.

"Our presence may aid your study, in a way. Because we are both trained in these disciplines," Nassir explained.

"Maybe," Dayn said, reaching into his pack. The Ringmen quieted themselves suddenly as the Seed began to glow in Dayn's hand, bright and regular, attuning to his heartbeat as before. For the first time, that did not fill him with fear. "Or maybe my presence is helping you."

Nassir snorted and abruptly put away his sword. "Time will tell, Shardian." Dayn may have rankled the Defender, but noted that Nassir did not disagree. The Defender gave them both a suspicious look before vanishing into the night to make his circuit of their camp.

"The Force General who yearned to be a farmer. Maybe he could scare the thorns off of the roses for you." Lurec turned back to the fire with a wry smile. "You have a courser's sense of humor, I'll give you that, lad. It seemed just weeks ago there was nothing to you but crops and kin."

Dayn shook his head in wonder as he watched the Seed glow. The surrounding desert remained clear and quiet, only the mass of the Montollos world-shadow above them marred a pristine night. "It's only been that long, hasn't it?"

"Soon enough this will be over, and you'll return home."

"If everything works out on Montollos, what will happen?" Dayn asked. "You won't need me anymore. What will you do with the Seed once I go back to Shard?"

"The Seed must be taken to the world of Panen."

"Panen." Dayn repeated hesitantly. He knew nothing of the world. "I remember now, the Lord Ascendant spoke of it. The Highest knew you were going there, too. What's so important there?"

"I suppose it will do little harm to tell you this," Lurec looked around furtively before continuing. "The Halls of Understanding have hidden a greatship there, nearly as large as the Ring itself. A Master Preceptor, Irwin Dosay, will take charge of the Seed. Once its power is fully realized, the World Belt's squabbling over resources will cease forever. I daresay you'll be a hero then."

Dayn could not help but smile. "I like the sound of that."

"You've represented your world proudly, Shardian." The Preceptor stretched by the fire. "All of the rest will soon come."

"The Ring couldn't have known the Seed would be found, even if Preceptors were looking for one this whole time. So what else is the greatship meant to do?"

Dayn looked up when the Preceptor did not answer. Lurec was already fast asleep. Dayn laid out his red cloak, but rest did not come so soon for him. Instead he held the Seed, which ate the fire's light, yet seemed to grow cool in his hand. He wondered how many other Seedbearers in the past had held this same orb and helped the people of the World Belt. _Peace, but I'm just supposed to give it to the Preceptors, and that's it? Once someone else is the Seedbearer, will I go back to the way I was?_

The Seed flashed in his hand. A series of images came to him suddenly, as strong and sure as a Sending. Dayn saw his mother, golden eyes smiling and warm as always, but different somehow. Younger. Hanalene walked arm in arm with a frail woman next to stark white cliffs covered in moss and green creepers. Dayn knew without grasping how that he looked upon his mother and grandmother, Wynese. Their eyes burned into Dayn's, full of sadness and strength and hope.

The Seed flashed again. His mother was gone. Wynese remained, only the gray in her tight curls was vanished. She stood next to a matronly woman Dayn did not recognize, her face all stern angles chiseled into brown freckled skin. Their eyes met his and—

Dayn let the Seed fall from his fingers. The flashing stopped and the strange visions ceased immediately. He could not be sure if his Sending had triggered some new aspect of the Seed's powers, or... _Peace, could it be that it was Sending to me? What was I supposed to see?_

"Shardian?" Dayn nearly leaped out of his skin at Nassir's silent approach. The Defender looked at him in worry, then glanced pointedly down to where the Seed fell. "Are you alright?"

Dayn gasped in dismay. "Oh, clusterthorn!" The Seed had fallen in the dying embers. Before he even considered what he was doing, Dayn reached in and yanked it out.

Now it was Nassir's turn to gasp. "Shardian, your hand..."

His skin should be blistered, but no harm had come to him. The Seed was still cool to the touch. It offered more questions than answers, but it did protect Dayn, of that he felt sure. He took a deep breath and met Nassir's eyes. "I'm fine."

The Defender's eyes narrowed, but he merely nodded. "Fair enough. Tomorrow we enter Peyha and board the transport. Rest now. In a day you will behold the greatest city ever imagined by men."

# CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Montollos

' _What makes you so much better than me? Your purple cape and finery?_

Your purple tongue and weak heart ground? I'll work for you no more!'

' _Not my gown of state, nor my velvet tongue, but the towers you've built instead of your sons._

Aren't you proud of the work you've done? Now build for me one more!'

-Quello miner's song

Shardian, you've been twisting in place for the last hour," Nassir grated. "Stop. You're making the navigators nervous."

"We're nearly there," Lurec said. He chuckled as Dayn folded his arms. "You act as though it will fall from the Belt."

"Peace, but I wish we could see it," Dayn said. After the weeks of bounding, he could scarcely contain himself. He would pace if not for the boxes full of Aran glasswork that filled most of the hold. "Why do the transports have no windows in the hold?" The two Ringmen just looked at him, Lurec with amusement and Nassir with barely contained irritation. Even the Defender's annoyance could not dampen Dayn's spirits.

"Nearly ready to place down," one of the Aran navigators called out. A surprisingly tall man with red hair, his gray eyes fixed Dayn in place for a moment before he turned back around. The two barely glanced at their vapor array. The transport had guided itself for nearly the entire journey. They were absorbed in some Aran dice game and spared little attention for their passengers. Dayn was surprised to feel at ease in the craft, after the fate of the transport at Suralose.

The other navigator was a gnarled looking man with shifty hands. The dice rattled, and he scooped up a handful of silver bits. "I win again, Lews," he laughed.

The red-haired Aran muttered darkly and turned back to the vapor array. He looked out of place for some reason, as though he should be doing something besides navigating a transport. _I've little room to talk. I should be laying down summer seed back home._ Dayn reminded himself of the good he would bring about for the World Belt, and how proud his parents would be upon his return. That helped his own guilt fade somewhat.

"Wait until my family knows I came to Montollos," Dayn said, rubbing his hands together. "I must bring back something for my sister."

"You'll certainly have the chance with that ridiculous bag of gems in your pack," Lurec observed. The dicing navigator perked up at the mention of that. "I imagine you'll be very popular."

The transport's motion shifted, and Dayn felt the familiar lurch as the craft came to rest. He shifted on his feet eagerly, impatient for the rear hold door to open.

A group of surly laborers lounged next to unmarked crates and barrels just off the landing platform. The Defender swept by them and onto a stone thoroughfare full of transports, some five times larger than the ones he knew from the Ring. More laborers crowded everywhere, with merchants from a dozen worlds shouting at the top of their lungs.

"Have a care with that! It will fetch a fine price in the tallest towers!"

"Is something wrong with your back? The loaders at Porinis are twice the men!"

"Stay close," Nassir said. He plunged into a teeming crowd, easily the most people Dayn had ever seen in one place.

Dayn found that to be easier said than done. People crossed his path so frequently that he was forced to dodge this way and that just to stay within arm's reach of the Defender. Despite the jostling, Dayn still found time to gawk as Montollos opened up majestically before him.

Regal towers of all sizes dominated the entire horizon, gleaming white. The largest of them looked nearly a mile wide. All were ringed in narrow bands of pale crystal windows.

Intricate walkways of metal and gleaming stone spread out before them, interlinking the towers at countless junctures. They spanned fantastic distances, yet were delicately wrought. Dayn knew little of metalworking, but instinctively felt the walkways were much too thin to hold the vast crowds of Montollene going about their business.

The crowd to Dayn's right parted and he jumped back so quickly he bumped into some Montollene folk, who commented loudly about uncultured offworlders. He could see for _miles_ below―he was actually standing on a platform! _Peace, where is the ground?_ The towers before him all stretched downward, disappearing into a distant haze.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Lurec beamed. Dayn could have mistaken the Preceptor for a Montollos man himself, with how the Ringman prated over such bewildering pathways. "Simple, clean lines on every structure with minimal decoration. The builders knew the precision of the towers to be beautiful enough, on its own."

"The entire city is moving," Dayn said in wonder. "It makes Olende look like a termite mound, and Misthaven an ant heap. I never imagined there would be so many people."

"Indeed. You will never see such structures anywhere else," Lurec said. The massive tower directly in front of them rose slowly upward, like the handle of a butter churn. Walkways seemed to float everywhere the eye could see, above and below, and they were not always attached to the towers. "Montollos may be impressive for its size, but it is by far the most finely crafted of all the worlds in the Belt. They call these paths ribbons."

Dayn could not think of a more perfect description. The stone paths looked exactly like some ordinary roads that had freed themselves from the ground to become ribbons in the sky. _What's holding the whole thing up?_ he wondered. _It must be like the anchors in the torrent, or it would all fall apart._

The Montollene covering every ribbon seemed little afraid of that, although several of the platforms had no rails. _They don't worry about falling off?_ The people themselves were a wonder, of every shade of skin, manner of dress and style of hair. A slightness of stature was the only thing to connect them all, at a glance, anyway.

_Maybe that's because of the weak ground,_ he mused. _It's worse than Ara. I'd test my strength, but not with no certain place to land!_

As the crowd carried them along, Dayn stared intently at the surrounding towers, some rising lazily into the sky or sinking below the horizon. He thumped into Nassir's outstretched forearm.

"Pay attention, farmer," the Defender said roughly. "This is an easy place to become lost if you don't learn to find your way."

"Be easy, Defender," Lurec chided. "It's much to take in the first time."

Dayn frowned. If the crowd continued to fill this plaza, the people near the edges would be pushed off. But the Montollene just chatted away. Lurec caught Dayn's attention, and pointed surreptitiously into the sky. One of the lace metal bridges floated lazily in the distance, edging closer to them.

_No,_ Dayn realized. _It's we who are moving closer to the bridge._

"You start to see now, don't you? Good." The Defender gave a satisfied nod. Dayn just stopped himself from smiling at the praise.

"Everything is moving," he said. The bridge―no, the plaza―ghosted to a stop, and the mass of Montollene pressed forward. Looking downward made Dayn dizzy. More bridges and plazas floated in the gray haze between towers, creating an intricate lace that suggested depths beyond the reaches of sunlight. A look upward showed the same view, only the floating ribbons lost themselves in blue sky. "The towers...they turn, too!"

"To shorten the ribbon walkers' journey," Nassir explained. "The movement of tower and ribbons allows any destination to become close, if you choose the right path."

"I would think everyone courses in a place like this," Dayn observed. In all his dreams, he could never have imagined such wonders. He pitied any Montollene with a poor head for heights―they were truly born on the wrong world. "There's barely a patch of ground to call flat."

"The outer steppes are still...intact. You feel the weakness of the ground?" Nassir asked. Dayn nodded, and the Defender lowered his voice. "Remember the people of a world are usually a measure of the ground they walk upon. Montollene are a fragile lot."

"Except for the Prevailers," Lurec corrected. A muscle in Nassir's jaw twitched. Lurec smiled pleasantly. The two had gelled somewhat on Ara, but Dayn doubted the men would ever fully stop provoking one another. They crossed the bridge and paused on another plaza which angled west, toward a distant tower.

"The Montollos Regents created the Prevailers long ago," the Defender allowed, "to lessen a need for Defenders from the Ring."

"They don't mix well, either," Lurec said. "Defenders and Prevailers, that is. I would avoid them myself. Montollos always finds ways to set itself against the Ring."

Nassir gave the Preceptor a long look, but his words were for Dayn. "You would do well to keep that in mind for as long as we're here."

Dayn shrugged. "I will. I bear no ill will on any man." His eyes narrowed as he studied the white spire they were approaching. The plaza they stood upon floated like a chunk of driftwood on a deep river. The sensation bothered Dayn. For all of the intricacies of these ribbons, he felt powerless to control his own movement. Frowning, he pointed in the distance. "That tower. It's not moving at all."

"The Tower Axios is especially for offworlders," Lurec said. "It's the central point of Montollos, and the only tower connected to the bedrock."

"Is that where we're going?"

"Peace, no." Lurec glanced at Nassir. The plaza began curving to their left, edging away from the Tower Axios. "Offworld dignitaries must add their names to the Great Registry. That's touted as a point of honor."

Nassir snorted. "Yet required by Regent law, so offworlder movements can be tracked. Especially guests from the Ring."

"You really think they'll listen to us?" Dayn asked. "Maybe we should've gone back to the Ring."

The Defender rounded on him suddenly. "As much as I despise this place, I would keep the Seed in the Prevailer's Sanctum itself than see it given over to our true enemies. Have you forgotten the Echowind Split so easily?"

The Defender turned around, waiting for the plaza to rest again. Lurec placed a hand on Dayn's shoulder and murmured in his ear.

"The World Belt is not so simple a place as you wish it to be. Some enmities run deep, lad. It is good we are here. With Prevailers to keep the order, Montollos is one of the safest cities in the World Belt. If peace favors us, your voice will spread to every world from here."

Dayn nodded reluctantly. He hated feeling like he was not living up to his promise with the Lord Ascendant, but understood the Defender's sense of urgency.

Lurec nodded toward a bored looking Montollene man who stood to one side of the platform. He wore a yellow tabard over a crisp white shirt. "That man is a wayfinder." Dayn blinked at the familiar term. "Or pathman, as the Montollene call them. Ask and they can direct you to your destination." Dayn nodded dubiously. The man looked like he might fall asleep at my moment.

"The Defender knows someone in the city who can find us lodging, away from Regent influence," Lurec said. "We'll be able to remain here in secret while we seek out Shir-Hun's Consul. Soon enough, we'll―"

"Ho there! Peace favor the Ring!"

