CHAPTER 5

WHERHOLD,
AL 493.10

Pellar was careful to send Chitter on ahead to the camp before he approached. The fire-lizard returned immediately, eyes whirling with fear, and wrapped himself around Pellar’s neck, clutching tightly and painfully.

I’m going in, Pellar thought to his frightened friend. Chitter gave a plaintive but resigned mewl in response.

It was still daylight and so not at all hard for Pellar to spot Jaythen’s hiding place before Jaythen spotted him. He was sure that if he hadn’t he would never have avoided the arrow Jaythen sent whizzing his way. The arrow buried itself up to the shaft in the hard-packed dirt where Pellar had been walking.

It will be hard to hide in blue, Pellar decided, abandoning any notion of using his woodcraft to elude Jaythen.

Pellar broke into a run, zigzagging and moving in a wide arc to the far side of Jaythen. He dodged another arrow, and another. He was running blindly, without any plan, his only thought to get to Jaythen, to convince him somehow that he meant no harm.

“Did you sell us out for finery?” Jaythen yelled as the fourth arrow missed. He threw his bow aside and pulled a long dirk from his belt. “How good do you think it’ll look when your blood’s on it?”

Pellar dodged again, only to find himself gape-mouthed in unvoiced pain. He looked to his left and noticed an arrow sticking out of his left forearm. Someone else had shot him. He caught the sight of Arella rising up from her hiding place, eyes streaming with tears as she notched another arrow and aimed for his heart.

“I trusted you,” she yelled at him as she shot at him.

Aleesk! Pellar cried in his head as the arrow flew at him. Chitter launched himself—too late—toward the stone-tipped missile.

Time slowed for Pellar and suddenly the arrow was stuck in the air, crawling toward him. Chitter was hovering in place, getting nearer to the arrow as slowly as the arrow was approaching Pellar, and Pellar could see that the arrow would hit him before his fire-lizard could intervene.

But none of that mattered. What mattered was Aleesk, the gold watch-wher. For in that instant, Pellar felt himself a part of another in a way that he’d never felt before. He found himself in touch with Aleesk in a way he’d only imagined, even more than he’d felt with Hurth.

And he only felt. He was feeling: pain in his arm, pain in his laboring lungs, fear in his heart, sadness, grief, anger, loss, defeat, and above all that a burning shame and anger that this need not be, that if only Pellar had done something different, if only, if only—

Time moved again and the arrow whizzed toward him. Chitter’s cry of anguish filled the air and Pellar looked at his own death, a mere instant away.

Then suddenly the air was full of gold, of noise, of movement, and of anger, of understanding, of contrition.

Aleesk shielded Pellar with her body. The arrow struck her in the side, penetrated, and bounced out again. Aleesk bellowed, more in defiance than in pain, her head and eyes turning to Pellar, her mouth open, fangs bared.

She cried out to Pellar, then closed her mouth and nuzzled him, crying again in supplication, sorrow, concern.

I’m all right, Pellar told her. He found power he’d never known he’d had and stumbled over to her, grabbed her around the neck, and hugged her tightly. I’m all right.

The air was rent by a loud, outraged bellow, and suddenly the sky above was dark as a fully grown bronze dragon burst into existence above them.

I’m all right, Hurth, Pellar called to the dragon, fearing the wrath implied in the bronze’s huge red whirling eyes.

Jaythen lurched for his bow and notched it, aiming at the dragon.

No! Pellar cried in his head. Aleesk shrieked, and the sky darkened again as a bronze watch-wher emerged above them, its cries directed at Jaythen, its body shielding the dragon.

“Jaythen, stop!” Aleesa’s shouted.

Jaythen dropped his bow, his eyes wide in shock and horror.

“We do not attack dragons,” Aleesa declared, moving forward stiffly toward Aleesk. “Aleesk has said so.”

Jaythen looked at her in astonishment.

“She spoke?”

“She made me feel,” Aleesa said, holding her side at the same place as Arella’s arrow had hit the gold watch-wher.

Aleesa looked over to Pellar, her eyes hard as flint.

