The Seedbearing Prince: Part I Read Online Free Page A

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