Dragon's Kin (13 page)

“Your drumming was good tonight,” Master Zist said, changing the subject. “I will start you on learning drum sequences, and you can start training some of the other youngsters—”

“I’m as old as Zenor!”

Master Zist raised a cautioning finger to his lips. “As I was saying, some of the other youngsters who are too impetuous and could use the exercise to burn off some of their excess energy.”

Kindan accepted this new assignment with a shrug. “What happened with the trader?”

Master Zist smiled. “I thought I did rather well, there. I asked her about the state of the trail up here, and when she told me how muddy it was, I suggested that she could do with a delay of a few days to let the roads dry out more.”

His eyes twinkled. “Naturally, she caught on immediately that we wanted the delay for some reason and we commenced to bargaining.”

As Master Zist explained, Trader Tarri tried to negotiate a lower price for their coal, but Master Zist countered by pointing out the risks of losing a fully loaded coal-dray on the slippery trail back down to Crom Hold. That would not be good for the trader’s profits at all. He pointed out that it also would not do for the trail to Camp Natalon to get a reputation as dangerously slippery. So Master Zist offered that the camp would pay half their food and board for an additional day. Tarri demanded that the miners send out parties to spread gravel on the worst parts of the trail, saying that it would benefit the miners more than the traders. Master Zist countered with an offer of enough gravel to spread over the difficult parts but the traders would have to do it themselves.

“She said, ‘Done.’ And that was that.” Master Zist sat back in his chair looking quite pleased with himself. “And how did you get on with settling in the new apprentices?”

Kindan explained where he’d found lodgings for all the new apprentices.

“I suspect you’re right about Tarik’s reaction to housing four,” Master Zist said when Kindan had finished.

Kindan snorted derisively. Master Zist raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

“Did you hear what Tarik’s men are saying about Natalon?” Kindan asked.

“No,” Master Zist began slowly. “My apprentice has not yet seen fit to tell me.”

Kindan felt himself flushing.

“Sorry,” he said and proceeded to repeat everything he could remember of the conversations he’d heard at the evening’s Gather. At the end he looked up at the Harper and asked, “Why is it that Natalon puts up with Tarik? And why does Tarik seem to hate his own nephew so?”

Master Zist sighed. “I was hoping maybe you could tell me,” he said ruefully.

“And watch-whers,” Kindan said, adding them to the list as an afterthought. He wrinkled his brow.

“And why didn’t that apprentice come to the Camp?”

“That maybe I can answer,” Master Zist said. “I happened to work my way around to that very question with Trader Tarri.”

Kindan was all ears.

“From what I gather,” Zist continued, “and she was very circumspect about it all, it seems that the apprentice in question decided that his Master’s wrath was less troubling than life in this Camp.”

“The only thing
I
fear more than my Master’s wrath is death,” Kindan said with an apologetic look at the Harper.

Master Zist laughed. “Yes, and that was exactly Trader Tarri’s observation.”

“So you think the apprentice was afraid of dying in the mine?”

“Or losing his watch-wher,” Master Zist remarked. “I doubt the bonds between watch-wher and wherhandler are as strong as that between dragon and rider, but the loss must be pretty hard regardless.”

“It is,” Kindan said with feeling. “I was not bound to Dask and it still hurts.”

Master Zist reached out and squeezed Kindan’s shoulder gently. “I know, lad. You’ve been through a lot. Better days are ahead.”

“The other miners were complaining that we need watch-whers in the mines,” Kindan said. “But Panit said that only lazy miners need watch-whers.” He shook his head, sadly. “Panit’s one of Tarik’s men, but Dask still saved him.”

“Well, we’ve the new apprentices now,” Master Zist reflected. “Let’s see how things work when they’re in the mines, eh?”

Kindan nodded blearily.

“And now to bed with you, lad,” Master Zist said. “It’s way too late and you’ve been up late two nights running. You sleep in tomorrow.”

The first trader caravan marked more than the end of the winter thaw. Sevenday after sevenday caravans rolled in at all hours of the day, loading up with coal and heading back out again to Crom Hold, or farther to Telgar, where the Smithcraft made the steel that rimmed the wheels of the drays, formed the bodies of the pot-bellied stoves and ovens that Milla so loved, was turned into plowshares, dragon’s tack, and countless other things that could only be made from steel.

Natalon had decided that with the new apprentices he could start a third shift. He set them to building a second mine entrance, farther down the mountainside, closer to his hold. While Tarik and his cronies grumbled about work with no reward, the rest of the miners were relieved to know that there would now be more than just the one entrance to the mine.

