“Don’t panic,” Koriana told him sternly. “Just stuff its face full of scraps and talk soothingly.”
“Tell him you love him,” Issak added, looking down fondly at the brown still sleeping serenely in the crook of his arm.
“What if it’s a green?” Bannor asked worriedly.
“Then tell her,” Semin answered with a disgusted look, adding snidely, “Though why you would want a green…”
Kindan glanced at Bannor, wondering if the younger holder was hoping for a green. Gold and green fire-lizards were female, just like gold and green dragons…or watch-whers.
“You can’t be certain from the size or color of the egg,” Kindan said suddenly. “Nor from past experience,” he added as he noticed both older lads looking at him expectantly. “I impressed a green watch-wher, and now I have a bronze fire-lizard.”
“Forsk is green,” Bannor said, glancing toward the kitchen entrance. “Forsk is bound to Father.”
Ah, so it wasn’t a question of preferences, Kindan thought to himself. Perhaps it was jealousy. Perhaps Bemin’s sons envied their father his bond with the watch-wher. Clearly from the number of his offspring, there was no question of Bemin’s virility. The knowledge that Fort’s Lord Holder was bonded to a green watch-wher eased some of Kindan’s unconscious worries about himself and his prior acquaintance with a watch-wher.
“It’s cracking!” Koriana shouted, raising one arm to point at the egg nearest Bannor. “Feed it, feed it!”
“You’d best feed yours,” Kindan told her calmly, noting that the noise had disturbed the queen.
“It’s a bronze!” Bannor exclaimed. “Oh, you great beauty, you!” He started to feed the creeling fire-lizard scraps from his hand. But before the fire-lizard had stepped more than twice from its shell, Kindan’s Valla had woken up and chirped questioningly.
Suddenly Koriss hissed loudly, her voice warbling in a horrible noise and the little newly hatched fire-lizard gave one terrified squawk and went between.
“She scared it!” Bannor cried, pointing a finger at the gold. “She scared it away!”
“No, she didn’t,” Koriana protested hotly, grasping the gold tightly in her hands. “She was scared and she cried out.”
“She scared it away,” Bannor persisted, his tone both bereaved and outraged. “And now I won’t have one.”
Semin’s egg cracked at that moment and Bannor turned toward it. “Let me have yours, Semin.”
Semin saw the look of longing in his younger brother’s eyes and was startled, caught between acquiescing and taking the fire-lizard himself. The hatchling squawked hungrily.
“Feed it,” Kindan urged.
But Koriss squawked again peremptorily before the little brown had even emerged from its shell and, with a horrified yelp, the little brown went between.
“Oh, no! Now look what you’ve done!” Bannor exclaimed angrily to his brother. “You should have given him to me, you oaf.” He turned toward Lady Sannora. “Mother, I want a fire-lizard.” He gestured toward Kindan and Issak. “Make them give me theirs.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Bannor,” Koriana told him heatedly. “And how dare you say such a thing? Call yourself a Holder’s son?”
“Mother!” Bannor complained, turning back to his mother.
“Koriana, really!” Lady Sannora cried, wringing her hands. “Your brother has had a trying time here, at least you could be sympathetic.”
But Koriana looked like the last thing she wanted to be was sympathetic.
Issak stirred and asked Kindan, “Have you ever heard of such an occurance before?”
“No,” Kindan replied, surprised that the journeyman would ask his opinion.
“Nor have I,” Issak said. He turned to Lady Sannora. “My lady, if it pleases you, we will report this sad affair to the Masterharper. Perhaps he has some suggestions that would help in the future.”
“Yes, yes,” Lady Sannora said hastily as she crossed toward the distraught Bannor. “That sounds like an excellent suggestion.”
“But I still don’t know what to do with my fire-lizard,” Koriana protested, glancing pleadingly at Kindan.
“For the time being, just feed her,” Kindan replied. “And oil any patchy skin, just like the watch-wher.”
“You’re the one who had a watch-wher?” Lady Sannora asked, turning suddenly back toward Kindan. “And you gave her to that blind girl who saved her father?”
“She’s not blind, not really,” Kindan said. “But that’s about the gist of it, yes, my lady.”
