With a frown, the dragonrider turned his attention to Zist. “When I got your summons, I had expected to find you at the Harper Hall. I was sorry to hear of your loss.”
“Thank you,” Master Zist replied gravely. With a flick of his hand, he changed the subject. “Thank you for coming here. I was hoping to ask a favor of you.”
M’tal’s eyebrows creased in curiosity. “This—” He stopped with an inquiring wave around the campsite.
“Camp,” Zist supplied helpfully.
M’tal nodded. “This Camp looks to Telgar, does it not?” He looked at Kindan.
“It does, my Lord,” Kindan said.
“Weyrleader D’gan did not consider our request a good use of his resources,” Master Zist explained.
M’tal lips thinned as he considered Master Zist’s response. “Ah, and what was your request?”
“Miner Natalon requested transport for himself, me, and Kindan here to meet with Aleesa the WherMaster,” Zist replied.
“Kindan?” M’tal repeated, surprised.
“Miner Natalon has promised a winter’s supply of coal to the WherMaster if she will give Kindan the chance of a watch-wher’s egg,” Zist said. Seeing the dragonrider’s interested look, he added, “Kindan’s father was the camp’s previous wherhandler.”
“I see,” M’tal replied. “And when is this meeting to take place?”
Master Zist’s reply was an angry mutter. “Yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Natalon repeated in astonishment later in the morning, banging his fists down hard on the table in the camp’s main dining hall. “Yesterday? I’ve pledged a whole winter’s supply to someone for a deal that ended yesterday?”
M’tal had lifted his mug of klah from the table at Natalon’s first word, but Kindan and Master Zist were not as prescient—klah spilled from their mugs onto their tunics and ran to the floor below. At a wave from Master Zist, Kindan rushed off and found a couple of rags with which to wipe up the spill.
“There are certain Harper songs—” Master Zist began, only to splutter to a stop at the sight of Miner Natalon’s face.
“My miners say they won’t work if we can’t get a watch-wher for them,” Natalon said in dejected tones. “We’ve had two more near-disasters in the mines. Tunnel snakes have raided our stores. And I’ve promised a winter’s supply of coal for—”
“For a chance at a watch-wher,” M’tal broke in. “And you shall have that chance.”
“How?” Natalon asked in disbelief.
“There are some old Harper songs,” Master Zist began again. Kindan’s eyes danced, remembering their conversation several nights back.
“Which I hope will be quietly retired,” M’tal said with a pointed glance at the old Harper.
Master Zist bowed his head. “I am sure, Weyrleader M’tal, that my old head is already having quite a hard time remembering them.”
“Good,” M’tal replied with a twinkle in his eye. “I shall return at noon, so that your lad can have some time to rest.”
“I’m not tired, my Lord,” Kindan lied stoutly.
Minutes after lying down in a shuttered room, Kindan was fast asleep. He awoke to the sound of voices talking softly outside his room.
“They’re not really like dragons, you know,” M’tal was saying.
“So I gathered,” Zist replied. “But they’re not like fire-lizards either. There’s not much lore about them, aside from a simple song or two.”
“Perhaps you could learn more from Master Aleesa,” M’tal suggested.
Zist snorted. “I’m sure I could, if Natalon would let me.”
“I can’t see why he’d stop a Harper.”
“Aye, he probably wouldn’t,” Zist agreed. “But he’d be mighty curious—probably too curious—as to why I have to ask Master Aleesa when I’m supposed to have an expert sleeping in the room next door.”
“The boy?” M’tal’s voice was full of surprise.
“His father was the last wherhandler here,” Master Zist reminded him. “Natalon’s desperate, and he’s convinced himself that Danil taught Kindan everything about watch-whers. Says that Danil let the boy wash the watch-wher, and on the basis of that, he decided that Kindan must be special.”
M’tal snorted. “Well, oiling a dragon is a big part of my job, so I could see that a wherhandler would spend a lot of his time washing his watch-wher—which might explain your miner’s confusion.” He shook his head as he caught Master Zist’s somber expression.
