Энн Маккефри - Dragon’s Kin

Master Zist’s smile faded. “Yes, if that’s your choice.”

Kindan’s face screwed up in anguish. “I can’t let the others down,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll love being a wherhandler and I’ll get to stay with my friends.”

“There is that,” the Harper said. “If you became a Harper, you’d have to apprentice in the Harper Hall and there’s no telling where you’d be posted.” He nodded to himself. “You’re right to see the good in the situation.”

Kindan nodded glumly.

Kindan was awoken roughly the next morning. Zist was shaking him, a pitcher of cold water in his other hand.

“Up now, lad!” the Harper said gruffly. Kindan rushed out of bed, looking for his clothes. “No time for it, just throw this on.” Zist threw a cloak at him. “And get your boots on.”

Kindan worked as fast as he could but he was fumble-fingered in his excitement.

Master Zist growled at him, “All haste, too much waste! Take a breath and try again.”

As soon as he’d finished lacing up his boots, Master Zist rushed the two of them out of the cottage and up toward the beacon heights.

It was pitch black outside and Kindan only made it up the cliff without stumbling because he knew the trail well enough to walk it in his sleep.

Three figures greeted them at the top by the beacon. And one was huge. Kindan looked up and up and finally found the face of the dragon. It peered down at him as though he were a mere trundlebug, blew a breath out its nostrils that turned to steam in the cold morning, and then looked away.

“Here they are,” Natalon said. “This is Master Zist, lately of the Harper Hall, and Kindan, the son of our late wher-watcher.”

The man whom Natalon addressed yawned pointedly. “You set a beacon for this?”

Kindan sensed Master Zist tense angrily beside him.

“We had hoped that we could ask for the hospitality of transport,” Natalon replied. “We give fair tithe.”

“The beacon and dragon pennant are for emergencies, Miner,” the dragonrider responded, beckoning to his dragon and preparing to depart.

“Lord—?” Zist called urgently, stopping the irritated dragonrider in his tracks.

“I am Lord D’gan, Harper, lately Weyrleader of Telgar Wyer,” the dragonrider replied, drawing himself up to his full height.

“We are most honored, Lord D’gan,” Zist said, sketching a courtly bow. Hastily, Kindan copied him as best he could. “Camp Natalon is a prosperous Camp with good prospects, my Lord. We have found much coal here which is greatly in demand—”

“Not by dragons or their riders, Harper,” D’gan interjected. “If you were mining firestone, it would be a different matter. I care little if Holders are a bit cold this winter.”

“We are mining Smithcoal, my Lord,” Natalon said. “Our coal is of such quality that the MasterSmith himself has laid in a large order for it.”

D’gan cocked an eyebrow at him. “I am very pleased for the MasterSmith.”

“My Lord,” Zist said, and Kindan could see signs of restrained anger in the old Harper’s face, “that coal is used to make the steel that binds your fighting straps, strengthens your helmet, and buckles your belt.”

“I am glad to hear it,” D’gan replied. “We have had many complaints on the quality of steel coming from the Smith Hall. Now I know the source.” He moved toward his dragon.

“My Lord!” Zist called. “Of old the dragonriders of Pern have been courteous in responding to the just requests of the Holders and Crafters.”

D’gan stopped and whirled back, his hand on the dagger at his side. “Courtesy is much lacking in this Camp. Of old the dragonriders have been given more respect and have not been asked to provide frivolous thrill rides. Do not presume on my courtesy anymore!”

Kindan drew in an outraged gasp, covering his mouth quickly to hide his gaff.

But both Natalon and the Harper had also reacted to the accusation.

“Thrill ride?” Master Zist repeated, appalled, staring at D’gan.

“It is indeed to redress a serious problem at this Camp. We have no watch-wher, and our mining efforts cannot continue without the aid of one,” Natalon explained.

“We are to collect a new egg from Master Aleesa and time is of the essence,” the Harper went on.

“Oh.” There was studied insult in D’gan’s manner as he inspected the three in front of him.

“Our Dask died leading us to a tunnel collapse,” Kindan was bold enough to say.

Master Zist put his hand on Kindan’s shoulder, a gesture more approval than rebuke.

“It enabled us to rescue the others,” Natalon said.

“So, a watch-wher is your hero?” D’gan added.

To everyone’s surprise, the dragon dropped his head toward their cluster and made a funny snort. It sounded a bit like a noise Dask might have made.

“He was, I gather, just doing his duty.”

Stung, Kindan replied. “Had he rested, he would have lived. He did not rest while miners were trapped in a dark cave-in.”

D’gan made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “You have only convinced me that Telgar’s previous Weyrleader was far too accommodating. Asking a dragon to give transport to collect a watch-wher.” He snorted again and smoothed his hair back. “Thread is coming again, as you should know, Harper. Do not presume on Interval courtesies anymore.”

With that, D’gan turned and flung himself onto his dragon’s back. In two chilling beats of its wings, the dragon was airborne and, in another, between.

Natalon turned questioningly to Master Zist, but the old Harper was too busy swearing to offer him any advice.

“What shall we do now?” Kindan asked after having learned enough new oaths from the angry Harper to dine on for a week.

Master Zist paused in his swearing, aware that Kindan had been listening intently. “You’ll remember that I believe that any youngster who swears should have his mouth washed out with soap. And I shall remember not to swear in your presence.”

“You were quite justified,” Natalon said from behind them. “I have never met a dragonrider before—”

Zist held up a hand. “Do not say anything against dragon-riders until you’ve had a fair sample.”

“And how will I get that?” Natalon snapped back.

“I have my ways,” Master Zist answered. He looked at Kindan. “Put out the beacon and lower the flag. When you’re done, meet me at the drums.”

When Kindan had completed his tasks, Master Zist had presented him with a message to beat out on the drums. The message had been simple: “Zist requests M’tal.” Kindan had had to spell out both “Zist” and “M’tal,” so the drumming was longer than he was used to. He waited until he got an acknowledgment from the two nearest drums and then reported to Master Zist.

“What are you doing here?” Zist bellowed when he saw the boy. “Get back up to those drums and wait for a response.”

“Master?”

“What?” Zist bellowed again, clearly in a rare anger.

“Could someone send me some breakfast?”

The Harper drew breath for another bellow, saw the pale look of the lad, and let his breath out again. “Very well. And take this sweetroll up with you.”

“Thanks!” Kindan answered, and trotted off back up the hill with the sweetroll in his tunic.

“I’ll send some proper clothes for you, as well,” Zist boomed after him. Unseen in the early morning light, Kindan turned bright red as he realized that he’d met his first dragonrider in his pajamas.

Later in the day, Master Zist trudged up to the drum heights with another young lad beside him. Blond and brown-eyed, the lad was happy to hand his bundles to Kindan—Kindan’s day clothes. Asking the Harper to carry such a bundle up to the heights by himself would be tantamount to insult.