Chap. 263 A Much Better Name

Chap. 263 A Much Better Name

Ayden perused his slate. Most of the group had been assigned tasks. K’ndar began to get nervous. Had he not been selected because he would be doing something that even resembled haying?

Aydan slapped his head. “Numbskull!”

He scanned the diminished group.

“I’m such a dunce! I’m team leader now and so I’m needing a driver. Who here can drive a team?”

K’ndar raised his hand. He was surprised to be the only one.

“I can ride,” several said.

“Most of us can, yes, but I need someone who can drive. I see only K’ndar, so, K’ndar, if you would, please, drive today?”

“Of course! Anything has to be better than haying,” K’ndar said.

Secretly, he was delighted-and felt a twinge of guilt. Doing anything with horses...even mucking stalls...was much better than wrestling hay bales. The others might not be doing something so easy.

“Thank you. If you’ll stand fast, I’ll finish up doling out assignments, then I’ll take you to the barns.”

As the last of the group left on their assignments, Ayden beckoned to K’ndar.
“Ready? By the way, please don’t take offense, dragonrider, but...I’ve had people claim they can drive only to discover that they think it involves merely sitting on the bench with the reins. I had one person, a long time ago, who tried to put the horse into the traces backwards.”

“How in the world did he do that?”

“I don’t know, and scary to say, he almost succeeded! So...please, I’ll be watching how you harness the team.”

“I don’t mind. I’ve harnessed a horse or two in my life. Where will I be going?”

“Your task for the day is going from one station to the next, picking up cargo, like fruit bins, crates, barrels, and transporting them to various storage areas of the Hold.”

“Um...how will I know where to go and where to take it?”

Ayden smiled. “Worry not, dragonrider. Hazel will be your guide and navigator. What she doesn’t know about the Hold wouldn’t fill a nutshell.”

____________________________________________________________

The barn-half cavern and half wooden construction-was dim and cool after the bright heat outside.

The smell of hay and horses! I truly love it, he thought. Siskin, who’d spent the prior haying day on Raventh’s back, launched to hunt for crawlers.

“Don’t let ‘im hurt the cats,” Ayden warned.

“Yes, sir. He won’t, he ignores cats, dogs, and usually, birds. He mostly hunts tunnel snakes and crawlers.”

Ayden nodded. “We’ve not seen tunnel snakes here in a long while. We’ve got a resident night raptor who pretty much keeps the tunnel snakes under control. Crawlers, yes, they’re fairly harmless, although at times they’ll spook a horse by dropping onto his back.”

A horse whinnied. No matter how many times I’ve heard that, it still thrills me, he thought.

A woman of an incredibly advanced age came in, walking slowly, a cane in her hand. The cane, made of redtree, had at one time been ornately carved. But years and use had burnished the wood smooth. Her hair was snow white. She was, quite possibly, the oldest woman he’d ever met. Had she had come forward with the Old Timers?

Ayden bobbed his head. “Hazel, this is K’ndar, rider of brown Raventh. K’ndar is from Landing, here to help with harvest.”

Ayden’s tone was that of a subordinate to a noble. But he’d added no title indicating what that level might be. Nevertheless, instinct told K’ndar that treating Hazel as such was probably the wisest thing to do. Even if she was not nobility, just her age warranted respect.

He bobbed his head. She looked up at him and smiled. He was instantly reassured. There was a serenity, an inner peace in her rheumy eyes. Grandmothers looked at you like this. He half expected her to pat him on the cheek.

“My lady,” he said, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Thank you, laddie. It’s Hazel. Just plain old Hazel, like me, plain and old.” She tittered. “It is a pleasure, K’nmar. Are you my driver for today?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He took a risk. “And begging your pardon, ma’am, Hazel, it’s K’ndar.”

She laughed. “Thank you! So often people are afraid to correct me! I don’t know why, I’ve never bitten anyone. I’ve met so many people in my life, I begin to mix up names. I don’t want people to think I’m losing my mind, K’nmar!”

A calico cat trittrotted to her, mewing. She bent down carefully to pick it up. Cuddling it, she said, “Where have you been, Teak? Are you ready to go for a ride?”

Siskin had returned to his shoulder. The fire lizard looked at the cat and chipped, softly.

“Your little dragon, K’nmar? It won’t hurt my cat, will it? She likes to ride with me on the wagon.” Hazel said. The calico looked at the fire lizard. K’ndar felt no reaction from Siskin.

“He won’t hurt your cat, ma’am, I promise. He’s very well behaved. He might feel a bit of jealousy, though. Cats and fire lizards are alike in that they think we humans are here to serve them.”

She laughed. “Ah, K’nmar, you are correct. Teak here is convinced that my lap was created solely for her to sleep in.”

Ayden moved quickly behind her and locked his eyes on K’ndar’s. They clearly said, one correction is enough.

The cat wriggled and Hazel deposited the cat gently on the ground.

He met Ayden’s eyes and nodded. Message received.

A horse whinnied, this time with more urgency.

“Hazel, will you need a slate of the stations?” Ayden asked. He had just the slightest bit of anxiety in his tone.

Her eyes pierced his. “Ayden. No. I’ve done this a time or two.”

