“No,” Master Zist began slowly. “My apprentice has not yet seen fit to tell me.”
Kindan felt himself flushing.
“Sorry,” he said and proceeded to repeat everything he could remember of the conversations he’d heard at the evening’s Gather. At the end he looked up at the Harper and asked, “Why is it that Natalon puts up with Tarik? And why does Tarik seem to hate his own nephew so?”
Master Zist sighed. “I was hoping maybe you could tell me,” he said ruefully.
“And watch-whers,” Kindan said, adding them to the list as an afterthought. He wrinkled his brow.
“And why didn’t that apprentice come to the Camp?”
“That maybe I can answer,” Master Zist said. “I happened to work my way around to that very question with Trader Tarri.”
Kindan was all ears.
“From what I gather,” Zist continued, “and she was very circumspect about it all, it seems that the apprentice in question decided that his Master’s wrath was less troubling than life in this Camp.”
“The only thing I fear more than my Master’s wrath is death,” Kindan said with an apologetic look at the Harper.
Master Zist laughed. “Yes, and that was exactly Trader Tarri’s observation.”
“So you think the apprentice was afraid of dying in the mine?”
“Or losing his watch-wher,” Master Zist remarked. “I doubt the bonds between watch-wher and wherhandler are as strong as that between dragon and rider, but the loss must be pretty hard regardless.”
“It is,” Kindan said with feeling. “I was not bound to Dask and it still hurts.”
Master Zist reached out and squeezed Kindan’s shoulder gently. “I know, lad. You’ve been through a lot. Better days are ahead.”
“The other miners were complaining that we need watch-whers in the mines,” Kindan said. “But Panit said that only lazy miners need watch-whers.” He shook his head, sadly. “Panit’s one of Tarik’s men, but Dask still saved him.”
“Well, we’ve the new apprentices now,” Master Zist reflected. “Let’s see how things work when they’re in the mines, eh?”
Kindan nodded blearily.
“And now to bed with you, lad,” Master Zist said. “It’s way too late and you’ve been up late two nights running. You sleep in tomorrow.”
The first trader caravan marked more than the end of the winter thaw. Sevenday after sevenday caravans rolled in at all hours of the day, loading up with coal and heading back out again to Crom Hold, or farther to Telgar, where the Smithcraft made the steel that rimmed the wheels of the drays, formed the bodies of the pot-bellied stoves and ovens that Milla so loved, was turned into plowshares, dragon’s tack, and countless other things that could only be made from steel.
Natalon had decided that with the new apprentices he could start a third shift. He set them to building a second mine entrance, farther down the mountainside, closer to his hold. While Tarik and his cronies grumbled about work with no reward, the rest of the miners were relieved to know that there would now be more than just the one entrance to the mine.
Natalon promoted his old friend, Toldur, to lead the new shift. Zenor tried desperately to get himself assigned to the new shift, in the hope of “finally getting into the mines” and was bitterly disappointed when Regellan was chosen instead.
“Look at it this way,” Kindan said, trying to cheer up his friend. “With Natalon you get on just at dawn and off just at dusk—the babies are all asleep by then. Regellan gets off his shift tired, only to be woken by your littlest one every morning.”
Zenor glowered but said nothing more. Kindan couldn’t think of anything to say that might cheer up his old friend. Later, he realized sadly that he didn’t have all that much to say to Zenor anymore. Zenor was rarely in class with the Harper, never on the watch-heights, and always tired from his long days in the mine.
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.
Chapter VI
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.