Dragon's Fire

by Anne McCaffrey

  The youngster stood by the grave for a long while in silent communion. Just as Pellar decided that he had no choice but to find an alternate way to the cliff, Cristov stepped back, turned, and moved off quickly—toward the cliff.

  Pellar followed him easily, both relieved at not having to lose time sneaking around Cristov and intrigued by the boy’s motives. Was it possible that Cristov had been suborned by his father to finish Tenim’s task?

  Cristov started climbing, following the same route Pellar had taken the other night.

  Climbing the cliff was more effort than Pellar remembered. His shoulders and stomach were still sore from his fall, but worse was the torment in his throat as he gulped down the air needed for his exertions. He tried his best to be quiet, but it wasn’t good enough.

  Suddenly he noticed a pair of eyes staring down at him from the cliff above.

  “Who are you?”

  For an instant Pellar considered fleeing back down the cliff and eluding Cristov in the forest—he knew he had more woodcraft than the boy—but before he could put his plan into action, Chitter appeared and started scolding Pellar and Cristov with equal intensity.

  “Is he yours?” Cristov asked, his voice full of amazement and yearning.

  Pellar nodded. Chitter caught his eye and looked back and forth rapidly between him and Cristov. Pellar knew that the fire-lizard was trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t decide what.

  “Did you block the hold chimney?” Cristov asked, his voice cold with outrage.

  Pellar shook his head firmly. Cristov peered at him and reached forward to touch his neck.

  “Someone tried to choke you,” the blond boy declared, his fingers brushing Pellar’s throat gently. He gave Pellar another intense look. “Did you try to stop someone from blocking the chimney?”

  Pellar nodded.

  “And they tried to choke you?” Cristov asked rhetorically. “And now you can’t talk?”

  Pellar nodded and then shook his head to answer both questions. Cristov looked confused.

  Pellar reached to his side, then paused, looking questioningly at Cristov who, in his turn, looked confused. Pellar held up both his hands to show that he had nothing in them and then flattened one hand and poised the other over it in an imitation of writing.

  “You want to write something?” Cristov asked. “I’ve got nothing to write with—oh! You do.”

  Pellar nodded, smiling, and reached for his slate. He was bigger than the boy and older by at least two Turns, but if Cristov grew afraid or alarmed, his shouts could easily bring the entire mining camp out, and Pellar didn’t even want to think about what might happen then.

  “It’s dark, I don’t know if I’ll be able to read,” Cristov began, only to stop when he saw that Pellar had a slate and stick of white chalk. “Maybe if you write big, then.”

  Pellar wrote carefully, “Name Pellar.”

  “I’m Cristov,” the other replied, holding out his hand. Pellar pocketed his chalk and let go of his slate which dropped around his neck, held in place by the ever-present string, and solemnly shook Cristov’s hand. Cristov pursed his lips for a moment, then asked, “You aren’t Shunned, are you?”

  Pellar shook his head emphatically, reached again for his slate and chalk, and wrote, “Shunned blocked chimney.”

  “And you stopped them?” Cristov asked, his eyes brilliant with awe.

  Pellar shook his head and held up a finger.

  “There was only one of them?”

  Pellar nodded.

  “What about your voice? Will it come back?” Cristov blurted, obviously overwhelmed with curiosity.

  Pellar shook his head.

  “Oh,” Cristov said, crestfallen. “Does it bother you that you can’t talk?”

  Pellar shrugged, then waggled a hand in a so-so gesture. Then he smiled at Cristov and tapped his ear meaningfully.

  “You listen more?” Cristov guessed. Pellar nodded. “I’ll bet you do. And so that’s why you were here? To listen?” Pellar nodded, surprised at how quickly Cristov had guessed. “For the Shunned, right?”

  Pellar’s nod merely confirmed Cristov’s suspicions.

  “So you’re listening for the Shunned,” Cristov murmured to himself thoughtfully. “Do you work for Master Zist?”

  Pellar’s startled look was answer enough for Cristov. Pellar grabbed his slate and hastily wrote, “Secret!”

  “From whom?”

  “Everyone,” Pellar wrote back.

  “Why?”