“Yes’m, you have. Quite possibly longer than I’ve been alive.”

He put the slate down and brushed his hands. “Right then. K’ndar, let’s get the team ready. Your wagon is that one on your right, next to the wall. That pen on the right with the bay mare? She’s your left horse, the liver chestnut gelding in the pen just beyond hers, he’s your right. If he thinks you’re a novice at harnessing, he’ll test you. But once he’s in the traces, he’s honest and solid. Do him up first, and unharness him first. He demands that.”

“Does he need tying?”

“Once he’s harnessed? Nay. He knows the harness means it’s work time. Put him in the traces and he’ll stand all day. Once you get the mare in, though, he’ll be snorting to go. That’s the hardest part of handling him, he’ll wear himself out if you don’t rate him. The mare is the steady one.”

He let himself into the gelding’s pen, a halter in his left hand. The horse raised its head high, the left eye rolling at this stranger.

“Whoa, son, there’s a good lad. My, but you’re a big ‘un.” He pressed gently on the point of the horse’s shoulder and the gelding dropped his head. K’ndar quickly haltered him.

He leaned to the left, keeping his body and head on the side of that of the gelding, and gently breathed into the left nostril. The horse responded by whuffing back. They spent several moments introducing themselves. His right hand reached for the withers and began to scratch. The gelding turned his head towards K’ndar. He instinctively put up his left elbow to keep from being bitten or shoved. But the gelding only wanted to reciprocate, as is done in all polite equine society.

“That’s okay, there’s a good boy. I don’t need grooming,” he said, pushing the horse’s head back.

Without looking back, he said, “Ayden? What’s his name?”

“Ace. He was won with a pair of aces in a dragon poker game, and the owner didn’t have the money to pay his gambling bet! Honestly, he’s worth more than any bit of money. He’s a good horse.”

“My compliments to your Herdmaster. All your horses are in beautiful condition.”

“I’ll pass that on,” Ayden said.

The bay mare whinnied and began to paw.

Ace, realizing K’ndar was a horseman, gave him no trouble being harnessed.

Once Ayden saw that K’ndar was every bit the horseman, he relaxed. He joined Hazel, who had magically produced bits of carrot. She fed a few to Ace.

“Now for the mare.”

The mare whinnied as he approached. She tossed her head and pawed.

“Don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Ayden said, troubled, “she’s usually very quiet”.

He let himself into the pen. “Oh, I do. She wants some carrot. And my undivided attention.”

“Here,” Hazel said, handing him a piece of carrot.

Oh, this was going to be good, he thought. If it works. He took the carrot with his left hand.

The mare nickered deep in her throat. He breathed into her nostrils and began to scratch her withers.

She stretched her head and curled her lip.

“Hello, Kitten, how are you? You’re looking wonderful!”

She snuffed at his pockets.

“Ah, you want carrot?” She tossed her head.

He moved in front of her, his hands behind his back.

He looked the mare in the eye.

“You want carrot, yes? Oh, I know you do. Yes. But you have to tell me which hand it’s in.”

The mare swished her tail, uncertain.

Would she remember?

Hazel and Ayden, behind him, were mystified.

“Where’s the carrot? Which hand?”

The mare was hesitant. She was thinking.

“Carrot? Where’s the carrot?”

The mare tossed her head and lifted her left foreleg. She shook it up and down.

“Well DONE, girl! What a smart horse!!” he cried, as he fed her the carrot. She munched, happily.

“How..I’ll be smoked. You know this mare?” Ayden said, astonished.

K’ndar laughed. He curled his right arm under her jaw and scratched the base of her ear on the opposite side. He used to call it an upside down hug. The mare pressed her head down onto his arm, just enough.

Oh, it was always so satisfying, to impress others with such a simple trick.

“Know her? I was in her dam’s pen the night she was foaled. I named her Kitten for the star on her forehead. She must be, oh, ten? Twelve now? We bred her. My cothold breeds draft horses for sale, and as tithes for Lord Dorn. She was tithed as a two year old. We broke and trained her to ride and drive, and I taught her some tricks. I taught ALL our horses tricks. So, yes, I’d say I know her.”

Huh huh huh, she nickered. He scrubbed the namesake star on her forehead.

“There’s a girl. I love you, too,” he said, softly. She whuffled the hair on the top of his head.

Ayden gaped. “I’ve insulted you, then, K’ndar, I apologize. You probably know more about handling horses than I do. I’ve always been just a farmer who knows how to drive.”

“And I’m just a dragonrider who, now, knows how to put up hay. No apologies needed, Ayden.”

Hazel said, “We’ve been calling her Cat Face all this time. But I like Kitten better. It suits her personality.”

“I agree. It’s decided!” Ayden said, “I’ll advise the Herdmaster that from now on, her name is Kitten.”

 

Chap. 262 Never Run with a Dagger

Chap. 262 Never Run With a Dagger

It’s so typical of people, he thought, that we join the same group we worked with yesterday. I could just as easily walk over to the group Raylan’s in, they didn’t work hay. No one would be the wiser.

But I would know, he thought.

He’d risen early and eaten a big breakfast before flying to Singing Waters Hold. He was still sore from his exertions of yesterday, but not as much as he’d expected.