Nassir and Lurec both cringed. Their bridge floated to a stop among plenty of stares. Nassir strode quickly toward a waving man, attempting to quiet him. Smile lines crisscrossed his fair skin, and straight white hair flowed around a bald patch on his crown as he came closer, murmuring apologetically whenever his rounded belly bumped a Montollene from his path.

"Vake," Nassir said. The irritation faded from his face. "It's been too long, my friend."

"Aye, it has," the man knuckled his forehead and gave the slightest of bows. People seemed more concerned with moving around them than with stopping to eavesdrop, fortunately. "I thought that was you, Brother Nassir. Not an easy man to disguise. Wise to shed your armor, or fall victim to Montollos courtesy."

Nassir made quick introductions. Vake's deep bow made the Preceptor redden, visible even with his new Aran suntan. Dayn received a hearty handshake, which suited him just fine.

"Welcome to the Great City. Any friend of the Ring is a friend of mine," Vake said, grinning broadly. Dayn immediately liked the man. They followed him to a different edge of the platform, and stopped to wait for an approaching bridge.

"I'm retired Ringbound myself, used to run transports from Jendini through the torrent. That's how I know Nassir. Once those days was done with―my hands don't work the vapor like they used to―well, I didn't want to spend the rest of my years without seeing some of the Belt, or finding some other use for these old bones. Life on Ista Cham was too dull, and I could never get used to Dervishi days―or women for that matter―so I ended up here.

"A little bit of everything and everybody," he continued as they began to walk. The man weaved effortlessly through the crowds with an ease that made Dayn slightly envious. "Used the rest of the Ring's Blessing to open my old flophouse, and been at it ever since. Things have changed a lot since then, though. Did you know there are more Cutremursh living in the city than there are on Cutremur?"

"You're from Jendini?" Dayn asked. He knew little of the world, except they kept independent of the World Belt. Not quite like the raiders of the Eadrinn Gohr, but Dayn always wondered at any world's people who refused Shard's gift.

Vake squinted up at him. "I may have been born on a single rock, my boy, but I claim the entire Belt as my own. I'm no Preceptor, but I know my lineage, and―"

"Our needs are pressing." Nassir cut in quickly before Vake could finish. "I didn't know you personally owned lodging. We shall purchase several nights' stay."

"You most certainly shall not," Vake said indignantly. "I'll gladly offer my best rooms to you free of charge."

The Ringmen protested at once, but he would have none of it. "Not that I would stick my nose in where it doesn't belong, but I'd wager you're avoiding the Tower Axios." Nassir said nothing as they walked, but Vake continued on in a conspiratorial whisper. "None of my business, of course. None of my business. But if you ask me, it's past time those fool Regents were brought to bear. Past time. You can stay as long as you like, and I guarantee it will be quiet as you like." Vake finished with a curt nod.

"Thank you, Vake." Nassir did not feign the gratitude in his voice. "That will save us more strife than you could possibly know."

"I thought so."

"Havenkeeper, we need to gain access to the Consul's Tower. Particularly the Consul from Ara."

"Well, it's fortunate you're speaking to a well-connected man." Vake rubbed his chin in thought. "I remember the name now. Bargis. That's the Aran you seek. He's related to Shir-Hun, and from what I hear, a heavy gambler at the arena."

Lurec and Nassir shared a long look.

"Is your haven near the arena?" Lurec inquired. Dayn's heart skipped at the request. He searched the Preceptor's face.

"Not far at all. When the towers rise, you'll need to get lucky with the skybridges you take, but we'll be no more than a half hour away. When the towers fall, just two bridges will have you there in a blink. Going to be crammed with offworlders, though, with how the Regents are tinkering with the Cycle. Grand waste of time if you ask me, but good for business."

Dayn could hold his silence no longer. "You really mean to let me see The Victor's Arena?"

"Could we truly stop you?" Nassir asked dryly. "You've already slipped out of a guarded palace. With so many offworlders here, at least you won't be out of place."

"The Aran you seek will be in the sky suites that overlook the arenas," Vake added. "The lad will not be far from you, so long as he stays inside."

Dayn nodded eagerly. "I'll never be able to repay you for this."

"A small thing compared to the service you've done for the Belt," Lurec replied. "Besides, the Consuls won't accept your presence as readily as the High did on Ara. Reminding them of their dependence on Shard's Pledge would not be wise."

Dayn shrugged, suddenly sheepish. "I haven't really done anything."

"It may feel that way now, but think of the people you've touched," Lurec said. "Within a month, Overseer Feerthul and the Highest Shir-Hun will restore peace―if they haven't done so already. You've tied them to a common purpose. It will be a great day for the Belt if your words hold the same weight in the Consul's Tower."

Vake's eyes went wide enough to float out of their sockets, but he remained silent, sparing sidelong looks at Dayn.

"Too often, the Ring is mistrusted," Nassir said. "Your presence brings new hope to a cause long thought dead. A Defender and Preceptor alone could not have done this."

Open speculation painted Vake's face. _Shardian,_ the havenkeeper mouthed to himself. "I shall take you to the arena myself," he said. They changed direction, hurrying to catch a different skybridge.

***

Dayn fought down his excitement. He wanted to leap for joy―the Montollene ground was weak enough for an easy backflip―but dared not do anything to make the Ringmen reconsider their decision.

Vake gestured grandly at the incredible structure before them as their platform drew near. "The Grand Arena of Victors," he intoned. Dayn felt more the mudfooted farmer than ever as his eyes drank in the sight. Three vast domes big enough to swallow entire cities within rested atop one of the great towers, itself easily a mile wide. A Y-shaped structure of metal and crystal interlinked the domes where their edges touched. Each of the structure's three wings marched proudly to the middle of the arena like spokes on a wheel. A metal spire rested atop the central point, where a defiant looking statue stood, one fist raised to the sky in challenge. The statue looked like a speck in the distance, but Dayn judged that it stood fifty spans tall.

"There will be matches today, I hope?"

Vake shrugged at Lurec's question. "Hard to say, Preceptor. The Regents have thrown the Cycle into a bit of a frenzy with this stunt. Most of the worlds are not even represented here. They'll be angry at how they are ranked when the Cycle begins in earnest next year."

Nestled between the major domes lay fluted archways large enough to fit a windmill, grand entrances which put the Olende palace to shame. The plaza here on this tower-top was grafted with intricate designs and lavish fountains of green water. Nassir stopped well outside of the entrance and turned to Dayn.

"Should something go wrong, and the Consuls reject our petition, the havenkeeper will seek you out." He shot a quick look at Vake, who immediately clasped his hands behind his back and strolled away, out of earshot. "You can trust him. I hope to get word to Adazia, perhaps find a Sender among the towers who is friendly to the Ring."

"You will need this more than I." Dayn pulled the Seed out of his pack, and passed it to the Preceptor. Lurec slipped it into his overcoat with a nod of thanks.

"It might prove useful to show it to this Bargis," Lurec agreed. "I will see it safely back to your hands."

"And I won't leave the arena until you return for me, on my word," Dayn promised.

A tension Dayn did not notice before left the Defender's face. "We will look for you at the tables inside this main hall once we return. Enjoy this moment, Shardian. Your service has earned a day's reprieve."

Vake wandered back toward them. "May I take your bag, young master?" he asked. "Much easier to see the arena without such a burden."

"No, I'll keep it," Dayn said carefully.

"As you say. There are pathmen inside, should you become lost. They can tell you if any spectacles are set to happen soon."

The Ringmen and havenkeeper bid Dayn farewell. He immediately swept inside, a huge grin covering his face. He knew the Ringmen were purposefully keeping him from underfoot, like a child in Wia Wells sent to the tangletoys while his parents barter. But Dayn did not care, not this time.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Probabilities

We owe the Ring a debt, for taking in these shrewd men and training them as Preceptors. Otherwise, every world in the Belt would be fetching their tea and washing their feet, and thanking them the whole while for lording over such fools.

-Overlord Torin Blancid, after signing the Treaty of Irshev

Lurec watched the boy practically float into the arena. "A small thing, but I hope it was wise."

"Better to keep him out of danger for as long as possible," Nassir said. "A cell in the Tower of Chastening would be a poor end to his quest. Vake?"

The havenkeeper jumped, lost in his own study of Dayn. "Yes, Brother Defender?"

"I need you to find every transport out of the City before nightfall in case we need to leave quickly."

Vake swallowed. "I depart to serve." He winced, laughing softly at himself. "Old habits. Once Ring, always Ringman. I've a feeling you'll stay longer than you suspect. There's something about that boy, Brother Defender, he carries himself well. Either way, my old flophouse will house you as long as you need." With a curt nod, he set off for the nearest skybridge, balancing all of their possessions with him.

"If I could only trust more men so easily," Nassir muttered.

Lurec shoved into his gray overcoat, and they set off through the crowd together. Lurec marveled at Montollos, silently lamenting over the Ring's ill regard. If not for that, he would visit here often. The craftsmanship of the buildings, combined with the mixture of people from all over the World Belt...Montollos was as close of an approximation to the future as he could imagine. Notwithstanding the Regents' foolishness, of course. Still, the fact that the Great City flourished despite their presence provided him with ample hope.

"This Aran Consul, Bargis. Do you know of him?" he asked. They took a floating lift to one of the higher levels of the Victor's Arena, the most prominent area for viewing contests.

"I do not, other than that he's a cousin of Shir-Hun. I expect he will be pliable enough, if we can keep the Regents from interfering. Once we succeed in getting the Consuls to give Dayn an audience, the entire Belt will know about Thar'Kur's attack on Shard before week's end. Follow my lead in the talks."

Lurec ground his teeth, but said nothing. _This is too important to give in to squabbling. The Ring is unified and must be seen as such._

The upper levels of the dome changed considerably from below. They passed down a wide, brightly lit hall with a glass roof to let in the sky's light. Vapor arrays adorned every wall, showing the preliminary bouts in detail, scrolling through motion captures of Cycles past. _For betting,_ Lurec realized. _This opulence is so wasteful._

A servant soon stopped them, wearing a white garment that looked ready to blow away at the slightest breeze. She directed a suggestive look to Nassir, which the Defender ignored. Lurec fought to keep his face smooth. A woman from Ista Cham would blush to wear such clothes!

"Taking wagers?" she asked.

"Another time," Nassir replied. "We have business with Consul Bargis. Bring us to him."

The servant dropped her former charm and spun on her heel. They soon entered an observation lounge with a dazzling view of the arena floor. Pillows, refreshments and comforts of every sort filled every available surface. Lurec would expect dozens of people for such a display, but the room held only one man. He did not even look up when they entered, the bouts below absorbed all of his attention.

"Sand and ash! I'll throw myself from this height if that Dervishi wins another match!"

Nassir cleared his throat. "Consul Bargis?"

The man turned, and immediately stiffened at sight of them. "What do you want?"

Nassir said nothing as he handed Shir-Hun's letter to the Consul. Bargis possessed the bronze skin typical of so many Arans, but wore his hair slicked back like a Regent. His face betrayed little as he read the letter, but Lurec noted that he re-read it carefully. _Is he meticulous, careful or both?_ His bloodshot eyes suggested great stress. _Not faring well as a betting man,_ Lurec suspected. This he read in a glance, and could only hope Nassir proved to be as observant.

"So. You are Ringmen." Bargis secreted the letter in a long, finely embroidered tunic. "A great risk you take in coming here."

"A greater risk to the World Belt if we do not," Nassir replied.

The Consul turned back to the bouts below. A muscle twitched in the Defender's jaw. "But what of the danger to Ara?" Bargis asked. "You would ask me to summon the Consuls, so I can be the laughingstock of the towers over some Shardian boy and his village?"

You mean the danger to your standing, Lurec thought with disgust.

"I would ask you to do as the Highest instructed you," Nassir replied tersely.

"Shir-Hun knows little of the maneuvering I endure to keep Ara relevant among the Consuls. I would speak to him directly before undertaking such reckless action. I will send a servant to the Tower Axios for you, once I have...clearer instruction." A small smile played on Bargis's lips. "I assume you've lodged there?"

Nassir looked regretful over giving Vake his sword. _This is going worse than we imagined. Forgive me, Defender, but we must forge a different course._ Lurec spoke quickly before Nassir could erupt. "A fine line you must walk, Consul. A pity you would turn your back on such an opportunity."

Lurec turned to leave. Nassir's eyes flashed, but he took the cue. As expected, Bargis's voice stopped them. "Wait! You negotiate for a cup of water, but your palm holds only sand."

Lurec shrugged his shoulders precisely, allowing just the right amount of inexperience to touch his voice. "I'm but a Preceptor. My talents lie in other areas, I'm afraid."

The Consul looked skeptical, but predictably enough, greed lit his eyes. "You speak for the Ring, then?"

"For this matter, yes. I understand Ara must not lose respectability on any front. One of my areas of study is probabilities. If you call the Consul to hear us, what is the worst outcome? Dismissed from your position, or getting Ara's seat revoked entirely."

Bargis's face went ashen. "Go on."

"If we are correct, the opposite will be true. Our message is so urgent, I believe it will usher in a new era of cooperation between the Ring and Montollos. You of course know what that means."

The skeptical mask returned. "Dancing on the ribbons, I suppose."

Lurec sighed heavily. "Trade, man. The strictures would be lifted. New routes for transports would be established. The man responsible for such a shift would be hailed across the Belt. I'd suspect there would be little argument in raising you to a High Seat."

Bargis laughed so hard that tears shone in his eyes. "Here I thought that Preceptors do not lie!"

Nassir shot Lurec a malevolent look. "If only they did. Or at least knew how to hold their tongue."

