Dragon Harper

CHAPTER 2

With his small roll of clothes packed tightly into his carisak, Kindan waited anxiously in the High Reaches Weyr Bowl the next morning while Weyrleader M’tal and D’vin, the bronze rider who had flown for High Reaches in the All-Weyr Games, conversed animatedly nearby.

Kindan knew that they were arguing over which one should bring him back to the Harper Hall. He was hoping that it would be M’tal, because then Kindan could believe that the Benden Weyrleader had remembered and not regretted his promise from the night before. Surely, if M’tal accompanied him, the Weyrleader would mention his intentions to Master Murenny. What would it be like, Kindan wondered, to be a harper for a Weyr? In all his wildest imaginings, he had never hoped for more than to return to a small hold like Camp Natalon or a smaller holding. But a Weyr!

A creeling sound distracted him; it was immediately amplified by the noise of other disturbed hatchlings, and he turned his gaze to the weyrling barracks. He caught flashes of movement and found himself stifling a sigh along with another thought: What would it have been like to wake up in the weyrling quarters?

Kindan frowned and turned his eyes back to the dragonriders. The thought of waking up in the weyrling quarters had scared him and he wanted to distract himself from that. Why would Impressing a dragon scare him?

It seemed that his gaze was felt by M’tal and D’vin, for they turned to look at him.

“I’ll take my farewells, Kindan,” M’tal said. “I’ve work to attend to. D’vin will return you to the Harper Hall.”

Kindan drew himself up and bowed. “Weyrleader.”

M’tal growled and rushed toward Kindan, grabbing him in a great hug. “Don’t think you’ll get away with that!” he said and held Kindan tightly. For a moment Kindan tensed, then relaxed, realizing in a burst of clarity that M’tal truly appreciated him. Kindan also realized how much he missed the rare hugs that his father, Danil, had given him. M’tal was taller and more lithe than his father but, still…

“If you’re ready,” D’vin said drolly. But there was a twinkle in his eyes.

M’tal stepped back, looked Kindan in the eyes, and raised a hand to point at him. “Don’t forget what I said.”

Kindan couldn’t help keep the surprise out of his voice as he asked, “You meant it?”

“Of course,” M’tal said. “A dragonrider lives by his word.” He stepped close again and clapped Kindan on the shoulder. “Rather like a harper.”

Kindan was so thrilled he could barely nod. M’tal gave him one final measuring look and turned, striding over to his bronze Gaminth.

“Don’t take too long!” M’tal called as the bronze dragon leapt into the skies above High Reaches Weyr. Then, in a blink, dragon and rider were gone, between.

“Let’s go,” D’vin said brusquely to Kindan.

“Yes, my lord,” Kindan replied, tightening his hold on his sak and following the impatient Wingleader.

It seemed only a moment before they, too, were hovering high over the Weyr. Kindan dared himself to peer down over the dragon’s neck, and saw the small dots that were weyrfolk starting their daily chores and the larger dragons, looking smaller than fire-lizards, moving to the Weyr’s lake. And then, without warning, Kindan found himself engulfed in an oppressive darkness. His whole body was cold and he could hear nothing, feel nothing but the beating of his heart.

Between. The black nothingness that dragons—and watch-whers—could traverse from one place to another in the time it took to cough three times.

Light burst upon him, assaulting his eyes at the same time that his ears were filled with reassuring sound. Before he could even adjust from the change, Kindan felt himself falling as the bronze dragon dropped down swiftly to the ground below.

A jolt informed him that they had landed.

“I cannot tarry,” D’vin said, craning his neck around to peer at Kindan. “Sonia will need help. I will trust you to enlighten the Masterharper.”

Kindan nodded hastily, still grappling with D’vin’s interesting choice of words.

“Fly well,” D’vin said, extending a hand.

Kindan took it and nearly fell as D’vin urged him over the dragon’s neck.

“Fly high, my lord,” Kindan called back formally. D’vin gaped at him for a moment in surprise at Kindan’s eloquence, then shook the expression off his face and gave Kindan a curt nod and a slight wave.

The bronze dragon leapt into the air and was between once more before it had climbed a full dragonlength.

It was only when D’vin and his bronze had departed that Kindan took in the morning around him. The sun was above the horizon, but there was still dew on the grass. The noises of Fort were muffled and sleepy, while those of the Harper Hall were—

“Get out of the way!” a voice called to him. Kindan looked up and jumped aside as a group of apprentices barreled past him. They were on their morning run. The voice belonged to Vaxoram, the senior apprentice.

Kindan hadn’t liked Vaxoram when they first met and the feeling was mutual. Vaxoram had made it a project to torment Verilan, the youngest apprentice.

Verilan was extraordinarily talented at scribing and researching in the Records. Kindan knew that it was only the boy’s young age that held him back from walking the tables and becoming a journeyman. Even the prickly Master Archivist, Resler, had a soft spot for Verilan, and Kindan suspected that Verilan felt the same affection, the two being kindred spirits.

That respect irked Vaxoram even more, as his own handwriting was a point of shame for the entire hall.

When Kindan first found out about the bullying that Vaxoram had condoned or even initiated against Verilan, he took action. He was careful not to be caught, but soon those who were tormenting Verilan found themselves tormented—with extra chores and duties. Kindan had even managed to get Vaxoram caught and given a week’s extra duties.

Of course, while the bullies were never certain who was getting them back, trapping them in their traps and arranging for their pranks to be discovered, they suspected Kindan and unleashed their full wrath on him.

For the next three months, Kindan had felt every day that he should just leave the Harper Hall. But he hadn’t, because he was certain that if he did, Verilan would be the next to suffer.

Things changed for the worse with the arrival of Nonala, the second girl apprentice in twenty Turns.

