Chap. 265 After the Harvest

Chap. 265 After the Harvest

After checking the sleeping tents, he decided against staying the night.

The bunks are just too close, he thought, and Siskin won’t be able to tolerate all the noise and strange people. I’ll get something to eat, but I’m still going to go back to Landing, he thought.

He headed for the series of large tents. Even from this distance, he could hear people laughing and talking. It’s like a Gather, he thought, but without the vendors trying to separate you from your money.

While he was in the ‘clean up tent’ to scrub face and hands, he noticed a weyrling boy of about 16 being very careful to be unnoticeable. There was something about his body language that made K’ndar suspicious. As he watched out the corner of his eye, the boy surreptitiously removed his weyrling braid and stuffed it into a pocket. Hmmmm.

He entered a smaller tent that was a bit separated from the main one full of revelers. Ah. It was the ale and wine tent. A table filled with sturdy ceramic mugs, adorned with Singing Water’s badge, was just inside the entrance. A sign on a large slate stated “D’mitran’s Ale and Kahrain Wine. No ale or wine drinking outside of the tent. Please leave your used mugs at the exit, far side of this tent.”

Inside, tables and benches were crowded with men and women, drinking, laughing, talking. At one side was a bench loaded with several large casks of ale, a few smaller casks of wine. Several men and women were serving ale. One of them was D’mitran, his former wingleader.

“K’ndar!” the brown rider called.

“D’mitran!” He eased his way through the crowd in front of the table.

“Ay, mate, no cutting the queue, eh?” one man grumbled.

“Sorry, I’m not in line for ale, I’m just here to talk to D’mitran.”

“He’s good, sir. He’s a weyrmate,” D’mitran said.

They bumped fists across the table. “Good to see you!” he said. It really was, he thought. He’d missed D’mitran, his wisdom and camaraderie.

“And you, K’ndar! Here, wait til I serve this man, and I’ll come out to talk.”

D’mitran took the grumbler’s mug, filled it with ale, and handed it back. Then he removed his apron. “I’ll be back in a few,” he said to his staff. He led K’ndar outside the tent. He pulled him aside to keep from impeding the traffic.

“A lot less noise out here, K’ndar. How’ve you been?”

A man, one who’d already had quite a bit of ale, came out and pounded D’mitran on the back. “Wrong way”, K’ndar said under his breath. He recognized him from haying. The man was oblivious.

“Wunnerful ale, sir, simply wunnerful!” He hiccuped. “K’ndar! Wasn’t that a day, what? Here, K’ndar, no drinking outside the tent and I’m going to get something to eat.” He shoved his half full mug into K’ndar’s hand, then watched expectantly.

Before K’ndar could react, D’mitran took the mug from K’ndar’s hand. He said, “Pardon me, but the exit is the other side of the tent. I’ll take the mug, sir, used ones are collected at the exit.” The man said, “Oh, aye, exit at t’other end. Sorry.” He d weaved his way back through the throng.

D’mitran sighed. “I’ve learned very quickly the hardest part of this part of my job is keeping people from nicking the mugs or creating a backup at the entrance.

I’ll have to snag someone to direct traffic,” he said. He gave K’ndar a hopeful look. K’ndar shook his head, gently.

“Thanks for the rescue,” K’ndar said, relieved. It was always a pain to try and explain his allergy to alcohol. “I never know what to do in situations like that. People just can’t believe that I’m allergic. Sometimes they take my refusal to drink as an insult.”

“I know you’re allergic. But even if you weren’t, there’s no law saying you must drink. I don’t drink when I’m working something like this. In fact, the more I work with ale, the less I’m drinking it. Drinker’s, K’ndar, they like to have everyone around them drinking, too. So I always have a mug at hand, filled with water. The trick to being accepted in situations like this is to keep a mug in your hand. No one needs to know it’s just water.”

“That’s..that’s a great idea. Thanks. Um….how is it you’re here as alemaster? I heard that yesterday.”

D’mitran nodded. “Yes. After you left for Landing, Lord Dorn approached me to be his contracted dragon transport. I was his second choice, K’ndar. He wanted you badly, but, eh, machts nichts, as my great great used to say.

