want the watch-wher to come to the mine?”
“Same reason,” Pellar wrote.
“I’m not sure that Moran and Tenim have the same reasons,” Zist said.
Pellar gave him a questioning look.
“Moran was very worried about the Shunned,” Zist explained. “That’s why Murenny and I agreed to let him try to make contact.” He shook his head. “From what you’ve described of this Tenim character, I don’t think he cares for anyone but himself.”
As it was obvious to Pellar that Master Zist didn’t want to entertain dark thoughts about his old apprentice, Pellar decided to drop the matter.
“Still need a watch-wher,” Pellar wrote, changing the subject.
“Yes, we do,” Zist agreed.
“Where do we get one?” Pellar wrote.
“I shall have to think on that,” Zist replied, turning to the door. “If you’re still awake when the Gather’s through, we can talk some more.”
Pellar nodded and Zist gave him a probing look. The harper wagged his finger at the youngster. “Stay here. We’ll be all right.”
Pellar waited until he was certain that everyone had entered the large hall in Natalon’s hold. Then he carefully dressed himself in bright clothes, grabbed a well-used cloak, and went out through the cothold’s front door. Regardless of Zist’s warnings or even how sore his raw throat still felt, Pellar was going to make sure that there were no more accidents.
Rather than gliding silently past the entrance to Natalon’s stone hold, Pellar strode purposely beyond it, looking exactly like someone who was lost but unwilling to ask for directions.
He headed toward the camp’s graveyard, planning to find a place beyond it where he could climb to the cliff above and backtrack to a good vantage point near Natalon’s hold but away from any possible sighting by the camp’s lookouts.
He was just past the graveyard when Chitter appeared from
between.
Pellar gave the brown fire-lizard a fierce admonishing look. He thought he had made it clear that the fire-lizard was to stay in the harper’s cothold. Chitter hovered in front of him, wings beating slowly until Pellar understood that, as far as Chitter was concerned, if Pellar felt no compulsion to obey orders, neither would Chitter.
Pellar sighed in reluctant acceptance. Just before Pellar started off again, a noise startled him. Pellar froze. Someone was coming.
He sank to the ground in a crouch, hoping that the cloak would cover him sufficiently.
It did. The person, a small boy, passed him by, moving quickly and purposefully but without taking any particular pains to move quietly.
From the short-cropped blond hair, Pellar reckoned that the boy was either Dalor or Cristov. More likely it was Cristov, he decided, as Dalor would have a difficult time getting away from the evening’s festivities.
But what was Cristov doing here?
Pellar followed him quietly from a safe distance. The blond boy made his way to the graveyard, where he stopped in front of one of the graves. Pellar wasn’t certain, but he guessed that it was Kaylek’s grave.
“Miners look after each other.” Cristov’s words drifted softly across the night air to Pellar.
Was he making a promise or repeating something he’d been told? Pellar wondered. Or both?
The youngster stood by the grave for a long while in silent communion. Just as Pellar decided that he had no choice but to find an alternate way to the cliff, Cristov stepped back, turned, and moved off quickly—toward the cliff.
Pellar followed him easily, both relieved at not having to lose time sneaking around Cristov and intrigued by the boy’s motives. Was it possible that Cristov had been suborned by his father to finish Tenim’s task?
Cristov started climbing, following the same route Pellar had taken the other night.
Climbing the cliff was more effort than Pellar remembered. His shoulders and stomach were still sore from his fall, but worse was the torment in his throat as he gulped down the air needed for his
“Same reason,” Pellar wrote.
“I’m not sure that Moran and Tenim have the same reasons,” Zist said.
Pellar gave him a questioning look.
“Moran was very worried about the Shunned,” Zist explained. “That’s why Murenny and I agreed to let him try to make contact.” He shook his head. “From what you’ve described of this Tenim character, I don’t think he cares for anyone but himself.”
As it was obvious to Pellar that Master Zist didn’t want to entertain dark thoughts about his old apprentice, Pellar decided to drop the matter.
“Still need a watch-wher,” Pellar wrote, changing the subject.
“Yes, we do,” Zist agreed.
“Where do we get one?” Pellar wrote.
“I shall have to think on that,” Zist replied, turning to the door. “If you’re still awake when the Gather’s through, we can talk some more.”
Pellar nodded and Zist gave him a probing look. The harper wagged his finger at the youngster. “Stay here. We’ll be all right.”
Pellar waited until he was certain that everyone had entered the large hall in Natalon’s hold. Then he carefully dressed himself in bright clothes, grabbed a well-used cloak, and went out through the cothold’s front door. Regardless of Zist’s warnings or even how sore his raw throat still felt, Pellar was going to make sure that there were no more accidents.
Rather than gliding silently past the entrance to Natalon’s stone hold, Pellar strode purposely beyond it, looking exactly like someone who was lost but unwilling to ask for directions.
He headed toward the camp’s graveyard, planning to find a place beyond it where he could climb to the cliff above and backtrack to a good vantage point near Natalon’s hold but away from any possible sighting by the camp’s lookouts.
He was just past the graveyard when Chitter appeared from
between.
Pellar gave the brown fire-lizard a fierce admonishing look. He thought he had made it clear that the fire-lizard was to stay in the harper’s cothold. Chitter hovered in front of him, wings beating slowly until Pellar understood that, as far as Chitter was concerned, if Pellar felt no compulsion to obey orders, neither would Chitter.
Pellar sighed in reluctant acceptance. Just before Pellar started off again, a noise startled him. Pellar froze. Someone was coming.
He sank to the ground in a crouch, hoping that the cloak would cover him sufficiently.
It did. The person, a small boy, passed him by, moving quickly and purposefully but without taking any particular pains to move quietly.
From the short-cropped blond hair, Pellar reckoned that the boy was either Dalor or Cristov. More likely it was Cristov, he decided, as Dalor would have a difficult time getting away from the evening’s festivities.
But what was Cristov doing here?
Pellar followed him quietly from a safe distance. The blond boy made his way to the graveyard, where he stopped in front of one of the graves. Pellar wasn’t certain, but he guessed that it was Kaylek’s grave.
“Miners look after each other.” Cristov’s words drifted softly across the night air to Pellar.
Was he making a promise or repeating something he’d been told? Pellar wondered. Or both?
The youngster stood by the grave for a long while in silent communion. Just as Pellar decided that he had no choice but to find an alternate way to the cliff, Cristov stepped back, turned, and moved off quickly—toward the cliff.
Pellar followed him easily, both relieved at not having to lose time sneaking around Cristov and intrigued by the boy’s motives. Was it possible that Cristov had been suborned by his father to finish Tenim’s task?
Cristov started climbing, following the same route Pellar had taken the other night.
Climbing the cliff was more effort than Pellar remembered. His shoulders and stomach were still sore from his fall, but worse was the torment in his throat as he gulped down the air needed for his
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