Dragon's Kin (12 page)

Kindan made a rueful face. “Well, your secret’s safe with him, that’s for sure. I’m his best friend and he never told me.”

“Good,” Nuella said firmly, causing Kindan to glance up at her. “He wouldn’t be much of a friend if he couldn’t even keep a secret from you, would he?”

“Well . . .”

Nuella nodded. “I see, you think that because he’s your friend he should tell you all his secrets, is that it?”

Kindan’s frown grew more thoughtful. “Well . . .”

“But now you
know
that anything you’ve ever told him he’s kept secret—even from me,” Nuella pointed out.

That thought cheered Kindan up. “Wait a minute! It was you who threw those rocks when we were cleaning Dask! You warned us. But how did you know . . .”

“There’s a difference between keeping a secret and keeping out of sight,” Nuella said primly. She giggled. “Or out of hearing. I may not see, but I can hear better than anyone in the camp. And I can smell better, too.”

Kindan didn’t say anything so Nuella continued, “I heard you and Zenor talking. I heard what you were talking about. I wanted to help you, but I hadn’t been invited and I wasn’t supposed to let anyone know about me so—”

“You hid out and listened in,” Kindan finished. He flashed a smile at Nuella that faded as he realized she couldn’t see it, but her hand reached out toward his face, found his lips, and traced lightly over them.

“People think that you can’t hear someone smiling,” she said, her fingers still on Kindan’s lips. “Maybe it’s not really
hearing
, either, but I can feel it somehow.” She drew her fingers back. “I always thought you’d have a nice smile,” she said. “I was right.”

“Thanks,” Kindan said, feeling a bit awkward. He found himself touching his own lips, as though feeling them for the first time. “But I’ve got to get over to the Gather. Let’s see what we can do for you.”

In the end, they used the Harper’s clothes basket. A brightly colored robe and a hat made Nuella look like she might as easily be a trader or a miner. At Nuella’s urging, Kindan applied a bit of makeup to darken her skin color.

“Make sure you bring some pipes,” she said as they headed out the door.

“I don’t play pipes,” Kindan protested.

“I do,” Nuella replied with a grin.

They arrived just as the great hall was being set up. Master Zist and Trader Tarri were parked in a corner with a plate of Milla’s best dainties and a jug of good
klah
close at hand. Master Zist’s eyes widened as he saw Kindan’s companion. Kindan gave him a don’t-worry look, to which the Harper replied with an I’d-better-not-have-to grimace.

Kindan helped Nuella up onto the table where he’d performed the evening before, settled her on a stool somewhat behind him, and set up his own drums.

“I’d like to hear your pipes, Nuella,” Kindan said.

Nuella obligingly started into a lively little song. Master Zist looked up, caught sight of Nuella on the pipes, and gave Kindan another probing look. As the song came to the end, Kindan said to her, “That was great. How many more do you know?”

“I’m best at that one,” Nuella admitted. “But Master Zist has had me practice on four others.”

Kindan nodded to himself. “Well then, I’ll make you earn your keep. I’ll start with the drums and when I’m tired, I’ll ask you to do a song. I won’t ask you to do more than one song for my three, can you do that?”

“I can,” Nuella said. “But I’ve never had to play for very long.”

“You’ll find that if you get enough rest in between sets you can play as long as they’ll let you,” Kindan assured her. Nuella smiled and Kindan was struck by how much she looked like her brother—only prettier. Her sharp blue eyes really lit up when her cheeks curved in a smile.

Kindan bent closer to her and said for her ears alone, “Sometimes I’ll want to leave you for a bit so that I can hear what people are saying. There are things they’d say when they don’t know anyone’s listening that they’d never share with the Harper.”

Nuella nodded. “It’s a pity the place will be so crowded,” she said. “I can hear much better than you.”

“I’ll bet you can,” Kindan agreed. “And if you listen in when I’m playing and tell me what you hear later, I’d be grateful.”

“Okay, I will.”

The first hour went marvelously. Every time Kindan caught sight of Master Zist’s eyes, it was only to get a cheerful wave or nod. Nuella’s piping was a great relief for Kindan, who mingled with the crowd—mostly women and younger folk—and caught tidbits of gossip as he did.