The first girl apprentice had been Kelsa, a talented songwriter who had arrived nearly a full Turn before and had quickly become Kindan’s second-best friend after Verilan. Kelsa was prickly, blunt, and gawky, but those traits were overshadowed by her honesty and her kindness.

She was also shy, at least initially. So when she first arrived at the Harper Hall, she had been only too willing to accept the suggestion that she sleep with the kitchen staff.

“After all,” she had said reasonably to Kindan when he’d questioned her, “it’s not like there are other girl harpers.”

“I don’t know,” Kindan said mulishly. “It seems to me if you’re an apprentice, you should be in the apprentice dormitory.”

“Vaxoram wouldn’t like that, I’m sure,” Kelsa had replied, grimacing. “And I don’t need to upset him any more than I already have.”

Kindan had nodded in reluctant agreement. Kelsa’s ability to write songs had been met with praise by everyone—except Vaxoram, who had no ability in that area. If Kelsa were any less talented or more arrogant, Kindan might have agreed with the senior apprentice that a girl didn’t belong among harpers…but her songs were just too good.

“What will you do if another girl is apprenticed?” Kindan had asked.

“Well,” Kelsa had replied thoughtfully, “that will be different.”

Nonala came from Southern Boll, recommended by the harper there for her amazing voice and its range. Nonala was not much older than Verilan, having nearly twelve Turns to his ten.

“There’s a new apprentice,” Kindan had called to Kelsa as they entered the second class of the day. If there was one thing Kindan was good at, it was knowing what was going on in the Harper Hall.

“Great!” Kelsa replied. Then she took in Kindan’s expression and gave him a probing look. “What’s so funny?”

“She’s a girl,” Kindan said, grinning at her. “I imagine it’ll get rather cramped in with the cooks.”

Kelsa snorted. “She won’t be staying with the cooks.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Kelsa told him. She beckoned for him to come closer as the other apprentices rushed into the classroom.

“Here’s what you’ll do,” she said, then pulled his head close to her mouth. Kindan listened with growing astonishment.

“By the First Egg, no!” he exclaimed when she finished.

Kelsa gave him a knowing look. “Oh, you’ll do it.”

“And what makes you say so?” Kindan wondered. “Vaxoram will having me chasing down tunnel snakes—”

“You’ll do it,” Kelsa repeated firmly. “You’ll do it because you know it’s right.” She pushed him toward their classroom. “Don’t say anything now, we’re late.”

“I can’t do it all on my own,” Kindan complained.

“Of course not.” Kelsa’s response was in such an agreeable tone that Kindan’s further protests faltered in shock. “Get Verilan to help,” she added with a grin. When Kindan drew breath for another protest, Kelsa continued, “And I’ll help.” She glanced toward the kitchen quarters and shivered. “I’ll be glad to get out of there—all they talk about is cooking!”

By evening everything was ready. With Verilan’s help, Kindan and Kelsa had put up a sturdy canvas partition separating the back corner of the large apprentice dormitory from the rest. Inside they placed one of the bunk beds and a chest of drawers.

The older apprentices were at first wary, then irate that they had to change their lifestyle to accommodate girls.

“The cook’s quarters were enough for one, why not two?” the senior apprentices had grumbled.

“We’re harpers,” Kelsa said, throwing her arm around a confused and reluctant Nonala. “We should be with the other apprentices.”

“We can’t have girls here!” Vaxoram, the senior apprentice, declared when he learned the purpose of the canvas partition.

“I suppose we could get one of the spare journeyman’s rooms,” Kelsa said judiciously, knowing full well that Vaxoram was hoping to make journeyman soon and had been eyeing the vacant rooms proprietarily.

“Hrrmph!” Vaxoram replied, storming out of the dormitory.

“Where are you going?” Kelsa called after him.

“To talk to the Masters!”

Vaxoram, failing to convince the Masters to provide the girls with separate quarters, had tried to shame and scare them into demanding it on their own—or better, to ask to leave the Harper Hall.

It started with silly pranks, water left on the floor just outside the canvas partition. When Nonala tripped and banged her head in the middle of the night, Kindan moved his bunk close by and kept a wary eye out for further pranksters.

It soon escalated to outright harassment, with the older apprentices actively preventing both girls from attending classes. Kelsa bore up well under the strain—tough and wiry, she merely elbowed or pinched her way past the offenders. But Nonala was a milder sort, and the glares and jeers of the older boys were hard on her.

Kindan had only to hear her sobbing softly in her bed one night to decide that he would no longer tolerate the behavior of the other apprentices. Stealthily he left his bunk in the night, crossed over to hers, and grabbed her hand. Seeing that he’d startled her, he smiled and patted her hand in reassurance. Nonala smiled back, sat up, and hugged him. Kindan held her tightly until he felt her relax, then let her go. Nonala lay back down in her bed, still holding his hand. He remained there until she fell back asleep, then silently returned to his bed. As he did, he caught sight of Kelsa, smiling at him in approval.

The next day, Nonala had shown remarkable skill in defending herself when another prankster tried to trip her, and her would-be assailant found himself sprawled on the ground.

“I’ve three older brothers,” Nonala told the older boy as she looked down on him. “They taught me how to fight.”

The older apprentice pulled himself up and looked menacingly down at Nonala, his hands clenched tightly to his sides. Things might have gotten ugly if first Kindan and then Verilan hadn’t taken a stand on either side of her.

“Don’t you need to be in class, Merol?” Verilan had asked.

“You owe her an apology,” Kindan had added, glaring up at the older boy. He and Merol had tangled once already and since then, Merol had shied away from him. The incident had occurred not long after Kindan had first been assigned to the Harper Hall and, oddly, it had involved Merol tripping him, as well. Unfortunately for Merol, it had been just after Kindan’s first lesson with the Detallor, the Master who taught both dance and defense. Kindan found himself merely pivoting over the offending foot, catching it with his own, and tugging—with the net result that Kindan remained standing and Merol was sent sprawling. Merol’s eyes had flashed angrily, but he had just murmured, “Sorry,” and rushed off to his class.