“You must have been very sad,” Koriana said, looking at Kindan with renewed interest.
“Or very stupid,” Bannor snapped, glancing sulkily at his mother.
“Perhaps both,” Kindan agreed, not letting the Holder’s middle child upset him. Koriana rewarded him with an impish grin, quickly hidden from her mother.
“My lady,” Issak prompted, “with your leave…”
“Oh, do!” Lady Sannora assented, waving her hand and turning her attention solely toward Bannor. “We’ll send a messenger if we need anything.”
“We could use the drums,” Semin suggested.
“We’ll send a messenger,” Lady Sannora repeated in a tone that brooked no argument.
Issak nodded, again not jostling his fire-lizard. “As you wish.”
And with that, he signaled Kindan and Vaxoram to follow him as he led the way out of the kitchen, through Fort’s Great Hall, and down toward the Harper Hall.
Kindan had much to think about on the journey.
Nothing was said until they were once more under the arches of the Harper Hall.
“You two go to your classes,” Issak instructed. “I’ll report to the Masterharper.”
“Valla is getting hungry,” Kindan said.
Issak nodded in understanding. “By all means feed him whenever he wants,” he responded. “We don’t need to perpetuate the tragedy of today.”
Kindan said nothing but Vaxoram snickered. Issak raised an eyebrow in inquiry of the older apprentice.
“It wasn’t us and you know it,” Vaxoram replied. “It’s that spoiled Bannor and his airs.” He glanced toward Kindan. “And don’t be too certain his sister is any better.”
Kindan bristled.
“It doesn’t matter,” Issak told him, holding out a placating hand. “You’re not a Lord Holder candidate, and Lord Bemin will trade his daughter to his advantage.”
“Trade?” Kindan repeated in outrage.
“She’ll go willingly, when the time comes,” Issak said to cool Kindan’s anger.
“It’s for the good of the Hold,” Vaxoram added, gloating over Kindan’s outburst. “You must understand, you’re a harper.”
“And harpers aren’t good enough?” Kindan demanded.
“Not for Lord Holders,” Issak agreed with a sad shake of his head. He said to Vaxoram, “Help him to understand.”
Vaxoram sighed and nodded, his gleeful mood subsiding. He gave Kindan a look that was almost sympathetic, then told Issak, “I’ll tell him while we feed his fire-lizard.”
Issak smiled and strode off, calling back with a finger pointed at the fire-lizard, “Don’t forget to show him off, as well!”
Guided by Vaxoram, Kindan and Valla entered the kitchen and found Selora bustling about, overseeing several drudges as they prepared the day’s meals.
“Kindan’s Impressed a bronze,” Vaxoram declared as they entered. “Just last night, a real beauty.”
Kindan was surprised at the pride in Vaxoram’s voice.
“He would,” Selora agreed heartily, peering down to the small figure nestled in Kindan’s crossed arms. The little fire-lizard yawned and looked up sleepily at Selora. “He’ll be hungry in a moment,” she declared, kicking a stool nearer to the hearth. “Sit down and I’ll get him some scraps.”
“A strange thing happened, Selora,” Vaxoram continued as Kindan sat down, too lost in concentration on Valla to speak, “Koriana’s little fire
-lizard—”
“Koriss,” Kindan interjected suddenly.
“—Koriss,” Vaxoram agreed with a playful smile, “frightened off the two hatchlings that came to her brothers.”
“Males, were they?” Selora asked, cocking her head shrewdly.
“Yes,” Kindan agreed, his eyes narrowing. “How did you know?”
“She frightened them away on purpose,” Selora said. “Didn’t want her siblings paired with her mistress’s siblings.”
“Why?” Kindan asked in confusion.
Selora started to reply but had a coughing fit instead. “You’ll find out in time, I’ve no doubt,” she said, a grin spreading across her face. She pushed more scraps toward Kindan. “Be sure to stuff him good, they don’t like being moved much in the first sevenday.”
Hastily Kindan complied, fearful of losing his beautiful fire-lizard.
“Did you know, Selora,” Vaxoram continued conversationally, “when the two fire-lizards were frightened away, Bannor demanded that Issak or Kindan give up theirs?”