He was pleased to discover that everyone thought Dara lucky to have four apprentices put up in her place. A sour note was Dara herself who, as Kindan had expected, had discovered that Tarik was not thrilled to see his privacy so eroded. Kindan suppressed a smile at the thought of Tarik’s displeasure.

Having acquired a generous tray of dainties and a jug of cool water from an appreciative Milla—“And who’s that lovely lass playing with you?”—“I think she’s a trader.”—Kindan returned to start another set. Just as he’d begun a new, gentle drum set, he felt Nuella stiffen behind him. He glanced back her way quickly in time to see her strain her nostrils meaningfully. A blast of cold air mingled with the warmer air of the room; Natalon had returned from his shift.

A hand on his shoulder warned Kindan that Nuella had crept beside him. “He’s gone to change, first,” she said. Then her tone brightened. “Zenor’s here!”

Indeed, at that very moment, Zenor entered the room. His face was newly scrubbed and he arrived with his mother and young sisters all in tow. He gave Kindan a jaunty salute and turned toward the banquet laid out on the far wall, only to turn back again with a start.

“He’s seen me, hasn’t he?” Nuella whispered. Kindan could only nod, which he realized a moment later would do Nuella no good, but apparently she had felt his movement through her hand, because he felt it leave his shoulder and heard the faint sounds of her regaining her chair.

It was going to be a very interesting evening, indeed, he thought to himself.

“Have you lost your mind?” Zenor hissed at Kindan as soon as he could break away from his mother. As Nuella was doing another of her pipe solos, Kindan had found himself back among the now much larger crowd filling the great hall. “Or has she?”

“Aside from you, Zenor, who will know?” Kindan asked. “We darkened her face, hid her hair, and she pretty much stays up there. The traders will think she’s one of us, while the rest of the miners will think she’s one of them.”

“Well, her father and mother will know differently, won’t they?” Zenor said, lips pursed tightly. “And if Tarik finds out—”

“Well, he’ll never hear it from me,” Kindan assured him. He had been surprised to hear, from his rounds of the Gather, how little regard the rest of the miners had for Tarik. In fact, Kindan got the distinct impression that they were all only putting up with him as a favor to Natalon. Oh, there were a few—two, to be exact—who thought highly of Tarik, but Kerdal and Panit were old cronies of Tarik’s and even the talk from their wives led Kindan to believe that their loyalty was due to hopes of high rewards from Tarik rather than any actual camraderie they felt toward him.

“But what about her parents?” Zenor persisted. Before Kindan could make any reply, Zenor’s jaw dropped. He grabbed Kindan’s arm and turned him around. “Too late.”

Kindan saw Natalon and Jenella enter the room. The new baby was in Jenella’s arms. Behind them, Kindan saw a wide-eyed Dalor looking all around the crowded room. Kindan leapt forward to greet them.

“My Lord, my Lady,” Kindan said to Natalon and Jenella, executing the sweeping bow that Master Zist had drilled into him over the past several sevendays. “Master Zist extends his welcome. He is there,” Kindan pointed, “in conversation with Trader Tarri.”

Kindan waved toward the table on which the musical instruments had been placed, from which Nuella was playing a lively pipe ditty. “I am lucky to have someone who chose to accompany me tonight,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve never met her before. I was given to believe that she is one of the trader’s group who wanted to sit in on the festivities. I hope you don’t mind.”

Natalon listened to all of Kindan’s speech with an abstracted air until his wife grabbed his arm urgently and turned him toward Nuella. Jenella gave Kindan a piercing look.

“If I’ve done wrong, my Lady,” Kindan said, “I am sure I could ask the lady to step down.”

Natalon glared for a moment at Kindan, then at Nuella. Jenella tightened her grasp on his arm and shook her head. “I have always wanted to hear the pipes played,” Natalon said after a moment’s thought.

Dalor, who had been behind his mother and father and not quite concentrating on their conversation, suddenly stiffened as he noticed Nuella and then relaxed again as he digested the conversation in front of him.

“She plays very sweetly,” he declared. He gave Kindan a look that was part thanks, part warning. Kindan nodded in acknowledgment.

“Well, I must get back to my duties.” Kindan inclined his head toward Natalon and Jenella and strode quickly back to the musicians’ table.

As Nuella’s song came to an end, Kindan whispered to her, “That went well.”