Natalon promoted his old friend, Toldur, to lead the new shift. Zenor tried desperately to get himself assigned to the new shift, in the hope of “finally getting
into
the mines” and was bitterly disappointed when Regellan was chosen instead.

“Look at it this way,” Kindan said, trying to cheer up his friend. “With Natalon you get on just at dawn and off just at dusk—the babies are all asleep by then. Regellan gets off his shift tired, only to be woken by your littlest one every morning.”

Zenor glowered but said nothing more. Kindan couldn’t think of anything to say that might cheer up his old friend. Later, he realized sadly that he didn’t have all that much to say to Zenor anymore. Zenor was rarely in class with the Harper, never on the watch-heights, and always tired from his long days in the mine.

Kindan was always dealing with the younger ones, setting the watch for the watch-heights, learning drum lore and messaging, and rarely found himself with a night to himself. Not sharing the same experiences, they found they had little in common these days.

On the other hand, Kindan found himself talking a lot with Nuella. Master Zist had allowed her to join in their music-making occasionally, and the three of them had spent many happy hours making music or listening while one of them played a solo. Privately, Master Zist told Kindan that Nuella’s voice was “passable,” but that didn’t stop any of them from enjoying her efforts.

Kindan also found himself enjoying the evenings when it was just he and Master Zist. Early on, they had found that their voices complemented each other’s marvelously. The Harper delighted in finding and composing new duets for them.

As spring gave way to summer and summer faded into fall, Kindan felt happier than he could ever remember.

CHAPTER VI

Cromcoal, Cromcoal, burning bright
Warm the cold of winter’s night.
Cromcoal, Cromcoal, underground
Where the best of all coal’s found.

For all the dangers of the mines, it was true that Natalon had found a rich vein of coal. Rumor had it that the MasterMiner himself had spoken favorably of it. Still, it would take more than favorable words for Camp Natalon to become Mine Natalon, a mine permanently listed on the Crom Hold master list—with Natalon as its leader.

Accidents in the mines continued to plague their efforts. “Without a watch-wher, we haven’t a chance of knowing where the ground’s good or not,” miners grumbled in Natalon’s hearing.

Natalon did not need to hear the grumbling—he knew it himself. Regardless of his uncle Tarik’s sour opinion, Camp Natalon needed another watch-wher. He’d said as much to the MasterMiner, who had listened appreciatively and had told him that he’d ask the Lord Holder to put their name on the list. But Natalon knew how long that list was, and their Camp was the last on it.

Strangely, it was Master Zist who brought him the news. Or rather, it was the harper drums and Kindan.

The boy had been practicing with the message drums and all the drum rolls for many days. Zist had put him in charge of training the group of lads that Natalon had elected to be the Camp’s drummers, so it was natural that Kindan was up on the heights when the message came in. It was an odd message, and while he could transcribe it, he didn’t understand it.

He brought it down to Master Zist, who had just finished with the first years.
Aleesa will trade,
the message read.

Zist read the message, gave Kindan an undecipherable look, and then said to himself, “Well, I suppose I’ll have to show this to Natalon.”

Kindan found himself tagging along behind the old Harper. Zist turned back once, waggled his white eyebrows at the youngster, and continued on his way.

Natalon was at the mine entrance, talking in a low voice with the shaft foreman. He looked up at their approach, frowning slightly as he recognized Kindan.

“It concerns him,” Zist said, answering Natalon’s look and handing him the note.

“Hmmph,” Natalon grunted, taking the note and glancing at it. “So, she’ll trade, will she? Doesn’t like the cold, I’ll bet.” He eyed the cloudy sky. “And it’ll be a very cold winter, that’s no doubt.”

“You realize that she can only trade you the chance,” Zist said, his eyes traveling from Natalon to Kindan. “The rest is up to the lad.”

“Yes, I understand,” Natalon replied. He looked sharply at Kindan. “They say blood tells. You’ll have a chance to prove it now.”

Master Zist nodded agreeably and laid a hand on Kindan, guiding him away from the miner.

“Blood tells?” Kindan repeated.

Master Zist nodded. “You’d better hope so, youngster. Natalon’s betting a winter’s supply of coal on you.”

“Master Zist!” Natalon shouted down the hill to them.

The Harper looked back and waved to show that he had heard.

“Light the beacon and show the flag for a dragonrider,” Natalon yelled.

The Harper waved his arms in acknowledgment.

Kindan’s eyes bulged wide. “We’re going to send for a dragon?”