Faced again with an angry Kindan, Merol had muttered “Sorry” again, this time to Nonala, before slinking off.

Since then, no one bothered Nonala. But it was clear to Kindan that Vaxoram, always the ringleader, hadn’t changed his attitude one bit.

Now here was the entire apprentice class returning from the morning run up to Fort Hold with Vaxoram in the lead. They couldn’t have failed to notice the arrival of D’vin’s bronze dragon, so it was obvious that Vaxoram had guided the runners this way on purpose.

“Wow, Kindan, you get to ride dragons a lot!” Verilan called breathlessly as he and Nonala passed, last in the long line. Kindan smiled and, with a shrug, joined them as they trotted back toward the Harper Hall. Seeing him, Kelsa circled back from her position near the front of the group.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“I was a candidate,” Kindan replied.

“You were?” Verilan asked, eyes wide. “For a dragon?”

Kindan nodded. The realization that, had things gone differently, he wouldn’t be here now but at High Reaches Weyr with a baby dragon all of his own suddenly burst upon him. The other day he had been too busy helping with the tragedy of Weyrwoman Jessala’s loss to consider his own situation fully.

“I’m not sorry you didn’t Impress,” Nonala said slowly. “I would have missed you.”

“I would have missed you, too,” Kindan confessed. He looked at the backs of the other runners. “Come on, you’d better catch up or you’ll get extra chores.”

***

Kindan knew that Masterharper Murenny would expect a full report as soon as he returned. With a wave, he parted from his friends as they headed for the apprentice dormitories and made his way up to the Masterharper’s quarters. It was only when he was outside that he considered that the Masterharper might still be asleep. His desire to “leave sleeping Masters lie” warred with his conviction that Murenny would want to know as soon as possible.

He had just raised his hand to knock on the door when he heard Master Murenny’s voice call through it: “Go to the kitchen, Kindan, and bring up some breakfast.”

“Yes, Master,” Kindan replied in astonishment. How had the Masterharper known he was outside the door? Kindan could guess that Masterharper Murenny would be expecting his report but even so…Kindan had been quiet on his way up the stairs. Somehow, the Masterharper always seemed to know.

Shaking his head ruefully, Kindan rushed back down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Back from the Weyr?” Selora, the head cook, asked as soon as she saw him. She quickly piled a pitcher of klah, several mugs, and a plate of morning rolls onto a tray and thrust it into his arms.

“Thanks, Selora!” Kindan said, grinning at her.

She smiled back. “Get going! You know well enough not to keep harpers waiting for their food.”

Moving more slowly to avoid spilling or dropping anything, Kindan hustled back up to the Masterharper’s quarters. Overburdened, he balanced on one foot and used the other to knock on the door.

“Put it over there,” the Masterharper said, gesturing to a table even as he closed the door behind Kindan. Masterharper Murenny’s face was outlined with white stubble and his hair was still sleep-mussed.

Kindan placed the tray down carefully, then immediately opened his mouth to start his report, but Murenny restrained him with an upraised hand.

“Eat,” Murenny ordered. He poured two mugs of klah and handed one to Kindan. “Drink.”

Kindan complied and was surprised to discover how hungry and thirsty he really was. The Masterharper observed him silently throughout their meal with a kindly expression. When at last Kindan had leaned back from the tray, Master Murenny said, “Now, are you ready to report?”

Kindan nodded.

“First let me say that while I’m glad you’re here, I would have hoped that perhaps you hadn’t returned,” Master Murenny said.

Kindan shrugged; Master Murenny wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t already heard.

“I’m happy to be a harper,” Kindan said.

Master Murenny smiled. “You could still be a harper and ride a dragon, you know.”

“Only if I finish my training.” Kindan had been at the Harper Hall over a Turn and a half. Apprentices normally didn’t “walk the tables” to become journeymen until they been at the hall for at least three Turns, and more often, four.

Murenny nodded and motioned for Kindan to continue.

“I was present at the Hatching,” Kindan began and leaned back into his chair, getting comfortable. As he got deeper and deeper into the report, he found himself wondering how to set it to song and altered his sentences to be more melodic. In moments, all of Kindan’s fears and worries had faded away to be replaced only by the spoken song he was relaying.

“Well done, well done,” the Masterharper said when Kindan had finished. He sat briefly, lost in thought. When he looked up again, he murmured, “Well, Jessala has her rest at last. I imagine it won’t be long before B’ralar seeks his.”

“Why, Master?” Kindan asked, surprised that any dragonrider would consider such an act.

“Sometimes the heart gets so heavy that living is impossible,” Murenny told him. “Unless there’s something to replace a loss, a person just gives up.”

He leaned forward, looking Kindan in the eye. “‘Without hope, there is no future.’”

Kindan had heard that before. “Can’t we give him hope?”

Murenny shook his head. “We can only give him choices. Hope is something you find for yourself.”

Kindan nodded bleakly. Master Murenny noted his expression and smiled wryly. He leaned back, his eyes drifting to the ceiling. When he spoke again, his words were distant but heartfelt. “I hope you never feel that way.”

There was a moment’s silence finally broken by the Masterharper, who jumped up out of his chair decisively. “But now there’s work to be done, a tray to go back to the kitchen, and you to get to your classes.”

“Yes, Master,” Kindan agreed, glad to see the end of gloomy musings.