That made Bargis thoughtful again. _Well played, Defender._

"What is this message from Shard? Knowing that would better aid my decision. Are the crops failing, as the Regents forewarned?"

"On my word as a Preceptor, they are not," Lurec swallowed. He could hardly believe the Regents were fomenting such lies, but he must not focus on their brazen lunacy at the moment. His next words would stretch his Preceptor's oaths more than any time since he swore them. "In fact, the bounty is in a place to increase a hundredfold."

Bargis's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Ara would weep for joy to hear such news. But...the risk is too great to convene the Consuls on your hearsay. The Prevailers could throw you in their keep, and me along with you. Perhaps you should go now, Ringmen. Lest someone suspect you of plotting."

Nassir pulled Lurec's arm, insistent, but the Preceptor pressed on. "A pity. You appeared a man who seized opportunity when he saw it." Lurec's eyes flickered to the arena floor. "Peace doesn't smile on your odds of late?"

"Not in weeks," Bargis muttered. "It's good that Ara's Five arrives to give me a certain bout to bet upon. I could fill a transport with my losses."

"Your swords are strong in this contest?"

"Strong as they've ever been. There's not a team in the World Belt who will best three of our men."

"I will agree to that," Lurec said swiftly. "Upon my word as a Preceptor."

"Agree to what? I only mentioned..." Bargis's jaw dropped as he took in Lurec's face. "A transport? That's what you would bet?"

"Preceptor..." Nassir rumbled warningly.

_Relent now and he'll refuse a lesser offer. I'm sure of it._ "If you lose, you'll carry out our request before sundown."

Never was a man so eager to shake Lurec's hand. "I will see it done, peace forsake me if I don't!" At Lurec's pointed look, Bargis promptly strode to a vapor array to summon a servant.

"Adazia will flail us over this," Nassir whispered gruffly. "To the bone. You don't even know who the Arans will fight!"

There was little time to waste with this one," Lurec whispered back. The same servant from earlier reappeared. She took some quick orders from Bargis before trotting off. "I'd empty the Ring of transports to see this task complete, and consider the price a bargain."

"Should three swords fall, you will have your audience. I've seen to it." Bargis made for the wine with new vigor in his step. "Take your ease, please. We can watch the bouts together. Let's hope peace favors you with a team that can stand up to Aran steel."

"I'm sure peace will see us to a fair contest." The Consul's grin slipped off his face. He drank deeply from a cup of wine. Lurec gave a small smile. Probabilities were his strongest area of study.

***

People milled about everywhere in more styles of dress than Dayn could imagine. _What did the Preceptor say? Thirty-eight worlds,_ Dayn mused. _People don't live on them all, but peace if it doesn't look that way, sometimes._

The first pathman he pulled aside wore beads in the hair of his chin. His breath stank of fervorberries, and he spoke so fast that Dayn could barely understand him. "The Dome of Achen Isee is to your right! Trial bouts begin there in two hours!" Dayn thanked the man and continued on.

Stairways and ramps spiraled from the hallway he walked, and he almost climbed one so he could see the inside of a dome where the Cycle's contests lay. Ahead of him, a dozen long lines of people snaked down the hall. _These must be where the worlds can declare for the Cycle._ The nearest line easily boasted a hundred people. A hastily erected banner near the front read: _The Binder's Dance._

He continued past, quickening his pace. The hall was swollen thick with competitors in every imaginable skill. _Surely there must be..._

Dayn stopped, heart pounding. Another banner just ahead looked no different than the rest, but shone in his eyes like the sun. It simply read, _The Course of Blades._

"Why not?" he murmured to himself. He was here, after all. _There's no telling what could happen between now and the Cycle next year._ He took a deep breath and walked closer.

The people standing in line murmured nervously. Many were older and carried themselves with a quiet confidence, but still looked uneasy at facing the Montollene man.

"Dayn? By my grandmother's ale, is that you?"

Dayn looked up in surprise at the familiar voice. Of all the people he least expected to see, Milchamah himself strode up! The farmer looked just as Dayn remembered him, dressed plainly and carrying a staff with a sweet-tree branch quirked in his lips.

"Milchamah!" Dayn exclaimed. "Peace, what are you doing here? Is Joam here?"

"I could ask the same of you lad, but it's rather obvious," the farmer said wryly. "Of course he's here, along with Prolo and the rest. I need you to come with me, right now."

"But I only just arrived," Dayn protested. "I have to declare for the Course of Blades."

Milchamah's mouth twisted in a grimace. "Can't believe that notion's still driving you. If your old stump of a father and I traded places, I would've knocked it from you long since. Oh, alright! No need to scowl, boy. This line will still be here by the time I'm done with you. A year and a day, up until the Cycle begins. Come."

Milchamah strode briskly into the bowels of the arena with Dayn trotting at his heels. "Peace, but it's good to see you, boy. Are you well?"

"I'm alright for the most part," Dayn said hurriedly, bursting with his own questions. "How are my parents, and my sister?"

Milchamah spat and his expression darkened. People dodged out of their way at sight of his glower. "Things turned ugly after you left, Dayn. Not that it was your fault. I'm glad you made it out, old Nerlin told me all about it. A leap point. Who knew?"

"Nerlin's alive!" Dayn exclaimed. "Peace be praised. I...I wasn't sure."

"Aye, boy, more alive than I've ever seen him. You certainly got him worked up. He finally plowed his fields under again, first time in ten seasons. Planting spice corn, of all things. Buril's so pleased he'd probably let him plant tripweed."

They angled right down a dim hallway. Dayn felt a new lightness in his step, knowing that Nerlin was safe. Montollene folk eyed the farmer oddly, but Milchamah paid them no mind. "As for your folks, those Misthaveners got the village all riled up, the fools. They were nice and bothered when they realized what Laman pulled, sneaking you off. That got him kicked off the Council. I think that's what Payter wanted all along. Fool Misthavener gets jittery when anyone shows they have half a brain more than he does." Milchamah chuckled again. "It's a wonder the man sleeps at night."

"Sand and ash. They took my father off the Council?" A lump rose in Dayn's throat. _He's lost so much because of me. Will I ever make it all up to him?_

"No need to fret, boy. Those Misthaveners forgot that Wia Wells folk aren't sheep lost in the redbranch. Buril got the Elders thinking, and soon enough they put Laman right back where he belonged." Milchamah snorted. "Though he gave up a fine opportunity to free himself of all that nonsense, in my opinion."

Dayn took comfort in Milchamah's words. The hallway opened into one of the Great Arena's three domes, the Achen Isee. Dayn craned his neck higher and higher until he finally saw where the stone and metal walls touched the oblong ceiling.

"What a wonder, eh? And not even the greatest of the three," Milchamah said as they walked forward. Rows upon rows of empty seats belted the space around a square practice field. A few scattered onlookers gazed toward the wooden platforms erected on the dome's floor. The sound of ringing metal and flashes of light issued from the gathering.

"When I heard of these bouts, I didn't think you would come," Dayn said.

"You thought right. A grand waste of time, but Buril insisted. After everything that's happened, he thought it best that people remember Shard's presence. Sort of like what we heard you're doing." Milchamah glanced at Dayn, studying him. "I want to know every drop of what these Ringmen have you about, boy―but right now, I need you. One of our men got dreadful sick yesterday, he can't even wiggle a toe." He shook his head disgustedly. "Leave it to a Northforte mudwit to eat a meatpie from the street."

Dayn grimaced. "Peace, you had to find Highlanders?"

"For now." Milchamah looked genuinely embarrassed. "Wayndell wouldn't leave his fields in Kohr Springs on such short notice. You and your questions. Listen. I need you to take the empty place."

Dayn stopped up short. His chest grew tight with guilt. "The last time Joam and I saw each other, I did something terrible. I―"

"What? Saved his melon from being split for supper?" Milchamah snorted. "Buril told me and your father all about that. If anything, I owe you my thanks. If you hadn't stopped him, Joam would just now be waking up from the beating those Defenders would have put on him. Consider us even, boy."

"For what?"

"'For what' he says. For me fishing your hide out of the Dreadfall."

Gruff as the farmer was, Dayn could not have hoped for better news. _Maybe everyone won't be so angry with me when I go home, after all._ "Thank you, Milchamah."

"Don't mention it. You can square with Joam yourself. Here they are now."

Dayn looked up, and his angst faded immediately. The Shardians were ahead, lean and brown to the man, dressed in plain farmer's clothes with staffs close at hand. They sat on their packs near one of the wooden sparring platforms, gawking every which way at the sights and people. They _look as out of place as...as I probably do,_ Dayn thought to himself wryly.

"Boys, you won't believe who I've found...get warmed up! We're going to fight after all. Prolo, you won't have to bribe that Porini fellow to pretend he's from the Mistlands." The three farmers erupted in rough laughter, which ended in surprise as they caught sight of Dayn.

"I don't believe it!" Joam rose from where he sat, face split in two by a huge grin.

"Joam!" Dayn exclaimed. The two came near to strangling each other in a fierce hug, laughing.

"Where have you―what have you...peace, it's good to see you!" Joam gave up searching for words, and looked at Dayn in amazement. It was as though their clash in the Square never took place. They had always been that way, and Dayn hoped it never changed.

"Our match will start soon," Milchamah interjected. "You boys can catch up while we stretch. Dayn, this here is Kayle. He's a fisher from Kohr Springs."

Dayn unlimbered his pack and shook hands with Kayle, who was wiry strong and thin as his staff. He looked maybe ten years older than Dayn, and carried himself with a quiet manner. Dayn remembered the fisherman faring better than he had in the standings at Sweetwater.

The Shardians listened in great interest as he recounted his travels. He chose his words carefully, though. They laughed at his story of Rela Run, murmured appreciatively over the Dance of Shells and shook their heads in amazement to hear of the Suralosan snow. He made no mention of the Seed, he owed the Ringmen that much. "The Ring wants the World Belt to hear what happened on Shard, in our own words. The people I've met on other worlds are just like us―they think voidwalkers are stories to scare children."

"Peace knows that's true." Joam shuddered. "Father let me come when Nerlin took the Elders back to see the corpse in the redbranch. There wasn't much left, but...it must have been terrible, Dayn."

"It sounds to be a fine thing you're doing for the Belt, lad," Prolo observed. He was as stout as he was tall, with wiry caterpillars for eyebrows that matched his gray eyes. He was a cousin of Elder Buril by marriage, and claimed he had only taken up the staff so he would not get dragged onto the Village Council. "For Shard, too. Your parents will be proud."

Dayn hungered for news of home, and Joam was quick to oblige. "You should see it, Dayn. People came from everywhere to help rebuild when word spread. Kohr Springs, Southforte, even Sheercrest. Your aunts came down from Greenshadow, too, and I think they brought half of their village along with them. The Dawnbreak is going to be bigger than ever, four stories!" Joam shrugged sheepishly, glancing at the huge structure that surrounded them.

"Only took a voidwalker in the flesh to get folks to visit," Milchamah muttered. "After that, a little thing like the Dreadfall doesn't seem so bad."

"A lot of them are thinking of staying, too," Prolo added, scratching his head in amazement. "We'll finally get to show what Wia Wells can _really_ do in the harvest."

Joam nodded eagerly. "Crops are growing well enough, there's no leafblight in the Mistlands like Kohr Springs dealt with last season. Southforte is looking to have a grand harvest. Sister Irie is with child, and Esane wove a marriage bracelet for some girl from Misthaven." Joam let loose a grin. "Oh, what's her name?"

"Falena," Prolo offered. "She's stringing him along well enough. He's a good lad, hard worker. No one can figure out what she's waiting for." Joam laughed uproariously at the look on Dayn's face after that. Prolo frowned, but kept to his stretching.

"My sister, she's well?" Dayn asked.

"Stirring up trouble as usual. You wouldn't believe it, Dayn, but her scars are nearly faded from the Eve of Trembling." Joam shrugged. "That's what they call it now, to remember it. But who wants to do that? Tela's doing just fine. Sister Cari hardly knew what to make of it. She's growing fast this spring, too."

"That tall?" Dayn marveled when Joam leveled a hand midway through his ribcage to show Tela's height. _I'm gone for a few weeks and she decides to shoot up!_ Her whole body had been covered in bandages it seemed. He still remembered his last night by her side as if it were yesterday. His terrible attempt at a song, and then... _the Seed. Peace, it must have healed her, too._ "I never thought things would change so fast."

"The boys will be wondering when she gets her first blue dayroses before long. I promise you that." The farmers all laughed at Dayn's mortified look.

"Here, boy." A darkwood staff sailed through the air. Dayn caught it without thinking, and the edges blurred as his wrists moved the grain. The darkwood felt good in his grasp, though it was a little longer than he liked. Still, the grain balanced nicely.

"Thanks. I still owe you for the silverpine you gave me."

"No worries." Milchamah nodded approvingly. "You haven't completely gone to slack, good. You gained weight, boy? I could see your spleen before you left." Of all people, Joam guffawed loudly at that.

"Small wonder these Montollene aren't all skeletons," Kayle said gloomily. "Where does their food come from? I wouldn't feed a Misthavener's herd of swine with what we've seen pass for market here."

"Nor I." Milchamah sighed heavily. "We'll leave that bone for the Trade Circle to gnaw on when we return. This whole thing's been a fine farce, pulling us from our early crops and barely started our own training, besides. Come. Our bout is this way."

They gathered their belongings and followed Milchamah through the Achen Isee, weaving through fighters from every world in the Belt. Every platform they passed showed some new weapon or style of fighting, and Dayn grew increasingly nervous at the prospect of matching his own abilities against them.

