Dragon's Fire (14 page)

Pellar stood stock-still for a moment, concentrating on Chitter. The fire-lizard chirped nervously in response but finally, if reluctantly, went
between.

“Where’d he go?” the man called angrily.

“He could have gone anywhere,” the old woman responded. When she spoke again, her tone held a grudging respect. “That’s what you intended, isn’t it?”

Pellar nodded firmly.

“If he’s trained his fire-lizard well, the little one could lead others back here,” the old woman continued. There was a silence, then she spoke again. “You can come here, to me. Just remember that Jaythen has a bow trained on you.”

Pellar took a deep steadying breath, hitched up his pack, and carefully walked toward the sound of the woman’s voice.

He had been walking for several moments before the woman’s voice, near but now to his right, called out, “Stop.”

Pellar, still very aware of a bowman somewhere out there, obeyed, standing motionless. For several moments, nothing happened. Then he heard a movement behind him and rough hands grabbed him, pulling him backward off his feet.

He fell back, mouth open in an O of silent surprise. When he landed on his pack, his look was both angry and confused—hadn’t he done everything they’d asked?

Instinctively, he grabbed for his slate. Someone stooped over him from behind, pressing a knife against his chest.

“Don’t,” the man, Jaythen, said.

Pellar let his hands go limp.

“Let him up, Jaythen,” the old woman said. Another shadow fell over Pellar; he looked up and saw a thin old woman with white hair woven into a braid that hung down her back. “He told the truth; he can’t talk. If he could, he would have made some noise when you pulled him over like that.”

His pack weighing him down, Pellar rolled onto his side before shakily standing up. The woman was taller than him. Jaythen stood behind him, doubtless with his knife ready.

Gingerly, Pellar reached for the strap around his neck and was first surprised and then horrified at how easily it moved. Forgetting everything, he felt in his clothes for his slate and was devastated when he found that it had cracked in half from his fall.

“Is that what you write on?” the old woman asked, her voice sounding more kindly than before. “And it’s broken?”

Pellar nodded miserably to both questions.

“Well, we’ll replace it, then,” the woman declared. She held out her hand. “I’m Aleesa.”

Pellar shook it and then pointed to himself and regretfully to his broken slate. He fished out his chalk and wrote his name on one of the pieces.

“Pellar, eh?” Aleesa repeated when she read it. She nodded to herself. “I’ve heard about you.”

“So have I,” Jaythen growled menacingly from behind. “The Silent Harper, everyone calls you. Jaythen spat in disgust, then added, “But the traders said you were a good tracker.”

Aleesa’s eyes flicked beyond Pellar to the man standing behind him and she said, “He walked in here, there’s no other way out.”

“Unless his fire-lizard went to fetch a dragonrider,” Jaythen growled.

Aleesa frowned and then shrugged. “We’ll be moving again soon enough,” she declared. “If the dragonriders come, they’ll find another empty camp.”

She gestured for Pellar to follow him. “Come along, youngster, there’s
klah
and something warm at the fire.”

Pellar was still somewhat dazed by the turn of events, but he remembered his manners and bowed politely to the old woman, then crooked his elbow toward her in an invitation to hold on to his arm.

Aleesa laughed, a deep hearty laugh that brought out the crow’s-feet around her eyes. She latched onto Pellar’s arm and called over her shoulder, “See, Jaythen? This one has
manners
!”

Behind them, Jaythen grumbled.

Aleesa’s camp was hidden behind a hillock and nestled against the rising Nabol Mountains. Pellar suppressed a shiver as they went into shadow deeper than the early morning. Beside him, Aleesa shook herself and shivered.

“My bones don’t like this cold,” she admitted to him. “I’m too old.”

At the foot of the mountain there was a small opening, and Aleesa led him inside. To the right side there was a small crevice; on the left, a larger opening with the smell of
klah
and stew. Aleesa led him to the left.