“You played your game well, little one,” she told him, her voice broken. She glanced up at the dragon hovering above her. “Now they will kill my Aleesk and there will be no more watch-whers, just as they wanted.” She shook her head, tears rolling unchecked down her cheek. “I trusted you, I truly trusted you.”

A sound from behind caused them all to turn sharply. D’vin had jumped off his dragon. He landed in a ball and rolled, jumping up quickly, his hands outstretched.

“You were right to trust him,” the dragonrider declared.

Jaythen snorted derisively. “He’s even ensnared the watch-whers.”

“Has he?” D’vin asked, turning to Aleesa. “What does your watch-wher tell you?”

“Watch-whers don’t talk, dragonman,” Aleesa responded, raising her head and glaring at him. “They feel, and act.”

“What did her actions tell you, then? What do her feelings tell you?”

Aleesa frowned thoughtfully. She looked at the gold watch-wher in an abstracted way, communing with her.

“Watch-whers are simple, uncomplicated beings,” she said after a moment. “She trusts him.” She glared at Pellar, hatred in every fiber of her being and then said to D’vin, “And he’s sold her to you.”

“I trust you, Pellar,” a voice called from the distance. Arella trotted in from her hiding place. She patted Aleesk apologetically, then threw her bow down to the ground and looked at her mother. “I felt you, I felt you and—”

“We are not your enemies,” D’vin declared, glancing from Arella to Aleesa and back. “Your watch-whers know this.” He glanced at Jaythen. “They know not to harm dragons.”

“And how do dragons think of them?” Jaythen demanded angrily.

They are our cousins, Hurth declared. Pellar looked up at the dragon and then noticed that Jaythen, Aleesa, and Arella were also staring up at the dragon, mouths open wide in surprise. They are our kin, as are the fire-lizards.

“Cousins?” D’vin echoed. He looked over at Pellar. “Do the harpers know this?”

Pellar shrugged.

“Cousins?” Aleesa repeated, turning her gaze from the bronze watch-wher to the bronze dragon.

And they do not like the light, Hurth added. You are to believe them. They are leaving now.

Suddenly the watch-whers were gone.

They are very nimble, Hurth remarked in a surprised tone. They are in their weyr; they like the dark.

Into the silence that followed this last draconic announcement, D’vin spoke. “I am D’vin, rider of bronze Hurth, wingleader at High Reaches. I have been sent by Weyrleader B’ralar to offer the protection and aid of High Reaches Weyr.”

“Dragonrider,” Arella said, bowing low, “on behalf of our watch-whers and the last of the golds on Pern, I accept your offer.”

“I am sorry for our behavior,” Aleesa said, shaking herself out of her shock.

“She’s the last gold?” D’vin asked, turning to the watch-wher with a horrified look on his face. He turned back to Arella. “And you shot at her?”

Arella flushed and gestured angrily at Pellar. “I shot at him,” she declared, “to protect her.”

Pellar strode over to the two, waved his hands for attention, grabbed their hands and pulled them together, forcing them to shake.

Hurth, Pellar thought to the dragon hovering still above them, tell them to stop bickering, and that I’m about to faint.

Pellar says that you are to stop bickering and that he is going faint, Hurth dutifully reported just as Pellar crumpled to the ground.

“So, when will you be ready to continue?” Arella asked Pellar as his eyes fluttered open.

Pellar gave her a look of outrage and Arella laughed. “I thought that’s what you’d do.”

Pellar closed his eyes again and felt for Chitter.

He is sleeping here with me, Hurth reported. Pellar got the impression of a small brown fire-lizard curled on the forearm of a large bronze dragon. I am glad you are well. He was quite upset. D’vin says that we can go whenever you wish. Aleesa says that the hatching will come any day now.

“Are you able to stand?” Arella asked. It was then that Pellar realized that she was lying next to him, her body’s heat warming him. Arella guessed his thoughts from his expression and smiled wryly at him. “Don’t go getting any ideas, Harper Pellar. There’s no mating flight for months yet. I am here because it was my arrow in your arm, and I owe you.”

Arella’s eyes were bright as they looked deep into his. He reached over and stroked her cheek. She leaned into it and then drew back again, all business. “Are you ready to earn your keep?”

