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

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