Things got ugly after you left, what with M’rvin and Siena openly feuding. I truly believe Mirth didn’t come into heat due to their fighting. When D’nis left I became M’rvin’s favorite screaming tree. After a long day of him, I’d come home all knotted up, couldn’t eat, Careth upset because my mind was in turmoil, me wanting to shout at the kids, and it taking all my self control to keep it from coming out on my family. The kids tiptoeing past me like they were walking on coals, and my wife afraid to make a sound. One night I decided, what was more important to me: peace and family happiness, or the status of being a wing leader? Still, I wasn’t sure, til I asked my wife how she felt about moving to Singing Waters, permanently. She said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Great ale, sir!” said a man as he exited.

“Excuse me, sir, but the exit is the other end of the tent. Please deposit your mug there. Just trying to keep traffic flowing.”

“Oh, right. Right! Sorry!” The man turned around and went back into the tent.

“Thank you,” D’mitran said. “Now where was I? Oh, yes, I asked Lord Dorn if he’d give me six months to see how I liked it.”

“And?”

“I like it. My family is much happier, the kids especially. It’s different, I admit, there were adjustments, mental and physical that me and Careth had to make. I’m weyrbred, so I wasn’t sure how I’d manage in a big Hold. Careth...he misses the dragons at the weyr, but we do make it back there fairly often. There were times when I questioned my decision. Lord Dorn doesn’t go out of the Hold every single day. I’d find myself sitting around, trying to find something to keep me out of my wife’s hair. She finally had it out, said, “for Pern’s sakes, get out, find a hobby. Like ale making.” Well, duh??? Sometimes I’m not the brightest spark. And so, here I am, not only dragon transport for Lord Dorn but his official alemaster. It pays, it’s interesting, and peaceful. How’s life at Landing?”

“Like yours, in a way. I like it, but I miss the weyr culture. No one seems to know protocol, or care. I’m the staff biologist, not K’ndar, rider of brown Raventh. Mind you, I’m fine with it, but it bothers me sometimes. There’s a lot more posturing, jockeying for position, like I care? I’m there because I was born a biologist, not because I have an apple to polish. As for Raventh, there’s five other dragons at Landing, so he’s not completely alone, but sometimes he says he misses the weyr. He’s been pretty happy the last two days, getting with everyone he grew up with.”

D’mitran nodded. “Things are improving at the weyr, from what I understand. M’rvin resigned and left. I have no idea where he went. K’ndar, I truly believe the man had deep shadows in his mind, not evil, just darkness. Depression, they call it. You’d think we’d have some medication for it, and I’ve read on my datalink that the ancients had one, but that was 2500 years ago. It’s long gone, if it ever existed.”

K’ndar remembered M’rvin’s verbal abuse. It was what drove him to Landing.

“What astounded me was F’mart. F’mart, Kenth flying Mirth? That was astounding.”

He saw the weyrling he’d seen in the wash up tent approaching. The boy was sticking close behind a group of farmers heading for the ale tent.

“Aye. I had left by then, but, K’ndar, he’d done a LOT of growing up from the time he was a weyrling. He’s proving to be a capable Weyrleader, if a VERY young one. In addition, he and Siena get on very well, very professional. It’s a relief to not hear shouting and invective. All in all, I think F’mart’s become a leader.”

“I saw that. You know he was jumped by Morgan, a true arsehole. He was managing us haymakers. The guy rode F’mart hard all day, and F’mart never turned a hair. It took me a while to realize F’mart was encouraging it. He was diverting the man, keeping him from attacking everyone else. He was thinking three steps ahead of Morgan, he knew exactly what Morgan was going to do, even before Morgan knew himself. That’s strategy!!”

“That’s chess! although I don’t know if he plays. As for Morgan? the man was an obnoxious bastard if I ever met one. He tangled with the wrong man, though.”

He shook his head. and whistled. “I wished I’d seen it. From what I understand, it didn’t last long. Apparently he managed to knock F’mart down and drew first blood, slashed him with his dagger. K’ndar, I’ve been in some fights, but as long as I live, I’ll never try F’mart. What a fighter! Morgan made the mistake of letting him get back up. Somehow, even with a slashed left wing, F’mart broke Morgan’s ribs, wrested the man’s own dagger from him and stabbed him behind a knee, cutting the hamstring. Morgan’s lucky.. F’mart could have cut the artery and left him to bleed out in a dark corner. I think the only reason he’s still alive is F’mart didn’t feel it necessary to kill him. Leaving him alive was more insult than just killing the lout.”

“Excuse me, but the exit is at the other end of the tent,” he said to someone trying to exit.