“Not from what I heard,” Nuella whispered back. Kindan blushed at the thought of her hearing what he’d said—not so much for the words but for his ham-fisted way of saying them.

Chagrined, he turned back to the crowd. People were growing restless, waiting for a new song. Instead of reaching for the drum, Kindan opened his mouth and sang the first song to come to his mind. It was “The Morning Dragon Song.”

Partway through the first verse, a haunting counterpoint joined in. It was Nuella on the pipes. Kindan nearly stopped singing, he was so surprised by the beauty of her melody. Instead, he raised his voice slightly and let her weave her pipes through the song.

As the last words faded away, Nuella’s piping chirped a last response and faded, into a silence that Kindan hadn’t heard all evening long. Then there was a thunderous applause. Kindan was thrilled to see Master Zist on his feet clapping as loudly as the others. Even more astonishing was Nuella’s voice in his ear: “Can we do another?”

In the end, they did six more duets before the night was over. Zenor even managed, with Kindan’s connivance, to sneak a dance with Nuella.

“She’ll follow your lead,” Kindan told him. When Zenor looked balky about dancing, Kindan said, “It’s either her or one of your sisters, you know that.”

Nuella was radiant as Kindan handed her down from the table into Zenor’s arms. Kindan suppressed a smile as he saw Nuella school her expression before Zenor could see it. With matched let’s-humor-Kindan looks they took their places on the floor.

Master Zist joined Kindan on the musician’s table with his fiddle for a rollicking song that challenged the dancers to keep up. Kindan smiled as he watched Nuella and Zenor navigate their way through the song—with the occasional squeak over a squashed toe.

“They’re too young to match, and you’re too young to be matchmaker,” Master Zist whispered in Kindan’s ear when the song was over.

“They’re friends,” Kindan replied. “And at a Gather the only thing they can do together is dance.”

When Nuella returned to the table, she was tired but exhilarated.

Master Zist waved Kindan off with a meaningful look. “You take a break, lad. This young one and I will see what a fiddle and a pipe can do.”

Kindan nodded back and walked over to the banquet table. There were none of Milla’s dainties left and scant else to eat, but there was good clear water, mulled wine, and
klah
for the taking. Kindan’s stomach grumbled as he wolfed down a few vegetables, but he really wanted the water more and it was a while before his thirst was slaked enough to let him wander the room.

He was pleased at all the praise he got from trader and miner alike for his singing. However, he knew that Master Zist was expecting him to do more than bask in praise, so he made himself small and wandered toward the knots of people he’d noticed from the musician’s table.

“So the watch-wher didn’t come?” Kindan heard a voice say. “What of it? Can’t recall much good ever coming from one.” The voice belonged to Panit, one of Tarik’s men.

The other men in the crowd weren’t so sure, it seemed. Several wondered why the apprentice with the watch-wher had decided not to come. Kindan heard an undertone of worry in their voices.

“Been too many cave-ins,” one voice grumbled.

“Lazy people, that’s what it is,” Panit replied. “They get lazy, thinking a watch-wher will save them. They get careless. We’re better off without ’em.” There was a pause. “But it bothers me that Natalon’s so keen on having one.”

Kindan snuck away, troubled. He
knew
that watch-whers were important. Shards! Wasn’t it Panit himself whom Dask had pulled out of the mines? If people were bothered about working without a watch-wher, why
not
get more? And why would Panit want people to think Natalon was lazy? If they thought the head miner was lazy, would they want to stick at working the mine? Or would they leave like that unnamed apprentice and his watch-wher?

After the Gather, when Kindan and Master Zist had trundled back to their cothold, the Harper called Kindan into the study to talk.

“You and Nuella did a remarkable job on ‘The Morning Dragon Song,’ ” Master Zist said.

“Thank you.”

“I’d like to work with you on some other vocal pieces,” Master Zist continued. “I think we should try a duet.”

“What about Nuella?” Kindan asked.

Master Zist shook his head sadly. “When the traders leave, she’ll have to ‘leave’ with them.”

“But you teach her, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Master Zist allowed, “and I am very careful in how I schedule her lessons.”

“I don’t understand why Natalon wants to keep her a secret,” Kindan said, his face reflecting all the injustice he felt.

Master Zist shook his head. “I cannot tell you why—that is Natalon’s secret.”

“Nuella told me. It seems like a bad secret,” Kindan replied.