Энн Маккефри - Dragon’s Kin

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.

For all the dangers of the mines, it was true that Natalon had found a rich vein of coal. Rumor had it that the Master-Miner 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 Tank’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 eyebrows 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.

When not guiding Kindan in his storytelling, Master Zist was consoling Natalon, who was growing desperate for a dragonrider.

“What is taking them so long?” Natalon moaned. “How long can Aleesa wait?”

Zist shook his head. “I don’t know. Fort Weyr would have dispatched a dragonrider on the same day, even if the watch rider couldn’t land.”

“Where would a dragon land here?” Natalon asked, eyes darting around the camp. “Is that the problem? Is there no suitable landing?”