“He’d be far too young to Impress a dragon, you know,” the Weyrleader said soberly. “If the watch-whers are more like dragons or even like fire-lizards, I doubt he’ll attach one.”
Zist sighed. “He must. If he doesn’t, then Camp Natalon will fail and he’ll be blamed.”
“That’s an awful lot for one youngster to handle,” M’tal noted.
“Well, he’s got broad shoulders,” Zist said. “They might bear the load.”
To himself, Kindan swore that he would bear the load.
CHAPTER VII
Watch-wher, watch-wher in the mine,
Help save life, yours and mine,
Guide us in the darkest night,
With your keen unfailing sight.
“Between only lasts as long as it takes to cough three times,”
M’tal told the others as he helped them up onto bronze Gaminth’s back.
“Cough three times?” Natalon repeated. He coughed experimentally three times. “Like that?”
Kindan was glad to hear the Miner ask the question; he had been too afraid to ask it himself.
“Just like that,” M’tal reassured him.
“It won’t take any longer this time?” Master Zist asked with a strange look in his eyes.
M’tal shook his head warily. “No, not longer. We’ll be there in time.”
“I don’t see how,” Natalon said sourly.
“Oh,” M’tal replied airily, grinning at Master Zist, “dragons are faster than you think.”
When they were all settled on Gaminth’s neck, M’tal made one last check of his passengers and called out to his dragon, “Let’s fly, Gaminth.”
The great bronze jumped into the air, swooped down toward the Camp, and with one beat of his wings soared high.
The dragon slowly flew higher. Master Zist knew that Gaminth was capable of much quicker ascents—in their youth, M’tal had been proud to illustrate his dragon’s capabilities to those who were properly appreciative—so he guessed that the bronze rider was making this slow climb only to avoid upsetting his more nervous passengers. A quick glance assured him that Kindan, who was wide-eyed with an ear-to-ear grin, would never be considered a nervous passenger. Natalon, however, was quite pale.
M’tal turned back to them again. “We’re ready to go between. Are you ready?”
“I still don’t see how we can get there in time, my Lord,” Natalon said, with only the slightest hint of nervousness.
M’tal grinned at him. “Trust me, we’ll be on time,” he answered. “You might find the effects a bit more draining than you’d think, but that’s the price of the journey, as it were.”
Natalon swallowed hard and nodded uncertainly.
M’tal took this for acceptance. “Good,” he said. He turned to Zist and Kindan. “All ready?” When they nodded, he instructed them, “Take three deep breaths and hold the third one. Ready? One . . . two . . . three . . .”
And suddenly it was all darkness around them. Kindan felt a thrill of terror and excitement as he realized he could feel nothing but the press of the men before and behind him and the neck of the dragon beneath him.
M’tal’s words came back to him: Between only lasts as long as it takes to cough three times. Kindan started coughing. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He started to get worried.
We are almost there, a soundless voice said to him. Kindan was so surprised that he didn’t react at all.
And then there was light. Or rather, lights. It was dark outside, as
compared to the midday sun they’d left. Kindan could see a few twinkles spiraling toward them and realized with a start that they must be gliding steeply down to the ground. Unable to contain himself, he let out a whoop of pure joy. They had arrived—the day before they’d left.
“That’s the spirit!” Master Zist shouted back over his shoulder.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Natalon moaned, his eyes squeezed firmly shut.
“Do you understand what you’re to do?” Aleesa asked Kindan.
“I think so,” Kindan replied. His body felt tired and stretched—he wondered if that was from going back in time or because he was so nervous—but he was too excited to tell anyone.
Aleesa raised an eyebrow. “Thinking won’t do, little one.”
The WherMaster was much taller than Kindan. She was a lithe, slender person who spoke little. Kindan could tell by Natalon’s manner that the miner was also awed by the WherMaster.
Kindan took a deep, calming breath. “I’m to bow to the queen and make my way toward the clutch. If she lets me, I’m to choose an egg and take it, bowing again and walking backward.”
“She’d better let you,” Natalon added in a hard voice. “There’s a winter’s coal gone either way.”
Kindan gulped.
“Don’t dawdle,” Master Zist warned him.