***

But it turned out, as the days rolled into seven, and the sevendays into months, that Kindan found himself lost in gloomy musings. He was distracted, wondering about Kisk—called Nuelsk, now—the green watch-wher he’d bonded with and then had released into Nuella’s care. At the time, his bonding with Kisk had seemed like imprisonment, but from the distance of memory, Kindan found himself remembering how kind the awkward, ugly green watch-wher had been, and how brave she had been at the end, to take Nuella on a never-before-attempted ride between to rescue the trapped miners. And he found himself wondering again what it would have been like to Impress a dragon, to have a pair of great, faceted eyes whirling anxiously for his well-being, to ride a dragon, to feed it firestone and watch it breathe flame.

His days were filled with feeling overwhelmed by his classes and his various inadequacies; he had neither Nonala’s skill at crafting song, nor the fierce dedication to the dry, dusty Records that made Verilan’s eyes bright with excitement. Oh, he could thwart silly pranks from older apprentices and he gave as good as he got, but that was hardly a harperly calling, and beyond that, Kindan could think of no talent in which he had a gift.

Except perhaps the drums. Drums on Pern were more than a way to keep a beat; they were the vital lifeblood of news between Holds and Crafts. Only a dragonrider could travel more swiftly than a drum message and, as drum messages were available to all, only the drums carried the full news of Pern.

Kindan took to drumming like he’d taken to the coal caves where he’d grown up. He would listen to the “First Call” of morning and the “Last Call” of night; he loved being the first one to decipher the codes; he loved wagering how long it would take Vaxoram who, like Kindan, seemed particularly good at nothing, to decipher the latest messages; and he loved how the words from distant places gave him the feel of a world-traveler, of someone connected with all the people of Pern.

He was worse at making drums than drumming on them. In fact, he couldn’t imagine how he could be worse at making things.

“You’ll get the hang of it, just keep trying,” Nonala had told him staunchly the day Kindan had mentioned it.

“You will,” Verilan had agreed, although Kindan felt that his agreement had been more out of loyalty than conviction. “And you’re so good at the codes.” Verilan had frowned; the drum codes were simply beyond him. He was built slightly and didn’t have the strength to make the big drums rebound with the volume needed to traverse outside of Fort Hold’s main valley, and his slow methodical ways made it difficult for him to decipher the multi-beat codes. By the time he’d deciphered the first beat, the second beat had already come and gone, lost forever.

Vaxoram took great pains to taunt Kindan on his failures. Kindan sometimes wondered if Vaxoram didn’t gloat over the lackings of others to distract himself from his own weaknesses, but the older apprentice’s relentless ways never gave much time to consider the ramifications.

The one thing that Vaxoram was good at was fencing. Finesse, naturally, was not the older apprentice’s forte, but his reach, endurance, and sheer brutality usually ensured his victory.

“You’ve no subtlety,” Master Detallor said to him at one of their practice sessions. He motioned to Kindan. “You should learn from this youngster. He seems to understand what I’m saying.”

Almost immediately Kindan wished that the Master hadn’t singled him out so; Vaxoram chose Kindan as his opponent for the next bout. It started well enough. Kindan got first touch, but then Vaxoram charged forward and—to Kindan’s utter astonishment—changed hands mid-strike, feinting with an empty right hand and striking a telling blow with the foil now in his left hand.

“Better,” Detallor said as Kindan staggered and grunted in pain. “But fighting left-handed won’t win against another left-hander,” Detallor warned, grabbing up a foil himself. “Here, let me show you.”

And he proceeded to administer a left-handed drubbing to Vaxoram that was so ferocious that Kindan forgot the bruise Vaxoram had made on his own chest.

Still, if it weren’t that Kindan wouldn’t give up on his dream of being a harper, and a Weyr harper at that, he would have left the Harper Hall to free himself from Vaxoram’s incessant prodding.

The autumn weather at Fort Hold was not as bitter as the biting cold Kindan had experienced at Camp Natalon in Crom Hold, but the rains seemed to last longer, the fogs of the morning were thicker and colder—sometimes lasting all day—and the miserable weather matched his miserable mood.

Two months after his return from High Reaches Weyr, Kindan found himself at the tail end of a wet morning run accompanied, as usual, by Verilan and Nonala. Verilan was coughing more than usual, a sure sign that he would be in the infirmary with a nasty cough before the end of the sevenday.

The rain had turned the path beside the road to brown mush, but the packed surface of the road was too hard on their feet so they stuck with the slick and muddy path. A noise from behind them startled them all, with Verilan losing his footing and Kindan plowing into him. Both went down and came up covered in muck and mud. Kelsa took one look at their bedraggled appearance and burst into giggles.

“You two!” she said, still giggling. “You look like you’ve been out making mud pies.”

Nonala said nothing, but she couldn’t keep a smile from her lips.

Verilan scowled at them. Kindan, meanwhile, had turned around to spot the source of the noise. It was difficult in the fog and rain. Finally he made out a huge dark shape in the distance.

“A dragon!”

“What will we do?” Nonala moaned. “We’re not fit to greet him.”

“Well, we can’t just turn away,” Verilan said, his last word breaking into a cough.

Kindan nodded and started walking toward the dragon, searching for its rider. The others followed reluctantly, Nonala occasionally making small distressed noises to herself.

As they approached, the figure of a tall man carrying a heavy object resolved itself out of the rain.

“Kindan!” the rider exclaimed. It was M’tal, Benden’s Weyrleader. “Just who I was looking for—” He stopped as he took in the sight of their mud-covered bodies. His mouth quirked into a grin. “Slipped?”

Kindan grunted and smiled back. “Yes, my lord.”

“It’s M’tal to you,” the Weyrleader replied firmly. He nodded to the three figures huddling behind him. “Who are your friends?”

Kindan turned to introduce them. “This is Nonala, that’s Kelsa, and this—” He was interrupted briefly when Verilan erupted into another coughing fit. “—is Verilan.”

“You should see the healer, immediately,” M’tal said, his voice suddenly full of concern. He moved toward Verilan, then suddenly remembered his burden and thrust it toward Kindan. “Carry this, while I carry him,” he instructed.