To one side, two men squared off. An average looking fellow with tattoos from wrist to shoulder wielded two curious implements that Dayn could best describe as a segmented short staff. The man held it so he could tuck the hafts under his arms. He faced a hulking, bare chested man armed with a huge, spiked hammer. The farmers slowed to watch the match. Joam's eyes were as big as apples.

"The little one is Dervishi," Milchamah murmured. "His opponent is from Quello. A mauler, they are called. Strong ground there. You see the difference in how he moves?"

"My bet's on the hammer," Joam whispered.

"I'll take that," Prolo said immediately. The two shook hands.

"I thought Dervishi were supposed to be the best fighters." Dayn looked doubtfully at the smaller man, who eyed his bulkier adversary with clear contempt. "Is he using bladebreakers?" he asked, nodding toward the strange weapons.

"Peace, no. Those are hickory wands. Only Dervishi women wear bladebreakers. Just watch."

An officiant wearing a black robe shouted loudly to begin the match.

The Dervishi man wasted no time, rushing forward with the sticks outstretched. The mauler swung his hammer, and the Dervishi nimbly fell into a crouch. The weapon hummed harmlessly through the air over his head as he continued forward, sliding on his knees. He slammed the haft of his hickory wand into the mauler's ribs, and the man doubled over with a groan.

The Dervishi pivoted and swept his arms hard and low. The next instant, the mauler's ankles hung in the air. The crash of his impact on the platform echoed faintly through the arena.

Joam whistled, passing an ember-eye to Prolo. The officiant clambered up to declare the victory, but the Dervishi man just hopped from the sparring platform and walked off.

"He already lost the match in his own eyes," Prolo murmured. Milchamah nodded his agreement. Dayn and Joam exchanged confused looks.

"Lost? I've never seen anyone beaten so fast," Joam said in awed tones. He looked at his own staff doubtfully.

"He didn't fell him with the first strike," Milchamah explained. "A true Dervish fight is to the death. Hickory wands are used for sport on their world. Like a child's toy. They scoff at the Cycle for the most part, but their lords make sure enough of them survive, I expect. No one knows if they're even sending a team to the Gauntlet next year."

The officiant spied Milchamah, and hurried over to where they stood. "What's this?" Milchamah murmured. Prolo tossed his pack on the ground and began to twirl his staff, listening to the officiant with half an ear.

"Apologies, weaponmaster," the officiant said breathlessly. "There's been an...adjustment to your match."

Prolo laughed under his breath and Kayle whistled. Milchamah's eyes narrowed. "You mean to tell me, we've come all this way just to―"

"No, your match will still occur," the Montollene said. "Next on the platform, in fact. The only change is your opponent."

"But we've been practicing to fight against whip darts!" Joam protested.

"I'm sorry. It is unfair, an...oversight in scheduling on our part." The officiant's eyes flickered to the heights of the dome for an instant before he cleared his throat and continued. "Do you wish to forfeit the match, and return tomorrow?"

_Something about this doesn't feel right,_ Dayn thought.

"By rights, we should," Milchamah said thoughtfully. "Give our man from Northforte a day to make amends with his gut. But no...peace doesn't favor the man who ignores its gifts." He winked at Dayn. "Shard will stand against whoever you bring."

The officiant gave a slight nod and walked off.

"Well that certainly changes my day," Prolo said with a sigh.

"So who are we fighting?" Dayn asked, suddenly nervous. He would not soon forget how thoroughly Nassir trounced him during those weeks in the Aran desert. _I know I'm no fighter after that,_ Dayn thought worriedly. _But I can't let my kin down._ He clenched and unclenched his hands to stop their shaking.

"He's speaking with those men over there," Joam said, pointing. "Father, where are they from?"

"Ara." Milchamah studied Dayn's face as he spoke in serious tones. "I know you never took to the staff, but we have no other options. They won't let us go with only four. Just this once, alright? Boy?"

Joam glanced over with sudden worry. "Brother? Why are you smiling like that?"

Dayn watched the other side of the platform as Gorhaj Shir-Hun appeared, strutting like some stripe-feathered peacock. The Marshal-General and rest of the Aran Five followed him, looking casually around the Arena.

Dayn turned back to Milchamah, his hands now steady on the darkwood staff. "I'd like to go first."

# CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Flutterbird Takes the Nectar

A Shardian once won the individual trial of the Prevailer's Gauntlet, over two hundred years ago. He was so worried about his harvest that he didn't linger to accept the Victor's Sash. The overseer took it to Shard to deliver personally, and was given a plate of berries and a cup of water for his trouble.

-Cycle Overseer Elenna Krelas

The Montollene officiant returned to confer with Milchamah for a few moments. Fighters from all over the Achen Isee Dome converged on the sparring platform, curious to see how Shard would fare against the Aran Five.

"Rules haven't changed," the officiant was saying. He spoke in a crisp manner, and looked up at Milchamah as though irritated at having to incline his head. "I will see to the swords myself, you needn't worry. Tell your men they must remain on the platform. Fighters hailing from stronger ground have struggled with that."

"Thanks for the advice," Milchamah said dryly. "We'll manage just fine, I think. What of the rankings?"

"My apologies, but I don't deal with that, weaponmaster." The man looked around quickly, dropping his voice to a whisper Dayn could barely hear. "I'm sorry for how you've been thrown about today. It's not right. I've heard―only _heard,_ mind you―that the worst teams will face long odds, come the Cycle. Back-to-back bouts, that sort of thing. Victories today will matter when the Belt gathers next year."

Milchamah's brow furrowed in consideration. "Peace favor Montollos," he said, giving the man a slight nod. The officiant nodded and hurried over to the waiting Arans.

"This is a bigger farce than I thought," Prolo muttered.

"You're right about that," Milchamah replied. "But still good experience for the boys. Everyone knows the order? Dayn, I don't care what weed you mean to pluck with that boy over there, you'll go last. With a little luck, you won't even need to fight. Prolo is clean up, after me."

The Montollos officiant took to the platform, and a speculative murmur rose. Exclamations sounded as Joam rose from where he was seated.

"He's tall as a tower!"

"The size of him!"

He took a deep breath and met the officiant in the platform center. "Start us off right, son," Milchamah said. "Remember what I told you about the sheath. Don't let it distract you."

"I will, father!"

One of the Aran Five―Hal Orden, Dayn remembered―sauntered up to join them. The man looked up at Joam as though a long-limbed beetle thought to spar with him. Joam gave him a toothy grin.

Two men rushed up to the side of the platform, carrying a metal tub between them. The officiant rolled back his sleeves and dipped his hands, then wiped his palms on Joam's neck, then Orden's. The Aran gave the officiant his sword, which he also dipped into the tub.

"No blood of the Belt shall be spilled on these grounds," he intoned loudly. He held his palm open, and brought the Aran's sword down on it, hard. A flash of light made Dayn squeeze his eyes shut, and a familiar acrid tinge filled the air.

"This blade is now sealed to the Binder's Cycle." The officiant returned the sword to Orden and stepped back. _A superb fighter._ Dayn remembered the Preceptor's words.

"Begin!"

Orden lunged immediately, a quick stab aimed at Joam's belly. Joam blocked it easily, but the flash of light from the Aran's sheath-covered blade surprised him. Orden used that to his advantage at first, but Joam quickly adapted. More flashes lit the platform as his darkwood staff blocked Orden's strikes, and offered counters of his own. The Aran was quickly forced on the defensive, snarling in frustration.

"That's the way, Joam!" Dayn shouted. Joam moved with confidence now, twirling his staff into Leaf on the Wind. A blow cracked down on Orden's wrist, and he dropped his sword. Joam promptly swept the man's feet from under him, then sent his grounded sword flying from the platform with a flick of his staff. A bystander yelped in fear when the sword flashed upon striking his legs, but the sheath did its work. Just like that, the match was over.

"Winner, Shard!" The Montollene officiant proclaimed.

Dayn and the rest of the Shardians thrummed the platform with their fists. The Aran bowed stiffly before stalking off the platform. Joam grinned as Milchamah beamed at him, eyes full of pride for his son. Onlookers crowded all around now, although they gave the two teams their space.

The next Aran hopped lightly onto the platform, eying Joam with newfound vigilance. _He should be worried,_ Dayn thought proudly. _My brother barely broke a sweat!_ Dayn searched his memories for the Highest's words about Niel Pakalj. "That one's good against bladebreakers," he said to Milchamah, who looked at him sharply. "That's what they said on Ara."

The old farmer nodded, scratching his chin as the officiant sealed the Aran's blade. "Joam!" he barked. "Ridgecat Prowls!"

"Begin!"

Joam used the fighting form well at first, but Pakalj acted with more caution after Orden's defeat. The Aran did not attempt a quick finish, and Joam's breathing soon grew labored as he sought ways to goad the man into a mistake.

Joam jabbed again, looking for an opening. Instead of knocking the staff away with his sword, Pakalj grabbed it with his left hand, a sneer twisting the scar on his jaw. Joam instinctively yanked back, and the Aran fell into him. Joam cried out in pain as the Aran's blade cut savagely at his knee. He buckled, and light flashed again as Pakalj slashed at Joam's ribs. The blow sent him tumbling off the platform near the officiant's chair.

"Winner, Ara!"

Joam rose to his feet, grimacing when he put weight on his knee. He hopped onto the platform though, and bowed to Pakalj as the Arans all whooped loudly.

"Peace," he wheezed, flopping back to the ground. "He didn't cut me, but it felt that way. Like fire every time the sheath flashed."

"You did well, boy," Milchamah nodded firmly. "Kayle, you're up. Put this sand grub on his back!"

Kayle ascended the platform, and the match soon began. The fisherman was outmatched from the start, clearly intimidated by Joam's defeat. He lost his staff in moments, and found himself on _his_ back at the point of Pakalj's sword.

"He's good," Prolo muttered. "We need at least three wins to matter for the rankings, or this trip will be a waste." He swung his staff in Serf's Caper. "Here goes nothing."

The fighters regarded each other for a long moment after the officiant called them to start. Then they moved together as if in a dance, sword flashing again and again as the Aran struck.

"Don't worry, brother. Prolo and my father will finish off the rest," Joam whispered. He watched Pakalj in awe as the man tested Prolo's reach, prodding the taller man to overextend himself.

Dayn recognized some of the Aran's forms from Nassir's attempt to teach him the sword. Prolo's quick wrists kept the swordsman at bay, though his shirt soon grew damp from the effort. Leaf on the Wind was blocked by Driftwood in the Stream. When the Aran rolled into The Tiger Swipes, Prolo caught him squarely with Barkbore Makes His Nest.

The Shardians pounded on the platform. The onlookers rumbled in approval as Pakalj staggered back, clutching his chest. "First time we've managed to touch him," Kayle grumbled in disbelief.

But Prolo did not press his advantage, and the Aran fell on him even harder than before. Prolo barely dodged a swipe to his arm with Antelope Dances the Green. Pakalj stalked close, looking to push him off the platform.

"Watch the edge!" Milchamah called. From the other side, the Arans cheered loudly, shouting their own warnings―all except for the Marshal General. Gorhaj had yet to even see Dayn, so intent was he upon the match.

Prolo resorted to Flutterbird's Brush, but the Aran stood too close. He pierced right through the spinning silverpine and the point of his sword closed on Prolo's throat.

Prolo collapsed in the flash that followed, lying in a still heap on the wood. The whole arena gasped. The officiant rushed onto the platform, face suddenly ashen. Milchamah leaped up as well, livid with fury.

"Preliminary bouts, man!" He roared at the Aran. "You would take his head clean off? Is the Cycle held on Dervish?"

"I...I'm alright," Prolo croaked. He stood with the officiant's help, looking more embarrassed than anything else. Scattered applause sounded through the Achen Isee Dome. The officiant looked ready to faint in relief. Prolo bowed unsteadily to Pakalj, who bowed simply in return. The Aran retreated to the far side of the platform to sip water while Milchamah prepared himself. "Give him one for, weaponmaster," Prolo rasped.

Joam pounded the platform, although he and Dayn shared a worried look. The two fighters met in the center, Milchamah bristling with contained fury, the Aran cold and focused. The Montollene officiant raised a trembling hand, looking nervously back and forth between them.

"Begin!" He hurriedly backed off the platform.

Milchamah surged forward with a grace that belied his age, his anger fully under control. Pakalj spun into a short leap, bringing his sword down hard in Osprey Over the Lake.

Sheath flashed. A _crack_ echoed sharply in the dome. The force of the strike had broken the farmer's darkwood staff in two. The officiant leapt up immediately. "Halt! Win goes to Ara!"

"You can't be serious." The farmer stared pure murder at the officiant, who shrugged defensively.

"So sorry, Master Ro'Gem. The rules clearly state―"

Milchamah flung the halves of his broken staff to the ground in disgust. He stood with his back to the platform, quivering with anger. The Shardians all turned to look at Dayn.

***

Bargis no longer even bothered to conceal his satisfaction as he watched the bout unfold. "One win, with one man left. That's what happens when a team leads with their best."

Nassir took a steadying breath. The crystal of their perch looked weak enough. As much as he wanted to test it, throwing Bargis to the arena floor would make this an even worse embarrassment for the Ring.

Bargis swirled the wine in his cup, relishing the Ringmen's silence. "A transport of my very own. The High will kiss my feet."

Lurec cleared his throat. The most peculiar shade of green colored the Preceptor's face. He uttered his first words since the bout began. "The last of them is taking the platform. Defender, look."

"Not much to look at," Bargis observed. "As I said, poor strategy on their part. But what else could we expect from simple farmers? Favor certainly mocks you today, Ringmen, to draw such a poor team."

