“Which I hope will be quietly retired,” M’tal said with a pointed glance at the old Harper.
Master Zist bowed his head. “I am sure, Weyrleader M’tal, that my old head is already having quite a hard time remembering them.”
“Good,” M’tal replied with a twinkle in his eye. “I shall return at noon, so that your lad can have some time to rest.”
“I’m not tired, my Lord,” Kindan lied stoutly.
Minutes after lying down in a shuttered room, Kindan was fast asleep. He awoke to the sound of voices talking softly outside his room.
“They’re not really like dragons, you know,” M’tal was saying.
“So I gathered,” Zist replied. “But they’re not like fire-lizards either. There’s not much lore about them, aside from a simple song or two.”
“Perhaps you could learn more from Master Aleesa,” M’tal suggested.
Zist snorted. “I’m sure I could, if Natalon would let me.”
“I can’t see why he’d stop a Harper.”
“Aye, he probably wouldn’t,” Zist agreed. “But he’d be mighty curious—probably too curious—as to why I have to ask Master Aleesa when I’m supposed to have an expert sleeping in the room next door.”
“The boy?” M’tal’s voice was full of surprise.
“His father was the last wherhandler here,” Master Zist reminded him. “Natalon’s desperate, and he’s convinced himself that Danil taught Kindan everything about watch-whers. Says that Danil let the boy wash the watch-wher, and on the basis of that, he decided that Kindan must be special.”
M’tal snorted. “Well, oiling a dragon is a big part of my job, so I could see that a wherhandler would spend a lot of his time washing his watch-wher—which might explain your miner’s confusion.” He shook his head as he caught Master Zist’s somber expression.
“He’d be far too young to Impress a dragon, you know,” the Weyrleader said soberly. “If the watch-whers are more like dragons or even like fire-lizards, I doubt he’ll attach one.”
Zist sighed. “He must. If he doesn’t, then Camp Natalon will fail and he’ll be blamed.”
“That’s an awful lot for one youngster to handle,” M’tal noted.
“Well, he’s got broad shoulders,” Zist said. “They might bear the load.”
To himself, Kindan swore that he would bear the load.
Chapter VII
Between only lasts as long as it takes to cough three times,” M’tal told the others as he helped them up onto bronze Gaminth’s back.
“Cough three times?” Natalon repeated. He coughed experimentally three times. “Like that?”
Kindan was glad to hear the Miner ask the question; he had been too afraid to ask it himself.
“Just like that,” M’tal reassured him.
“It won’t take any longer this time?” Master Zist asked with a strange look in his eyes.
M’tal shook his head warily. “No, not longer. We’ll be there in time.”
“I don’t see how,” Natalon said sourly.
“Oh,” M’tal replied airily, grinning at Master Zist, “dragons are faster than you think.”
When they were all settled on Gaminth’s neck, M’tal made one last check of his passengers and called out to his dragon, “Let’s fly, Gaminth.”
The great bronze jumped into the air, swooped down toward the Camp, and with one beat of his wings soared high.
The dragon slowly flew higher. Master Zist knew that Gaminth was capable of much quicker ascents—in their youth, M’tal had been proud to illustrate his dragon’s capabilities to those who were properly appreciative—so he guessed that the bronze rider was making this slow climb only to avoid upsetting his more nervous passengers. A quick glance assured him that Kindan, who was wide-eyed with an ear-to-ear grin, would never be considered a nervous passenger. Natalon, however, was quite pale.
M’tal turned back to them again. “We’re ready to go between. Are you ready?”
“I still don’t see how we can get there in time, my Lord,” Natalon said, with only the slightest hint of nervousness.
M’tal grinned at him. “Trust me, we’ll be on time,” he answered. “You might find the effects a bit more draining than you’d think, but that’s the price of the journey, as it were.”
Natalon swallowed hard and nodded uncertainly.
M’tal took this for acceptance. “Good,” he said. He turned to Zist and Kindan. “All ready?” When they nodded, he instructed them, “Take three deep breaths and hold the third one. Ready? One ... two ... three...”
And suddenly it was all darkness around them. Kindan felt a thrill of terror and excitement as he realized he could feel nothing but the press of the men before and behind him and the neck of the dragon beneath him.
M’tal’s words came back to him: Between only lasts as long as it takes to cough three times. Kindan started coughing. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He started to get worried.
We are almost there, a soundless voice said to him. Kindan was so surprised that he didn’t react at all.
And then there was light. Or rather, lights. It was dark outside, as compared to the midday sun they’d left. Kindan could see a few twinkles spiraling toward them and realized with a start that they must be gliding steeply down to the ground. Unable to contain himself, he let out a whoop of pure joy. They had arrived—the day before they’d left.
“That’s the spirit!” Master Zist shouted back over his shoulder.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Natalon moaned, his eyes squeezed firmly shut.
“Do you understand what you’re to do?” Aleesa asked Kindan.
“I think so,” Kindan replied. His body felt tired and stretched—he wondered if that was from going back in time or because he was so nervous—but he was too excited to tell anyone.
Aleesa raised an eyebrow. “Thinking won’t do, little one.” The WherMaster was much taller than Kindan. She was a lithe, slender person who spoke little. Kindan could tell by Natalon’s manner that the miner was also awed by the WherMaster.
Kindan took a deep, calming breath. “I’m to bow to the queen and make my way toward the clutch. If she lets me, I’m to choose an egg and take it, bowing again and walking backward.”
“She’d better let you,” Natalon added in a hard voice. “There’s a winter’s coal gone either way.”
Kindan gulped.
“Don’t dawdle,” Master Zist warned him.
“When you go in the cave,” Master Aleesa said, pointing to a crevice in the side of the cliff, “bear right.”
The crevice was wide enough for a watch-wher, and tall enough for Kindan—but just barely. It was also, Kindan discovered as he followed the way up and down, left and right, awfully twisty, like a tunnel snake’s wiggle.
Kindan was amazed that Master Aleesa, who looked as if she had joint-ail, could possibly manage and then realized that she would have many to help her do her daily wher-caring. Still, as he entered the dark space, he knew her standards must be high because the place smelled very clean. He cleared his throat and murmured the soft chirps that his father had always used when entering Dask’s lair.
Behind him he heard a surprised remark from Aleesa. “Well, at least the lad knows what to say to her.”
Eyes opened up ahead of him, and in that light and the pale glow of light that filtered through from the crawlway, he could see the watch-wher, but not her eggs. Aleesa had said there were twelve, and he must make his own plea to the queen. She had refused two prospective handlers already. Kindan increased the intensity of his chirping, trying to sound kindly, as well as eager. He had to prove to Natalon that he was worth a whole winter’s fuel coal—and some left over to keep the hatchling warm until its second, tougher coat came in. Remembering that, Kindan felt more confident. He knew more than he thought he did. Maybe blood would tell. Which reminded him of something else he had to do.