  “Shunned,” Pellar wrote back. He pointed to his throat, rubbed his slate clear, and wrote, “Hurt people.”

  “If they found out, they might hurt more people?” Cristov asked, trying to guess at Pellar’s meaning. Just as Pellar started to shake his head, Cristov shook his own head, dismissing the thought. “No, that doesn’t make sense.”

  Pellar waved a hand to get the boy’s attention and wrote, “Watch now. Think later.”

  Cristov gave him a sheepish grin. “You’re right,” he said, extending a hand to Pellar to help him up the cliff.

  Shortly they were in the same position Pellar had seen Tenim occupy the previous night. Pellar leaned forward and painfully craned his still-sore neck over to peer down into the valley below.

  Light from the great room of the stone hold outlined the far corner at the east and dimly lit the western corner, but the nearest corner was barely distinguishable. After a while, Cristov said, “I think I can see the chimney.”

  Pellar followed the boy’s outstretched arm and peered carefully into the night. It took him a moment to make out the shape of the chimney.

  Cristov looked around where they were sitting and picked up a fist-sized rock. Pellar turned at his motion and grabbed Cristov’s hand, shaking his head.

  “He threw rocks, right?” Cristov asked, dropping the rock from his hand. Pellar nodded. “They pulled one of the chimney bricks out of the chimney. If Kindan hadn’t come by—” Cristov’s voice broke. “—they’d all be dead.”

  Pellar grimaced in agreement.

  “And the baby wouldn’t have been born,” Cristov added quietly. He was silent for a longer moment. When he spoke again, it was in a slow, uncertain tone. “If they had died, my father would have been the head miner.”

  For the barest instant, Pellar froze. Then he felt Cristov’s eyes on him and he shrugged carelessly, gesturing for the boy to sit down and doing the same himself, sitting on his butt, his knees raised and legs splayed to provide extra stability. Cristov’s gaze intensified, so Pellar wiped his slate clean and wrote a response. To read the slate, Cristov sat down beside him.

  “I watch,” he wrote.

  “So we’re safe?” Cristov guessed, then added, “As long as no one attacks you.”

  Pellar gave him a pained look as he nodded in agreement.

  “What would the Shunned want here?”

  “Coal,” Pellar wrote.

  “But we’d notice, we’d know it when someone stole coal from the dump,” Cristov protested. “And they wouldn’t try to sneak into the mine.”

  Pellar nodded in agreement. Chitter, who had flown out over the cliff for his own inspection, flew back and perched on one of Pellar’s knees.

  “Could I touch him?” Cristov asked shyly. Pellar glanced at Chitter. The fire-lizard inclined his head toward Cristov and then stretched out his neck in invitation. Pellar indicated his agreement with a beckoning wave of his hand.

  Slowly Cristov brought up his hand and gently touched the side of Chitter’s head. The fire-lizard rubbed his head against Cristov’s outstretched fingers enthusiastically.

  “He’s beautiful,” Cristov said. “A regular dragon in miniature, not at all like a watch-wher.” He glanced up at Pellar. “My father had a fire-lizard egg once, but the fire-lizard went between when it hatched. My father says that Danil’s watch-wher, Dask, frightened it.”

  Pellar gave Cristov a dubious look and the boy shrugged.

  “My father says that fi
re-lizards would be far more useful in the mines than watch-whers,” Cristov said. “He says that he’s going to get another egg soon and he’ll let me keep it.” His voice fell uneasily. “But he says that I’ll have to keep it a secret.”

  He looked down at Chitter, stroking his head firmly. “I don’t think I’d like that.”

  They sat in silence for a while, and then Cristov stood up.

  “I think I’d better get back,” he said. “Will you keep watch?”

  Pellar nodded.

  “I’ll keep your secret,” Cristov promised as he strode off.

  Master Zist was extremely annoyed with Pellar’s disobedience, even after he read Pellar’s painstakingly detailed account of his meeting with Cristov.

  “You can’t imagine how I felt,” Zist scolded him fiercely when Pellar returned the next morning, well after dawn. “I didn’t know where you’d got to, or whether you’d gone on your own free will, and even Chitter wasn’t here to send after you.”