The opening widened to a natural cave that reminded Pellar of the cave he’d found up by Camp Natalon, except that this cave was far more spacious and had several alcoves. Young children played noisily in the center of the cave, while around them a couple of women bustled, washing, cooking, or keeping the children out of the worst of the mischief.

“Those that aren’t resting are on watch,” Aleesa said. She gestured to the women. “These are just the child minders.”

One of the women looked up at the oblique introduction, smiled at Pellar, but was instantly distracted by the movements of a baby crawling toward the open fire.

Pellar nodded at Aleesa’s explanation, keeping his expression neutral. He got the impression that Aleesa wanted him to believe that the camp had many inhabitants, but a quick glance at the food stored in the pantry and the size of the pots told him that there could be no more than two or three others in the whole place—and that with them all on short rations.

Aleesa herself served him up a cup of
klah.
Pellar nodded and smiled in thanks, cupping his hands gratefully around the warmth. The
klah
was thin and watered down.

Aleesa gestured toward a pile of furs placed to one side of the cave and took a seat on the largest pile. Pellar found another fur nearby and sat.

“I’d heard that you’ve been looking for us for several months now,” Aleesa said.

Pellar nodded.

“You found our old camp over by Campbell’s Field?”

Pellar shook his head, his surprise obvious.

“I told Jaythen no one would find it,” she said with a bitter laugh. Her look turned sour. “Except maybe the dragonriders.”

Pellar carefully schooled his expression to be neutral but he didn’t fool the old woman.

“They don’t like us,” Aleesa continued bitterly. “They say that watch-whers steal food meant for their dragons.” She snorted in disgust. “That D’gan! Him with his high airs. He’s got it in his mind that the watch-whers ate him out of Igen Weyr.”

Pellar looked surprised. He knew that D’gan was the Weyrleader of Telgar Weyr, and that Igen Weyr had been combined with Telgar a number of Turns back, but he hadn’t heard anything about watch-whers being involved.

“He says that they are abominations and shouldn’t exist,” Aleesa said with a sniff. She looked up at Pellar. “I know they’re no beauties on the outside, but they’ve hearts of gold when you get to know them, hearts of gold.” Her eyes turned involuntarily toward the entrance to the cave and the crevice beyond.

“And there are so few left,” she added softly.

“So few,” she repeated, nodding to herself, her gaze turned inward. After a moment, she glanced back up at Pellar and told him conspiratorially, “I think
she’s
the last one, you know.”

Then her tone changed abruptly and she demanded, “So what do you want and why should I let you live?”

It was then that Pellar realized that the Whermaster was quite insane.

In the course of the next few days, Pellar discovered that Aleesa’s camp was a desperate place full of desperate people. It took of all Pellar’s tact, winsome ways, and hard work to earn their grudging acceptance—and his continued existence. For, unlike the Shunned, these people were not only desperate, they were fanatics dedicated to the continued existence of the watch-whers.

Realizing how desperate the camp was for game, Pellar offered to set and tend traps, which he was allowed to do, though he was often shadowed by Jaythen or one of the other men of the camp. He gladly accepted even the worst jobs and did his best at them all, to the point where even Aleesa commented on how brightly he’d shined the pots assigned him.

Good as her word, Aleesa had one of the men find suitable pieces of slate to replace Pellar’s broken one and help with the difficult task of boring holes on which to string it. Pellar took advantage of the supply to lay aside other pieces for the future.

Because he was not trusted, Pellar often found himself stuck entertaining the camp’s three young children, none of them more than toddlers. It was difficult, particularly as he couldn’t
tell
them what to do, but he quickly found that they were entranced by his expressive ways, charming games, and magical pipes.

As soon as he could, he gathered enough reeds to fashion three more pipes, each a different note, and taught the children how to play one of the more popular Teaching Songs. The mothers were pleased and vocal in their pride of their children; Aleesa was not.

“Teaching Songs!” she snorted when she heard it. “What do we need of those? ‘Honor those the dragons heed!’” She shook her head disgustedly.