“When you go in the cave,” Master Aleesa said, pointing to a crevice in the side of the cliff, “bear right.”
The crevice was wide enough for a watch-wher, and tall enough for Kindan—but just barely. It was also, Kindan discovered as he followed the way up and down, left and right, awfully twisty, like a tunnel snake’s wiggle.
Kindan was amazed that Master Aleesa, who looked as if she had joint-ail, could possibly manage and then realized that she would have many to help her do her daily wher-caring. Still, as he entered the dark space, he knew her standards must be high because the place smelled very clean. He cleared his throat and murmured the soft chirps that his father had always used when entering Dask’s lair.
Behind him he heard a surprised remark from Aleesa. “Well, at least the lad knows what to say to her.”
Eyes opened up ahead of him, and in that light and the pale glow of light that filtered through from the crawlway, he could see the watch-wher, but not her eggs. Aleesa had said there were twelve, and he must make his own plea to the queen. She had refused two prospective handlers already. Kindan increased the intensity of his chirping, trying to sound kindly, as well as eager. He had to prove to Natalon that he was worth a whole winter’s fuel coal—and some left over to keep the hatchling warm until its second, tougher coat came in. Remembering that, Kindan felt more confident. He knew more than he thought he did. Maybe blood would tell. Which reminded him of something else he had to do.
When he was close enough to the queen, he held out his right hand. There was not much of a scar left from where his father had slit his thumb pad to blood him to old Dask. He altered his sound to a reassuring tongue trill and showed her his palm. She ran her tongue over it. It was a nice, dry tongue. Sometimes Dask’s had been slimy and not at all something you wanted licking you. He increased his trill to what he thought was a glad “Thank you.”
She responded with a click of her own, and Kindan knew that he had performed an appropriate greeting. What should he do now? “May I please have one of your eggs?” His father had never had to ask such a thing, so he didn’t know if there was a sound that was appropriate. He responded with a quizzical brr. He had been teased by his siblings because he could roll his r’s and l’s better than they did.
Although their family had done well by housing the mine’s watch-wher, none of his brothers had aspired to their father’s calling.
Well, he could be a sort of hero for the Camp, if he did get a watch-wher egg.
The men had been talking in fits and starts while they coasted a-dragonback down to the cliffside where Master Aleesa’s hold was, reinforcing how important it was to rear a healthy specimen and maybe even breed a few themselves, if this new one met the Master’s standards. Dask had been chosen to sire two clutches in his youth. Maybe that had been part of Aleesa’s willingness to give Danil’s family a chance, Kindan thought. He increased the intensity of his trill, making more complex noises, sinking into them his earnest entreaty. The watch-wher had opened her eyes wide at him now. Unable to control himself, Kindan yawned—he was still tired from all the recent early-morning rising.
“Excuse me,” he said, deathly afraid that he had insulted her. “I’m tired. We went back in time to get here and—well, I’m afraid.”
He bowed to her and formed the image in his mind of Gaminth and their journey back in time from tomorrow.
The queen gave a surprised chirp, and Kindan got the impression that she’d picked up the image from his mind. Her eyes intent on him, she twitched aside her wing. He gasped in astonishment at the pile of dimly glowing eggshells.
“Oh, how beautiful they are!” he exclaimed, leaning toward her hidden treasure and only recalling at the last moment that the queen would not permit just anyone to touch her eggs. He grabbed his hands back.
They were certainly not dragon eggs—at least according to all the Teaching Ballads Kindan had learned—being half the size and sort of rumpled, as if the layers of shell had been badly applied and the skin had wrinkled in forming. In fact, one egg had a distinct ring on one end, raised above the rest of the shell, like a necklace. But he had never seen anything like them. “How amazing they are!”
He almost fell into the eggs when she gave her wing a sudden flap and folded it against her backbone. Her spine did not have prominent ridges, as a dragon’s would, so they’d be more comfortable to sit on. If one ever did. His father had ridden Dask, on some evenings when the air was heavier and easier for the watch-wher to fly in. Usually watch-whers didn’t make the effort, especially with a rider, but Kindan had seen it happen.