  “Had to keep watch,” Pellar wrote in his defense. It was a feeble defense and he knew it.

  So did Zist, who snorted angrily. “What sort of watch did you keep? You were caught and then, later, you fell asleep.”

  Pellar nodded miserably.

  “If you can’t do as you’re told, and you won’t rest when you need it, then I shall have to send you back to the Harper Hall,” Zist said.

  “Can’t make me,” Pellar wrote defiantly, his eyes flashing angrily as he shoved his slate under Zist’s nose.

  Zist bit back an angry response and let out his breath in a long, steadying sigh.

  “Well, at least we now know what the Shunned are trading for coal,” he said, forcing himself to change the topic.

  Pellar gave him a quizzical look.

  “Fire-lizard eggs,” Zist told him. He looked fondly at Chitter. “I should have thought of it myself. Any holder or crafter would exchange top marks for a chance at a fire-lizard.”

  Pellar nodded in agreement, one hand idly stroking Chitter’s cheek. The fire-lizard luxuriated in the attention, preening his head against Pellar’s fingers.

  “I wonder if that’s how they got to Moran,” Zist said to himself thoughtfully.

  Pellar shook his head and wrote, “Tenim has bird.”

  Zist looked at him thoughtfully. “You think that Tenim wouldn’t have a bird if Moran had a fire-lizard?”

  Pellar nodded.

  “And a hunting bird at that,” Zist said. “I suppose—they wouldn’t need a bird if they had a fire-lizard. So Moran wasn’t offered a fire-lizard. Although perhaps he was, and Tenim couldn’t Impress a fire-lizard. From your description, the bird seems a better match for his personality.”

  Pellar nodded, his expression bitter.

  “And now we know at least one reason Tarik has to hate watch-whers,” Zist said. Pellar gave him an inquiring look, so Zist explained, “He blames the watch-whers for the loss of the fire-lizard.”

  Pellar frowned and held up two fingers. He wrote, “Watch-whers awake at night.”

  Zist grunted in agreement to Pellar’s correction, then his expression changed. “Maybe we should find a watch-wher.”

  “Where?” Pellar wrote, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

  Zist pursed his lips thoughtfully for several moments and then he looked Pellar square in the eyes.

  “I think it’s time for you to disappear,” Zist replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief. It took Pellar only a moment to guess his master’s thinking. Pellar grinned.

  Pellar returned to Crom Hold with the trader caravan, his passage arranged by Master Zist and secured by his agreement to use Chitter as a messenger in case of emergency—and his willingness to help spread gravel to shore up the roadway.

  Trader Tarri ordered the caravan to set out slowly, with the domicile caravans in the rear, which not only made good sense but made it easier for Pellar to creep on board the last one, which happened to be Trader Tarri’s.

  “Put these on,” she said as soon as she saw him scramble aboard. “And join in the work the next time we stop.”

  Pellar nodded mutely and waited until the trader had left before donning the loose-fitting tunic and trousers she’d tossed him.

  He found his brawn called upon almost immediately, when the caravan stopped at the next bend.

  Tarri had arranged that the foremost dray be filled with gravel and discarded rock from the miners’ diggings. She ordered the larger stones to be laid down first and packed with the backs of the shovels, then covered by a thinner layer of the light gravel be shoveled out to cover it.

  After half an hour, Tarri was satisfied and sent the first dray carefully over the repaired road.

  From that point on, Pellar found himself at the forefront of the workcrews, patching and filling the road as the caravan made its slow, cautious way back downhill to Crom Hold.

  When they stopped for the night it was all he could do to find the rearmost wagon and crawl in.

  “No, you don’t!” Tarri barked at him when she saw his muddy boots. “There’s food to eat first.”

  She led him back to the communal fire and made sure that he, and everyone else, ate before she did. None of the traders spared a glance in his direction, acting as though he didn’t exist.

  The next morning, with the sky still gray, Pellar woke to the sound of someone moving beside him and the smell of fresh hot klah.

  “Brought you something to break your fast with,” Tarri said, pushing a roll and a mug of klah into his hands. “I’ll be up front as soon as it’s light. You can stay here but listen for my call, or come if the caravan stops.”

  Pellar nodded.

