Dragon's Fire (12 page)

“Moran?” Pellar wrote.

Zist frowned as he read the slate. “I hope not,” Zist said. “It could be, but then why would he not want the watch-wher to come to the mine?”

“Same reason,” Pellar wrote.

“I’m not sure that Moran and Tenim have the same reasons,” Zist said.

Pellar gave him a questioning look.

“Moran was very worried about the Shunned,” Zist explained. “That’s why Murenny and I agreed to let him try to make contact.” He shook his head. “From what you’ve described of this Tenim character, I don’t think he cares for anyone but himself.”

As it was obvious to Pellar that Master Zist didn’t want to entertain dark thoughts about his old apprentice, Pellar decided to drop the matter.

“Still need a watch-wher,” Pellar wrote, changing the subject.

“Yes, we do,” Zist agreed.

“Where do we get one?” Pellar wrote.

“I shall have to think on that,” Zist replied, turning to the door. “If you’re still awake when the Gather’s through, we can talk some more.”

Pellar nodded and Zist gave him a probing look. The harper wagged his finger at the youngster. “Stay here. We’ll be all right.”

Pellar waited until he was certain that everyone had entered the large hall in Natalon’s hold. Then he carefully dressed himself in bright clothes, grabbed a well-used cloak, and went out through the cothold’s front door. Regardless of Zist’s warnings or even how sore his raw throat still felt, Pellar was going to make sure that there were no more accidents.

Rather than gliding silently past the entrance to Natalon’s stone hold, Pellar strode purposely beyond it, looking exactly like someone who was lost but unwilling to ask for directions.

He headed toward the camp’s graveyard, planning to find a place beyond it where he could climb to the cliff above and backtrack to a good vantage point near Natalon’s hold but away from any possible sighting by the camp’s lookouts.

He was just past the graveyard when Chitter appeared from
between.
Pellar gave the brown fire-lizard a fierce admonishing look. He thought he had made it clear that the fire-lizard was to stay in the harper’s cothold. Chitter hovered in front of him, wings beating slowly until Pellar understood that, as far as Chitter was concerned, if Pellar felt no compulsion to obey orders, neither would Chitter.

Pellar sighed in reluctant acceptance. Just before Pellar started off again, a noise startled him. Pellar froze. Someone was coming.

He sank to the ground in a crouch, hoping that the cloak would cover him sufficiently.

It did. The person, a small boy, passed him by, moving quickly and purposefully but without taking any particular pains to move quietly.

From the short-cropped blond hair, Pellar reckoned that the boy was either Dalor or Cristov. More likely it was Cristov, he decided, as Dalor would have a difficult time getting away from the evening’s festivities.

But what was Cristov doing here?

Pellar followed him quietly from a safe distance. The blond boy made his way to the graveyard, where he stopped in front of one of the graves. Pellar wasn’t certain, but he guessed that it was Kaylek’s grave.

“Miners look after each other.” Cristov’s words drifted softly across the night air to Pellar.

Was he making a promise or repeating something he’d been told? Pellar wondered. Or both?

The youngster stood by the grave for a long while in silent communion. Just as Pellar decided that he had no choice but to find an alternate way to the cliff, Cristov stepped back, turned, and moved off quickly—toward the cliff.

Pellar followed him easily, both relieved at not having to lose time sneaking around Cristov and intrigued by the boy’s motives. Was it possible that Cristov had been suborned by his father to finish Tenim’s task?

Cristov started climbing, following the same route Pellar had taken the other night.

Climbing the cliff was more effort than Pellar remembered. His shoulders and stomach were still sore from his fall, but worse was the torment in his throat as he gulped down the air needed for his exertions. He tried his best to be quiet, but it wasn’t good enough.

Suddenly he noticed a pair of eyes staring down at him from the cliff above.

“Who are you?”

For an instant Pellar considered fleeing back down the cliff and eluding Cristov in the forest—he knew he had more woodcraft than the boy—but before he could put his plan into action, Chitter appeared and started scolding Pellar and Cristov with equal intensity.

“Is he yours?” Cristov asked, his voice full of amazement and yearning.