_He clearly arranged for the weakest opponent he could muster, and throws it in our face?_ Nassir glowered openly at the man. Lurec caught his arm, gesturing to the arena floor.

"Look," the Preceptor repeated.

"Peace take my eyes," Nassir said. He began to laugh.

***

"Well you're up, lad," Prolo said. "Don't fall for his feints, like I did."

"Good luck, brother," Joam said, his encouragement falling just short of genuine.

Dayn hopped up to the platform, nervously twirling his darkwood staff. He preferred the heavier grain to silverpine, and was glad for the longer reach, now. It should fare better against a sword. _Sheathed blades or not, I see the scorches those swords leave in the grain. He could break bones if he hit me hard enough._ Dayn took another deep breath to still his nerves. Still, worry leaked through. Peace _, how am I to beat him? He's taken the best of Shard already!_

The Montollene officiant sized him up. "Saving the best for last?" he asked doubtfully. The swordsman came to stand before him, and the match began.

Dayn moved first, spinning recklessly in Twirlseed's Fall to keep the Aran from going for another quick finish. His staff spun in dangerous arcs, and Pakalj stepped clear, awaiting an opening to strike. _I must show him something different,_ Dayn thought. _He's figured us out._

Pakalj slashed forward smoothly with Reaper in the Wheat. Dayn reacted without thinking. He planted the butt of his staff into the ground before him, hard. The Aran's sword rebounded off the darkwood, the sheath flash lighting his features. Dayn sprang forward and planted a boot firmly in his chest. The swordsman staggered back, surprised. He came in low, jabbing for Dayn's waist.

The crowd gasped at Dayn's sudden bound. Pakalj's blade stabbed nothing but air. As Dayn flipped above the man, he swung his staff down to strike him squarely in the shoulders. He missed his landing but rolled away, scrambling to his feet like Nassir had shown him. The Aran spun around to gawk at him in utter disbelief.

_Peace if I ever do that again in a fight! But now he won't know what to expect._ Before he could recover, Dayn feinted for the man's ankles with Tripweed on the Road, forcing Pakalj to hop over the sweep of his darkwood. It worked perfectly.

Just like the Defender in the Crystal Walk, the Aran hung suspended in the air a breath longer because of the weak Montollene ground. Dayn followed through on his spin with Wreathweaver's Strike. The blow smashed Pakalj to the platform so hard he bounced a foot into the air. Dayn struck the dazed Aran again before he even finished descending. He sprawled off the platform's edge.

Stunned silence filled the Dome before the officiant gathered himself. "Winner, Shard!"

The Shardians stopped gaping and rattled their staves on the platform. "Now that's how it's done!" Joam shouted.

_Peace be praised,_ Dayn thought, heaving a sigh of relief. _I won._ He managed to slow his panting somewhat as Pakalj stumbled forward to bow before retrieving his sword. "You broke my collarbone, Shardian."

"Serves you right!" Someone shouted from the crowd. The Aran glared out at the onlookers, but Dayn spoke quickly.

"I wish no blood upon the sand," he said, offering his own bow. Impulsively, he reached forward and rested his hand briefly on the man's injury. _Isn't that how Nassir said it?_ "Peace see you healed before the Cycle."

"Peace see it so." The swordsman looked at Dayn strangely as the next Aran ascended the platform. Pakalj moved to stand beside the First Sword. Gorhaj had finally recognized Dayn, his flaring nostrils were visible from where Dayn stood. Unfortunately, he would not fight next. The officiant had already sealed the blade of Sten Mattes.

Dayn peered closer, suddenly frowning. "Dust and smoke. _Two_ swords?" The Aran's blades fit together at some groove along the hilt, separated now to offer two lighter weapons. Sparring with Nassir had never covered this!

The officiant shrugged. "The prolix sword is allowed here, as they are in the Cycle proper."

Dayn waved back toward where Milchamah stood. "But he's eliminated for two pieces of staff? How is that fair?"

Mattes sneered. "Are you afraid, Shardian?"

The Montollene man shook his head. "It is allowed."

"It's fair, boy." Milchamah caught the cuff of Dayn's trousers. "Peace's own jest, but it is," he added softly.

"Begin!"

Dayn approached warily, hoping to strike a quick blow like Prolo before him. The Arans' style so far proved oddly vulnerable to direct thrusts. Their maneuvering seemed more focused on embellishment than effect. Mattes quickly proved that notion to be utterly wrong.

The Aran's twin blades hissed through the air without so much as a flourish. He moved with simple, precise movements; taking every opportunity to stab Dayn's hands loose from his staff.

They began to sweat profusely as the duel wore on. Spectators on the arena floor covered every available inch of nearby ground to watch.

Mattes moved quick as a ridgecat, avoiding Dayn's staff with sidesteps and parries. He unleashed a series of blows from his swords with enough force to jar Dayn's shoulder sockets. The sheath on Mattes' blades flashed over and over as Dayn blocked. The darkwood warmed beneath his hands as the swordsman forced him back.

The Aran slipped beneath Barkbore Makes His Nest, and Dayn winced as return strokes found his upper thigh and midriff. _It burns worse than Joam said!_ He clipped Mattes in the elbow, but the man did not drop his sword. He sidestepped away again, retreating back to the center of the platform. _He's too smart to let me push him off._

"Be strong, lad!" Prolo called out. He winked when Dayn shot him an irritated glance. "Mind your breathing!"

Mattes' eyes narrowed as he immediately searched Dayn for signs of fatigue. Prolo's ploy worked. Dayn allowed himself to favor his leg slightly, and advanced on the swordsman with Goose in the Tree. A deceptive form, one of the many Dayn had learned so he could last more than two moves with Joam. _Peace, if he doesn't fall for this, I don't know what I'll do._ The Aran closed in, thinking him off balance from injury.

The prolix swords flashed again and again. Dayn pretended at a stumble. Mattes lunged at the opening, eager for the victory. Dayn leaned back, straining to avoid the overhand slash while he chambered his staff. The Aran's swing carried him too far, and Dayn drove the end of his staff straight into the poor fellow's gut.

Mattes doubled over immediately, rolling in agony. Dayn rushed over to stand astride the fallen Aran and raise his staff high in both hands, poised to bear down on the swordsman's skull. His eyes rolled in fear, but he could not breath.

Dayn looked expectantly at the officiant, who stood frozen at the edge of the platform. "Halt! Winner, Shard!"

Still breathing hard, Dayn bowed to the groaning Aran, and twirled his staff through the King's Circlet. _That's for you, Joam!_ Dayn looked to his friend, but Joam's round eyes were fixed past Dayn's shoulder, prompting him to turn around.

"My father played havoc with the transports for you and those Ringbound vermin, farmer." Gorhaj stood imperiously on the platform. His eyes were riveted on Dayn as though nothing else existed, not the hundreds of onlookers or his own injured comrade. Orden helped pull Mattes from the platform.

The Montollene officiant did not even bother to start the fight, he just stared at the two men. The grounds of the Achen Isee quieted in anticipation. The obvious enmity between the two made for a promising match. "Your schemes delayed our arrival here for days."

Dayn's lip curled. "More time for you to guard your sister's dolls, Aran."

"You _insolent_ ―"

"Gorhaj! Enough!" The Marshal General stepped forward, his first stirring of the entire match. "Remember your training, and your father's honor! They walk hand in hand with your victory."

Gorhaj reddened in anger, or embarrassment. Dayn crouched in Ridgecat's Prowl, staff held high overhead. The darkwood smoldered beneath his grip. The repeated impact of the Arans' sheathed blades was slowly turning his staff to coal.

"Keep your wits, boy," Milchamah murmured. The First Sword of the High sunk into a ready stance, sword tip pointed down.

"You have this, brother!" Joam called out.

The officiant finally remembered himself. "Begin!"

Dayn let his muscles uncoil at the command, whipping his staff forward as fast as he could. Gorhaj's poor choice of stance cost him. He brought his sword up too slowly to deflect the blow. He caught Dayn's staff full in the mouth, barely twisting away at the last instant. If he had not, the blow would have knocked him out cold.

"The First Sword, bested by a farmer?" Dayn could not resist taunting him. He had never disliked someone so much in his life. "What would the Highest say?"

Gorhaj wiped the blood from his face and rushed forward with a roar. "Sand blind you!"

Dayn met him head on, and the Achen Isee Dome sounded with the clash of darkwood grain and sheath-covered steel. Gorhaj did not boast the blinding speed of Pakalj, but he wasted no motion and executed each strike to perfection. Only his anger caused him to overextend himself. Dayn took advantage of those occasions, punishing the Aran with bone rattling blows to the arms and legs. He did not want to knock him from the platform, or use a trick of the forms. Dayn wanted to throttle Gorhaj soundly.

The Aran withstood blows that should have downed him. He proved surprisingly durable for a man born of such weak ground. He lunged forward, and his blade seared its way down Dayn's left side. Dayn spun away but Gorhaj pressed after him, striking his shoulder hard enough to make Dayn groan out loud. Dayn knocked the next swipe away easily and pivoted around to thrust. The Aran was vulnerable to Flutterbird Takes the Nectar.

His staff ready, Dayn froze. _Peace! What am I doing?_

Gorhaj's arms were spread wide, as he bent, clearly intending to duck the blow. But the swordsman could not avoid him. The strike Dayn had chosen would crush the Aran's throat.

The First Sword's eyes narrowed at Dayn's hesitation, but he reacted quickly. He stepped into Dayn's staff, taking away his reach. Gorhaj kissed his sword on the crook of Dayn's arm, then again on the bridge of his nose and side of his head in quick succession. Dayn cried out in pain as light flashed in his vision. He collapsed to the ground.

The entire world seemed to spin. Through the wave of cheers from the onlookers, Dayn heard Shir-Hun's voice above him. "In the dirt, where you belong."

"Winner, Ara! Match goes to the world of Ara, three defeating five, with three losses. Both teams earn superior ranking in the Gauntlet. Well done!"

Dayn clutched his ribs, grimacing in pain. _Get up. Get up._ Oh, how he _hated_ losing! _Especially to this..._

An open snarl covered his face as he willed himself to his feet, refusing to prop himself up with the staff. Fire braided his side as he watched the Aran swordsmen congratulate each other and preen. Well, Marshal General Toljed did not preen. He regarded Dayn with considering eyes. But the rest...

Milchamah and Prolo barred Dayn's way just before he stepped forward.

"Easy, boy," Milchamah said sternly. "That same look on your father's face never meant good for anyone in arm's reach. He always regretted his actions after."

"You carried us through this nonsense, lad." Prolo laid a firm hand on Dayn's other shoulder. Dayn was so intent on Gorhaj, he had not realized he was still attempting to push past Milchamah. "Besting three of their fighters proves we're no easy meat, from what that judge said. We'll see them again when the Cycle starts in earnest."

Joam and Kayle nodded fiercely at that, muttering angrily as they watched the Arans speak with more of the Montollene officiants.

"Get his staff, Kayle," Milchamah said. "Knowing you, it will be lost before sunrise, boy."

Kayle moved to comply. He yelped an oath and dropped the wood instantly, staring at Dayn incredulously. "Your hands must be...the grain's hot enough to bake bread!"

"You were tired Dayn, that's all," Joam said. "Your grain to his steel any day."

Dayn nodded, but did not feel much better as they started gathering their gear. Nearby Montollene and fighters from other worlds eyed them with respect, but he wanted to be away from this place.

Fortunately Milchamah paid Kayle's exclamation no mind. Dayn did not want to answer any questions about the staff just now. _It's not as hot as he says, it can't be. Unless the Seed is protecting me. How can that be, when I don't have it?_

"Peace, Shardian."

A gravelly voice made them all turn back around. The Marshal General himself regarded each of them briefly before addressing Milchamah. "I will look forward to next season, weaponmaster. The last Cycle's outcome will surely not be repeated."

"Surely not," Milchamah agreed. They spoke as respected equals, nothing more.

The Marshal General nodded thoughtfully before turning to Dayn. "My men often forget there is more to their lives than chasing maidens and dueling on the ropes."

Toljed glanced at the Arans behind him, bragging loudly to another team, who wielded chain whips with strange hooks on the end. "Nearly all of the Five will assume some rank in the future." He bowed simply, holding Dayn's eyes. "I thank you that the Highest's only son will not issue his commands from a ruined throat. Peace to you all." He abruptly turned on his heel to gather the Five out of the arena.

"A shame he was last," Milchamah murmured. He caught Dayn's arm. "He's right, boy. You didn't learn some of those forms from me―or your father."

Prolo nodded gravely. "You even had a soldier's stance, Dayn. A man only uses those strikes for one reason, and it's not scaring ridgecats from the sheep pen." The two farmers wore matching scowls for a moment, driving the point home.

"I've learned a lot because―well, the Defender..." Dayn stammered, unsure of what to say. "He doesn't want me to be helpless."

"What are you _doing_ with them, Dayn?" Joam asked, concern lining his face. "You told us bits and pieces, but what good is a Mistlander running around the World Belt for the Ring? I can always tell when you're holding something back."

"As can I." A musical voice startled Dayn. _Peace, everyone is fixed on sneaking up on me today!_ He turned, and his breath caught. Soong Shir-Hun smiled at him, surrounded by four attendants, all dressed in orange and red silks almost as fine as the Heiress High's own dress. Dayn saw Joam's gaping mouth and remembered to close his own. "Well fought, Shardian. I think maybe you really are an Initiate for the Ring."

"No, I'm not," Dayn said hastily. He could already see Milchamah chewing on that thought. "Soong these are my friends, from Shard." He began to make introductions, but Milchamah interrupted.