It was always a thrill to come out of between to see so many other dragons. There was always a bugled welcome.

I’m enjoying being with them. I like being at Landing, but I miss other dragons Raventh said.

Even with Motanith and the other dragons living right next door?

It’s not the same. Some of these dragons are my clutch mates, like Kenth.

He resigned himself to another day of backbreaking labor, putting up hay. The only benefit was that he was in amongst his own kind, dragonriders, and even the ones who were strangers to him accepted him not as a Landing staff member, but as just another dragonrider. I can’t let them down, he thought. They worked just as hard as I did, without complaint.

The worst part would be having to grit his teeth and listen to another day of Morgan verbally attacking F’mart. He, along with everyone else in the group, wanted to kill the man.

The man had badgered F’mart the entire day. K’ndar was astounded at the bronze rider’s acceptance of it. F’mart had never been one to take such verbal abuse. As a Weyrleader, he didn’t have to. Yet F’mart seemingly was deaf to the myriad of insults and slurs Morgan heaped upon him. Morgan assigned him the hardest, dirtiest of tasks, taunted him, questioned his manhood. F’mart merely grinned and did as he was told.

It was the rest of his dragonriders who grew more and more angry. Morgan’s slander merely made an already tight group even more so. They began to resist, turning Morgan’s abuse into a game. “Pimple” became their go to name for each other. “Hey, pimple! hand me that rake, please?”

At the lunch break, the team drank the water barrel dry, and and tried to fit everyone into the shade thrown by the hay wagon.

Two women drove up in a pony cart, set up an impromptu bench and piled their lunches on it. “Can we get a hand here, please? We’ve a full barrel of water for you.” K’ndar was nearest them, having been attracted by the lovely and refined pony. Another man came to help. The barrel was heavy, but the women had maneuvered the cart so that the full one slid easily onto it’s rack beside the driver’s bench. They loaded the empty onto the cart.

One of the women looked over her shoulder. She lowered her voice until it was audible only for them.

“I apologize for the way Morgan’s treating you weyrfolk,” she said, “it’s not right. He hates everyone, it’s not just you. It’s just, I’ve never heard such rot out of his mouth before. We here at Singing Waters Hold, we don’t usually do this sort of crap.”

The other man said, “You’re not to blame, ma’am, we are just wondering why he’s here at all. He’s not worth much more than pig shit.”

She held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, sir. Pig shit DOES have a use, it grows beautiful flowers and nice, strong trees!”

They laughed. Then she shook her head. “I really don’t know why he’s here, where he came from, or why Lord Dorn hasn’t strung him up. He just showed up about six months ago. Rumor has it he’s some sort of shirt tail relative, and was sent here as a last attempt to redeem himself. It’s not working. You’re not the only ones complaining. I think Lord Dorn is just waiting for him to cross a line. He’s a fair man, is Lord Dorn, but there’s only so far he’s willing to allow a sod like Morgan to push him.”

K’ndar remembered his brother’s tale of being on his knees before Lord Dorn, begging for forgiveness and a chance to make amends when it was discovered their father had been cheating the Lord Holder on tithes. Yes, Lord Dorn was fair..up to a point. Push past that point to your peril.

“If you’ll forgive me, we have to go get another barrel for the other teams. And food. Eat up, folks, the handpies are to die for,” the woman said in her regular voice.

K’ndar felt a little better. At least Morgan’s abuse wasn’t his imagination.

Morgan and Aydan unharnessed the draft horses and led them away. They would be replaced by two fresh horses.

Somehow that didn’t seem right, he thought. But one took care of one’s horses. He certainly didn’t want to pull the heavily loaded wagons by hand.

When they were out of earshot, the dragon folk began to beg F’mart to let them kill him.

“Why, sir, are you putting up with this crap? Any one of us, even the non-dragonriders, we’re ready to kill him.”

F’mart levered himself up onto his elbows and grinned. “Thank you, but...have patience. There is a method to my madness. I’m here, right now, as working guest of Lord Dorn’s, just another pair of hands to bring in the harvest.”

“Let me at least clobber him, teach him some manners,” one said. K’ndar recognized him as an older rider, one who’d ridden in the wing opposite his when they were still fighting thread. It felt so odd to hear the deference in the man’s voice to F’mart, who was, after all, two years younger than K’ndar. “Please, sir, this is driving me mad. That arsehole needs a whipping.”

Other voices chimed in, agreeing.

The weyrling gold rider, the ‘tiny’ girl, jumped to her feet and stood in front of F’mart, hands on hips. She unconsciously displayed the body language that someday, would mark her as a Weyrleader.

K’ndar had watched her working just as hard as the men, without a bit of complaint. How can I bitch when this mite of a girl isn’t?

“My lord, you are my WEYRLEADER. This is disgraceful. You shouldn’t even have to to do this,” she said.

Yes. Definitely a gold rider.

He laughed. “Aye, I am, and aye, you’re right. But I have to eat, too, just like everyone else, and this is how I show all of you that we are not better than anyone else. We’re just luckier, because we have dragons.”