Pellar nodded. Chitter caught his eye and looked back and forth rapidly between him and Cristov. Pellar knew that the fire-lizard was trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t decide what.

“Did you block the hold chimney?” Cristov asked, his voice cold with outrage.

Pellar shook his head firmly. Cristov peered at him and reached forward to touch his neck.

“Someone tried to choke you,” the blond boy declared, his fingers brushing Pellar’s throat gently. He gave Pellar another intense look. “Did you try to stop someone from blocking the chimney?”

Pellar nodded.

“And they tried to choke you?” Cristov asked rhetorically. “And now you can’t talk?”

Pellar nodded and then shook his head to answer both questions. Cristov looked confused.

Pellar reached to his side, then paused, looking questioningly at Cristov who, in his turn, looked confused. Pellar held up both his hands to show that he had nothing in them and then flattened one hand and poised the other over it in an imitation of writing.

“You want to write something?” Cristov asked. “I’ve got nothing to write with—oh! You do.”

Pellar nodded, smiling, and reached for his slate. He was bigger than the boy and older by at least two Turns, but if Cristov grew afraid or alarmed, his shouts could easily bring the entire mining camp out, and Pellar didn’t even want to think about what might happen then.

“It’s dark, I don’t know if I’ll be able to read,” Cristov began, only to stop when he saw that Pellar had a slate and stick of white chalk. “Maybe if you write big, then.”

Pellar wrote carefully, “Name Pellar.”

“I’m Cristov,” the other replied, holding out his hand. Pellar pocketed his chalk and let go of his slate which dropped around his neck, held in place by the ever-present string, and solemnly shook Cristov’s hand. Cristov pursed his lips for a moment, then asked, “You aren’t Shunned, are you?”

Pellar shook his head emphatically, reached again for his slate and chalk, and wrote, “Shunned blocked chimney.”

“And you stopped them?” Cristov asked, his eyes brilliant with awe.

Pellar shook his head and held up a finger.

“There was only one of them?”

Pellar nodded.

“What about your voice? Will it come back?” Cristov blurted, obviously overwhelmed with curiosity.

Pellar shook his head.

“Oh,” Cristov said, crestfallen. “Does it bother you that you can’t talk?”

Pellar shrugged, then waggled a hand in a so-so gesture. Then he smiled at Cristov and tapped his ear meaningfully.

“You listen more?” Cristov guessed. Pellar nodded. “I’ll bet you do. And so that’s why you were here? To listen?” Pellar nodded, surprised at how quickly Cristov had guessed. “For the Shunned, right?”

Pellar’s nod merely confirmed Cristov’s suspicions.

“So you’re listening for the Shunned,” Cristov murmured to himself thoughtfully. “Do you work for Master Zist?”

Pellar’s startled look was answer enough for Cristov. Pellar grabbed his slate and hastily wrote, “Secret!”

“From whom?”

“Everyone,” Pellar wrote back.

“Why?”

“Shunned,” Pellar wrote back. He pointed to his throat, rubbed his slate clear, and wrote, “Hurt people.”

“If they found out, they might hurt more people?” Cristov asked, trying to guess at Pellar’s meaning. Just as Pellar started to shake his head, Cristov shook his own head, dismissing the thought. “No, that doesn’t make sense.”

Pellar waved a hand to get the boy’s attention and wrote, “Watch now. Think later.”

Cristov gave him a sheepish grin. “You’re right,” he said, extending a hand to Pellar to help him up the cliff.

Shortly they were in the same position Pellar had seen Tenim occupy the previous night. Pellar leaned forward and painfully craned his still-sore neck over to peer down into the valley below.

Light from the great room of the stone hold outlined the far corner at the east and dimly lit the western corner, but the nearest corner was barely distinguishable. After a while, Cristov said, “I think I can see the chimney.”

Pellar followed the boy’s outstretched arm and peered carefully into the night. It took him a moment to make out the shape of the chimney.

Cristov looked around where they were sitting and picked up a fist-sized rock. Pellar turned at his motion and grabbed Cristov’s hand, shaking his head.