“Oh, he would,” Selora declared, throwing up her hands in disgust. “Just like his father, that one.”
The next two sevendays passed in a blur for Kindan, who felt that he spent all his waking hours feeding or oiling Valla, despite all the help he had from Verilan, Kelsa, Nonala and, most of all, Vaxoram.
Somewhere in that time Vaxoram moved from being a brooding, vanquished opponent to being truly dedicated to Kindan. Kindan could never point to the exact moment nor quite understand why, but there it was.
“He’s changed,” Nonala remarked one evening. Kindan glanced at her and she corrected herself, speaking directly to Vaxoram, “You’ve changed.”
Vaxoram grunted in surprise, then nodded in agreement.
“But why, though?” Kelsa wondered later when she was alone with Kindan, helping him oil Valla’s patchy skin. “Why has he changed?”
Kindan thought for a moment. “Master Murenny said that Vaxoram had come to the Harper Hall with a great voice as a child. When it broke wrong, he couldn’t find any new talent to replace it. He came from a small hold, Master Murenny said.”
“So he was afraid,” Kelsa guessed, nodding sagely. “And now he’s got something to do, guarding you.”
“Maybe,” Kindan agreed. Kelsa cocked her head at him questioningly. “Maybe there’s more to it. Perhaps because the worst has happened to him, he’s realized that he has nothing to be scared of.”
“Maybe,” Kelsa replied, but she didn’t sound convinced. She changed the topic. “What about this girl?”
“What girl?” Kindan asked innocently.
“The holder girl who impressed the gold, Kindan,” Kelsa responded tetchily.
“Who told you about her?” Kindan demanded. “Vaxoram?”
Kelsa shook her head. “This is a harper hall, news travels, silly.”
“Does everyone know?”
“Yes, everyone,” Kelsa replied with a wave of her hand to include the whole Harper Hall. “So what about it? Are the rumors true?”
“I haven’t heard the rumors,” Kindan returned heatedly, “so I can’t say.”
“The rumors are that you and she were all sparks together, that her fire-lizard scared any other suitors away, that she pines for you every night, and that her evil mother and father won’t let her see you no matter what she says.”
Kindan rolled his eyes in disgust. “The trouble with rumors is that they’re mostly wrong,” he declared.
“Mostly?” Kelsa pounced. “What’s right about them, then?”
“Kelsa,” Kindan growled warningly.
“Oh, Kindan, come on,” she pleaded, making big eyes back at him and looking pitiful. “You can tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Kindan said. “It’s true that the other fire-lizards were frightened between and it may be that Koriss did it. Koriana was upset and her brother demanded that Issak or I give him our fire-lizards—”
“The brat!” Kelsa interjected.
“And I don’t think Lady Sannora likes me very much,” Kindan finished lamely.
“She doesn’t like harpers, you mean,” Kelsa corrected him.
Kindan glanced at her in surprise.
“Rumor has it,” Kelsa told him excitedly, “that she fell in love with a harper when she was younger but he spurned her.”
“Which harper?” Kindan demanded. He’d never heard such a rumor.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Kelsa asked him, shaking her head at his obtuseness. “Why do you think Lord Bemin never visits?”
Kindan thought about that for a moment. “Not…Master Murenny?”
Kelsa nodded approvingly. “Right the first time.” She patted his arm condescendingly. “You’ll make a harper yet.”
CHAPTER 5
Harper, treat your words with care
For they may cause joy or despair
Sing your songs of health and love
Of dragons flaming from above.
HARPER HALL,
AL 496.11
It seemed to Kindan at the start of his third year at the Harper Hall that everything went wrong. He blamed it on the food at first. If they hadn’t fed him so well, he wouldn’t have grown so quickly.
If he hadn’t grown so quickly he wouldn’t have been moving so awkwardly, nor, come to think of it, having to beg for new clothes so frequently. If he didn’t move so awkwardly he wouldn’t be knocking over everything in his path. If he hadn’t outgrown his clothes so quickly, he wouldn’t have found himself in oversized clothes—“with room to grow in, you’ll need that”—which exacerbated his awkwardness by making it hard to find the ends of things, like sleeves.
