Free The Seedbearing Prince: Part I by DaVaun Sanders Page A

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