“That’d be a first for you, wouldn’t it?” Zist asked, his face breaking into a wide grin. “We’ll have to ask for a ride—Aleesa’s hold is too far away and we’ll need swift transport.”

“A dragon! Do you think it’ll be a bronze or a blue or—” Kindan was overwhelmed with anticipation.

“We’ll be glad of whichever we get. And you’ll be doubly so.” Master Zist glanced back up the hill as they reached the clearing. “I only hope that Natalon’s as good a bargainer as he is a miner.”

That night, when he and the Master were seated for their dinner, Kindan raised the issue that he had kept in the back of his mind the whole day. “What is up to me, Master Zist? And who is Master Aleesa?”

Master Zist’s eyes glinted under his white eyebrows as his mouth curved up in a smile. “You have learned to keep things to yourself, I see.”

“You’ve taught me that there are times to listen and times to talk,” Kindan agreed.

The Harper’s smile faded. “This is a time to listen, then.

“You’ve heard how badly the Camp needs another watch-wher,” he continued. “After that wherhandler apprentice declined his assignment here, Natalon figured—rightly, I believe—that we would not get another anytime soon.”

“Is Master Aleesa the Master of wherhandlers?” Kindan asked, wondering why he hadn’t heard anything about this from his fathers or brothers.

“No more than there is a Master of fire-lizards or a Master of dragons,” the Harper responded. Kindan raised an eyebrow, mimicking Master Zist’s own questioning expression. “Master Aleesa is the wherhandler of a queen watch-wher. Her ‘Master’ is an honorary title. Natalon’s trading for an egg.”

“Blood tells . . .”
Kindan eyes grew wide as he comprehended Natalon’s meaning.

“You want me to raise a watch-wher?” he asked in a shocked whisper. He struggled not to blurt out, “But I want to be a Harper!”

Master Zist faced him gravely across the table. “Natalon thinks—and I have to agree—that unless we can get a watch-wher soon, the mine will fail.”

Kindan took a deep breath, clenched his mouth tightly shut, and lowered his eyes from the MasterHarper’s. Slowly, he found himself nodding in agreement.

The beacon was lit and the flag flew for two whole days before there was any sign of an answer. At last a dragon appeared in the sky, swooped around the flagpole, dipped over the beacon, and then blinked out of existence—going
between
, to somewhere else.

Kindan, whose duties had been stretched to include manning the beacon fire, saw the dragon and waved excitedly at it as it performed its antics and disappeared. His tale was the talk of the camp with the youngsters. Zist listened appreciatively and gently guided him to crafting a better tale, so that by the end of a sevenday, Kindan’s story took a full fifteen minutes to tell and left all eyes peering up to the sky, hoping for a glimpse of their own.

When not guiding Kindan in his storytelling, Master Zist was consoling Natalon, who was growing desperate for a dragonrider.

“What is taking them so long?” Natalon moaned. “How long can Aleesa wait?”

Zist shook his head. “I don’t know. Fort Weyr would have dispatched a dragonrider on the same day, even if the watch rider couldn’t land.”

“Where would a dragon land here?” Natalon asked, eyes darting around the camp. “Is that the problem? Is there no suitable landing?”

“Dragons aren’t so big that they couldn’t land here, Natalon,” the old Harper reassured him. “Only the bronzes or queens would have problems, and then they’d probably land up on the heights near the beacon.”

“Would the dragonriders walk all the way down from there?” Natalon asked, somewhat astonished at the notion of a dragonrider walking the half mile that he made all the camp youngsters take at a run.

“I don’t see why not,” Zist responded with a grin. “They do have feet.”

Natalon glowered at him, but the old Harper was unrepentant and kept grinning until finally Natalon smiled. “I suppose they do at that.”

Zist slapped the Miner on the shoulder. “They do.”

“What if they don’t come soon? What if it’s too late?”

With a sigh, Zist answered, “When you get to my age, Natalon, you learn to take things as they come.”

Natalon laughed. “When I get to be your age, Master Zist, I’m sure I’ll be able.”

That night Kindan noticed that Master Zist was unusually dour when it came time for bed. Kindan himself had been in equal parts both depressed and elated for the last two days—sometimes depressed because a dragon hadn’t yet come, sometimes elated because a dragon hadn’t come; sometimes elated that he had been chosen, and a whole year of coal traded, to get a watch-wher egg, sometimes depressed for the same reason.

“A lot’s being asked of you, lad, you know that, don’t you?” Zist said to him.

“Yes.”

“Your father taught you about watch-whers, right?” Zist asked.

Kindan shook his head mutely.

