Энн Маккефри - Dragon’s Kin

The group chuckled.

J’lantir dutifully ran his hands over her body, checking every muscle and gently exploring the shape of her back, belly, head, and tail. “Alike, yet unalike,” he commented to himself. He looked over at M’tal. “All the watch-whers seem much more muscled than dragons.”

“I’ve noticed that, too,” M’tal replied.

J’lantir touched Risk’s wing, gave her an inquiring look, and then said, “Lolanth, please ask Kisk to spread her wings.”

Kindan realized that the dragonrider had spoken out loud in order to warn everyone that Kisk would be moving.

The watch-wher chirped happily and ruffled her wings.

“The wings are awfully small,” J’lantir noted. He looked at Kindan. “Your father actually flew his?”

“Late at night,” Kindan affirmed.

“Amazing,” J’lantir exclaimed. “No one, even Master Aleesa, claimed that watch-whers could fly.”

“It appears that harpers aren’t the only ones who have forgotten about watch-whers,” M’tal said with a teasing glance at Master Zist, who just shrugged. The dragonrider turned back to J’lantir, saying, “What I was wondering was if we could teach watch-whers to talk to our dragons.”

“But didn’t Kisk here just talk to your Lolanth?”

“Indeed she did, but she was responding to being spoken to.

Can she address one dragon by name? Say, in an emergency?” M’tal said.

J’lantir pursed his lips in thought. After a moment he looked at the Benden Weyrleader with widening eyes. “So watch-whers could alert us to Threadfall? What a marvelous idea! Perhaps that’s why they were bred—”

“It won’t work,” Nuella interrupted.

“Pardon?” J’lantir was taken aback.

“Watch-whers are nocturnal,” Nuella said. “They could hardly send a warning during the day.”

“Perhaps in an emergency...” J’lantir suggested.

M’tal shook his head. “No, I suppose not,” he said.

“But they could still call for aid in emergencies at night,” Kindan pointed out.

M’tal nodded. “That could be useful. They could tell us about the weather, too.”

“An excellent idea,” J’lantir agreed.

“Merely being able to tell a dragon that help was needed would be a great boon to some of the outlying minor holds,” Master Zist said.

“Some of the minor holds that were snowed in had watch-whers,” M’tal said. His eyes grew sad. “If the watch-whers had been taught how to reach our dragons, lives would have been saved.”

“Well, then,” J’lantir said briskly, “this sounds like a worthwhile endeavor. When do we start?”

“I’d like to start as soon as possible,” M’tal said, with a nod to Kindan. “If that’s okay with you, Kindan. I know you need your sleep—”

Kindan burst out laughing. “I don’t sleep at night, not anymore.”

M’tal nodded, looking somber. “Ah, but I do. And my night comes to my Weyr hours before yours.”

“So does mine,” J’lantir added ruefully. “But I can probably arrange a chunk of time to work with Kindan and Kisk without causing too much of a disruption at Ista Weyr.”

“And you cannot,” Master Zist said to M’tal.

“But spring will be upon us soon enough,” M’tal protested. “If we can teach the Benden watch-whers before then, many lives will be saved.”

“Very well, then,” J’lantir said. He glanced around at the others. “It seems that we must learn not only how to teach Kisk here to talk with dragons, but learn how to teach the same to other watch-whers and their handlers.”

“She seems to do well already,” Nuella said. “I mean, she told Kindan that you were coming and how many of you—”

“And how did Kindan know what she was saying?” J’lantir asked curiously.

“Well, it just seemed right,” Kindan said.

“Fire-lizards are like that,” Master Zist said. “At least with some of their owners.”

“Yes,” J’lantir agreed. “And watch-whers seem to be smarter, more able. What I’m thinking of is training the watch-wher—and Kindan—so that they know and agree exactly on what they’re saying to each other, and to the dragons.”

“That would be excellent,” M’tal agreed fervently.

“And then taking that training and bringing it to other watch-whers and their wherhandlers,” J’lantir added.

“I imagine a harper should be involved,” Master Zist commented wryly.

“I’ll help,” Nuella put in eagerly. Kindan shook his head, totally unsurprised.

Over the course of the next several days, Nuella and J’lantir engaged in countless discussions about the best ways to train the watch-wher, and the vocabulary that was needed to communicate meaningfully between wherhandler and watch-wher. They agreed that Kisk would need to tell a dragon who she was and where she was, that she’d have to know how to communicate with a particular dragon, that she would have to know how to say such things as “emergency,” “fire,” “help,” “healer,” and “flood.” They argued over whether it was more important for Kisk to be able to use numbers than to say “avalanche.”

Kindan felt almost unneeded as the two would argue and then agree, move on, and start to argue again. They would stop to ask Kindan to get Kisk to do something or, worse, to ask Kindan’s opinion on their disagreement—Kindan learned early on to be diplomatic—and then the arguing would start up anew.

Often the evening would end with Nuella curled up asleep beside Kisk, J’lantir quietly departing before the first cock crowed, and Kindan too weary to think straight.

At the end of the third evening, J’lantir announced that he had to stay at his Weyr for a time, to report to his Weyrleader, check on his wingriders, and get some rest. Nuella looked so crushed that J’lantir gave her a hug.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” he reassured her.

Kindan figured that Nuella was so sad because she had had so much fun and excitement working with Kisk and J’lantir. He imagined that she would be very bored—not to mention grouchy—until the dragonrider returned.

“J’lantir,” Kindan asked just before the dragonrider departed, “do you suppose we could teach Kisk to go between like a dragon?” The thought had been on his mind for a while.

“Hmm,” J’lantir murmured consideringly. “Fire-lizards can do it, so I can’t imagine that watch-whers could not.”

“It won’t work,” Nuella said sleepily. Kindan started: He had thought she was asleep. “They have to see where they’re going, and they see heat,” she explained.

“So?” Kindan said.

“Ah, I see what she means,” J’lantir said. “A dragonrider has to give the visual reference for his dragon. So only a wherhandler who could see heat could give a watch-wher a proper visual reference.”

“And no one can see heat,” Kindan agreed glumly.

“I can imagine it,” Nuella murmured from her perch on Kisk.

“Why did you want to know?” J’lantir asked Kindan.

“If watch-whers could go between they might be able to rescue people, to bring them out of cave-ins and such,” Kindan explained.

“An excellent idea, Kindan,” J’lantir agreed. “Truly excellent. It’s a shame that it won’t work.”

“Goo’ ’dea,” Nuella agreed sleepily. She yawned and rolled over, facing away from them.

“Well, thanks anyway,” Kindan said, turning to join Kisk and Nuella on the shed’s straw floor.

J’lantir reached out and tousled the youngster’s head. “It was a good try, Kindan.”

Kindan was correct in his assessment that Nuella would be grouchy until the dragonrider returned. He spent several days cheering her up, enduring endless barbed comments from her, before he got her to agree to go back into the mines for more training.