Pellar gave her a quizzical look, surprised by her vehemence.

“Dragonriders care nothing for us,” Aleesa continued in a bitter voice. “It was D’gan himself,
Weyrleader
of Telgar, who sent us packing from our last camp.”

“‘Your beasts will eat all the herdbeasts and leave nothing for the fighting dragons,’” she quoted. She shook her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Fighting dragons!” she snorted. “No Thread has fallen any time in over a hundred Turns! What do they fight?” She shook her head dolefully.

“And he turfed us out, just like that, like we were Shunned.” She sniffed. “One of the babies died on the way here, for want of food.” She shook her head again. “Anything the watch-whers ate, they earned. They kept watch at night for nightbeasts eager to devour the herds, they caught and killed tunnel snakes, frightened away wherries—even the herders were glad to have us—but he sent us packing.

“No,” she said, looking at Pellar, “I’ll hear nothing of dragonriders in my camp. They sent us out to die, and the last queen watch-wher with us.”

The look of shock on Pellar’s face was so obvious that Aleesa, when she saw it, gave him a sour laugh. “You think all dragonriders are perfect and can do no harm?” She shook her head derisively. “You have a lot to learn, little one, a lot to learn.”

She turned away from him, toward her sleeping alcove. Her gaze rested briefly on the youngsters all snuggled together, surrounded by their parents.

“This place is too cold,” she declared, shivering. She nodded to the children. “Come winter, there’ll be less of them.”

She looked at Pellar.

“You’ve the watch,” she told him. From a corner, Jaythen looked up sharply at her declaration. “You wake Jaythen next.”

Pellar nodded.

“Don’t bother the watch-wher,” Aleesa warned him. “If you hear any noise, send your fire-lizard to tell her.” She rolled her eyes in disbelief. “For some reason, she
likes
him. She’ll check anything out; she’s got the best night eyes on Pern.”

Pellar waved in acknowledgment, strode to the entrance of the cave, and settled down cross-legged, with his back to the distant fire.

Chitter made a quick tour of the surroundings and returned to curl up near Pellar, resting his head on the youngster’s leg. Pellar smiled and idly stroked his fire-lizard, his mind turning over his conversation with Aleesa.

He had heard enough rumors about D’gan, the Weyrleader of Telgar, on his journeying. His trip from Crom Hold to Keogh had been through lands looking to Telgar Weyr for protection when Thread came again. Also, Campbell’s Field. He remembered that the holders, particularly the herdsmen he met at Campbell’s Field, had been very wary of talking about Aleesa and her watch-whers. When he’d convinced them that he wasn’t working for D’gan and they found themselves comfortable talking to him—usually after a few glasses of wine—they told Pellar exactly what Aleesa had said, though in different words.

“Best thing against a nightbeast I’d ever seen,” one herder said of the watch-whers, shaking his head sadly. “We lost more herdbeasts the first sevenday after they left than we gave for the protection of the watch-whers in the last half Turn.” Hastily, he added, “Not that I mean any disrespect to our Weyrleader.”

Pellar’s opinion of D’gan had been formed earlier, when he’d heard how Telgar Weyr had repeatedly won the Weyr Games. The gossip around the Harper Hall had not been very flattering.

“He’s such a bad winner, I hope he never loses,” was the one comment Pellar had heard most often from the older journeymen.

A noise from behind, followed immediately by something butting against his back, caused Pellar to startle and jump. When he turned back, he saw the large glowing eyes of a watch-wher staring back at him. It butted him again, politely. Beside him, Chitter leaped up and hovered near the watch-wher.

Pellar looked curiously at the watch-wher, and realized that it was the gold. He wondered what the watch-wher wanted and was at a loss for some way to communicate when Chitter landed on his shoulder and started tugging at him.

Oh, you want to go out, Pellar thought to himself. He stood aside, and the watch-wher lumbered out of the crevice into the dale. You’re welcome, Pellar thought, just as he did with Chitter.