Dragon's Fire by Anne McCaffrey

his job.
    Zist snorted and stirred from the chair in which he’d fallen asleep.
    “Eh? What is it?” he called out.
    “It’s my mother,” Dalor replied. “The baby’s coming early.”
    Zist wagged a finger at Pellar, ordering him to remain, then shucked on his robe and slippers and left the room.
    Pellar heard his muffled order to Kindan: “Go run to Margit’s and get her up here.” To Dalor he promised, “I’ll be along as soon as I get some clothes on. You get on back. Start the cook boiling water, if she hasn’t already.” He continued a softer tone. “It’ll be all right, lad. Now off with you!”
    Pellar looked around the room for Zist’s clothes, wondering what the harper would need, and rose from his bed, assembling a kit for him, dimly aware that Zist and Kindan were conferring outside the door.
    “Get off, now! We’ll cope!” Zist called as he opened the door to his room. His eyes lit as he saw Pellar standing and the clothes laid out, ready for him to put on.
    “You’ll have to stay here,” he told Pellar as he quickly donned his clothes. He gave the boy a warm, worried look. “Lad…”
    Pellar shook his head and put a hand, palm flat, over his head, then brought it next to Zist’s—he was nearly as tall as the harper.
    Zist shook his head and grabbed Pellar into a tight hug.
    “Man or lad, if I’d lost you…” Zist broke off. Pellar patted Zist’s back and then broke out of the embrace, firmly steering the harper to the door and gesturing for him to hurry.
    “You stay here,” Zist called back from the doorway. “Send Chitter if you need.”
    Pellar nodded firmly and made a brushing motion to hurry Zist along. But the harper had to have the last word. “Chitter, I’m counting on you to keep him from overtaxing himself.”

    Pellar was miffed that the harper had let him sleep through until morning, but he couldn’t deny that he’d needed it. As it was, he was much relieved to hear that the baby had been born healthy and without undue complications.
    “I’ll keep watch tonight,” Pellar wrote by way of apology.
    “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Zist told him emphatically. “You’ll need at least a sevenday to recover. Anyway, there’s a trader caravan due soon and among the apprentices there’s supposed to be one with a watch-wher.”
    Pellar gave him a questioning look.
    “With a watch-wher, the miners will be able to start a full night shift again,” Zist explained. “With a crew bustling about at night, I suspect it’ll be much harder for your friend Tenim to try anything.”
    “Not my friend,” Pellar wrote, pointing to his throat for emphasis.
    “And you’re to stay away from him.”
    Pellar gave him a stubborn look.
    “You’ve learned what I wanted to know,” Zist responded.
    “He might try something else,” Pellar wrote.
    “He might,” Zist agreed. “And we’ll have to be careful.” He looked sternly at Pellar. “But you would have died if Chitter hadn’t alerted me.” He took a deep breath and admitted, “And I don’t think I could live with that on my conscience.”
    Pellar looked at the old harper for a long time. Finally, he nodded, realizing that further argument would be pointless; it would only cause the harper further pain and worry.
    The traders came that afternoon, only there was no watch-wher with them.
    “Apparently someone scared the apprentice off,” Zist explained as he prepared for the second celebratory Gather in two days, donning fresh clothes in harper blue and quickly buffing up his boots.
    “Tenim,” Pellar wrote, cocking an eyebrow at the harper.
    “It could be,” Zist answered. “But probably not.”
    Pellar looked surprised.
    “The first time anyone noticed that the lad was missing was yesterday, although he might have left sooner; Trader Tarri said he kept to himself.”
    “Moran?” Pellar wrote.
    Zist frowned as he read the slate. “I hope not,” Zist said. “It could be, but then why would he not