Энн Маккефри - Dragon’s Kin

His legs protested as he negotiated the gentle slope, and by the time he reached the cottage, he was all ready to climb into bed. He pulled some blankets over himself and was asleep before he could turn over.

He awoke early the next morning, shivering with cold. He quickly discovered why—his brother Jakris was in the bed next to him and had pulled all the blankets over himself. Kindan briefly tried to pull his share of the blankets back before he blearily remembered that Silstra would be leaving that morning.

He heaved himself out of bed and put on a set of workday clothes before he made his way into the kitchen. The fire was out and the room was cold. Silstra was normally the first up in the morning and laid the fire and got some oatmeal simmering in a pot and klah brewing beside it.

Now, it would be someone else’s job. Rubbing his face to get the sleep out of it and some warmth into himself, Kindan decided that at least for this morning it would be him. He loaded the hearth with kindling and struck a fire. Soon he had the kitchen warm and breakfast cooking. The smell of klah filled the room.

“Morning,” Dakin, Kindan’s eldest brother, called as he strode into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of klah. “Ah, I’m glad you were up first,” he said, savoring the aroma of the klah while warming his hands around the cup.

“There’ll be a hard day’s work in the mines,” he continued conversationally. “I’m sure that Natalon will want to make up for all the time lost frolicking last night.”

“I wanted to say good-bye to Sis,” Kindan said.

Dakin shrugged, glancing out the window to judge the time. “Well, you’d best hurry, then. The traders like to be on the road early.”

Kindan started for the door, but Dakin called after him, “Wait up, Kindan. We’ll fill some of the covered cups with klah and bring them down to them.” His eyes lit as he added, “They might be a bit slow getting started this morning.”

Kindan wanted to run down to the caravan, but Dakin slowed him to a more sedate walk. “If they’re gone, Kindan, they’re gone. But if they’re not and we’ve spilt all the klah, we’ll get no welcome.”

The traders were just stirring as Kindan and Dakin entered their camp. Caravans were being packed up, and workbeasts rounded up and hitched into harnesses. Kindan looked around, wondering idly if he’d spot Nuella’s wagon. His look grew quizzical as he noticed that there were no children at the trader’s camp.

“Look, that must be theirs!” Dakin said, pointing to a wildly decorated caravan set off from the others.

Kindan trailed behind Dakin, his gaze everywhere as he took in the camp. Still he saw no signs of children.

“Hello the wagon!” Dakin shouted as they approached the wedding caravan. “We bring hot klah.”

Dakin grinned as he heard sounds of movement inside the wagon. Terregar’s head poked out from between the curtains.

“Hot klah?” he repeated wistfully.

“Well,” Dakin responded consideringly as he handed the mugs up, “maybe just warm. It was a long walk from our cottage.”

Terregar looked suspiciously at the first mug, but a slender hand reached out and snatched it from him before he could react.

“And a good morning to you, too, Sister,” Dakin boomed jovially. His smile widened as he heard Silstra’s answering groan.

Terregar shot him a reproving look, his free hand massaging his head. “Go easy, Dakin. You’ll be married too someday, and you’ll appreciate soft voices the morning after.”

Dakin shook his head, still smiling. “I’ll mine that seam when I find it. ’Til then, I’ll go on as I always do.”

Terregar shook his head ruefully but said nothing. Kindan tugged at Dakin’s sleeve.

“Would you tell our sister that some of her brothers—the ones who know there’ll be work today—have come to say our good-byes?” Dakin said to Terregar.

Terregar nodded and turned to listen to Silstra’s voice from inside the wagon. He nodded at what she said, then turned back to Dakin. “She’ll be out in a bit. First she’s got to finish her klah.”

“I don’t blame her,” Dakin replied judiciously. He spotted Trader Veran moving toward them with mugs in either hand. “Unless I miss my guess, your trader friends are starting out late this morning,” he said to Terregar.

Veran arrived in time to hear this comment and nodded his head slowly. “Aye, with a night like last, we’re not too quick to be on our way. I imagine that’s the same in the mines, isn’t it?”

Dakin pursed his lips consideringly and, finally, shook his head. “Hard to say. Miner Natalon has some fairly rigid ideas about a good day’s work. On the other hand, I expect he knows—firsthand—that the miners are feeling their late night a bit more than usual and he’s wary of anything that could cause an accident.”

Veran nodded. “And there’s nothing like a woolly head to cause accidents,” he agreed.

Kindan ventured a comment of his own. “Are your children all asleep, too?”

Veran laughed. “Ah, no! I expect they’re all up and about, back at Crom Hold.” He leaned down toward Kindan and added conspiratorially, “After a night like the last, they’d be so wound up they’d never settle—and their parents would never forgive them!”

Dakin joined Veran in his laughter. “Well, we would have left our youngsters in bed if we could have.”

Kindan glowered up at him, but Dakin merely tousled his hair in response. “We might have let one or two come to the party,” he said to placate his youngest brother.

“And here’s the lovely couple now,” Veran said, spying Terregar and Silstra stepping down from the caravan. He raised his voice to a shout, “Did you have a pleasant evening?” He chuckled when he saw Terregar wince. “A bit too much wine, eh?”

Terregar grinned and, grabbing Silstra’s hand, joined the rest of the group. Silstra broke free of his grip long enough to hug Dakin and Kindan.

“Old endings, new beginnings,” Jofri’s voice intoned cheerfully from behind them. Kindan turned to see that the Harper had all his gear wrapped in a bedroll, except his guitar, which was slung from his shoulder.

Dakin grinned and extended a hand to him and clasped him on the shoulder. “We’ll miss you, Harper.”

“I’m leaving you in good hands with Master Zist,” Jofri replied. He looked down at Kindan and added, “As this one can attest.”

Kindan was certain that he preferred Journeyman Jofri’s easygoing ways to Master Zist’s demanding discipline any day, regardless of the results.

His face must have shown it, for Jofri laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine with Master Zist. He was my vocal teacher, you know.”

“But you never sing,” Kindan protested.

Jofri laughed again. “And he’s the reason.” He shook his head, chuckling anew at Kindan’s reaction. “I’ve no voice for singing—you must know that even at your tender years. Master Zist helped me to see it, even before my voice broke when I teened.

“He’s got a gift to know how a voice will break,” the harper continued. “I’ve never seen him wrong with it. If he says fine tenor, then it’s a fine tenor you’ll be. If he says lousy baritone—well, then, he’ll help you find a different way to beat your own drum.”

He leaned forward to Kindan. “He’s been through hard times.” Kindan had the feeling that Jofri was entrusting him with a secret and his eyes grew large. “But he’s one of the best. You listen and learn, okay?

“You won’t get away with the tricks you played on me,” Jofri added. He winked. “Okay?”

Kindan nodded his head dubiously. Jofri straightened up, grinned again, and tousled Kindan’s hair. Kindan wondered to himself why everyone had chosen that day to tousle his hair. Perhaps it was because it was one of the rare days when it was obviously clean and they wanted to find out what it really felt like.