“Lord Dorn tossed Morgan in a cell while he thinks of what to do with a lout who attacks Weyrleaders. I suspect he’ll be banished, and good riddance. He’ll never run again, though. He can barely walk.”

K’ndar laughed at the bully’s downfall. “He had it coming, D’mitran.”

The group of men were about to enter the tent. The boy was still behind them.

He turned his back to the group. “Sir, heads up, check my 180. There’s a boy behind this group of farmers.”

D’mitran bent his head to scratch behind his ear. He got a good look at the boy as the group passed him into the tent. The group picked up mugs and made its way immediately to the ale bench.

K’ndar motioned with a head nod to follow them. They stopped not far behind the boy, who was oblivious to anyone behind him.

The boy seemed to stretch himself to his full height. Keeping the men between him and the staff, he shoved his mug between two men. One of the ale servers filled it and the boy carefully withdrew it and snuck off into the crowd.

“That was a practiced move,” D’mitran said. “Kid’s obviously done this before.”

“What do we do? He’s not old enough.”

“Do? Nothing. Farmer’s kids are allowed to drink. Well, some are, some aren’t. Some of adults say if he’s doing a man’s job, he deserves to drink like a man.”

“He’s not a farmer’s kid. He’s a Weyrling. I saw him pull his braid off in the wash up tent.”

“Oh ho!!” D’mitran said, his eyebrows rocketing skyward, “this puts a different set on one’s wings, what? He looks like a farmer’s kid, but nevertheless, he’s now a Weyrling on probation. Good catch, K’ndar. Remember F’mart doing almost the same thing?”

K’ndar grinned. “Oh, I do. Yes, I appreciated him taking over the latrines for a month.”

“It was two months, ultimately! Ordinarily, I’d let the kid drink til he’s sick, despite it being a waste of good ale. But drunk children aren’t known for making good decisions, this one already being a case in point. I’d hate to see himself get killed doing something stupid. I’ll let B’rant know. I have to get back to work, K’ndar, but it was so good to see you. Next time you’re here at Singing Waters, stop by. My wife will feed you up. For now, you go get something to eat. The dining tent is that big one on the far side of this one.”

“Thanks. I will,” K’ndar said. His stomach agreed, loudly.

________________________________________________________________

He felt strange, entering the large tent. It was already full of revelers, most of them cotholders but with folks from Landing or Kahrain Steppe Weyr. in small bunches. He recognized a face here and there. There was B’rant, the Weyrlingmaster. He was moving towards the exit. As K’ndar watched, he gathered two dragonriders, and together, the three left the tent.

Any idea where they’re going? he asked Raventh.

After a moment, Raventh laughed. Banarth says they’re going weyrling hunting.

Banarth was B’rant’s bronze dragon.

Should I go watch the denouement? he wondered. No. I’m starving. I can easily imagine what’s about to happen to the weyrling.

The tide of voices was a little too loud for his liking. As he moved on the edge of the crowd, he heard snatches of conversation. The talk was of the harvest, of the weather, of deals made, of family.

He felt as if he were two people and yet none. Was he dragonrider from the Weyr? Or was he a staff member from Landing?

He saw motion at one end of the tent. Lord Dorn was mounting a dais, his Hold’s Harper next to him. Behind them, a small group of harper journeymen, male and female, were preparing their musical instruments. Their braids indicated they were ‘walking the tables”, a phrase he knew was applied to journeyfolk, people learning to be harpers, and thus, the equivalent of a weyrling.

How interesting, he thought...since books were becoming more available, and as more Holds, Halls and Weyr’s were acquiring datalinks, fewer children were learning history and protocol via song. What that might mean for Pern’s future, he had no idea. Harpers would have to become ‘relevant’, he recalled Hazel’s warning, just as much as dragonriders.

“May I have your attention, please?” Lord Dorn called, but the noise continued unabated. He just couldn’t break the din. He tried again, and some of the noise abated, then swelled again. He looked at his masterharper, who made a quick signal to his band.

The drummers beat out a loud thunder that brought everyone to silence.

Lord Dorn smiled. “Thank you, Harper! May I have your attention please? Once I finished talking, you may all continue drinking and eating, and in a little while, we’ll clear the central area for dancing. I promise I won’t be long winded...I’m hungry, too!

I’d like to thank you all for all your help with the harvest. My cotholders, my own staff, Kahrain Steppe Weyr, and Landing...because of your efforts yesterday and today, I can say that for all intents and purposes, harvest is done! Because of your hard work, it’s been done in record time. Thank you!”