“I’m no dragonrider, Weyrleader F’mart. I’m just one of Lord Dorn’s cotholders. I beg of you. Let me hammer him. Just one punch, one solid punch. He doesn’t have a right to say things like this. I’m sick of it.”

F’mart spit and spit until he dislodged a piece of chaff that had stuck to his tongue.

“Have any of you ever hunted tunnel snakes?”

Many of them said yes.

K’ndar could not get over how mature the bronze rider had become. He was no longer the punk and bully he’d been when they were classmates.

F’mart said, “There was an old wise man named Sunsoo who said “he wins who knows when to fight and when not to fight.”

“And that has what to do with tunnel snakes?”

“The easiest way to kill one is to stay just out of its striking range. You make it strike and strike and strike until it gets tired. A tired tunnel snake makes the mistake of extending itself too far. That’s when you cut off its head.

Watch and see what I am doing. Do you see how he’s worked himself into a lather? He’s upped his abuse to no effect. Like the tunnel snake, he’s tired himself out. What’s worse is that he’s furious, having realized that I’m obviously toying with him. He sees me..and all of you! turning it into a game. He’s shot every arrow in his quiver and not hit the mark once-at least with me. I can see it’s bothering all of you. Thank you for that, but stop worrying. I have a very thick skin.”

He scratched at his neck. “But not so thick that this shaffing chaff can’t itch me.” The crowd laughed...but still was unhappy.

The man who’d helped with the barrel related what the woman had said about Morgan being new there as a sort of last chance. He added, “Sir, no one should have to take this sort of abuse. Not a weyrleader, not a drudge.”

“You are correct, but people like Morgan don’t see things that way. He’s the type that thinks that EVERYONE is like him, we just haven’t been caught yet.

Listen. I...you all...have helped tire him out. He’s the tired tunnel snake. He’s made mistakes that I will take advantage of. He knows that I WILL speak with Lord Dorn about his outrageous treatment. Once Dorn gathers as much information as he needs-I’m hoping you all are willing to testify to Morgan’s abuse?”

The crowd roared in unison, along with a forest of raised hands.

“Thank you. I doubt it will be necessary, but keep it in your mind. Now, think. Morgan’s already figured out that he’s already crossed the line that will force Lord Dorn’s hand. So he’s desperate. His only saving will be if he can provoke me into attacking first, especially if it’s in front of Dorn’s staff.

Then he can claim self defense. But I only LOOK stupid. “

“Weyrleader F’mart, I can’t stand waiting an entire month for you to hand him his head.”

F’mart laughed again and stood up. He brushed at his sodden shirt to remove clinging hay. It was fruitless.

“Ah, you’re not going to have to. That “next month” noise was nothing but gas and ash. It’s meant to throw me off guard. No, he’s going to come at me tonight. He’ll probably jump me after nightfall, when I’m coming out of the festivities tent.

He’ll expect me to be drunk. He’ll be alone, hiding in some dark little corner where no one can see the fight, and armed with a dagger. The only way cowards like him can fight is dirty. I can do both.”

Almost to a man or woman, the crowd said “We have your back. We won’t let that happen.”

“Let’s jump HIS arse before he gets to you.”

“No, no, no, I WANT him to ambush me. I want him to think I’m complacent. Let him come to me. He has a plan. I don’t intend to go by it. That’s one way to gain an advantage. That’s how fights are won. There are people here...K’ndar, for instance, my classmate, who know how I fight.”

K’ndar nodded, as did several of the other older dragonriders. He remembered one time being so pissed at F’mart’s taunts that he was about to hit him.

He shivered. I am so glad I held my temper, he thought. That was BEFORE he’d ever seen F’mart in a fight. Now?

“K’ndar? You’ve fought him?” someone asked.

“Fought F’mart? No way. I’d sooner fight a mother wher than F’mart when he’s truly inspired. I can at least outrun a wher,” he said.

F’mart caught his eye. It held something new...respect. He nodded.

“Will Lord Dorn behead him?”

“I don’t know. Verbally assaulting the guest of a Lord Holder is very serious, but not enough of a crime to warrant beheading. Attacking that guest with a weapon is, especially if the guest is wounded, never mind murdered.

Lord Dorn may give me the pleasure of deciding the punishment. Let me think of this this afternoon. It will take my mind off of how bad my hands and back hurt, especially considering this is only day one of a long, long week.”

He snuffed, trying to clear his nose of hay dust. “Now lets get something to eat. We still have half a day’s work ahead of us.”

K’ndar was awed. F’mart had allowed himself to be Morgan’s target in order to draw the man’s abuse from everyone else.

This is all a game to F’mart, he thought. He might have matured but he’s still itching for a good fight.

He’d had enough time for a short, if itchy nap. He got up, feeling refreshed...a little.

“Here he comes with the fresh horses,” someone hissed. Morgan was riding a black gelding, Ayden was riding a bay mare.

K’ndar recognized the mare as one of the draft horses his family had bred. They’d named her Kitten after the cat’s head shaped blaze on her head.

The mare stopped, looked at him, and nickered. Well, of course you’d say hello, he thought, I was there when your mum dripped you. I trained you. You always were a sweetheart.

He made to go up to say hello, but Morgan shouted, “Hey, you lout! It’s back to work, wastrel.”