“He threw rocks, right?” Cristov asked, dropping the rock from his hand. Pellar nodded. “They pulled one of the chimney bricks out of the chimney. If Kindan hadn’t come by—” Cristov’s voice broke. “—they’d all be dead.”

Pellar grimaced in agreement.

“And the baby wouldn’t have been born,” Cristov added quietly. He was silent for a longer moment. When he spoke again, it was in a slow, uncertain tone. “If they had died, my father would have been the head miner.”

For the barest instant, Pellar froze. Then he felt Cristov’s eyes on him and he shrugged carelessly, gesturing for the boy to sit down and doing the same himself, sitting on his butt, his knees raised and legs splayed to provide extra stability. Cristov’s gaze intensified, so Pellar wiped his slate clean and wrote a response. To read the slate, Cristov sat down beside him.

“I watch,” he wrote.

“So we’re safe?” Cristov guessed, then added, “As long as no one attacks you.”

Pellar gave him a pained look as he nodded in agreement.

“What would the Shunned want here?”

“Coal,” Pellar wrote.

“But we’d notice, we’d know it when someone stole coal from the dump,” Cristov protested. “And they wouldn’t try to sneak into the mine.”

Pellar nodded in agreement. Chitter, who had flown out over the cliff for his own inspection, flew back and perched on one of Pellar’s knees.

“Could I touch him?” Cristov asked shyly. Pellar glanced at Chitter. The fire-lizard inclined his head toward Cristov and then stretched out his neck in invitation. Pellar indicated his agreement with a beckoning wave of his hand.

Slowly Cristov brought up his hand and gently touched the side of Chitter’s head. The fire-lizard rubbed his head against Cristov’s outstretched fingers enthusiastically.

“He’s beautiful,” Cristov said. “A regular dragon in miniature, not at all like a watch-wher.” He glanced up at Pellar. “My father had a fire-lizard egg once, but the fire-lizard went
between
when it hatched. My father says that Danil’s watch-wher, Dask, frightened it.”

Pellar gave Cristov a dubious look and the boy shrugged.

“My father says that fire-lizards would be far more useful in the mines than watch-whers,” Cristov said. “He says that he’s going to get another egg soon and he’ll let me keep it.” His voice fell uneasily. “But he says that I’ll have to keep it a secret.”

He looked down at Chitter, stroking his head firmly. “I don’t think I’d like that.”

They sat in silence for a while, and then Cristov stood up.

“I think I’d better get back,” he said. “Will you keep watch?”

Pellar nodded.

“I’ll keep your secret,” Cristov promised as he strode off.

Master Zist was extremely annoyed with Pellar’s disobedience, even after he read Pellar’s painstakingly detailed account of his meeting with Cristov.

“You can’t imagine how I felt,” Zist scolded him fiercely when Pellar returned the next morning, well after dawn. “I didn’t know where you’d got to, or whether you’d gone on your own free will, and even Chitter wasn’t here to send after you.”

“Had to keep watch,” Pellar wrote in his defense. It was a feeble defense and he knew it.

So did Zist, who snorted angrily. “What sort of watch did you keep? You were caught and then, later, you fell asleep.”

Pellar nodded miserably.

“If you can’t do as you’re told, and you won’t rest when you need it, then I shall have to send you back to the Harper Hall,” Zist said.

“Can’t make me,” Pellar wrote defiantly, his eyes flashing angrily as he shoved his slate under Zist’s nose.

Zist bit back an angry response and let out his breath in a long, steadying sigh.

“Well, at least we now know what the Shunned are trading for coal,” he said, forcing himself to change the topic.

Pellar gave him a quizzical look.

“Fire-lizard eggs,” Zist told him. He looked fondly at Chitter. “I should have thought of it myself. Any holder or crafter would exchange top marks for a chance at a fire-lizard.”

Pellar nodded in agreement, one hand idly stroking Chitter’s cheek. The fire-lizard luxuriated in the attention, preening his head against Pellar’s fingers.

“I wonder if that’s how they got to Moran,” Zist said to himself thoughtfully.