Then he brought his mind back to the present and the realization that she had dropped her defensive posture. He made an interrogatory noise, and with a grace he hadn’t expected she made a small gesture with her wing tip, from him to the eggs.
“I should choose?” he asked. Ever so carefully he extended his hand to her again.
She licked him, her tongue rasping his skin, before she inclined her head to him and then to her eggs.
“Oh kind one, oh gracious watch-wher,” he said, trilling with his tongue when he finished speaking. He couldn’t believe his luck.
“Shall I come rescue you?” Master Aleesa called.
“She’s let me see her clutch,” he called back over his shoulder.
“Then she means you to have one, young Kindan. Pick it, make your farewells of her, and leave. There are others here who want to try their luck.”
Kindan shook his head in surprise, breathless with his success. Only which one should he pick? The children’s selection chant popped into his head. Well, why not? Pointing his finger at each egg with each syllable, he chanted, “Eeny, meeny, tipsy teeny, ah vu bumberini. Isha gosha bumberosha, nineteen hundred and two. I pick you.” His finger was pointing at the one with the odd ring.
He bundled it into his arms. It was heavier than he’d thought, and warm, but then the sands under him were warm as well. The shell felt hard enough that he could clasp it as tightly as he needed to and do no harm, which was fortunate, as he found it very awkward to clamber around on one hand and lurch forward. He turned back briefly and gave the loud trilled tongue sound of gratitude.
“Is the boy hurt?” someone outside asked.
“No, sir,” Kindan said, ducking under the screen above the entrance to the lair. “Just happy.”
Hands came under his arms and whooshed him out and onto his feet.
“All right, it’s your turn, Losfir,” Aleesa said, motioning for a short chunky man to enter the watch-wher’s lair. She grinned at Kindan, her eyes twinkling with an expression of surprised approval. “Got the ringed one, I see. Good choice.
”
“Why? Why is it a good choice?” Natalon demanded.
“Just is,” Aleesa said. “Knew how to talk to her, didn’t you?” Grinning, she cocked her head at the lair from which only the sounds of scrambling could be heard. Then she chuckled. “That one hasn’t a clue.” She gave Kindan’s right hand a look. “At least you knew how to talk and what to show for her favor.”
“What? What?” Natalon demanded, irritated by all these cryptic remarks.
“Your lad here can explain at his leisure. Here come the others. You see that I get a delivery of that fine coal of yours by the next trader through Crom, or you’ll never hear the last of it, Natalon. Away with you. You bore me.”
Somehow Kindan knew not to take Aleesa’s comment personally and helped stow the egg in the fleece-lined bag they had brought to protect it on the journey back to Crom.
“How long before it’ll hatch?” he asked her, deciding that was a perfectly legitimate question.
She put a hand on the top of the egg in its bag. “Hmmmm. I’d say within the next sevenday. Possibly sooner. I’ll have my drummer warn you if I hear others are hatching.” She gave the egg a final proprietary caress.
“One more detail,” Kindan said, as she began to turn away from them.
“Yes?” she replied, half-turning back to him. Her expression suggested he should not have to ask her details.
“My father raised Dask before I was born, so I just don’t know what he ate right after he hatched.”
He had phrased his query correctly.
“We’ve been experimenting, actually, on the best post-hatching meal. Watch-whers are not as insatiable as dragons, but they will gulp meat down and sometimes choke, as you know.” She pinned Kindan with a fierce glare, and he nodded as if he knew exactly what she meant. “D’you have oats?”
Kindan nodded, glancing over at Natalon to be sure he was also listening to Aleesa.
“Then arrange to get fresh blood from whoever butchers at the camp. Make a porridge of the oats, using water, and add the blood as the oats thicken in the pot. I’d say a half-pail a day would be sufficient. If you keep the blood cool, a pailful should last over a day or two, no trouble. Most Camps or Holds slaughter every other day. Feed it as often as it wants, and some of the liver and lungs that might go to waste otherwise. Don’t start meat hunks until three months, when it has enough back teeth to chew with. You can continue the porridge feeds in the morning until the hatchling starts to coat out.”
Dragon's Kin Page 14