He bit back a retort. After a moment, he turned and skipped gracelessly back to the crowd, waving his arms and singing in a high pitched tone of voice, “I’m a happy wastrel, as happy as can be!”

_______________________________________________________________

The last bale was tossed into the air by two men. Everyone was exhausted but elated. K’ndar looked around, hoping that there wasn’t one more bale, hiding itself.

Lord Dorn rode up.

“Thank you, all of you, you’ve done a tremendous job! It’s quitting time, and so I’d like to invite you all to the cook tents to get some cold liquids in you, and some of the best cooking you’ve ever eaten. We’ve had a steer roasting all day, I can smell it, I believe he’s done! And my bakers will impress you. The field showers are all set up, I know you’ll want to clean off the chaff! I believe many of you are staying here tonight, so after the dinner, we’re having dancing and music. I would like to have you taste test my wine, Kahrain. Or, if you prefer, some ale from my new alemaster, D’mitran. I can’t drink it myself, so please...help me out!”

The crowd cheered.

“Don’t know if I can dance, not the way I’m feeling right now,” said one, groaning. Another said, “not to worry, mate, I’m right there with you.”

K’ndar saw F’mart walk up to Lord Dorn’s horse and put a hand on the rein. He couldn’t hear the conversation, but he did see the result. Dorn’s head shot up and looked at Morgan.

The man had his back turned to them. He was sitting on the bench seat next to Ayden. Ayden clucked to his team and the horses took up the load one last time. K’ndar wished a knife would suddenly appear in Morgan’s back.

The crowd began to make its tired way to the campground.

F’mart nodded, and Lord Dorn rode away.

He saw K’ndar and came over. He stuck out a hand and K’ndar gripped it in a loose handshake. It still hurt.

F’mart worked his shoulders in a circle. “I’ve hardly had a chance to say much more than hello, K’ndar. Are you bunking here tonight? You’re welcome to join us, there’s plenty of room in our weyr’s tents. And the weyrlings need minding. Some of them might just drink while still on probation. Imagine that!”

K’ndar smirked, remembering a certain F’mart who’d done just that. A new weyrling on probation, F’mart had gotten drunk, and mouthed off to a group of seasoned dragonriders who’d just returned from fighting Thread. They taken matters into their own hands. Later on, F’mart had been punished with a month long stint cleaning latrines.

“Thanks, F’mart, but no, I have work to do at Landing. You’re staying?”

“Aye. I have to, my people are all here. Siena’s got everything in hand at the weyr, most of the weyrfolk are doing our own harvest, such as it is.”

F’mart looked at his hands mournfully, then at K’ndar.

“Ordinarily, I’d say you’re looking good for living at Landing, but I’d be lying. You look like shit warmed over.”

K’ndar laughed.

_______________________________________________________________

The second morning was cool, but it held the promise of another hot day.

The haying team was already at the gathering point. He looked around for the hay wagon, Morgan’s throne.

“You missed a fine dance, there, mate,” said one of the cotholders.

He felt as if he belonged. Yesterday he’d been a stranger, someone from Landing. Today he was just another member of a team.

“You don’t want to see me dance. Or sing. It’s probably why I’m still single,” he said. The man laughed.

“I heard you singing yesterday. You’re right.”

They both laughed.

There was no hay wagon, this time. For that matter, there was no Morgan.

Instead, there was Ayden, with a slate in his hand and the air of someone ‘in charge’.

Dare I hope? he wondered, maybe some other group will do haying?

“Good morning!” he called. The group looked around, wondering. Such a different greeting than yesterday!

K’ndar cast a glance at F’mart. The weyrleader was grinning.

“Are you all rested and fed? Because we still have work to do.”

The crowd groaned. Every one of them was still aching from yesterday’s work, and were not relishing another day of throwing hay bales over their heads.

“Today, I’ll be assigning you in smaller groups of two or three. There’s grapes that need harvesting, and carrots needing pulling. So if there’s a task you’d prefer to do, or have sustained an injury that might prevent you from using your arms, for instance, just sound off and I’ll rearrange as needed.”

“Wait...we’re not haying?” said one voice, not daring to hope.

“Well, I have bad news for those of you who enjoyed yesterday.”

Dread filled them. ‘Enjoyment’ was definitely not a word they would have used to to describe haying.

“You all worked your arses off, so well that 95% of the hay is done. What’s left is stuff that was a little late in maturing, so we’re going to let it grow for another week. Us Holders can do that.”

“You mean...no more haying?”

“Aye, no more haying. It’s done for the year.”

“Where’s that arsehole Morgan?”

Ayden shrugged, his eyes rolling as he smirked.

“Ah….he’s..excuse me, he’s indisposed. I doubt we’ll be seeing him again.”

“EVER?”

Another shrug. “I don’t know. Lord Dorn has...um, reassigned him.”

“Come on, man, spit it out. We all know what a shit he was, talking to my Weyrleader like he was nothing more than a dog.”

He grinned, obviously relishing his knowledge. “Well, folks, I wasn’t in the camp last night, so I’m not too sure of what happened. Maybe…maybe you should be talking to one of the dragonriders. One of them probably knows better than I.”