“No, no, I’m all right,” Verilan protested, horrified at the thought of the dragonrider getting covered in mud.

“No, you’re not,” Nonala told him. M’tal nodded in agreement, grabbing Verilan by the waist and hoisting him off the ground. He carried the boy like a small child.

“You’re lighter than a sack of firestone,” he assured the horror-stricken young harper. With a smile, M’tal said to Kindan, “And, thanks to your friend, firestone can get as wet as you are now.”

Verilan glanced in surprise at Kindan.

Somewhat guiltily, Kindan realized that he hadn’t had time since his return to the Harper Hall to fill his friends in on the discovery that there were two types of firestone: the traditional firestone, which exploded on contact with water, and the newly rediscovered firestone, which didn’t explode when in contact with water—the firestone that had given the fire-lizards their name.

“Firestone explodes when wet,” Verilan declared stubbornly.

“Not anymore,” M’tal assured him as they trudged under the arches of the Harper Hall.

“Wow, Kindan!” Verilan called over the dragonrider’s shoulder.

“Yes, wow, Kindan, why didn’t you tell your friends?” Kelsa repeated sourly, glaring at him. Kindan made a helpless, apologetic gesture, which only earned him a further glare.

“Kindan, you’ll need to get your bundle to a hearth,” M’tal said, “and I’ll need one of you others to guide me to the infirmary.”

“A hearth?” Nonala asked, glancing closely at the bundle Kindan was carrying. For the first time, Kindan noticed the bundle in his arms; he’d been more concerned with Verilan. It was heavy, and wrapped well in thick wher-hide. There was some sort of bucket inside the wrapping—he could feel the shape pressing through the fabric.

“They need to be kept warm,” M’tal said. “I’m afraid I could only get two for the Harper Hall; the rest are for Lord Holder Bemin.”

“Fire-lizard eggs?” Kindan asked, his voice rising, his eyes going wide.

“Not the same as dragon, I know,” M’tal called over his shoulder as he followed after Kelsa, “nor even a watch-wher. Master Murenny agreed that one would be for you.”

“Thank you!” Kindan shouted as M’tal headed up the stairs. Holding his bundle tighter, he increased his pace as he veered toward the kitchen. Nonala tagged along after him.

“Fire-lizard eggs!” she repeated, her step changing almost to the sort of bounce that Kelsa most often preferred. “I wonder who will get the other one?”

Kindan shook his head. As exciting as the fire-lizard eggs were, his thoughts had already turned back to Verilan. The younger boy was always getting sick, especially in winter. Kindan was particularly alarmed that M’tal had decided to bring him to the infirmary immediately, even before seeing the Masterharper.

“What are you doing here?” Selora demanded as she spied them. “You’re all wet and mucked up! Don’t you know—” She spied the bundle Kindan had in his arms. “What’s that?”

“Fire-lizard eggs,” Kindan told her quickly. “I’m sorry, Selora, but Weyrleader M’tal said that they needed to get to the hearth immediately.”

“Of course they do,” Selora snapped, grabbing the wher-hide bundle out of Kindan’s arms and placing it on the stone-covered floor near the hearth. Deftly, she unwrapped it while Kindan bent down beside her and Nonala hovered anxiously nearby.

“You’re shivering!” Selora declared as she glanced first at Kindan and then at Nonala. “You need a warm bath, both of you.” Her eyes narrowed. “And where are the other two, your accomplices?”

“M’tal took Verilan up to the infirmary,” Kindan began.

“The infirmary?” Selora exclaimed. “He’s not hurt, is he?”

“He’s coughing again,” Nonala said in her mother-hen voice. Kindan could never understand how a girl with three older brothers could be so motherly, but that was how Nonala was.

“You, then,” Selora snapped to Nonala peremptorily, “up to the baths. Throw the boys out—they’ve been in too long if they’re still there.”

Nonala froze, her eyes going to Kindan, and Kindan started to rise, torn between the fire-lizards and protecting his friend from the older apprentices.

The interplay was not lost on Selora. “So, it’s that way, is it?” she asked, nodding sagely. Neither Kindan nor Nonala was able to get a half-formed protest spoken out loud as Selora barreled over them. “I’d thought so, but I wasn’t certain.” She glanced at Kindan. “You follow her up, then, and make sure she’s not harassed.” As Kindan made to protest, Selora shushed him with a hand, her expression softening. “I’ve looked after fire-lizard eggs before, you know,” she told them. With a wave of her hand, she said, “Now, go! Both of you, and both of you in the baths.” Her waved hand turned to a pointed finger as she continued, “And mind you, not the same one, either!”

Nonala and Kindan, both too red with embarrassment to respond, hustled mutely out of the room.

“I’ll send someone up with more coals,” Selora called after them, searching the kitchen for a likely candidate. Not surprisingly, she had no lack of volunteers, all hoping that the fire-lizard eggs would hatch in their presence.

***

There were still several apprentices up in the dormitory, including Vaxoram.

“Where were you?” he demanded as they entered. “And where are the other two?”

“Infirmary,” Kindan replied tersely. “Selora sent us up for baths.”

“Are you going to wash her back?” Vaxoram asked, smirking vulgarly. He was rewarded with a scattering of chuckles. “Mind you, she’s still a bit young, but so are—”

“Shut up!” Kindan shouted, his eyes narrowed, fists clenched at his side.

“Kindan…” Nonala said soothingly at his side, as though encouraging him to drop it.

“No,” Kindan told her firmly. He turned back to Vaxoram, raising his head to stare at the taller boy. “You apologize.”

“To her?” Vaxoram demanded, a sneer on his face.