  Tarri gave him a thoughtful look, then patted his arm. “You did good work yesterday.”

  Pellar nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment, for he knew that was the best he could hope for from the gruff trader.

  “With luck, we’ll see Crom Hold before this evening,” Tarri added. Pellar looked surprised and the trader laughed. “The journey’s faster going downhill than up.”

  She turned to leave, then turned back again. “What are you going for, anyway?”

  Pellar searched for a place to put his mug. Noticing, Tarri took it from him. He nodded gratefully, stuffed his roll in his mouth, and pulled out his slate. He wrote, “Secret.”

  Tarri laughed. “And don’t you think I can keep secrets? Nor Master Zist? If so, why’d he ask me to take you?”

  Pellar reddened and shrugged apologetically. Tarri laughed again and waved off his embarrassment. “We traders know a fair bit about trading. It seems like Zist has sent you to find something,” she said. She wagged a finger at him. “Finding things is also something we traders are good at.”

  Pellar pursed his lips in thought for a long time before he wrote, “Watch-wher egg.”

  “Oh!” Tarri nodded. “That makes sense, given the way the last apprentice with a watch-wher scarpered when he heard he was coming to Camp Natalon.” She gave Pellar a shrewd look. “But a watch-wher egg would be no good unless there was someone there to Impress it.”

  Pellar nodded but wrote nothing in reply. Tarri gave him another appraising look and laughed. “If you won’t talk, you won’t talk.”

  Pellar started to write a protest, but she laughingly waved him back to stillness.

  “You know what I mean,” she said. “But I’ll do you a favor, little though it is. The only one who could get you a watch-wher egg is Aleesa, the Whermaster. She’s got a gold watch-wher she sometimes breeds.”

  “Where?” Pellar wrote.

  Tarri shrugged. “I don’t know.” She tapped her temple. “There’s not much call to trade for watch-wher eggs, so it’s not something I keep in here. Maybe you can find out more at Crom Hold.”

  The Whermaster, Aleesa, was so hard to locate that for the first month Pellar doubted her existence. It took him another two months to track her down.

  His journeying had hardened him in ways he would not have imagined befor
ehand; when he boldly made his way into the small camp that was reputed to be Aleesa’s demesne, he was rake thin but whip tough.

  He had traveled with the traders when he could, and the Shunned when he had no other choice. His fire-lizard made him a welcome guest among traders and Shunned alike, who considered the fire-lizard’s Impression a character reference. The small groups of traders or Shunned were particularly grateful, seeing the fire-lizard as a source of communications in an emergency.

  Over time, his nervousness with the Shunned had faded. He discovered that they were very much like the traders, with one vital difference: The traders were aloof of Hold and Crafthall from choice, the Shunned by decree.

  Still, with the Shunned Pellar found himself called upon more often to prove himself, either by providing for the communal pot, prescribing for the sick, or, more often than he liked, proving his strength.

  His fights were always with those near his own age who looked upon him as an easy challenge and a good way to improve their standing in the community. After painfully losing his first several encounters, Pellar got quite adept at seeking quick solutions and less concerned about any bruises he gave his assailants.

  Even though food was not plentiful and he was expected to share, Pellar thrived, filling out and growing tall. So tall, in fact, that as time progressed he found himself challenged by older, taller lads, many Turns older than his own thirteen.

  Upon taking his leave of Trader Tarri at Crom Hold, Pellar found passage on one of the barges heading downstream from Crom Hold, continuing his search for Master Aleesa. He worked the passage, helping pole the barge when necessary and tying it up at night. The family who owned the boat didn’t trust him and made him sleep on deck, although by the end of the sevenday journey, they had grown so fond of him and his fire-lizard that they pressed a well-worn half-mark on him.

  A bad piece of advice sent Pellar eastward, to Greenfields, and then on to Campbell’s Field, a journey that took over a month.

  It was only at the small hold in Campbell’s Field that Pellar heard that Aleesa had set up a hold of sorts somewhere around Nabol Hold. That was all the way back west of where he was. He sent word to Master Zist, returned to Crom Hold, and took passage once more on a barge downriver. This time he left at Keogh, a minor hold at the bend of the Crom River.