Heads turned as one to look at F’mart. He shrugged, then shook his sleeve up his left arm. It had been bandaged. K’ndar recognized the unmistakable scent of numbweed.

F’mart grinned.

“Weyrleader?”

“Well, from what I heard-this is just rumor, mind you. Maybe he was drunk? He fell down on his dagger, somehow managing to sever his own hamstring! And he’s got a few broken ribs. I think I heard the only room for him was in a cell,” F’mart said.

 

Chap. 261 Stowaways

 

Chap. 261 Stowaways

He’d been afraid that he was going to be haying.

His fear had been realized.

He was exhausted.

Only the first day of a week of harvest, and I feel as if I’ve been trampled, he thought.

Everything hurt. His arms, his feet, his headache. He’d spent the day heaving increasingly heavy bales of hay increasing distances up to the top of the mountain of it.

His clothing, sodden with sweat, looked as if he’d rolled in chaff. Dust, dirt, and chaff clogged his ears, his nose, even the back of his throat. His skin crawled with countless awns and bits of grass that had found their way past his tightly buttoned up shirt. He didn’t have enough saliva to cough it out.

Even wearing gloves, his hands were chafed.

I hated the one day I did haying when I was a weyrling, and I haven’t gained any love for it today, he thought. I’d beg for B’rost to break my nose again, just to get out of haying.

He stripped by the dragon trough and began to splash water on his itchy hide. He knew that if he took a shower like this, the drain would clog almost immediately.

The cold water was a shock to his hot, dry, itchy skin. It felt wonderful.

Siskin swirled over his head, happily chittering about the day he’d had. His stomach bulged noticeably.

He spent the day playing with the Weyr’s fire lizards Raventh said.

He didn’t miss a meal, I can see. He looks pregnant.

Raventh laughed. All us dragons got an easy meal. The metal things, the people and the horses chased all sorts of wherries out of the grass. They were still too young to fly. And the insects and birds were everywhere. The raptors were hunting over the field after the metal thing passed. They ate well, too.

Metal thing?

The metal thing the horses pulled. It ate up the grass and pooped it out all packed up. Then you picked it up and threw it up onto a wagon.

K’ndar laughed despite his fatigue. The baling machine could easily be mistaken for eating and pooping hay.

That was a ‘hay baler’. Are you going to stay out here? I’m going in to get a shower, drink about a hundred liters of water and the go to bed.

Leave the bay door open, I’ll be in in a while.

He picked up his clothes and activated the door to Raventh’s bay. The whoosh of cooler air prickled his still damp skin. That shower was going to feel good.

Siskin followed him into his quarters. He swirled around K’ndar’s head for a moment, then flew up to his favorite sleeping shelf. He made two or three circles, treading invisible bedding, then curled up, his head on his forepaws.

The shower felt fabulous. How could warm water and sweet sand feel so good even though he’d gotten a roasting in the sun?

I loved living on the steppe, but there is so much to be said for a refrigerator full of food and a jug of cold water. He took out some cheese and fruit from the fridge and nibbled on it.

His desk beckoned. His notebooks, his datalink were waiting for him to start work.

Shaff. I can’t go to bed yet, I have to work on my data.

Despair swelled in his soul. I’m so tired, I just can’t...

Then common sense took over. It’s my own fault, I was negligent in the first part for putting it aside, and the second part was going on the wild wherry chase.

But it hadn’t been a wild chase. I got a lot of good information on the beast, what am I going to name it? Because I know more about it than anyone on Pern, other than Rand. Maybe, in a backasswards way, Jomoke had helped him.

He drank the first liter of water in one long pull. Even my hands are tired, he thought, as he sat down at the desk.

He checked the obnoxious datalink. Today he had been totally legal by leaving it here. There was nothing for him, and no new information on the daily other than “Landing personnel currently helping with the harvest at Singing Waters Hold.”

“Helping?” he snapped at it. “Helping my arse. Doing all the work.”

He sighed...then he recalled the events of the day.

What in the world is wrong with people. It seems the world is full of arseholes who take delight in bullying and abusing people.

Morgan, for instance.

The crowd of assistants, drawn from the Weyr, cotholds and the Craft halls, had been split up between three of Lord Dorn’s “managers”. He saw Raylan, Francie and Garyk in a different team than his. He had been funneled into the one composed almost solely of dragonriders and weyrfolk from Kahrain Steppe Weyr. It was good to see some of his friends. They spent some time catching up.

He didn’t know a single one of the weyrlings. But there WERE weyrlings. This was the first class in over a year. Mirth, the Weyr’s gold, had gone almost two years without rising in a mating flight. Hence, she’d not laid any eggs. He was certain it was due to M’rvin and Siena being on the outs with each other. Siena and F’mart, however, seemed to be getting along very well.

His group was chattering, the weyrlings, many of whom had never worked a Hold harvest, were excited, wondering what they were going to do.

A burly, big bellied man climbed atop an empty hay wagon and contemplated the crowd before him. In one hand he had a slate. In the other, he held a hay fork. The tines glittered in the early morning sun.

He banged the handle on the wagon driver’s bench seat next to him. The man on the bench cringed.

“Shut up, all of you!!”

