Free The Seedbearing Prince: Part I by DaVaun Sanders

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