“Does that mean I can go home now?” called a disgruntled voice.

Everyone craned their head to look. K’ndar couldn’t see who said it.

“You always could. I don’t put shackles on the people who come to help bring in the harvest,” Dorn said.

“Aye,” someone else said, “judging from the hang of his belly, my lord, that man could stand a little more work and a lot less dinner.”

The crowd laughed. The whinger hung his head. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he grumbled.

Lord Dorn nodded his head. There was always one, he thought. No matter.

“I hope you all enjoy the food, the drinks, and the music and dancing we have planned for tonight. I’ll be moving through the crowd, and I’d be very happy to have your opinion about this year’s work and perhaps an idea of how to make it even better next year. Thank you again!”

He stepped off the dais and was immediately besieged by several people, most of them with bones to pick.

That is my lot as Lord Holder, he thought.

The Masterharper turned to his crew and had them begin playing, very softly. It served as a backdrop to the resurgence of conversation.

K’ndar cruised the food tables and picked out a slice of roast beast, a hunk of freshly baked bread, roasted carrots and a berry pie. He wondered it it had been made with the berries Raylan had picked. He turned to look for an empty spot at a table when Raventh pinged him.

Francie says look west.

West. West. His internal compass spun. Then he saw Francie in the middle, waving. His hands were full.

Tell her I see her, I’m coming.

She says Raylan is off talking “shop”. Her fire lizards are here with me, I’m with Motanith. Siskin is flirting with her greens but they’re ignoring him. Who are all these people?

Most of them I don’t know. I do recognize many of the Weyr folk, but the Landers, not so much.

After several minutes of pardon me-ing he made it to the table where Francie had saved him a spot.

“Hello, K’ndar!! I’m so glad you stayed!” she said.

He didn’t know if Raylan had confessed, so he let it go.

“Thank you. Is that klah in that pitcher?”

“No, it’s just water., I bet you’re thirsty. Here, sit down, excuse me, ma’am, would you pass that pitcher of water this way?”

An older woman sitting next to Francie passed the pitcher without missing a word to her friends on her side. “Thank you!” Francie said, and poured it into a goblet for K’ndar. He sat down and began to attack his dinner. He was far hungrier than he thought.

“I’d love to discuss things, but I can see you’ve had nothing all day, so…”

He chewed and swallowed. “Um, you’re right, if you want to just chat, while I eat? After my stomach shuts up, I can interact.”

“Oh, good, because I have the funniest story to tell about my fire lizards.”

Lord Dorn was slowly wending his way in their direction. I really have nothing to say, he thought, so it surprised him when Lord Dorn stopped next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“K’ndar, I’d like to thank you for your work today,” he said.

“Sir? You mean..driving? That was easy, sir, your Herdmaster is a good one. Or is this about Kitten, the horse?”

“Kitten? Kitten?”

“Yes, sir, the bay draft mare on the team I drove this morning. We bred her, I mean, my cothold bred her. AND the roans.” he said.

“Oh, that bay mare? Oh, NOW I know what you mean. Her name is Cat Face, I thought. K’ndar, I’ve a lot of horses and don’t drive them. But I must say your father and uncle, and now your brothers are doing a great job carrying on the family tradition.”

“Thank you, sir. But that’s all I did today, it was easy. I’ve been driving a team since I was old enough to hold the reins,” he said.

“Here, my lord, please, sit here,” said the woman next to Francie, who’d passed the water jug. She shifted aside and patted the bench. Lord Dorn sat down in the space she’d made. It was ample room.

“Thank you, ma’am. No, K’ndar, that’s not the work I’m referring to. Your assistant, Hazel? She told me about the horse’s name. She was quite taken with you. You listened to her, and that’s what made her happy. She tends to go on and on, and it takes patience when she repeats herself. She called you K’nmar, by the way.”

“I know. I didn’t care that she bungled my name, my Lord, it was harmless. I know my name. Honestly, sir, she made the day fly by. I was interested in her stories about her life in the early days of the hold. She has so much history behind her!! Everyone seems to love her, even the horses...and her cat! She’s very sweet and kind.”

Lord Dorn smiled. “She is. She’s lamb gentle, but there’s always been steel in her makeup. She was always the bulwark, always the lodestone when things got hairy in the first days of the Hold. She taught me a lot when I was growing up.”

“She was a teacher?”

“No. She’s my grandmother.”