The crowd quieted. K’ndar had a queasy feeling. The man oozed ego and malice. He scanned the crowd with a look of disgust.

He shook his head. “Sorriest lot of sissies I ever did see,” he sneered.

His eyes locked on a young girl.

“You, little girl, what are you doing here? We told everyone that we wanted no one under the age of sixteen. How old are you?

“Sixteen,” the weyrling said.

“You’re a liar. You’re too small. You’re sure you’re sixteen? You don’t look more’n twelve at most. And you’re a dragonrider?”

The girl’s eyes flashed.

“If it’s any of your business, yes. I’ve impressed a gold dragon. If you care to look, she’s over in the dragon meadow.” There was steel in her voice.

The man sneered. “Oooooooh, and I’m supposed to be impressed? Ha ha ha, get it? Fine. You insist you’re sixteen, you’ll do the work of a sixteen. I’ve worked with kids like you before. You think you know everything. You don’t. You give me any sass, child, I’ll make sure it’s your worse decision ever.”

The crowd rumbled. K’ndar wondered at his animosity. This joker had a grudge a kilometer wide. And we’re going to pay for it, somehow.

“Alright, you lot. You’re here to bale and stack hay,” Morgan said.

K’ndar groaned.

“It’s hard work, probably something none of you has ever done before. You men, you’ll be working for me, haying. Each wagon’s got a water barrel, and at noon we’ll break for lunch. In between, there’s a lot of work to be done and I won’t have you laying around complaining or skyhooting off. You do as you’re told and don’t give me nor my staff any noise. I catch you screwing off and…” he banged the fork on the wagon bench again.

“You’ll what? Beat us? We’re not drudges, you know,” said someone.

“Beat you? Hah. You’ll wish it were as easy as a beating, you lout! As far as I’m concerned, you ARE drudges for as long as you’re working for me. If you slack off, the handle of this hay fork will meet up with the side of your head. Make me mad, and the sharp ends will be up your arse,” he snarled.

“Lay a finger on anyone here, lout, and you’ll answer to me,” said a familiar voice.

K’ndar craned his neck to see. It was F’mart.

A Weyrleader, doing this sort of work?

“Who said that? What’s your name, yob?”

“It’s not yob, that’s for certain. What’s YOURS?”

The man scanned the crowd. Their angry expressions infuriated him.

“For as long as I’m harvest manager, third division, you call me “Sir” or “Boss”. I don’t give a wherries turd what yours is,” the man said.

“ ‘is name is Morgan,” said the man on the wagon’s driver bench.” Then he flattened, waiting for a blow. It didn’t come, but everyone saw Morgan’s intent.

“Shut up, Ayden, they don’t need my name. But it’s Morgan. I was born a farmer. Most of you look to be dragonriders. Far as I’m concerned, you dragonriders are nothing but parasites. No good for nothing, now that there’s no thread to fight. You eat and drink on the farmer’s back and think you’re better than everyone else. Well, as far as I’m concerned, this is my chance to teach you dragonriders that you’re nothing but a pimple on my farmer’s arse.”

The crowd was silent...but certainly not happy.

F’mart politely made his way to the front of the crowd. He caught K’ndar’s eye...and winked.

He stood, hands on hips and looked up at the man.

“Oh, you’re the mouthy yob,” Morgan said.

“I told you my name isn’t yob. I’m F’mart, rider of bronze Kenth, Weyrleader of Kahrain Steppe Weyr.

You say I’m a pimple? It’s obvious from this pimple’s perspective, you never learned to keep a civil tongue in your arse, I mean head. Oh, wait, your head IS your arse. Stupid me, I can’t tell the difference,” F’mart said.

The crowd roared.

“SILENCE!” Morgan yelled, his face flushed. The man on the bench looked at the crowd and smirked.

Morgan brandished the hay fork.

“Fart is it? Fart, you cross me, you’ll be sorry. I love to fight, Fart, I’ve never been beaten. You’ll be looking at the back end of a pig before you know your head’s missing.”

The crowd hissed. F’mart, laughing, held up his hand to quiet them.

K’ndar had heard that laugh before. It thrilled him. He’d seen F’mart fight. He could tell F’mart was itching for one.

“Oh, I want to watch, please?” the gold rider’s voice came from the back.

Morgan grinned.

“Aye, girl, you want to see a blood letting? I’m the one to hand it to Fart, here.”

“Oh, no,” the girl said, “I want to see my Weyrleader take you apart and feed you to the wherries.”

The crowd’s laughter stung Morgan.

“That ain’t going to happen, you stupid little twit. Fart ain’t got the bollocks my worst sow’s got.”

F’mart contemplated Morgan for a moment.

“Those are fighting words, Morgan,” he said, icily. “These are my people, and those who aren’t are now under my protection. We’re here to help, not be lambasted by a whelp like you. I promise you, you lay a hand on anyone here, ANYONE, you’ll pay for it.

Right now, I’m here to help bring in the harvest. I don’t have to tell you that I can take everyone here home right now, and leave you to explain to Lord Dorn why we left.

But afterwards, anytime you’re ready for a fight, I’m game for it. You choose when and where. One on one, Morgan, and leave your hay fork in your sty. No weapon bigger than a dagger.”