Pellar nodded and rolled over, trying to rise and finding himself terribly weak. His left arm was sore and stiff, and his mouth opened vainly to cry in pain.

Arella’s strong arms grabbed at him, steadied him, and lifted him up.

“You’re as weak as a hatchling,” she told him, helping him up to a stool.

Pellar looked around for his slate. When he didn’t find it, he spread out his hands imploringly to Arella, then brought them together frantically, one flat like a slate, the other fisted like someone holding chalk.

“Your slate’s broken. You’ll have to talk through the dragon,” Arella informed him.

Hurth? Pellar thought to the dragon.

Tell me what you want and I will tell her, the dragon responded. D’vin is ready to help if you need.

Pellar glanced quickly down at his naked body, blushed, and decided that he would wait before taking the dragonrider up on his offer.

Arella bustled about him efficiently, throwing undergarments at him and helping him with them only when his attempts failed piteously. Trousers and his bloodstained tunic went on next, then Arella pushed him back onto the stool and gently slid socks onto his feet. She tugged his boots on carefully, keeping her eyes on his face for any signs of pain, but Pellar only winced twice as her movements jostled his arm.

“I would have killed you for betraying the watch-whers to their deaths,” Arella told him softly. “You understand? Wouldn’t you do the same if someone tried to kill Chitter?” She turned her head toward the watch-whers’ quarters. “And she’s the last of her kind.”

Pellar stared at her for a long while before nodding slowly. Tears rolled down Arella’s cheeks and she grabbed his right hand tightly. Pellar clenched back, and pulled her toward him. Surprised, Arella looked up from her kneeling position and crawled forward until her torso was cradled between his legs. Pellar pulled her hand back more, drawing her head toward him, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Arella let out a sob and dropped her head against his shoulder.

“Besides,” she sobbed against his chest, “you left me. I loved you and you left me.”

Pellar let go of her hand and wrapped his free hand around her back, hugging her tight against him. He patted her soothingly. He knew he loved her, too, and he tightened his arm, but even as he did so he closed his eyes and saw a small mound with a thin bundle of yellow flowers.

Tears rolled down his face, dropped onto Arella’s cheeks, mingled with her tears, and rolled with them onto his stained blue tunic.

With Hurth’s wings, D’vin’s assistance, and Arella’s support, Pellar managed to find candidates for all the twelve other eggs that Aleesa said Aleesk had clutched.

“She’ll outlive me,” Aleesa had confessed to Arella when they were ready to leave. “And then what happens? Will you bond with the last watch-wher on Pern or let her go between, the last of her kind with no queen to follow?”

Arella pursed her lips tightly and shook her head indecisively.

Aleesa decided not to press the issue and turned her attention to Pellar. She gave him a piercing look, like the first look she’d ever given him but weaker, a pale imitation of the one mere months before. For the first time Pellar realized how frail the thin Whermaster was and how tired she was of her old body, how worn out and sore she felt.

“Make sure you get some joint-ail medicine, Harper,” she told him firmly, as though guessing his thoughts. “I don’t move like I used to.”

Pellar nodded and then surprised himself, leaning forward and hugging her with his good arm. Awkwardly Aleesa patted him back and then pushed him away, spreading her gaze between him and Arella.

“Go now, or it’ll be too late.”

They returned three days later. Hurth bellowed a warning that Chitter repeated in quieter counterpoint. From within the watch-whers’ cavern came an echoing response.

“You’ve reason to be proud, you know,” Arella murmured in Pellar’s ear as they spiraled down toward the ground. She was perched behind him, while D’vin was in front. She reached forward and squeezed his thigh for emphasis. Pellar nodded and covered her hand with his.

“Some of them are already here,” D’vin noted as they circled down for their landing. Above him, a dragon bugled; he peered back over his shoulder. “Those are Benden colors. The Weyrleader!”

Hurth suddenly lurched sideways, clearing a path for the great bronze dragon bearing Benden’s Weyrleader. As the bronze descended, Pellar caught a glimpse of three passengers: Natalon with his eyes scrunched firmly tight, Zist, and Kindan. The youngest son of Camp Natalon’s last watch-wher handler looked a little green with fear, but his eyes were wide with excitement.

“I need to get down,” Arella muttered from behind. “I need to help Mother.”

