Тодд Маккефри: Dragonheart

“Kindan!”

Before he could even react to the sound of his name, the speaker pummeled into him, clutching him tightly about the waist and trying her best to squeeze the breath out of him. Brilliant sea-blue eyes looked out from behind a lock of rebellious honey-blond hair as the youngster turned her head and called back accusingly to the well-dressed Lord Holder behind her, “You didn’t tell me he’d be here!”

Bemin of Fort Hold smiled indulgently at his daughter. “There are such things as surprises, Fiona,” he said with a wink.

“Oh, Kindan, it’s so good to see you!” Fiona exclaimed, burying her face once more in Kindan’s chest.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Kindan replied. He held out a hand to Fort Hold ’s Lord Holder. The older man, face lined with age and sad memories, took it in his own and gripped it tightly.

“Good to see you again, lad,” Bemin said. He looked up the stairs. “I think we’d better get up there or the dragons will all have hatched.”

Fiona turned toward the steps, firmly locking her arms around Kindan’s elbow. “Harper Kindan,” she said, sounding every inch a Lord Holder’s daughter, “would you do me the honor of escorting me?”

“It would be my pleasure, Lady Fiona,” Kindan replied with equal aplomb. A bronze fire-lizard darted down from the heights, alighted for a moment on Kindan’s shoulder, chirped happily to him, then rose again in the air.

Lord Bemin chuckled. “I see that Valla followed you.”

“I can’t keep him away from a Hatching,” Kindan confessed. He craned his neck up and scanned the swarm of fire-lizards overhead. “Where are Jokester and Fire?”

“We left them behind,” Bemin said. “I doubt either of them is as well-trained as yours.”

“Well, they’ve barely two Turns out of the shell,” Kindan allowed. “Give them time.”

“Like all youngsters, they are impetuous and brash,” Bemin agreed with a twinkle in his eyes. “Why, you would not believe where I found my daughter — ”

“Father!” Fiona protested, a warm blush highlighting her freckles. Bemin laughed.

“Chasing tunnel snakes again?” Kindan asked her in a voice pitched for her ears alone.

He was not successful, as Bemin snorted, saying, “I cannot teach her any decorum at all!” He continued, “She was hours in the bath and I’m sure there’s still dirt on her.”

Kindan felt Fiona grab him tighter and heard her groan, but when he glanced down he saw the smile in her eyes.

“He’s sounding much happier,” he said quietly.

“He deserves it,” Fiona replied.

Kindan nodded in agreement. Lord Holder Bemin had kept his Hold together twelve Turns before when the Plague had struck and killed nearly one in four of his Holders, including his wife and all his children, save for the youngest, Fiona.

Kindan, sent from the Harper Hall to Fort Hold in disgrace after the fire, had helped Fort’s old Healer, Kilti, to do everything possible for the sick and dying. In the end, Kilti had succumbed to the Plague himself, leaving Kindan, at fourteen, in charge.

Fiona cocked her head at a change in the sound and then leapt up the steps, dragging Kindan along. “Come on, they’re hatching!”

Indeed they were. Kindan, Fiona, and Bemin found seats saved for them next to Lord Itaral and his family.

“Just some greens,” Ilyssa assured Fiona as she patted the empty seat she’d saved for her friend. Fiona relinquished her grip on Kindan with an apologetic look and happily took her place beside Ilyssa. The two leaned toward each other and began to speak in low voices.

The hot sands rapidly filled with white-robed candidates, flown in by Fort Weyr ’s bronze dragons. The rest of Fort’s dragons, perched high above, hummed in welcome, the sound growing louder as the eggs began to rock and crack.

Suddenly there was a hush as the first egg cracked open. A brown dragonet flopped out, awkward and creeling. A group of candidates darted anxiously around it — some moving toward it, some away. And then — one candidate reached out to the baby dragon and Impressed. The dragons hummed approvingly.

Another dragonet burst forth from its egg, and another, and another. From the stands, it seemed as though of tide of white-robed candidates flowed and ebbed around the blue, green, brown, and bronze dragonets until, finally, one white-robed figure stood protectively beside each dragonet as the miracle of Impression was repeated.

“Look there!” Fiona called, pointing toward one of the larger eggs. “Is that a queen?”

“It could be,” Kindan said. A great rent appeared in the shell, followed moments later by a golden head. “It is!”

The little queen made quick work of extricating herself from her egg while all around the bronzes crooned excitedly. Freed at last, the little gold queen walked around, looking from one candidate to another.

“What would happen if there wasn’t a suitable candidate?” Fiona muttered to Kindan, who shrugged in response. The girls were trying; one bold girl just barely dodged the dragonet’s awkward movements, pulled aside at the last moment by a shorter, younger, dark-haired girl.

Kentai had overheard the exchange. “There are Records,” he said, looking uncomfortable.

“Well, she’s coming this way,” Ilyssa noted with excitement.

“We’re near the exit to the Bowl,” Kentai remarked. “Maybe she’s looking for someone out there.”

She wasn’t. Still ignoring the girls clustered around her, even the bold dark-haired one that Fiona would have thought she’d like, the dragonet lurched over to the visitor stands. She looked up into the stands and creeled desperately. Kindan and Bemin exchanged alarmed looks as the little gold gazed toward Fiona. Fiona’s eyes grew wide with shock and she glanced worriedly at Lord Bemin. Bemin seemed to wilt in despair — Fiona was his last surviving child — but he recovered and nodded weakly.

“What’s her name?” he asked his daughter, gesturing to the gold below and forcing his lips into a smile.

The dragonet creeled again piteously and Fiona turned back to her, her face glowing in pure joy as she declared, “She says her name is Talenth!”

Kindan picked out K’lior and Cisca climbing down the stairs toward them. It was obvious from the look on her face that Cisca had taken in the full import of the event. She would handle things from here. Kindan, who, after all, was beholden to Benden not Fort Weyr , turned away for a last look at the now empty Hatching Grounds.

For a moment, a very brief moment, before the egg had proved to be a gold, Kindan had imagined what might have happened if he had Impressed. A chirp from above distracted him as his fire-lizard, Valla, swooped down from his perch above, pleased with himself for locating Kindan and thrilled to have seen the Hatching.

Kindan shook himself from his reverie. He had been a miner, had bonded with a watch-wher, the dragons’ kin, and now he was a harper who had Impressed a fire-lizard. The Red Star was approaching, bringing the deadly Threads, and everything would change when the dragons began the fifty-Turn battle to save Pern from extinction. Vaguely Kindan wondered if he would live to see the end of the Pass and the return of the less trying times he had been born into.

The beating of a drum, the call to dinner, and a personal plea from Kentai for help in entertaining the revelers spurred Kindan up and out of the Hatching Grounds. At the entrance, he turned back once more, unable to contain his longing.

Kindan couldn’t remember who waved him toward the sleeping quarters or quite how he got himself into bed. The evening had been a raucous celebration at which he had sung much, danced much, and drank much — far more than his usual. He had no idea why he’d drunk so much, nor why he’d worked so hard that evening . . . until he woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.