If there was an accident waiting to happen in the Harper Hall it only needed Kindan’s presence to complete it. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t see the latest stock of dyes as he blundered through the Archive room overladen with Records. Someone else, it was admitted later, shouldn’t have placed them there. But, miraculously, it was his fault that he tumbled over them, breaking the dyes all over the newer Records and rendering so many permanently illegible.
“You’re to work with the instrument maker, Kindan,” Master Resler said. He sighed as he retrieved and classified the last of the legible Records.
“Just because you’re now taller than me doesn’t mean I can’t handle you,” Caldazon grumbled in warning the moment Kindan presented himself to the small instrument maker.
“You duck your head and don’t knock any of the woods that are curing above you,” Caldazon continued, pointing to the various lumps of wood hanging down from the cavernous instrument maker’s room.
“Of course, Master,” Kindan replied, bobbing his head—and accidentally bumping it against a stout beam of wood when he straightened.
Caldazon wheezed a dry laugh. “Maybe the wood’ll knock some sense into you.”
Kindan certainly hoped so, particularly as the days went by. He worked with the other apprentices and made a passable drum, but he’d been making those Turns before he’d left Camp Natalon to become a harper. He had less luck with pipes—the spacing of his holes made them awkward to play.
“A waste of wood, that,” Caldazon grumbled, tossing Kindan’s first effort onto the scrapheap. “Luckily it’s bamboo; the stuff grows like crazy down Boll way.”
Kindan knew that until he could master the making of pipes, he’d never be allowed to use the precious wood required to make a guitar. Still, he showed a skill at sanding and polishing.
“Those big muscles of yours are good for something,” Caldazon opined, assigning all the sanding to Kindan. Kindan didn’t grumble—he knew better—but he went to bed with sore shoulders every night for two sevendays.
Even so, he was learning and he knew it. By sanding the work of others, Kindan started to get a feel for the wood and how to work it.
“You’re to help make glue and polish today,” Caldazon barked at him one morning not long after. As he made to leave, he added, “An
d be certain you don’t confuse the two.”
It was as though the Master’s words were a prophecy. The light in the room was not the best, even though Kindan had brought in extra glows, and—he could never figure it out—he somehow managed to mix the wrong ingredients into both mixtures.
“This is not glue!” Caldazon swore when he examined the bubbling pot after lunch. He turned to the pot that was supposed to contain finish and found that he couldn’t even lift the spoon. “And this! This has hardened! Whatever it is, it’s ruined now.”
He glared at Kindan, who hung his head.
“I guess I got muddled,” Kindan explained. “The light was—”
“It wasn’t the light,” Caldazon broke in. He pulled the first pot off the heat and gestured to the second pot. “You’ll clean this one out first, and mind you don’t damage the surface or the pot’ll be useless forever. When you’re done, you can find someplace to empty that”—he jerked his thumb to the other pot—“and clean it out as well.” With a final glare, Caldazon stalked off.
“Master?” Kindan called after him, not trusting himself alone with his disasters.
“I need to talk with Harper Murenny,” Caldazon replied grumpily. “And maybe take a nap.” He glanced again at Kindan and amended, “A long nap.”
“I could clean it,” Vaxoram offered quietly. Kindan was surprised to see him; he must have come straight from his last class and, Kindan guessed, had caught the last of Caldazon’s railings.
In the past ten months, the relationship between Vaxoram and Kindan had grown deeper, more complex, yet still no less perplexing to both of them. It was as though the older apprentice was sometimes Kindan’s older brother, other times his apprentice. Yet it worked, and Vaxoram was now an accepted member of the “outcasts,” as he had once named Kindan and his friends.
“No,” Kindan replied, shaking his head. “I made this mess, I should clean it up.”
Vaxoram nodded. Kindan hid a grin and turned to his messes.
Cleaning the failed glue out of its pot was easy and, to bolster his spirits, Kindan did that first. It was probably just as well because, try as he might, Kindan could not clean out the hardened polish without chipping Master Caldazon’s prized pot. In the end, just short of tears, Kindan returned the two pots to the instrument maker’s room only to find it empty; the Master was obviously still ensconced with the Masterharper.
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