"Just some farmers out to see the Great City before we head home, girl." He motioned for the men to gather their things. Soong's attendants glowered at Milchamah, but he paid them no mind. "We need to go check on our man, and it's past time we've been back to see to our crops. Come by the Tower Axios, when you're finished here." He fixed Dayn with a look that meant his words were not a suggestion. "I'm surprised you aren't holed up there, too. We'll talk then. Maybe those Ringmen will see fit to let you come back with us, where you belong."

Dayn's heart warmed to hear the farmer's words. _Yes. Back where I belong. Once Lurec takes the Seed to that tower, they won't need me anymore._

Milchamah herded the Shardians away, who were still gawking over Soong. Kayle winked approvingly at Dayn as he shuffled off. Joam leaned forward and kept his voice low. "I guess Falena will be waiting a little longer," he said with a grin. Dayn punched him in the shoulder as he jogged to catch up to his father, laughing.

Soong looked at him expectantly. "You are a mystery, disappearing from Olende, only to end up in Montollos, of all places."

"Oh. And here I thought you followed my trail to honor our wager," Dayn said with a playful smile.

Soong blushed. "I suspected it was important for you to leave so quickly. I came to watch my brother, but never expected you would be entering the Cycle, too."

"I'm not a fighter, I..." Dayn started. _I almost forgot!_ He had been in the Dome for over an hour. He had no idea how long Montollos would allow people to declare for the Course of Blades. _I must not miss my chance._ The Ringmen might decide to leave tonight, for all he knew. "I have to go," he said, grabbing his pack. "Can you wait here? I won't take long."

"I wait for no man."

"Come with me, then."

One of the men accompanying Soong stepped forward. "Heiress, that would not be prudent. The city―"

"It will only be a moment, here in the arena," Dayn said. "I have to declare for the coursing race."

"You're a _courser,_ as well?" Soong tilted her head. "What other secrets are you hiding?"

"My father says there are no secrets. Only unasked questions."

Her eyebrows raised quizzically. "I wonder what your mother says to that," she murmured.

"Heiress, we should go." The attendants frowned, openly displeased with Dayn.

"I won't remain here," she said coolly. Dayn's face fell. "But I will go to the plaza outside. Do not keep me waiting. I don't like to wait."

Dayn ran as never before, barely feeling his bruises from the match. He retraced his steps, running past the long lines of people. No one remained in the line for the Course of Blades, but the man still sat at his post. Dayn breathed a sigh of relief.

"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.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

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

Nassir 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."

A quick look at the bodyguards told Dayn how displeased they were at the idea. "Are you sure?" Dayn said doubtfully. "My head is tender. I wouldn't want to impose, and―"

"Oh, sit down."

Soong worked through his hair with surprisingly nimble fingers. A quick word to one of her servants sent the woman running.

"Your hair could stand a proper washing," Soong murmured as she pulled apart his braids. "There's so much sand in your hair, I'm surprised you can hold your head up."

Dayn flushed in embarrassment. "We don't have such sandstorms back home. I'll be better prepared, next time."

Soong clucked sadly. "No one showed you the Aran secret to keeping sand out of your hair?"

"No."

"It's easy. Stay inside." The guards chuckled roughly at that. She set to combing out his hair, and the servant soon returned with sweet smelling oil, water and towels. After cleaning his hair, Soong braided in straight cornrows, which relieved him a great deal. Men had sported many other styles in Olende, swooping loops and maze-like patterns, but he for one did not want to look like an overgrown child.

Dayn imagined how odd the scene must look for any passersby. An Aran lady in silks, surrounded by her guardsmen, braiding a Shardian farmer's hair. He would have laughed at the absurdity of it, but did not want to spoil the moment.

"I think more world leaders could do well to meet you, Dayn Ro'Halan." Soong said after a while. Nearly finished, her fingers were already tickling the nape of his neck. "My father refused to tell me what those Ringmen are playing at, but I cannot say I trust them. Don't become entangled in their schemes."

"They mean well, I'm sure of it."

"Meaning well and doing well are two different things."

"Heiress, we must leave soon," the elder bodyguard stepped forward quietly. "There is the offworld curfew to consider. The Marshal General will toss the four of us from the Tower Axios should we miss it."

"And my brother would do worse than that." Soong sighed, patting Dayn's shoulders. "Well, these are done at least. I would have finished sooner if you didn't squirm so much. You should have told me your head was so tender."

"I..." Dayn decided not to argue the point. He rose, feeling his new braids. They were smartly done, though tight enough to tug at his eyebrows. They would easily last for weeks. "I've kept you longer than I should."

"I meant to visit the Rain Shoppe." Soong shrugged, lingering on from the bench. "It's a store of curiosities Nnendi spoke of fondly."

"Heiress, the curfew," the bodyguard repeated.

_Confound the man,_ Dayn thought, as they began moving out of the garden tower. He noted with some satisfaction that Soong also lingered.

"Offworlders are supposed to stay at the Tower Axios, but you're hiding in the Great City with these Ringmen. Why?" The Heiress High's directness took Dayn aback, but he answered with little hesitation.

"You know better than I that Montollos doesn't favor the Ring. Nassir thought it best this way."

"So it's not because of..." She glanced pointedly at the bodyguards.

_Peace, she means the voidwalkers,_ Dayn thought. He wondered how much the Highest had told her of them. "No, peace be praised." The answer was only a partial truth, but Dayn did not want to frighten her. "Why are you here? Do you follow the Cycle?"

Soong shook her head, watching a ribbon glide toward the garden tower's portal. "Hardly. I love my brother dearly, but there are better things he could do with his time. Better for him and Ara. The Marshal General says swordwork builds good character, and my father will not break with the tradition, so I say nothing. My father thought it would be good for me to journey to Montollos. Safer than...you know. There are many places I could have traveled, but I thought..."

Her servant was leaning in curiously, and Soong favored the woman with a scorching glare. "Are you so afraid of the ribbon's edge?"

The woman hopped back, mortified to be caught eavesdropping. "No, Heiress!"

"I'm anxious to leave the towers myself," Dayn said quickly. The poor woman looked ready to trip over her own feet, and that would not do at all. "All these ribbons; it's quite a thing to get used to, walking in this place."

"Please, Shardian. I saw you spinning about in that contest. The Marshal General spoke of nothing else afterward, how he should have gone first." Soong laughed, the same melodious sound Dayn remembered from the palace garden. Behind her, the Aran servant gave Dayn a gratified look for diverting Soong's displeasure. "You were the talk of the arena."

Dayn frowned at that unwelcome news. "I doubt that. Not with the Heiress High of Ara there," he said.

"This isn't Ara. If not for my father's guard, I could play cards and throw dice in the filthiest haventower. Speaking of which...I owe you a lost wager." She began to ruffle in her skirts, but Dayn placed a hand on her arm.

"There's no need, it was all in good fun."

Soong pursed her lips thoughtfully. "So is Shard as carefree of a place as the stories say?"

"I wouldn't know, outside of the Mistlands," Dayn replied. "Do the stories say anything of Aran beauty?"

Soong stammered, and her bodyguards all quickly found points in the horizon to gaze at while she composed herself. "I...I...wouldn't know, either," she said.

Dayn nodded thoughtfully. "It's a beautiful world, after all."

Soong's mouth fell open, and she peered up at Dayn through long eyelashes. He rather enjoyed seeing her be the one stumbling over what to say, for once.

"Give me your hand," he said. Her eyes narrowed, but eagerness tugged at her expression as Dayn dug through his pack.

"I cannot accept this!" Soong exclaimed. Her henna-covered palm trembled, cradling a single blue moondrop. "It makes our wager a grain of sand by comparison."

The stone was one of Jairn's finest cuts, an oval shape with translucent lines that cradled sunlight. The enormous gem nearly covered her palm. _Save that for someone special,_ my boy, Dayn remembered the gemcutter's words and the meaningful wink he gave upon returning the finished stone. _And I don't mean the next time you're in trouble with Hanalene!_

Taking in Soong's face, Dayn was thankful for the gemcutter's advice. He clasped his hands behind his back as she thrust the gem back toward him.

"It's considered quite rude to return a gift on Shard," he said in all seriousness. _Or pass an unwanted one to someone else,_ he almost added, after noticing a speculative light blossom in the eyes of her stunned retinue.

"But I have nothing to give in return!"

"Well, there is one thing I could ask of the Heiress High. My kinfolk mean me to visit them at the Tower Axios tonight," Dayn ventured. "Perhaps you'll be free of the Regents then?"

"So you wish to see me again?" Soong asked, smiling openly now as they walked.

"Peace, who said that? I just know I'm going to be awake tonight, that's all," Dayn said, putting on a mock frown. He gestured to his cornrows. "These braids have my skin stretched so tight, it's going to be a chore to shut my eyes."

Soong blinked. "What―"

"You did this on purpose, didn't you?" Dayn teased. "If you wanted to see me again, you could have asked."

Soong let her extended hand fall to her waist, her ringed fingers finally closing around Dayn's gift. She shook her head as if arguing with herself, then looked up at Dayn with an expression that would surely linger in his thoughts for weeks to come.

"I _will_ see you again, Dayn Ro'Halan," she said. A collective gasp rippled through the retinue as the Heiress High stood on tiptoes to kiss him lightly on the cheek. She swept away in that abrupt Aran manner. The bodyguards and servants fell in smoothly around her, a river of silk and swords carrying an orange starwatcher blossom along on its current. Dayn stood there watching, with Soong's pearlpetal scent still tickling his nose. He did not move until she disappeared, ascending another skybridge that soon faded in the distance.

For the second time, Dayn considered dancing on the spot. Given how well things were unfolding, he could hardly wait to share his story with the Consuls tonight. If the Ringmen believed the worlds were properly warned, they might even let him return home to Shard with his friends.

Whistling, Dayn found another ribbon, which quickly swept him into the heart of Montollos. He watched for a pathman to show him the way to Vake's haven, although rejoining the Ringmen was not quite on his mind just yet. The sun was high overhead and there was a city to explore.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The Rain Shoppe

A Thar'Kuri warrior fears just five things, his bondleader is greatest of these. A bondleader fears only one thing, and that is me.

-Force General Nassir Toljem

Dayn wandered for a while, marveling over the Great City, but his conscience soon began to pull at him. He stopped to ask a pathman the way to the haventowers.

"Just beyond the fifty-ninth plaza," the man said. "Less than five minutes from here."

Dayn brightened at the news. He could explore a little while longer. "Have you heard of the Rain Shoppe?"

"You have peace's own luck, offworlder. Hop this next skybridge." The man pointed at the bridge resting near the edge of the plaza they stood upon. "Take the ascending ribbon from the plaza. You'll see merchant signs on the tower you're brought to. Quickly, or you'll miss it!"

Dayn reached the bridge just before it slipped away. Minutes later he stood before a tower with signs hanging above every door. He finally found the one he sought, decorated with a smattering of silver drops covering a field of blue. _It almost looks like the mist back home,_ he mused. _Peace only knows what those drops might be._

He entered the Rain Shoppe through a thin metal door. A cool brass teardrop formed the handle, which turned smoothly in his palm. Too smoothly, for the door escaped him to thud softly against the inner wall, bringing an assortment of hanging bells and chimes to life. Dimly lit rows of shelves filled the room, covered with all manner of jewelry and knickknacks, enough trinkets to fill Wia Wells from now until the last Sealing. Two patrons rummaged quietly through the Rain Shoppe's offerings, backs bent over the shelves as though they were gleaning fields after a harvest.

"Welcome!" A woman called out in a voice that matched her smile, full and warm. She sat mending a piece of jewelry at a table to the rear of the shop.

Dayn offered a polite nod as he surveyed the Rain Shoppe. "Can you help me find gifts for my family back home?" He paused, scratching the nape of his neck sheepishly. "And for a...sister I have met."

"Of course. Evlyn is my name." She wore her white hair in a plain bun and her blue dress was simply cut. Her eyes were sharp, although one watered, so that she dabbed at it constantly. "Buying patrons are a rarity these days!" She said the last loudly, for the benefit of the Montollene men still hunched over their foraging. Neither of them bothered to look up. She sighed. "Now, this piece was made for..."

The door chimes rang. Evelyn paused to wave at more customers with that same cheery smile. Dayn considered the blue-flecked ring she held. _Mother might like it._ "Would a painter want a painting for a gift?" he asked.

He looked up when the shopkeeper failed to answer. Evlyn's face was unchanged, but her fingers betrayed the slightest quiver. A smothering perfume suddenly filled the Rain Shoppe. Dayn immediately recognized the rankness it was meant to cover.

"No," he whispered.

The two Montollene men both stared at the doorway. Water slipped from Evlyn's eye, she did not wipe it away as she turned toward the door. A half-dozen men crowded into the shop, but not one looked at the wares.

"Don't you fret." Evlyn patted his arm reassuringly, remembering herself. She returned the ring to its place and glided forward. "Finally, some new business. A moment, offworlder. We'll find something precious for your kin. And your lady friend, too."

Not one of the men looked alike. Dayn saw violet eyes he could not place, fair skin from Suralose or perhaps Nevar, and olive complexions that could hail from a dozen other worlds.

The only thing truly linking them was the desperate light in their eyes. _And dirt. Why are they all so dirty?_ Dayn recognized one wrinkly brown face as the man's eyes fixed on him.

"The beggar," he breathed.

Evlyn faced the men indignantly, once it became obvious they were not interested in her wares. "Get out of my shop! The Prevailers will―"

"That's him!" the beggar pointed a twisted finger at Dayn. "A son of Shard, I saw him in the clear man's Sending. Alive, the clear man said! He's worth twice his weight in silver, and we can keep every stone we find."