His riders growled in unison.

K’ndar felt the thrill of camaraderie. It had always been an unspoken truth that if you pissed off one dragonrider, you pissed them all off. When you learn and train and fight with a team, you became one entity. You knew you could always depend on anyone in your weyr, whether you liked them or not, to have your back. Always.

But now I’m no longer in a weyr. I notice the Landing people here are cowed. They’re being very quiet.

He felt...alone. That passed. He was still a dragonrider in amongst his peers.

Morgan looked at F’mart. He licked his lips. He wanted a fight right then and there.

“Only because work needs doing now, Fart, do I give you a pass. You’re on. Normally I fight grown men, not little boys like you, but as you’re wanting an arse kicking, I’m happy to oblige you. We’ve got a Gather coming up next month. Day before the Gather, you meet me right here. This here spot suits me just fine, it’s not technically on the Hold itself. Bare knuckles, Fart, only sissies needs stickers.”

F’mart turned and grinned. “Make sure you remember my name, lout.”

____________________________________________________________

K’ndar rubbed his eyes, wondering why in the world people like Morgan existed.

I wish I could talk to someone about this. I’ve met some real arseholes here, sometimes I wish I’d never taken the job. Other times I’m delighted to be here. I love having free rein in the library, I’ve been able to do any sort of research I want. If I could take that, and my private weyr here, with a big place for Raventh, and hot and cold running water, and solar powered everything, like the lights, rather than a glow, if I could take this all back with me to the weyr or even the steppe, I would.

If only Oscoral were here, I’d be in the dining hall with him, at this time of night it’d just be him and me and a couple of folks working night shift. We’d have a cup of klah and some fresh baked goodies, and he’d lead my thinking to clarity.

But he’s not here and I am too tired to harness Raventh and I’ve got all this work.

Sigh. I’ve gotten soft. Look at me. I’m beat to death from a single day’s work. And I still have work to do, only this time it’s brain work. My hands are so tired and I still have to write, and redo the sketches.

I can’t even think straight.

Snap out of it, K’ndar. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. The sooner you get to work, the sooner you’ll get to sleep and tomorrow.

Oh shaff it all, tomorrow I ride back to the Hold for another day of haying With Morgan. Oh, shards. Shut up, brain.

Siskin chittered, his eyes glowing in the lowered light. K’ndar regarded him fondly.

“You ate about a million crawlers and bugs today, how is it you’re still awake?” he asked the lizard.

He is worried about you. Your brain is shouting Raventh said.

“I’m okay, lad,” he reassured the fire lizard. Siskin cheeped and shut his eyes. Within moments, he was asleep.

You got plenty to eat?

There were many wherries and birds fleeing the people in the grass. It was mostly young wherries, big enough to eat but not smart enough to avoid us dragons. We all had plenty. I’m sleepy.

Good night.

He had fought the z monster for about an hour. It was almost impossible for him to focus on what he was doing. I will never, ever put off data input again, never, I cannot stay awake. He stood up and stretched.

teekoteekoteekoteekoteekoteeko

What the?

Surprised, he looked up at Siskin. The fire lizard raised his head, blinking.

“Did you say something, Siskin?”

The fire lizard merely looked at him, then lay his head down. Odd, he thought, I’ve never heard him make that sound before. Maybe he was dreaming?

K’ndar returned to his work. The brief moment of alertness had vanished. He yawned. Half an hour more, he promised himself.

teekoteekoteekoteekoteekoteekoteeko

Siskin’s head snapped up, his eyes rolling orange.

Irritated, he said, sharply, “Siskin, what is it?”

He did not make that sound

What?

He did not make that sound.

Is it coming from your bay?

No. It is coming from yours.

teekoteekoteekoteekoteeko

Siskin roused and launched. He swooped around the room.

“All lights on,” K’ndar called, and the room lit up.

Siskin hissed, searching the corners of the room.

teeko. teeko.

It sounded muffled.

Siskin dived at K’ndar’s backpack. After unpacking it, he’d left it next to the door into Raventh’s bay. The fire lizard pounced on the pack. It fell over. He dove into the open pack head first. until only his back end was visible.

“What is it?”

Just then, he saw something long and lithe skitter from between Siskin’s legs. The fire lizard continued rummaging in the pack. The thing seemed to vanish, except for a small brown, arrow headed shape at one end.

Siskin erupted from the pack, and leaped into the air, hissing. A second shape paused at the opening. K’ndar saw it, very clearly, for just a moment, then that one, too, seemed to disappear.

“The jungle crawlers!” he said. He saw the second crawler bolt underneath the pack. Siskin was frantic, looking for what, he had no idea.

He jumped up, wondering what to catch it with. HOW to catch them, they’re fast as lightning and almost invisible!

The first one appeared running straight up the wall. Siskin went for it, hitting the panel that opened Raventh’s bay door. The creature seemed to bounce, landed on the floor and ran out the door into the bay. The second one was right behind it. Siskin had lost sight of them. Screeching in frustration, he went back to the pack, fruitlessly digging in it.

I see them, they are so small.They went right out the big door.

It was open?

Yes. I like seeing the night creatures.

They’re gone?

It would seem so.

Shaff!