As if in response, Hurth tucked into a steep dive, backwinging only a dagger’s length above the ground and landing firmly. Arella was in motion immediately, nimbly scrambling down the dragon’s front leg. She patted him absently before darting into the crowd gathered in the hollow.

D’vin turned in his seat and said, “Pellar, I think it might be a good idea to keep you out of sight. As long as those down there don’t know that you’re here, they won’t know if you know the location of the watch-wher’s lair.”

Pellar nodded. He and Arella had bargained well for the watch-wher’s eggs, and the Whermaster and the rest of the camp would find their lives easier for Turns to come, but news of their riches would certainly spread to the Shunned, who would have the double incentive of those goods and the watch-wher eggs that could be traded for more.

“I, on the other hand,” D’vin continued, “have to mingle amongst our guests. They don’t know where this camp is, all having come a-dragonback, but Zist is hoping they’ll draw the obvious conclusion.”

Pellar quirked an eyebrow at the bronze rider. D’vin smiled and waved a finger at him. “You’re a harper—surely you’ve noticed the only Weyr not represented here?”

Pellar looked around at the other dragons, some aloft on watch, some perched on top the hill below. He found the riders and their markings—Fort, Ista, Benden, and High Reaches. Suddenly he found himself holding his sides in silent laughter. Only Telgar was not present. Any devious mind would quickly conclude that Master Aleesa’s camp was still on Telgar lands!

“So where are they?” Tenim shouted, angrily pounding his fist on the table. A sudden hush filled the tavern. Hold Balan had grown up as natural stopping point for barges and drays on their journey between Miner’s Hold and Campbell’s Field. The holders earned much of their trade providing the bargemen and draymen with lodgings and meals, so they were used to a raucous, constantly changing crowd. Even so, patrons turned nervously toward him. Some tossed back the last of their drinks and made their exit with indecorous haste.

Moran made calming gestures with his hands. “They’re checking.”

“Checking? Checking?” Tenim roared, the veins in his neck standing out like ropes. He pounded the table again, ignoring the worried expressions of the few remaining patrons and the cowed look of the owner with whom he’d already shared harsh words and short jabs, concentrating instead on Moran’s worried face. Oh, he thinks he hides it, Tenim thought, but I know. I know who’s in charge here, and it’s not this fat old fool.

“Checking,” Moran repeated firmly. “Halla’s report is from Crom; we’ve still Telgar to hear from, and Miner’s Hold to the east—who knows?”

“We don’t,” Tenim growled. “There’s a fortune changing hands and we don’t even know where.” He gave the harper a cunning look. “Think of the children you could help with that sort of money.”

Tenim smiled to himself as he saw his remark hit home. Oh yes, I know your loyalties, he thought, wondering how he could have ever thought of the older man as anything but a weakling.

Sure, it was true that Moran had found him, fed him, nursed him back to health when no others would so much as raise a hand for the son of a Shunned father and no one had the time for his spineless mother. He never wondered anymore what had happened to her; the last he’d seen of her was the night she’d turned on his father and he’d struck her down. Tenim had learned not to argue with his father at an early age; in fact, at the same time that Tenim had learned that even if she’d had a will, his mother would have never used it in his defense.

“If you hadn’t sold all the coal we’d stolen for your brats, we’d have enough now to pay for decent information,” Tenim added. “I told you to hold on to it.”

“Who would we sell the egg to?” Moran asked. He wondered again how he had come to this pass, how the boy he’d succored so long ago had turned into this sour young man, and again he remembered the many petty compromises, lies, wheedles, and thefts that the harper had made to provide the next day’s food, to feed just one more helpless mouth, make one more small difference, only to find himself repeating the effort the next day, this time to feed even more mouths with even more theft and lies.

“Anybody,” Tenim replied sourly. “Think of what we could get. They say that Tarik’s camp promised a whole winter’s supply of coal for their chance at an egg. What would they pay for the real thing in their hands, no questions asked?”

“Somebody would ask questions,” Moran protested. “There aren’t that many watch-whers—”

Tenim cut him off. “What makes you so certain? Why would they care where it came from?”