As the men stalked closer, Evelyn reached behind her counter and withdrew a small wooden club. Before she could swing it, one of the men casually backhanded her. Dayn watched in dismay as she crashed into her shelves, then fell still on the floor amid some shattered pottery.

He almost envied her. _Alive, the clear man said._ Dayn took a step back, the heel of his boot thudding into a display rack. There were no other exits from the shop.

Dayn constructed an image of himself trapped inside the Rain Shoppe, and attempted to push it from his mind, but Lurec's lessons came to him clumsily. He could not be far from the haventower, but doubted his effort at Sending reached the Ringmen. _I need the Seed._

"Clear men never sleep, offworlder," the beggar cackled. "He whispered your face across the Belt, but I'm the one who's found you!"

The beggar stood back as his ragged fellows advanced. Eager leers contorted their faces, while their hands opened and closed unconsciously in the way of greedy men. One held a length of rope.

Dayn backpedaled, scrambling for anything he could use as a weapon. There were nothing but trinkets. He lamented over not keeping Milchamah's staff. He reached out to Send again, but could not concentrate through his fear. The stench of the men overpowered his nose. They let loose a chorus of ugly laughter, relishing the fact that he would struggle. One of the wide-eyed old patrons pointed wordlessly to Dayn's left.

"Stop playing, you fools―grab him!" the beggar called out urgently. Dayn reached for the wall, just as the ragged man grasped his sleeve. Dayn wasted no time doubling him over with a jab to the ribs. That blessed old man had pointed out a curious length of rippled wood with strange markings, just enough for the makings of a short staff.

The rod was horribly balanced, barely strong enough not to snap. It hissed in Dayn's hand, when he twisted it, startling him. He looked questioningly at the Montollene elder.

"Rain stick." The man shrugged.

"Take him now!" The men frowned over their fallen cohort, but quickly lunged for Dayn. The two Montollene scuttled to one side as another beggar closed, a man with pimples covering his face and a bulbous nose. Dayn brought the rain stick upward between the man's legs. He collapsed with a squeal of pain.

"More for the rest of us. Take him! The clear man wants him alive!"

Whipped into a frenzy by their leader, the men still pressed Dayn. They were woeful fighters compared to the Aran swordsmen, and offered little resistance. One by one they fell, crashing into shelves and knocking paintings from their stands. The man holding the rope was the last to throw himself forward with a desperate cry. The rain stick broke against his temple, and he flopped to the ground like a gutted fish.

Tiny white pebbles poured from the broken haft of the rain stick in a dry hiss. Dayn faced the last beggar. "I helped you earlier," he growled.

"There's no help for the World Belt, Shardian. Nothing can save it from the void," the beggar snarled as he disappeared through the doorway. "It's already broken. You just don't know it yet!"

Dayn stooped to grab his pack―he barely remembered putting it down before the fight started―and began to rush after the man, but stopped. Evlyn lay still, an ugly purple bruise rising upon her forehead. He feared to move her. The Rain Shoppe was completely wrecked, but the two old men peeked out from behind one of the shelves.

"You two can see to her?" Dayn carefully wrapped the shopkeeper's hand around a half dozen of his gems. A meager apology, but the best he could do for bringing such misery upon her. "And get the Prevailers to deal with these men?"

They nodded. "Aye, offworlder. Are...are you really from Shard?"

But Dayn was already rushing out the door, hurrying to find Vake's haven and the Ringmen.

A strange scene outside of the Rain Shoppe stopped him. The beggar had disappeared, but a crowd of Montollene had gathered on the tower's ribbon. Their attention was not on Dayn at all, but a transport that had rammed the tower's pathway. The crumbling ribbon was impassable, save for a narrow strip of stone near the tower wall.

"Transports are not allowed within the city!" An indignant wayfinder, sweat staining his yellow tabard, thumped vigorously on the transport's hull door as onlookers sullenly edged around the bottleneck. "Prevailers will be here soon. Let these good people by, I say!"

The wayfinder looked positively exuberant on finding a task so unlike his mundane days. The crowd spurred on their unlikely hero as he circled around the craft to peer into the hangdeck's crystal.

The rear hatch began to open. Dayn started to push through the crowd, away from the transport, fighting his own rising dread. _Peace, it was supposed to be safe here. Everyone said Montollos is safe!_ The Preceptor's mental trainings felt like a distant dream as his insides curdled with fear. He felt a voidwalker's presence inside, and he could not bear their touch again. _The clear men never sleep._

More Montollene congregated upon the pathman's cries. The voidwalker's presence crept through them unnoticed, like blink fungus spreading over a rotting carcass.

A woman with brown hair looked at the ribbon's edge, her eyes unfocused. "We used to dangle my little brother, for fun," she whispered. Dayn spared her an agonized look as he pushed further from the transport. A terrible pallor took hold of the woman's face as the voidwalker's thrall brushed her mind. "He would cry and cry. Why did we do that?"

As if in a dream, she stepped closer to the ribbon's edge. Next to her, a strapping man in his middle years carefully placed a bundle before him, Dayn heard the clink of tools. He calmly rose, then slammed a hammer onto his forearm so hard bone cracked. The screams began. Men groaned and women cried aloud.

A keening moan forced Dayn to turn around. A swirl of brown hair wreathed the Montollene woman's terrified face. Her eyes fixed on Dayn's as she stepped off the ribbon.

_Peace take you, you didn't even lift a hand to help her!_ He wrenched himself away, shoving roughly to escape, but even more Montollene were gathering to see the trouble and pushing him back. He bowled one final confused onlooker to the ground and bounded powerfully into the air, holding his pack tight.

"Run!" he shouted. That, he could do at least. "Run!"

People gasped and pointed as he soared over their heads, crashing to the ribbon some twenty spans away. He lurched into a run, looking for a skybridge. Bounding above the people helped get him away faster, but he might as well tie bells around his neck for anyone giving chase. He buffeted ribbonwalkers with no apologies, leaving a trail of angered shouts in his wake.

Dayn heard no signs of pursuit, but did not slow his sprint. He fought to quell his panic with Lurec's lessons, but fear and the need to escape ruled him utterly. He ran for what felt like miles, circling around the floating towers and dashing down ribbons as fast as he dared.

He finally stopped in the shadow of a haventower, clutching his knees as Montollos folk eyed him curiously. No pathman stood near for him to ask about Vake's haven. If he could not find the Ringmen, he would go to the Tower Axios. The Regents may discover his presence, but at least his friends would be there.

Distant warning shouts pulled his gaze upward immediately. He saw no voidwalker, nor that thrice-cursed beggar. Surely neither could have matched his pace.

"Look out!" There was no movement to be seen, only more confused Montollene around him, looking for the source of the warning shout. He searched the ribbon's lace intently.

"There!" A man pointed and Dayn looked up. An upward ribbon shifted to reveal a glint of light through the midst of a distant cloud of white dust. Ragged chunks of a skybridge tumbled downward, breaking apart upon ribbons as it fell.

"Peace keep us," Dayn whispered.

The transport roared into view, heading straight at him. The craft's speed and bulk were never built to navigate the complex intertwining of the ribbons. One moment, it was a faraway speck on the horizon. The next instant, a rushing squeal of wind filled the air. The tower wall to Dayn's right exploded. The force of it knocked him down. Shattered stone and screaming Montollene hurtled in every direction.

Pandemonium raged. Some people remained, attempting to free others buried under the tower's rubble. The transport was far from destroyed, though its crystal viewport was hopelessly smashed. White smoke issued from a mighty rent on the starboard side of the hull. The craft creaked back from the wound in the tower, spilling more debris onto the ribbon below as it slowly came about.

Dayn backed away on his hands and knees. Shaking his head to rid himself of the humming in his ears, he regained his feet amid dazed Montollene and broken bodies, turning again to flee. A black cloaked figure appeared at the far end of the tower ribbon and he froze.

Moridos called to him. "There is no place I will not find you, boy."

Dayn looked around wildly. There were no entrances to the inside of the tower on this stretch of ribbon. He could bound over the transport, but had no idea if the ribbon was intact on the other side. Leaping for the nearest skybridge meant risking a fall that would kill him.

Moridos lurched into a run, loping closer as though he sensed Dayn's desperation. Frantically, Dayn prepared himself to leap from the broken ribbon.

Suddenly the voidwalker pitched to the ground, losing his menacing air for a moment as he went sprawling. _He...tripped_? Dayn wanted to laugh hysterically. An iron grip closed on his shoulder. He howled in fear, flailing wildly.

"Calm yourself, Shardian!" For a wonder, the Defender had appeared beside him on the ledge, fully armored. _Merciful peace be praised!_ Dayn felt ready to faint in relief.

"Peace, Nassir! The voidwalker, he's―"

"I know. Your Sending warned us."

"Where's Lurec?"

"Helping as best he can." Nassir thrust a harness and wingline into his hands. The wingline came with a barbed talon and coursing clutch, same as the Defender used. "Strap this on, quickly!" Dayn fumbled at the clamp while Nassir smeared him with sheath. Moridos rose to his feet. Nassir yanked the harness to make sure it was tight.

"Follow me!" The Defender charged for the ribbon edge and dove out of sight. Dayn forced his terror down and leaped after him. His stomach lurched as he dropped into a freefall.

Dayn kept up with the Defender easily, coursing between ribbons and swooping through the towers. They alighted on another ribbon, running past some startled Montollene who cried out as they leapt off the edge, descending deeper into the heart of Montollos.

Nassir hooked onto a skybridge hovering above them, using it to rappel down the side of a building. Dayn readied his wingline to follow, aiming his talon. An instant later the transport appeared, pulverizing the skybridge in a spray of rock and debris that blasted into the nearby tower. With his talon lost in the crash, the Defender dropped like a stone.

"Peace protect us!" Helpless Montollene plummeted to the tower depths below as Dayn stared in horror. He gathered himself and leaped after them. Nassir would be down there somewhere.

"Shardian, wait!" Nassir swung past Dayn on another line without so much as a dent in his armor. He dropped to a floating plaza, shoulders sparking against the stone as he rolled to a stop. Dayn snagged the railing with his talon, using his own momentum to arc beneath the plaza and rise up on the other side. Nassir reached out to steady Dayn as he landed in a sprawl.

Dayn handed the Defender an extra talon from his pack. Nassir took it wordlessly as he watched the transport slowly pull free of the skybridge's wreckage, fifty spans above them.

"There's no way they can catch us with that," Dayn said. The distant screams of Montollene came from every direction above them, as people fled what they undoubtedly believed to be a navigator gone mad. Dayn and Nassir now stood among the lower stretch of the towers, the sky barely visible between the ribbons above them.

"Transports were never designed for a world's surface," Nassir agreed, unconsciously retracting his wingline into his talon-clutch. He tensed suddenly, looking around with a new urgency in his eyes.

"What? What is it?" Dayn asked. A loud screeching noise sounded above them.

"Impossible," Nassir breathed, open shock painting his face. "Run! Into the tower!" He bounded from the plaza, sailing over twenty spans with nothing but the hazy heart of Montollos beneath him. He landed easily on the ribbon leading into a distant tower.

Dayn refused to look down as he leaped. The depth reminded him too much of the Dreadfall. Nassir steadied him as he landed, then sprinted off. A large wall of glass and metal stood before them, twenty spans high and dim with disuse. The Defender made directly for a door at the center, looking for a place to hide. The screeching sound faded as Dayn followed the Defender inside.

"Quiet, Shardian." Nassir peered into the tower's depths, haste honing his movements to razor precision. Dust lay heavy in the air, causing Dayn to cough. Weak light filtered through the crystal, but failed to penetrate beyond where they stood. Nassir beckoned Dayn deeper into the blackness.

The crystal wall shattered behind them. Nassir did not even bother turning around as he raced into the tower. The screeching returned even louder, like a pack of wolves set on fire. "For your life, Shardian!"

He scampered after the Defender's loping strides as the Ringman crashed through an open door at the end of a huge chamber. They slowed after just a few steps, for the guts of the tower were terribly dark. Nassir strode forward cautiously. Dim lighting outlined a small, windowless room at the end of a cramped hallway.

"These Thar'Kuri have a fleshweep under their control."

Dayn shivered, remembering the strange tracks from Ara. The Defender felt along the floor. With a sharp _click,_ the metal grating beneath their feet swung up to reveal a hidden crawl space. "I've never seen them take such a risk." Nassir frowned in the near darkness.

"They want the Seed that badly?" Dayn whispered.

"It appears so, Shardian. Or else Moridos has gone mad in his quest for vengeance."

"But I don't even have it now!"

"Only because peace still shines upon us. This is the deepest part of the tower. Voidwalkers could search for weeks and not find you here." Nassir beckoned him into the crawlspace. Dayn obeyed hesitantly, wondering how long they would hide there. The grate came back down with a metallic sound.

"Wait, you can't leave me! I―"

"Hold your wits," Nassir hissed. "I will return soon. The weep cannot pursue us through here. I mean to end this, now. This voidwalker will hunt us no longer." Dayn nodded nervously as the Defender crept away, moving deeper into the tower's core.

Stillness stormed in on Nassir's quiet retreat. Dayn could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He took deep, measured breaths, attempting to calm himself. It did not work. He strained for any hint of the fleshweep's strange call.

_He'll return soon,_ he thought. _The Prevailers will come looking for the transport, too._ Dayn clung to that thread of hope. _They'll capture the voidwalker, and the weep. Then we can leave this place._

He counted two hundred breaths and calmed somewhat, feeling his heart still as he took in the tower's stale air. He immediately noticed a familiar, putrid smell.