“To both of us,” Kindan replied, stepping toward the older apprentice. Kindan was shivering, and he realized that not all of it was with rage; some of it was from the cold, wet clothing he wore.

Vaxoram peered down at him consideringly. He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Kindan’s temper snapped. In a move that surprised him, he swung his arm swiftly, palm open, and slapped Vaxoram hard on the cheek.

“I challenge you,” he declared.

“Kindan, no!” Nonala cried.

But a hot, burning anger had overcome Kindan and her words didn’t even register.

“Challenge me? Do you think the Masters will permit it?” Vaxoram snorted. He bore down on Kindan. “No, I’ll beat you to a pulp here and now, and you’ll not tell anyone, or I’ll do it to you and your friends.”

Some of the other apprentices looked at one another apprehensively.

“Kindan,” Nonala pleaded. Kindan heard her worry for him, but he also felt her concern for the long-term repercussions. She knew as well as he did that if he gave in now, Vaxoram would not only torment him more but would also see it as permission to harass both Nonala and Kelsa. He couldn’t allow that, no matter what.

“No, you won’t,” he said. “And if you beat me, I’ll still be here and I won’t give in.”

“Let’s see,” Vaxoram said, slamming a fist down into Kindan’s nose and lips, pulping them.

Kindan felt his teeth rip into his lips and swallowed the hot blood that spewed from the tattered inside of his mouth. It only made him angrier. He swung, but Vaxoram had stepped back, smirking, admiring his handiwork. Then Vaxoram bore in again for another blow to Kindan’s jaw, but before he connected, a voice rang out. “Hold!”

Everyone in the room froze as Weyrleader M’tal stormed into the room.

“What is going on here?” the dragonrider demanded, turning from Kindan to Vaxoram, his eyes narrowing as he took in Nonala’s distraught, teary-eyed face.

“I challenge Vaxoram,” Kindan said, his words slurred with blood and pain. “I call him a coward and a bully and a man who would use his strength to have a woman.”

There were gasps from the entire room, including M’tal and Nonala. Eyes locked onto Kindan. In front of him, Vaxoram’s anger was a palpable thing; the older lad’s breathing was ragged and outraged.

Kindan had issued the harshest condemnation possible of a man on Pern—that he would use his strength to overpower a woman.

“I demand the right of cold steel,” Vaxoram responded through clenched teeth, his eyes tight, beady, and glaring angrily down at Kindan’s bloody face.

“You shall have it,” Kindan replied, matching the taller lad’s glare. He caught the look of surprise in Vaxoram’s eyes and, deeper under it, a flash of fear.

“Kindan!” Nonala shouted. “No! He’ll kill you.”

“Are you certain of this, Kindan?” M’tal asked intently.

“Yes,” Kindan said.

“And if you prove your claim?” M’tal asked. In a duel such as this, if Kindan prevailed, he had the right to exact whatever penalty he desired, given the severity of the claim.

Kindan stared up coldly into Vaxoram’s eyes and saw the fear grow there. Kindan could have Vaxoram banished from the Harper Hall. Kindan knew that before coming to the Harper Hall, Vaxoram had been the son of a minor holder. If banished, Vaxoram would certainly not be accepted back by his family, particularly under such shame. Banishing Vaxoram would be worse than Shunning him, and Kindan had seen enough of Shunning. His thoughts turned to C’tov and his Shunned father.

“He’ll serve me,” he said.

“Never!” Vaxoram roared.

“Heard and witnessed,” M’tal declared, overriding Vaxoram. He looked at the older apprentice. “And what is your penalty?”

Kindan met Vaxoram’s eyes. He could see clearly that the older apprentice intended to kill him. He was pretty sure that if Vaxoram succeeded, he’d be asked to leave the Harper Hall anyway—no one would tolerate a killer in their midst. Something else flickered in Vaxoram’s eyes, then he said, “He’s to be banished.” He gave Kindan a gloating look. “For lying.”

“Very well,” M’tal said. “I’ve heard and witnessed both claims.” He turned to Vaxoram. “You are to report this to the Masterharper.” He glanced at Kindan and Nonala. “Selora told me that she sent you to the baths. Get going now.”

Kindan nodded and, numbly, trotted over to the bath rooms. He was inside and peeling off his clothes before he heard the rustle of the curtain and felt Nonala enter beside him.

The bath room was laid out with four large baths in the middle and a row of showers along each wall. When Kindan and the others bathed, by unspoken agreement they turned away from each other as they undressed and got into their baths, respecting each other’s privacy. They never spoke until they were safely in their baths, usually covered by bubbles. When they showered, they followed the same rules, keeping their eyes on the wall in front of them and being respectful.

Now, however, Nonala spoke while she was disrobing. “I could have taken care of myself,” she told him, her anger barely masking her concern.

He pointed to his mangled lips. “But could you have sung afterward?”

She sloughed off the last of her clothes and hopped into her bath, churning up bubbles with both hands.

“No,” she admitted after a moment.

Kindan stepped into his own bath and sank down quickly into the water. The water was only warm, not hot enough to reach the cold that had settled deep into his bones. He heard a happy groan from Nonala and looked over at her.

“It feels so good to stop shivering,” she told him.

A moment later, two apprentices called from the outside of the room, “Can we come in? We’ve got coals.”

“Come in,” Nonala told them.

They hustled in and placed the coals under the baths, then scurried out again, one of them calling as he left, “Selora says she’ll have others up with hot water in a moment.”

“Thank you!” Nonala and Kindan chorused. As the two apprentices hurried away, one whispered to the other in a voice that carried, “Did you see his face?”

“I heard Vaxoram plans to kill him,” came the other’s reply.

Nonala turned anxiously to look at Kindan, her eyes welling with tears.

“No, he won’t,” Kindan declared.

“Kindan…” Nonala began worriedly, only to be interrupted by another voice from the outside.