“I suppose they might not,” Moran said, unwilling to press the point. “Not that it matters—we don’t know where they are. The eggs might have been distributed already.”

Tenim snorted. “If they had, then Tarik would have told us.” He took a sip of his ale. “You didn’t hear how much he complained about the waste.” He frowned thoughtfully and took another long pull on his drink, then threw it back altogether, draining the mug and slamming it on the table. He rose and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Moran asked. “We have to wait for the rest of the children.”

Tenim snorted. “You wait if you want. I know where one egg will be, and I know what’ll be paid for it. I’ll get that for certain.”

“There’s an egg left,” Aleesa announced as the last of the party left.

“Is there anyone else who wanted to trade?” D’vin asked Pellar. Pellar thought for a long moment before shaking his head. He stifled a yawn, gave everyone a sheepish look—which grew deeper as others yawned in succession—and then shook his head again firmly to be certain he was understood.

“Aleesk won’t move until the last egg’s gone,” Aleesa told the others.

“If she doesn’t move, there’s a good chance you may be found out by some of the Shunned,” D’vin replied.

“So now we’ll see the worth of a dragonrider’s word,” Jaythen responded, eyeing the bronze rider challengingly.

For a moment it looked as though the young dragonrider would respond to Jaythen’s barb, then D’vin relaxed and smiled. “Yes, you will.”

Aleesa slapped Jaythen on the arm. “You apologize, Jaythen. They’ve kept their word and more.”

Jaythen’s jaw clenched as he locked eyes with the dragonrider. Then he drew himself up to his full height and gave D’vin a low bow. “Aleesa’s right, dragonrider. You’ve done everything you’ve said you would; I had no call to doubt you.”

D’vin waved the apology away. “We’ve all been working hard, we’re tired.”

“It’s not just that,” Jaythen replied as he stood up. “We—” He waved a hand to include Aleesa, Arella, and the rest of the wherholders. “—have had to be wary for so long that it’s hard to trust anyone.”

“No problem, I understand,” D’vin told the man, his eyes full of warmth at Jaythen’s candor and integrity.

“I think it is a problem, bronze rider,” Jaythen disagreed mildly. “We have fewer friends when we treat them like enemies.”

“Hmm, I imagine that’s so,” D’vin replied. He held out his hand to Jaythen. “Will you be friends with a rider from High Reaches?”

Jaythen nodded and took the hand, shaking it firmly.

“There’s still an egg left,” Arella reminded them. “If we’re to trade, we’ll need to act fast.”

Aleesa shook her head. She looked over to Pellar. “That boy, Kindan, he was a worthy lad,” she said. “If his egg doesn’t hatch, we’ll give him this one.”

“And what if his egg hatches, Mother?” Arella demanded.

Aleesa sighed. “Then the hatchling will decide what’s necessary.”

Arella and Jaythen both paled, and Pellar looked inquiringly at them.

“It’ll go between,” Arella explained.

“Forever?” D’vin asked, aghast.

Arella nodded.

Aleesa looked Pellar straight in the eyes and said, “You go, be sure that egg hatches, and come back to help us move and keep your part of the bargain.”

Pellar nodded. D’vin gestured for the harper to follow him. In moments Pellar was airborne, and an instant later, between.

They arrived in daylight, hovering over the grave plateau, hidden from the miners by the mountain peak to the east.

After Pellar dismounted, D’vin looked down at him and said, “You know that if this lad’s egg hatches, Aleesa will be expecting you to bond with the other hatchling.”

Pellar nodded, grimacing.

D’vin pursed his lips thoughtfully before continuing, “Don’t forget that your future is your own to choose, not hers.”

Pellar shook his head, pulled out his slate, and wrote, “Oath.”

D’vin craned down to read the slate. “Your oath was to teach her and be harper, not to become a wherhandler.”

Pellar felt that D’vin wasn’t saying all he thought. With a sudden insight he pointed his finger at D’vin and at Hurth and then back at himself and shook his head firmly—there was no way that he could become a dragonrider.

D’vin says that you should know that dragons choose whom they will, Hurth informed him. You are the right age, the bronze added on his own.

Pellar threw up his hands. Thank you, thank D’vin, please. I must go now.