His prior calm evaporated instantly. No sound or movement came from above the grate. _Sand and ash, the voidwalker could be locked in here with me! I should have at least seen where this space goes instead of just sitting here like a wart on a toad!_

Without warning, the room above him disintegrated in a roar that knocked Dayn flat on his back. Fragments of the ruined wall crashed down on the grate above him. The metal groaned, but held firm. Powder fell everywhere. Dayn fought his throat not to cough out loud in the dust.

Above him, a dull amber glow gradually replaced the darkness. Hollow thumps shook the room and Dayn felt more than saw a sense of mass fill the narrow space. He could smell the voidwalker somewhere above, and something else, so vile it made his eyes water. _The fleshweep. It's right above me!_ The amber light lurched into his vision and Dayn beheld a nightmare given birth.

In the belly of the creature, an old man with matted tufts of hair floated in a strange glowing liquid, appearing to sleep. Mottled and sickly skin covered him. His eyelids fluttered as though he strove to wake from terrible dreams. The barest of rags floated around his body, and his long hair billowed in the amber wash. Bubbles spilled from the old man's mouth as the mass moved around him.

The man stirred. One of his hands squeaked against the translucent underbelly of his monstrous prison. His fingernails were long and curled, nearly longer than his fingers. _Peace protect me, how long has he been in there?_ Dayn could not tear his gaze away as the weep moved slowly through the room, toward the corridor where Nassir had vanished. Dayn could just make out the cruel outlines of four angular limbs, like blackened bones. They reminded him of the barbed claws of a begging mantis, but there were strange folds of flesh draped around them. He could not see if the voidwalker rode upon it, nor could he make out the fleshweep's head.

The man inside shifted again. His legs ended in two ragged stumps, well above the knees. Completely overwhelmed by the horror of the sight, Dayn opened his mouth to scream.

The churning motion of the weep's legs stopped. Dayn's cry stopped short of his teeth as the Defender clamped a hand around his mouth, appearing from the shadows at the last instant. Dayn trembled, tears leaking from his eyes.

The misty residue of a voidwalker's skin floated down past the fleshweep's limbs. Ghostly tendrils of reeking vapor slid over the chunks of broken wall and through the grate. He would have gagged on the voidwalker's stench but for Nassir's hand covering his mouth. If the voidwalker saw that the floor was not solid...

The weep spun around, vanishing back through the damaged wall. The sleeping man sloshed inside its amber belly as the creature turned, but he did not wake.

Nassir tapped his free hand questioningly on Dayn's chest. At Dayn's nod, the Defender released his mouth.

"That man," Dayn's voice shook. "What in peace's reach is it _doing_ to him?"

"Feeding. Hear me keenly, Shardian." The Defender's whisper was urgent. "Better to go limp against a weep, understand? You see what happens if you struggle. His legs."

Dayn's mouth went dry. "He's been in there for years. His hair..."

"Yes. The rider is a bondleader. But the advantage is still ours. Every minute they hunt us, more Prevailers surround this tower. Stay here."

"Where are you going?"

"To kill him."

"But you said if we wait long enough, we'll be free!"

"No, Shardian. _You_ will be free, and safe. My duty allows no such comforts. I will come for you. You will know by the deathscream."

With that the Defender disappeared. Dayn wanted to shake the Ringman, but he could not argue with Nassir's reasoning. A Defender who hid from a fight would not be much of a Defender at all.

Dayn sought calmness, checking the talons left in his pack. He counted out the moments, this time allowing a thousand breaths to pass. _We're going to be alright._

Measured footfalls rang out on the metal grating above the hiding place. _A Prevailer?_ Dayn looked upward expectantly.

Moridos snarled down at him. The voidwalker tore the grating away in a single, powerful motion. Chunks of stone from the broken wall flew aside as easily as a child's play blocks.

Dayn crawled away on hands and knees in the direction the Defender went. "Nassir!"

"He's dying, whelp. All of you are dying!"

Dayn groped ahead in the darkness. There had been no deathscream. The crawlway abruptly widened, allowing him to stand. A distant light beckoned to him, promising escape, but he did not run to it. No one else could stop the voidwalker, he alone remained.

Dayn lifted his chin and turned, clutching reflexively for the Seed in his pocket, forgetting for just a moment that it was not there. Moridos dropped heavily in front of him from some unseen shaft. He did not even have time to lift his hands before the voidwalker took his throat, lifting Dayn off his feet in triumph.

"I don't care what Raaluwos says about you," Moridos whispered. A zealous light shone in his eyes. "My brother's slayer belongs to me!"

Moridos squeezed. Dayn panicked, beating weakly at the monster's pale face. His efforts did little more than stir the vapor pouring from the voidwalker's skin. Dayn's hands brushed frantically against the armor, still showing cracks from the Seed's strange power.

Dayn focused all of his energy on clawing into that gap. His fingernails splintered, but found purchase. The armor began to peel away. Moridos grimaced, and put both hands on Dayn's neck. His vision dimming, Dayn grabbed tightly, pulling with his last remaining strength.

The voidwalker screamed, his harsh voice echoing down the corridor. He dropped Dayn, who still held a piece of armor wide as a plate. Vapor poured from the green, bloody wound. Moridos clutched his chest, staggering back.

Dayn hopped up with new purpose and grabbed his pack. Hope sprang to life as he backed slowly away from Moridos, toward the distant light. _If he wants me that bad, he'll chase me outside. The Prevailers can finish him, they have to be out there!_

The world lurched on his next step. He tumbled down a metal chute, with no handholds to stop his slide.

"No!" Somewhere above him, he heard Moridos, but a massive rumbling sound drowned out the voidwalker's shout.

"Clusterthorn!" Dayn slipped out into a huge vertical shaft. The space looked to stretch the height of the entire tower. Hundreds of spans below him lay the blades of a massive fan. Each a hundred feet wide, the metal blades whirled fast enough to cut him in two. He plummeted straight for them.

Dayn dug for his wingline. One good throw was all he needed. Plenty of ledges stood within reach of his talon. He twisted his torso, giving his back to the spinning blades below.

Moridos spilled out of the chute above, chest shattered and bleeding. The voidwalker fell after him. His eyes blazed with rage as he watched Dayn's toss.

The talon struck true, latching onto another of the shaft's crawlspace openings in a shower of sparks. Dayn's wingline pulled taut. He swung sharply to one side, and smashed into the wall of the shaft. His ribs quaked with the impact, but he managed to cling to the edge of a rusted panel, though the metal sliced into his fingers.

The voidwalker flipped himself in the air like a cat. His hand reached out for a metal ledge just in time to catch himself, howling in pain. The voidwalker began to pull himself up and into another crawlspace.

Dayn eyed the wingline above him. His talon clutched near another vent, but he did not climb for it. He let go of his handhold and pushed off the wall. The wingline held him as he swung back across the shaft to where the wounded voidwalker was pulling himself up.

His boots smashed into the voidwalker's carapace right at the ribs. Pieces of shattered armor flew everywhere, and Moridos lost his grip. The voidwalker swept downward, screaming. Dayn held on to his wingline and looked in time to see Moridos hit the spinning fan below.

"Shardian!" The entire tower shuddered. The fan continued spinning, but sparks flared as Moridos continued to descend, striking more blades beyond the first. The tower pounded the voidwalker's armor relentlessly, grinding him to gibbets. Moridos screamed and screamed. Dayn averted his eyes. When the voidwalker's deathscream finally rushed over him, he could not help but mutter peace's prayer over the monster. It was a horrible way to die.

He began to climb his wingline, exhausted. A clatter of boots jerked his eyes up. Nassir appeared, clutch held at the ready. "Shardian! Peace be praised. I felt the scream and thought the worst."

The Defender pulled him up. "He said you were dead," Dayn rasped. "I believed him."

"No, the bondleader fled the tower. There are Prevailers everywhere outside." Nassir examined Dayn closely, then clapped him on the shoulder. "The evidence of a slain voidwalker in the bowels of their own tower, and the Seed still to show. When the worlds learn of this, they will finally be forced to accept the truth. One way or another, Shardian, you've completed your task."

The Defender's words finally penetrated Dayn's exhausted thoughts. He _means it. I can go home._ "We did everything, didn't we? Everything the Lord Ascendant asked."

"Everything and more. No reason to stand around talking. Let's leave this place. There's still the Consuls to consider." Nassir led him back into the tower. "After this, the Regents will no doubt join them. Your deeds will be on every tongue in Montollos by week's end. Dayn Ro'Halan, Seedbearer. The Binder of Worlds, the Beltbound will call you. The Regents are fond of naming things."

"I'm sure you'll be around to remind me that I'm just a farmer." Dayn allowed himself a small smile. The fear of being chased, of Moridos's vengeance...all of it was finally gone. More than anything, he just wanted to rest.

Nassir glanced back at him, a touch of warmth in his eyes. "We're nearly to the other side of the tower."

Dayn felt like weeks had passed since he first staggered out of the Rain Shoppe. He was filthy, his once-fine Aran clothes caked in dust.

"I'm surprised it isn't crawling with Prevailers by now."

Nassir snorted. "The Regents do not watch over all of Montollos equally."

Up ahead Dayn spied red lights, flickering dully. "The way out," he exhaled in relief. "I can see it up ahead."

He walked full on into the Defender's back. _Why did he stop, we're..._ Squinting, Dayn suddenly understood. Those were red eyes glowing, blinking in the dark. A flash of amber near the ground confirmed his fears. The fleshweep!

The Defender drew his sword and rushed into the dark, angling to Dayn's left. The eyes blazed red, as they swung to follow him, leaving streaks across Dayn's vision. He heard a voidwalker snarl right before a crash of metal on cold stone.

"Run, Shardian!" Dayn found himself moving, willing his legs toward the sounds of struggle. "The entrance is behind the weep!"

Dayn veered away from the red eyes as they whipped back and forth, holding his hands straight out before him so he did not kiss a wall running at full speed. The fleshweep roared, a terrifying sound like cartilage being rent from the bone. It stood to his back now. He heard metal crash again. The Defender shouted in triumph.

A cool surface embraced Dayn's fingertips. He followed the wall away from the fight. Indistinct gray in the distance led him away from the darkened room. The outline of a door revealed itself, and he ran for it, ashamed of his own fear.

Finally his hand felt an edge, a handle that must be part of the larger portal. _Almost out!_ The voidwalker shouted behind him in what sounded like frustration―Nassir was getting the best of him. _We're going to make it, we are_ ―

Something slammed into Dayn from behind and sent him sprawling. He blinked dully as his eyes strained to adjust to the Montollos sky, nearing twilight. A huge hole stood in place of the tower portal, and steel-banded chunks of stone lay all around him, strewn about like a child's blocks.

A famed Montollene sunset painted the sky in beautiful reds and golds. The distant towers looked like half submerged reeds in some fiery lake. But the beauty was lost on Dayn, for all he could see was the horrible amber glow of another weep's underbelly.

The voidwalker perched on the creature's back wore dark armor from head to heel, including a black helmet that looked like a worn scarab shell. The fleshweep's wide head boasted six eyes, and bony protrusions that could have been teeth poking from its purple skin. Two smaller appendages with dripping hooks at their ends moved incessantly, like an insect's antennae.

The voidwalker's thrall rushed over Dayn so powerfully that all he could think of was escape. He scrambled back mindlessly.

Nassir's warning came too late. "Dayn, stop! The one behind you!"

Horrible heat and light enveloped him in a rush. Foul juices slicked over his clothes, and pressed his pack tightly against his body. Dayn felt a horrible pain in his knees and shoulders, as if starving wolves were fighting over his limbs.

He held his breath, pounding with all his might on the translucent surface before him. His eyes burned so fiercely he was forced to squeeze them shut. A vile, amber liquid crept steadily past his pinched fingers, grown too weak to squeeze his nostrils shut any longer. The liquid pushed down his throat until his spasms ceased. Dayn lay still, trapped in the belly of the fleshweep.

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# About the Author

If imagination was a mutant power, DaVaun Sanders could have enrolled at 1407 Graymalkin Lane. Instead, he went the safe route and earned a Bachelor's degree from Washington University in St. Louis in 2002. He eventually acquiesced to the student loan gods and took up architecture in Phoenix. Yet his passion for the field faded as he spent more free time writing and performing spoken word poetry.

The Seedbearing Prince began as a dream vivid enough to play like a movie trailer. Deciding to write the debut novel took some time, as it wasn't part of "The Plan," but the housing market collapse forced DaVaun's small design firm under in 2008. He decided to plunge into writing full-time, and is loving every minute of it. When the keyboard cramps his fingers, DaVaun gets lost in the great outdoors of Arizona or hits up open mic spots in the Valley.

If you enjoyed Part I, please leave your honest review on Amazon and let him know!

Dayn's story concludes in **The Seedbearing Prince: Part II!** Download now: <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/357775>

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# Acknowledgements

I owe thanks to so many for the completion of this first novel. Here are a precious few. My muse and my light, Tamika Lamb. Sharla and Ian White, for your endless support. Tremaine Jasper and Isham Bennett for the opportunities you both provided. Tynesha White, for your enthusiasm and encouragement. Jaan-Paul Van Eeden, my godsend of a cover artist. Susan Sernau, my brilliant editor who always finds a way to squeeze a little more awesome out of the story. Also Neil Wade, Teesha Borum, Ikram Abdulmajeed, Jonathan and Jessica Standifird, Jordan Sanders, Nikita Ortiz, Aaron Villano and Anthony Haskins. You are appreciated more than you know!