“Are you decent?” It was Kelsa.

“Come on in,” Nonala called. “You can steal some of my coals, the water’s not that warm yet.”

“Selora said she’ll send someone up with hot water,” Kindan added as Kelsa pushed aside the curtains and entered the room.

Shivering worse than Kindan and Nonala had, Kelsa had trouble undoing the fastenings on her clothes. It didn’t help that her eyes were locked on Kindan’s face.

“Shards, Kindan, you’re a mess,” she declared as she peeled off her outer clothes, her eyes still locked on his.

“And, uh,” Kindan said in embarrassment, “you’re not in your bath.”

Kelsa glanced down and back up at him. “So?” she asked absently.

“Kelsa!” Nonala growled. “You’re embarrassing him!”

“I am?” Kelsa asked in surprise. She looked back to Kindan. “Well, I suppose if you’re going to let Vaxoram kill you—”

“I’m not going to die,” Kindan declared. Kelsa smiled at his fierceness and rushed over to him, kneeled down beside him, and planted a swift kiss on his cheek before he could even flinch away.

“Of course, you aren’t,” she agreed, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him again. Huskily, she repeated, “Of course you aren’t.”

Then, without another word, she sprang up, shucked off her undergarments, and settled down into the next bath over.

Nonala glanced back and forth between the two, her look somewhat wistful.

Kelsa caught her look. She turned to Kindan. “Kindan?”

“Yes?” Kindan said, turning to look at Kelsa. He saw that tears spangled her eyes.

“Kindan, I don’t want you to die!” Nonala blurted suddenly.

“What Nonala meant to say, Kindan, is that she loves you,” Kelsa told him. She nodded slowly. “And so do I.”

Kindan didn’t know what to say. He liked Nonala, he knew that. In fact, he loved her like a sister. Kelsa was different…sometimes he found himself thinking of her in ways that made his throat go tight. And then he realized—“I love you, too,” he said, glancing at both of them. He smiled, even though it hurt his lips. “You’re the best friends anyone could have.”

With a splash, Nonala sprang from her bath grabbing a towel from a nearby hook and quickly tying it around her. She rushed over to Kindan, wrapping two wet arms around his neck and planting a warm kiss on his cheek before hopping back just as quickly into her bath.

“You know your face is really yucky,” Kelsa spoke into the silence that followed. “You should try washing that blood off.”

“You should see the Masterhealer, too,” Nonala added.

“Kindan,” Masterharper Murenny called from outside the curtain.

“Sir?” Kindan replied, glancing at the two girls to be sure that they weren’t concerned.

“M’tal told me what happened,” the Masterharper said. “I’d like to speak with you as soon as possible.”

“He should see the Masterhealer first, sir,” Nonala spoke up.

“I quite understand,” Murenny replied. “In the meantime, I’ve posted Master Detallor outside.”

Master Detallor was the dance and defense master, a short, wiry man who moved with a limp—except when he was dancing or fighting, and then he moved like liquid fire.

“Thank you,” Kelsa called back.

Something about the Masterharper’s tone alerted Kindan, who said, “Did you want to talk to me about relinquishing the duel, sir?”

“No,” Murenny replied. There was a moment’s silence before he continued. “Who will be your second?”

“I will,” Kelsa and Nonala said in chorus. They glanced at each other, then Nonala said, “You’re taller, maybe you should go first.”

“All right,” Kelsa said. She turned to Kindan. “If you don’t win, I’ll kill him,” she told him matter-of-factly.

“I’m going to win,” Kindan repeated.

“Well,” Master Murenny called from outside the bath curtain, “I’ll see you after you’ve seen the Masterhealer.”

“Yes, sir,” Kindan replied. Murenny’s steps echoed to the dormitory door and faded away.

“You’d better hurry up, then,” Kelsa ordered him. “You don’t want to keep the Masterharper waiting.”

As this was obviously true, Kindan made no response.

***

“The Masterharper says you challenged Vaxoram,” Masterhealer Lenner remarked as he carefully dabbed at Kindan’s split lip.

Kindan nodded.

“I can’t approve of dueling,” Lenner said, shaking his head. “You’d think, with these injuries, that you’d not want it.”

“I want it,” Kindan replied. “He’s a bully.”

“A bully?”

“He threatened Nonala,” Kindan said. The Masterhealer’s quick intake of breath was all that Kindan needed to hear.

With one final, gentle dab, Lenner released him. “I’ve done all I could for now,” he told Kindan, handing him a small glass vial. “Use this daily both on the wound and with your food.”

“Arnica?” Kindan asked.

“Of course,” the Masterhealer replied, his tone approving of Kindan’s knowledge of herbs.

Not five minutes later, Kindan stood outside the Masterharper’s door. He paused for a moment, then knocked.

“Come,” Master Murenny’s deep voice carried clearly through the thick door.

Kindan entered the Masterharper’s quarters. Murenny smiled at him and gestured to a chair by a small, round table. Weyrleader M’tal was already in another seat. From his position, Kindan guessed that the Masterharper had been pacing—never a good sign.

“There’s some herbal tea,” Murenny said, gesturing to a pot. “Selora sent it up along with word that the eggs are warm and settled.”

Kindan took his seat and gratefully poured himself a cup of the pungent herbal mix. He knew that Selora would have laced it with restoratives and not sent it up so hot that it might inflame his cuts.

The sound of the rain that had been lashing down earlier had dissipated somewhat, but it still could be heard falling softly around the Harper Hall.

The Masterharper took another turn around his dayroom, glanced at M’tal, and settled himself into the third seat, nearly opposite Kindan.

“Kindan—”

“Masterharper, I will not yield the challenge,” Kindan interrupted softly but firmly.

“I know,” Murenny said, nodding firmly. “I did not intend to ask that of you.”