Call when you have need, Hurth said. I like the sound of your voice.

Pellar waved and turned to the path around and down the hill. He had been marching a long time before he realized that Hurth had referred to his “voice.” He stopped, momentarily stunned that anyone had ever heard his voice. Hurth could hear him. Really hear him. Pellar’s face split into a huge grin. The rest of his journey to the miner’s camp disappeared behind that amazing thought.

Perhaps he could be a dragonrider. Chitter burst forth from between a short distance above him and made it clear that he was sure that Pellar could be a dragonrider. After all, Pellar was his mate, so why not something bigger?

Pellar gave Chitter a shushing gesture—they were too near the camp and he didn’t want to attract attention. In fact, he thought with a sudden chill, he wasn’t sure how Master Zist would feel about his sudden arrival.

Reflecting on that, Pellar decided to wait until dusk before approaching the camp. Chitter wasn’t happy with the decision, projecting more and more pointed images of mouthwatering food and warm fires as the bitter evening chill drew down upon them.

All the same, Pellar held out until dark. If his approach to the camp afterward was perhaps more influenced by his grumbling stomach than his caution, he felt Chitter was to blame.

Whatever the reason, Pellar was surprised when he stumbled across someone crouched in a bush outside of the shed that had housed the late watch-wher.

Believing the worst, Pellar grabbed his victim around the throat, determined to repay his attacker for every bruise and indignity.

“It’s me,” a young voice gasped out hoarsely. Pellar let go instantly and sprang back, dropping into a defensive crouch as he revised his estimate of the situation. The other person was smaller than him and younger—neither Tenim nor Tarik. But the voice sounded vaguely like Tarik’s.

Cristov.

What was he doing here? Pellar wondered. It didn’t matter. He moved close and carefully massaged the boy’s throat the same way he’d done his own after Tenim’s assault.

“Sorry,” Pellar wrote after Cristov recovered.

“You—” Cristov stopped, swallowed, and massaged his throat before continuing. “You thought I was Tenim.”

Pellar nodded.

“Are you afraid he might steal the egg?”

Pellar’s eyes widened at the thought. It was a good idea that neither he nor Aleesa had had. Certainly Tenim knew where Camp Natalon was and would have no trouble finding the watch-wher egg. It would be easy for him to steal it before it hatched. In all the efforts of his dealings to find homes for the eggs, Pellar hadn’t considered the possibility that, once placed, the egg might still be in danger from the Shunned.

“Father says it’s a waste of a winter’s coal,” Cristov said. He looked Pellar straight in the eyes. “Even if it is, it’d be worse if the egg was stolen, wouldn’t it?”

Pellar nodded in agreement with the boy’s logic.

“I decided I could help and keep an eye on it,” Cristov explained. Pellar got the distinct impression that Cristov was not telling him all of his reasons; in that moment he got the distinct impression that Cristov was a rather lonely youngster, someone looking for an older friend. Pellar knew the feeling well, and recalled how well his suggestion that Zist get Kaylek to mentor the youngster had worked. Could it be that Cristov was hoping to see Pellar again? The thought made the young harper feel confused—both flattered and embarrassed.

Chitter appeared at that moment, hovering nearby. Pellar got the impression that the fire-lizard had seen everything but had been confused by both Pellar’s actions and Cristov’s reactions.

“He’s beautiful,” Cristov exclaimed, tentatively holding his hand up to Chitter. Pellar gestured to Chitter and sent the fire-lizard a thought; Chitter chirped an assent and dropped down to hover just in front of Cristov’s outstretched hand.

“Can I touch him?” the boy asked Pellar, eyes wide with awe. In answer, Chitter snaked his head forward, jaw canted so that the Cristov’s fingers were touching his favorite scratching spot. Cristov needed little prodding and was soon happily scratching Chitter’s jaw and rubbing over his eye sockets, totally absorbed with the fire-lizard’s enthusiastic responses.

“Will the watch-wher be the same?” Cristov asked, taking his eyes off the fire-lizard just long enough to look at Pellar.

For a moment Pellar wondered whether Cristov was asking about the watch-wher’s appearance or its behavior. Guessing that he meant the behavior, he nodded in agreement, remembering Aleesk’s staunch defense.