“You know how to hatch ’em, how to feed them, and how to rear them, right?”

Again Kindan shook his head. “My father used to say that I’d never be expected to do such things. I was too little to train, the older boys said.”

Master Zist closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, he smiled. “Well, you’re a bright lad, I’m sure you’ll find yourself able.”

“I won’t let down my Hold—er, Camp,” Kindan said, despite his fears.

Master Zist pulled the blankets farther up and tucked them around Kindan. “I’m sure you won’t, lad,” he said firmly. Kindan noticed that the Harper had a troubled look in his eyes, something others likely wouldn’t have seen.

“Is something wrong?”

Master Zist raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’ve gotten far too good at reading my moods, youngster,” he said. He took a breath and let it out with a sigh. “There is a problem, maybe only a slight problem, but it has me concerned.”

Kindan gave him an encouraging look.

“Maybe it’s just that I’ve mixed feelings about all this,” the Harper muttered to himself. He looked at Kindan and said, “You know if you do this, you’ll not be my apprentice much longer?”

Kindan nodded solemnly. The thought had been on his mind for the past several days. He was torn between his duty to the miners—Natalon and Zenor in particular—and his own dream of being a Harper. He had held the fancy that perhaps he could do both and hadn’t tried to examine the idea too closely because, in his heart, he knew the idea was unrealistic.

“Well . . .” The Harper took a breath and plunged on. “Our meeting with Master Aleesa is set for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Kindan sat bolt upright. “But what if a dragonrider doesn’t come? What if they won’t take us?”

Master Zist made soothing motions with his hands. “It may still turn out all right, even so,” he said.

“How?”

Master Zist frowned, thoughtfully. “This is a craft secret, understand?”

Kindan paused, then nodded solemnly.

“And not a harpercraft secret, a— I suppose you’d call it a dragoncraft secret,” the Harper explained. He continued, “You’ve proved you can keep your secrets, but this one especially you must not reveal.”

Master Zist took another breath and plunged into his tale. “Long ago, when I was a journeyman, I was posted to Benden Weyr,” he said. Kindan’s eyes widened in amazement. “I made many a good friend while I was there. And used all of the poor healing skills I’d ever had and learned more.”

He gave Kindan a frank look. “I was not all that good at healing—and still am not—so I was posted to copy their Records.”

He smiled at his memories of long ago. “There was a Hatching the first sevenday I was there,” he said.

Kindan couldn’t help but gasp at the thought. Master Zist grinned at him and nodded, confirming that the event was just as amazing as Kindan had imagined.

“Twenty-five eggs on the Hatching Ground,” the Harper continued. “And the last was slow to crack. Big, but slow to crack. The dragonriders said that it was probably a bronze and they were worried about it. The remaining Candidates were all gathered about it and I was high up in the viewing stands so I couldn’t see all that went on, but finally the crowd opened up and one lad—the first one to greet me when I arrived at the Weyr—Matal, Impressed the bronze.”

Kindan realized that he’d been holding his breath and let it out slowly, so as not to distract the Harper.

“I was so excited for my friend—M’tal, now—that I let out a loud cheer,” the Harper said, his face going red. “The sound must have echoed over by the hatchling, because it startled and caught its wing in its claws. Then it really started to get frantic and it seemed to take forever before M’tal and the others could calm it down. When they did, I could see that the dragon’s wing was terribly mangled.”

Kindan let out a gasp of shock and sympathy.

“It was all my fault,” Zist said bitterly.

“ ‘Get help!’ the Weyrleader shouted. I ran out as quickly as I could, hoping to find the Weyr healer only to run full tilt into someone coming the other way.

“I didn’t recognize him. He pulled me up. He had a sack of supplies. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he told me. ‘It wasn’t your fault. Do you want to help fix it?’

“ ‘Please,’ I said. He grabbed my arm and spun me around, back to the Hatching Ground. Together we approached the wounded dragon—Gaminth—and M’tal.

“He had me put numbweed on the gashes. He had all the supplies that were needed, some thick fabric on which to lay the torn wing, and fine needles to sew the torn pieces together. We were done in no time.

“ ‘He’ll be all right now,’ the man said. M’tal looked up and started to say his thanks but stopped, looking from the other man to me and back again, gasping.

“ ‘You!’ M’tal exclaimed. I didn’t understand at the time, thinking that he recognized the healer.

“ ‘And you,’ the man said with a smile. ‘I’ve got to be going.’ When I made to follow him, he held up a hand to stop me. ‘I can find my way out, thank you.’ And he left.