Kindan gave the Masterharper his full attention, setting his cup back carefully in its saucer. Masterharper Murenny looked chagrined, even apologetic as he continued, “I wished, instead, to apologize to you.”

“Master?”

Murenny let out a long, heavy sigh. “When Vaxoram arrived here, he was young and had the most beautiful voice,” the Masterharper explained, half closing his eyes in memory. “But it broke wrong and he lost it. I had hoped that he would find some other talent, but none seemed to come to him and it turned him bitter.” He met Kindan’s eyes frankly. “I made a mistake: I should have released Vaxoram back to his hold Turns. I’d heard enough rumors of his behavior to know that he was a problem and a bad influence on several others, as well.” He frowned in thought a moment, his head bowed, then looked up at Kindan once more, determinedly. “In fact, until you arrived, I’d made up my mind to do just that.”

“Me?” Kindan couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

“When you stood up for Verilan, I thought that perhaps Vaxoram would learn his lesson and mend his ways,” the Masterharper confessed. “Even more so when Kelsa and Nonala appeared, especially as his behavior meant that releasing him of his apprenticeship would be seen as prejudiced.”

“I’m sorry, Murenny,” M’tal interrupted, “but I don’t follow that.”

“Consider for a moment,” Murenny replied, “what would be the effect on your wings if you had female riders.” As M’tal made ready to reply, Master Murenny added, “Women riders in your fighting wings.”

“Oh,” M’tal said after a moment. “That would be awkward, wouldn’t it?”

“But I do not believe that talent should be subservient to sex,” Murenny said. “Our survival depends upon our children and it always will, but it should not be at the expense of the lives of the women holders and crafters.”

M’tal regarded him carefully for a long moment. “You’ve been thinking about this for a long while,” he decided.

“Yes,” Murenny agreed. He looked over to Kindan. “Your friend Nuella is an excellent example.”

“So are Kelsa and Nonala,” Kindan added loyally.

“Indeed,” Murenny agreed. “And perhaps even more so as they will influence many others when they walk the tables and move on to mastery.”

Kindan tried for a moment to imagine Kelsa as a masterharper and found the image difficult to merge with the ever-moving, hyperkinetic, graceful, and gawky girl he called his friend. Although, Kindan remarked to himself, if she wanted it, nothing and no one could stop her.

“But there are too many hidebound holders and crafters,” M’tal objected. “They’ll never permit—”

“Given the way that the holders and crafters are so loath to yield apprentices to the Harper Hall, the time might be sooner than you think,” Murenny replied. He turned to Kindan. “And women won’t be respected as harpers in hold and crafthall if they’re not respected in the Harper Hall.”

“Then I must fight him,” Kindan declared. The Masterharper glanced at him quizzically. “Not just for Kelsa, or Nonala, but for Verilan and other people who bullies hate for their talents.”

“Spoken like a true harper,” Murenny said approvingly. “But—”

“What, Master?” Kindan asked, his tone verging on a challenge.

“If you lose…”

“I won’t lose,” Kindan declared.

“If you kill him, it won’t be much better,” M’tal observed.

Murenny nodded, saying in agreement, “That will only open the door for the next bully or retaliation.”

“I won’t kill him,” Kindan said.

“But he means to kill you,” M’tal said.

Kindan let out a long, slow sigh and nodded. “I know.”

“Vaxoram has demanded the earliest possible date,” the Masterharper said.

“I would prefer that also.”

Murenny nodded understandingly. “I have set the date for a sevenday after your wounds have healed.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s larger than you, heavier than you, and has the greater reach,” M’tal declared. Kindan turned to him and nodded bleakly. “What can I do to help?” the Weyrleader asked.

“Take me to Mikal.” Mikal was a legend at the Harper Hall: the ex-dragonrider who had found himself a home in a natural cave in the hills beyond the Harper Hall, the man who could track anyone across bare rock, who used crystals and meditation to effect healing in ways that not even the Masterhealer fully understood. He was a better swordsman than Master Detallor, himself a master of the blade. When Kindan had last seen Mikal, the man had been at Master Aleesa’s camp, tending to the sick Whermaster.

“When?” M’tal asked.

“Now,” Kindan replied.

“I’ve set Menengar and Detallor to keep an eye on Vaxoram,” Murenny said. “He’s been posted to the infirmary.”

“What about Verilan?” Kindan asked, concerned.

“He’s in the isolation room,” the Masterharper replied. “Vaxoram would have to get past the Masterhealer before he could harm him. And there are guards beyond that.”

Kindan nodded but his fears were still not quite relieved. “Someone might try to harm Nonala and Kelsa.”

For the first time since the interview started, Master Murenny smiled. “They’re Verilan’s guards.”

“What about the fire-lizard eggs?” M’tal asked.

“I will send them up to the Hold,” Murenny decided. “Most of them will go to Bemin and his folk.” He glanced at Kindan. “You should be able to get to a hatching in ample time.”

“Better,” M’tal suggested, “assign him up there.” Kindan started to protest, but M’tal held up a hand. “For now.”

“What about Mikal?”

“When he’s ready, I’ll come for you,” M’tal promised.

“Thank you, Weyrleader,” Kindan said, feeling honored.

“I feel partly to blame,” M’tal said. “If I’d been a bit quicker, I would have heard him myself.”

Kindan furrowed his brow in confusion.

“And then he would have fought me,” M’tal explained.

“But you’re a dragonrider!” Kindan exclaimed, appalled at the thought of Vaxoram striking the Weyrleader with a sword.

“Which would have given me the right of weapons,” M’tal said with a grin. He held up his hands in a fighter’s style. “I wouldn’t have killed him, but he would feel it for the rest of his Turns.”

Kindan grinned back at him, imagining the look of horror on Vaxoram’s face as he squared off against the older, stronger, taller, and fiercer dragonrider.