Zist smiled and shook his head fondly. “There’s no love lost between Tarik and Natalon, that much is obvious,” he continued. “And I’m afraid in my first few days here I also created some stress between Kindan and Kaylek.” He glanced at Pellar, saw his confusion, and explained. “They’re two of Danil’s boys. The younger one has got the makings of a good singer, while the older—well, he’ll do well in the mines.
“Kaylek’s got the makings of a bully,” Zist added after a moment spent with his lips pursed in thought. “And I’m afraid he may take his anger out on Kindan. I’d hate to have the youngster too scared by his big brother to sing from now on.”
Pellar thought, then wrote, “Mentor.”
Zist glanced at the word and nodded.
“I suppose that might work,” he agreed. It was an old Harper Hall trick to assign some of the more difficult personalities the job of mentoring a younger person. Sometimes the responsibility and the assumption of a mantle of authority succeeded in teaching the “mentor” more than the youngster.
“But who?” Zist asked himself, leaning back once more in his chair.
A yawn escaped from Pellar before he could clamp his jaws shut against it. Master Zist looked up and smiled, shaking his head. “There’s no need for you to stay. I can ponder on this by myself.” He rose from his chair and gestured to the kitchen. Pellar smiled and charged forward eagerly, opening his carisak as he moved. After twenty minutes of rummaging through Zist’s stores, Pellar pulled the strings on the carisak tightly closed and put it on his shoulders. Master Zist smiled, asking, “Did you get your fill of supplies?”
Pellar patted his carisak and nodded. He retrieved his slate, hung it back around his neck, and settled it under his tunic.
“Chitter’s guarding your camp?” Zist guessed as they headed for the door, Pellar leading the way. “You can send him here if you need more supplies.”
Pellar turned back to the harper, surprised.
“Oh,” Zist said with a laugh, “if he’s seen I’ll just say that he’s here on harper business.” He winked at Pellar. “And it’ll be true, won’t it?”
Suddenly, as if on cue, a fire-lizard exploded into the hallway, searching desperately for Pellar and screeching anxiously.
“What is this, is he hungry?” Zist asked. Pellar reached out and coaxed the skittish fire-lizard into his arms, stroking him gently with one hand. Once Chitter had settled, Pellar lifted him away from his body in order to look the fire-lizard in the eye. Zist stood by quietly, still marveling at the way Pellar had learned to commune with the creature.
After a moment, Pellar drew Chitter close to his side again and stroked him softly with a finger. Then he launched the fire-lizard into the air and Chitter went
between
again, leaving only a cold patch of air behind.
Pellar turned to the door with an unmistakable air of urgency.
“Pellar, what is it?”
The youngster turned back, pulling his slate from under his tunic at the same time and quickly writing, “Someone found my camp.”
Pellar didn’t return to his camp. Instead he spent the night cold and restless crouched nearby, waiting for dawn.
As the sun rose high enough to spread its rays into the deep valley where he’d made his camp, Pellar willed himself to be calm and motionless, doing his best not to give away his position to anyone who might be looking for him.
He had sent Chitter back to Master Zist with a note to say that he was safe and had told the fire-lizard to wait with the harper until he called for him.
Pellar waited an hour before he was satisfied that no one was lurking near his camp, then he slowly made his way toward it. Someone had found his pack, examined it, and carefully rehidden it.
Except—there was a small bouquet of flowers on top of it.
Pellar smiled. It didn’t take him long to spot the tracks of bark-soled shoes. He was sure that whoever had found his camp
“Kaylek’s got the makings of a bully,” Zist added after a moment spent with his lips pursed in thought. “And I’m afraid he may take his anger out on Kindan. I’d hate to have the youngster too scared by his big brother to sing from now on.”
Pellar thought, then wrote, “Mentor.”
Zist glanced at the word and nodded.
“I suppose that might work,” he agreed. It was an old Harper Hall trick to assign some of the more difficult personalities the job of mentoring a younger person. Sometimes the responsibility and the assumption of a mantle of authority succeeded in teaching the “mentor” more than the youngster.
“But who?” Zist asked himself, leaning back once more in his chair.
A yawn escaped from Pellar before he could clamp his jaws shut against it. Master Zist looked up and smiled, shaking his head. “There’s no need for you to stay. I can ponder on this by myself.” He rose from his chair and gestured to the kitchen. Pellar smiled and charged forward eagerly, opening his carisak as he moved. After twenty minutes of rummaging through Zist’s stores, Pellar pulled the strings on the carisak tightly closed and put it on his shoulders. Master Zist smiled, asking, “Did you get your fill of supplies?”
Pellar patted his carisak and nodded. He retrieved his slate, hung it back around his neck, and settled it under his tunic.
“Chitter’s guarding your camp?” Zist guessed as they headed for the door, Pellar leading the way. “You can send him here if you need more supplies.”
Pellar turned back to the harper, surprised.
“Oh,” Zist said with a laugh, “if he’s seen I’ll just say that he’s here on harper business.” He winked at Pellar. “And it’ll be true, won’t it?”
Suddenly, as if on cue, a fire-lizard exploded into the hallway, searching desperately for Pellar and screeching anxiously.
“What is this, is he hungry?” Zist asked. Pellar reached out and coaxed the skittish fire-lizard into his arms, stroking him gently with one hand. Once Chitter had settled, Pellar lifted him away from his body in order to look the fire-lizard in the eye. Zist stood by quietly, still marveling at the way Pellar had learned to commune with the creature.
After a moment, Pellar drew Chitter close to his side again and stroked him softly with a finger. Then he launched the fire-lizard into the air and Chitter went
between
again, leaving only a cold patch of air behind.
Pellar turned to the door with an unmistakable air of urgency.
“Pellar, what is it?”
The youngster turned back, pulling his slate from under his tunic at the same time and quickly writing, “Someone found my camp.”
Pellar didn’t return to his camp. Instead he spent the night cold and restless crouched nearby, waiting for dawn.
As the sun rose high enough to spread its rays into the deep valley where he’d made his camp, Pellar willed himself to be calm and motionless, doing his best not to give away his position to anyone who might be looking for him.
He had sent Chitter back to Master Zist with a note to say that he was safe and had told the fire-lizard to wait with the harper until he called for him.
Pellar waited an hour before he was satisfied that no one was lurking near his camp, then he slowly made his way toward it. Someone had found his pack, examined it, and carefully rehidden it.
Except—there was a small bouquet of flowers on top of it.
Pellar smiled. It didn’t take him long to spot the tracks of bark-soled shoes. He was sure that whoever had found his camp
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