Dragon's Kin

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Not from what I heard,” Nuella whispered back. Kindan blushed at the thought of her hearing what he’d said—not so much for the words but for his ham-fisted way of saying them.

  Chagrined, he turned back to the crowd. People were growing restless, waiting for a new song. Instead of reaching for the drum, Kindan opened his mouth and sang the first song to come to his mind. It was “The Morning Dragon Song.”

  Partway through the first verse, a haunting counterpoint joined in. It was Nuella on the pipes. Kindan nearly stopped singing, he was so surprised by the beauty of her melody. Instead, he raised his voice slightly and let her weave her pipes through the song.

  As the last words faded away, Nuella’s piping chirped a last response and faded, into a silence that Kindan hadn’t heard all evening long. Then there was a thunderous applause. Kindan was thrilled to see Master Zist on his feet clapping as loudly as the others. Even more astonishing was Nuella’s voice in his ear: “Can we do another?”

  In the end, they did six more duets before the night was over. Zenor even managed, with Kindan’s connivance, to sneak a dance with Nuella.

  “She’ll follow your lead,” Kindan told him. When Zenor looked balky about dancing, Kindan said, “It’s either her or one of your sisters, you know that.”

  Nuella was radiant as Kindan handed her down from the table into Zenor’s arms. Kindan suppressed a smile as he saw Nuella school her expression before Zenor could see it. With matched let’s-humor-Kindan looks they took their places on the floor.

  Master Zist joined Kindan on the musician’s table with his fiddle for a rollicking song that challenged the dancers to keep up. Kindan smiled as he watched Nuella and Zenor navigate their way through the song—with the occasional squeak over a squashed toe.

  “They’re too young to match, and you’re too young to be matchmaker,” Master Zist whispered in Kindan’s ear when the song was over.

  “They’re friends,” Kindan replied. “And at a Gather the only thing they can do together is dance.”

  When Nuella returned to the table, she was tired but exhilarated.

  Master Zist waved Kindan off with a meaningful look. “You take a break, lad. This young one and I will see what a fiddle and a pipe can do.”

  Kindan nodded back and walked over to the banquet table. There were none of Milla’s dainties left and scant else to eat, but there was good clear water, mulled wine, and klah for the taking. Kindan’s stomach grumbled as he wolfed down a few vegetables, but he really wanted the water more and it was a while before his thirst was slaked enough to let him wander the room.

  He was pleased at all the praise he got from trader and miner alike for his singing. However, he knew that Master Zist was expecting him to do more than bask in praise, so he made himself small and wandered toward the knots of people he’d noticed from the musician’s table.

  “So the watch-wher didn’t come?” Kindan heard a voice say. “What of it? Can’t recall much good ever coming from one.” The voice belonged to Panit, one of Tarik’s men.

  The other men in the crowd weren’t so sure, it seemed. Several wondered why the apprentice with the watch-wher had decided not to come. Kindan heard an undertone of worry in their voices.

  “Been too many cave-ins,” one voice grumbled.

  “Lazy people, that’s what it is,” Panit replied. “They get lazy, thinking a watch-wher will save them. They get careless. We’re better off without ’em.” There was a pause. “But it bothers me that Natalon’s so keen on having one.”

  Kindan snuck away, troubled. He knew that watch-whers were important. Shards! Wasn’t it Panit himself whom Dask had pulled out of the mines? If people were bothered about working without a watch-wher, why not get more? And why would Panit want people to think Natalon was lazy? If they thought the head miner was lazy, would they want to stick at working the mine? Or would they leave like that unnamed apprentice and his watch-wher?

  After the Gather, when Kindan and Master Zist had trundled back to their cothold, the Harper called Kindan into the study to talk.

  “You and Nuella did a remarkable job on ‘The Morning Dragon Song,’ ” Master Zist said.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’d like to work with you on some other vocal pieces,” Master Zist continued. “I think we should try a duet.”

  “What about Nuella?” Kindan asked.

  Master Zist shook his head sadly. “When the traders leave, she’ll have to ‘leave’ with them.”

  “But you teach her, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Master Zist allowed, “and I am very careful in how I schedule her lessons.”

  “I don’t understand why Natalon wants to keep her a secret,” Kindan said, his face reflecting all the injustice he felt.

  Master Zist shook his head. “I cannot tell you why—that is Natalon’s secret.”

  “Nuella told me. It seems like a bad secret,” Kindan replied.

  “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 eyebro
ws 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.