“It won’t be as pretty as you, though,” Cristov told Chitter, fearing that he might offend his newfound friend. Chitter agreed with everything Cristov said, especially when the miner boy brought up his other hand and scratched both sides of Chitter’s face.

After a long time, Cristov looked back to Pellar. “Are you here to guard the egg, too?”

Pellar thought quickly, and made his decision. He shook his head and wrote, “No. Ask you.”

Cristov’s eyes got very big. “Me? You want to ask me to guard the egg?”

Pellar nodded.

The younger boy swallowed hard. “I’m not very big,” he admitted.

Pellar grinned and wrote, “Big enough.”

Cristov still looked dubious, so Pellar cleaned his slate and wrote, “Trust you.”

As the young miner absorbed this, a woman’s voice called out, “Cristov!”

Cristov shook himself out of his reverie and his eyes lost their shine. “I can’t stay up late,” he confessed sadly. “My mother would find out.”

“Only day,” Pellar wrote hastily.

“And you’ll watch at night?” Cristov said. “You and your fire-lizard?”

Pellar nodded.

Cristov mulled this over, the shine returning to his eyes.

“Cristov!” his mother called again.

“Deal,” Cristov said, holding out his hand to Pellar. Pellar took it and shook it firmly, convinced that Cristov was nothing like his father.

“Gotta go,” Cristov explained, then turned quickly and shouted, “Coming!”

Pellar waved at the retreating form and then wiggled into the bush Cristov had been using.

Pellar’s improvised guard schedule worked perfectly over the next three days. Cristov’s “guard” was unnoticed by the rest of the camp as he lived right next to the shed where the watch-wher egg had been placed, and his presence made it easy for Pellar to sneak into place for his night watch and sneak away in the morning.

When Pellar arrived for his watch on the fourth evening, Cristov was there to greet him, his face clouded.

“It hatched,” he said in a dull voice. “I haven’t seen it yet.”

Pellar gestured for Cristov to say more.

“You’re going to leave now, aren’t you?” Cristov asked with a deep sigh. Pellar nodded. Cristov screwed up his courage to ask, “Will I ever see you again?”

It was obvious to Pellar that Cristov was looking for a friend, a surrogate older brother, someone to train him in what was right and how to live in the world. Pellar was amazed that the boy had already decided that Tarik was no such guide, had decided to abandon the teaching of his father and look instead for some other mentor. He understood Cristov; a wave of sympathy and regret swept over him. He’d promised Aleesa. He was needed back with the Whermaster.

“Not soon. Turns,” Pellar promised on his slate, not wanting to set the boy hoping for his early return even though he wasn’t sure how long it would be before Masterharper Murenny or Master Zist arranged for his replacement at the wherhold.

“Turns?”

“Promise,” Pellar wrote in response.

“Turns,” Cristov repeated, eyes downcast. He looked up at Pellar. “How will you recognize me? How will I recognize you?”

Pellar smiled and pointed to Cristov’s heart and then his own.

Cristov nodded slowly in response, but Pellar felt that the boy was still disheartened. He held up a hand for a moment, then shrugged off his backpack and rummaged through it.

Cristov watched wide-eyed as Pellar searched his pack. His eyes got even bigger when Pellar pulled out a lovely pipe and ceremoniously handed it to him. No one had ever given him something before.

“Is this for me?” Cristov asked in disbelief.

Pellar nodded. He wiped his slate clean and wrote on it, “Zist teach.”

“You want me to ask Master Zist for lessons?” Cristov squeaked in surprise. When Pellar nodded, Cristov confessed, “I don’t know if I’d be any good.”

“Try,” Pellar wrote in response.

“Okay,” Cristov promised. Pellar sealed up his pack and shouldered it once more. As he turned to go, Cristov said, “I’ll try real hard.”

Pellar turned back and grabbed the youngster in a big hug. Then as quick as he could, Pellar vanished into the darkness.

Two hours later, Pellar stood again in the plateau clearing.

Hurth, I’m ready, he thought.

We come, the dragon responded immediately. You sound sad.

I am, Pellar responded. How many children on Pern, he wondered, were like Cristov—trying to do their best without example?